Nasby in Exile or, Six Months of Travel in England, Ireland, Scotland, France, Germany, Switzerland and Belgium, with many things not of travel — Background and Themes

The Departure--How the Passengers Amused Themselves--Sea-sickness--Tibbitts, of Oshkosh--The Storm.....17-35

London--The Englishman--A Few Statistics--The Climate--A Red-coated Romance.....18-57

The Derby Races--Departure for the Derby--Sights and Scenes--Shows and Beggars--Betting.....58-76

What the Londoners Quench their Thirst with--The Kind of Liquor--Tobacco--Early Closing.....77-90

How London is Amused--The London Theaters--An English Idea of a Good Time--Punch and Judy.....91-100

Madame Tussaud--American Worthies.....101-107

The London Lawyer--The Solicitor's Bill.....108-112

English Capital--London Quacks--The London Advertiser.....113-122

Petticoat Lane--The Home of Second-Hand--The Clothing Dealer--Diamonds--The Confiding Israelite.....123-134

The Tower--The Royal Jewels--The Horse Armory--Interesting Relics--The Beef-Eaters.....137-160

Two English Nuisances--A Badly Dressed People--An English Hotel--The English Landlord.....161-172

Portsmouth--Nelson's Ship--In the Harbor--Tibbitts' Diary.....174-185

Westminster Abbey--Seeing the Abbey--Warren Hastings--Epitaphs--Religious Service--A Little History.....187-202

The American Showman--The Trainer's Widow--Foggerty the Zulu.....203-212

Richmond--The Star and Garter--Down the River.....213-219

From London to Paris--The Custom House--Normandy--The Cathedral--On the Way to Paris.....221-242

A Scattering View of Paris--Drinking in Paris--Wine and Whisky--The National Fête.....243-267

Something About Parisians--French Cleanliness--The Polite French--The Disgust of Tibbitts.....268-286

Parisian Gamin--Interview with a Gamin--A Contented Being.....287-299

How Paris Amuses Itself--The Grand Opera--The Wicked Mabille--Gardens other than the Mabille--Tibbitts and the Professor.....300-318

The Louvre--Art in the Louvre--The Commune.....320-331

The Palais-Royal--A Tale of the Commune--The Wisdom of Therese--The Two Lovers.....332-345

French Drinking--The Water of Paris--The Mild Swash.....346-351

Parisian Living--The Market Woman--Parisian Washing--Female Shop-keepers--The Career of Sam.....352-369

Ireland--Cork--The Jaunting Car--Another Cabin.....370-383

Bantry--How My Lord Bantry Lives--The Real and the Ideal--Several Delusions--The Conversion of an Irish Lady.....384-401

An Irish Mass Meeting--An Eviction--Boycotting--One Landlord who was Killed--How he was killed--Patsey's Dead.....403-518

Some Little History--The Question of Lease--A Foiled Landlord--Bantry Village--The Boatman and Nancy.....419-438

England, Ireland, Scotland--Land Troubles in England--The Royal Family--The Palace and the Workhouse--Women's Work.....439-460

Paris to Geneva--A Night on the Rail--Geneva--Affecting Anecdote--Piracy on Lake Erie--The Irate Guest--Too Much Music.....461-477

Switzerland--The Rhone--A Geneva Bakery--Swiss Roads--Female Climbers--Ascent of Mont Blanc--A Useful Man at Last.....478-491

Chillon--Tibbitts and the Jew--On the Lake.....492-501

From Geneva over the Alps--Mountain Climbing--Legend of the Gorge--Martigny--A Swiss Cottage--Alpine Ascents.....502-517

Over the Alps--Tibbitts' Idea--Dangers of Ascending Mt. Blanc.....518-529

Going up the Mountain--The Mer de Glace--The Gorge--Something About Glaciers.....530-545

In Switzerland--Tibbitts' Letter--Berne and Bears--Barbers.....546-555

Lake Thun and Beyond--Interlaken--Wood Carving--Geissbach.....556-568

Lucerne and the Rigi--Up the Rigi--A Mountain Railway--The Rigi Kulm--Tell's Chapel.....569-587

Zurich and Strasburg--Beer and Music--The Cathedral--The Wonderful Clock.....588-604

Baden-Baden--A Few Legends--Up the Mountain--To old Schloss.....605-621

Heidelberg--The Great Cask--The Students.....622-630

Mannheim--Opera--A Treatise on Treating.....631-639

Frankfort-on-the-Maine--Red Tape--Jews' Street--Lovely Gardens.....640-651

Down the Rhine--Bingen--Mouse Tower--Tibbitts' Romance.....652-663

Cologne--The Cathedral--Eleven Thousand Virgins--Home.....664-672

Charles A. B. Shepard, _The "Poetical Bookseller,"_

_This book is dedicated (without permission) as a Tribute to a most Reliable Friend, a Thorough Business Man, and One whose steady devotion to everything right and proper, and whose hatred for everything mean and disreputable, was never questioned by any one who knew him._

THE DEPARTURE, VOYAGE, AND LANDING.

"Cast Off!" There was a bustle, a movement of fifty men, a rush of people to the gangways; hurried good-bys were said; another rush, assisted by the fifty men, the enormous gangways were lifted, there was a throb of steam, a mighty jar of machinery, a tremor along the line of the vast body of wood and iron, and the good ship "City of Richmond" was out at sea.

I am not going to inflict upon the reader a description of the harbor of New York, or anything of the kind. The whole world knows that it is the finest in the world, and every American would believe it so, whether it is so or not. Suffice it to say that the ship got out of the harbor safely, and before nightfall was upon the broad Atlantic, out of the way of telegraph and mail facilities, and one hundred and fifty-six saloon passengers--men, women, and children--found themselves beyond the reach of daily papers, though they had everything else that pertains to civilization and luxury.

A voyage at sea is not what it was when first I sailed from--but no, I have never been abroad before, and have not, therefore, the privilege of lying about travel. That will come in time, and doubtless I shall use it as others do. But I was going to say that sailing is not what it was, as I understand it to have been. The ship of to-day is nothing more or less than a floating hotel, with some few of the conveniences omitted, and a great many conveniences that hotels on shore have not. You have your luxurious barber-shop, you have a gorgeous bar, you have hot and cold water in your room, and a table as good as the best in New York. You eat, drink, and sleep just as well, if not better, than on shore.

The sailor is no more what he used to be than the ship is. I have seen any number of sailors, and know all about them. The tight young fellow in blue jacket and shiny tarpaulin, and equally shiny belt, and white trousers, the latter enormously wide at the bottom, which trousers he was always hitching up with a very peculiar movement of the body, standing first upon one leg and then upon the other; the sailor who could fight three pirates at once and kill them all, finishing the last one by disabling his starboard eye with a chew of tobacco thrown with terrible precision; who, if an English sailor, was always a match for three Frenchmen, if an American a match for three Englishmen, and no matter of what nationality, was always ready to d--n the eyes of the man he did not like, and protect prepossessing females and oppressed children even at the risk of being hung at the yard-arm by a court-martial--this kind of a sailor is gone, and I fear forever. I know I have given a proper description of him, for I have seen hundreds of them--at the theater.

[Sidenote: WHO WERE ON BOARD.]

In his stead is an unpoetic being, clad in all sorts of unpoetic clothing, and no two of them alike. There is a faint effort at uniformity in their caps, which have sometimes the name of their ship on them, but even that not always. In fair weather he is in appearance very like a hod carrier, and in foul weather a New York drayman. He doesn't d--n anybody's eyes, and he doesn't sing out "Belay there," or "Avast, you lubber," or indulge in any other nautical expressions. He uses just about the language that people on shore do, and is as dull and uninteresting a person as one would wish not to meet.

The traditional jack tar, of whom the Dibden of the last century sang, only remains in "Pinafore" opera, and can only be seen when the nautical pieces of the thirty years ago are revived. If such sailors ever existed, off the stage, they are as extinct a race as the icthyosaurus. Steam has knocked the poetry out of navigation, as it has out of everything else--that is, that kind of poetry. It will doubtless have a poetry of its own, when its gets older, but it is too new yet.

There is no holystoning the decks. On the contrary the decks are washed with hose, and scrubbed afterward by a patent appliance, which has nothing of the old time about it. The lifting is done by steam, and in fact every blessed thing about the ship is done by machinery. There is neither a ship nor a sailor any more. There are floating hotels, and help. The last remaining show for a ship is the masts and sails they all have, and they seem to be more for ornament than use.

The company on board was, on the whole, monotonous. Ocean travel is either monotonous or dangerous. Its principal advantage over land travel is, the track is not dusty.

We had on our passenger list precisely the usual people, and none others. There were three Jews of different types: the strong, robust, eagle-nosed and eagle-eyed German Jew, resident of New York, going abroad on business; the keen French Jew, returning from a successful foray on New York jewelers, and the Southern Jew, who, having made a fortune in cotton, attached no value to anything else.

I like the Jews, and ten days with them did not lessen my liking. They know something for certain; they do things, and they do well what they do.

There was a Chicago operator in mining stocks, going abroad to place the "Great Mastodon" in London. There was the smooth-chinned, side-whiskered minister, or "priest," as he delighted in calling himself, of the Church of England, going home, and a fiery Welsh Baptist who had been laboring in the States for many years.

On Sunday evening the Chicago man and a Texan engaged the English minister in a discussion on the evidences of Christianity. It was a furious controversy, and an amusing one. The Welsh Baptist was a more zealous Christian than the Church of England man, and he did by far the best part of the argument; but the priest, by look at least, resented his interference. Being a Baptist, he was entirely irregular, and did not hold up his end of the argument regularly. The priest regarded the evangelist as a regular soldier might a guerilla serving the same side. The discussion embraced every point that religionists affirm and infidels deny, commencing with the creation and coming down to the present day, with long excursions into the future.

A terrible disaster was the result. The next morning the priest met the infidel on deck, and extended his hand humbly:

"My dear sir," said he, "I have been thinking over the matter we discussed last night. I am convinced that you are right, and that--"

"What!" exclaimed the infidel. "My dear sir, I was looking for you. Your forcible and convincing statements satisfy me that there is truth in the Christian religion, and--"

Neither said more. The priest had converted the infidel to Christianity, and the infidel had converted the priest to infidelity. So far as the result upon the religion of the world was concerned, it was a stand-off.

The days were devoted to all sorts of occupations. There were young men spooning young women, and young women who made a business of flirtation, or what was akin to it. One young lady who could be seen at any time in the day, in a most bewitching attitude, reclining on a steamer chair, picturesque in all sorts of wraps, held a brief conversation with her mother, who had hooked a widower the second day out. The mother was skillful at looking young, and compelled her child, therefore, to be juvenile and shy of young men.

[Sidenote: HOW THE PASSENGERS AMUSED THEMSELVES.]

"Helen, you were flirting with that Chicago young man, this morning!"

"Flirting! Mamma! It's too mean! You won't let me flirt. I havn't enjoyed myself a minute since we sailed. I wish you would let me alone to do as I please."

The poor child envied her mother, and with good reason, for within ten minutes she was under the wing, or arm, of the widower, looking not a minute over thirty-five.

There were old maids who found themselves objects of attention for the first time for years; there were widows who grew sentimental looking at the changing waters, especially at night when the moon and stars were out; there were married men whose wives were many leagues away, determined to have a good time once more, flirting with all sorts and conditions of women, and there were all sorts and conditions of women flirting hungrily with all sorts and conditions of men. There were speculators driving bargains with each other just the same as on land--in brief, the ship was a little world by itself, and just about the same as any other world.

In the smoking room the great and muscular American game of draw poker was played incessantly, from early in the morning, till late in the night.

A portion of the passengers, including the English dominie, played a game called "shuffle-board." Squares were marked upon the deck, which were numbered from one to seven. Then some distance from the squares a line was drawn, and what you had to do was to take an implement shaped like a crutch, and shove discs of wood at the squares. We all played it, sooner or later, for on ship-board one will get, in time, to playing pin alone in his room. The beauty about shuffle-board is, one player is as good as another, if not better, for there isn't the slightest skill to be displayed in it. Indeed, the best playing is always done at first, when the player shoots entirely at random. There is a chance that he will strike a square, then; but when one gets to calculating distances, and looking knowingly, and attempting some particular square, the chances are even that the disc goes overboard.

However, it is a good and useful game. The young ladies look well handling the clumsy cues, and the attitudes they are compelled to take are graceful. Then as the vessel lurches they fall naturally in your arms. By the way, it is a curious fact and one worthy of record, that I did not see a young lady fall into the arms of another young lady during the entire voyage.

We had on board, as a matter of course, the betting young man from Chicago. No steamer ever sailed that did not have this young fellow aboard, and there is enough of them to last the Atlantic for a great many years. He knew everything that everybody thinks they know, but do not, and his delight was to propound a query, and then when you had answered it, to very coolly and exasperatingly remark:--

"Bet yer bottle of wine you're wrong."

The matter would be so simple and one of so common repute that immediately you accepted the wager only to find that in some minute particular, you _were_ wrong, and that the knowing youth had won.

"Thompson, do you know how many States there are in the Union?"

Now any citizen of the United States who votes, and is eligible to the Presidency, ought to know how many States there are in his beloved country without thinking, but how many are there who can say, off-hand? And so poor Thompson answered:--

"What a question! Of course I know."

"Bet ye bottle ye don't!"

[Sidenote: THE YOUNG MAN FROM CHICAGO.]

And then Thompson would find himself figuring the very important problem as to whether Colorado had been admitted, and Nevada, and Oregon, and he would decide that one had and the other hadn't, and finally state the number, with great certainty that it was wrong.

The Chicago man's crowning bet occurred the last day out. The smoking room was tolerably full, as were the occupants, and everybody was bored, as everybody is on the last day. The Chicago man had been silent for an hour, when suddenly he broke out:

"Oh, no more bets," was the exclamation of the entire party. "Give us a rest."

"I don't want to bet, but I can show you something curious."

"I say it and mean it. I can drink a glass of water without it's going down my throat."

"And get it into your stomach?"

There was a silence of considerably more than a minute. Every man in the room had been victimized by this gatherer up of inconsidered trifles, and there was a general disposition to get the better of him in some way if possible. Here was the opportunity. How could a man get a glass of water into his stomach without its going down his throat? Impossible! And so the usual bottle of wine was wagered, and the Chicago man proceeded to accomplish the supposed impossible feat. It was very easily done. All he did was to stand upon his head on the seat that runs around the room and swallow a glass of water. It went to his stomach, but it did not go _down_ his throat. It went _up_ his throat. And so his last triumph was greater than all his previous ones, for every man in the room had been eager to accept his wager. From that time out had he offered to wager that he would swallow his own head he would have got no takers.

It is astonishing how short remembrance is, and how the knowledge of one decade is swallowed up in the increasing volume of the next. Every one of the catches employed by this young man to keep himself in wine and cigars were well known ten years ago, but totally unknown now except by the few who use them. The water going up the throat instead of down was published years ago in a small volume called "Hocus Pocus," and it sold by the million, but nobody knows of it to-day. I once asked a sharper who had lived thirty years by the practice of one simple trick, how it happened that the whole world did not know his little game?

"There are new crops of fools coming on every year," was his answer. He was right. The stock will never run out.

[Sidenote: SEA-SICKNESS.]

There were one hundred and fifty-six saloon passengers on board, but with the exception of those mentioned, a distressing monotony prevailed among them. Never was so good a set of people ever gathered together. They were fearfully good--too good by half.

True goodness is all very well in the abstract, but there is nothing picturesque about it. It is slightly tame. Your brigand, with short green jacket and yellow breeches, with blue or green garters, and a tall hat with a feather in it, is a much more striking being than a Quaker woman. The wicked is always the startling, and, therefore, taking to the eye.

On our ship the people were all good. There wasn't a pickpocket, a card sharper, or anything of the sort to vary the monotony of life. It was a dead level of goodness, a sort of quiet mill-pond of morality, that to the lover of excitement was distressing in the extreme. The card parties were conducted decorously, and the religious services in the grand saloon were attended by nearly every passenger, and what is more they all seemed to enjoy it. Possibly it was because religious services were a novelty to the most of them.

The second day out was a very rough one. The wind freshened--I think that is the proper phrase--and a tremendously heavy sea was on. The "City of Richmond" is a very staunch ship, and behaves herself commendably in bad weather, but there is no ship that can resist the power of the enormous waves of the North Atlantic. Consequently she tossed like a cork, and, consequently, there was an amount of suffering for two days that was amusing to everybody but the sufferers.

Sea-sickness is probably the most distressing of all the maladies that do not kill. The sickness from first to last is a taste of death. The resultant vomiting is of a nature totally different from any other variety of vomiting known. The victim does not vomit--he throws up. There is a wild legend that one man in a severe fit of sea-sickness threw up his boots, but it is not credible. It is entirely safe to say, however, that one throws up everything but original sin, and he gives that a tolerable trial.

It was amusing to see those who had done the voyage before, and who had been through sea-sickness, smile upon those who were in the throes of agony. The look of superiority they took on, as much as to say, "when you have been through it as I have, you won't have it any more." And then to see these same fellows turn deadly pale, and leave their seats, and rush to their rooms and disappear from mortal view a day or so, was refreshing to those who were having their first experience.

The beauty of sea-sickness is that you may have it every voyage, which is fortunate, as having a tendency to restrain pride and keep down assumption of superiority; for when one has to suffer, one loves to see everybody else suffer.

One man aboard did not think it possible that he could be sick, and he was rather indignant that his wife should be. She, poor thing, was in the agonies of death, and he insisted, as he held her head, that she ought not to be sick, that her giving way to it was a weakness purely feminine, and he went on wondering why a woman could not--