Over the Ocean Part 41

Coming down into the coffee-room of the hotel for his last English breakfast, the tourist will doubtless meet, as we did, numerous Americans who have been rambling over the continent for months, and are now, like himself, homeward bound.

"Hallo, Binks!--is that you? How are you? Why, we saw your name on the register atop of Mount Righi six months ago. Thought you'd gone home."

"No, _sir_! Been everywhere, seen everything. By the by, speaking of seeing names, we travelled right after you in Italy, got to Danielli's, in Venice, day after you left, found your name in Florence, bought some filigree stuff at same shop you did in Genoa."

Up comes another to exchange greetings, whom you met in Strasburg Cathedral, and who has been to Rome, as you see by his scarf-pin, and introduces his wife, who has been in Vienna, as you observe by her Russia leather travelling-bag. They have also been to Florence, as you see by the daughter's mosaics. In fact, after an experience in shopping on the continent, you can tell by the costumes, ornaments, or travelling paraphernalia of many of the homeward-bound Yankees, almost to a certainty, the leading cities which they have visited during their tour abroad. They all seem to have seen the same sights in the same cities, and talk as glibly about crossing over Rue Rivoli, and going up Rue Scribe, or "when we were riding out in the _bwar_ one afternoon," as if they were as familiar with Paris all their lives as they are with Wall Street, Fifth Avenue, Beacon Street, Chester Park, or Chestnut Street.

Amusing also to the old traveller must be the ease with which some, who have had but a three months' "scoot" over the continent, speak of "running down to Rome," or "stopping at Berlin a day or two," or "the day we went over the Alps," "pretty place is Lucerne. We staid there all day." We could but think ourselves, however, that one needs six months'

travel in Europe in order to learn _how_ to see it, and to prepare for a second visit.

We must be at the "landing stage" at the dock at twelve o'clock; so the placard posted in the hotel informs us. And on arrival there with our pile of luggage, we find a fussy little Pancks of a steam-tug waiting to take the mails and luggage aboard, and another to take the pa.s.sengers themselves. Here, on the pier, are the usual scenes of parting and leave-taking, and some few privileged ones go out on the tug, to the steamer, which lies in the stream half a mile away, emitting volumes of black smoke, and gathering strength for her journey. Forests of masts are at the docks, one or two huge vessels of war out in the stream, some great, dismantled hulks on an opposite sh.o.r.e, and a fresh sea breeze coming in, curls the dark-blue waves over with a white fringe, making the whole scene appear very like dozens of "marine views" that we have seen in art galleries.

Stepping on board, we are at once in the midst of a tremendous crowd of luggage and pa.s.sengers, ship's crew, stewards, and officers, mixed up in every direction. We have the number of our state-room, and get the steward and porter of the section in which it is situated pointed out to us by an obliging officer. Both of these individuals seem in too great a hurry to stop and hear us as we commence a request; but we have profited by experience. My hand is already in my pocket, a few hurried words, the quiet pa.s.sage of her majesty's portrait in silver into the palm of the listener, and in five minutes the luggage for our state-room is there, and the porter touches his hat, and asks if there is "anythink else, sir," while the steward comes soon after to tell me to "call for George whenever we want anything." Such is the mysterious power of her majesty's coin on her subjects.

The reader need not have rehea.r.s.ed again to him the experiences of the pa.s.sage over, which differs but little from those already described in these pages, except that it was rougher, and, as the sailors say, "all up hill," while from America to England it is down, and that we counted the completion of each day's journey as so much nearer home. But when old Boston's spires came in sight, and the swelling dome of the State House rose to view, it seemed that we had looked upon no sight or scene in foreign lands, and visited no place over the ocean that was a more pleasant picture to look upon--its attraction in our eyes heightened, no doubt, by that charm that invests one's native land and childhood's home.