âLondon.
âDearest People,â
âHere I really sit at a front window of the Bath Hotel, Piccadilly. Itâs not a fashionable place, but uncle stopped here years ago, and wonât go anywhere else; however, we donât mean to stay long, so itâs no great matter. Oh, I canât begin to tell you how I enjoy it all! I never can, so Iâll only give you bits out of my note-book, for Iâve done nothing but sketch and scribble since I started.
âI sent a line from Halifax, when I felt pretty miserable, but after that I got on delightfully, seldom ill, on deck all day, with plenty of pleasant people to amuse me. Every one was very kind to me, especially the officers. Donât laugh, Jo; gentlemen really are very necessary aboard ship, to hold on to, or to wait upon one; and as they have nothing to do, itâs a mercy to make them useful, otherwise they would smoke themselves to death, Iâm afraid.
âAunt and Flo were poorly all the way, and liked to be let alone, so when I had done what I could for them, I went and enjoyed myself. Such walks on deck, such sunsets, such splendid air and waves! It was almost as exciting as riding a fast horse, when we went rushing on so grandly. I wish Beth could have come, it would have done her so much good; as for Jo, she would have gone up and sat on the main-top jib, or whatever the high thing is called, made friends with the engineers, and tooted on the captainâs speaking-trumpet, sheâd have been in such a state of rapture.
âIt was all heavenly, but I was glad to see the Irish coast, and found it very lovely, so green and sunny, with brown cabins here and there, ruins on some of the hills, and gentlemenâs country-seats in the valleys, with deer feeding in the parks. It was early in the morning, but I didnât regret getting up to see it, for the bay was full of little boats, the shore so picturesque, and a rosy sky overhead. I never shall forget it.
âAt Queenstown one of my new acquaintances left us,âMr. Lennox,âand when I said something about the Lakes of Killarney, he sighed and sung, with a look at me,â
âOh, have you eâer heard of Kate Kearney? She lives on the banks of Killarney; From the glance of her eye, Shun danger and fly, For fatalâs the glance of Kate Kearney.â
Wasnât that nonsensical?
âWe only stopped at Liverpool a few hours. Itâs a dirty, noisy place, and I was glad to leave it. Uncle rushed out and bought a pair of dog-skin gloves, some ugly, thick shoes, and an umbrella, and got shaved Ă la mutton-chop, the first thing. Then he flattered himself that he looked like a true Briton; but the first time he had the mud cleaned off his shoes, the little bootblack knew that an American stood in them, and said, with a grin, âThere yer har, sir. Iâve give âem the latest Yankee shine.â It amused uncle immensely. Oh, I must tell you what that absurd Lennox did! He got his friend Ward, who came on with us, to order a bouquet for me, and the first thing I saw in my room was a lovely one, with âRobert Lennoxâs compliments,â on the card. Wasnât that fun, girls? I like travelling.
âI never shall get to London if I donât hurry. The trip was like riding through a long picture-gallery, full of lovely landscapes. The farmhouses were my delight; with thatched roofs, ivy up to the eaves, latticed windows, and stout women with rosy children at the doors. The very cattle looked more tranquil than ours, as they stood knee-deep in clover, and the hens had a contented cluck, as if they never got nervous, like Yankee biddies. Such perfect color I never saw,âthe grass so green, sky so blue, grain so yellow, woods so dark,âI was in a rapture all the way. So was Flo; and we kept bouncing from one side to the other, trying to see everything while we were whisking along at the rate of sixty miles an hour. Aunt was tired and went to sleep, but uncle read his guide-book, and wouldnât be astonished at anything. This is the way we went on: Amy, flying up,ââOh, that must be Kenilworth, that gray place among the trees!â Flo, darting to my window,ââHow sweet! We must go there some time, wonât we, papa?â Uncle, calmly admiring his boots,ââNo, my dear, not unless you want beer; thatâs a brewery.â
âA pause,âthen Flo cried out, âBless me, thereâs a gallows and a man going up.â âWhere, where?â shrieks Amy, staring out at two tall posts with a cross-beam and some dangling chains. âA colliery,â remarks uncle, with a twinkle of the eye. âHereâs a lovely flock of lambs all lying down,â says Amy. âSee, papa, arenât they pretty!â added Flo sentimentally. âGeese, young ladies,â returns uncle, in a tone that keeps us quiet till Flo settles down to enjoy âThe Flirtations of Capt. Cavendish,â and I have the scenery all to myself.
âOf course it rained when we got to London, and there was nothing to be seen but fog and umbrellas. We rested, unpacked, and shopped a little between the showers. Aunt Mary got me some new things, for I came off in such a hurry I wasnât half ready. A white hat and blue feather, a muslin dress to match, and the loveliest mantle you ever saw. Shopping in Regent Street is perfectly splendid; things seem so cheapânice ribbons only sixpence a yard. I laid in a stock, but shall get my gloves in Paris. Doesnât that sound sort of elegant and rich?
âFlo and I, for the fun of it, ordered a hansom cab, while aunt and uncle were out, and went for a drive, though we learned afterward that it wasnât the thing for young ladies to ride in them alone. It was so droll! for when we were shut in by the wooden apron, the man drove so fast that Flo was frightened, and told me to stop him. But he was up outside behind somewhere, and I couldnât get at him. He didnât hear me call, nor see me flap my parasol in front, and there we were, quite helpless, rattling away, and whirling around corners at a break-neck pace. At last, in my despair, I saw a little door in the roof, and on poking it open, a red eye appeared, and a beery voice said,â
ââNow then, mum?â
âI gave my order as soberly as I could, and slamming down the door, with an âAye, aye, mum,â the man made his horse walk, as if going to a funeral. I poked again, and said, âA little faster;â then off he went, helter-skelter, as before, and we resigned ourselves to our fate.
âTo-day was fair and we went to Hyde Park, close by, for we are more aristocratic than we look. The Duke of Devonshire lives near. I often see his footmen lounging at the back gate; and the Duke of Wellingtonâs house is not far off. Such sights as I saw, my dear! It was as good as Punch, for there were fat dowagers rolling about in their red and yellow coaches, with gorgeous Jeameses in silk stockings and velvet coats, up behind, and powdered coachmen in front. Smart maids, with the rosiest children I ever saw; handsome girls, looking half asleep; dandies, in queer English hats and lavender kids, lounging about, and tall soldiers, in short red jackets and muffin caps stuck on one side, looking so funny I longed to sketch them.
âRotten Row means âRoute de Roi,â or the kingâs way; but now itâs more like a riding-school than anything else. The horses are splendid, and the men, especially the grooms, ride well; but the women are stiff, and bounce, which isnât according to our rules. I longed to show them a tearing American gallop, for they trotted solemnly up and down, in their scant habits and high hats, looking like the women in a toy Noahâs Ark. Every one rides,âold men, stout ladies, little children,âand the young folks do a deal of flirting here; I saw a pair exchange rosebuds, for itâs the thing to wear one in the button-hole, and I thought it rather a nice little idea.
âIn the p.m. to Westminster Abbey; but donât expect me to describe it, thatâs impossibleâso Iâll only say it was sublime! This evening we are going to see Fechter, which will be an appropriate end to the happiest day of my life.
âMidnight.
âItâs very late, but I canât let my letter go in the morning without telling you what happened last evening. Who do you think came in, as we were at tea? Laurieâs English friends, Fred and Frank Vaughn! I was so surprised, for I shouldnât have known them but for the cards. Both are tall fellows, with whiskers; Fred handsome in the English style, and Frank much better, for he only limps slightly, and uses no crutches. They had heard from Laurie where we were to be, and came to ask us to their house; but uncle wonât go, so we shall return the call, and see them as we can. They went to the theatre with us, and we did have such a good time, for Frank devoted himself to Flo, and Fred and I talked over past, present, and future fun as if we had known each other all our days. Tell Beth Frank asked for her, and was sorry to hear of her ill health. Fred laughed when I spoke of Jo, and sent his ârespectful compliments to the big hat.â Neither of them had forgotten Camp Laurence, or the fun we had there. What ages ago it seems, doesnât it?
âAunt is tapping on the wall for the third time, so I must stop. I really feel like a dissipated London fine lady, writing here so late, with my room full of pretty things, and my head a jumble of parks, theatres, new gowns, and gallant creatures who say âAh!â and twirl their blond mustaches with the true English lordliness. I long to see you all, and in spite of my nonsense am, as ever, your loving
Amy.â
âParisâ
âDear Girls,â
âIn my last I told you about our London visit,âhow kind the Vaughns were, and what pleasant parties they made for us. I enjoyed the trips to Hampton Court and the Kensington Museum more than anything else,âfor at Hampton I saw Raphaelâs cartoons, and, at the Museum, rooms full of pictures by Turner, Lawrence, Reynolds, Hogarth, and the other great creatures. The day in Richmond Park was charming, for we had a regular English picnic, and I had more splendid oaks and groups of deer than I could copy; also heard a nightingale, and saw larks go up. We âdidâ London to our heartsâ content, thanks to Fred and Frank, and were sorry to go away; for, though English people are slow to take you in, when they once make up their minds to do it they cannot be outdone in hospitality, I think. The Vaughns hope to meet us in Rome next winter, and I shall be dreadfully disappointed if they donât, for Grace and I are great friends, and the boys very nice fellows,âespecially Fred.
âWell, we were hardly settled here, when he turned up again, saying he had come for a holiday, and was going to Switzerland. Aunt looked sober at first, but he was so cool about it she couldnât say a word; and now we get on nicely, and are very glad he came, for he speaks French like a native, and I donât know what we should do without him. Uncle doesnât know ten words, and insists on talking English very loud, as if that would make people understand him. Auntâs pronunciation is old-fashioned, and Flo and I, though we flattered ourselves that we knew a good deal, find we donât, and are very grateful to have Fred do the âparley vooing,â as uncle calls it.
âSuch delightful times as we are having! sight-seeing from morning till night, stopping for nice lunches in the gay cafĂŠs, and meeting with all sorts of droll adventures. Rainy days I spend in the Louvre, revelling in pictures. Jo would turn up her naughty nose at some of the finest, because she has no soul for art; but I have, and Iâm cultivating eye and taste as fast as I can. She would like the relics of great people better, for Iâve seen her Napoleonâs cocked hat and gray coat, his babyâs cradle and his old toothbrush; also Marie Antoinetteâs little shoe, the ring of Saint Denis, Charlemagneâs sword, and many other interesting things. Iâll talk for hours about them when I come, but havenât time to write.
âThe Palais Royale is a heavenly place,âso full of bijouterie and lovely things that Iâm nearly distracted because I canât buy them. Fred wanted to get me some, but of course I didnât allow it. Then the Bois and the Champs ElysĂŠes are très magnifique. Iâve seen the imperial family several times,âthe emperor an ugly, hard-looking man, the empress pale and pretty, but dressed in bad taste, I thought,âpurple dress, green hat, and yellow gloves. Little Nap. is a handsome boy, who sits chatting to his tutor, and kisses his hand to the people as he passes in his four-horse barouche, with postilions in red satin jackets, and a mounted guard before and behind.
âWe often walk in the Tuileries Gardens, for they are lovely, though the antique Luxembourg Gardens suit me better. Père la Chaise is very curious, for many of the tombs are like small rooms, and, looking in, one sees a table, with images or pictures of the dead, and chairs for the mourners to sit in when they come to lament. That is so Frenchy.
âOur rooms are on the Rue de Rivoli, and, sitting in the balcony, we look up and down the long, brilliant street. It is so pleasant that we spend our evenings talking there, when too tired with our dayâs work to go out. Fred is very entertaining, and is altogether the most agreeable young man I ever knew,âexcept Laurie, whose manners are more charming. I wish Fred was dark, for I donât fancy light men; however, the Vaughns are very rich, and come of an excellent family, so I wonât find fault with their yellow hair, as my own is yellower.
âNext week we are off to Germany and Switzerland; and, as we shall travel fast, I shall only be able to give you hasty letters. I keep my diary, and try to âremember correctly and describe clearly all that I see and admire,â as father advised. It is good practice for me, and, with my sketch-book, will give you a better idea of my tour than these scribbles.
âAdieu; I embrace you tenderly.
Votre Amie.â
âHeidelberg.
âMy dear Mamma,â
âHaving a quiet hour before we leave for Berne, Iâll try to tell you what has happened, for some of it is very important, as you will see.
âThe sail up the Rhine was perfect, and I just sat and enjoyed it with all my might. Get fatherâs old guide-books, and read about it; I havenât words beautiful enough to describe it. At Coblentz we had a lovely time, for some students from Bonn, with whom Fred got acquainted on the boat, gave us a serenade. It was a moonlight night, and, about one oâclock, Flo and I were waked by the most delicious music under our windows. We flew up, and hid behind the curtains; but sly peeps showed us Fred and the students singing away down below. It was the most romantic thing I ever saw,âthe river, the bridge of boats, the great fortress opposite, moonlight everywhere, and music fit to melt a heart of stone.
âWhen they were done we threw down some flowers, and saw them scramble for them, kiss their hands to the invisible ladies, and go laughing away,âto smoke and drink beer, I suppose. Next morning Fred showed me one of the crumpled flowers in his vest-pocket, and looked very sentimental. I laughed at him, and said I didnât throw it, but Flo, which seemed to disgust him, for he tossed it out of the window, and turned sensible again. Iâm afraid Iâm going to have trouble with that boy, it begins to look like it.
âThe baths at Nassau were very gay, so was Baden-Baden, where Fred lost some money, and I scolded him. He needs some one to look after him when Frank is not with him. Kate said once she hoped heâd marry soon, and I quite agree with her that it would be well for him. Frankfort was delightful; I saw Goetheâs house, Schillerâs statue, and Danneckerâs famous âAriadne.â It was very lovely, but I should have enjoyed it more if I had known the story better. I didnât like to ask, as every one knew it, or pretended they did. I wish Jo would tell me all about it; I ought to have read more, for I find I donât know anything, and it mortifies me.
âNow comes the serious part,âfor it happened here, and Fred is just gone. He has been so kind and jolly that we all got quite fond of him; I never thought of anything but a travelling friendship, till the serenade night. Since then Iâve begun to feel that the moonlight walks, balcony talks, and daily adventures were something more to him than fun. I havenât flirted, mother, truly, but remembered what you said to me, and have done my very best. I canât help it if people like me; I donât try to make them, and it worries me if I donât care for them, though Jo says I havenât got any heart. Now I know mother will shake her head, and the girls say, âOh, the mercenary little wretch!â but Iâve made up my mind, and, if Fred asks me, I shall accept him, though Iâm not madly in love. I like him, and we get on comfortably together. He is handsome, young, clever enough, and very rich,âever so much richer than the Laurences. I donât think his family would object, and I should be very happy, for they are all kind, well-bred, generous people, and they like me. Fred, as the eldest twin, will have the estate, I suppose, and such a splendid one as it is! A city house in a fashionable street, not so showy as our big houses, but twice as comfortable, and full of solid luxury, such as English people believe in. I like it, for itâs genuine. Iâve seen the plate, the family jewels, the old servants, and pictures of the country place, with its park, great house, lovely grounds, and fine horses. Oh, it would be all I should ask! and Iâd rather have it than any title such as girls snap up so readily, and find nothing behind. I may be mercenary, but I hate poverty, and donât mean to bear it a minute longer than I can help. One of us must marry well; Meg didnât, Jo wonât, Beth canât yet, so I shall, and make everything cosey all round. I wouldnât marry a man I hated or despised. You may be sure of that; and, though Fred is not my model hero, he does very well, and, in time, I should get fond enough of him if he was very fond of me, and let me do just as I liked. So Iâve been turning the matter over in my mind the last week, for it was impossible to help seeing that Fred liked me. He said nothing, but little things showed it; he never goes with Flo, always gets on my side of the carriage, table, or promenade, looks sentimental when we are alone, and frowns at any one else who ventures to speak to me. Yesterday, at dinner, when an Austrian officer stared at us, and then said something to his friend,âa rakish-looking baron,âabout âein wonderschĂśnes BlĂśndchen,â Fred looked as fierce as a lion, and cut his meat so savagely, it nearly flew off his plate. He isnât one of the cool, stiff Englishmen, but is rather peppery, for he has Scotch blood in him, as one might guess from his bonnie blue eyes.
âWell, last evening we went up to the castle about sunset,âat least all of us but Fred, who was to meet us there, after going to the Post Restante for letters. We had a charming time poking about the ruins, the vaults where the monster tun is, and the beautiful gardens made by the elector, long ago, for his English wife. I liked the great terrace best, for the view was divine; so, while the rest went to see the rooms inside, I sat there trying to sketch the gray stone lionâs head on the wall, with scarlet woodbine sprays hanging round it. I felt as if Iâd got into a romance, sitting there, watching the Neckar rolling through the valley, listening to the music of the Austrian band below, and waiting for my lover, like a real story-book girl. I had a feeling that something was going to happen, and I was ready for it. I didnât feel blushy or quakey, but quite cool, and only a little excited.
âBy and by I heard Fredâs voice, and then he came hurrying through the great arch to find me. He looked so troubled that I forgot all about myself, and asked what the matter was. He said heâd just got a letter begging him to come home, for Frank was very ill; so he was going at once, in the night train, and only had time to say good-by. I was very sorry for him, and disappointed for myself, but only for a minute, because he said, as he shook hands,âand said it in a way that I could not mistake,ââI shall soon come back; you wonât forget me, Amy?â
âI didnât promise, but I looked at him, and he seemed satisfied, and there was no time for anything but messages and good-byes, for he was off in an hour, and we all miss him very much. I know he wanted to speak, but I think, from something he once hinted, that he had promised his father not to do anything of the sort yet awhile, for he is a rash boy, and the old gentleman dreads a foreign daughter-in-law. We shall soon meet in Rome; and then, if I donât change my mind, Iâll say âYes, thank you,â when he says âWill you, please?â
âOf course this is all very private, but I wished you to know what was going on. Donât be anxious about me; remember I am your âprudent Amy,â and be sure I will do nothing rashly. Send me as much advice as you like; Iâll use it if I can. I wish I could see you for a good talk, Marmee. Love and trust me.
âEver your
Amy.â