You can't go off and have a real picnic anywhere. Pop says there 'ain't ever been more'n eight blades of grass in the whole place, and five of those was ate up six years ago by a donkey that was so hungry he didn't know any better, and he isn't sure but what one of the other three was killed by the intense cold of last winter. That, of course, spoils all chances for picnics. Even if all the grass was left, you couldn't have much of a picnic on eight blades, anyhow, and besides, they didn't all grow in the same place. It must be a queer old spot, that Hoboken, and I can't say I see how Pop ever made up his mind to go there. He says he can't help going there, but seems to me that must be a mistake, because a man as old as he is can generally manage to do about what he pleases.
If it wasn't that we were going the long way, I kind of think I'd ask Pop to leave me home, and ask your Pop if he wouldn't take care of me this summer. You know what I mean about the long way, I suppose? You Boston boys generally do know all about everything; but in case you don't, I'll tell you that there's two ways of getting there. One way takes about ten minutes, and the other way takes three months. We're going the three-months way. You get on a ferry-boat to go the short way, but it takes an ocean steamer about two blocks long and a fog-horn on it to take you the long way. We're to get aboard of the steamer New York, go across to a place called Southhampton, where we take the cars for London. You've heard about London, I guess. Pop says it's the Boston of Europe, and the people there speak the same language; and I guess he is right, because he knows a man that's been there, and saw the Queen. After that we're going over to Paris, where Napolean Bonaparte lived, and Pop says he'll show me lots of fine things there, and maybe, if he's got time, will teach me how to speak French; and when I come back I'll teach you how to speak it; and then if we ever have any secrets, we can talk 'em right out loud before the girls, and they'll never know what we're talking about.
The next station we stop at will be Geneva. That's in Switzerland, and it's where they make watches. And while we're in Switzerland Pop's going to show me every Alp he can find, and he says if I behave myself he'll get me some snow and let me make a snowball in midsummer. Just think of that! Snowballs in winter is fun, but in July! My! Eh? I'm going to try to get him to let me have a sled, and go coasting down one of the glaziers, and if he does I'll tell you all about it; and maybe we'll get some skates and skate up Mount Blank on 'em. Talk about your views! Mount Blank is more'n twice as high as Mount Washington, and snow and ice most all the way. Just think of the bully slide it'll be coming down!
Then we're going to go over the Alps in a train that runs through tunnels that jirates like a corkscrew. You go in at the foot of the hill, and sort of meander around inside the mountain until you come out on top, and when you get over finally you're in Italy. There we're going over a few lakes and end up at Milan, after which we're going to Venice. That'll be fine. Venice is built right out in the ocean, and if you're in a hurry to get across the street you've got to row over or swim. My bathing-suit'll come in handy there.
After Venice we're going to Genoa, where Christopher Columbus was born, and from there we go by another steamer through the Mediterranean sea, which Uncle Joe says is made of blewing, to Gibraltar; on from there to those Azores Islands, where the stamps you swapped for my paper pencil came from, and that's the last stop till we get to Hoboken.
I thought I'd write and let you know about this so you'd know why I didn't turn up at the White Mountains. I'll miss you like everything, but I'll miss you less if you'll write to me once a week and tell me all that's going on. I'll write to you, and maybe, after all, we'll get some fun out of it. If Sandboys is at the hotel this summer with any of his stories about bears and things, please let me know all he tells you, and whenever I see anything exciting I'll tell you.
Good-by for the present.