The woodman one night was aroused by a clatter,
Each one in the house crying, 'Ho! what's the matter?'
All jumped out of bed and ran hither and thither,
Scarce knowing amid their alarm why or whither;
But soon it was found 'mid the tumult and din
That burglars were making attempts to break in.
And now there arose o'er the turmoil and noise
The woodman's loud summons addressed to 'the boys.'
'The boys' quickly came, and on looking around,
At one of the windows a ladder was found,
And on it a burglar, who, plying his trade,
A burglarious opening already had made.
Now the woodman, though making this nocturnal sortie
All armed and equipped, at the rate of 'two-forty,'
Called a halt, and proposed, before firing a gun,
To question with care what had better be done.
Forthwith he assembled a council of war,
To gravely consider how fast and how far
In a case of this kind it was lawful to go.
Some said, 'Smash the ladder,' but others said, 'No,
There were many objections to that, and the chief
Was the constitutional rights of the thief;
That the ladder was property all men agreed,
And as such was protected, secured, guaranteed;
And if 'twas destroyed, our greatest of laws
Could not be upheld and maintained 'as it was.''
But others replied, 'That ladder's the chief
Supporter, as all men may see, of the thief;
Let's aim at the ladder, and if it should fall,
Let the burglar fall with it, or hang by the wall
As well as he can; and by the same token,
Whose fault will it be if his neck should be broken?'
To which it was answered, 'That ladder may be
The chattel of some honest man, d'ye see.'
'Well, then, we will pay for't.' 'No, never!' says V.,
'To be taxed for that ladder I'll never agree;
You have brought on this fuss,' said V., mad and still madder;
'You always intended to break the man's ladder;
You have been for a long time the people deceiving
With false and pretended objections to thieving;
You never desired to have robbing abolished;
You only have sought to have ladders demolished.'
'Pray, hold!' said another, 'perhaps while we're trifling
About this old ladder, the thief will be rifling
The house of its contents, or, venturing further,
May set it on fire—the children may murder.'
'Can't help it,' says V.; 'though he murder to-day,
Who knows but to-morrow the murderer may
Repent and reform; then who shall restore
The ladder all perfect and sound as before?
But whether or no, I can never consent
That the thief and the ladder should make a descent,
Which haply might hurt a burglarious brother,
Or totally wreck and demolish the other.'
The woodman bade 'Silence!' He cried out, 'Ho! list!'
Then called on the burglar his work to desist,
And made proclamation throughout all the town
That if in a specified time he came down
And gave a firm pledge of obeying the laws,
He might keep his old ladder all safe 'as it was;'
But if he pursued his felonious intent
Beyond the time given, he'd cause to be sent
'Mid the conflict of arms and the cannon's loud thunder,
A missile to knock his old ladder from under.
Then pausing to see the effect of his speech,
He saw nought but the thief still at work at the breach;
And, being opposed to thieves visiting attics,
Combined with those vile anti-ladder fanatics,
And sent a projectile which left the thief where
Thieves and traitors should all be, suspended in air,
Except that he lacked what was due to his calling,
A hempen attachment to keep him from falling.
Then burglars, and thieves, and traitors, and all
Their friends sympathetic forthwith 'gan to bawl,
'We're ruined! we're ruined! To what a condition
The country is brought by this man's abolition!'
And echo replied: 'Oh! dreadful condition!
Abolition—bolition—bolition—abolition!'
COST OF A TRIP TO EUROPE, AND HOW TO GO CHEAPLY.
The question is often asked of those who have been to Europe: 'What does it cost?' 'For how little can one travel abroad?' etc. For it is within the hopes of many to go at one time or another; and many would indulge the anticipation more freely, if they 'could see their way,' as the Yorkshire man wanted to do when he thought of getting married. I propose to throw some little light on this oft-repeated question.
The expense of a journey depends greatly on the manner in which it is made. People who go to Europe, frequently imagine that they must go in a certain degree of style; they must expend something by way of showing that they are somebody in their own country! To carry out this idea, they go, on first landing, to expensive hotels; they carry considerable luggage, travel in first-class carriages, and incur various other expenses, to show John Bull and the continentals that they belong to the superior class at home. These people pay largely for their whistle, or trumpet. They will tell you you cannot go to Europe for less than three or five thousand dollars apiece. They fancy they have made a good impression on the Europeans; whereas the Europeans never noticed their vain little attempts at showing off. Nobody cared what they paid or gave away; and the very courier who flattered, or the servants who fawned on them for their money, laughed at them behind their backs. There is another class, more quiet and moderate, who want to be economical, but do not know how to be. They will tell you a short trip can be taken for a thousand or fifteen hundred dollars. They go by the guide books, and those are based always on 'first-class prices and a liberal expenditure.' There are no guide books for those who would study economy; who would submit to some privations for the sake of seeing foreign lands and acquiring the desirable knowledge which can only be gained by personal observation. For such, a guide book is very much needed. They constitute a large class of persons. They have an ardent desire to visit the Old World and places of renown—they would go in crowds, but for fear of the expense, and the assurances of their friends that it will cost so much. When we assure them that a trip to England and Scotland, and a tour through France, Germany, Prussia, Holland, Switzerland, and part of Italy, covering four or five months, may be made, has been made, for four hundred dollars, including first-class steamship passages going and returning, they may be encouraged to think of starting as soon as gold is at par.
A gentleman who has established hotels in England and Scotland, and published a Guide through London, says no traveller need pay at a hotel more than eighteen pence (thirty-seven cents of our money) a day for his room. To this is usually added from eighteen to twenty-five cents for attendance; gas being two cents extra per night. In London, however, such moderate hotels are usually in the business part of the town. In the desirable portions for a sojourn, private board and lodging can be had from a guinea to a pound and a half a week; or two furnished rooms may be taken at four or five dollars or more per week. This includes the service of cooking and serving meals; the tenant furnishing the marketing, which costs from two dollars to two dollars and a half a week for each person. This is the cheapest way of living for a party. Such rooms may be found by looking in newspaper advertisements. Agents make them cost more. It will be easy, by making a few inquiries, to hear of a dozen such places; and as people do not move so often in London as here, the knowledge may be available for a year or two.
In Edinburgh, Glasgow, and other cities, the cheap hotels are found in the very best localities. They usually advertise in Bradshaw's 'Monthly Guide,' and in the newspapers. They have clean beds and nice rooms almost universally. If the traveller desires strictly to economize, he need not pay for meals in the hotel, where 'a plain breakfast' (tea and bread and butter) will cost twenty-five cents, and dinner fifty cents; he can, if he choose, go to one of the numerous restaurants in the vicinity, and dine comfortably for twelve cents: other meals in proportion. These places are numerous and good in the cities of Great Britain. On the Continent, the prices at restaurants are higher, for strangers at least; a marked distinction being made between them and the inhabitants of the country. 'I forestieri tutti pagano' (foreigners all pay), said a Venetian sexton; and that is the rule for universal practice throughout Europe. An order for roast beef at a restaurant will not cover, as it does here and in England, potatoes and bread; they are charged for extra; from three to five cents for a roll; six or eight for potatoes. Ice is too expensive a luxury everywhere across the seas to be thought of by the tourist limited in means. But if restaurants are dear, the markets are cheap in Europe; and the people of the country usually carry provisions with them. You may see ladies provided each with a small basket, from which are produced in the cars a bottle of vin ordinaire and water, rolls of bread, and slices of ham or tongue. These furnish the simple but wholesome repast. Cream cheeses, delicious in quality, are to be procured in France and Italy, with cooked mutton chops, parts of roast fowl, sausage of fresh chicken and tongue, pork and mutton pies, etc., all obtainable fresh at provision stores. A bunch of grapes that will cost a franc (twenty cents) at the railway-station refreshment room, may be had in the market for one or two cents; and other articles in proportion. The custom of the people, and the abundant provision of such things, will suggest to the economical traveller a method of saving largely in his daily expenses. Those who like tea—which they cannot get well made on the Continent—had better take a spirit lamp and apparatus for making it in their rooms. But little trouble is involved in thus providing for one's wants; the most is in making tea or coffee. Those in the habit of so living will save the expensive hotel meals. In hotels, where there is a table d'hóte, dinner costs from three and a half francs (seventy cents) to five (a dollar). The breakfast consists merely of bread and café au lait, unless extras are ordered, and those are liberally charged for. Nowhere are travellers expected to pay for meals at hotels unless they choose to take them. Se non mangiate, non pagate. ('If you eat nothing, you pay nothing.')
The prudent tourist will always bargain for the prices of rooms. In the first-class hotels on the Continent there are usually to be had upper rooms at thirty or forty cents a day. In second-class hotels in France and Italy a room may be obtained for twenty cents, the charge for service being ten cents extra. Candles are always charged for separately; in cheap rooms, ten cents; in higher priced, a franc each per night; the waiter being careful to remove the partially burned one. The best plan is to carry wax candles in one's basket. Soap is never provided, and is an expensive article when called for.
In Germany and Holland the price of a room per day is a florin or guilder—about forty-three cents. Living generally is higher than in Italy, but cooked provisions are abundant and excellent. Throughout Europe, you may be sure of clean beds and tables, no matter how uninviting the premises appear.