HOW TO TRAVEL.

HINTS, ADVICE, AND SUGGESTIONS

TO TRAVELERS

BY

LAND AND SEA

ALL OVER THE GLOBE.

BY

THOMAS W. KNOX,

Author of "Camp-Fire and Cotton-Field," "Overland
Through Asia," "Underground," "Backsheesh,"
"John," "The Boy Travelers in the
Far East," Etc.

NEW YORK:
CHARLES T. DILLINGHAM.

BOSTON:
LEE AND SHEPARD.

LONDON AND GENEVA
THE AMERICAN EXCHANGE IN EUROPE.

1881.

Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 1880, by
THOMAS W. KNOX,
In the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.

All rights of translation and foreign publication are reserved.

To all Travelers on Land and Sea,
this volume
is sympathetically inscribed.

PREFACE.

In preparing this volume for the press the author of "How to Travel" has endeavored to supply a want whose existence has long been apparent to him. Having journeyed somewhat over the earth he is frequently consulted by friends and acquaintances who are about to travel, and wish to know what to do before setting out on their undertakings, and how to meet the various perplexities that are sure to arise. In preparing this book he has answered a great many interrogatories that have been addressed to him in person, and if the manner of his response should be considered didactic, he begs the reader to remember that the author is endeavoring to meet the questions of the would-be traveler, and, therefore, addresses him in the second person. As nearly as possible he has embodied in "How to Travel" as much information as could be wrung from him by a vigorous and thorough interrogation of a couple of long winter evenings, conducted by an inquisitive couple who were about starting on a journey around the world and up and down its surface.

With the changes that are constantly going on, some of the information here given may be found slightly inaccurate, but it is hoped that instances of this sort will be rare. Prices of hotels, steamships, railroads, and the like are subject to alteration, and consequently no absolute rule can be laid down. But the author believes that in the instances where his figures may be found astray they are so near the mark that they will prove of material assistance to the traveler.

As the author is neither a lady nor a lawyer, he has found it desirable to invoke the aid of those important members of society in the preparation of the book. A reference to the table of contents will show the assistance they have given him, the one in a chapter of "Special Advice to Ladies" and the other in "Legal Rights of Travelers." All other parts of the book are of his own production and the results of his experience in travel, covering a period of more than 20 years and embracing many lands and seas.

With this explanatory preface, and trusting that the volume will be a sufficient apology for its existence, the author delivers it to the hands of the traveling public, and hopes for a verdict in its favor.

T. W. K.

New York, February, 1881.

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER I.
GENERAL ADVICE APPLICABLE TO ALL KINDS OF TRAVEL.

There is an old saying of unknown origin that a light heart and a thin pair of trowsers are the principal requisites for a journey. The proper texture of one's garments depends largely on his route of travel and the difficulties to be encountered; thin ones would be desirable in hot countries and for lounging on the deck of a ship in low latitudes, while they would be eminently out of place in the region of the north pole or in the rough traveling of the wilderness. But no one will deny that a light heart has much to do with the pleasure of travel, and the man who can be serene under all circumstances, who laughs at mishaps, and accepts every situation with a smile of content, or at least with a feeling of resignation, is the model voyager. For him the miles go by as on the wings of a bird, while to the grumbler and misanthrope they are weighted with lead. The former comes back from his wanderings refreshed and instructed while the latter is no better in mind and body than when setting out on his journey. For your own comfort and happiness, and your own mental and physical advantage, start on your journey with a determination to see the bright side of everything and to endure as cheerfully as possible the jolts and buffetings and petty disappointments that are sure to be your lot. And in the same proportion that a light heart makes you better for yourself it makes you better and more agreeable for those who may be traveling with you.

If you have been reared in the belief that your own country, or your own state, town, or hamlet, contains all that is good in the world, whether of moral excellence, mental development, or mechanical skill, you must prepare to eradicate that belief at an early date. That you and yours have the best and are the best we will not for a moment deny, but when you attempt to claim everything you claim too much. To an observant and thoughtful individual the invariable effect of travel is to teach respect for the opinions, the faith, or the ways of others, and to convince him that other civilizations than his own are worthy of consideration. At the same time he will find his love for his native land as strong as ever and his admiration for his own institutions as warm as on the day of his departure. An old traveler once said: "I have found good among every people, and even where there was much to condemn there was much to admire. I have never returned from a journey without an increased respect for the countries I have visited and a greater regard for my own land than ever before. The intelligent traveler will certainly be a true patriot."

So much for the mental conditions of travel. We will come now to the practical and tangible needs of locomotion.

Money is the first of these things. It is true that one can travel without money, and in a later chapter we will see how it may be accomplished; for the present we will look upon money as a requisite.

Never carry a large amount of cash about your person or in your baggage. A letter of credit, procurable at any banker's, is far better than ready money, as its loss causes nothing more than temporary inconvenience. It is best not to lose it at all; but, in case of its disappearance, payment may be stopped and the finder or thief can derive no benefit from its possession. The usual form of a letter of credit is about as follows:

"New York, 18 .

"To our correspondents:

"We have the pleasure of introducing to you * * * * * the bearer of this letter, whose signature you will find in the margin. We beg you to honor his drafts to the amount of * * * * * pounds sterling upon our London house. All deductions and commissions to be at the expense of the bearer.

"We have the honor to remain, gentlemen,

"Very truly yours,

"* * * * *"

Some banking-houses have their letters printed in French instead of English, but the substance is the same. The amount is usually expressed in pounds sterling, and drafts are made payable in London; but if the traveler is going directly to the continent of Europe, some of the bankers will give him, if he desires it, a letter on Paris and state the amount in francs. Sterling credits are generally the best to carry, no matter what country you may be visiting, as London is the money centre of the world, and there is never any difficulty in ascertaining the rate of exchange upon that great city. The traveling letter of credit is printed on the front of a four-page sheet, letter size; the second page is left blank for the endorsement of the amounts drawn, and the third and fourth pages contain a list of bankers in all the principal cities that the voyager is likely to visit. Any respectable banker, even if not named on the printed list, will generally cash a letter of credit; but it is advisable to adhere as much as possible to the correspondents of the establishment that issued the document.

The traveler should only draw at one time sufficient money to last him for a few days, or till he reaches a convenient place for making another draft. A week's supply of cash is usually sufficient for a single draft; but, of course, no absolute rule can be laid down.

Another form of traveling credit is in the shape of circular notes, which are issued by some bankers, though not by all. They are for various amounts—five, ten, twenty, fifty, or a hundred pounds—and are accompanied by a letter of identification which bears the signature of the holder. The notes are useless without the letter, and the letter without the notes, and the traveler is advised to carry them apart from each other. The advantage of this kind of credit is that you can have the notes cashed at a hotel or at any large shop where you may be making purchases, and you may have remittances follow you from time to time in circular notes, the same letter of identification answering for all. The disadvantage is that they are bulky, and consequently inconvenient to carry, and the possession of two parcels in place of one, in different parts of your baggage, doubles the chances of loss. For a long journey where a considerable amount is to be carried, or where remittances are to follow, I would recommend that part of the funds should be in a letter of credit, and part in circular notes with an identification.

For domestic traveling, bankers' drafts and credits can always be procured; but American bankers are much more stringent about identifications than are those of Europe, and the traveler must be sure that he can be properly identified wherever he is going, or he may experience difficulty in obtaining his cash. An obliging banker has been known to pay a draft to an individual who had no other identification than his name written on his under-clothing or his initials tattooed on his arm. But such instances are rare, and the money-changer is very likely to be obdurate, though polite. It is said that a Boston banker once cashed a check payable to the order of Peter Bean, under the following circumstances:—The bearer said he knew nobody in the city, but he proved his identity by ripping open the lining of his coat-collar and revealing a pea and a bean, securely stowed away. "That's my name," said he, "P. Bean; and that's the way I mark my coats." But all names cannot be written with the products of the garden, and Mr. Bean is not likely to have many imitators.

Your letters can be sent to the care of any banker on whom your credits are drawn, and they will be forwarded by him as you may direct. This is the usual custom with European travelers, and there is rarely any cause for complaint.

When traveling, always be careful to have plenty of small change in your pockets, and be prepared to pay all obligations, especially the smallest, in their exact amount. The vast horde of cabmen, porters, guides, waiters, and all classes of people who render you services, or pretend to have done so, are proverbially without change, and if you cannot tender the exact sum due them you are pretty certain to overpay them. Even where they admit that they are possessed of small coin, they generally manage so as to mulct you in something by having their change give out before the proper return is reached. The New York hackman to whom you hand a five-dollar bill for him to deduct his fare of two dollars will usually discover that he has only two dollars, or perhaps two and a half, in his possession; and the London cabman will play the same trick when you ask him to take half a crown from a five-shilling piece. All over the world you will find it the same. There may be an occasional exception, but it only proves the rule. And when you enter the great field of gratuities, you will find that the absence of small change will cost you heavily. Many a man has given a shilling where a sixpence was quite sufficient, and all that was expected; but he did not have the sixpence in his pocket, and the shilling had to go.

Have as little baggage as the circumstances will justify. Don't carry anything on the principle of Mrs. Toodles, that it may come handy some time, but take only what you know to be absolutely necessary. No rule can be laid down, and each person must judge for himself. For a man, a suit of clothes in addition to the one he wears is sufficient for outward adornment, unless he is "in society," and expects to dine, attend parties, or make fashionable visits. In the latter case a dress-suit is indispensable, and in European travel it is generally well to have a dress-suit along, since there are many public ceremonies where the wearer of ordinary clothing is not admitted. For ladies, a traveling-dress, a walking-dress, and a black silk dress may be considered the minimum. The black silk garment corresponds to the masculine dress-suit, but it comes in use on many occasions where the latter is not demanded. The quantity of under-clothing will depend largely on personal habits. It should never be less than to cause no inconvenience in a week's absence of the laundress, and if a long voyage is to be made by steamship the supply should be proportionally increased. It is a good rule never to omit an opportunity of giving your soiled garments to be washed, even if only a day or two has elapsed since your last employment of the laundress. In all civilized parts of the world where there is an appreciable volume of travel, washing is done in from twenty-four to forty-eight hours, but away from the routes you must count on a week, or four or five days at least.

A single trunk of moderate size will contain all that is needed for the actual traveling wants of a reasonable being, of either sex, except on a long journey. To this add a hand-satchel to hold your toilet articles, and any little odds and ends of reading matter, or other personal comforts. Some travelers are content with such toilet materials as they find in hotels, and do not object to a public comb or hair-brush; but the majority of individuals are more fastidious. In most hotels in America, soap is supplied in private rooms; but in Europe the traveler must provide his own.

Endeavor as much as possible to avoid being in a hurry. Go to your train, boat, ship, diligence, or other conveyance, in ample season, so that all needed arrangements can be made without pressure for want of time. You will save money and temper by adopting this rule.

Respect the rights of other travelers, and by so doing you will lead them to respect yours. Keep your disposition as unruffled as possible at all times, and even when angry inside don't let the anger come to the surface. If you find yourself imposed upon by any official or employé of railway or steamer, state your views quietly but firmly, and, if he declines to redress the wrong, ask him to be kind enough to call his superior. If the latter is inaccessible, ask, in the same polite tone, for his address, and the chances are ten to one that your cause of complaint will be removed without more discussion.

Expenses may be roughly set down at five dollars a day, not including railway or other fares, and not including luxuries of any kind. Ordinary hotel expenses will be not far from three dollars a day, leaving two dollars for incidentals. Most persons would be likely to exceed rather than fall below this figure, and in the United States they will find that money melts away more rapidly than in Europe. England is at least twenty-five per cent. dearer than the continental countries, and only a trifle cheaper than America. The traveler who is not economical on the one hand and not wasteful on the other can get along very well on six dollars a day in England or America, and five dollars on the continent, with the exception of Spain and Russia, which are dearer than Germany, France, Italy, or Switzerland. The usual allowance to commercial travelers for their expenses, exclusive of railway fares, is one pound sterling daily in England, and twenty francs on the continent; and it is probable that the most of them manage to keep within their allowances.

A party of two or more will travel somewhat cheaper than the same number of individuals alone, for the reason that many items are no more for two than for one. Including all the expenses of travel—railways, steamships, hotels, carriages, fees, and the like—an extended journey may be made for ten dollars a day in England and Europe, and twelve dollars for the United States. This allows for first-class places on all conveyances, and good rooms at good hotels—requires no rigid economy, and permits no extravagance. For a journey around the world, to occupy ten or twelve months, and visiting Japan, China, Siam, Java, India, Egypt, Italy, France, and England, together with the run across the American continent, the cost will be about four or five thousand dollars. But, as before stated, there can be no fixed rule, and the amount of expenditure depends largely upon the tastes and habits of the traveler and the amount of money at his disposal. More will be said on this topic in subsequent pages.

Whenever you go out of your own country carry a passport. It may not be needed, as passports are now demanded in very few countries, but it is a good thing to have along, since it serves as an identification in case of trouble with the authorities, and is useful in civil actions or where the assistance of your consul may be required. In many countries the post-office employés refuse to deliver registered letters to a stranger except on presentation of his passport, and the document will occasionally be found useful at the banker's. An old frontiersman once said of the revolver which he habitually carried, "You don't need it often; perhaps may never need it at all, but when you do want it you want it awful bad, I tell you." The same may be said of the passport.

Passports may be procured through a lawyer or notary public, and a single passport is sufficient for a family. They may also be obtained at any United States legation abroad on presentation of proofs of citizenship. The government fee for a passport is five dollars.

At the custom-house, whatever its nationality, be as civil as possible and anticipate the desires of the officials. They have a duty to perform, and if you facilitate their labors the chances are they will appreciate the politeness and let you off as easily as they can consistently. Unlock your trunk or valise, or offer to do so, before they ask you, and open the various compartments immediately. Declare anything that may be liable to duty and call attention to it, and conduct yourself generally as though it was one of the delights of your life to pass a custom-house examination. If you are inclined to defraud the revenue, do it gracefully and conceal your contraband articles so that it will not be easy to find them yourself after you are out of reach of the officials. Honesty is, however, the best policy in this business, and the smuggler is just as much a violator of the law as a burglar.

The ways of the custom-house may sometimes be smoothed by a numismatic application to the hand of the inspector, but it is not altogether a safe operation. In Turkey, Egypt, Syria, and other Moslem countries bribery is considered a legitimate and honorable transaction, and the customs officer looks at the outside of your trunk and extends his open hand for your money with as little attempt at concealment as does the cabman when he asks for your fare. At the Italian Dogana fees are taken on the sly, but you may sometimes make a mistake and hit the wrong man, and the same is the case in Spain and Russia. In the other continental countries generally, and in England and the United States, fee-taking at the custom-house is a pretty rare exception, and the traveler will do far better to avoid crooked ways than to attempt them. Instances have been known of American inspectors who went straight to the point and suggested that a five-dollar bill would make things easy, and when it was not forthcoming they gave all the trouble in their power. Happily such occurrences are rare, and if customs officials are occasionally dishonest it should be remembered that they are no worse than those who encourage them to be so. A bribe, like a bargain, requires two persons for its consummation, and of this twain the officer is but one.

Before starting on any journey buy a copy of "How to Travel," and if you find the book useful be kind enough to recommend it to your friends and acquaintances. Find the best guide-books for the region you are to visit and study them carefully; if you make a mistake and get hold of a poor one, remember that even a poor guide-book is better than none at all, and you will generally obtain the worth of your money from it.

For the United States Osgood's and Appleton's guides are to be recommended, though there are others that contain a great deal of information. The name of guide-books for the trans-continental journey is legion; all have their merits and their faults, and as they are to be found at all the news-stands on the great railway lines the tourist can choose for himself.

For Europe the principal guide-books are those of Murray and Baedeker. Baedeker's books are the most convenient, and contain more practical information than their English rival; and there are probably ten copies of Baedeker sold to one of Murray. Where a traveler wishes to learn about the hotels, railways, cabs, roads, and other things of every-day life, Baedeker is his friend, but where he desires a long historical sketch, or perhaps a dissertation on art, he will choose Murray. It is well to have both these guides, as the one supplies oftentimes what the other lacks. Harper's and Appleton's guide books to Europe and the East, each in three volumes, are popular with many Americans, on account of their compactness.

Syria, Palestine, and Egypt are also covered by both Baedeker and Murray, and the latter has a guide to India, but it has not been revised for a long time. There are no complete guide-books to China, Japan, and the Far East generally, and the tourist must rely on general works of history and travel. In this connection the writer respectfully calls attention to his volumes, named on the title-page of this work.

CHAPTER II.
RAILWAY TRAVEL IN THE UNITED STATES AND CANADAS.

Travel in the United States and Canada virtually comprises but two kinds of conveyance, the railway and the steamboat. Once the stage-coach was an American feature, and it still remains in some parts of the country, but the rapid advance of the railway has almost swept it out of existence, and where it still lingers it is but the shadow of its former self. Long ago we had the canal-boat, a slow but remarkably safe mode of locomotion; it could not leave the track or be overturned, nor could it explode; The water beneath it was so shallow that it could not sink, and in case it took fire you had only to step ashore and be out of danger. But the canal-boat is a thing of the past, with here and there an exception still more rare than that of the stage-coach. We are a progressive people, and when the quicker mode of travel was developed the old was forgotten and sent into obscurity.

Until within the last fifteen or twenty years we had but a single class of passenger cars in America, as the emigrant trains on a few of the trunk lines were hardly to be considered by travelers, but the invention of the palace and sleeping-coaches (generally coupled with the name of Pullman, their inventor), has given us two classes which are virtually as distinct as are the first and second of a continental railway. Hardly a train runs on any road of consequence without a Pullman car attached, and a seat may be had in this vehicle on payment of an extra fee. There is the parlor car for day use only, but the "sleeper" is intended for both day and night. By the magic wand of a colored porter the seats are converted into comfortable beds, and the traveler may be whirled along at the rate of thirty miles an hour, and all the while he sleeps as calmly as at home. Toilet-rooms are at the ends of every carriage, one for gentlemen and the other for ladies, where you may perform your ablutions and put your hair in shape, so as to present as creditable an appearance as when starting on your journey. That "necessity is the mother of invention" is well exemplified in the history of the Pullman car. The great distances to be traveled in America called for something which should soften the asperities of sitting in an ordinary seat by night as well as by day. Step by step the work went on, till finally we have the perfection of railway travel.

The expense of a place in a parlor or sleeping-car on American railways varies from two to three dollars for twenty-four hours, with the addition of a fee to the porter of 25 cents a day. For this he looks after your personal needs, polishes your boots, and opens or closes your bed when you desire it. There has been considerable mystery relative to the sleeping hours of a porter in a palace car on long routes, as he appears to be on duty all the time from one day's beginning to another. It is suspected that he belongs to a race apart from the rest of humanity, and is so constituted that he never sleeps. The tickets for the palace car are not usually sold at the same place as the regular passenger tickets, but at a separate window or in an office by itself. It is well to secure your place in advance, as the cars are often crowded and you may arrive at a station to start on a long journey and find that every bed has been sold. Places may be secured hours and days ahead, and the earlier you take them the better choice do you have. The tickets for the car are collected by a conductor, and if any places are unsecured he can sell them to those who apply for them.

Never buy your tickets, either for passage or for a place in a palace car, of strangers in the street or of chance "runners." Such tickets may be good, but the probabilities are not in their favor, while there can be no doubt about the tickets at the regular offices. Where there are rival routes it is often difficult to get the exact facts concerning them, as the runners are apt to be inexact about the merits of their own lines or the demerits of others. They have been known to state that the track of a rival railway had been torn up and sold for old iron in order that a dividend might be declared to the stockholders, and the steamboat agent who told a timid old lady that his company had removed all the boilers from their boats, so as to destroy the possibility of an explosion, is not without imitators.

Beware of playing cards with strangers who wish to start a friendly game of euchre which is subsequently changed to draw-poker or some other seductive and costly amusement. This advice is superfluous in case you are in the gambling line yourself, and confident that you can "get away" with any adversary you may be pitted against. Be cautious, however, about "waking up the wrong passenger," as not unfrequently happens to skilled performers with cards.

On most of the railways each passenger has an allowance of 100 pounds of baggage, but it is never weighed unless the amount is greatly in excess. West of the Missouri river they are more particular, and all trunks must pass the scales. On the Pacific railways all extra baggage above the allowance is charged for at a certain rate per pound, but on the eastern roads the extra charge is generally for the trunk or box without much regard to its weight. On most of the eastern roads a passenger can take a single trunk without extra payment, even though it may rival a square piano in size. Sometimes a question about extra trunks may be settled by a fee to the man in charge of the baggage-room of the station or the baggage-car of the train. The passenger's ticket must be shown at the baggage-room, where a metal check will be given to the place of destination. The check secured, the traveler may proceed to the palace or other car of the train and give his trunk no farther consideration till he nears the place to which it is checked.

Baggage expresses exist in most of the large cities. They undertake to deliver your impedimenta on payment of a fee of from 25 to 50 cents for each parcel, at any hotel or private residence in the place, on the surrender of your check. If you are in a hurry and must have your trunk within a few hours after your arrival, it will be unsafe to trust to the baggage express; the agent who passes through the train to collect the checks will assure you that your baggage will be delivered within an hour of arrival, but if you ask a written guarantee to that effect he will be pretty sure to refuse it, and admit that he does not know when the delivery will take place. The writer speaks knowingly and feelingly of his experience with baggage expresses in New York; in only one instance in a period covering more than twenty years has a baggage express delivered his trunk or valise in the time promised by the agent, and he has been compelled to wait all the way from two to ten hours beyond the time stipulated. On one occasion a trunk that was promised for 7 A.M. was delivered at 8.30 P.M., and on another a valise promised for 2 P.M. did not reach its destination till 11 P.M. and the driver of the wagon demanded extra payment for night delivery.

Carriages from railway stations are always to be had, and in some of the cities, notably in Boston, the rates are reasonable and honestly stated, and the service is good and prompt. In New York very little can be said in praise of the carriage system, as the drivers are inclined to make as much as possible out of the stranger within the gates, and are more likely to overcharge him than to state the proper and legal fare. Most of the large hotels have their own coaches at the stations on arrival of the principal trains, not only in New York but in other cities, and by taking one of these coaches the traveler will greatly lessen the probabilities of being defrauded. If he intends to take a carriage from the station, and has only ordinary baggage, he will not give his checks to the express agent, but will hand them over to the driver whom he engages.

In the western cities there is an omnibus system of a very satisfactory character. As you approach a city, an agent of the omnibus company (generally called a Transfer Company) passes through the train, and interrogates each passenger. You state your destination—whether hotel, private house, or another railway station—surrender your baggage check, and with it your transfer ticket, if you have one; or if not, you pay a fee of from twenty-five to fifty cents. The agent tells you the number or letter of the omnibus you are to enter, and when you arrive at the station you find the vehicles drawn up in a row against the platform. Selecting the one that is to carry you, you enter it, and in a little while it moves off, followed by the wagon that holds your trunk. You are taken with reasonable directness to your destination, the omnibus sometimes making slight detours to drop passengers along its route. The same vehicles take passengers to the stations, and, by leaving notice at the company's office, you can be called for in any part of the city, at any hour you name.

Most of the American cities are well provided with street railways, or tramways, and with cheap omnibuses that ply along the principal streets. To make use of these to advantage, a knowledge of the city is necessary; but strangers will have little difficulty in securing the proper directions by applying to a policeman. Professional guides are unknown in American cities, but the services of a bootblack or other small and somewhat ragged boy can generally be secured to put the traveler on the right track.

On all the lines of railway there are eating-stations, where passengers may save themselves from starvation, and generally do a good deal more. The time allowed varies greatly, but the usual limit is twenty minutes; on some lines it is half an hour, while on others a quarter of an hour is deemed sufficient. The price of a "square meal" varies from fifty cents to a dollar, and there are a few places where it is a dollar and a quarter. The square meal is not, as might be supposed, a dinner, supper, or breakfast in the form of a cube; it includes the right of eating as much as one pleases from any or all the dishes on the bill of fare, and if the traveler chooses to repeat, again and again, any favorite article of food, the proprietor offers no objection. The service is generally good, and the supply of food palatable and bountiful. The majority of travelers, are apt to eat with considerable velocity at these stopping-places, and there are few spots in the world where one can witness greater dexterity with knife and fork than where a railway train halts "fifteen minutes for refreshments." The performances of the East Indian juggler are thrown in the shade, and the famous swordsman of Runjeet Singh, who could wield his weapon with such rapidity that it was altogether invisible while removing the head of an antagonist, might learn something if he would make a visit to the eating-house of an American railway.

Those who do not wish a full meal will generally find a counter at the eating-stations where coffee, tea, sandwiches, and cold meats may be bought cheaply, and on some roads there are stations where the trains stop for five or ten minutes only, to enable passengers to take a slight lunch, of a solid or liquid character. On many of the roads the sale of intoxicating liquors is forbidden; but these are not held to include beer, cider, and light wines.

It is a good rule for a traveler never to miss the opportunity of taking a meal. Sometimes the hours are a trifle inconvenient, and he may not feel hungry when an eating-station is reached; but if he allows it to pass he will find himself faint with hunger before he comes to the next. On long journeys it is well to carry a lunch-basket of such things as may strike the owner's fancy and palate, but care should be taken to avoid articles that give out disagreeable odors. Limburger cheese is not to be recommended—nor, in fact, cheese of any sort; cold tongue is another objectionable article, as it will not keep many hours, and has a way of smelling badly, or even worse. Crackers, English biscuit, and fruit, with a bottle of claret or some similar drink, are the best things for a railway lunch-basket, and sometimes they tend greatly to preserve the temper unruffled, by filling an aching void when the train is delayed and the square meal unattainable.

On several of the great lines running westward, dining and hotel cars have been established. The latter are both eating and sleeping-coaches in one, but they are not generally in favor, as it is found in actual practice that the smell of cookery is disagreeable to the slumberer, while that of the sleeping-room is not acceptable to the nostrils when one sits down to breakfast or dinner. The dining-car is kitchen and dining-room, and nothing more. It is attached to the train at a convenient time for a meal, and runs with it for a couple of hours or so, when it is turned to a side track and waits to serve the next banquet for a train going the other way. The dining-car is a most admirable institution, as it enables the traveler to take his meals leisurely while proceeding on his way. It is generally well-managed and liberally supplied, and one may be fed as bountifully, and on as well-cooked food, as in the majority of hotels. On some of these cars meals are served a la carte; but the most of them have the fixed-price system, at the same rates as the stations along the lines where they run.

In the parlor cars, your seat is designated on a ticket specially marked and numbered, and no one has any right to occupy it during your absence. On the ordinary cars, the seats are common property, and cannot be retained; though it is almost universally recognized that the deposit of an overcoat, shawl, bag, or some other article of the travelers equipment in a seat is prima facie evidence that it has been taken. Impudent persons will sometimes remove the property of one who is temporarily absent, and appropriate the seat to themselves; but they generally vacate it on being reasoned with. If they are obstinate, the conductor may be called, and sometimes the muscular persuasion of a strong brakeman or two is necessary to convince the intruder of his mistake.

CHAPTER III.
AMERICAN STEAMBOAT TRAVEL.

The railway system of the United States had its beginning about fifty years ago, and is consequently a third of a century behind the adoption of the steamboat. According to the best authorities, the first American steamboat that carried passengers and made regular trips was built by John Fitch, at Philadelphia, and was the successor of two experimental boats by the same inventor. She ran on the Delaware river during the summer of 1790, and made altogether more than two thousand miles, at a maximum speed of seven and a half miles an hour. Fulton built the Clermont in 1806, and her regular trips began in 1807, seventeen years later than the achievement of Fitch. From this beginning, river-navigation by steam was spread through the United States till it reached every stream where boats could ply, and some where they were of no use. Of late years the steamboat interest has declined in some parts of the country, owing to the extension of the railway system; but it is still of great magnitude, and will doubtless so continue for many years to come.

American steamboats are undisputedly the finest in the world, and every foreigner who visits the United States looks with wonder at our floating palaces. Whether on eastern or western waters, the result is the same. The most ordinary boat surpasses the finest that English or European rivers or lakes can show.

The largest and most elaborate of the eastern boats are on the Hudson river and Long Island sound; the finest of the western boats are on the Mississippi. Some of those that connect New York and Albany and New York and Boston are capable of carrying six hundred first cabin passengers with comfort, and they have been known to transport as many as a thousand. On the night-boats there is a general sleeping-room below deck, and a bed in this locality is included in the ticket. Separate rooms on the upper deck must be paid for extra; but they are worth their cost in the privacy, better ventilation, and superior accommodations that they afford, besides being easier to escape from in case of accidents. The saloons are large, and elaborately furnished; and, if the boat is crowded to repletion, the sofas are used as sleeping-places by those who were not lucky enough to obtain rooms or beds below. Sometimes extra beds are put up in the saloon and lower cabin, so that the place looks not unlike a hospital, or the dormitory of a charity school.

A crowded steamboat at night is the paradise of the pickpocket, who frequently manages to reap a rich harvest from the unprotected slumberers. Even the private rooms are not safe from thieves, as their occupants are frequently robbed. On one occasion, some thirty or more rooms on a sound steamer were entered in a single night. The scoundrels had obtained access to the rooms in the day-time, and arranged the locks on the doors so that they could not be properly fastened. The night traveler on the steamboats plying in eastern waters should be very particular to fasten his door securely, and if he finds the lock has been tampered with he should report the circumstance to an officer or to one of the stewards. The windows should be looked after as well as the doors, and the rules that apply on railways to social games of cards with polite strangers should be remembered on steamboats.

Where steamboats are in competition with railways their fares are generally much cheaper, owing to the longer time consumed on the route. Where time is not an object the steamboat is the preferable conveyance, as the traveler is not inconvenienced by dust, the ventilation is better, means of circulation are far superior, and on river routes there is a better opportunity to study the scenery. Tickets may be bought and rooms secured at the offices at the terminal points in advance, and they may also be had on board the boats at the time of departure. It is needless to add that the earlier they are taken the better is the choice of rooms.

Meals are not included in the price of the ticket. They are served on nearly all boats, sometimes at a fixed price, as at the railway stations, and sometimes a la carte. The latter system appears to be gaining in popularity, as it is now adopted on many lines that formerly adhered to the old method.

On the great lakes there are propellors on the general model of the ocean steamer, and in summer they ply to all the principal ports. Interesting excursions may be made on these steamers, provided the traveler is not disturbed by a little roughness of the water now and then; of late years the voyage around the lakes has become highly popular, and is very pleasurable in Summer. Paddle steamers also abound on the lakes, but they do not equal those of the Hudson and Long Island sound, either in size or in the splendor of their accommodations.

On the Western rivers the model of the boat differs materially from the Eastern one. The main saloon is quite above the engine-room, which is on the lower deck, where the freight is piled and the steerage passengers are congregated. The Eastern and lake boats are propelled by low-pressure engines, while the craft of the Mississippi and its tributaries are generally high-pressure, and sometimes work a hundred and thirty pounds to the square inch. Explosions are less frequent now than formerly, but there are still enough of them to make traveling a trifle hazardous. Not infrequently fifty or a hundred lives will be lost by a steamboat explosion, and on one occasion the number of deaths by the blowing up of a steamboat and her consequent destruction by fire exceeded fifteen hundred.

Steamboat racing was once one of the amusements of the Mississippi and is not altogether unknown at present, though it has greatly declined. In the annals of the West there are many famous races recorded, where large sums of money were risked on the result, and where the passengers were as much excited over the event as the owners of the boats. In 1853 there was a race from New Orleans to Louisville, between the steamers Eclipse and Shotwell, on which seventy thousand dollars were staked by the owners of the rival craft, and probably the private bets were fully equal to that amount. The two boats were literally "stripped for the race;" they were loaded to the depth that would give them the greatest speed, and their arrangements for taking fuel were as complete as possible. Barges were filled with wood at stated points on the river and dropped out to mid-stream as the boats approached; they were taken alongside and their cargoes of wood transferred without any stoppage of the steamer's engines. At the end of the first twenty-four hours the Eclipse and Shotwell were side by side, 360 miles from New Orleans. They continued in almost this way to Louisville, and, though the race was supposed to have been won by the Eclipse, there was so much dispute about it that the wager was never paid.

Passenger travel on the Western rivers has been greatly reduced in the last twenty years, owing to the creation of lines of railway parallel to the rivers, and the majority of the boats now running are far behind those of the palmy days between 1850 and 1860. Fares are lower than on the railways, and they include rooms and meals as of old, but the table is less bountifully supplied than formerly, and the number of servants is not so large. There is less competition, and the schedule of fares is generally adhered to. In the old days there was comparatively little regularity, and the clerk or captain of each boat could do pretty much as he liked about terms to passengers. On the Red river the clerks were accustomed to graduate the fare according to the locality where the passenger came on board. The more fertile and wealthy the region, the higher was the price of passage. Travelers from the cotton districts paid more than those from where tobacco was the staple product, and those from the sugar country paid more than any other class. With few exceptions there was no ticket system, every man paying his fare when it best suited him to do so. At present on a changé tout cela.

The departure of a steamboat from one of the great landings is a matter of some uncertainty. If she is advertised to leave at a certain time, those familiar with the business will understand that she will not leave before that hour, and her departure after it will be guided by circumstances. She will go when her freight and passenger-list are sufficiently full to make the trip a profitable one, unless she belongs to a line performing a regular service, in which case she is held to her schedule. The writer once took passage on a Mississippi steamer that remained at the wharf twenty-nine hours after her advertised time, and all the while she had steam up and her whistle was blown every half hour or so to indicate that she was "just going." And a friend of his once took passage on a steamboat from St. Louis to Cincinnati before the days of the railway. He lived on board for nearly a week with the boat tied up to the landing. At the end of that time the trip was abandoned, as the boat could not obtain a cargo for Cincinnati, and the passage-money was refunded in full.

When you go on board a Western steamboat proceed at once to the office and pay your fare. The clerk will hand you the key to your room or assign you to a berth in one that already contains a passenger, and then you can make yourself at home. You will find the manners of the Western waters more free than those of the East, and it is quite possible that your room-mate, if you have one, will commence the cultivation of your acquaintance with an invitation to drink; the custom of shooting a man who declines this politeness does not prevail at present, and the records of its having ever occurred are shrouded in obscurity. Western and Southwestern passengers are often rude and uncouth, but the rudeness is almost always unintentional, and the coarse exterior is very apt to cover a warm heart. The stranger will find much to amuse and interest him, and there are few places where human nature can be studied to better advantage than in the saloon of a Western steamboat.

The gambler once flourished on the Mississippi. He is less abundant than of yore, but the supply is still quite equal to the demand. He is generally not so polished as his confrere of the eastern boats and railway trains, but his ways are no less winning, so far as the taking of money is concerned, and he goes much further in the science of cheating. The unsophisticated stranger who takes a fourth hand with a trio of the light-fingered fraternity, "just to make up a game," might as well hand over his pocket-book at the start, unless he prefers going through the form of losing his cash.

Never be in a hurry on a western boat, as the time of arrival at your destination is a matter of more or less uncertainty. Delays at the landings, to take or discharge freight, are sometimes vexatious, and the journey may require double the time that was expected at the start. In the season of low water the boat is liable to get aground, and may lie there for hours, days, or even for weeks, before she is again afloat.

The dangers of the western waters are greater than those of the east. The boats are more liable to take fire, owing to their form of construction, and, as their engines are on the high-pressure principle, the chance of explosion of the boilers is much greater. The navigation of the rivers is hazardous, as the sand-banks are constantly shifting, and the course to be followed by the pilots is rarely the same for three months at a time. Snags and sawyers present dangers quite unknown to eastern waters, and in the Missouri river especially they are very numerous. A snag is a log or tree-trunk imbedded in the bottom of a river, with one end at or near the surface. The current causes it to incline down stream, and it is more dangerous to an ascending boat than to a descending one. The flat bottom of the boat is pierced by it, and sometimes the craft is impaled as one might impale a fly with a pin. On one occasion, on the Missouri river, some twenty years ago, a snag pierced the hull of a steamer, passed through the deck and cabin, and actually killed the pilot in the wheel-house. The sawyer is a tree that is loosely held by the roots at the bottom of the river, while its branches are on the surface; the current causes it to assume a sort of sawing motion, and hence its name. It is nearly if not quite as dangerous as the snag, and some of the pilots hold it in greater dread, for the reason that sawyers frequently change their position, while the snags, being more firmly imbedded, are less likely to drift away.

The current of the lower Mississippi is very strong, and it is a common remark that when a man falls into that stream his chances of escape are small. Many good swimmers have been drowned in it, and the great majority of those who dwell on its banks have a wholesome dread of attempting to bathe in its waters.

When we go westward beyond the valley of the Mississippi we find very few inland lakes and streams that are navigable. Great Salt Lake maintains a steamer or two for excursion purposes, and the waters of California had at one time a fair-sized fleet of boats that navigated San Francisco bay and the streams flowing into it. Their importance has diminished since the construction of the railway, and at present the steamboats of the Golden State are of no great consequence. Those that exist are managed more on the eastern than on the Mississippi system, but the rates are generally higher than on the Atlantic coast.

The Columbia river and its navigable tributaries have some thirty odd boats, most of them of small size, and intended to run where there is little water. The models in use are a modification of those of the Hudson and Long Island sound, and the rooms on the boats intended for night travel are generally large and comfortable. In going up the river from Portland, Oregon, the regular boats leave at five o'clock in the morning, and travelers making that journey will find it to their advantage to sleep on board instead of spending the night at the hotel and rising at an unseasonable hour in the morning.

On all the river steamers of America it is advisable to get a forward room rather than one near the stern. There is less jarring of the machinery, less heat from the engines, and, when the water is rough, there is less "pitching." On the other hand, there is more danger from collisions, and, on the Mississippi boats, a greater chance of being blown up. You pay your money, and you take your choice. But don't trouble yourself about accidents; don't put on your life-preserver before you go to sleep, as timid persons have been known to do; and if anything should happen try to face the danger coolly, and do the best you can. If you have occasion to don a life-preserver, be sure to fasten it well up under the arms, and not around the waist. In the proper position it will support the head above water, while, if fastened around the waist, it is apt to sustain the lower part of the body and submerge the head. If compelled to take to the water, divest yourself of the greater part of your clothing, and have your feet bare, or, at best, only stockinged. Ladies should reject their corsets under such circumstances, as they are serious hindrances to breathing in the water, and it is hardly necessary to say that long skirts are great impediments to swimming, or even to floating. Some persons have recommended their retention, on account of their buoyancy; but this only lasts for a few moments. As soon as they become soaked with water they become heavy, and have a tendency to drag the wearer down, rather than to support her.

CHAPTER IV.
SEA AND OCEAN TRAVEL.

The landsman who has never been on a sea-voyage looks with more or less hesitation at the prospect of making one. His thoughts are occupied with what he has heard or read of the perils of the great deep, and he regards with a feeling akin to veneration the bronzed sailor who has plowed every ocean on the globe, and tasted the delights of every climate. He questions his friends who have been to sea before him, and from their varied experience lays up a store of knowledge more or less useful. He wonders how he will enjoy sailing over the blue waters, how the spectacle will impress him, and more than all else he wonders whether or no he will be sea-sick. He busies himself with procuring a suitable outfit for his nautical journeys, and in nine cases out of ten selects a quantity of articles he never uses, and which it is not always easy to give away.

Before the days of steamships a sea voyage was an affair of considerable moment, as it implied an uncertain period on the waters, and the passenger was obliged to take along a good many articles of necessity or comfort, or go without them altogether. Nowadays the principal preparation is to secure your place and pay for your ticket, and, unless you are very eccentric in your wishes and desires, you will find everything you want to eat or drink on board the ship that is to carry you. In selecting your place, if you are inexperienced in sea travel, try and get as near the middle of the ship as you possibly can, and if you are forward of "amidships" you are better off than if the same distance "aft." In the middle of the ship there is less motion than elsewhere in a pitching sea, and the further you can get from the screw the less do you feel the jarring of the machinery. The rolling is the same all over the craft, and there is no position that will rid you of it. Several devices in the shape of swinging-berths have been tried, for the benefit of persons with tender heads and stomachs, and some of them have been quite successful in smoothing the rough ways of the ocean, but the steamship companies have been slow to adopt them, and the old salts do not regard them with a friendly eye.

Close all your business and have everything ready the day before your departure. It is better to sit around and be idle for a few hours than to have the worry of a lot of things that have been deferred till the last.

If you are going on a long voyage by sailing ship and expect to pass through the torrid and both temperate zones, you should provide yourself with thick and thin clothing suitable to all latitudes. If you are a society man of course you will carry your dress suit and a goodly stock of fine linen to match, but if you are "roughing it," and have no letters of introduction nor social designs, the dress suit will be superfluous. Take three or four suits of linen for wearing on shore in hot countries, a medium suit of woolen for temperate lands and a thick suit of the same material for high latitudes north or south. The roughest clothing procurable is what you need for wearing on shipboard, thin for the torrid zone and thicker for the temperate. Woolen or "hickory" shirts are the proper things for sea wear, and the only occasion when you need a white shirt is when you go on shore. Your own judgment must be your guide as to the proper supply of collars, handkerchiefs, and the like; don't forget to be well provided with underclothing, and remember that wool is a much safer article to wear against the skin than cotton or linen. Take plenty of woolen undershirts of the lightest texture for hot climates, and of course you will have thick ones for the cold regions. An umbrella and a cane are desirable for protection against sun and rain, or dogs and beggars, when going on shore. A sun hat, or sola topee, as it is called in India, is desirable in the tropics, but there is no need of taking it along at the start. It can be bought in the first tropical port you visit, and will be found there at a lower price than where it is not in regular use.

If you are going to China or India from an American port you need take only enough shore clothing to last you till you arrive there, as the tailors in those countries can outfit you very expeditiously, and at lower prices than you have at home. Of course you should have something to wear during the day or two it will require them to make up the goods after taking your measure. They will not give you a very snug fit, and quite possibly your garments may look as if they had been made on another man's measure, but if they are comfortable and succeed in touching you here and there they are about all you can expect. The Chinese tailor generally suggests "no fittee no takee" when he measures you, but his ideas of a fit are different from those of the fashionable clothiers of New York and London.

If you carry gloves through the tropics be sure to wrap them well in oiled silk before starting. It is well to observe this rule with gloves on all sea voyages, as the marine atmosphere is very injurious to them.

If you are a smoker carry your own cigars and tobacco. Fine cigars should be put up in tin or glass, as they are apt to suffer from the sea air; it is the opinion of many travelers that it is not worth the trouble to carry good cigars on an ocean voyage, as they are quickly spoiled, and soon taste no better than common ones. A fine cigar may be desirable after each meal, but for other times and for "smoking between smokes" an ordinary one is just as well. The author has tried all kinds of cigars at sea, and gives his verdict in favor of the manilla cigar of the quality called "seconds" (understand that the manilla cheroot is not intended, but only the cigar). Seconds are preferable to firsts, as they are lighter in size and quality; the firsts make a very fair after-dinner cigar, and in the Far East many persons prefer them to choice Havanas. If you smoke a pipe be sure and have a supply of pipes with perforated covers for use on deck when the wind is blowing.

For the trans-Atlantic voyage, between America and Europe, there is very little need of preparation, beyond getting your ticket and putting affairs in shape for your absence. Take plenty of thick underclothing, your roughest suit of clothes for wearing on the voyage, the roughest and heaviest overcoat that you possess for wet weather, and an equally rough rug or other wrap for keeping you warm on deck when the north wind blows merrily. If you are of a sedentary habit buy a steamer chair, and when you buy it make up your mind that you will occupy it when you want to. A great number of people who say they "don't want the bother of a chair," or "didn't think to get one," are in the habit of helping themselves to the chairs of others without the least compunction of conscience and without caring a straw as to the desires of the owners for their property. Women are worse offenders than men in this matter, and the young and pretty are worse than the older and plainer. If you have a stony heart you will turn an intruder out of your chair without ceremony, whatever the age or sex, but if you cannot muster the courage to do so your best plan is to send the deck steward to bring the chair, and while he is getting it you can remain quietly out of sight. When you buy the chair have it marked with your name or initials, so that it can be easily distinguished from others of the same shape and color.

You are expected to come to the dinner-table in a black coat on most of the steamship lines. The rule is not imperative, however, but it is well to comply with it, as you will encounter many people whose notions about dressing for dinner are rigid, and, besides, the half hour spent in arranging the toilet before the bell calls you to the table is a variation of the monotony of the voyage.

Everything needed for the voyage may be contained in a valise or "steamer trunk," with a toilet satchel, and all heavy luggage should be sent below at the dock. A steamer trunk is designed to be stowed under the berth out of the way; its proper dimensions are 30 inches long, 15 or 16 wide, and 12 high. Its length or width may be greater, but its height should not exceed 12 or at most 13 inches, or it will be often found too large for the space where it is intended to go.

An old valise or sack should be taken along for containing the rough sea-clothing which may be left with the steamer-chair at the company's office in Liverpool or whatever port the passenger may land at. There they remain till his return, in a storeroom specially provided for them. They should be properly marked, so that the storekeeper will have no difficulty in selecting them when wanted.

The servants who wait upon you will expect a reward for their attentions, and you will be flying in the face of a long-established custom if you fail to give it. On the English steamers half a sovereign (ten shillings English) is the proper fee for the room-steward on the voyage either way, and the same to the table-steward. You will not diminish the attention upon you if you say to these men at starting that you will remember each of them with a ten-shilling piece, provided you are satisfied with them; they know what to expect and will act accordingly. On the French and German steamers a ten-franc piece is the usual fee to each of the servants above mentioned. The "boots" expects a five-shilling or a five-franc piece, according as the steamer is English or French, provided he polishes your boots during the voyage, and the man in charge of the bath comes along for a similar amount if you make regular use of his services. If you frequent the smoking-room the steward in charge of it expects to be remembered with a half crown, and a similar coin will not be refused by the deck-steward who looks after your chair. None of these fees should be paid until the last day of the voyage and the service of the men has ended. It often happens that the room-steward is very attentive through the voyage and in every way satisfactory; he answers your bell promptly and you consider him a model servant, but if you give him his fee before he has carried your impedimenta on deck it is quite possible that you will carry them yourself or hire another man to do it. His interest in you has ceased and he is looking after somebody who hasn't yet rewarded him. The same thing may happen with the table-steward, and he cannot hear your summons after he has been paid off, though before that event he was the very beau ideal of all you could wish.

It is always well to provide yourself with the money of the country you are going to, or with that of the nationality of the steamer. On an English ship, take ten pounds or so of English money, to cover all your fees and extras, and to have a supply on landing until a visit can be made to the banker. On the French steamers, take a proportionate amount in francs, and on the German steamers, a supply of marks will be quite in order. You can get this cash at a money-changer's without as much trouble as you will have in case you find no one on the steamer to make change for you, and the discount will be less.

The perils of the transatlantic voyage are now practically reduced to the dangers resulting from fog on and near the banks of Newfoundland. The ships performing the service of the best of the lines are built so strong that no wind to which the North Atlantic is accustomed can injure them, and the captains are men of experience and ability. But the fog is an evil which will not disappear at our bidding; the most intelligent commander is helpless in the fog, and he cannot be sure at any moment that he is not rushing to destruction upon a pitiless iceberg, or dashing forward to collide with another ship, in which one or both of the unlucky vessels may be lost. The ice is probably the greater of the dangers, as the steamers give warning of their presence to each other by the sound of whistles or fog-horns, and of late years there has been an attempt to establish steam lanes across the Atlantic, so that steamers going eastward should be several miles from the track of those that are westward-bound. The iceberg hangs out no lights and blows no whistle, and the first warning the captain can have of its presence is when its white outline looms through the fog less than a ship's length ahead. Many a steamer has had a narrow escape from destruction, and not a few have been lost by encounters with the ice. Of those that have never been heard from it is conjectured that the majority were lost by collisions with the ice, as in most instances it was abundant at the time of their disappearance.

The ingenuity of man has been taxed to avert the dangers from the ice and fog, but thus far comparatively little has been accomplished. At times the density of the fog is so great that the eye cannot penetrate it more than twenty yards; experiments have been made with the electric light, but the result has not been favorable to its general adoption. A careful observation of the thermometer will sometimes show the proximity of a berg, as the melting ice causes a fall in the temperature of the water, frequently amounting to ten or twelve degrees, and sometimes there will be a chilly blast of air, that says very plainly there is ice in the vicinity. The early summer months are the most dangerous on the score of ice, but the bergs abound till late in autumn; they come from the west coast of Greenland, where they are broken off from the immense glaciers that flow down from the interior and push out into the sea. The great polar current carries them southward, past Labrador and Newfoundland, till they are thrown into the warm waters of the Gulf-stream and there melted away. They rarely go further south than to the fortieth parallel, but are sometimes drifted as far east as the Azores.

By taking a course that will carry them to the south of the Grand Banks the steamers might avoid the fog and its consequent dangers; some of them do so, and others advertise that they will. After they get at sea the mind of the captain sometimes undergoes a change, and the ship is headed so that she passes near Cape Race. The more to the south a ship is kept the longer will be her course, and in these days of keen competition to make the shortest passages the temptation is great to run away to the northward as far as possible. The author was once a passenger on a steamer that laid her course within fifty miles of Cape Race, although he had been assured at the office of the company that she would "take an extreme southerly course," and the promise to do so had been inserted in the advertisements. A passenger ventured to say as much to one of the officers and to ask if the managers of the company had not ordered the southerly route. "The captain commands here," was the reply, "and the managers have nothing to do with his course; he can run wherever he pleases, and trust to Providence for the result."

It is to be hoped that the great companies will some day make an agreement, and keep it, that they will all take the southerly course and make an end of a competition that is dangerous in a certain degree. They would be greatly aided to such an arrangement if the American government would withdraw its offer to give the carrying of the mails to the company making the shortest average of passages across the Atlantic. Public opinion might also do something in this way, but, unfortunately, public opinion happens to be in favor of the most rapid transit, and looks upon safety as a minor consideration. Whenever the majority of travelers shall think more of the pleasure of staying longer on the earth than of going over its surface at the greatest speed there will be a move in the right direction.

But do not disturb yourself with unpleasant thoughts of what may happen in the fog. Remember, rather, that of the thousands of voyages that have been made across the Atlantic only a few dozens have been unfortunate, and of all the steamers that have plowed these waters only the President, City of Glasgow, Pacific, Tempest, United Kingdom, City of Boston, and Ismailia—seven in all—are unheard from. The chances are thousands to one in your favor, and if this does not satisfy you, try and recall the philosophy of the man who said it was none of his business whether the ship was in danger, as he had paid his fare to the company and they were under obligations to carry him safely to the other side. If the wind rises to a gale, don't worry in the least, and if you have any doubt about the matter ask your room-steward what the appearances of things are to a sea-faring man like himself. Quite possibly his answer may be in the substance, if not in the words, of the mariner's song:—

"A strong nor'-wester's blowing, Bill;

Hark! don't ye hear it roar now!

Lord help 'em, how I pities them

Unhappy folks on shore now!"

When a steamer is in a rough sea, especially if she is lightly laden, the screw is frequently out of water for several seconds at a time. Relieved from the resistance of the water, the screw whirls with the rapidity of lightning and gives the stern of the ship a very lively shaking. This is called "racing," and it is anything but pleasant, but there is a comforting assurance when you hear it that everything is all right and the machinery in order. Whenever you hear the racing of the screw in rough weather you will hear a welcome sound. If a wave seems to hit the ship a staggering blow, and send her half over, do not listen for a commotion and spring from your berth, but bend your ears to catch the sound of the engine, and when you hear its "choog! choog!" you may make yourself easy. In rough weather or in smooth, the first thing to listen for on awaking is the engine, and when you hear its steady breathing and feel its great heart pulsating, as if it were the vital force of an animate being, you may turn and sleep again, satisfied that the ship which carries you "walks the water like a thing of life" and is bearing you safely onward to your destination.

Inventors have busied themselves to devise something that should put a stop to the racing of the screw, with its liability to derange the machinery and its certainty of disturbing the nerves of excitable passengers. Several plans have been tried, but, up to the date of writing this volume, none of them have proved successful. Somebody will doubtless accomplish the desired result before the end of another decade, and when this is done he should give attention to the jar caused by the machinery. It is hardly reasonable to expect that a fast steamer will ever go over the water with the steadiness of a sailing-ship, and with no perceptible jarring, but so much has been done in the last twenty-five years in smoothing the ways of the ocean, and the vessels that plow it, that the scheme here suggested is by no means impossible.

While sitting on deck some afternoon you may be at a loss for a subject to think about. Busy yourself with imagining what will be the style, model, speed, and propelling force of the transatlantic ship of twenty, fifty, a hundred, and five hundred years hence! Here is enough to occupy you for many hours, and perhaps you may devise something that will benefit the human race, and, also, not the least consideration, put money in your pocket.

CHAPTER V.
SEA-SICKNESS AND HOW TO AVOID IT.

We come now to the momentous question of mal de mer. It is a question that has puzzled the scientific men of all ages since the departure of the Argonauts in search of the Golden Fleece on the first ship that ever sailed the sea, and, from present appearances, it will continue to be a puzzle as long as the waves of the ocean continue to roll. By some it is claimed to be a nervous disturbance, others contend that it is purely a stomachic affair and the nerves have nothing to do with it, and there are others who argue that the brain is the seat of the disorder and disturbs the stomach by sympathetic action. There are wise men who charge sea-sickness to the spleen, the liver, or other internal organs, and it is not impossible that we may yet hear of a savant who attributes it to corns on the toes. Sea-sickness is a mystery, and the more we study it the more are we at sea as to its exact operation.

Some people, who are bundles of nerves, are not affected by the motion of a ship, while others, who are nerveless as a paper-weight, are disturbed with the least movement. Weak stomachs escape while strong ones are upset, and there seems to be no rule that can be laid down with exactness or anything that approaches it. But on one point there can be no two opinions, that sea-sickness is a most disagreeable malady, even in its mildest form, and that any means of relieving it, or even of mitigating it in a small degree, will be hailed with delight by all who suffer from it. It will also be a boon to those who are never sea-sick, as it will relieve them from a companionship that is not always the most agreeable in the world.

For some persons there is no escape, and they will be prostrate in their berths during the whole voyage of the ship, or just able to get around. But, in the majority of cases, sea-sickness may be wholly prevented by a free use of cathartics or anti-bilious remedies a day or two before departure on a voyage. In America, the pills of Ayer, Brandreth, or Wright will serve the purpose; in England, the famous "Cockle's pills," and in France the Pilules Duhaut. The relaxation of the system should be sustained during the voyage by the same means or by the use of Seidlitz powders, or similar effervescent substances; this simple precaution will save most persons from being disturbed by sea-sickness, no matter how wildly the ship may toss, provided they combine with it an abundance of air and exercise. As before stated, there is no relief known at present for the other fourth of humanity, except to stay at home.

Dr. Fordyce Barker, an eminent physician who has made a careful study of sea-sickness, opposes the previous use of cathartics, and advises that a hearty meal be eaten a short time before going on board. Those who are subject to sea-sickness he enjoins to undress and go to bed before the vessel moves from her dock or anchorage. He says they should eat regularly and heartily without raising the head for at least one or two days, and in this way they will accustom the digestive organs to the performance of their functions. He advises the use of laxative pills the first night out and, if necessary, during the entire voyage. The following is his prescription:—

LAXATIVE PILLS.

Where there is a tendency to diarrhœa, which sometimes happens at sea, he recommends the following, and he also advises the traveler to carry it in his journeys over the Continent to counteract the effects that occasionally come from drinking bad water. The dose is, for an adult,

M.S. A small teaspoonful in a wineglass of water after each movement.

Dr. Barker says that in cases where the victim has suffered several days from sea-sickness, with constant nausea, nervous depression, and sleeplessness, he has found great benefit in the use of bromide of potassium. The powders are to be taken in a half-tumbler of plain soda-water, and, if this cannot be obtained, in cold water sweetened with sugar. It is to be sipped slowly, so that the stomach may be persuaded to retain and absorb it. The powders should be kept in a wide-mouthed vial, or in a tin box, so as to protect them from the effects of the sea-air. The following is the prescription:

He also recommends a person about making a sea-voyage to take a supply of "mustard leaves," which can be had at the druggist's. They are useful in allaying the nausea and vomiting by getting up a counter irritation, and should be applied over the pit of the stomach.

Many individuals, especially those inclined to corpulency, find relief in wearing a tight belt around the waist. This is so well understood that some of the makers of surgical appliances advertise "belts for sea-sickness" as part of their stock in trade. Some persons recommend a tight-fitting undergarment of strong silk, but, in order to be of use, it must be altogether too close for comfort, and the wearer is quite likely to say that he considers it the greater of the evils.

A recumbent position is better than the erect one when a traveler is suffering from the nautical disturbance, and, in most cases, he is too weak to take any other. It is better to lie flat on the back than in any other way, and there are many persons who are well when thus lying down, but become ill the minute they attempt to rise. A friend of the writer belongs to this category. His mode of taking his meals when at sea is to lie flat on his sofa, while the steward cuts his meat into small pieces and gets everything ready. At a given signal the sufferer rises to a sitting posture, and swallows a few mouthfuls as rapidly as possible. Then he drops back, rests a few minutes, and repeats the feeding operation. In half a dozen performances of this sort he will take in a creditable dinner; as long as he remains on his back his digestion goes on all right, but he cannot be five minutes on his feet without a return of nausea.

A round of heavy dinners and champagne suppers before starting is not a good preparation for a sea-voyage, neither is a "send-off" on board, with farewell glasses of inspiriting liquids. Many a man has suffered at sea from too much conviviality before his departure.

The sufferer on the water is not charmed with the mention of the table, and even the greatest delicacies fail to arouse his appetite. Give him anything he wants, it won't make much difference, though it is well, perhaps, to deter him from ham and eggs, chicken or lobster salads, and anything, in fact, that contains grease or oil. Tea and toast are the great articles of diet for the sea-sick, and they may be safely trusted with baked apples, and with nearly all kinds of fruit. A cracker or an Albert biscuit will sometimes have charms when nothing else can be swallowed, and when the victim is convalescent he feels as though a pickle would do him good. Lemonade is admissible and soda-water is a safe beverage; brandy and soda may be ordered by those who do not shine as members of a temperance society, but it should be taken with caution and the doses must not be repeated too frequently. All drinks that contain carbonic-acid gas are beneficial, and many persons find relief in occasional small allowances of champagne. Those who intend to put any reliance on this wine during sea-sickness should equip themselves with a "champagne tap" before starting; they can then draw what they desire from a bottle and keep the rest without fear that it will become stale through loss of gas.

Hartshorn, cologne, and other substances intended for inhalation are all good at this time, partly because of their effects on their lungs and partly by the distraction of taking them. A volatile article used with great success in sea-sickness is the nitrite of amyl; it is prepared in the form of a pearl with a thin shell of glass around it so as to prevent its evaporation. Any reputable druggist can procure it, and with the pearls it is desirable to have a tube for crushing them and liberating the liquid. In the absence of the tube they may be crushed in the handkerchief, but when taken in this way a large part of the effect is lost.

Always go on deck when you are able to do so, even if you are carried up by your friends or the stewards and deposited in your chair like an armful of wet clothing. Wrap yourself well against the cold, and on the first instant of chillness get more covering or go below. Whenever you feel the impulse to feed the fishes in the early stages of a fit of sea-sickness always go to the lee side of the ship (the one the wind blows from) and never to windward. By so doing you will save a considerable amount of damage to your clothing, and also to that of any who may be near you.

Many persons will tell you that it is an excellent thing to be sea-sick, as you are so much better for it afterwards. If you are a sufferer you will do well to accept their statements as entirely correct, since you are thereby consoled and soothed, and the malady doesn't care what you think about it, one way or the other.

And now comes a bit of advice which might have been given at the opening of this dissertation on the discomforts of the heaving deep, but has been reserved to the end in the hope that it will leave a lasting impression. When the ship casts loose from the dock, or lifts her anchor and gets under way, you should think of anything and everything except sea-sickness, and if any one starts the topic in your hearing leave him and walk away, or ask him to change the subject. If you cannot be thus abrupt, change it for him by starting a political discussion or other agreeable wrangle; do anything rather than allow a continuation of his remarks. Many a man and many a woman has been talked into being sea-sick, or has meditated and wondered on the possibility of it till the malady has put in an appearance. We all know how much the mind dominates the body, how bad news takes away the appetite and good news increases it, and we have all heard how a well man was driven to his bed by the concentrated efforts of a dozen practical jokers who separately informed him that he looked very pale and something must be the matter with him. Don't talk or think of sea-sickness; you will know it fast enough when it comes, and till that time it is the wisest course to assume that you are to be the healthiest passenger on the ship.

Prof. A. G. Wilkinson, of Washington, D.C., says:

"During Atlantic crossings for four years past I found but one instance in which from twenty to thirty grains of bromide of soda in ice-water three times daily for four days, commencing two days before sailing, failed to prevent loss of a single meal. Get dry powders put up in foil and enclosed in ground-stoppered bottles, to prevent deliquescence. I learned this from experimenting for several years with chloral and the various bromides. Soda alone was never distasteful. Dr. G. M. Beard, of New York, was independently experimenting at the same time, and first published his conclusions. After vomiting commences he recommends,

Bromide of soda, ʒi. Tinct. belladonna, xxx guttæ. Aqua, ℥vi.

Teaspoonful every ten minutes until relieved.

A lady friend had never been able to take a single meal at sea; the second day out, while she was sick, I gave her the above, and she took every meal for the rest of the voyage."

CHAPTER VI.
SPECIAL ADVICE TO LADIES.

For the following the author is indebted to a lady who has made several trans-Atlantic voyages, and is consequently familiar with the necessities and comforts of ocean travel:

"It is simply preposterous," says a fashionable friend of mine, "Here you are, going to sail for Europe in three days, to be gone three months, and you have nothing ready but that same old trunk, plastered all over with baggage labels, every color of the rainbow." J'ai repondu, "C'est assez, mon ami." If you wish to examine its contents I will show it you with great pleasure, and any one else who may desire to see how I "stow away" my traps can look on at the same time. But as the steamer-clothing, etc., will be the first to be used, I'll show you the contents of this little fifteen-inch square box first. This I call my "steamer-trunk." It is not a steamer-trunk proper, but I find it much more convenient than a long flat one such as is used to go under the berth. This will stand on one side of the wash-stand in the state-room, where a camp-stool is generally found, and by placing a folded shawl on top it makes a permanent, comfortable, and firm seat, saves trouble of stooping and dragging it out, as is the case with an ordinary steamer-trunk, when you want to open it. The lid has a flat leather loop in the center for a handle and can be easily lifted when closed. There is a small tray inside which I use as a "catch-all," and there is plenty of room under the tray for all the clean linen I shall require on the voyage. This and my dressing-bag, with one shawl-strap, is all the baggage I put into my state-room.

Some ladies strew things, "conveniences" they call them, from the top to the bottom of the state-room; quite regardless are they to the convenience and comfort of a possible fellow passenger. Do whatever you please if you can afford a state-room to yourself. But if not, pray keep your own side of the house. Other folks put a lot of eatables in their berths and then complain of rats. Don't take anything in the eating line except a basket of lemons, and if you must take something to drink let it be Chartreuse. Take a box of cathartic pills, and if you need a dose make it a little larger than you would under the same circumstances on shore. Coarse blue flannel or serge is the best for deck wear. Have the skirt of the dress as short as possible without looking odd. Attach the skirt to the waist of the dress and make the front without side forms so that it will look well without a corset. A blouse waist, if well made, will be suitable for almost any figure, and is the most comfortable, but it must fit perfectly round the neck and shoulders.

One flannel skirt, one thin skirt of some bright clean gingham, warm flannels next the body, one pair of overall flannel drawers, bright turkey red, to be worn over the ordinary underclothing and slipped off on going below, two pair stout boots with good square heels, and buttons or laces to support the ankles properly, warm stockings of silk or very fine wool. Don't weigh yourself down with a lot of skirts. Have the limbs well covered and free for walking. No matter what season of the year, take along a good stout cloth ulster, reaching to the bottom of your dress and securely buttoned from the throat to the bottom; no hood nor cape for the wind to make a sail of, only one good broad collar for turning up to keep your ears and neck warm while promenading the deck or sitting in your steamer chair; two or three good outside pockets are indispensable. Never venture on deck without this coat, and a big shawl to cover your feet while sitting down.

Wear an ordinary night-dress in your berth, and have a flannel dressing-gown made without any lining to wear over it when going to or from the bath-rooms, some of which are very luxurious if you enjoy bathing in seawater. Don't fail to have gauntlets sewed on to your gloves to keep your wrists warm. You must make your own selection for head-wear; soft felt hats are very comfortable, but not always becoming. One of the prettiest and most comfortable head-coverings for ladies over 30 is a sort of Normandy cap or bonnet made of silk with soft crown and the breast of a grebe on one side; it will not spoil or get out of shape easily. The best way to dress the hair is to make a smooth coil at the back of the neck and keep the front tidy by brushing each time you go to the state-room; frizzing and curling are impossible and ludicrous. A pretty opera-hood will do good service for a change.

If the weather is very warm on the day you are to sail, carry your steamer-clothes in your shawl-strap and wear a dress that will do you service for a change on the journey. On your arrival in Europe put the same dress on to go ashore and put your steamer-clothes into the little trunk, taking out the underclothing, which will now be soiled, and put it into your shawl-strap. Leave your steamer-trunk, chair, shawls, etc., with the steamship company, subject to your order or return. Put your name in full, and make all into one package, if possible.

The large trunk is a Saratoga, 36 inches long, 23 high, and 20 inches in width. There is only one tray, one end of which has a separated compartment for bonnets or hats, and it is quite large enough to contain three without injury if properly packed round with tissue paper to prevent their falling from side to side. The other two-thirds of the tray is open and flat. Here are collars, cuffs, gloves, ribbons, pocket-handkerchiefs, a few bright bows, ready looped or tied, for hair, neck, and corsage, eight pairs of stockings, such as I wear ordinarily, four pairs extra thick for cold weather, or for mountain climbing, one small box in one corner for cuff-buttons and some inexpensive jewelry which can be worn without constant fear of losing. One little plump pincushion with plenty of short shawl-pins, three or four long hat-pins and plenty of black and white, small ones, some safety-pins, and a few needles on the under side. Make a loop at one corner to hang it up by.

Into the convex portion of the lid (which has a separate cover with hook to fasten), are three pairs of boots, one for dress, one for walking, and one extra stout pair for bad weather. Into the remaining space I have put a shawl and wrap, which will not spoil by being put into so small a space; also my bathing-suit of blue flannel, which is always kept in a rubber water-proof bag, with drawing strings, thereby making it portable whether wet or dry, which is a great convenience, both at home and abroad, for the reason that when you take it off you can immediately put it into the bag, draw the strings together and carry it back by them to your hotel to be dried by the chambermaid. Never leave a nice bathing-suit at the bath-house to be dried. If you do, the probability is that when you need it you will find it wet from some one else having worn it, and the buttons off at the places where they are most needed. There is yet space enough left in this little convexity for a few books, and also for a small bundle of things for a friend whom I wish to remember.

When all these things are taken out for use on arrival, the space is very convenient for soiled clothing, it being quite separate and distinct from any other compartment. Do your own packing if you do not keep a maid. Have a place for everything, so that when you want anything in a hurry, or you feel tired, you will not have that interminable bug-bear of "having to unpack everything to find it." Many a good manager or housekeeper seems perfectly lost when she contemplates the possibility of "living in a trunk," as it is vulgarly called. But if she will bring some of her good common sense to bear upon these smaller details, she will find it not only adds greatly to her own comfort, but it will save her friends from the depression of listening to her uninteresting complainings.

Now we lift out the tray, which has two strong loops for that purpose. You can do it yourself, for it is not heavy, having no heavy articles placed in it. Into the body of the trunk put all undergarments first. Don't roll anything up; lay all as smooth and even as possible. About twelve of each article will last you twenty days. Whatever the season of the year, don't fail to take a couple of flannel skirts and some warm underflannels for extra cold or damp days, and before dressing each morning take a peep at the sky and ask the weather which kind of undergarment you shall put on, thick or thin? One of the greatest comforts for breakfast wear is a wrapper of very dark, soft summer silk costing about 50 or 60 cents per yard; line it throughout with unbleached muslin; twelve yards of silk will make it if cut sparingly, a la princesse robe, loose in front with demi train. Trim the front from the throat to the bottom of the skirt with some cheap cream color or black lace, with a few bright bows of your favorite colored ribbon, about one inch wide, tack some of the lace in pleats round the neck and fasten securely down the front with buttons concealed under the lace, put a patch pocket on each side with one bow on each, one bow and a little of the lace on each sleeve, and you have a dress that will not spoil if you wish to lie down. It is always tidy with or without a corset. You can go through the halls of the hotels in it, and if indisposed you can receive your intimate friends without making a change. It will do more service than a dozen dressing-sacques, and it saves washing, which is quite an item to the economical.

One black grenadine walking dress, made fashionably, looks pretty for evening wear, but it must be lined throughout. No transparent sleeves and neck for rheumatism and consumption. One black silk made to wear with or without extra wraps for the street. One black or very dark green, or smoke-color cashmere for rougher wear, trimmed with satin bands, will not catch the dust and looks handsome. One India silk and one alpaca ulster with plenty of pockets, and if you have a couple of dresses which you wish to finish wearing out, see that the skirt braid is in good order and take them along to wear under the ulsters, for railroad traveling, staging, etc. See that the ulsters fit properly. Don't imagine that because the material is thin it will accommodate itself to your shape. Have the silk one washed as often as required, and it will look like new every time. A blue gauze veil worn with either of these ulsters looks stylish, and a soft felt hat, if suitable to your face, will be the most comfortable for your head. Put a wing or bow of ribbon on the left side, but no ostrich feathers. I would remark that a due regard should be given to the color of the bonnet or hat, also to bows of ribbon or lace, selected to be worn with the dresses. The reason is obvious, viz., when traveling from place to place you have very little time for dressing and arranging becoming toilets, therefore—don't mix things. Put on each article which is intended to be worn with its particular dress, and instead of the fatigue of "changing your dress" every time you go somewhere, you will have only to put on bonnet, gloves, and wrap, and there you are, smiling and ready in three minutes. Husbands, brothers, and fellow-travelers will appreciate this when they find that it is not necessary to ask you, "How long will it take you to get ready?"

Get a yard and a half of unbleached glazed linen and bind it all round with wide red worsted braid. Put this into the trunk with a good long shawl-strap, also your umbrella and parasol. One black parasol with white lining will do for every dress, and look as if it were made for each one in particular. You will not need any of these things on the voyage, so you can put "Hold" in large letters on the trunk, and that will insure you against the temptation of opening it on the steamer. When you arrive at the end of your ocean journey, you will appreciate the comfort of having everything to your hand directly you open your trunk.

Rest for one night (at least) at the place of landing, whether Queenstown, Liverpool, Havre, or elsewhere, and have your soiled linen washed. If at an English port, you will probably go on to London for your first sightseeing; if at Havre, your destination will probably be Paris. In either case you will find it pleasant to stop over night at one or other of the most attractive towns on the way, and for your greater comfort you will take out one complete change of clothes, viz., a fresh dress and some under-linen, and your lace-trimmed wrapper. Spread the afore-mentioned "linen wrap" out smooth, lay your dress lengthwise in the center first, then put the other things on top (lengthwise also), and lastly your umbrella and parasol. Fold each side of the linen cover over so as to nearly meet in the center, and then roll up from end to end, and put your shawl-strap around it. This, and your dressing-bag, is your baggage when you expect to be away from your trunk for a few nights. Send the trunk on by petite vitesse, or ordinary freight, to your ultimate destination. It will make an appreciable difference in your expenses, and like a thoughtful friend it will be waiting for you on arrival, and will have secured a room at the hotel to which it has been addressed. By following this plan you will always have a complete change with you, and will be relieved from the bother of looking after a trunk while on your journey. The hotel manager can always tell you about forwarding your trunk, and the porter of the hotel will attend to the matter. And now let me tell you about my hand-bag and what it contains.

The best satchels, and the most convenient, are those which open very wide and display their contents without obliging one to hunt for each little article needed.

Fold a nice clean night-dress in a piece of paper and place it in the bottom. It is a great comfort to have such a necessity so handy in cases of late arrival at hotels, great fatigue, and possible accident. Don't forget a clean towel. A good-sized sponge, in a water-proof bag long enough to contain a tooth or nail-brush (some of these bags have a separate pocket for the brushes), have a piece of soap in a tight metallic soap-box; one good-sized bottle of cologne-water or bay rum, well corked; one powder-box, with cover screwed on firmly; one medium-sized hand-mirror; a small bag (with drawing string), into which you have put plenty of buttons, spools of silk, thread, needles, and thimbles.

One thin blotter containing writing-materials, and which is small enough to lay flat against one side of the hand-bag, and can be slipped in and out without disarranging the other things, small bottle of ink, with screw or spring top, a couple of pens, and plenty of pencils. Comb and brush in a bag made for the purpose out of a dark silk handkerchief or a piece of chintz. Silk is the best because it will not so easily catch the dust. There is always a little pocket on one side of bag for a paper of pins, a button-hook, and hair-pins, also a pair of scissors.

Put everything back after using, and make your handbag your catch-all in the state-room, and when the weather is rough you have only to close it and so keep everything secure and in its right place. When going a journey by rail put in your guide-book and a magazine. Also, a common fan on top to be easily reached.

For a becoming head-covering to wear in railroad carriages, and to keep the dust from your hair when you wish to rest your head, which often gets tired from wearing a hat for several hours, take a gentleman's small-sized silk pocket handkerchief, of becoming color, and trim the edges with some cheap black Spanish lace, gathering it round the corners so it will lie flat and round. Fold it crosswise, and lay it with two corners on the top of the head, and tie the other two together either under the chin or back-hair. Then make two little pleats on each side of the head near the temples, making it fit the arch of the head nicely, and you will find that it is very comfortable, and takes up little room in your bag.

CHAPTER VII.
DAILY LIFE AT SEA.

On shipboard you may rise as early or sleep as late as you choose, provided you do not extend your slumbers beyond the breakfast-hour; you are not by any means compelled to get up when the bell rings, but it is best to do so unless prevented by illness. You will find the fresh air of the deck invigorating, and a better appetizer than all the cordials or other stimulants in the possession of the bar-keeper, and besides, the room-steward desires to put your cabin in order sometime during the forenoon. Time is kept on shipboard by "bells," and those who wish to show their familiarity with the sea are in the habit of dropping the ordinary nomenclature of the hours and reckoning by the sound of the bell. The nautical day begins at noon, and all calculations regarding the movements of the ship are made with 12 M. as the starting-point. A little practice and observation will accustom the landsman to "ship's time," and afford him a slight distraction when inclined to think the voyage a monotonous one.

The bell strikes every half-hour from noon to noon again, the even strokes representing complete hours, and the odd numbers the half-hours. The marine day is divided into "watches" of four hours each, with the exception of the period from 4 P.M. to 8 P.M., which forms two divisions of two hours each, known as "dog-watches." The object of this arrangement is to prevent the same men being on duty at the same time day after day, as they would be if the whole twenty-four hours were divided into unbroken watches of four hours each. The crew is divided into "watches" that relieve each other every four hours, with the exception of the "dog-watch" just described. These divisions of the men are known as starboard and larboard, or starboard and port, and each watch has an officer in charge of it. The captain does not "stand his watch" like the other officers, and when the weather is fine and everything lovely he has little to do. But when a gale arises, or the ship is enveloped in fog, it is a time of great anxiety for him, and sometimes there are days together when he hardly leaves the bridge for more than a few minutes at a time. The prudent passenger will avoid speaking to him during this anxious period, and it is a good rule never to address the captain until he has first spoken to you. For the most part, the transatlantic captains are genial and inclined to be sociable, but you will now and then encounter one who evidently descended from a bear or some other ill-mannered animal, if the theories of Charles Darwin are correct.

To know the hour at sea by the bell remember the following: At half an hour past noon there is a single stroke of the bell, and at one o'clock there are two strokes. At half-past one we have three strokes, and at two o'clock four strokes. Thus it goes on, adding a single stroke every half-hour till four o'clock, when "eight bells" are struck. As before explained, the time from four to eight is divided into two short watches, and at eight o'clock a full watch begins, in which the hours are sounded the same as from noon to 4 P.M. This watch ends at midnight and is followed by another till 4 A.M.; from 4 to 8 A.M. is another, and from 8 A.M. till noon is another. If you happen to wake in the night and hear five bells you may know that it is half-past two, unless you have gone to bed very early, and slept briefly, in which case it may be half-past ten. But as the lights are not put out till 11 P.M., and on some ships at 11.30, you are not very liable to mistake the time of one watch for another.

And while we are talking about watches we will consider the one you have in your pocket. The change of longitude in a transatlantic voyage implies a corresponding change of time. There is a difference of four hours and fifty-six minutes between New York and London, i.e., when it is noon in New York it is fifty-six minutes past four in the afternoon at London. This variation of time is spread over the transatlantic voyage and amounts to not far from half an hour daily with the majority of steamers. When going to the east a ship's day is actually only twenty-three and a half hours long, while it is twenty-four and a half when she is on her westward course. This may account for the fact that steamers make their best daily runs when their prows are pointed towards the setting sun.

If you have a costly watch it is not well to change it daily to correspond with the ship's time. Let it run without alteration till you are at the end of the journey, and depend on the bells or the cabin clock for the actual hours. The writer has found that a cheap watch—such as can be bought for five or ten dollars—is an excellent adjunct to a valuable gold one when traveling. It can be altered daily to correspond with the change of longitude, and if it is left around carelessly there is little danger that any intelligent thief will care to steal it. In a journey around the world he changed the hour of his pocket-chronometer only five times—at San Francisco, Tokio, Calcutta, Naples, and Paris—and depended upon his "brass" watch for daily service.

So much for keeping time on shipboard; let us see how we can spend it. Carry enough books to give you ten or twelve hours reading every day, and if you get through a quarter of them you will be lucky. You will find an unaccountable disinclination to read, especially if you have been very active just previous to departure, and will develop a decided tendency for sleep. What with sleeping, and eating, and associating with other passengers, you find no great amount of time for literature, and unless you devote yourself to a blood-curdling novel, in which you are constantly on the strain to know how the plot ended, and whether she married him or the other man, you can only get through a few pages at a time. If you are going abroad for the first time it is advisable to confine the reading to descriptions of the countries you are about to visit, rather than to light literature, but, if you are determined to stick to fiction, you will find sea-stories more interesting than land ones, for the reason that you are on the great deep, and the pictures of the novel will be more vivid than if the book were read on shore.

A ship is a world, and the ocean is the measureless azure in which it floats. Sea and sky are your boundaries, and the horizon-line is ever the same. The weaknesses of human nature, as well as its noble qualities, are developed here, and sometimes they are limned in sharper outlines than on land. Persons whom you have known for years will develop on shipboard qualities that you never suspected them of possessing. You had always thought your neighbor on the right was a selfish mortal, but you now find that he is self-sacrificing to the extreme; on the other hand, the man whom you believed a model of politeness turns out to be quite the reverse. Never in your life have you heard as much gossip in a month as you now hear in a single week; the occupation, character, peculiarities, hopes, desires, and frailties of everybody are canvassed by a goodly proportion of busy tongues, and the ship will very likely impress you as a school for scandal which Sheridan might envy.

Don't take a share in the gossip, and don't concern yourself about the private affairs of anyone else. Be polite to everybody, but don't be in a hurry to make acquaintances; by so doing you will stand higher in their estimation, and will have time to find out those whom you would like the best. A shipful of passengers is generally broken into several parties of persons congenial to each other; sometimes the groups and parties are on the best of terms, and at other times there is considerable hostility, generally caused by a few turbulent spirits, not always of the sterner sex. The weather has much to do with the formation of cliques on an ocean steamer. When the sea is smooth for a day or two at the start the passengers become generally acquainted and are agreeable all around. But if the steamer puts her prow into a rough sea immediately on leaving port those of tender stomachs disappear before they have had time to exchange a word with a stranger. The unruffled ones get together, the men in the smoking-room, and the ladies in the cabin, and companionship begins. By the time the sea is level again, and the sea-sick ones appear, the circles have been formed, and some of them closed completely; then the new-comers form rings of their own, and out of these primary and secondary formations jealousies often grow.

Join in all the innocent sports that while away the time. By day, in fine weather, there are quoits, shuffle-board, and other games, for which the ship furnishes the material, and in the evening there are impromptu entertainments of a mixed character in the cabin. Contribute whatever you can to the general fund of amusement, and if you can neither sing, recite, tell stories, play on an instrument, or do anything else to please your fellow passengers, try and be a good integral part of the audience. You can look on and listen at any rate, and with a little practice you can do it well. Perhaps you can find diversion by investing in the daily pool on the run of the ship, and, when coming westward, there is the inevitable speculation as to the number of the boat from which you take the pilot. But this pool business is sometimes expensive, and if your purse is thinly lined you will do well to stay out of it. The smoking-room affords opportunities for dropping your spare cash to gentlemen of a playful turn of mind, and there are usually adepts at cards who will accommodate you with any game you like. The Atlantic is crossed every year by men who boast that they are always able to cover their expenses, and very often the boast is far below the reality. The fashionable steamers are sometimes the scenes of very high play, and gambling at sea seems to be on the increase in the last few years. They can never be made the field of operations similar to those of the river and railway gamblers of America, for the reason that there is no station or landing-place where a performer on the cards can disappear when he has fleeced his victim, but, at present, there is good reason to believe that the business of occasional passengers is less while ashore than when afloat.

If you have any complaints to make address them to the purser; it is his business to look after the welfare of the passengers, and he nearly always does it. Where you desire to make a first-class row you can appeal from the purser to the captain, and if they are not on the best of terms, and you lay your schemes carefully, a great deal of bad blood will be engendered. As a last resort, you can carry the affair up to the general management of the company, where complaints are investigated with more or less care, and satisfaction is given or refused. The great competition between the various lines causes them to be particularly attentive to the wants of passengers, and it is very rarely that one hears of a well-founded complaint against the captain or purser of a transatlantic steamer. If they err at all it is in paying too much attention to passengers who are often quite willing to be let alone after they have been comfortably settled on board.

Never attempt to go on the "bridge" which is exclusively reserved for the officers of the ship, and do not be anxious to penetrate the mysteries of the engine-room or handle the steering apparatus. On some of the ships notices are posted requesting passengers not to speak to the officers when on duty; it is well to heed these, and also well not to get too near the ropes when sails are being hoisted or taken in. When the ship is pitching violently in a head sea, avoid going forward on deck, as you may get a drenching unexpectedly, and possibly may be washed overboard. Be cautious about leaning over the taffrail or stern at any time, and especially in rough weather, as the ship may "jump from under you" without the least warning, and drop you in the sea. Old sailors as well as landsmen have been lost in this way.

The hours for meals vary on the different lines, but whatever the arrangement, there is no danger of starvation. Most of the English lines give you breakfast, lunch, dinner, and supper, four meals altogether, and all of them pretty "square" ones. The breakfast consists of fish, ham and eggs, steaks, chops, Irish stew, hot rolls, and a half dozen, or perhaps a dozen, other things, with all the tea or coffee you choose to drink. Lunch consists of cold meats and biscuits, and is not a very heavy affair, but the dinner is of that solid character which is one of the boasts of British liberty. You can eat yourself into dyspepsia without making any apparent impression on the abundance set before you, and if you try to go through the bill of fare without missing anything, you will wish you hadn't. Of soups, fish, roasts, boils, stews, and fries, there is apparently no end; the cooking is generally good, and leads the thoughtful passenger into a profound admiration of the culinary artists of the sea. And it also leads him to wonder why so much is prepared when comparatively little is eaten, especially in the first touch of rough weather, when half the passengers and more are confined to their rooms, and a goodly number of the other half display microscopic appetites. This matter has been discussed by the managers of the lines; it has been proposed to make the experiment of serving meals on the "European plan," and ultimately to abandon the old system, if the new one is found acceptable. Under this scheme the price of passage would be reduced, and include only the room and transportation; meals would be served as in a restaurant, and the traveler could spend much money or little, according to the dictates of his purse and appetite. The cost of feeding the passengers would be much less than at present, and all the waste would be borne by the public, instead of the company.

For supper you have toast and cold meats, with Welsh rarebits and other things, such as dreams are made of, and the strong-hearted Englishman generally washes it down with a bottle of ale to give him a good digestion. Some of the companies give an additional meal called tea, which runs closely into the supper; so close is the connection that you can go from the one to the other without leaving the table. In fact, the meals are so numerous that they are crowded against each other, and you are hardly through with one and settled into your chair on deck before you are summoned for the next. But if even these are not sufficient for the keen appetite and hearty digestion you have acquired at sea, you can get something to eat between times by application to the steward. Verily, there is little danger of starvation on a voyage by trans-Atlantic steamer.

On the French line the arrangement differs somewhat from the English. At seven in the morning, tea or coffee is given, with bread and butter and a bowl of soup. From half past nine to eleven breakfast is served, and consists of preliminary appetizers, such as radishes, anchovies, cold ham, and other trifles, followed by steaks, chops, eggs in every form, fish, chicken, and similar solids. Then comes a selection of cheeses and fresh and dry fruits, and the meal ends with a cup of black coffee. Dinner is at half past four, and resembles the continental table d'hote; it is served in courses, and is sufficiently comprehensive to cover the demands of any appetite not altogether unreasonable. Wine, either white or red, is included for both breakfast and dinner, and the passenger may drink as freely of it as he likes. Tea is served at eight in the evening, and there is a light lunch of cold meats at one o'clock. The writer has fared admirably on one of the ships of the French line, and on a subsequent voyage by the same steamer, he fared badly; on the whole, he believes the system a good one, and acceptable to the majority of the passengers.

The gastronomic service of the German steamers combines certain features of the French and English lines, and the hours for meals correspond very nearly to those of the latter. The cooking is Teutonic, and the bill of fare includes a liberal allowance of the toothsome sausage and the savory sour-kraut. There is less waste on the French and German steamers than on the English ones; and it has been remarked that the sea gulls understand the matter very clearly, and will always follow an English ship in preference to one of the others, for the reason that the chance of picking up a delicate morsel that has been tossed overboard is much greater.

Seats at table are assigned by the chief steward or taken by the passengers when they go on board. A card with the name of the individual is placed at the desired seat; the novice might suppose that this would be sufficient to retain the place, but it is not so by any means. Other passengers, who desire the same places, will remove the cards and substitute their own, and sometimes they display great "cheek" in the transaction. It is best to have the chief steward approve your selection at the time you make it, and then you will have an appeal in case of the removal of your card. The captain's table is the post of honor, and the location of the greatest dignity, but if you are not specially invited by the commander to a place there, and have no acquaintance with him, it is best not to seek it. Sometimes the purser's table is a pleasant one, and sometimes the reverse; and the same may be said of the doctor's table. Purser and doctor are proverbially good fellows, with very few exceptions, and wherever you may be seated, your fortune in eating depends more on the table steward than on any one of the officers. When you have once occupied a seat at dinner you retain it through the voyage unless you change with the approval of the steward. A seat in the middle of the saloon is preferred by some to one near the side, but there is really very little difference in the places, so far as the motion of the ship is concerned. Most of the best steamers have adopted the revolving seat, so that you may come to or leave your place without disturbing any one, which is not the case with the old-fashioned bench. Where the benches remain, the passenger should make an effort to secure an end seat, especially if he is liable to sea-sickness and may suddenly discover some day that he doesn't want any more dinner.

If the chief steward assists you to secure a desirable seat, he will expect a pecuniary compliment for the service; on most ships it is well to be on the right side of him, but on some it makes no difference. The first time you go forward beyond a certain line one of the sailors will chalk your boot, or draw a chalk-mark around you. This is a time-honored custom of extracting a shilling from the novice, and the money so obtained is invested in liquid refreshments for the crew. There is only a single chalking for each passenger on the voyage; after he has paid the penalty once he may go forward as much as he pleases without danger of molestation.

The days will run on with more or less monotony, according to circumstances. You will be interested in trivial matters; a sail that is a mere speck on the horizon will awaken a lively discussion, and the appearance of a shark, or a school of porpoises, is sure to draw at least half the passengers to the side of the ship to watch the movements of the inhabitants of the sea. The birds will be a source of amusement, and when a wearied land bird, driven far out to sea by the wind, and with strength nearly exhausted, lights on the rigging, the excitement rises to almost fever heat. What he is, and whence he came, are momentous questions, and if he can be caught and tamed, as sometimes happens, he becomes a popular pet throughout the ship. Some years ago, while a steamer was on her way to New York, a crow came on board a hundred miles or so from the Irish coast. He was caught by the sailors, and soon became perfectly tame and fearless. He liked his new home so well that he did not try to leave it when the ship returned to Ireland; he continued to cross and re-cross for several months, till he was accidentally killed on the dock in New York, where the ship was lying.

Land is in sight, and we will prepare for shore. The old clothing is packed away for deposit in the store-room of the company till our return, and the steamer chair is folded, tied, and tagged. We don our good garments and may cause a sensation to those who have seen us only in the habiliments of the sea, but as every one else will do likewise, the sensation is doubtful. We are ready for the tender that takes us to terra firma, where the formalities of the custom-house await us.

As we leave the ship that has brought us safely over the ocean, it will be no discredit to our manhood if we say good-bye to her, and wish her many prosperous voyages. A feeling akin to affection is not unfrequently developed by the traveler for the ship that has carried him, and ever after he will take a personal interest in her fortunes. A passenger on one of the transatlantic steamers once gave vent to his sentiments in some doggerel verses, of which the following was the concluding one:—

"Old steamer, good-bye, there's some brine in my eye;

I can't say where'll be our next meeting,

But wherever it is I shall welcome your phiz.,

And give you a right hearty greeting."

CHAPTER VIII.
GOING ON SHORE.—HOTELS.

The English and French custom-houses are not as difficult to pass as the American, and the examination is generally quite brief. The traveler should get all his pieces together, so as to facilitate the labors of the officials, and if he has anything liable to duty it is best to declare it before any questions are asked. Spirits and tobacco are the things mainly looked for, and, if any are found that have not been declared, they are liable to confiscation. Where the passenger has only a small quantity of luggage it is generally passed without being opened; and if there are several trunks they investigate every second or third one, making the selection themselves. It is well not to have any of your trunks nicely corded and made up for a long journey, as the officers have learned from long experience that such packages are more liable to contain contraband goods than any other, and consequently they are the ones generally chosen to be opened.

Landing in America has more formality than landing in England or France. The officers come on board at quarantine, and while the ship is making her way up the harbor the declarations of the passengers are taken. The number and character of each one's packages is marked on a blank, to which is appended an oath to the effect that the passenger has told the truth. He receives a card bearing the number of his declaration, and when he reaches the dock and has his baggage ready for examination, he presents his ticket to the officer in charge; the latter assigns his subordinate who is to conduct the examination, and hands him the declaration that the passenger has made. If the number and character of the packages is found to be correct, and no dutiable goods are discovered that have not been declared, the inspection is over in a few minutes, the officer puts a cabalistic mark on each article, and the passenger may then breathe freely. Sometimes the officials conduct the search with a great deal of rigor, and at others they are not at all particular. There appears to be no regular system about the business, and the officials are lax or vigilant, according to the temper of their chief. A change in the office of collector of customs at New York is followed by a great deal of energy, but nobody can tell how long it will last. On some occasions the inspectors have actually turned the contents of trunks on the dock in order to facilitate their examinations, and a great deal of needless rudeness has been displayed by them.

For the information of travelers, the following caution is published:—

"All articles such as wearing apparel, not having been worn, must be declared at the custom-house. Travelers not conforming to this regulation will incur not only the confiscation of the articles not declared, but also the payment of a fine. Silks, laces, and other foreign goods, packed with articles of apparel, or otherwise concealed, are, as well as the articles in which they may be placed, liable to seizure; and travelers are warned that the seizure is strictly enforced, unless the examining officer is informed of the articles being in the package, and the goods duly declared before it is opened."

Clothing in actual use is admitted free of duty, and those who return home with a supply of new garments should be particular to wear each article at least once, in order to be within the regulations. Ladies are informed that a dress that has simply been "tried on" is considered liable to duty, but if it has actually been worn once or twice, it is admissible. Gloves are exempt from this condition, but the traveler should not expect to import a large quantity. The strict allowance is one dozen pairs, but in most cases three or four dozen may be carried without question. The regulations say that each passenger may bring, free of duty, a fair amount of clothing, according to his condition in life, a statement that has given rise to a great deal of dispute. Half a dozen costly silk dresses of the latest fashion would be manifestly out of place in the baggage of Bridget Maloney in the steerage, and fresh from the bogs of Ireland, while they would be regarded as a moderate allowance for Miss Flora M'Flimsey, whose father is a millionaire.

In the continental ports, generally, there is often considerable delay in examining baggage, and the following regulations have been made to facilitate the movements of travelers:—

"Passengers, on landing, are not permitted to take more than one small bag with them on shore. The custom-house porters, who are responsible for its safety, convey it direct from the vessel to the custom-house, where the owner, to save personal attendance, had better send the hotel commissionaire afterwards with the keys. The landlord of the inn is responsible for his honesty."

Leaving the custom-house behind you, the way is clear to seek a hotel. Generally there are plenty of runners at the landing-place, and if you have chosen the establishment where you are to stop, you have only to name it, and the runner for that house will step forward to take charge of yourself and your belongings. Sometimes the baggage is taken on the cab or carriage which carries you, and at others it is intrusted to licensed porters, who are responsible for its safe delivery, and can be trusted without much hesitation. As far as possible, it is best to keep your baggage always with you when traveling, but there are many instances where it is not convenient to do so. Before you leave the custom-house there are some fees to be paid to the porters who have handled your luggage, but none to the officers who examined it. You will find, too, that the man who puts it on the carriage desires to be remembered, and you discover very early in your travels that you are in the land of fees. If you are in charge of the hotel runner you can let him settle these matters, or, if you prefer to attend to them yourself, you can do so, but you run the risk of giving too much. The runner is not always to be trusted, as he sometimes has a secret arrangement with the porters to compel strangers to bleed freely with the understanding that he is to receive the surplus. For putting the ordinary baggage of a traveler through the custom-house and on the top of a cab, a shilling is sufficient, and if it is handled by two persons they should be satisfied with a sixpence each.

It is best to ask the hotel proprietor to settle for your cab rather than attempt it yourself. It is next to impossible to ascertain from a driver how much he is legally entitled to; he either lies about it, or will not give a direct answer. He will "leave it to the gentleman," and the more you persist in knowing, the more he will "leave it to your honor." And finally when you make a venture, and through fear of giving too little give too much, the chances are, five to one, he will declare himself under-paid, and demand more. He promises beforehand to leave it to you, but rarely does, and therein is the aggravating part of the business. The only way to do under such circumstances is to walk off and leave him to shower imprecations on you; if you prefer peace and quietness you will pay what he demands. This payment will be followed by a request for an additional something for drinking your health, and possibly by a hint that the horse is hungry, and a trifle to buy oats would be appreciated by the beast. Don't expect a driver in the United Kingdom to change a coin for you; his pockets may be bulging with shillings and sixpences, but he declares with the most solemn face that he has no change, and possibly insists that you are the first patron he has had for two days.

Our copy-books at school generally inform us that the horse is a noble animal. No one will be likely to dispute the statement, as we all have a respect for the horse, and many of us are familiar with incidents that show his excellent character. But, admitting his nobility, it is a little singular that he should be associated with so much that is the reverse of noble, or rather that the great majority of those who associate with him are inclined to rascality. The whole race of hackmen and cabmen, from one end of the world to the other, are distinguished for their swindling tendencies; horse-trading and horse-jockeying are synonyms of cheating, and the race-track is the resort of scoundrels of all grades and kinds. If the traveler is not prepared to accept this proposition before landing in the old world, he will have excellent opportunities to verify it before he has been a month on the eastern side of the Atlantic.

In the English hotels the traveler will find many things to remind him that he is not in the United States. Instead of an office with a marble counter, a heavy register, and a clerk gorgeous as to hair and sparkling as to breast-pin, he finds a little window opening into a room only a few feet square, and behind the window a woman. She takes his application for lodging, and as he peers into the nook where she sits he wonders how the New York hotel clerk would get along in such narrow limits. Perhaps he may see a door opening beyond the office into an equally small apartment, where the book-keeper is stationed, and, in many instances, he finds that the accounts are kept by one of the gentler sex.

In many hotels not a man is visible about the office, with the possible exception of the porter, and the entire management is in feminine hands. The proprietor is rarely seen, and even the manager, where there is a masculine one, is a personage who is reached with more or less difficulty. At a famous hotel in Ireland, which bears the name of its proprietor, the story goes that a gentleman asked one day if that individual was in.

"He's in his private office, sir," was the reply.

"Say that I wish to see him a moment," said the gentleman, who was a London merchant of considerable prominence, and well known as a frequent patron of the hotel.

The clerk disappeared, and shortly returned with the following message:—

"Mr. —— is engaged at present over some papers, and will send his secretary out in a few minutes to see what you want."

The American will miss the wide corridors of the hotels of his native land, and he finds the space usually given up to the public in the United States is here reserved for the strict use of the house. There are no broad reading-rooms and parlors, with a plentiful supply of papers from all parts of the country, as in the great hostelries at home; the bar is a dingy nook, scarcely larger than the office, and the most conspicuous ornaments in it are the handles of the beer-pumps. The bartender is absent, and in his place the bar-maid presides; those who are bibulously inclined will find comparatively little to tempt them, as the array of "mixed drinks," so common in an American bar, is practically unknown in England. A few drinking establishments in London have sought to attract the patronage of strangers from the United States by advertising "American drinks," but those who have tried them say that the British concoctions are base counterfeits of the great originals.

In some hotels there is no public bar whatever, and drinks are served to order in the dining and smoking-rooms, or in the private apartments. Smoking is usually forbidden in the corridors, and sometimes the stranger who ventures to light a cigar in his private room will be told that he is violating the rules, and must go to the smoking-room.

In the last few years the English appear to have taken a hint from their transatlantic cousins in the way of hotel-keeping, and several establishments containing many of the American features have sprung into existence. The most of them have been successful, and it is probable that the crop will increase.

Bedrooms in the English hotels are usually larger than in American houses, and furnished on a more liberal scale. The beds are spacious, and frequently you find an old-fashioned four-poster of considerable antiquity, together with others that were fashioned in the present time. A hotel in Liverpool boasts of a bed in which Oliver Cromwell once slept, and certainly he could have occupied it without being cramped for space. Those who are liable to colds and rheumatic pains should be particular to have the sheets well aired and dried before retiring; the moist climate of the British Islands is apt to leave a disagreeable dampness on bed-linen, and make it very detrimental to the general health. Many a man has taken a severe cold by sleeping in damp sheets on his arrival in England, and discovered to his sorrow that his recovery was a thing of several weeks, if not longer. The prevailing moisture of the United Kingdom is an excellent thing for the ruddy cheeks of the women, and beneficial to the potato crop, but the stranger is not usually enamored of it, especially if he comes from a region where dry atmosphere is the fashion.

There are only a very few hotels where the traveler is received on the American system, and pays a lump sum per day for everything. The engagement is nearly always for the room alone, and all meals are charged extra, and may be taken wherever the customer chooses. There is an extra item for "attendance," and custom has fixed this at one shilling and sixpence at the majority of the English hotels. Some hotels compel you to breakfast in the house, or at all events they charge you for that meal, whether you take it or not, but the dinner is quite optional with you. The dining-room is generally known as the "coffee-room," but in some hotels there is a larger hall in addition to the coffee-room, where the table d'hote dinner is served. One can breakfast very comfortably in the coffee-room, as he will find the morning papers there, and frequently a stock of guide-books and writing materials, with which he may amuse himself while his chop or steak is being prepared. Chops, steaks, ham and eggs, and cold meats are the principal items of an English breakfast, and there is hardly any variation from day to day.

If the dinner is served in the continental style, the traveler has no choice, but takes the courses in the order in which they are brought. A dinner "off the joint" is another thing, and a peculiarly British institution. Soup is served, and then fish, and then comes the joint, which is the piece de resistance of the day. A huge round of beef, smoking hot from the fire, or perhaps an equally huge piece of mutton, is mounted on a small table whose legs terminate in casters; by means of this table the joint is wheeled before each customer, who indicates to the carver the exact morsel he desires. There can be no deception, and no opportunity to serve up slices that have been warmed over from a previously cooked joint. The form of service is quite a novelty to the newly-arrived American, and various opinions have been passed upon its advantages. Some are loud in its praise while others declare that the sight of the steaming joints destroys their appetite.

The dinner costs from two shillings, sixpence, to five shillings, and there is an extra charge of threepence or sixpence for attendance, if the customer is not stopping in the hotel, and sometimes when he is. This attendance business is a nuisance, and many a stranger has spoken his mind freely in denouncing it as a well-regulated swindle. The theory is that it pays for the service, but it does nothing of the kind, and every waiter who has done the least thing for you, as well as others who have not lifted a finger in your aid, expects to receive a fee before your departure. Some of the hotels have the impertinence to print on their bill-heads "the service is all included, and nothing more is expected," a falsehood as glaring as any that has ever been told in the history of the world. The stranger who takes them at their word, and leaves the house without distributing sixpences and shillings to the servants, would be looked upon as little less than a downright swindler, and be received with coldness and negligence if he had the temerity to venture there again.

The prices of bedrooms vary according to their location and character; they are rarely less than two shillings—with the inevitable attendance—and often as high as five shillings. The following may be taken as a fair average of charges in an English hotel of medium pretensions:

If tea is added to this it will cost not less than one shilling, and generally more. The fees to the servants are not likely to be less than a shilling a day for each person of the party, and it requires careful management to bring them down to that figure. The fees should never be given till the moment of departure, for the reason already mentioned in our talk about steamships.

At all hotels in the United Kingdom and on the Continent be sure to have the price of everything distinctly understood at the time the room is taken. Perhaps it is from a consciousness of the dishonesty of the charge for attendance, the manager or other person who assigns your room never mentions that item, and a direct question is needed to bring it out. The following inquiries will cover the ordinary circumstances of arrival at a hotel:—

"What is the price of a bedroom?"

"What is the charge for attendance?"

"How much for dinner?"

"How much for breakfast?"

"What time must a room be given up?"

The last interrogatory is necessary in consequence of the varying rules of the hotels. Most of them have their day, like the nautical one, begin at noon, and a person who remains till one or two P.M. must pay for an extra day of room and attendance. Some hotels begin their day at 11 A.M., and some as early as 10; it is a noticeable fact that in several of these latter instances important trains leave a couple of hours after the termination of the diurnal reckoning. The traveler who holds his room till it is time to go to the train finds to his astonishment that the last hour of his occupation has cost him the same as an entire day. But the hotel keepers have a living to make, and must keep an eye to the main chance.

Guides for the city or neighborhood can be had at all hotels, and are preferable to those picked up the street. Carriages and cabs can also be ordered at the hotel, but if the traveler can trust himself to make a bargain it is better to secure them outside, since the house not infrequently adds a commission for its services. Besides it is well to learn as much as possible of the people you are among, and there are no more sharply-defined characters in the world than the professional drivers of Irish, Scotch, or English cities.

CHAPTER IX.
THE SYSTEM OF FEES.

Allusion has been made in preceding paragraphs to the system of gratuities that prevails in Great Britain and on the Continent. It is the greatest of all the annoyances of European travel, not so much for the money it consumes as for the perplexities it makes, and the perpetual irritation of being asked at every step to give an indefinite sum for real or fancied services. It would be a good deal mitigated if the expectants would name the exact amount they are entitled to; a regular tariff for gratuities would be a vast relief to the traveling public, but this boon is emphatically refused. The amount is always left to the stranger, partly for the reason that custom has so ordained, and partly because an avenue is thus left open for an increased demand.

The waiter is much less likely than his friend the cab-man to tell you he is under-paid, but he vouchsafes that information far more frequently than is agreeable to the traveler. He rarely speaks when conveying this reproof, but his manner is unmistakable. Occasionally he puts the money back in your hand, and declines to accept it; his manner is as lofty as the summit of Mount Blanc, and quite as cold, and to judge by his appearance his most tender susceptibilities have been sorely wounded. The novice generally soothes him by an addition to the amount of the offer, but the experienced voyager does nothing of the kind. He drops the returned cash into his pocket and turns away; the movement brings the offended dignity to his senses, and for a moment he undergoes a mental struggle over the situation. Shall he preserve his haughty manner and refuse to pursue the subject, or shall he accept what he has just declined? These are the questions that flit through his brain, and he carefully balances the pros and cons. The usual result is in favor of the last-named course, and he pockets his fee in silence and thankfulness, not unaccompanied with a sullen air.

Occurrences of this kind are more rare in England than on the Continent, and the Continent again is freer from them than the countries farther East. Perhaps the worst of all is Egypt, where "backsheesh!" ("a present") is dinned into the traveler's ears from morn till night; it is the word he first hears on his arrival, and the last at his departure, and in after years it haunts his dreams, and is by no means banished from his waking hours. Whatever he does or does not do, he is expected to pay for; services are impudently forced upon him, and then the demand for compensation is as insolent as it is exorbitant. The manner of the Egyptian Arab in this matter of backsheesh is most insulting, and the wonder is he has been allowed to practice it so long. Give him what you consider a fair return for his services, either real or fancied, and he pushes the money back into your hands and lifts his nose into the air; you have been in his estimation a miser, and your coin is unfit for him to touch. But if you drop it into your pocket and turn away, his whole attitude changes; he is no longer the proud descendant of the Mamelukes and the kings of Egypt, but the most cringing suppliant you can imagine. He begs you to give again what he has just refused, and if you persist in keeping it he has resource to tears. Not unfrequently he rolls on the ground and screams like an angry child, and he will follow you for hours in the hope that you will relent. Sometimes, instead of thrusting the money into your hand, he throws it on the ground, knowing that you will be very unlikely to stoop to pick it up; by so doing he endeavors to make sure of the original offer, and takes his chances in shaming or bullying you into giving more.

The question naturally occurs to an American, 'How shall I ascertain what is proper to give when a service has been rendered to me?' No general rule can be laid down, and the traveler must depend often on his judgment. Where it is possible to do so, you can ask any person who is familiar with the subject, and he will tell you; when this cannot be done you have only yourself to rely upon. Remember that in England and on the Continent money has a greater purchasing power than in America, and gauge your fees accordingly. Where you have engaged cabmen, guides, or other individuals whose rate of service is previously arranged, or is regulated by a tariff, you will be about right if you add ten per cent. for a gratuity. Thus a guide whose tariff is five francs a day should be satisfied with half a franc, but, if he has been specially zealous and useful, you can give him a franc with safety. The Paris cabman expects four sous additional on the course or six sous an hour; his fee is obligatory in a certain sense, as his wages are too low for him to live upon without the pour boire. The German cabman expects his trinkgeld as a matter of course, and you will really under-pay him if you do not give it. The same is the case with his class in all parts of the Continent, as well as in Great Britain, and you will fully hit the mark if you augment the regular tariff by fifteen or twenty per cent.

In the restaurants the waiters generally receive nothing in the form of wages; they rely entirely on the donations of patrons for their compensation, and the system is well understood by the public. The money thus obtained is dropped into a box at the cashier's counter, and divided among all the waiters of the establishment at the end of the week. This has been found after long experience the best way to secure uniform attention to all customers,—better than to allow each waiter to pocket the money he receives. In the latter case, a patron known to be liberal would be carefully looked after, while the man who gave only the regulation fee would be neglected. Under the present arrangement a waiter can have no great inducement to neglect the niggardly man to an undue extent, and, on the other hand, he will not be over-serviceable to the generous one. The box for the money is in full view of all the waiters, so as to prevent any frauds on the revenue; it is usually of metal, and a foot or so in height. The shape and material cause the coin to jingle when it falls, and thus the waiters can be taught by the ear as well as by the eye that the donations are properly bestowed.

A French barber shop frequently amuses the stranger on account of the way the pour boire is received. You have whatever tonsorial operation you choose, and when the work is finished you pay according to the tariff. When change has been made you leave a few sous on the counter for the inevitable extra; the cashier drops them in the metal box which stands ready for their reception, and the sound of their fall is followed by a chorus of "Merci, monsieur," from all the barbers in the place, be they few or many. Half a dozen masculine voices pronouncing those words in measured cadence have a strange effect on the ears of a novice.

In many hotels and restaurants in England, and on the Continent, not only do the servants receive no wages, but they even pay something to the proprietor for their places. In the restaurants of Vienna there is a man who is designated the "zoll-kellner," (pay-waiter) who carries a leather sack at his side to hold the coin for making change. Your accounts are settled with him, and not with the waiter who has served you, and it is to the zoll-kellner that you give your gratuities. Out of the gratuities he pays the wages of the waiters, and reimburses himself for his services, so that the attendance costs the establishment nothing. Some of the larger bier-halles in Vienna derive a revenue from the service, as they require the zoll-kellner to pay some hundreds of dollars annually for his privilege, besides giving his time and paying the waiters.

The usual fee in a restaurant on the Continent is a sou on each franc of the bill, or one sou in twenty. Thus, if you have ten francs to pay for your dinner, you give half a franc, or ten sous, to the waiter, and if you have expended only five francs you give him five sous. A sou on a franc is a good general rule; it is followed by the great majority of Frenchmen and other continental people, but you should not adhere to it by giving a single sou when you have only a franc to pay. Never give less than two sous, where you give anything at all, except to the professional beggar of whom you wish to rid yourself. The cashiers of the restaurants always arrange the change, so that you will have the material for the pour boire. Suppose your bill is exactly ten francs, and you put down a twenty-franc piece from which the amount is to be taken. The cashier sends back, not a ten-franc piece, but a five-franc piece, four francs, half a franc, and the rest in copper. Sometimes there is an attempt to cause the stranger to bleed freely by making change so that he will be compelled to give more than is necessary. Thus in the instance described above, the cashier would send back a five-franc piece and five pieces of one franc each, so as to compel a donation of a franc. Whenever this is done you can be entirely sure that it is an effort to extract more than is due; you can meet it by asking change—la monnaie—for one of the franc pieces, or better still, give the exact pour boire from the reserve you should always have in your pocket.

The regulation of the fees necessary for a hotel is more difficult than for a restaurant. The amount given should be proportioned to the time you have been in the house, the services of the waiters, the demands you have made upon them, and the size of your party. It is best to let one person of a party pay all the gratuities, and do it in a systematic way so that each servant receives his or her due. Suppose you are four in number, and have been a week in the house; you pay the concierge from five to eight francs, the chambermaid four to six, the waiter who has brought the coffee in the morning, and otherwise looked after you, five to eight, and the porter who has handled luggage and blacked your boots, five to six francs. These figures are for a fair amount of service, and are liberal enough for most cases. Every traveler must judge for himself whether he has made an undue demand upon the servants, and gauge his gratuities accordingly.

So much has been said about the fee system that some of the hotels have adopted the plan of certain English ones in announcing that the service is all included and nothing more is expected. But the pretence is a very thin one, as the departing traveler will surely ascertain. The servants come to his room while he is putting the finishing touch to his packing, they lie in wait in the halls and on the stairways, and they assemble at the door to see him off. There is often a preconcerted system of signals by which all the servants can be notified of the approaching departure of a patron of a hotel. Bells will be rung, or somebody will be called in a loud voice to bring something either real or imaginary. The writer had the following experience in a hotel in Paris:

He had been in the house nearly a week, and followed the usual custom of leaving his key with the concierge whenever he went out. If he came in in the afternoon he was usually informed that the chambermaid had the key upstairs, and on proceeding to his hall he summoned that damsel by touching a bell at the head of the stairway; the concierge never made any pretence of calling her, but simply indicated that the key was above. One afternoon he came in, asked for his key, and received the usual response that the chambermaid had it. As he turned to go upstairs he asked to have his bill made out, as he was going away immediately.

The half-asleep concierge seemed to have been struck with a shock from an electric battery. She protruded her head from the window of her office, and shouted so that she could have been heard to the uttermost parts of the house:-

"Fifine! Fifine! apportez le clef pour numero trente deux; monsieur va partir—il va partir" ("Bring the key for number 32; the gentlemen is going away; he's going away!")

The echoes of the last syllable of the last word of her call followed number 32 up the stairs to his door. When he had arranged his packing and descended, he found the servants waiting for him, with the exception of those he had already encountered on his way down. At least half of them he had never seen, but all had their hands open for any tokens of remembrance in the shape of the current coin of the country.

The custom of assembling all the servants on the departure of a traveler is descended from the Middle Ages when the retainers of a castle were summoned by the bell at the portcullis to welcome the coming and speed the parting guest. Like many another honorable usage of olden times it has suffered degradation; at present it is simply a form of extracting money from the traveler, and not one servant in a hundred is aware of its origin, or thinks of it in any other light than the practical one. The fee system to the hotel waiter had a similar origin, and is likewise a relic of feudalism. The guest at the castle of a baron of the Middle Ages was not expected to pay for his accommodation; he was in every sense a guest, and like many a guest of modern days, he often felt that he was causing a good deal of trouble and extra work on the part of the servants and retainers. Consequently he opened his purse at his departure and scattered his cash among those who had cared for him; the shell of the custom has been retained, but its sentiment is altogether gone. The patron of a hotel pays his bill, and is in no sense a "guest," as many keepers of hostelries like to call him, and the excuse for his distribution of money among the servants has the lightest possible foundation.

In high circles the habits of the olden time remain in all their purity, and princes and kings and nobles are obliged to pay heavily for their entertainment. After his sojourn in Paris in 1867, the Emperor of Russia gave 40,000 francs to be distributed among the servants of the palace where he was lodged, and the King of Italy gave 10,000 francs under similar circumstances at Vienna in 1873. American and other foreigners of distinction who visit Egypt are often honored with lodgings in one of the Khedive's palaces, or with one of his private steamers to go up the Nile. But it is bad economy to accept these courtesies, for the reason that the backsheesh to servants and officers amounts to a large figure, frequently to several hundreds of dollars. It was said of Ismail Pacha that he paid nothing to the attaches of his boats and palaces but reimbursed them by giving them an occasional distinguished visitor to pluck.

The fee system has grown into so many abuses in these latter days that several governments have passed laws restricting it, and forbidding its servants to accept fees. This is noticeable in the public galleries of France, Italy, and other countries, where no fees are demanded except a slight charge for taking care of a cane or umbrella, and sometimes an entrance fee, which is bought at a ticket-office, and must be paid by everybody who enters. At the ruins of Pompeii signs are posted in all the languages of Europe forbidding the guides to accept fees in any form under penalty of dismissal; the regulations are so stringent that no guide dares to accept a piece of money, no matter how willing you may be to give it. But there is a form of keeping the word of promise to the ear and breaking it to the hope; the guides are allowed to sell photographs of the various objects of interest, and sometimes they pester you with them to an extent far worse than any direct application for gratuities.

The traveler should be cautious about making a "half-bargain" with guides, valets, et id omne genus, who will be sure to make all kinds of claim against him. Never accept the services of one of these men without a positive agreement as to the amount he is to receive, and if you can have it include his pour boire, so much the better. He always desires to leave something open for a demand, while you should be equally certain to have no loop-hole in the contract. A Neapolitan guide will fix his services at five francs a day, "and something for myself if you are satisfied." Now this something breeds a great deal of trouble. The writer had one of these fellows to accompany him up Vesuvius on his first visit to Naples. The 'something' was left undetermined; the guide received five francs at the end of the day with a franc extra, which was thought to be quite sufficient. He struck an attitude of astonishment and declared himself outrageously treated; "gentlemen always gives me five francs extra," he remarked, "and some of them gives ten." This was said with an air of withering contempt, but there was nothing in his neighborhood that withered immediately. When a guide proposes to hire himself for five francs and something if you are satisfied, endeavor to fix the amount of the "satisfaction." If he will not do it he is a good subject to drop, unless he is the only one of his kind attainable, and you happen to be in a hurry. Remember always that a half-bargain is a bad bargain, everywhere, and especially in the countries where the fee system is in vogue.

Sometimes even a careful bargain will not protect the traveler from trouble. Italian boatmen will agree for a certain sum, and while on the way they demand more. If you are going on board a steamer at Naples they are apt to be extortionate, as they know you are leaving port and are not likely to give them trouble with the police. A boatman agrees to carry you and your baggage for two francs; you enter his boat and off you go. Half way to the ship he stops rowing and demands four, or perhaps five, francs, and threatens to return to shore unless you comply. If you are strong, and carry a cane or good umbrella, a threat to break his head, accompanied with a gesture to that effect, will generally cause him to proceed. If you are weak and timid, the best way is to say nothing, and if you are tough in conscience and don't mind meeting downright rascality with a white lie, you can nod assent and let him go on. Before he gets to the ship he will increase his demand, and you may nod again. When you reach the vessel do not show your money till your baggage is safe on board, the heavy trunks in the hold, and the lighter things in your cabin. Then pay the sum you first agreed to give, and not a centime more, and, having discharged the obligation, descend to the saloon. The boatman is not allowed to follow you there, but he will give vent to a volley of imprecations that fall harmless on your devoted head if you happen to be ignorant of Italian. When these fellows get too noisy they are ordered away from the ship, and after their departure you may mount again to the deck and enjoy the wonderfully beautiful panorama of the bay of Naples.

The boatmen of Alexandria, Egypt, are worse than their Neapolitan brethren, as they sometimes resort to downright violence. A strong cane is the best argument for them, and if you are two or three men against an equal or inferior number, you have a moral force that stands in good stead. One man alone may face two or three of these rascals, but he is not altogether safe, as they would have little hesitation in robbing him and then throwing him overboard, if they could be sure of escaping undetected. They have been known to pull around the harbor for an hour or two to compel their victim to come to terms, and if brought before the police for their misconduct they generally manage to bribe themselves out of trouble, unless their prosecutor is able and willing to pay more for their punishment than they can for their liberty.

The inhabitants of Switzerland have been noted in all ages for their thrifty habits and their ability to make much of an opportunity. In former times their genius was displayed in watch-making and other industries; in these latter days, they have devoted themselves in great measure to fleecing the tourists that come among them, and some of their performances in this line border on the wonderful. Watch-making and wood-carving still exist, and quite probably there are yet many honest people in the land of the Alps. Down to a recent period the exploitation of the stranger was left to the hotel-keepers, guides, porters, and others with whom he came in contact, and if he felt aggrieved and brought complaint against his swindlers he could receive redress at the hands of the law. On a changé tout cela, the government has come to the assistance of the exploiting class, and what was before optional is now official. At every step the tourist encounters a "tariff," and if he objects to anything his attention is called to the fact that it is "official." The hotel porter takes your trunk to the door of the establishment where you have been lodged, and hands it over to a licensed porter, who carries it to the boat, train, or diligence. He stops at the dock, or at the front of the station, where another licensed porter comes forward and bears the trunk to the baggageman; each of the porters must be paid, and the baggageman also expects something, and if you object you are shown the official tariff, from which there is no appeal.

The official tariff is made the scapegoat of a great many extortions and downright falsehoods; the writer will give a bit of his personal experience to illustrate this statement. He was in Martigny, on his way to Chamouny, in the summer of 1880, and wished to hire a carriage for the journey; he had been told that one could be had for thirty or forty francs, and asked the proprietor of the hotel Clerc where carriages were to be had and the price to be paid. The latter answered that the tariff for a carriage for two persons was fifty francs, and there was no other price.

"But," said the stranger, "I have been told that a carriage can be had for thirty or forty francs. Is it not so?"

"Not at all," was the proprietor's answer; "there is only one price, fifty francs. They will tell you so at the office of the Association of Drivers." (Societe des cochers de Martigny.)

He indicated the office, which was close to the hotel, and the stranger went there. The agent assured him that no carriage could be had under fifty francs, and he pointed to the official tariff, by which all drivers were bound. Convinced of the truthfulness of the landlord's statement, the stranger engaged a carriage and paid twenty-five francs in advance, the balance being due on arrival at Chamouny. Then he strolled up the street and came upon an office bearing the announcement:—

"Carriages for Chamouny.—Two persons, thirty francs; three persons, forty francs; four persons, fifty francs."

Full of wrath at having been swindled, he returned to the hotel and interviewed the landlord. There was a good deal of frankness to the square foot of the conversation, and the landlord became very indignant when told that he had dealt sparingly with the truth. He defended his action on the ground that the official tariff was fifty francs, and he did not recognize the existence of the opposition. In whatever light the case was presented, he responded that the opposition was not "recognized," and he would not allow his patrons to travel by it if possible to prevent their doing so. He denied receiving any commission from the "official" drivers, and waxed wroth at the intimation of such a thing, but the writer ascertained afterwards to his full satisfaction that the drivers gave ten per cent. of their revenues to the hotel-keepers on condition that the latter would ignore the existence of the opposition, and give all patronage to the association.

Cases like the foregoing may be found all over Switzerland in one form or another. Great stress is laid upon the words "official" and "tariff," and matters are so arranged that the traveler can be bled as much as possible with the least possible chance of redress. The authorities connive at the frauds, and the chances are twenty to one that a tourist who has the temerity to bring his disputes before them will be required to pay the sum in question, with a heavy addition in the shape of a fine. As an instance of official connivance, the following may be cited:—

Tourists going from Zermatt to the railway station at Visp have a journey of about eight hours, partly by saddle and partly by wagon; it is customary to forward trunks and valises by the government post, which is due at Visp at 4 P.M., while the train for Lausanne and Geneva leaves at five o'clock. The traveler times his movements so as to get to Visp to claim his baggage and take it to the railway station in season for the train, but he finds on arrival that the postmaster is busy with the verification of the lists, copying them, sorting letters, and arranging parcels in general, so that there is no delivery till after the departure of the train. This neat arrangement compels the traveler who wishes to keep with his luggage to spend a night at Visp, to the profit of one of the two hotels that adorn this uninteresting place, and, furthermore, they have a habit of closing the office half an hour before the departure of the forenoon train, and the hotel-keepers manage to keep you at breakfast until this half-hour has been reached. In this case you must wait till afternoon, or go on without your property, either of which is unpleasant, and if you venture to complain you are told that such is the regulation of the office, and as the postmaster represents the government the futility of any opposition is at once apparent.

The Swiss excel even the Chinese in their genius for combinations and guilds; and the object of these enterprises is not, like those of the Chinese, altogether in the interest of legitimate labor, but to the end that the pocket of the stranger can be depleted to the advantage of the inhabitants of the land of William Tell. Items that were formerly regarded as gratuities, and therefore optional, are now obligatory, and they are frequently demanded with an insolence that rouses the traveler's ire. There are doubtless many honest people in Switzerland, but it is not easy for the ordinary traveler to find them, and the difficulty seems to be increasing every year.

CHAPTER X.
ENGLISH AND CONTINENTAL MONEY.

We have already considered the subject of letters of credit and the uses to be made of them. We will now look at the perplexities of the English and Continental currencies. The English stand at the head of the list in having one of the most troublesome monetary systems imaginable; it is a never-failing source of inconvenience to the stranger, especially if he has come from a land where the decimal system in one form or another is in vogue. We all know it from the school-books:—

• 4 farthings make one penny,
• 12 pence make one shilling,
• 20 shillings make one pound,
• 21 shillings make one guinea.

It is easy enough to commit the above to memory, but not at all easy to put it into practice. The farthing is imaginary, like the American mill, the smallest coin being two farthings, or half a penny, usually called a ha'penny, with the accent on the first syllable. This coin is about equal to the American cent, so that a penny is worth two cents, or very nearly. The shilling is nearly the equivalent of twenty-five cents. Four shillings may be reckoned as a dollar, and a pound as five dollars. The actual value is less than five dollars, but it is near enough for rough calculations. The guinea is obsolete, and does not exist in circulation, but the coins can be bought as curiosities, and may be seen occasionally dangling from the watch-chains of their possessors. English tradesmen are fond of stating prices in guineas when dealing with foreigners, as they can thereby add five per cent. to their revenues; the English customer is on the look-out for this trick and cannot be caught by it, but the American is very likely to confound pounds with guineas and not think of the difference. Some unscrupulous tailors and other tradesmen are in the habit of making their bills in guineas when only pounds have been mentioned, and not infrequently the bills are paid without the discovery of the swindle.

The smallest bank-notes in circulation in England are of five pounds each, though the banks in Ireland and Scotland, and some of the private banks in England, issue notes of one pound. The gold coins are twenty shillings and ten shillings each, and known as sovereigns and half-sovereigns. In common usage the larger is frequently called a "sov.," and a ten-shilling piece a "half-sov." Silver coins are for five shillings, two and a half shillings, two shillings, one shilling, sixpence, fourpence, and threepence. The copper coins of a penny and a halfpenny complete the list. The two-and-a-half-shilling piece is called half a crown, the five-shilling piece sometimes a crown and sometimes, in slang language, "five bob." A shilling is designated as a "bob" by the lower classes, and a sixpence as a "tanner." "Two bobs and a tanner," means "two shillings and sixpence."

The two-shilling piece is the newest of the English coins, and is heartily detested by the cabman, the waiter, and all others whose existence has any dependence on gratuities. Where half a crown was formerly given, the two-shilling piece comes in use; the giver saves a sixpence, and the receiver is "out" just that amount. If a vote of the fee-taking classes could be had on the subject it would be unanimous for the abolition of this hated coin. Travelers economically inclined would do well to consider the advantages of this piece of money, and govern themselves accordingly.

On the Continent the currency in nearly all countries is far simpler than in England, for the reason that it is on a decimal basis. The franc is the acknowledged unit of France, Belgium, Switzerland, and Italy, and it is divided into a hundred parts, known as centimes in the three countries first named, and as centissimi in the last of the list. Reckonings are in francs and centimes; the approximate value of the franc is twenty cents of American money—though in reality it is a trifle over eighteen cents. The centime is consequently one-fifth of a cent, but no coins of that value are stamped except in Italy; five centimes make a sou in all the countries except Italy, where the coin is known as a soldi, and it is the smallest of the coins in general use. The sou is practically the equivalent of the American cent, and is about as large as the old-fashioned "copper" of twenty years ago. There is a two-sous piece of copper in all the countries named, and quite recently some of them have adopted nickel coins of the value of five, ten, and twenty centimes. There are silver coins of twenty and fifty centimes (the last being a half-franc), and then come the pieces of one franc, two francs, and five francs, the last being about the size of the American dollar. The gold coins are of ten and twenty francs, and occasionally we encounter pieces of forty francs, and also some slender ones of five francs. Bank-notes are of 10, 20, 50, 100, 500, and 1000 francs, and rarely smaller except in Italy, where there is a depreciated paper currency with forced circulation. Gold and silver are as scarce in Italy as they were in the United States in the decade following our civil war; the rate of discount for paper varies according to the condition of the national treasury, and for other countries, and can always be ascertained at any banker's, or in the hotels. Where it is not expressly stipulated to the contrary, all hotel and other bills in Italy are payable in paper at par whatever may be the rate of discount; if a hotel-keeper attempts to compel the payment of his bill in gold, without previous notification, he can be brought to terms by referring him to the police. The franc is commonly called a lira in Italy, especially among the lower classes, who have a tendency to stick to their national terms.

The unit of Austria is the florin (about fifty American cents), which is divided into a hundred kreutzers. The currency is in paper, at a varying discount, with coins of one, five, ten, and twenty kreutzers, based on the paper values. There is a ten-florin piece of gold which is intended to be equal to the twenty-franc piece, but is just a trifle short of it, and is consequently refused by bankers and others, except at a discount. The unit of Russia is the rouble (about seventy-five cents American), and it is divided into one hundred kopecks; the circulation is in paper, and it fluctuates in value with the varying conditions of the public treasury, and the alternating events of war or peace.

The German States had until within a few a years a bewildering array of currencies that would require whole pages of this book for their enumeration. Since the unification of the Empire the old currencies have mostly disappeared, and a uniform system has been adopted. The unit is the mark (twenty-five cents American, or one shilling English), and the mark is divided into one hundred pfennings. The silver coins are five marks, two marks, and one mark, and fifty and twenty pfennings, the nickel of ten and five pfennings, the copper of two pfennings and one pfenning; the gold coins are twenty, ten, and five marks, and the largest of the three is intended to be equal to the English sovereign.

English sovereigns can be exchanged in any country of Europe for the local currency, and so can the French, Italian, or other pieces of twenty francs. The latter are generally called napoleons, but since the establishment of the French Republic there has been a revival of the old name louis, or louis d'or. Some intense Republicans denominate the coin in question "une piece de vingt francs," and do not seem to mind the loss of time requisite for pronouncing four words instead of one. The traveler who has a stock of sovereigns or napoleons, either or both, can always settle his bill at the hotels with those coins, but he must be careful to have a supply of the money of the country for paying railway fares. In most countries of Europe the railways are more or less under government control, and the ticket-sellers are forbidden to accept foreign money. Sometimes a ticket-seller will change the traveler's money for him, but he naturally expects to be paid for his trouble.

At the frontier railway stations there are money-changers who do a very good business on small capital. Travelers can exchange the money of the country they are leaving for that of the one they are entering, and the changer can turn his capital as many times as there are trains each way daily, and make a small percentage on each operation. He has a fine profit and no risk, except that he may take an occasional counterfeit, but in the latter case he will have little difficulty in passing it on the first verdant customer. Counterfeit coins abound in Spain, Switzerland, England, and some other countries, but not in great number. The traveler is sure to be caught by them once in a while, and also by coins which have been called in and are declared uncurrent. The latter can be disposed of as gratuities to waiters and guides, and the former may be kept as curiosities, or dropped into the hats of importunate beggars.

For a rough calculation you can turn your dollars into pounds by dividing their amount by five, and into francs by using the same number as a multiplier. Multiply your dollars by four for German marks, and by two for Austrian florins; and if you get as far as Turkey and wish to reckon in piastres, you must multiply by twenty. To reach the amount in dollars of any values in the above currencies, you have only to reverse the operation, and after a little practice you will do it very rapidly.

CHAPTER XI.
LANGUAGES AND COURIERS.

As long as the American is in the United Kingdom he finds no trouble in making himself understood, but when he crosses the channel and lands on the Continent, the situation changes. Strange languages assail his ears, and the farther he goes the more languages he finds. If he has never studied any tongue save his mother one, he will often find himself helpless, and he execrates the memory of the man who first proposed the erection of the tower of Babel, and thereby brought trouble on the whole human race. He wishes he had studied some of the foreign lingo before he left home, and vows that before he comes again he will be able to make himself understood in French and German. An excellent resolution this is, and, like most good resolves, it is rarely kept.

An American who is entirely ignorant of any language beyond the vernacular of his own land may travel from one end of Europe to the other without any very serious trouble. But he will pay dear for his lack of lingual accomplishments, as he will be regarded as a fair subject for exploitation by the inn-keepers, guides, and others with whom he is brought in contact, and he cannot go out of the beaten track of tourists. In the principal hotels throughout Europe there are English-speaking clerks and servants, and it is usually easy to find guides and valets who are able to get on in the language of the British Isles. Those with deep and well-lined purses may employ a courier who will look after everything—engage rooms at hotels, buy railway tickets, attend to the luggage, and in various ways relieve the traveler from a great deal of perplexity. But he is a luxury that only the affluent can afford, as he not only has his wages and traveling expenses, but he obtains a commission, or "squeeze," on nearly every disbursement in your behalf. He takes you to the best hotels and secures the best rooms in them, and he leads you to the shops where the prices are highest, with correspondingly large commissions. He is generally honest so far as actual plunder of your money is concerned, and he takes care that no one but himself fleeces you, unless he can have a share of the spoil. His operations are conducted upon well understood principles, and he regards the taking of a commission as entirely compatible with rigid integrity. Now and then a courier can be found who disdains commissions, and faithfully watches the interest of his employer, and when such a man is obtained he may be regarded as a treasure.

Be very particular in employing a courier, as your happiness or misery will depend in great measure upon his goodness or badness. Your banker in London or Paris can generally recommend a trustworthy man, and there is a couriers' association in London that is well spoken of. The association is responsible for the honesty of each member, and also for his sobriety and general good conduct, but in any event the credentials of the man you are considering should be carefully examined. Especially should this be done with a courier who seeks you and offers his services, and if he cannot produce good references he should be rejected at once. The genuineness of the testimonials should also be investigated, as there have been instances where these documents were mostly imaginary, and written to order.

A courier should be familiar with English, French, German, and Italian, and if you are going to Spain, Russia, or the Scandinavian countries, you should seek for one who knows the languages along your intended route of travel. You can hire a good courier for fifty or sixty dollars a month, though he will frequently ask more, and you must pay extra for one who speaks Russian, Scandinavian, or Spanish. Whenever there are second-class carriages on the train he will travel in them, but it often happens that the express trains have none but first-class coaches, and in that event you must provide him with a first-class ticket. He should be called by his surname, without any preliminary "mister," and, if he understands his business, you can be perfectly free with him without fear that he will overstep the proper bounds. Don't invite him to sit with you at table or to ride with you in a carriage, as he does not expect anything of the sort; if you do, you will encourage him to undue familiarity, which may result in his assuming the air of a gentleman who is permitting you to travel with him for companionship.

In your financial relations with him, do exactly as you would with a clerk or cashier in business affairs. Have the contract carefully drawn in writing so as to avoid misunderstandings, and examine his accounts frequently and thoroughly, going over every item, whether small or large. It is well to arrange beforehand that he shall bring the accounts to you every second or third morning, and if he neglects to do so, and shows a persistence in the neglect, you will have reason to believe he is not honest. When you start on a journey give him money enough to pay the various items of expenditure to your first stopping-place. It is not good policy to be "close " with him, and, on the other hand, it is very impolitic to be careless of his accounts.

The courier is supposed to pay his own hotel bill, or to be boarded free of charge by the establishment. The real fact is that your own bill is sufficiently augmented to cover the courier's expenses, and in some instances he has been known to receive a commission in money in addition to his free living. Make it a part of your contract that he is to act as local guide in the cities you visit; otherwise you will be compelled to employ a guide in each place in addition to your courier. Some of the grand ones refuse to do so, and it is for you to determine whether to engage a man of high notions, or another who is not so exacting.

If not disposed to incur the expense of a courier you can hire a traveling servant for about half the price you will pay for the more distinguished attaché. These servants are not generally satisfactory, for the reason that they do not claim to understand all about the cities, routes, etc., and cannot speak the continental languages. Very often they are quite as helpless as the traveler himself, if not more so, and some of them are continually getting lost and giving no end of trouble to their employers to find them.

If you undertake to get along without any assistance, it is advisable to learn something of the language of the country you are to travel in. Ever so little is better than none at all, and you will be surprised to find how much you can accomplish with a very limited capital of words. Learn to count in French; you can do so in a few hours if you give your mind to it, and you will never regret the time you have devoted to the accomplishment of enumeration. Commit to memory a few phrases, such as "where is?" "how much?" and the like, and make yourself able to understand the bills of fare in restaurants and hotels. When you have done this you can look proudly down on the unfortunate wretch who knows nothing, and cannot help himself. After being thus perfected in French, you can attack German in the same way, and afterwards Italian; if you are to be ten days or more in a country it is worth your while to learn to count in its language, and when you have acquired the numerals you will want to know something more.

Don't practice your lingual acquirements on your friends if you can find anybody else to try them on. But don't be afraid to talk when on shopping excursions, or in other places where your French can be used; the continental people are polite, and will help you out of difficulty when you lose your footing, and they never smile at your most awkward blunders.

Books of the sentences and phrases in most frequent use are abundant and cheap. They are given in English, French, German, and Italian, in parallel columns, and are generally divided according to the subjects of conversation. They are excellent in theory, but it is generally discovered in practice that you can rarely find the sentence you wish to use, and may turn the leaves over and over again to no purpose.

If you find that you are not understood in your native language, and know no other, remember that it will not help the listener's understanding if you shout into his ear, or repeat a question over and over again with an increased emphasis each time.

Many laughable mistakes will occur in your efforts to get on in a country where you do not know the language, but they are part of the experiences of travel, and a good deal of instruction can be obtained from them. Sometimes a slight change in the pronunciation of a single word or syllable, or the incorrect use of an article, causes an awkward misunderstanding, but all such accidents should be taken good-humoredly and made the subject of merriment rather than of vexation. An American one day, in a Paris restaurant, wished to call for bread, and was astonished when the waiter after some delay brought him stewed rabbit. He pondered over the subject, and finally remembered that instead of saying "du pain," he had made it "le pain," which was naturally supposed to be "lapin," the French word for rabbit or hare. He ate the stew in silence, and never allowed the waiter to understand that a mistake had been made.

A story is told of a party of Americans taking a ride in the Bois du Boulogne, and they wished to induce the driver to go faster, but the more they urged, the more angry he became, and their attempts at the French for "go faster, driver," seemed to set him wild. At last he stopped and wanted to fight, and when they refused to indulge in a trial of muscular capacity, he called a policeman. Some one happened along at this juncture who could act as interpreter, and it was discovered that they had been addressing the jehu as "cochon" (pig) instead of "cocher" (driver). An explanation was made, the driver received a franc as a salve to his wounded dignity, and the drive was continued at a more satisfactory speed.

Many things may be said in pantomime where you are ignorant of the words that are needed. If you wish to employ a carriage by the hour, and cannot grapple with "a l'heure," you can show the face of your watch to the driver and point to the time; he will understand your meaning at once, and will indicate his comprehension of it by a nod. If you wish the carriage for only a single course you do not show your watch at all, but simply give or show the address to which you want to go. A desire for food or drink may be manifested by the conveyance of imaginary viands or liquids to the mouth, and following the said conveyance with equally imaginary mastication or deglutition. Mistakes will occur in pantomime as well as in spoken words, and the traveler should be prepared for them. An Englishman at a German inn endeavored to show that he wished to go to bed, and did it by commencing the removal of his clothing, and making a motion with his arms, as if he would spread himself over the invisible couch. The inn-keeper nodded, and disappeared; and he soon returned, followed by the servants, bringing a large tub and some water, under the impression that the stranger wished to take a bath. The latter made himself understood by resting his head on his hand and closing his eyes, whereupon there was a laugh all around, and he was shown to his sleeping-room.

Not infrequently you will throw yourself into a condition of exhaustion by mustering all your French for an effort; after it is made, and you are at your wit's end, you are answered in English, and find that your mental struggle has been thrown away. During the last Paris exposition one of the hotels imported a lot of waiters from London for the benefit of their English patrons. A Briton arrived at this house one morning, unaware of the importation, and after making himself presentable he proceeded to the breakfast-room. Beckoning to a waiter, he gave his order.

"Donnez moi du biftek, du pomme de terre, et du cafe au lait." (Give me a beefsteak, potatoes, and coffee with milk.)

He was at the end of his French, and drew a long breath as he finished the sentence. The waiter listened attentively, with a blank expression on his face, and replied:—

"If it's all the same, sir, couldn't you just as well do it in English? I've only been here three days."

Whether you can speak the continental languages or not, you must put yourself into the hands of a dragoman when you go to the Orient and endeavor to make a journey into the interior. The dragoman differs from the courier in being a contractor who undertakes to manage your journey for a fixed sum per day, or for the entire trip, and he makes a margin sufficiently large to include the compensation for his own services. He combines the services of courier, butler, and maitre d'hotel all in one, and a good dragoman is able to relieve the traveler of all trouble by attending to every kind of petty detail, and managing the journey so that the tourist has nothing to think of beyond enjoying himself.

Dragomen are of all kinds, from the worst to the best; most of them bring recommendations from former employers, and, while these should have due weight, it is best not to rely on them implicitly. There are some of the profession who enjoy a high reputation, and their prices are fixed accordingly; a cheap dragoman is almost sure to be a poor one, but not all high-priced ones are necessarily good. If possible, when starting for a journey in Syria and Egypt, get a friend who has been there before you to recommend a dragoman, and make a careful note of the name and address, so that there can be no mistake. Good ones may also be heard of around the consulate of your country, and in whatever bargain you make you should have the consular approval. The dragomen who hang about the hotels are not to be relied on, as they are often in league with the establishments to make something out of the stranger, or have agreed to pay a commission to whoever can get them an engagement.

George William Curtis, in his Nile Notes, says, "The dragoman is of four species; the Maltese, or able knave; the Greek, or the cunning knave; the Syrian, or the active knave; and the Egyptian, or the stupid knave." The description is by no means inaccurate, but it gives the impression that all are knaves, whatever their race or nationality. There is little to choose between them, and whatever kind you employ it is quite possible you may wish you had taken another. There are honest and efficient ones among all the different races, and also a liberal allowance of those who are worthless, or even worse.

Detailed directions for engaging dragomen, and the forms of contracts to be made with them, can be found in the guide-books of Murray and Baedeker, to which the reader is referred. Never trust yourself to draw a contract that will be "iron-clad," but go to your consulate and have the matter attended to there, at a cost of five dollars. Then, in case of trouble, the consul can be called to arbitrate the matter, and his decision will be final. As you are required to pay half, or more, of the engagement-money at the time of making the contract, you thus place yourself at the mercy of the man you are engaging, and it is worth while to be cautious.

If a particular dragoman has been recommended to you by some friend at home, you will very likely be told on enquiring for him that he died a few months ago. Of course, it is just possible that he is no longer alive, as drago—like other men—are but mortal, but his death at that time is by no means a certainty. His rivals have a convenient way of ridding themselves of his competition by killing him metaphorically, and they are particular to state time, place, and circumstances with great minuteness. Bayard Taylor became much attached to his dragoman in his journey up the Nile in 1852, and recommended him, a few years afterwards, to some friends. They brought back the information of the man's death, but on visiting Cairo in 1874 Taylor found his old companion alive and well, and very much chagrined at the announcement of his demise. "He is dead," or "He has just left with a party," is the stereotyped answer of the dragomen you encounter around the hotels when you ask for one whose name has been given to you by a friend at home, although it is well known by them that the man in question is within a dozen blocks of them, and waiting for a job.

It is the custom at the end of a journey in the Holy Land, or on the Nile, to make a present to the servants in addition to the contract-price agreed upon with the dragoman or manager of the party. The dragoman is always ready to attend to the distribution of this gratuity, and shows great activity in looking after it. Verdant travelers are apt to place the affair and the money in his hands with the expectation that he will carry out their wishes; the only distribution he makes, in nine cases out of ten, is to distribute the cash around the pockets of his own garments, and leave the other servants without a penny. Unless you give the money to the waiters with your own hands the chances are ten to one they will get nothing, and the whole amount will go to enrich the dragoman; it will not even answer to allow that worthy to distribute it to them in your presence, as he will manage by certain dexterous turns of the wrist to retain the larger portion for himself. Complaints of his misconduct are unlikely to reach your ears, as the servants are his subordinates, and liable to lose their places if they incur his displeasure. The writer was once a member of a party on a Nile steamboat that made up a purse for the servants; while the money was being raised two or three of the cabin-waiters intimated privately that if the money was put in the hands of the dragoman they would get nothing, since he always kept the whole of it. "Whatever you give us," said they, "please put in our own hands," and we acted on the hint to the great disgust of the dragoman.

CHAPTER XII.
RAILWAY TRAVELING ON THE CONTINENT.

The American traveler who makes his first tour abroad will come upon something new as soon as he visits a railway station. The cars are quite unlike those to which he has been accustomed at home; they have no passage-way running the whole length of the vehicle, and most of them present a Lilliputian appearance when compared with the American passenger car. They are divided into compartments which generally contain seats for eight persons, and are entered by doors at either end. The occupants of a compartment face each other, so that when the place is full half the passengers are riding backwards and the other half forwards. Some persons are made ill unless they have their faces in the direction they are traveling; a tourist who belongs to this category should make sure of his place by the aid of a porter, and there is generally no trouble about the matter. Those who are not disturbed by the aforesaid nausea prefer to sit with their backs toward the locomotive, as they escape a good deal of the dust and smoke that fall to the lot of those in the "front-face" position. There is a large window in the upper half of the door, and there are smaller windows at the ends of the rows of seats; if you have your back towards the engine, and are in an end seat, the open window in the door will give you all the air you need, while in the opposite seat you might find the breeze too strong. A seat on the windward side of the train is preferable to a leeward one, though much will depend upon the position of the sun and the scenery along the route.

On the Swiss railways many of the carriages are on the American system, with doors at the ends and a passageway in the center, but they still cling to the compartment idea, and have partitions with doors that permit free circulation. In Italy, and some other countries, you occasionally find a carriage with a saloon in the center, capable of seating twelve or sixteen persons, but such cars are not common, and are considered a luxury to be specially ordered. Some of the first-class carriages have the compartments arranged for six passengers—three on a side—but the majority are intended for eight. On every train you will usually find one or more carriages with a coupé at the end; it can be made to hold four persons, but there is no advantage in securing it for more than two. It is considered as a place de luxe, and can only be occupied by payment of an extra charge, which is usually about one-sixth of the price of the passage ticket. Two persons in a coupé are tolerably certain not to be disturbed by the entrance of other passengers, but a single passenger is not so safe. The coupé may be engaged beforehand on application to the station-master, but the companies will never guarantee that a particular train will contain coupé carriages.

The Pullman palace and sleeping-cars have not been introduced in Europe to any extent, notwithstanding persistent efforts by the Pullman Company for a decade or more. The Midland Railway Company, of England, has adopted them, and they are used on two or three smaller lines in the United Kingdom, but not in any great number. On the Continent they have found their principal footing in Italy, under the auspices of the Strada Ferrata del' Alta Italia (Railway of Upper Italy), which has adopted them for the comfort of passengers on the Indian mail route between London and Brindisi. On several of the continental lines the Mann Boudoir sleeping-car has been introduced; it is the enterprise of an American, and is a very serviceable vehicle, though less comfortable than the famous Pullman. The Mann car is the ordinary European railway carriage equipped with sleeping accommodations, lavatories and the like; the traveler must have a first-class ticket to be admitted, and he pays in addition about $2.50 per night. There are offices in Paris, Berlin, Vienna, and other large cities, where places may be secured in the Mann sleeping-cars just as they are secured in the Pullman cars in America.

Some of the companies have cars fitted up with the "fauteuil-lit," or bed-chair; it is the ordinary seat so arranged that it may be converted into a bed, or a poor substitute for one, and the extra cost is nearly, if not quite, equal to a third of the price of the ticket. Three fauteuils-lits fill a compartment, and the occupants of those away from the door must climb over the one nearest to it in getting in or out after the beds have been opened. Very few of the roads have any kind of sleeping-carriage whatever, and the night traveler on long journeys will miss the luxuries that he finds in the United States. "Bless the name of Pullman," he will often exclaim, as he crawls, dusty and disjointed, from where he has sat bolt or limply upright for hours, and contrasts his present feelings with those he would have at the end of a journey from New York to Chicago. There are no toilet facilities on the European trains, with the exception of those on the few sleeping-cars in use, and retiring-closets are by no means universal. Most of the coupés contain them, and they can generally be found in the baggage-wagon or under the brake-van. The keys of these "cabinets" are in charge of the conductor, who will readily open them on application, but they can only be reached or left while the train is halted at a station.