Chambers's Journal of Popular Literature, Science, and Art, No. 715 online

. (page 1 of 5)
Online LibraryVariousChambers's Journal of Popular Literature, Science, and Art, No. 715 → online text (page 1 of 5)
Font size
QR-code for this ebook


Produced by Susan Skinner and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at





Fourth Series


NO. 715. SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 8, 1877. PRICE 1½_d._]


At all the tourist-towns abroad British visitors are much looked
for; and it is amusing to see the mode in which inscriptions and
advertisements are drawn up in English, or what is supposed to be
English, for the sake of riveting the attention of possible guests or
customers belonging to the 'nation of shopkeepers.' Many tourists have
taken copies of these curiosities, which have afterwards found their
way into print in various forms.

Hotels are famous for these curiosities: the variety of languages
spoken by the visitors supplying a reason for this. The 'Drei Mohren'
(Three Moors) hotel at Augsburg has the following entry in the
visitors' book: 'January 28th, 1815; His Grace Arthur Wellesley, &c.
&c. &c.; great honour arrived at the beginning of this year to the
three Moors; this illustrious warrior, whose glorious atchievements,
which, cradled in India, have filled Europe with his renown, descended
in it.' At the 'Trois Allies' hotel, Salzburg, some few years ago, mine
host invited English visitors by the following announcement: 'George
Nelböck begs leave to recommand his hotel to the Three Allied, situated
vis-a-vis of the birth-home of Mozart, which offers all comforts
to the meanest charges.' The prepositions _at_ and _to_ are great
stumbling-blocks to such concocters of English sentences and phrases;
the pronouns _which_ and _who_ not much less so. An hotel-keeper at
Rastadt bestowed great pains on an announcement which with many others
was exhibited in the entrance passage or hall: 'The underwritten has
the honor of informing the public that he has made the acquisition of
the hotel to the Savage, well situated in the middle of this city. He
shall endeavor to do all duties which gentlemen travellers can justly
expect; and invites them to please to convince themselves of it by
their kind lodgings at his house' - signed 'Basil Singisem, before the
tenant of the hotel to the Stork in this city.' If the good man had hit
upon 'Savage Hotel' and 'Stork Hotel' he would have been a little more

The circular of an Italian host, printed in four languages, discourses
thus to English visitors concerning the excellences of the hotel
'Torre di Londra,' Verona: 'The old inn of London's Tower, placed
among the more agreeable situation of Verona's course, belonging
at Sir Theodosius Trianoni, restor'd by the decorum most indulgent
to good things, of life's eases; which are favored from every acts
liable at inn same, with all object that is concerned, conveniency
of stage coaches, proper horses, but good forages, and coach houses.
Do offers at innkeeper the constant hope, to be honored from a great
concourse, where politeness, good genius of meats, round table,
coffee-house, hackney coach, men servant of place, swiftness of
service, and moderation of prices, shall arrive to accomplish in Him
all satisfaction, and at Sirs, who will do the favor honoring him with
a very assur'd kindness.' No doubt 'Sir Theodosius' took some pride in
this composition.

The card of an old inn at Paris some years ago contained the
announcement, 'Salines baths at every o'clock;' and of another, 'The
wines shall leave you nothing to hope for.' In an hotel at Mount Sinai,
on the fly-leaf of the visitors' book, English travellers are informed
that 'Here in too were inscribed all whose in the rule of the year come
from different parts, different cities and countries, pilgrims and
travellers of any different rank and religion or profession, for advice
and notice thereof to their posterity, and even also in owr own of
memory, acknowledging.'

On one of the slopes of Mount Etna, at a height of more than nine
thousand feet above the sea, is a house built of lava, containing
three small rooms and a shed for mules. Up to that point tourists and
explorers can ascend on mules, but the remainder of the climb must be
made on foot. Hence the desirability of having some building in which
mules and muleteers may sojourn for a time, while their hirers or
employers are wending their laborious way up to the volcanic summit.
When an English force occupied Sicily in 1811, the three brothers
Gemmellaro, the most indefatigable of explorers and describers of
Etna, obtained from the commanding officer the aid of some of the
soldiers (probably sappers and miners) in building the lava house above
adverted to; giving it, in compliment, the name _Casa degli Inglesi_
or 'English House.' Provided with a few humble pieces of furniture, it
is placed at the service of visitors, who must bring their own food
and fuel with them, and bedding if they wish to pass a night there.
The key is kept at a house at the foot of the mountain, the residence
(lately if not even now) of a member of the Gemmellaro family; it must
be applied for when required, and returned when done with, accompanied
by a signed certificate declaring that the liberal accommodation has
not been abused. Printed notices are hung on the walls of the casa in
various languages; one of which, in English, informs English-speaking
visitors that 'In consequence of the damage suffered in the house
called English, set on the Etna, for the reprehensible conduct of some
persons there recovered,' certain regulations are laid down. Visitors,
when applying for the key, must give name, title, and country, and must
at the same time 'tell the guide's and muleteer's names, just to drive
away those who have been so rough to spoil the movables and destroy
the stables. It is not permitted to any body to put mules into rooms
destined for the use of people, notwithstanding the insufficiency of
stables. It is forbidden likewise to dirtes the walls with pencil or
coal. M. Gemmellaro will provide a blank book for those learned people
curious to write their observations. A particular care must be taken
for the movables settled in the house.... Persons neglecting to execute
the above articles will be severely punished, and are obliged to pay
damage and expenses.' A significant hint winds up the announcement: 'It
is likewise proper and just to reward M. Gemmellaro for the expense
of movables and for the advantages travellers may get to examine the

As English travellers will go whithersoever there is anything to be
seen, hotel-keepers look out for them near buried cities as well as
near volcanic mountains. The following was copied by a tourist from a
card for English visitors, prepared by the host of an establishment
at or near the excavations of Pompeii: 'That hotel, open since a very
few days, is renowned for the cleanness of the apartments and linen;
for the exactness of the service; and for the eccellence of the true
French cookery. Being situated at proximity of that regeneration, it
will be propitious to receive families whatever, which will desire to
reside alternately in that town, to visit the monuments new found,
and to breathe thither the salubrity of the air. That establishment
will avoid to all travellers, visitors of that sepult city, and to the
artists (willing draw the antiquities) a great discordance, occasioned
by the tardy and expensive contour of the iron way. People will find
equally thither, a complete sortiment of stranger wines, and of the
kingdom, hot and cold baths, stables and coach-houses, the whole with
very moderate price. Now, all the applications and endeavors of the
hoste will tend always to correspond to the tastes and desires of their
customers, which will acquire without doubt to him, in that town, the
reputation whome he is ambitious.' The landlord's meaning is pretty
clear, in spite of his funny English, save in relation to 'the tardy
and expensive contour of the iron way,' which however, may have a vague
reference to railways.

A refreshment house at Amsterdam sells 'upright English
ginger-beer' - the Dutch word for 'genuine,' _opregt_, having led to a
muddling of the English.

Shopkeepers will naturally be as desirous as hotel-keepers to draw
the attention of possible customers who are more likely to read
English than any other language. A firm at Marseilles, claiming a
good repute for their preparation of the liqueur called _Vermuth_,
have labels on some of their bottles to the following effect: 'The
Wermouth is a brightly bitter and perfumed with additional and good
vegetable white wine. This is tonic, stimulant, febrifuge, and costive
drinking; mixed with water it is aperitive, refreshing, and also
a powerful preservative of fivers; those latter are very usual in
warmth countries, and of course that liquor has just been particularly
made up for that occasion.' It is quite certain that M. Lapresté, a
restaurateur at Versailles, said exactly what he did not mean in the
following announcement; by confounding the French _prévenir_ with the
English _prevent_: 'To Rendezvous of Museum, Arms Place, 9, Lapresté
Restorer, has the honor of preventing the travellers that they will
be helpt at his house, or a head, or at choice.' The original may
usefully be given here, to shew how perplexed the host must have been
in his attempted translation: 'Au Rendez-vous du Musée, Place d'Armes,
9, Lapresté, Restaurant, a l'honneur de prévenir MM. les voyageurs,
qu'on est servi, chez lui, à la carte ou par tête, au choix.' At Rouen
an announcement is remarkable for the odd way of expressing 'London
Stout' - namely, 'Stoughtonlondon.' A bath-keeper at Basle informs his
English visitors that 'In this new erected establishment, which the
Ouner recommends best to all foreigners, are to have ordinary and
artful baths, russia and sulphury bagnios, pumpings, artful mineral
waters, gauze lemonads, fournished apartmens for patients.' A French
advertisement relating to a house to be let, with immediate possession,
takes this extraordinary form: 'Castle to praise, presently.' Those who
know the twofold meaning of the verb _louer_ in French will see how
this odd blunder arose. A dentist at Honfleur 'renders himself to the
habitations of these wich honor him with their confidence and executes
all wich concarns his profession with skill and vivacity.'

At Frankfort-on-the-Main, 'M. Reutlinger takes leave to recommande
his well-furnished magazin of all kind of travelling-luggage and
sadle-work.' Affixed to a pillar outside the Théâtre Français, some
years ago, was a bill or placard: 'Hardy Cook, living to the Louvre
on the West Gate under the Vestibule, old emplacement of late M.
Kolliker. He will serve you with list, and he has parlours and privates
rooms, receives Society, and has always some Shoueroute and Disters
of Cancall.' Inscrutable words these last, certainly. At Havre, local
regulations for the convenience of visitors are printed in various
languages; English people are informed that 'One arrangement can make
with the pilot for the walking with roars.' 'Pilot' for 'guide' is not
far amiss; but 'roars' as an English equivalent for 'ramparts' (if that
is meant) is odd enough; and if not, the enigma is just as formidable.
The much-used French _on_ evidently increased the difficulty of the
poor translator.

A Guide to Amsterdam was published in Holland, in English, some years
ago; professing to be written, edited, or translated by an Englishman.
Its style may be judged from the following specimen, relating to the
manners and customs of many of the inhabitants on Sundays and holidays:
'They go to walk outside the town gates; after this walk they hasten
to free public play gardens, where wine, thea, &c. is sold. Neither
the mobility remains idle at these entertainments. Every one invites
his damsel, and joyously they enter play gardens of a little less
brilliancy than the former. There, at the crying sound of an instrument
that rents the ear, accompanied by the delightful handle-organs and the
rustic triangle, their devoirs are paid to Terpsichore. Everywhere a
similitude of talents; the dancing outdoes not the music.'

A Dutch volume containing many views in the Netherlands, with
descriptions in three or four languages, claims credit for 'the
exactness as have observed in conforming our draughts to the
originals,' which (a hope is expressed) 'cannot fail to join us the
general applause.' Of one village we are told, 'That village was
renouned by the abandon of saulmons that were fiched there. That
village is situated in a territory that afford abandon of fruits and

A small guide-book for English visitors to Milan cathedral is prefaced
by the statement that, 'In presenting to the learned and intelligent
publick this new and brief description of the cathedral of Milan, i
must apprise that i do not mean to emulate with the works already
existing of infinite merit for the notions they contain, and the
perspicuity with which they are exposed.'




'Father, where do you go away all day?' It was Charlie who spoke,
clambering on his father's knee.

'I drive the coach, boy.'

'Coach? An' what is that?'

'Goodsooth, boy, thou hast seen a coach?'

'Ay, father - the coach an' four horses that runs to Grantham. You do
not drive a thing like _that_?'

'Ay. And why not?'

The boy blushed scarlet. 'Why, father, you are Sir Vincent Fleming.'

'An' what o' that?'

'Then is it not against your pride to be a _coachman_?'

'Poor men must pocket pride, Master Charlie, as thou must learn some

'Well, father, I like it not. Are you _so_ poor, dear heart?'

'Ay, sweet heart, am I.'

'What makes ye so poor?'

'Ill luck, Master Charlie.'

'What in, is your ill luck, father?'

'In all things.'

'Dear heart alive, I'm sorry for ye! When I'm a man, father, you shall
go no more a-coaching; _I_ will work for you.'

'Ay, ay, my brave dear lad. I coach to win ye bread. We're poorer than
the world thinks. But tell them not this, Master Charlie, or they will
dun me.'

'Then I'll dun _them_!' cried the boy fiercely. 'I hate those bailiff
fellows; if they come here, I'll shoot 'em!'

'We'll fight 'em together, boy. See that _thou_ never hast the bailiffs
at thy heels. Here is Deb, _Lady_ Deb by courtesy. Mistress, my rose,
say good-morning to me.'

But Deborah was already in her father's arms.

'Deb,' cries Charlie, 'father drives a coach!' Then seeing Deborah's
round eyes: 'Now don't you clack, Deb; don't you go an' tell it to all
the world, else they will dun father.'

'O me!' Then Deborah's eyes flashed. 'That they shall not - never again!
But I tell you, father; I will coach beside you, and try to drive the
four brave horses! I will not let you work alone!' Deborah's arms were
round her father's neck; she showered kisses on his face.

'Off with ye!' cried Charlie, somewhat fiercely. 'You know that if any
one should coach with father, I should - not a baby like to you.'

'Hush!' said Sir Vincent, laughing. 'Thou art ever ready to fight. I
have spoiled ye both sadly; so Master Vicar tells me. But Deb, I cannot
have thee to help me, little one. Get Dame Marjory to teach thee all
the ins and outs of household work, and to trick thyself out bravely,
so thou wilt be thy father's pride, my rose of Enderby!'

But Deborah laid her head on her father's breast, caressing him.
'Father, you love Charlie best - Charlie is your darling.'

'Who told thee so, sweet heart?'

'My own heart.'

'_Dost_ love me best, father?' asked Charlie; he pushed his curly head
up on to his father's shoulder, and looked up with arch eyes into his

Sir Vincent gazed at him. Ay, the father's rose lay upon his heart, his
'Lady Deb,' his darling; but that wilful rogue, that youthful inheritor
of all his own wild freaks and follies, that young ne'er-do-weel,
Charles Stuart Fleming, the plague of Enderby, was his own soul, the
idol of his darkened life. Sir Vincent pushed him roughly away, and
laid his hand on Deborah's fair hair. 'Love thee better? No; thou
graceless rogue!' he said. 'I love thee both alike. Sweet Deb, thou art
my darling too. Now be off with you both; and see that there is no more
gipsying or ruffling it while I am away; for Jordan Dinnage shall have
orders, if you disobey, to flog ye both with the rope's end; for nought
but that, I fear me, will curb the villainy of either one. Good-bye,
sweet hearts, an' see that ye stir not beyond the gates.'

The gipsies had vanished from that part of the country; not a trace
of them was left; for they knew Sir Vincent Fleming well, and fled
betimes. But Sir Vincent had not been gone three hours, when the
restless roving Charlie was scouring round the park on his pony, and
longing for some fresh adventure and wider bounds. Deborah and little
Meg Dinnage were running after him, and urging on the pony with many a
whoop and yell, with torn frocks and streaming hair.

'Deb,' cried the boy at last, pulling up, 'I am sick o' this. I am
goin' to ride to Clarges Wood, to look for Will; I shall cut across

'But you must not!' exclaimed Deborah; 'you have promised father not to
go beyond the gate.'

'I have never promised that,' said Charlie hotly; 'father asked me no
promise, an' I gave none. It is nothing o' the sort.'

'Nathless it was a promise,' quoth little Deborah stoutly, glancing
from Charlie to Meg Dinnage, and back in distress; 'for we said nought
when father said: "An' see you stir not beyond the gates;" but I kissed
him, an' I said: "I will not."'

'You did not say that, silly!'

'Nay, but to my own self I said it. Father has trusted us; so Dame
Marjory says.'

'I care not for Dame Marjory. I gave no promise; nor am I afeard of a
rope's end. If Jordan Dinnage beat me black an' blue, I'll go! But I'll
not see Jordan till father comes home. Father loves me too well to have
me flogged when he is by;' and with a laugh, Charlie turned his pony's
head; but Deborah sprang after and caught the rein. 'Charlie, Charlie,
stay!' she cried; 'father has trusted you to stay!'

But Charlie was across the boundary and far away; his laughter echoed
back. Deborah flushed, the tears almost started as she gazed after him,
but she kept them proudly back. Little Mistress Dinnage went up to
her playmate and took her hand ('Mistress Dinnage,' as she was called
for her little upstart ways and proud independence) and eyed Deborah
curiously. 'Don't cry,' said she.

'_Cry!_' echoed Deborah scornfully; 'I'm not cryin'.'

'He's a bad boy,' said Mistress Dinnage gravely, with a nod of her head
that way.

Deborah half rebelled at that, then: 'Charlie has broken his word!' and
she flushed again. 'God will never love Charlie. The evil one will take
Charlie to the bad place;' and the bright eyes glistened, but again the
tears were stifled back.

'Not if my dad beats him,' said Mistress Dinnage consolingly; 'then he
will be a good boy, and God will love him again.'

Deborah shook her head. 'Ah, Charlie will only be bad the more. He
laughs at Master Vicar, and cares for nought. But don't tell your
father, Meg, that Charlie's gone away; he will not be good the more for
that; God will not love him better. Charlie must himself tell father,
and that will make it right. So see that you don't tell Jordan, dear,
for I am afraid to see my brave one beat; I had rather have Jordan beat
me than him; it makes me _fear_ to see Charlie beat.'

'An' me too,' said Mistress Dinnage, with infinite relief. 'We will not
tell on Charlie; Charlie would call us "Sneak." Come an' play.'

And the two, putting aside their sorrows, cast care to the winds and
danced away.


A year or two have passed and there was joy in the bells of Enderby,
and joy in the sun and flowers. Winter and summer, storm and sun,
how sweetly the days fled by - the wild sweet days of childhood. The
streams; the dark green woods; the blue and cloud-swept skies; the
clear lagoons; the carol of birds in the gay early morning, from wood
and field and holt; the father's call beneath the window, and then the
long, long sun-bright day; the games; the 'make-believes;' tracking the
wild Indians in the forest, hunting the chamois on the mountains - happy
days, these!

Time passed on; Charlie was alternately sent to a public school and to
a private tutor; he was expelled from the former, and ran away from
the latter. The tender, but proud and stubborn heart was never reached;
so the dogged will and headstrong passions remained uncurbed and
uncontrolled, and Charlie Fleming too surely went from bad to worse.
Three distracted governesses in succession gave up Lady Deb; their
reigns were short and eventful.

Upon a certain day stood Deborah Fleming, watching for Charlie's
coming. For a week past Charlie had daily ridden over to the
neighbouring university town to 'read' with his cousin Kingston
Fleming, who had just entered there, and being somewhat of the same
stamp as himself, imagine how much 'reading' was accomplished! The
lads came and went at all hours; sometimes at Enderby, sometimes away.
To-day they were late. Deborah was weary. She wandered into the garden,
between the high sunny walls, and threw herself on the warm grass
amongst the daisies; she plucked a daisy idly, and grew intent over
it, filliping away the leaves: 'He loves me, he loves not me!' and so
forth. While thus musing, a tall fair youth, with a face browned by sun
and wind, stole behind her, his whole countenance brimming over with
merriment. Deborah instinctively turned her head. All her heart's blood
rushed over her face, and her gray eyes flamed and dilated like a stag
at bay; for one moment she glared at the youth, and then, before he
could speak, was up and away. A peal of laughter followed her as she

'Hi! what's the matter, King?' cried Charlie Fleming, swaggering up in
his riding-gear. 'What is the cause of this immoderate laughter? Deb
has flamed by me like a whirlwind; I tried to catch her.'

Still, for some moments, Kingston Fleming shouted with uncontrollable
mirth, rolling on the grass. When he could speak, he said: 'You will
never guess, Charlie! Yet it is a shame to tell you. And yet it is too
rare a joke to keep! _Little Deb hath got a lover!_' And with that,
Kingston went off again.

'I came up unawares,' said he, 'an' my Lady Deb sat on the grass. "He
loves me, he loves not me!" she said; not like Deb proud and haughty,
but quite tender and subdued over it. She turned and saw me. Egad! how
she blushed, and what a glare! Poor little Deb, she was distraught for
shame and anger. I was a brute to laugh!'

'I will roast her,' said Charlie. 'Deb a _lover_? Ha, ha, ha!'

'No; you shall not speak of it,' said Kingston, laying a heavy hand on
Charlie's shoulder. 'On peril of your life, you shall not.'

Charlie laughed. 'Under that threat I must succumb. Perchance Deb has a
sneaking liking for you, old King!'

'For _me_?' And Kingston had a fresh fit of laughter. 'Nay; Deb hates
me like poison, and I think her the maddest little fury that ever
stepped. Deb and I shall ne'er run together.'

But as for the maiden, she fled to her room like a little tempest, and
lay along the floor half dead for shame. She could scarcely think,
for when she thought, the blood rushed in eddying torrents to her
head, and made her mad for anger and for shame; for more than aught on
earth, was Deb shy of the dawn of love and Kingston's raillery. All day
she kept her room. She watched from behind the curtains Kingston and
Charlie ride away; she had not kissed Charlie that day or spoken to
him; she heard him call out 'Good-bye, Deb.' Then he would not return
that night. O Charlie, Charlie! And then she peered out, and heard
Kingston's laugh, and saw his fair hair blown by the wind. The girl
leaned out and watched them through the gateway. 'I love him,' she said
to herself with mingled fire and softness; 'I love Kingston. But he
will love _me_ never - never!'

Kingston laughed no more about Deborah's daisy: he was generous. The
next day he was teasing, laughing, tormenting about a hundred things;
and the child Deborah was chaffering and defying him in the wildest
animal spirits. Dame Marjory shook her head; there was such a flying,
scurrying, shouting, and such peals of laughter, not only from those
three, but from the usually demure Mistress Dinnage who joined them,
that the Dame could make nothing of them; they got worse and worse.

1 3 4 5

Online LibraryVariousChambers's Journal of Popular Literature, Science, and Art, No. 715 → online text (page 1 of 5)