expression) go to grass. I didn’t take worth a cent. The rest of our party did, saving Carrie only, who would have liked to well enough, but was deterred by reason of her superior morals. I was going to the Rigi or die. I went, and here I am alive and well. We started from the pier about six, I think, and arrived at Vitznan, where we took the train for the summit in an hour or so. The Rigi railroad, as well as all appertaining to it, is very remarkably peculiar, The ascent is something tremendous—one foot in five, we are given to understand by Mr Baedeker. Up, up, up, we went. It is a wonder (and a pity) that we didn’t go sliding down and break our necks. We were too late for sunset, but caught a good deal of the glow going up. Beautiful were the views revealed to us from time to time of mountain and lake. As we neared the summit, the train rose into the clouds. We got off the train in the clouds, and climbed up to the magnificent hotel in the clouds, and roamed in them, and took dinner in them, and ended by sleeping in them. I prefer them at a distance, however. They are nasty, damp, wet things. At five in the morning a man started up Yankee Doodle and Glory Hallelujah in the hall just outside my door, on one of these big horns. I jumped up, and looked out of my window. A long streak of gold appearing in the east above the distant mountains announced the coming of the day. I jumped into my clothes at one fell swoop, and hurried out. It was cold as Greenland’s Icy Mountains and Injy’s Coral Strand. The grand panoramma was beginning to reveal itself in the mist. Spreading out at our feet lay two lakes, seeming so near that one would think a stone thrown from a vigorous arm would sink within their waters. The brightness in the east changed and changed, the light tipped the mountain tops, the clouds rolled away, and the sun rose at last and “deluged” hill, lake, and valley, with his beams. But why attempt to describe? The thing is all done up in fine poetic style in the Guide-Book, with all the “roseate hues” and “flush of the dawns,” &c., &c., put in in the right places. The most impressive thing about the whole business was the cold, which was Satanic (as it were). We gobbled our breakfast, ate all we could lay hold of, and decamped at half-past seven. The engine puffed and swelled away, and took us down the mountain. We started for the sail about nine o’clock, and arrived here about half-past one, leaving out Billy Tell and the apple. Love to all the folks. Large slice to yourself. Remember me to Auntie and Uncle,
With love,
HENRY.
PARIS, Sunday, Aug. 31, 1879.
MY DEAR MOTHER,
I write you this in the hope that it will reach you before the steamer of September 4th comes bearing to you Jim and Helen, but no Henry and no Carrie. That is, if the fates of men and of gods don’t forbid. Yes, Mother, Carrie is to stay and prosecute her music, as it were, and I to study. The explanation of my course (Carrie’s requires none) you will naturally be anxious to hear, and so, too, I presume, will the home folks. So, without further ado, I shall plunge into the subject, and if I get beyond my depth, as I probably shall, you may attribute it to the violence of the plunge. And first, why I—or we—had decided that I should come home. The reason is simply this. Our tickets for the steamer of Sept. 4th had to be handed in if we intended to return on that date. If this was not done we would probably be unable to get places later, as the boat was going to be crowded. Not handing in the ticket, then, was equivalent to a decision of the whole question—a decision to stay and study in Paris. The problem thus forced upon us, what could we do? Studying in Paris was (but is not now) a “glittering generality.” We did not know a solitary thing about it. Was there a single school of my grade in Paris? For any knowledge of ours to the contrary, the answer might have been no. If there were, could I study what I wanted, or would I be put through a course? When would the term begin? How long would it take me to learn French? What was the method of instruction pursued? and would I have to pass through the fiery ordeal of an examination? All these questions met with complete blankness for answer. Thus, a decision to stay would have been a “leap in the dark,” and all on the strength of an indefinite Parisian reputation. Besides, I was not sure that in any case it would be desirable to remain. Can you wonder, then, that my ticket went in for Sept. 4th. But why did I change my mind, is the next question? Well, all through the trip I had a great desire to stay over a little while and see more of the great cities of Paris and London. It seemed a great pity to come all the way over here, and then see so little of them. I might never have another opportunity. Then I wanted, too, some little time to rest and digest this tour, and not to rush right off to Oberlin into studying again. But the thing appeared impossible, as I was determined not to fall behind my class a single term. And so the question became, stay for aye, or go at once. And as no other conclusion seemed wise, the decision was—Go! Such, then, being my state of mind, I arrived at Paris Thursday August 27th in the full expectation of looking my last upon the shores of Europe on September 4th precisely. Naturally enough, I was carried away by the great city, and wished I were going to stay. Then Carrie decided to pitch her tent here, which increased my desire. I thought I could study French, and read French History, and learn lots about Art—and Paris. I thought, too, I could make up while here one or two of the studies of the Fall term at 0., and if I was successful at my French, it would not be necessary for me to take it at 0., and so I would not fall behind at all—a comforting and encouraging conclusion. Then Jim comes into the case, and fails to see the especial use of my staying unless I stay to study in the schools here. I tell him I would, but I don’t know anything about their old schools. But I am seized with a desire to do so if feasible. Then our conductor comes along, and we learn that the question must be decided at once. I rush off immediately and apostrophize Mr. Gray in search of information. He gives it, and it is satisfactory. I must, he says, go into a school for English boys for three months, and learn the French language. I may then be examined to enter the Lyceum. This decides me. I will at least (so it appears) learn French enough to save my two terms at Oberlin, and by taking one or two studies besides, I am certainly even with, if not ahead of, my friends at O. So whether at the end of that term I return, or stay and try for the Lyceum, I don’t drop behind my class. And so, Mother, there lies the solution of the whole problem, and I accepted it, and decided to stay. Since then I have learned that the Lyceum opens Oct. 6th, and of course if I can enter then, so much the better, though I don’t think I can learn French in five weeks. I suppose, unless the family object, and the information I may acquire in future prove unsatisfactory, that I shall stay a year. But only a year. I have no thought of staying longer, even should you be perfectly willing. When the folks at home hear that I expect to remain, if my ticket can be fixed (which I don’t know yet by any means), I think I hear the cry of disapproval which will at once arise. Brother Will will say that he thinks it will be decidedly injurious to me; George will ditto, or else be in doubt; and in any case there will be some discussion, I think, if my prospects for the future can arouse as much interest as that. At any rate the thing may attract some letters to me, and that part wont be disagreeable. But remember I don’t expect to stay long enough to have my character and mental tastes and habits moulded after French models. You will say at home that a man ought to be educated in the country in which he expects to live, and I suppose that may be true, but this will only be a small part of my education, and it is a splendid chance to spend some time in such a great art centre. I will try to learn a great deal about art, and I do want an opportunity to look at pictures at my leisure, and not be rushed through them as I have been. It seems to me almost a crime to study in such a place as O. A fine sunrise and sunset, grand and beautiful scenery, seem an important part of one’s education. In Paris, at least, I will be in a great and beautiful city, and will enjoy all the collateral advantages of the place, and can at least feel that I am on historic ground. I can say for myself, in conclusion, that in staying I have been moved only by the consideration of my own best good, educational and otherwise, and that any such subsidiary thing as the pleasure to be derived has been entirely overlooked. I may also say that in making the decision I have acted by the advice, and in accordance with the wishes of the family here, and, according to my light, have acted for the best. Father, I will study hard, and try to master the French. And now, Mother, don’t you worry about me; I shall try to be a good boy. Remember what you are always saying: —” Never mind, it will all come right.” And so it will. The only thing that I mind is not seeing you again. But if I don’t stay a year, I will see you before you go home, I hope. In any case, you know my dream has been for more than a year to make