Part 12

Let us descend about noon, by the long low steps, from the promenade to the beach below, and here we will find a long unbroken line of wagons facing the sea. These wagons have large numbers painted conspicuously on their backs: upon one side is a window with a curtain carelessly drawn, and a pair of strong shafts is attached to each vehicle. The stranger will wonder what on earth these unsightly things are designed for, and why they thus mar the beauty of the beach. Have patience; inexperienced stranger, and you will see these inanimate wagons suddenly break ranks and now one, now another be hauled rapidly forward, some to the water's edge, others into the ocean up to the hubs. In explanation of this I would state that when the bathing hour arrives, a horse is attached to each wagon, and the occupant or occupants, when it reaches the water's edge, open the door and spring forth a nymph and her companions, in their scant bathing robes, ready for the plunge. The costumes of both men and women are not such as find favor with fastidious mortals, and many of the scenes witnessed on this beach would not be tolerated at any of our American watering-places.

It is quite common for men, women and children to remove their shoes and stockings and wade ankle deep in the surf.

However, there are many odd and fantastic sights here, and many pretty tableaux on the beach which would delight the eyes of an artist, and I often think that one's portfolio might soon be filled with interesting subjects.

As the races are to be held this afternoon at the Course, a mile beyond the Kursaal, and just off the promenade, we wend our way thither. The race-course is similar to those in England and France. As the appointed hour approaches, a throng of fashionable people seat themselves upon the grand stand, until every place is filled, and even the aisles are crowded with the elite of Ostend.

I forgot to mention the fact that the day is Sunday, but this seems to make little difference to these gayety-loving people.

The horses start, and now betting and excitement go hand in hand.

"Some play for gain: to pass time, others play For nothing; both do play the fool."

I have the peculiar good fortune on this occasion, of predicting the winning horse a number of consecutive times in my conversation with one of our party who sits beside me. These lucky guesses attract the attention of a stranger who is on my other side, and considering them as so many evidences of remarkable judgment or knowledge, he resolves to profit thereby. Accordingly before the next running, as the horses walk slowly before the spectators and the judges' stand, the man quietly asks me to name the winner in the next race. I quickly make a choice and mention the horse's name. The stranger bids me good-day and hastens away to place his "pile" with some bookmaker on the identical horse which I have named.

With a rush of spirit and courage the noble animals fly over the course, and every jockey seated in a saddle looks determined to win. Faster and faster they urge the flying steeds with spur and voice, and the animals themselves, with distended nostrils and steaming breath dash past the judges' stand in frenzied effort. The merry jingle of the bell proclaims that the goal is reached: the great sign-board with the winner's name upon it is visible to all. What has become of my luck? And what has become of the stranger who relied on my judgment a few moments ago? My horse has lost. Goodness! I feel as though I have committed a crime, and I am very sure that Dame Fortune receives from me in private a score of epithets, not the most complimentary in the world for her unprincipled desertion. I feel sure that if I had my instantaneous camera, or pencil handy, this disappointed man's face would make a foreground in the picture that would surely be a "_winner_."

We leave Ostend on the steamer La Flandre. The schedule time is 10:40 A. M. We go on board amid shouts of kindly farewell from our friends on shore. As it is a clear bright day with a delightful salt breeze, there is much pleasure in sitting on deck and enjoying the view. The English Channel is generally a turbulent body of water, noted for its many victories over the unfortunates who trust themselves in its power, but to-day it is mild and calm, probably plotting mischief to the next boat load of passengers that shall come its way.

Indescribable confusion reigns in our hotel, at Liverpool, for more than a hundred of its guests are on the point of sailing for America. Innumerable packages, grips, umbrellas and walking sticks line the corridors. Every one is moving to and fro in hot haste. One lady asks me if I know at what hour the steamer on which she has taken passage will sail: another wants information in regard to her steamer: a man with perspiration trickling down his face begs me to tell him how to send his five trunks and other baggage to the landing stage. These and many more annoying and importunate people make life a burden to me. I do not know why they choose me to share in their misery. Do I look like a walking bureau of information, I wonder! If I do, I shall learn how to change my expression. But in truth the faces of these bewildered people are a study, and I am genuinely sorry for them.

The steamer cuts loose from her moorings, and moves gracefully out into the great ocean. As we approach Queenstown, we observe the small farms and dwellings close to the edge of the water. Then the lighthouse and the forts which guard the entrance to the harbor come into view, and now we drop anchor and wait for passengers and the mails. A little steam tug becomes visible, and as she draws nearer, we learn that she is bearing the mails and passengers to our ship. At last she is close beside us, and when made fast, the transfer takes place. Now is the time for the camera or sketch book, for many typical Irish characters come aboard our vessel, with strange, half-frightened faces, and their worldly belongings carried on their backs, or clutched tightly in their hands. Among the group I notice a middle-aged woman with a young pig nestling peacefully under her arm. Whether it is a pet, or simply a piece of live stock to begin housekeeping with in the new country, I cannot say, but with a contented expression on both faces, Bridget and her pig disappear into the special quarters which are reserved for the emigrants. This whole scene is very interesting. The old-fashioned black glazed oilcloth bag and trunk play a conspicuous part in the picture, and here and there are seen bundles tied in red bandanna handkerchiefs and carried on the end of a stick, which is slung over the shoulder, while the corduroy knee breeches, woollen stockings, heavy shoes and pea-jackets with caps to match give us a fine representation of the Irishman on his native heath.

Several small boats are floating at our side: from one of these a rope is thrown to a sailor on our deck, and a bright and comely Irish girl climbs nimbly up, hand over hand, and stands among the cabin passengers. With quick, deft movements she pulls up a basket filled with Irish knickknacks, such as pipes, crosses, pigs, spoons and forks made of bog-wood; these, with knit shawls and similar articles, she displays on deck, and it would be difficult to find a prettier, wittier, more attractive specimen of old Ireland's lasses than this. By means of her ready tongue she disposes of all her wares, and when the whistle warns all hands to leave the deck, she glides gracefully down the rope, and settling herself in her little boat, pulls for the shore.

This is our last stop until we reach New York. The anchor is pulled up, and away we go steaming on our homeward voyage. The little steam tug runs along beside us for a time, then the whistles of both vessels blow a farewell to each other, and our little comrade gradually fades from our sight.

Suddenly a heavy fog comes up, and the incessant blowing of the fog-horn is a tiresome sound: but the wind follows up the mist and scatters it far and wide, and now we have the boundless prospect of the ocean before us.

"Strongly it bears us along in smiling and limitless billows, Nothing before and nothing behind but the sky and the ocean."

As we gaze upon it day after day, its beauty and grandeur grow upon us more and more. I can think of no better words than those of Childe Harold which so beautifully express the thoughts the scene inspires.

"Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean, roll. Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain; Man marks the earth with ruin--his control Stops with the shore; upon the watery plain The wrecks are all thy deeds, nor doth remain A shadow of man's ravage, save his own, When, for a moment, like a drop of rain, He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan, Without a grave, unknelled, uncoffined and unknown."

Then, as if by magic, the huge waves lessen in their angry murmurs, the surface becomes quiet and calm; evening creeps on, and the glow from a descending sun illuminates the scene. As I look upon this beautiful and restful picture, I think how true the words:

"Beyond is all abyss, Eternity, whose end no eye can reach."

_The reading of this book has no doubt been a pleasure and a profit to you. Then why not recommend it to your friends? You will find cards on the inside of the back cover to assist you._

BY THE AUTHOR OF ODD BITS

British Isles through an Opera Glass By CHARLES M. TAYLOR, Jr.

Author of "Vacation Days in Hawaii and Japan." With 48 full-page illustrations, principally from photographs. Crown 8vo, about 350 pages, deckle edge paper, cloth jacket, in box, $2.00.

What is said of "The British Isles"

Mr. Taylor has the knack of making the story of his journeyings entertaining to the public. The usual descriptions of time-worn scenes give place to charming personal narrative, and a wealth of incident and episode gives to the book an exceptional interest. The fine half-tones of English scenes liberally scattered through the work greatly enhance its charm.--_The Philadelphia Call._

It is a record of a pleasant tour by the less frequented paths of travel, not only in England, but in Scotland and Ireland. The author takes little from the guide books and their familiar histories, but notes many interesting details that attracted his own attention. Furthermore he has illustrated his book with a large number of photographs, both of places and people, that are quite out of the common run, and the pictures alone would suffice to give the volume distinction.--_The Philadelphia Times._

The book is all the eye could wish, and as we turn the pages quickly from one to another of the forty-eight beautiful photographic illustrations a veritable panorama passes before us. The author is enthusiastic over what he saw in the British Isles, and he is evidently desirous of sharing his pleasure with those who have not been privileged to see for themselves.--_The Philadelphia American._

It is a luxurious volume that records the interesting travels of one who knows how to pen vivid word pictures of places where those who love travel would like to be.--_The Bookseller._

Mr. Taylor traveled through the British Isles with an observing eye, a ready note-book, and a camera which he used with discreet intelligence. The narrative is brightly written and abounds in anecdote, while the personal point of view is ever present and adds a touch of piquancy. The volume is beautifully made, and the photographs, about fifty in number, are particularly well reproduced in half-tones--_The Philadelphia Press._

For sale by all booksellers, or sent post-paid upon receipt of the price by the publishers

GEORGE W. JACOBS & CO.

103-105 South Fifteenth Street Philadelphia, Pa.

BY THE AUTHOR OF ODD BITS

Vacation Days in Hawaii and Japan By CHARLES M. TAYLOR, Jr.

With over 100 half-tone illustrations, principally from photographs. Crown 8vo. 361 pages, gilt top, uncut edges. With unique cover design. Price, $2.00.

What is said of "Vacation Days"

Mr. Taylor is a keen observer, who penetrated beyond the beaten track of the usual tourist, and his sketches of Home Life, Natural Beauties and Every-day scenes, have individuality and charm.--_Literary News._

The narrative is written in a clear, easy style, with an aptitude for giving just that kind of information concerning everyday life which people miss too often in books of travel.--_Philadelphia Press._

A very interesting feature of the book is the numerous pictures from photographs taken by the author of "Japanese people," men, women and children, engaged at their ordinary vocations, also pictures of Japanese scenery, shops, living rooms and temples. These illustrations are remarkable for their realism.--_Indianapolis Journal._

The book recounts the incidents of a recent tour through Hawaii and Japan. The special value of the narrative is that it covers points of interest in these specially interesting countries not usually recorded in the guide books and ordinary books of travel.---_The Philadelphia Call._

A four months' trip through Hawaii and Japan is narrated in this compact and entertaining volume. Mr. Taylor applies systematic methods to his sight-seeing. He is an appreciative observer as well. He was not content with well beaten paths and hence his record is clear, picturesque and fresh.--_The Philadelphia Ledger._

Two conspicuous merits this capital travel book has over the average in its class; it describes new grounds and scenes, and the narrative ripples along with the ease and liveliness of a brook. Without professing to be specially instructive, Mr. Taylor conveys a great amount of information such as we all enjoy when told in this pleasant way, blending the matter of fact with the entertaining.--_The Philadelphia American._

For sale by all booksellers, or sent post-paid upon receipt of the price by the publishers

GEORGE W. JACOBS & CO.

103-105 South Fifteenth Street Philadelphia, Pa.