Page 1
BON VOYAGE
Last year, Dear Friends, we met "At Home,"And now "Abroad" we mean to roam:
With all who choose to spare the time
We'll wander to a neighbouring clime.
Nor need you leave your own fireside,
For with fair Fancy for our guide,
Our winged thoughts, in swallow-flight,
Shall cross the Channel smooth and bright:
And in despite of wind or weather,
We'll make our little tour together.
Now on our Pictures you shall look:—
To you we dedicate our Book.
CONTENTS
PAGE "Bon Voyage" 3 London: "Packing"—Frontispiece " The Departure—Title-page On the Way 8 Folkestone: Going on Board 9 Crossing the Channel 10 Boulogne: The Buffet 12 " The Hotel 13 " The Quay 14 " The First Morning in France 15 Rouen: "Good-night" 16 " Church of St. Ouen 17 " Blind Pierre 19 " Rue de l'Epicerie 20 " The Crèche 21 " The Schoolroom 22 " School Drill 23 Caen: The Arrival 24 " The Hotel 25 " The Hotel Kitchen 26 "
Page 2
align="left">The Washerwomen 27 " The Knife-grinder 28
PAGE " Chocolate and Milk 29 " The Lacemakers 31 En Route—A Railway Crossing 32 " A Railway Station 33 Paris: The Gardens of the Palais Royale 34 " On the Boulevard 35 " The Tuileries Gardens 36 " Punch and Judy 37 " Musée de Cluny 38 " Staircase of Henry II. 39 " The Man in Armour 40 " The "Zoo" 41 " The Pony Tramway 42 " The Swans 43 " A Flower Stall 44 " A Day at Versailles 45 " La Fontaine des Innocents 47 " The Markets 49 " The Luxembourg Gardens 51 " The Merry-go-round 52 The Night Journey to Calais 53 Calais: The Water-Gate 54 Dover: Homeward Bound 55 "Bon Retour" 56
THE VERSES ARE BY VARIOUS WRITERS
My readers, would you like to go abroad, for just an hour or so, With little friends of different ages? Look at them in these pictured pages—
Page 3
Brothers and sisters you can see,—all children of one family. Their father, too, you here will find, and good Miss Earle, their teacher kind. Three years ago their Mother died, and ever since has Father tried To give his children in the Spring some tour, or treat, or pleasant thing. Said he, last Easter, "I propose, for Nellie, Dennis, Mabel, Rose, A trip abroad—to go with me to Paris and through Normandy." Then all exclaimed, "Oh! glorious!"—"But may not Bertie go with us?—" Said Rose—"We can't leave him at home." Then Father said he too should come. Turn to the Frontispiece and see the children packing busily. The next page shows them in the station at Charing Cross. Their great elation Is written plainly on their faces.—Bell rings—"Time's up—Come, take your places!" * * * * *
The "Folkestone Express" sped on like a dream,
And there lay the steamer fast getting up steam.
The "Folkestone Express" sped on like a dream,
And there lay the steamer fast getting up steam.
Then at the Folkestone harbour, down they go Nellie, Miss Earle, and Bertie too appear, Across the gangway to the boat below; Whilst Dennis, with the rugs, brings up the rear. Mabel and Rose just crossing you can see, May looks behind her with an anxious air, Each holding her new doll most carefully. Lest Father, at the last, should not be there.
Our children once on board, all safe and sound, But while the turmoil loud and louder grows, Watch with delight the busy scene around. "I'm glad the wind blows gently," whispers Rose. The noisy steam-pipe blows and blows away,— And as the steamer swiftly leaves the quay, "Now this is just the noise we like," they say. Mabel and Dennis almost dance with glee.
CROSSING THE CHANNEL.
The sea is calm, and clear the sky—only a few clouds scudding by:
The Passengers look bright, and say, "Are we not lucky in the day!"
The Mate stands in the wheelhouse there, and turns the wheel with watchful care:
Steering to-day is work enough; what must it be when weather's rough?
Look at him in his sheltered place—he hasn't got a merry face—
'Tis not such fun for him, you know, he goes so often to and fro.
Nellie and Father, looking back, glance at the vessel's lengthening track—
"How far," says Nellie, "we have come! good-bye, good-bye, dear English home!"
Dennis and Rose and Mabel, walking upon the deck, are gaily talking—
Says Mabel, "No one must forget to call my new doll 'Antoinette';
Travelling in France, 'twould be a shame for her to have an English name."
Says Dennis, "Call her what you will, so you be English 'Mabel' still."
Says Rose, to Dennis drawing nigher, "I think the wind is getting higher;"
"If a gale blows, do you suppose, we shall be wrecked?" asks little Rose.
The Passengers look bright, and say, "Are we not lucky in the day!"
The Mate stands in the wheelhouse there, and turns the wheel with watchful care:
Steering to-day is work enough; what must it be when weather's rough?
Look at him in his sheltered place—he hasn't got a merry face—
'Tis not such fun for him, you know, he goes so often to and fro.
Nellie and Father, looking back, glance at the vessel's lengthening track—
"How far," says Nellie, "we have come! good-bye, good-bye, dear English home!"
Dennis and Rose and Mabel, walking upon the deck, are gaily talking—
Says Mabel, "No one must forget to call my new doll 'Antoinette';
Travelling in France, 'twould be a shame for her to have an English name."
Says Dennis, "Call her what you will, so you be English 'Mabel' still."
Says Rose, to Dennis drawing nigher, "I think the wind is getting higher;"
"If a gale blows, do you suppose, we shall be wrecked?" asks little Rose.
While chatting with Dennis, Rose lost all her fear; And the swift Albert Victor came safe to the pier At Boulogne, where they landed, and there was the train In waiting to take up the travellers again. But to travel so quickly was not their intent: On a little refreshment our party was bent. Here they are at the Buffet—for dinner they wait— And the tall garçon, André, attends them in state.
At a separate table sits Monsieur Legros, And behind him his poodle, Fidèle, you must know, Who can dance, he's so clever, and stand and on his head, Or upon his nose balance a morsel of bread. Mabel takes up some sugar to coax him, whilst Nell Calls him to her—Fidèle understands very well— "Why! he must have learnt English, he knows what we say," Mabel cries, "See!—he begs in the cleverest way."
Page 4
summary="">
Then to the Hotel on the quay they all went; To remain till the morrow they all were content: After so much fatigue Father thought it was best, For the children were weary and needed the rest. Pictured here is the room in that very Hotel, Where so cosily rested Rose, Mabel, and Nell.
Mabel dreamed of the morrow—of buying French toys: Rose remembered the steam-pipe, and dreamed of its noise. Nellie's dreams were of home, but she woke from her trance Full of joy, just to think they were really in France. Very early next morning, you see them all three Looking out from their window that faces the sea.
THE FIRST MORNING IN FRANCE.
Here they see a pretty sight,
Sunny sky and landscape bright:
Fishing-boats move up and down,
With their sails all red and brown.
Some to land are drawing near,
O'er the water still and clear,
Full of fish as they can be,
Caught last night in open sea.
On the pavement down below,
Fishwives hurry to and fro,
Calling out their fish to sell—
"What a noisy lot," says Nell,
"What a clap—clap—clap—they make
With their shoes each step they take.
Wooden shoes, I do declare,
And oh! what funny caps they wear!"
After breakfast all went out
To view the streets, and walk about
The ancient city-walls, so strong,
Where waved the English flag for long.
Toy shops too they went to see,
Spread with toys so temptingly:
Dolls of every kind were there,
With eyes that shut and real hair—
And, in a brightly-coloured row,
Doll-fisherfolk like these below.
Prices marked, as if to say,
"Come and buy us, quick, to-day!"
One for Mabel, one for Rose,
Two for Bertie I suppose,
Father bought.—Then all once more
Set off travelling as before.
Sunny sky and landscape bright:
Fishing-boats move up and down,
With their sails all red and brown.
Some to land are drawing near,
O'er the water still and clear,
Full of fish as they can be,
Caught last night in open sea.
On the pavement down below,
Fishwives hurry to and fro,
Calling out their fish to sell—
"What a noisy lot," says Nell,
"What a clap—clap—clap—they make
With their shoes each step they take.
Wooden shoes, I do declare,
And oh! what funny caps they wear!"
After breakfast all went out
To view the streets, and walk about
The ancient city-walls, so strong,
Where waved the English flag for long.
Toy shops too they went to see,
Spread with toys so temptingly:
Dolls of every kind were there,
With eyes that shut and real hair—
And, in a brightly-coloured row,
Doll-fisherfolk like these below.
Prices marked, as if to say,
"Come and buy us, quick, to-day!"
One for Mabel, one for Rose,
Two for Bertie I suppose,
Father bought.—Then all once more
Set off travelling as before.
To Rouen next they went, that very day, Dennis bought chocolate to make a feast— And heard strange places called out by the way, They had three dinners in the train, at least. Where bells kept tinkling while the train delayed: At Rouen here they are at last, though late— At Amiens ten minutes quite they stayed. The bedroom clock there shows 'tis after eight!
Mabel looks tired—she lies back in her chair
Beside the wood fire burning brightly there.
Rose says—"Good-night!"—to Bertie fast asleep,
While her own eyes can scarcely open keep.
Next morning, through the quaint old streets of Rouen
They went to see the old church of Saint Ouen,
With eager feet, and chatting as they walked,
About the ancient Town, together talked.
Beside the wood fire burning brightly there.
Rose says—"Good-night!"—to Bertie fast asleep,
While her own eyes can scarcely open keep.
Next morning, through the quaint old streets of Rouen
They went to see the old church of Saint Ouen,
With eager feet, and chatting as they walked,
About the ancient Town, together talked.
Said Dennis, first,
"This city bold
Belonged to us
In days of old."
Said Nellie, "Here
Prince Arthur wept—
By cruel John
A prisoner kept.
Here Joan of Arc
Was tried and burned,
When fickle fate
Against her turned."
Said Rose, "Oh dear!
It makes me sad
To think what trouble
People had
Who lived once in
This very town,
Where we walk gaily
Up and down."
"This city bold
Belonged to us
In days of old."
Said Nellie, "Here
Prince Arthur wept—
By cruel John
A prisoner kept.
Here Joan of Arc
Was tried and burned,
When fickle fate
Against her turned."
Said Rose, "Oh dear!
It makes me sad
To think what trouble
People had
Who lived once in
This very town,
Where we walk gaily
Up and down."
Page 5
align="left">Now they have come into the entrance wide Of great St. Ouen's Church; see, side by side, Dennis and Nellie going on before: The others watch yon beggar at the door— Poor blind Pierre; he always waits just so, Listening for those who come and those who go. He tells his beads, and hopes all day that some May think of him, 'mongst those who chance to come. Though he can't see, he is so quick to hear, He knows a long, long time ere one draws near, And shakes the coppers in his well-worn tin— "Click, click," it goes—see, Bertie's gift drops in. 'Tis his one sou that Bertie gives away— It might have bought him sweets this very day. When through St. Ouen's Church they'd been at last, Along its aisles and down its transept passed, They went to the Cathedral, there to see The tomb of Rolf, first Duke of Normandy. But Mabel said, "Why should we English care About that Rolf they say was buried there?" Then she ran on, not waiting for reply— My little reader, can you tell her why?
The Cathedral was cold,
With its dim solemn aisles,
But outside our friends found
The sun waiting, with smiles,
To show them their way,
So hither they came
Along an old street
With a hard French name.
And still walking onward,
Through streets we can't see,
At length reached the Crèche
Of "Sœur Rosalie"—
Where poor women's children
Are kept all day through,
Amused, taught, and tended,
And all for one sou.
With its dim solemn aisles,
But outside our friends found
The sun waiting, with smiles,
To show them their way,
So hither they came
Along an old street
With a hard French name.
And still walking onward,
Through streets we can't see,
At length reached the Crèche
Of "Sœur Rosalie"—
Where poor women's children
Are kept all day through,
Amused, taught, and tended,
And all for one sou.
Children are happy with "Sister" all day, Mothers can't nurse them—they work far away. Good Sister Rosalie, she is so kind, E'en when they're troublesome, she doesn't mind. Here in the first room the Babies we see, sitting at dejeuner round Rosalie.
Dodo is crying, he can't find his spoon—some one will find it and comfort him soon. Over yon cradle bends kind Sister Claire, Dear little Mimi is waking up there. Sister Félicité, sweetly sings she, "Up again, down again, Bébé, to me."
The school-room of the Crèche is wide, The children sit there, side by side, While "Sister" hears their lessons through, And when there's no more work to do They all get up, and form a ring, And as they stand, together sing. Now hand in hand, tramp, tramp they go, Now in a line march to and fro, For with the rattle in her hand The "Sister" makes them understand When to advance and when draw back— Click-clack it goes, click-clack, click-clack. On Stéphanie now turn your eyes, She's only five, but she's so wise— She knows the alphabet all through, And, more than that, can teach it too. Just now, she moves her wand to J, And tells the children what to say. But 'tis no use to tell Ninette, For she is but a bébé yet.
ARRIVAL AT CAEN.
Page 6
src="@public@vhost@g@gutenberg@html@files@23460@23460-h@[email protected]" alt="Decoration" title="" tag="{http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml}img"/>
Through Rouen when our friends had been, Next up the staircase see them go, And all its famous places seen, With femme de chambre the way to show. They travelled on, old Caen to see, Father and Dennis, standing there, Another town in Normandy. Are asking for the bill of fare.
Arrived at Caen, the travellers here
Monsieur le Maître, who rubs his hands Before the chief Hotel appear, And says, "What are Monsieur's commands?" Miss Earle, Rose, Bertie you descry— With scrape and bow, again you see— The rest are coming by-and-by. The most polite of men is he.
Monsieur le Maître, with scrape and bow, Stands ready to receive them now, And Madame with her blandest air, And their alert Commissionaire.
Arrived at Caen, the travellers here
Monsieur le Maître, who rubs his hands Before the chief Hotel appear, And says, "What are Monsieur's commands?" Miss Earle, Rose, Bertie you descry— With scrape and bow, again you see— The rest are coming by-and-by. The most polite of men is he.
Monsieur le Maître, with scrape and bow, Stands ready to receive them now, And Madame with her blandest air, And their alert Commissionaire.
Now that dinner is ordered, we'll just take a peep At the cooks in the kitchen—just see! what a heap Of plates are provided, and copper pans too;— They'll soon make a dinner for me and for you. French cookery's famous for flavouring rare, But of garlic I think they've enough and to spare.
If we ask how their wonderful dishes are made, I'm afraid they won't tell us the tricks of the trade. Do they make them, I wonder, of frogs and of snails? Or are these, after all, only travellers' tales? The names are all down on the "Menu," no doubt, But the worst of it is that we can't make them out.