The Redwood gazette. [volume] (Redwood Falls, Minn.) 1873-1940, 1882-06-22
THE CHILDREN'S JOURNEY.

"Reminiscences of Southern Austria.
There are few stranger places in the
world than the billy region around the
head of the Gulf of Venice, and a few
stranger people than the Slovaks who
inhabit it. Almost within sight of busy
bustling, populous Trieste, with its
bristling masts, and crowded quays,
and rafting carriages, and smar,
modern hotels, you come sud.
denly upon a district dotted with
quaint little antique villages that
seem to have been dropped by Santa
Claus out of his basket of toys-villages
which might well have Rip Van Wrinkle
for chief magistrate, and the Seven
Sleepers of Ephesus for tenants.
Up here on these warm dreary hill
sides, far from the busy world below,
no one seems to be in hurry, to get
angry, or to excite himself in any way.
The heavy wagons that creep along the
broad white dusty road seem to 90 or
not as they please, their "drivers''
being usually fast asleep inside them.
These four or five sallow, bearded. low
browed peasants in gray frocks and
high boots, who are munching their
black bread and garlic in the shade of
yonder tree, instead of chattering and
laughing like their Italian neghbors of
the valley, are silent as statutes. This
meek little church of crumbling stone
was built before the Turks entered Con-
stantinople, and the language of its
builders is spoken here still.
So completely, indeed, does the whole
OF this strange region reproduce what
the world was centuries ago that feel
quite out of place as l look out at it
through the window of modern rail-
way car. and hear call for '.tickets'
in the midst of the enchanted ground.
But even the railway seems to have Dor
rowed something OF the character of
its surroundings. For whole hour we
zlg-zag at a creeping pace up SEEM
lngly ENDLESS succession of terraced
ridges crowned with dark clumps of
thicket. Suddenly two or three beauti-
tuI little patches of green, sunny vine
yard peep out at us from between two
huge black cliffs, down one of which,
like fly walking on a wall, comes a
sturdy peasant, brown and shapely as u
bronze statue, showing all his splendid
teeth i'll grin of indulgent contempt at
sight of the crawling train. The faint
tinkle of a bell makes me look up to see
herd of goats feeding high above my
head, while the next moment | catch
sight OF little red-tiled cottage tucked
away in the cleft of rock as if playing
hide-and-seek.
At length our train struggles up to
the summit of the mountain with a
Shrill whistle of triumph. We thrust
our heads out of the window to see
where we have got to, when, 10! right
under our feet lie the clustering white
houses, and shining church domes, and
countless masts, and bright blue waters
of Trieste which we left behind more
than an hour ago, as if bound by the
same spell which kept poor Christoval
tramping round and round the church
all night, thinking he was going
straight home.
But at this point new turn is given
to my thoughts by the entrance of a
group as picturesque as any painter
could wish; three children-a bright
eyed little fairy of eight, with cheeks as
round and rosy as the apple which she
is eating, sturdy boy of eleven, whose
sun-burned face is browner than his fiat
leather cap, and tall, slim, golden
haired girl about a year older, taking
charge of the other two in a protect
ing, motherly way, which is simp ly ir-
reSistible.
But the first glance shows me that
their journey, whatever its object may
be, is one of no ordinary importance to
themselves. All three have grave,
prcoccupied look. the elder girl es-
pccially. Instead of prattling merrily,
laughing. shouting and pointing out
passing objects to each other, as chill
dren usually do on railway journey,
they sit close together in corner and
talk in whispers.
Even the grand scenery through which
we pass, new as it evidently is to them,
seems quite UNDECIDED. Browning
precipices; somber pine woods; black,
tomb-like gorges; rock lodges just wide
enough for the train itself; over-hang-
ing waterfalls which go leaping and
foaming from crag to crag down
seemingly endless descent; queer little
painted wooden statiOn-houses, placard-
ed with regulations in Italian, German
and Slovak; brawny peasant women,
with their hard sallow faces framed in
scarlet kerchiefs, waving signal flags on
the very verge OF the precipice-go by
without remark.
The illustrated journal which l con-
trive to let fall as if by accident on the
seat nearest to them remains equally
unnoticed for while. But at length l
see the younger girls eyes beginning to
turn that way. Presently she slips off
her seat, and sidles up to the tempting
paper; and then, having satisfied her.
self that was not looking at her, she
seizes it in her plump little hands, and
is soon deep in one of the greatest en-
joyments of childhood looking over a
whole lot of pictures.
But as we approach St. Peters the
other two children become visibly rest
less and excited, looking constantly out
of the window as if watching for some
thing which they are eager to see. Even
the little student of my paper, with
whom have struck up conversation
in German, soon forsakes me to Join the
watch; and l hear the boy mutter dis
consolately:
"Why don't the train 60 quicker?
We shall never get there!'
Can they be bound on picnic? think
/; but they look far too grave and
troubled for that. Are they going home
from school? but who would think of
living in desolate place like this?
am still puzzling over the riddle, when
my little checked friend, after look
ing doubtfully at me once or twice, as
if uncertain whether to speak or not,
startles me with very unexpected ques-
ton:
"Please, when anybody grows blind,
not from blow or anything like that,
but with something growing over their
eyes, can they be made well again?n
VERY often they can, when they
have good doctor; but why do you
askp"
And then the whole story comes out.
Their father, retired Austrian officer,
has become blind from cataract; and
famous German oculist, an old friend of
his, has taken him away to a country
house among the hills between st.
Peters and Adelsberg, in the hope of
restoring his sight by an operation.