The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1885-11-01
MISS BUFFERS LETTERS.

This dainty little volume, by the daughter of
John M. Butler, of this city, is composed of
letters written by her from Europe to her family
and friends during a five months trip They
were not designed for publication, but friends
prevailed upon the writer to permit them to be
put into this permanent form The letters we'll
deserve It, The style is bright and racy. The
descriptions of places and observations on people
and things are intensely interesting. There is
not dull page in the book There is much
fun some sarcasm, and great deal
of the true American Girl Abroad" in
the letters. They were written on the wing,
while travelling through Italy, Switzerland, Ger
many, Holland. France, England Scotland and
Ireland The excellent quality of the humor in
the book must be to be appreciated. Of
her entrance into Rome, the writer says
eve reached this goal of the italian traveller
at night Mrs. B. and l looked and felt around
for those emotions that all well regulated trav-
elers have on entering Rome We couldn't find
one. In despair and shame at cur poverty we
commenced to quote; she, with rapt gaze upon
the distant spires,
Rome, Rome, mistress of the world"
81, with gestures of deepest tragedy,
II see before me the gladiator lie
dis manly brow consents to death but conquers agony
"And still emotions Cooks tourists prob.
ably have them furnished with their tickets
Finally, in one mad search, we reused Cousin
L.. from her corner, and she rather seepily re-
preached us for having disturbed her reverie.
She had been having few little emotions all
to herself, and we Indignantly demanded that
she divide even.' st. Paul was her inspiration,
and we did our best with him, to no purpose. /
confess, without shame besitancy. that my
one feeling entering the seven hilled city was
that of mild surprise on seeing electric lights in
the station"
| Elsewhere she says:
LAS L wrote E. this morning in letter which
Will reach her on the steamer, | at that point
whore think, perhaps, it would be as satisfac-
tory to be in of the millions more or less) of
| tombs we look at, as on the outside. 1t might
| not be so interesting, but OIL how comfortable!
| No more Impressions" l am absolutely
battered with impressions! A specimen of re-
| pousse! An Italian scene knocked out here and
German scene there Very uncomfortable"
Of all the interesting letters in the book the
following from Holland, which cannot fail to he
! read with pleasure, must suffice here:
This lovely, lovely Holand So dainty and
pretty; the very cows are brettier than the ceys
of other countries--so shining and black The
wind-mills are SO picturesque on these fiat mead
ows. These plucky people say: God made the
the sea- we make the shore And it seems to be
literally true. We stopped first, after long
drive, at a d. D.-Dutch dairy. It was the
brightest queerest old place! All l have ever
read of Dutch neatness have found to be true,
though 1t seems such an odd contradiction that
these clearly people only have their washing
done once in six months That strikes me as an
old blue FLOODED custom, which would be more
honored in the breach than in the observance
In this dairy, in the stalls where the thirty six
cows are kept in winter, were brass kettles and
foot-warmers in glttering array; price
less china plates, cups and saucers,
colored shells paving and bordering the halls
and the whole room attractive as a summer
parlor. In the house each room had a frieze of
blue china plates. There was an DID, old tall
clock, with a windmill on the face. which
worked when the hour was struck. Ard, oh,
the funny little hole in the wall, with steps up to
1t and curtain to keep out the air, they called
bed In the dairy-room were ffty.seven
cheeses sailing, and we were given sweet milk
or butter milk, which was refreshing after our
long drive. Then on and on we rode over the
smooth roads, enthusiastically enjoying the fiat
green meadows. the canals the black and white
cows. the wind-mills the people. About
pretty little town on the Zuyder
zee and here we set sail for the island of
Marker. Now, in my early days.
thought tho that thai Marker in the zuyder
seen nothing there that would cause me to
change that opinion. AS we neared the island
slowly, the men In their Sunday suits were in
groups on the little wharf, and their boats, great
clean and dry in the offing. These men wear a
queer costume: full wooden drawers brought in
tight just below the knee, dark stockings
and clumsy shoes; blouse waist
and a broad hat. Further were the women
and children, the handsomest, palest specimens
though they live almost altogether on fish. The
feminines all have yellow curl hanging on each
side of their fair, rosy faces from out their tight
fitting caps. The children wear the cap both
boys and girls The little girls with their tiny
skirts nearly touching the ground, their dear
little bodices of gay chntz calico. their chubby
faces and bright yellow hair. were the sweetest
little images L ever saw, and quite self
possess ed, too The houses are miracuiously
clean, and all shoes removed just
outside the door To see the old ladies of seventy
years and over walking around in their stocking
feet with their short skirts-for here the skirt
shrinks as the wearer grows older, apparently
was SO funny
From year to year these women stay here on
the island, their life to watch and wait for the
men, who are out upon the dangerous waters of
this coast or voyaging on distant seas Many of
them, most of them indeed grow up from chubby
girls to brown, hardy, anxious featured won en-.
with not thought Or view of any life
but that bounded by the waves of
the Zuyder Zee. They have never seen
horse most of them have never even sailed
across the narrow space to the main land They
have beautiful china and rare old pieces of fur
niture, some of them; and they scorn to listen
to you when you suggest that they sell these
precious gifts of father, and brother and hus-
band, who have never come back to the shore
They marry and intermarry. and they are also
bound together by the strongest ties of sym
patty; the widows and orphans all have one COM
mon foe, the husbands and sons all have one
common friend-the sea.
eve sailed lazily back. in the mild afternoon
sun. lay at the front of the heavy boat, under
the red SAIL and concluded that / would never
care again to sail on a bright blue sea, under
glazing white canvas! You can't imagine the
beauty Of these warm sea scenes-the yellowish