The Portland daily press. [volume] (Portland, Me.) 1862-1921, 1886-05-19

a deadly atmosphere. For the past few win
tiers the canals have scarcely been frozen,
which means ten months of vapors laden
with the direful odors from the sluggish
streams. Our rooms smelled like old musty
refrigerators, and we shivered and shrank
from putting the children into beds so damp
and cold they might. have proved their wind
ing sheets; however, we made the best of it
for few days, and looked longingly across
the bay to our haven of rest and comfort in
Old England,
As we went about the town and saw the
houses settling into the sea, and the rats
swimming along the canals from kitchen to
kitchen, to pick up their breakfasts in the
eupboards, we thought we would not spend
a month in Rotterdam, for all the verdant
meadows and splendid herds of cattle. Every
thing looks topsy-turvy; when the people
have to turn their attics into storehouses, and
hoist their provisions and fuel by pulleys and
cord We wondered if vegetables would
not keep in the cellars how they could keep
the teething babies. Sometimes the little
peat fires seem only to disseminate the foul
odors and moisture through the house. Rot
t0Iudill tOU, lldS It's llOuSG u
new and old. Among them was the we'll
known pair by Shelters, Before and After
the Battle" In one is represented the father,
in the character of a stern warrior, as he
gives his parting instruction to his son; and
cutting the table cloth, warns him that thus
their friendship is severed if he loses the bat
tie; the other depicts the tender father
bowed with grief over the corpse OF his son.
Here, too we saw many most effective paint
ings of modern Dutch artists.
At last we grew weary of the jabberings OF
foreigners, the squabbles with porters, and
our eyes and ears ached with seeing and
hearing new things. We were glad to set
sail fer the land of our forefathers, and
thought we would not heed drilling rain
and narrow berths. Fairly launched, nasty
northeastern tossed us up and down, making
us suffer the Undesirable fortunes of the
never too much abused North Sea. While
the solemn bells marking the night watches,
and the dismal fog whistle banished sleep,
these lines of George Bowker, in which he
portrays the sailors appeal to Sir John
Franklin, kept running through our heads:
sAnd shall we see, o brave Sir John,
Our English fields again.
And smell the scent of the opening flowers,
The grass and the waving grain?"
Aswe recalled the miseries of hatnight and
our joy at the sight Of faint line Of English
headlands, cutting the glow of early dawn,
we wondered what could be the fullness OF
our cup if we were spared to see the Crystal
Hills of New England and to round OLD
White Head Giving way to sentimental
reverie, we.envied Silas Wegg's facility fol
dropping into poetry, and determined with
such glorious theme we would make be-
ginning, even at this late day, to poetize; but
after struggling while to grind out a coup
| let, we nudged our antiquarian friend and
| asked him if he would not .take our brilliant
| ideas and dress them up In rhymes. He was
| deaf to our entrcaties, and fearing it was 6
| hopeless case to rouse him, we had conclud
| ed to wind up with a patriotic prose effusion
when he tossed over some verses, saying
''There, take these, and call them your own
| it is all the same in a joint concern" Sc
| here they go, and you may have them like
| the old lady's tea cakes: When the compa
| ny smacked their lips and asked for two
helps, she said modestly, Il always prefer tc
| do my own nice cooking;" but when they
were "soggy and sad,' she said snappishly
'sSuch horrid cook as l have; she tries my
| life out of me- and spoils everything she
| touches"
CAsCo BAY.
| There's never a wanderer from thy shores,
| o Bay of the many isles!
| But turns to thee with longing love
| Begotten of tears and smiles,
| AS he thinks of thee far away