This letter from Paris is from a newspaper clipping
. The newspaper appears to be from a Winsted, Conn. paper

(The following is a private letter. It has been handed in for publication.)
Paris, Apr. 21st, 1895

LETTER FROM PARIS

My Dear Charles: - We are just down from the Eiffel Tower, which the French, with some reason, regard as the greatest feat of engineering in the world has ever seen: yet even here the hand of the Yankee is visible, because of the half dozen lifts used, the American "Otis" makes it's ascent in 70 seconds, while it's nearest French competition requires 2 minutes 20 seconds. The tower itself is the most beautiful example of graceful strength I have ever seen. It's base is very broad, resting on four mighty arched piers; it has three platforms, each a regular village in itself, with restaurants, a theatre, wine houses, photograph galleries, stores, etc. We ascended very early to the extreme summit, 1000 feet; as it chanced to be a "special" day, when visitors were permitted to invade the regions of the scientific rooms; as the top chamber is used for astronomical purposes, and contains a "light-house" with a very powerful search-light, which at night hands like a brilliant star over the city.

The view from the upper platform is too well known to need description. All Paris spreads like a toy city at one's feet; the Tuileries seem an ordinary flower plot. Notre Dame, one fancies, would make a very pretty watch charm. The eye follows the crooked Seine far out into the country. where the Prussian earthworks once girded Paris with an ever-narrowing belt. Directly beneath us is a huge bicycle-track, looking much like a small saucer, with flies crawling about the tim. These are Paris' fast wheelmen.

Speaking of the Eiffel reminds me that my prediction for climbing has brought me more pleasure than any other one thing; this, notwithstanding my first effort was not a dazzling success. I well remember it: I was very, very young, and the object of my ambition was a willow-tree, in West Norfolk. A mature judgement would have selected some other tree: a willow has it's uses; it is not intended for climbing. However I ascended it's topmost branches: and wore bandages and walked sideways for several days. And since then, undeterred, I have climbed every thing in my way - excepting willow trees. All over southern Europe, I have at frequent intervals ascended some observation point, the "get my beatings:" and have been in most cases, well repaid for my trouble.

I had scarcely landed at Gilbralter 'ere I had a police permit, and was clinging to the highest towers of the Moorish castle, which after 1200 years is yet strong enough to serve as England's prison for those condemned to die. The view of the town, fortress and harbor is not surpassed in Europe. In the distance the snow capped Sierra Nevadas, far to our left the African coast. The red coated soldiers, the turbaned Moors, cactus, palm, flags, all added their touch of color. Titian himself could not have transferred such gorgeous contrasts to canvas.

My next "climb" was the Giralda, a Moorish tower of the 12th century, so admirable that a famous architect has recently erected a copy in Madison Square, New York city. A winding plane leads to the summit, from which the faithful were summoned to prayer. The view is all-embracing; the mosque itself has been replaced by the cathedral of Seville, one of the three largest in the world. At my visit the interior was badly shattered, an earthquake having recently shaken Seville.

Seville is full of interest, whether one goes in for historical remains, or, like Bryon, is satisfied witht he ladies and oranges. Bryon declared that the oranges came first and that, like the ladies, there were two kids, bitter and sweet. As to the former, which I sampled, I have only enthusiastic praise; regarding the latter I must accept the opinion of the great poet.

At Granada, in the Alhambra, whose praises I had heard sung in the cafes of Morocco, I found a very curious old tower awaiting my coming. From this "Tarre de la Vela," in the year 1492, the Moorish king, Boabdil, saw the sun glitter on the helmets of the army of Ferdinand and Isabella as it swept up the mightly valley. What a scene it was to be sure! The gray walls of the fortress, almost hidden beneath the verdure of tropical Andalusia, far below the river Dano coiling about the white roofed village, and winding, a ray of shimmering light, far away over the Vega, dotted with towns, until the horizon melts into the distant Sierras.

On this tower, after it was taken, Cardinal Mendoza, the founder of the inquisition, hoisted the Christian flay, drying, with a loud voice, "Granade is taken!" From it, we see the Gorge of Loja, where the messenger of Isabella recalled the disappointed Columbus as he wearily set out for the assistance of some new court. From this same place the Sultan's mules used to bring the snow for his sherbets.

To-day there hands a bell which is sounded on special occasions; this on Jan 2, anniversary of the surrender, the peasant maids strike it, this guaranteeing to themselves a good husband. The louder the ring, the better the husband!

My next victory was the ascent of Mt. Vesuvius, in action. Vesuvius has been active the past year, and the day I was there it cast forth torrents of red hot lava, which fell, from an astounding height almost at my feet, causing alarm even among the guides. I did not allow it, however, to spoil my view, for below spread that bay of Naples, of which gifted authors have writted so often. The city stretched along a great horse show, with the blue Mediterranean foaming for miles against her embattled walls. Far out to sea lies the Isle of Capri, on the other hand, the Pyrenees, the nightly plain to the left lie the ruined cities of the Greek colonies, and Roman pleasure resorts, among them the blackened scar which marks all that is left of gay Pompeii. Italy is fair-but cruel; Saturn like, she devours her own children.

The earthquake, the volcano, the plague, have desolated prosperous cities. I have ridden for miles through a glorious section, covered with the debris of the earthquake. I narrowly escaped the fatal fever while investigating the Greek temples at Pestum, and as if there were no spot where certain safely can be found, great and powerful Amalfi, whose fleets swept the sea and whose mariners discovered the compass, was swallowed up by the encroaching Mediterranean, and is to-day only a fishing hamlet, and resort of beggars.

But I must close my already too long letter. At Pisa I "did" the leaning tower; to gaze down the sunken side gives one a fearful impression, as if the structure was "just about to fall," as says the song.

Rome found me perched on the very top of St. Peter's Dome, in the little bronze ball, which looks so small, and really holds 16 people. At Venice I did not fail to clamber up the Campanile, or bell-tower, of St. Marks, from which curiously enough, not a single canal is visible, thus ruining an otherwise picturesque view of the strange city. Finally, at Milan, I found from the roof a lovelier scene than that within the peerless Gothic structure. I should say one can here get an unimpeded sweep of 20 miles radius, terminating, in the north, with the Swiss Alps. "The Impassible Alps" give me a valid excuse for pausing, which I will do before I weary you. I have still sufficient, material for more letters., later on.

John D. Swain

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