University of Virginia Library

BACK FROM “YURRUP.”

MARK TWAIN.

Have you ever seen a family of geese just back from Europe—or Yurrup,
as they pronounce it? They never talk to you, of course, being
strangers, but they talk to each other and at you till you are pretty nearly
distracted with their clatter; till you are sick of their ocean experiences;
their mispronounced foreign names; their dukes and emperors; their trivial
adventures; their pointless reminiscences; till you are sick of their imbecile
faces and their relentless clack, and wished it had pleased Providence to
leave the clapper out of their empty skulls.

I traveled with such a family one eternal day, from New York to Boston,
last week. They had spent just a year in “Yurrup,” and were returning
home to Boston. Papa said little, and looked bored—he had simply
been down to New York to receive and cart home his cargo of traveled
imbecility. Sister Angeline, aged 23, sister Augusta, aged 25, and brother
Charles, aged 33, did the conversational drivel, and mamma purred and
admired, and threw in some help when occasion offered, in the way of remembering
some barber's—I should say some French count's—name, when
they pretended to have forgotten it. They occupied the choice seats in

[ILLUSTRATION]

Sole Importers of the
Buffalo and Otter Alpacas
Beaver Mohairs
and
Sable Brilliantines
Peake, Opdycke & Co.
IMPORTERS and JOBBERS
427 and 429 Broadway
305 Canal and 47 Howard sts.
New York
DRESS GOODS, WHITE GOODS, WOOLENS
HOSIERY, NOTIONS, SHAWLS,
FLANNELS, DOMESTICS, PRINTS.

[Description: 497EAF. Page 023. Image of an advertisement for Peake, Opdycke and co., sole importers of the Buffalo and Otter Alpacas, Beaver Mohairs, and Sable Brilliantines. There are nine sections to the image, with the three images in the center descriptive material about the company. The middle images on the left and the right are logos for the company, a mountain with the sun peeking out from behind. Each corner has a representation of what they import— a buffalo, an otter, a beaver, and a sable.]

the parlour of the drawing-room ear, and for twelve hours I sat opposite to
them—was their vis-a-vis, they would have said, in their charming French
way.

Augusta.—“Plague that nahsty (nasty) steamer! I've the headache
yet, she rolled so the fifth day out.

Angeline.—“And well you may. I never saw such a nahsty old tub.
I never want to go in the Ville de Paris again. Why didn't we go over to
London and come in the Scotia?”

Aug.—“Because we were fools!”

[I endorsed that sentiment.]

Angie.—“Gustie, what made Count Nixkumarouse drive off looking so
blue, that last Thursday in Pairy? (Paris, she meant.) Ah, own up now?”
(tapping her arm so roguishly with her ivory fan.)

Aug.—“Now, Angie, how you talk! I told the nahsty creature I
would not receive his attentions any longer. And the old duke, his father,
kept boring me about him and his two million francs a year till I sent him
off with a flea in his ear.”

Chorus.—“Ke-he-he! Ha-ha-ha!”

Charles.—[Pulling a small silken cloak to pieces.] “Angie, where'd
you get this cheap thing?”

Angie.—“You, Cholly, let that alone! Cheap! Well, how could
I help it? There we were, tied up in Switzerland—just down from Mon
Blong (Mont Blane, doubtless)—couldn't buy anything in those nahsty
shops so far away from Pairy. I had to put up with that slimpsy forty-dollar
rag—but bless you, I couldn't go naked!”

Chorus.—“Ke-he-he!”

Aug.—“Guess who I was thinking of? Those ignorant persons we
saw first in Rome and afterwards in Venice—those—”

Angie.—“Oh, ha-ha-ha! He-he-he! It was so funny! Papa, one
of them called the Santa della Spiggiola the Santa della Spizziola! Ha-ha-ha!
And she thought it was Canova that did Michæl Angelo's Moses!
Only think of it!—Canova, a sculptor, and the Moses a picture! I thought
I should die! I guess I let them see by the way I laughed, that they'd
made fools of themselves, because they blushed and sneaked off.”

[Papa laughed faintly, but not with the easy grace of a man who was
certain he knew what he was laughing about.]

Aug.—“Why, Cholly! Where did you get those nahsty Beaumarchais
gloves? Well, I wouldn't if I were you!”

Mamma.—[With uplifted hands] “Beaumarchais, my son!”

Angie.—“Beaumarchais! Why how can you! Nobody in Pairy
wears those nahsty things but the commonest people.”

Charles.—“They are a rum lot, but then Tom Blennerhasset gave 'em
to me—he wanted to do something or other to curry favor, I s'pose.”

Angie.—“Tom Blennerhasset!”

Aug.—“Tom Blennerhasset!”

Mamma.—“Tom Blennerhasset! And have you been associating with
him.”

Papa.—[Suddenly interested] “Heavens, what has the son of an honored
and honorable old friend been doing?”

Chorus.—“Doing! Why his father has endorsed himself bankrupt
for friends—that's what's the matter!”

Angie.—“Oh, mon Dien, j'ai faim! Avezvous quelque chose de bon,

L. SMITH HOBART, President. J. C. MOSS, Superintendent.D. I. CARSON, General Agent.

PHOTO-ENGRAVING CO.,
62 Courtlandt Street, New York.

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en votre poche, mon cher frere? Excuse me for speaking French, for to
tell the truth, I haven't spoken English for so long that it comes dreadful
awkward. Wish we were back in Yurrup—c'est votre desire aussi, n'estce
pas, mes cheres?”

And from that moment they lapsed into barbarous French and kept it
up for an hour—hesitating, gasping for words, stumbling head over heels
through adverbs and participles, floundering among adjectives, working
miracles of villanous pronunciation—and neither one of them by any
chance ever understanding what another was driving at.

By that time some new comers had entered the car, and so they lapsed
into English again, and fell to holding everything American up to scorn
and contumely in order that they might thus let those new-comers know
they were just home from “Yurrup.” To use their pet and best beloved
phrase, they were a “nahsty” family of American snobs, and there ought
to be a law against allowing such to go to Europe and misrepresent the
nation. It will take these insects five years, without doubt, to get done
turning up their noses at everything American and making damaging comparisons
between their own country and “Yurrup.” Let us pity their
waiting friends in Boston in their affliction.