. of "*•■ - ^0 <=., ■"oo^ V ^ % 1,0 °c. ^^^\.\ .V '*.o'h _ < pVYRICA'; THE J^^y^^^^Z^ jFiintprtl) imi liglimnq: OR, WIIBI^^™'^*' Ml Ma li BY BENJAMIN MOKAN. The young noble, who is whirled through Europe in his chariot, sees society at a peculiar elevation, and draws conclusions widely different from him who makes the grand tour on foot. Haud inexpe.rtas loquor. — Goldsmith. PHILADELPHIA: LIPPINCOTT, aRAMBO, AND CO. 1853. THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY OR. WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN IN GEEAT BRITAIN, IN 1851 AND '52. BY BENJAMIN MORAN. The young noble, who is whirled through Europe in his chariot, sees society at a peculiar elevation, and draws conclusions widely different from him who makes the grand tour on foot. Haud inexpertas loquor. — Goldsmith. f PHILADELPHIA: LIPPINCOTT, GKAMBO, AND CO. 1853. Entered according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1853, by LIPPINCOTT, GRAMBO, AND CO., in the Office of the Clerk of the District Court of the United States in and for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania. >-» TO JOHN GEIGG, Esq., IN TESTIMONY OF HIS GREAT EXERTIONS IN PROMOTING AND EXTENDING THROUGHOUT THE SOUTH AND WEST, A PURE AND STERLING LITERATURE, €^m ITnlttmi nf €xmth I s RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED, BY THE AUTHOR. PREFACE The press has teemed of late with the works of American tourists, some artistic, some scientific, and others, again, of a more purely literary type. There are, therefore, many readers who will doubtless expect an apology from one who ventures now to place himself and his itinerary before the public, though claiming no eminence in the world of letters and making little pretension to superiority in any particular accomplishment. But we live in an age when the people are becoming paramount in all things 3 and the wanderings described in this little volume took place among a people more interesting to the American than any other upon earth. For forty years, the land from which we have drawn our politi- cal, and most of our social institutions, has been undergoing a quiet but important revolution, the tendency of which has been steadily to favor a closer approximation between the habits, feel- ings, hopes, and fears of the two great families of the Anglo-Saxon stock. While the one has advanced in a most brilliant career upon a republican model, the other has been continually soften- ing and smoothing down the salient points which chiefly distin- guish a limited monarchy from a republic. During these forty years, the United States has gradually lost the character of the ^' daughter" of Great Britain. She has assumed in her maturity the novel relationship of a sister ; and the reaction of her opinions, her manners, and her prosperity has come to be felt and acknow- ledged in the old homestead, with a force which few can appre- ciate until they have mingled with the English masses. The tourist of wealth and fame is thrown by circumstances 1^ VI PREFACE. chiefly into contact with the small minority which forms the upper classes, in countries where such classes are established. He sees little of the multitude — that multitude with whom it is not im- probable that we may be compelled, before many years have passed, to stand side by side in the armed defence of our common principles against the inveterate foes of our common liberties. The artistic or poetical tourist, usually more humble in fortune, is brought more closely into contact with the people ; but, accus- tomed to look upon nature and humanity under the reflected light of his own genius and taste, he is prone to see all things, whether charming or disgustful, in unreal colors, and his pictures too frequently owe more to the imagination than the judgment. The writer of the following pages claims not to belong to either of the foregoing classes of travellers. Educated to a mechanical profession, he has never aspired to move in the circles of wealth; and too busy with the realities of life to devote much time to the accomplishments, his offerings at the shrine of the muses have been few and little noted. But some moments of relaxation occur to all men, and from youth he has been blessed with occa- sional glances into the bright realms of soul-land. The songs of his father's fatherland were familiar to his childhood ; the classics and the nobler poems of England were read with avidity in some- what riper years ; and he learned to think, with a feeling amount- ing to awe, of those great master-spirits of literature whose writings have crowned them with immortality. To visit their distant graves — to stand in the shadow of the time-worn castle — to wander through the dim aisles of Gothic churches, and taste of those sacred springs from which they drew their inspiration, became a passion with him ; and so soon as the slender accumulations of early industry warranted the undertaking, he flew to the accom- plishment of his desire. His journey ings in Scotland, Wales, and England were chiefly performed on foot, amid the pressure of many difficulties. The wayside cottage was a home to him, and the wayfarer was his brother and his equal. His pencillings and sketches were partly communicated to American journals, that the proceeds might aid him on his way, but were chiefly preserved for the grutifi- PREFACE. VU cation of a few who were near and dear to him, with a mere vague and dreamy idea that they might one day reach the public eye in volume form. They were submitted to the inspection of a literary friend, who urged their publication, and who, at his request, has penned this scarcely necessary preface. The author has looked upon England and the English from an unusual position ; and there is a truthfulness, an unpretending sincerity in his descriptions, which will carry the reader with him in his lonely rambles ; while even those who may be deeply versed in the history of the country and its literature, will find within these pages some illustrations both of men and things which they will prize not lightly. With these remarks, the volume is committed to the public, in the full faith that it will not be deemed a useless or imperti- nent addition to the long catalogue of recent tours. C. CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. PAGE The voyage . . . . . . .13 CHAPTER II. Something about Ireland . . . . .27 CHAPTER III. Liverpool — The ship's fate . . . . .41 CHAPTER IV. Manchester and its vicinity . . . . .47 CHAPTER V. Sheffield — Wharncliffe wood — Chatsworth . . .56 CHAPTER YI. Homes and graves of Byron and Mary Chaworth — Notting- ham — Henry Kirke White . . . . .68 CHAPTER VII. Walk to Derby — London — Incidents and remarkable places . 80 CHAPTER VIII. London thoroughfares — Society — The Parks — " The World's Fair'' 95 CHAPTER IX. Rambles and reflections in London — Tablet in Temple Church to Goldsmith — Tomb of Capt. John Smith, the Virginian — Stoke Pogis Church, scene of Gray's "Elegy" . . 112 CHAPTER X. London to Stratford-upon-Avon .... 129 CONTENTS. CHAPTER XI "Warwick — Kenilworth — Coventry — Birmingham — Steel-pens — A nailer's shop and home — Shenstone's grave — The Lea- sowes — Dudley — A storm ..... 140 CHAPTER XII. Lichfield — Stafibrdshire potteries — Chester — Meeting an old friend — Preston ...... 150 CHAPTER XIII. The Lake country of England .... 15G CHAPTER XIV. From the Mersey to the Clyde — Glasgow — An American ship — The town — Cathedral and University . . . 1G3 CHAPTER XV. Ayr — Burns^s cottage — Kirk Alloway, and the "Banks o'Doon'' 169 CHAPTER XVI. The Scottish lakes — A walk from Loch Lomond to Loch Ke- turin — An incident on Loch Keturin — Ride to Sterling . 172 CHAPTER XVII. Scotland's capital ...... 179 CHAPTER XVIII. A visit to the tomb of Michael Bruce, a young Scottish poet . 189 CHAPTER XIX. Melrose — Abbotsford — Dryburgh Abbey, the burial-place of Sir Walter Scott 194 CHAPTER XX. Alnwick Castle — York Minster — Lincoln — The fens, etc. . 201 CHAPTER XXI. London — Northumberland House — Hampton Court — Madame Taussaud's — Vernon gallery, etc. .... 212 CHAPTER XXII. Jewish quarter — Public statues — Peculiarities . . 218 CONTENTS. XI CHAPTER XXIII. PAGE Waiting for remittances — A trip inland — Travelling compa- nions — The country — The towns — A journey on foot — Farm wages — Rustics and their shoes — The language — A negro and his wife — Temple Newsam .... 222 CHAPTER XXIV. Leeds and her manufactures — Working people — Kirkstall Abbey 232 CHAPTER XXV. Ilarrowgate — Knaresborough — Eugene Aram — Ripen— Foun- tains Abbey — Brimham Rocks — Reflections . . 238 CHAPTER XXVI. A walk— Wakefield— Valley of the Calder — Rochdale — Queen's visit to Manchester and Liverpool — Eaton Hall . . 247 CHAPTER XXVII. Wales — Walk to Mold and St. Asaph — An incident at an inn — Bangor tubular bridge — Suspension bridge — Welsh nationalities ...;.,. 253 CHAPTER XXVIII. A wedding-party — Shrewsbury — Market-day — Battlefield Church 268 CHAPTER XXIX. A walk — Hare-shooting — Travelling companions — Kidder- minster — Ride to Worcester — The town and its cathedral . 272 CHAPTER XXX. Commercial Travellers — Gloucester and its cathedral — Hostel- ries ........ 281 CHAPTER XXXI. The west of England— Bristol— St. Mary Redcliffe— Sir Wm. Draper's tomb — Sterne's " Eliza" — Lady Hesketh — Clifton Downs — Colston School — Pronunciation . . . 288 CHAPTER XXXII. Bath — Its beauty — Abbey Church — An incident . . 299 Xll CONTENTS. CHAPTEE XXXIII. PAGE A coachman — Incidents on the road — Wells — Its palace and cathedral — Glastonbury Abbey — Sedgemoor — A Saturday night in an inn — Monmouth's rebellion . . . 304 CHAPTER XXXIV. Fun and fogs — Salisbury and its cathedral — A walk to Stone- henge over Salisbury Plain ..... 316 CHAPTER XXXV. Winchester and its attractions — St. Cross Hospital — King Arthur's Round Table . . . . .328 CHAPTER XXXVI. Return to London — Rambles — Old places — Fallen women . 336 CHAPTER XXXVII. Dining of the Blue Coat school-boys — Duke of Wellington — Mechanics — Tradesmen — Socialists .... 342 CHAPTER XXXVIII. Cambridge and its University — The Eastern Counties . 350 CHAPTER XXXIX. Norwich — Churches — People— Its treadmill — Lowestoft — Yarmouth — Farm hands and farmers — Falstaff's castle — Acle — Farming and products — Village preacher — Wherries 359 CHAPTER XL. A visit to Blickling Hall, the birthplace of Anne Boleyn . 370 CHAPTER XLI. The resting-place of William Cowper .... 375 CHAPTER XLII. English railways ...... 378 CHAPTER XLIII. Brighton: its appearance — The pavilion — Esplanade — A night with a Blue Coat boy ..... 386 CHAPTER XLIV. Farewell to England . . . . . .389 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY. CHAPfER I. THE VOYAGE. ^^Let go that hawser!'' ''Ay, ay, sir!" And away bounded the sailors to perform the order so peremptorily uttered. "Give her a turn back, Mr. Smith. Steady, now, steady !'' and as the command fell from the captain's lips, the stanch steamship Lafayette moved slowly from her mooring at Pine Street Wharl, Philadelphia, and swung gracefully round into the Delaware, amidst the shouts of thousands, and the roar of her own guns. "Stop her!" " Stop her it is, sir I" said the engineer, and there she lay upon the waters motionless. The huge monster appeared as if in the act of drawing a long inspiration before starting upon her untried journey; and, with her head turned seaward, looked as if eager to be moving onward. " Farewell I" " good-by — a happy voyage and prosperous wea- ther I" and such like greetings met the ears of the passengers as many of us were recognized by friends on shore. The half- smothered adieus of a few were scarcely intelligible ; while the tears of the gentler sex flowed freely. Some of those on board half regretted the step they had taken, and wished themselves on land ; but there was now no retreat. A tow-boat came along-side, and as we had a bar to cross it was important that we should have her aid. She soon attached her tough cords to our huge ship ; and then, all things being in readi- ness, the final order to " go ahead" was given, and we started 14 THE FOOXrATII AND HIGHWAY; upon our voyage across the Atlantic. Handkerchiefs were -waved, shouts went up, and '' the diapason of the cannonade" mingled its bass with the gruff chorus of more than a thousand human voices. The wharves were black with citizens ; and, as the distance was increased between our ship and them, the faces of friends were lost to recognition, and the parting was complete. The tug relaxed her boa-like attachments as soon as we passed the bar; and, as our ship was left to herself, she dashed boldly on her way. I turned to survey mj fellow- voyagers; but of the many around me, there was not a single face I knew, or one that knew me. All were strangers, and each occupied with his own thoughts. Some were sad, some shy, some curious about the ship and her rigging, and some disposed to be sociable. The decks were filled with uncoiled ropes, the sailors busy running to and fro, and the pilot quick with his orders. All the officers and men appeared to have plenty to do — the passengers nothing. The vessel kept gallantly on her course, with a fair prospect of reaching the capes of Delaware, one hundred and thirty miles below Philadelphia, by morning; but — alas for human anticipa- tions ! — a break occurred ere she had completed thirty miles, and in less time than two hours from port she was snugly and c^uietly at anchor off Wilmington, Delaware, as calmly as if she meant to go to sleep for the night. Curiosity was bus}^ among the passengers as to the cause of detention ; but no one could tell. The mates were ignorant of the why. None dared to ask the captain, and the engineers were not visible. The pilot looked unutterable things; the officers joked about waiting for the tide when questioned as to the reasons for stopping; but no satisfaction could be had. The firemen and ma- chinists came up from below at intervals to breathe the fresh air, and they certainly looked as if they wanted cooling, for each one was half roasted. We could hear the clang of hammers in the engine-room, and that was all. A break had evidently occurred; but what it was no one would tell. Some of the passengers began to grow nervous, and talked about leaving the ship ; others con- sidered the stoppage an ominous beginning of what would be a perilous voyage; while many cared nothing about the detention OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 15 or the cause of it, and coollj smoked cigars, and speculated about the World's Fair. '' We're in for it," said one at my side; '' and, as the ship has only broken her engine once in thirty miles, we have cause for congratulating each other on the excellence of her machiner}'-, and the prospect of reaching Europe in a month.'' I lauded his composure in the hour of adversity. We became friends, and forgot the accident in each other's company. Night gradually approached; the watches were appointed, and preparations made for sea; but the vessel remained stationar3^ The only incident that occurred worthy of note was a quarrel be- tween the first officer and one of the sailors. The tar came on board drunk, and when called on deck to take his place in the watch, became insolent, and inclined for fight. He was ordered below, but disregarded the officer, and drew his knife to plunge it into the mate, but was knocked down for his pains, and very uncere- moniously tumbled down the hatchway of the forecastle, and the hatch closed upon him, so that he might reflect upon his conduct in the dark. This was our first night out of port, and we were not thirty miles on our voyage. The ship was at anchor, her engines out of order, and dissatisfaction general among the passengers. The cabins were really splendid; but the rich carpets and gaudy mirrors, ample saloons and convenient state-rooms, did not make the machinery whole. We were about to cross the Atlantic, and our engines were already impaired. The captain made the best apology he was capable of at the tea-table ; but that did not repair the break; and although it was Saturday night, and a glo- rious moon shone calmly down upon the placid waters and motion- less ship, not one of the passengers was content with his prospects. Speculation was busy as to the future; the probabilities of further accident were discussed; stories of sinking ships repeated; and one by one we stole to our berths with the hope of better prospects on the morrow. The night passed away, day dawned, the steam was gotten up, the anchor hove to the merry and cheerful tones of ■ "Billy Bonn's a jolly sailor! Who stole the ham V 16 THE FOOXrATH AND HIGHWAY; and, as the iron arms of the powerful mass relaxed their hold on the muddy depths of the Delaware, the impatient ship dashed proudly on her way, as if glad to be once more at liberty. The morning was serene, calm, celestial. The soft breeze from the south was laden with dews and the breath of flowers, and a more magnificent morn never ushered in the Sabbath. Earth and water, air and light, all seemed to be glorifying the great Creator, and the little birds sang, like the stars of old, praise to Him who reigns forever. Every heart was elated; the boders of evil disappeared; hope took the place of dissatisfaction ; and as the vessel left one well-known point after another far astern, and the day advanced, we began to realize the fact that we were really departing. There were seve- ral clergymen on board, and as the passengers numbered nearly seventy, the captain proposed religious service, which received the assent of all, and at the sound of the ship's bell we repaired to the saloon, and listened to a sermon by a minister from Erie, Pa. The vessel made rapid progress after leaving her anchorage, and was soon off Cape Ilenlopen, where she was " lain to,'^ for the purpose of discharging her pilot. He took his departure, carrying with him a large number of letters from the passengers to friends at home. As soon as he was cleverly clear of the ship, she was put upon her course, the captain assuming, for the first time, the command. The engines worked well, and the sails being hoisted immediately, we ran to sea finely, with a ftiir breeze and prosperous weather. At three in the afternoon, every vestige of the land was gone. I watched the receding line of beach until it faded from the sight into the vast body of waters around, and felt as if Hope and Hegret, like two sisters, had parted at my side — the one to cheer me on the long journey in prospect before ine ; the other to dwe41 with those near and dear to me at home. Every mile we sailed seaward separated us the farther from our friends, and the waters of the ocean grew greener and greener as the distance increased, until they finally assumed a deep, ding}^, greenish-blue color, by no means brilliant to view. The sun set tomewhat obscurely, and the moon and stars shone brightly over she restless and tireless waves. The wind veered to the east and north, blowing directly against us, and greatly impeding our OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 17 progress. The sails were all furled, and, in nautical phrase, every- thing made snug for the night. We were now fairly at sea. The sky bent above us, like the counterpart of the ocean beneath, and the waves began to cause a motion in our ship by no means agreeable to some of our pas- sengers. Neptune, inexorable tyrant, became exacting, and lands- men began to grow serious and uneasy, and many of them retired at an early hour, not because they were sea-sick, but because weariness had overtaken them. The first few days out are usually the most disagreeable of a voyage, and the passengers are not generally blest with good ap- petites. Our breakfast-table, on the morning of the second day, was but indifferently attended, and those who did pay their re- spects to it were not well. Headaches were prevalent, and the motion of the ship was unpleasant; but no one complained of sea- sickness — all believed they would escape that malady — and the ladies were not even disposed to acknowledge that they were suffering from it, although their appearance sufficiently proved they were. But few persons take much interest in the details of an Atlantic voyage unless some remarkable occurrences are recorded ; and, as nothing transpired worthy of remark until our fourth day out, it will be useless to bore the reader with descriptions of life on board. We occasionally saw a '' school'^ of porpoises, a flock of petrels, or a fleet of the little mollusque, which sailors call ''Por- tuguese men-o'-war \" A fog, so thick that it was impossible to see twenty yards from the ship, covered the ocean at one time for twenty- four hours. A sharp look-out was kept to prevent acci- dent, and the bell tolled at regular intervals, to give the alarm to vessels in our vicinity. There was an old tar on board who had been at sea forty-seven years, with but little intermission, and he usually performed the part of sentinel when it was his watch on deck. The sailors favored him, and never allowed him to go aloft if they could prevent it. He wore a thick coat when on duty in the fog, into the pockets of which he thrust his arms quite to the elbows, and stood, like old Neptune himself, gazing into the sea ; his bright eye peeking into the mist, with a pleasant 2* 18 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; twinkle in it that lit up his ocean-tanned visage with the rays of cheerfulness and content. " How long have you been going to sea, my gay young fel- low ?" said I to him, as he was looking thoughtlessly right into the dull mist by which we were surrounded. '^ Since I was thirteen," he replied, touching his hat with a pleasant smile, " and I never was so dry in the forty-seven years I've been a sailor as I am now, sir \" " Good !" exclaimed a passenger at my side ; " give the old chap some brandy ; he deserves it for that;" and he did get a bottle of the best in the ship ; and he and I became the warmest of friends. The vessel, up to this period, made very fair progress, and we had almost forgotten the accident that occurred to her ma- chinery while in the Delaware, when a heavy jarring was heard in the engine-room, and the ship shook through all her timbers. Crash followed crash in quick succession, and the noise was fright- ful in the extreme. The passengers were dismayed, and every one eager to learn the particulars of the accident, for something of a serious character had evidently befallen our engines. The nature of the break was made known to us by the captain, and we were assured that it was a mere trifle, and would be repaired soon. The ship was put under canvass, and as the winds were ahead we advanced slowly, the vessel rolling heavily on the waters. A cold, gloomy sky spread over us, and the ocean became greatly agitated. The day went down without a smile ; the only ray visible was a gray streak along the western horizon, which added a more dismal appearance, if possible, to the sullen and chafed waters. Darkness gathered fast, and, as it increased, and the western gleam faded slowly out, the expanse of heaving sea, with naught visible but our lonely and crippled ship, rendered the scene at once grand, awful, and desolate. The accident was remedied about sundown, and the vessel put under steam, but the engine did not perform to the satisfoction of any, and broke again with a frightful noise early in the evening. This time the break was serious, and the officers no longer at- tempted to screen from the passengers the actual condition of OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 19 the ship. The rock-shaft of the air-pump, a very important part of our machinery, had snapt asunder, and as there was no other on board to replace it, we were in a very unpleasant situa- tion. The night was stormy, the condition of the vessel dis- heartening, and the passengers were mostly restless and anxious. They collected in little groups in various parts of the saloons, where they conversed about their prospects. Complaint was loud, and the countenance of each was serious in expression. Not a single individual had confidence in the machinery, and many con- jectures were ventured as to our fate. Sleep fled the lids of the faint-hearted, and not many of the courageous sought the drowsy god. The night advanced, and each silently retired to his state- room, prepared, however, for making his appearance on deck in the dark, should his presence be required there. During the night, the captain held a consultation with his officers as to the best course to be pursued, and the decision was to continue the voyage. The engines were started occasionally, but they made a fearful noise, and the jarring shook the ship from keel to truck. They had been changed from the low to the high-pressure principle, in the hope that they could be made to perform during the remainder of the passage ; but it was found that there was a serious waste of steam, in consequence of which the force of the machinery was not sufficient to recover the eccentric at each stroke of the piston, and when such was the case the propeller would make a reverse movement, and a crashing noise would follow that was really frightful. In addition to this, we had head-winds to contend against, and a moderately rough sea, two things by no means calculated to elevate our hopes under the circumstances. At the breakfast-table, on the following morning, the captain made known his determination to continue the voyage, and as- sured us that, although the engines had failed, he had every con- fidence in the ship, and was sure that he would accomplish the passage without the aid of steam in a reasonable time, or in four or five days more than at first supposed. He said that a proposi- tion had been uoder consideration to run the vessel to Halifax for repairs; but as that port was full six hundred miles from where 20 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; we then were, it was abandoned, and the voyage continued. The jarring of the machinery he regarded as trifling, and of no injury to the ship, as it neither caused her to leak nor strained her tim- bers. As an evidence of his confidence in the strenorth and sailinfi; qualities of the ''Lafayette," and the certainty of reaching port, he stated that he had with him three pledges for whose welfare he would risk everything he had, and they were a daughter and two of her friends, then at his side. If he really thought there was danger, he would at once return ; but he did not anticipate any further misfortune than delay. This declaration was received with pretty general applause by the passengers, although there were some who were still doubtful of the ship, and anxious to be on shore. The day wore away dull enough : the passengers tried to con- tent themselves; but, with some, it was impossible. There was nothing talked about but our situation and the indifferent machin- ery of the ship. Toward evening the winds increased, and a land-sparrow, that had taken refuge with us shortly after we lost sight of land, was blown overboard. The little trembler had grown weak for want of food, and must have starved in a few days had he not fallen into the sea. He was quite a pet with passengers, but so shy as to keep entirely out of reach. His loss was something to talk about aside from our misfortune. From this time forward our machinery was constantly out of repair. The engines were started at times when the winds were favorable, but they never continued to perform long. The waste of steam was great, and the jarring of the machinery frequent and alarming ; at night particularly so. It was not an unusual cir- cumstance for some of the passengers to remain up all night, be- cause of the groaning and crashing of the engines, and often did we wish the whole propelling power of the vessel deep in the sea. Fortunately, the weather was favorable, and the ocean calm. For several days we were blest with winds from the right quarter : the passengers grew cheerful, and, to add to our enjoyment, the engines were purposely stopped, and the jarring, which so much annoyed us, entirely suspended. Our time was passed in a man- ner most agreeable to ourselves : some reading, souie playing 21 drafts, some performing on musical instruments. The favorite amusement on deck was promenading, and as we had a clear, un- obstructed space of fall two hundred and fifty feet, there was ample room for exercise. Our passengers were a goodly company in all, and generally sociable and disposed to make themselves content. The monotony of the voyage was brdicen at times by the ap- pearance of a sail. On some days there were as many as five seen, while on others none came to view. In the absence of something to aiford amusement on deck, I was wont to hang over the ship's bows, watching the waves for hours as they broke in foam and roared against the vessel's side. Off soundings, the waters, which in shallower places are a deep green color, are of a bright transparent blue in the sunlight, and when they dash in spray against the ship, they look like an azure scarf, trimmed with snowy lace, fluttering in the wind. Calms are wearying to the passenger, and productive of much uneasiness. No person, to look at tlie ocean then, would suppose that the unruffled expanse of water, with its long, dull, sweeping undulations, could be so aroused as to make a plaything of the stoutest ship. Its appearance to me, at such times, has that of a vast rolling prairie, whose rich grass was waving in the breeze of summer. One evening of quiet, the scene presented was beau- tiful in the extreme. The wide, wide ocean was calm save the soft undulation on its surface : the sun sunk slowly down below the horizon, and flung his gorgeous beams, mellowed and blend- ing, along the waters and the sky. The bright rays tinged the peaks of the waves, fell in a flood of glory on sea and ship, bathed ocean and sky in their golden beams like a blush of joy from the great Creator, and then melted away into softened tints, which fiided slowly out, each one growing fainter and fainter, and har- moniously blending as night obscured the hues, until darkness gathered on the face of the deep and silence nestled over the waters. The incidents of the voyage worth recording were few, but we amused ourselves as best we could, and as each felt inclined. Dancing was practised by moonlight on deck, an old German gen- 22 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; tlenian, from Baltimore, plnying the flute, wliile the young ladies and beaux gajly moved to the notes of his mellow-toned instru- ment. Several evenings, after sunset, the captain mustered all the males on deck, and drilled us in true militia style. No raw recruits, in the States or elsewhere, ever presented a more laugh- able appearance than ourselves, and I venture to say, none ever afforded more innocent amusement, or were more benefited by the exercise of drilling. We were marched up and down decks, and put through every conceivable manoeuvre, the most agreeable of which was being conducted into the cabin to enjoy and discuss the merits of a tub of excellent punch, prepared by the steward, at the captain's expense, for our especial happiness. Speeches were usually a part of the evening's entertainment, and songs and toasts added to our gratification. The last of these social gather- ings w^as gotten up by the passengers in honor of the captain, on which occasion one of the company presented the skipper with a huge wooden sword, as a token of our appreciation of his services as commander-in-chief of the Lafayette Guards. It was sport, if nothing else; and while we were so engaged, we were not thinking of our broken engines. Many trifling things occur at sea that are never alluded to by a voyager, or but casually glanced at if mentioned at all. Speak- ing a vessel is a frequent event, and there is something grand in the sight of a noble ship approaching to hail. Early one Sunday evening, when the air was all calm, all serene, one of our passen- gers, who was blest with good eyes, discovered, in the distance, a faint line of smoke. ''There's a steamer," said he; "an Eng- lishman bound to the West Inaies, by the course she's steering." We looked in the direction designated, but our optics were powerless to discover the reported vessel. The passenger, how- ever, insisted that he was right : glasses were brought into requi- sition, every eye was turned to the point, we all waited anxiously for the mate's report, and were soon relieved of our suspense. He slowly dropped his telescope, and, as he did it, a bright smile stole softly over his manly countenance, and he uttered a confirma- tion of our fellow- voyager's assertion. " She's bearing down upon us." OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 23 " Can you make her out, Mr. H. V inquired the captain, bluntly. "A large steamer, sir, with side wheels, and I think an American.'^ The reply was received with a slight acknowledgment, and the commander's glass was at once put into requisition. As he low- ered it, an order was given to the steersman, and our ship put one or two points off her course to meet the sti^anger. She was evi- dently approaching, and that rapidly, for it was not long before we could see her distinctly. On she came — on — on — and as she gradually neared us, her hull and form hove in sight. All the glasses on board were brought into requisition. To those who were lucky enough to have one, many a question was directed, and all were anxious to get a look at the stranger. The ships neared rapidly now, and our second mate, a methodical, quiet, determined fellow, told us that the vessel approaching was the American steamship Wash- ington, of the New York and Bremen line. He had been an officer in her once, and knew her long before we had an opportu- nity to hail her. On she came, nearer and nearer, and, as she approached us, larger and larger grew her form until she appeared like a huge monster of the deep, crushing the waves as haughtily beneath her tread as a proud lion would the waving grass. Her decks were crowded with human beings, and the foam roared and hissed beneath her bows. Our steam was shut off, and we quietly waited until she was abreast our ship, when the captain stepped upon the rail, told our condition, and asked to be reported. The Washington offered assistance, but, as we required nothing that he could furnish, it was declined. As soon as the conversation was ended, we gave three hearty cheers, which were responded to by those on board the stranger. Another and another followed, and each vessel went on her way. The Washington rapidly left us, and when we went on deck after tea she was hull down, far astern of us, and at dusk had disappeared. Some of our passengers had prepared letters for the purpose of throwing them on board, but the dis- tance between the two ships was too great, and closer proximity 24 THE FOOTrATH AND HIGHWAY } would have been dangerous, however much it might have been desired. Our passengers were of many countries and dispositions. There were real gentlemen, and those who never can be such : and true, upright men in rough clothing ', and exquisite and pul- ing fops in broadcloth — a compound at once varied and strange. I had for room-mate a native of South Carolina, then hailing from Mississippi, and a finer specimen of the Southron seldom comes under one's notice. A planter of the South, he possessed all the good qualities of his race, with but few, if any, of their objection- able ones, and was in every respect a polished gentleman. Next to him, in my estimation, was a naturalized citizen of the United States, returning to England on a visit to his mother, after an absence of thirty-six years. There was an old German on board, who had crossed the Atlantic twelve times ; a Frenchman of easy, graceful manners, who was then on his sixth voyage over the deep. He sang well, and at our social gatherings, after evening parade, amused us with the Marseillaise hymn in his native tongue. There were other Europeans who were returning home on visits to friends, and a number of Americans on their way to the Great Exhibition. There was with us a young Kentuckian, who de- serves particular mention. He was about five feet four inches high, nearly as broad as he was long, had light hair and mous- tache to correspond, and was truly an original character. He played cards and sleight-o'-hand tricks, spoke French, and gallanted the ladies about the decks, drank brandy and smoked cigars, chewed tobacco and sat up the greater part of the night gaming, and, to crown his accomplishments, managed to keep everybody in complete ignorance of who and what he was; and yet, for all, he was one of the best-natured and most sociable fellows in the world. Early rising is not often indulged in by passengers at sea, and but few who cross the Atlantic behold the sun emerge from his watery bed. I arose one morning at half past three o'clock for the purpose of seeing him rise in his glory, and I shall never re- gret breaking my sleep for such a splendid view as the burniog orb presented to my gaze. First, there was a pale yellow light, which tipped the edges of the dancing waves with hues of gold, OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 25 and then a rim of fire, intensely bright, pierced the watery horizon. For an instant it was motionless, then it grew larger, and the vast globe of flame ascended resplendently up the morning sky, its piercing rays chasing the mists before them over the burning deep. It was a glorious scene : the waves were like liquid fire dancing in the sunlight, and the flying mists were rushing like frighted spirits over the waters : the sky was brilliant with crimson, sap- phire, purple, and gold, and it seemed to me as if water and cloud, sea and sky, were singing a morning hymn to the Deity. Such a scene will repay a man for the anguish produced by sea-sickness, and that amounts almost to agony. On our twenti^h day out, we found ourselves off the coast of Ireland. ^Ye were all on the look-out for land. Sails were fre- quent, and the less venturous sea-birds numerous. Our captain announced his determination to run into Cork for coals, provided we could get a pilot. We were not long without one. A coarse- looking, sloop-rigged craft, in appearance like a dull sailing, dirty fishing- boat, hove in sight on our port-bow, and bore down for us. She was a sorry-looking affair compared with the beautiful fairy little cruiser of our Cape Henlopen pilot. As she approached us, we could make her out distinctly; but I am sorry to say that she did not improve on inspection. She was a beggarly, begrimed tub, filled with a crew of Corkonians — and they were unmistakable. One " jontleman" hailed us : we lay to — he lowered a cockle-shell of a boat — two or three of his men tumbled over him into it — the oars were plied lustily, and the first representative of her majesty's subjects that it was my lot to see fairly on the European side of the Atlantic came on board our ship. He was '' Ould Irelan'^ complete, even to the pipe, and as exacting as possible. The pilot was called into the captain's cabin for business purposes, while we scrutinized his heauti/id craft — a thing that looked to me as if she might have been the tender to Tom Hood's phantom ship, the Mary Ann, of Shields : — Hei' mast was black, her decks were black, And so her hull and rails ; Her shrouds were black, her flag was black, Aud so were all lier sails. 26 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ; She evidently wanted scrubbing '^ aloft and alow," and lier crew were quite as much in want of a treat to soap and cold water as any of the race I ever saw before. We soon resumed our course, the pilot directing it, and keeping the ship towards the land. The miles grew fewer between us and it, and before mid-day the cry that has cheered many a despairing soul rang through our ship — Land ! land, ho ! and every eye was turned to catch a glimpse of Pisgah's top — a faint line which appeared a dull leaden cloud resting on the horizon, but gave to the uninitiated eye no indications of solid earth until we approached to within a few miles. As the distance diminished, it became distinct, and the bold rocky shores arose, towering over the sea. We soon could trace the roads, the hedges, the stone walls, the thatched huts ; and then we saw men and women moving to and fro in the fields, at the labor of the farm. There was the Emerald Isle, or a portion of it; and treeless it was, too. Kinsale Head was passed, and then other points followed, and our ship soon gained the entrance to the famous Cove of Cork. As we ap- proached, there was evident curiosity among the people on shore as to our craft and her errand. Numbers of small boats came out to meet us, and cheers and shouts went up on all sides. We were hurried on past forts Camden and Caroline, two frowning defences, one on either side the strait. They ran up their flags as a salute ; and as all things were in readiness with us, guns loaded and primed, ensigns rove and men at their post, an order was passed to the crew to stand by their colors ; and at the sound of the bell our carronades were fired, and the " starry banner" and the blood-red flag of St. George floated from our mast's head. The hills echoed and re-echoed the report of our guns, until the sound came back to us for the twentieth time, and the hollow booming roused like magic the entire population of Queenstown. As soon as we were cleverly into the harbor, our vision was greeted by some splendid scenery. There lay the town, directly in front, with its beautiful villas and white houses rising in terraces on the hill-side, until they crowned the top. The noble sheet of water stretched out for several miles to the right and left, while Spike OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 27 Island, with its barracks and formidable fortresses, reposed like a sleeping war-dog near by. We were all excitement and admiration ; the town was fall of bustle and curiosity about the stranger, boats full of the natives were around us, and ^' Huzzas for America !" welcomed us as we moved on. We soon gained a f\ivorable point; an order was passed to the men we all could hear, as it was clear and intelligible, '' Let go that anchor I" '^ Ay, ay, sir!" was the response; and the huge cable began to grate and ring as the heavy mass slipped into the sea. The hoarse roar of the ponderous chain soon ceased — our ship swung slowly round with the tide, and lay like a tired giant at rest upon the placid waters. CHAPTER II. SOMETHING ABOUT IRELAND. Our visit to Ireland was unexpected and of short duration, but sufficiently long to give us a fair opportunity of seeing how the lower class of Irish live. We landed at Queenstown on Friday afternoon, May 30th, 1851, where we were immediately sur- rounded by a throng of beggars, at once the lowest and meanest I ever saw. They followed us, pleading for pence, and hung to us like wax. There was no shaking them oiF, unless you put them aside by force, or gave them into the charge of a police officer. In addition to their half-starved appearance, they were barefooted, and not one in every ten had sufficient clothing to hide his naked- ness. No drunken Indian ever presented a more revolting spec- tacle than did these beggars of Queenstown. They were filthy, and covered with vermin; so much so, indeed, as to make me shudder to think of them for days after, and cause my flesh to creep with the idea that I had unfortunately come into too close contact with them, and gotten a share of the wandering tribes that 28 THE FOOTPATH AND IIIGHWAY; roamed unmolested over their skin. This, fortunately, was not the case; but I could not divest my mind of the idea, until a thorough bathing and cleansing relieved me of the dust and atmosphere of the town. Old and young — men and women — naked and clothed — they gathered around us in a regular mob, and begged with as much earnestness as a lawyer pleads a cause. There was no means of getting them away but by violence, or flying for refuge into an open door, and it was doubtful whether you would succeed then. We drove the mendicant throng off as well as we could, and managed to shelter ourselves in a hotel. Here, while partaking of refreshments, we were welcomed, on behalf of some gentle- men present, in a neat and appropriate speech by one of the com- pany. He spoke in a slow, distinct manner, selecting his words with great care, and took occasion to say many flattering things of the tJnited States. The incident was happy, and, to us, agreeable, as it was unexpected. Each Irishman here was a gentleman, and each educated and refined, genteel in dress and manners, and possessing most excellent social qualities. They were in every sense polished and friendly, and gave us abundant proof of their sincerity and hospitality. I do not believe that a more appropriate reception of strangers could be gotten up than the one so unexpectedly tendered our company, or that a more gentlemanly set of men could be found than the Irishmen of whom I speak. They were candid, bland, sociable, and refi^ncd; and their conduct made a lasting impression on our minds. One of the passengers returned thanks for the reception given us, and we joined in three hearty, enthusiastic cheers for old Ireland, and separated, each and every one highly delighted with the true Irish gentleman, and with a more favorable opinion of the inhabit- ants of Queenstown than we thought it possible for us ever to entertain at the time of our landing. In an hour we had the two extremes of Irish social distinctions set before us, and were glad to find so much that is really noble in a place where at first we thought there was nothing but ignorance, sloth, mendicity, im- morality, and suflfciing. Queenstown is romantically located, and presents an attractive 29 appearance to the stranger. The houses are built on streets which rise like terraces one above the other, until thc}^ crown the hills which overlook the spacious Cove of Cork. Some of the residences of the gentry are really splendid, and in them is to be found all that a man can desire to make him happy. All along the river Lee, a beautiful little stream which runs into the Cove, and on which the city of Cork stands, there are many handsome mansions and a great deal of fine scenery. Trees are scarce, except in the parks, but the land is cultivated down to the river's brink, and that in the highest state. At one point along the stream we noticed a large building, with two high tow- ers, rising like sentinels up to heaven, and, on inquiring, learned that it was a memorial to Father Matthew, erected by a tailor of Cork in commemoration of the services of that distinguished man.' A number of pretty little cottages peeped out from ivy and flowers as we passed, and the ruins of an old building, hung over with ivy, reminded us that we were in one of the lands of Eld. The dwellings of the poor, when seen and compared with those of the wealthy, were the merest hovels imaginable. At a distance, the shores and villages looked inviting; but no sooner was foot set upon the soil than wretchedness and misery met us at almost every turn. Cork has ever been famous on both sides of the Atlantic for the beauty of its harbor and the hospitality of its inhabitants; but no traveller has yet given the world a correct picture of the degradation and wretchedness of its pauper population. On our side of the ocean, we occasionally hear vague accounts of the condition of the peasantry in the south of Ireland ; and at one period, when a desolating famine prevailed in that portion of the island, a ship was freighted and sent from our shores with succor to the famished and dying. This exhibition of a nation's be- nevolence and charity is remembered by the inhabitants of Cork and the adjacent country with the liveliest feelings of gratitude, and no American visits that city, at present, without receiving a cordial and affectionate welcome from the upper classes of society. The wealthy portion of the community praise our philanthropy, while the poor heap benedictions and prayers upon our heads. We are regarded by them as a favored and prosperous people; 30 THE FOOTrATII AND IIIGnWAY ; but, alas for poor degraded Ireland, the American who visits her shores must shudder at her wretchedness, and mourn over her almost hopeless misery. At Cork, the beggars were far worse than they were at Qaecns- town, and their perseverance and energy were worthy of a better cause than the one in which they were employed. Men, women, and children waylaid us in such numbers as to completely ob- struct our passage, and we were scarcely able to drive them off. The women were the most shameless of slatterns, and made open propositions, of the most revolting character, without a blush. How the respectable portion of the inhabitants content them- selves to live in such a community is a mystery ; and the only way to account for it is by supposing that they are so accustomed to beggars and harlots that they regard them as a necessary evil, not worth removing from their town. The men were but little better than the women in point of morality. Their unblushing impudence knew no check; and they were as far below the beg- gars of Queenstown as I thought the latter below the drunken savage. The women would take a man by the arm and insist upon his company, and when they found it impossible to induce him to comply, they would commence with a shower of obscenity so horrible and profanely vile, as to make one think them dwellers of Pandaimonium let loose, for a while, to pollute and slime the earth. Our company divided; some lodging at the Victoria, others at the Imperial, the two largest hotels of the city. I arose at an early hour the follov/ing morning, and took a stroll about the place. Although the sun was high, there were no shops open, but few people in the street, and scarcely a beggar visible — a most remarkable circumstance to me, when I recalled to mind tlic crowds of the previous night. The thoroughfares were comparatively deserted, and the few persons who were abroad were of the la- boring class. The houses of Cork are generally well built, par- ticularly those in the fashionable and business portions. When I speak of houses, I make no reference, of course, to the hovels of the beggars ; my remarks apply only to the dwellings and stores of the affluent and favorably circumstanced. The homes OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 31 of the mendicfint population of Cork are dens of wretchedness, unfit for human habitations. By eight o'clock the streets began to present some activity, and when we returned to them after our morning meal they were alive with ragged beggars. It was a mystery where they came from. Every stone must have concealed one, as did the bracken the warriors of Roderick Dhu, until the time arrived for them to reveal themselves. They were countless, hungry, importunate, impudent, servile, cringing, and eminently persevering in asking alms. Not one of them had breakfasted, according to his own account; and ''be plased, yer honor, to give me a ha'penny to get somethin' to ate," was the sum total of their petition. When a few coppers were thrown them, they gathered them up with eagerness, elbowing and thumping each other gloriously to get at the money ; nor were the successful ones satisfied with their gains, but became more importunate than they were at first. Flattery and persuasion — appeals and threats — were alike used for the purpose of obtaining alms, and the news of our liberality spread like wildfire, if I may judge from the number of raga- muffins that came thronging round us. I thought all the rags in creation were on the backs of our energetic, screeching, screaming besiegers; and they were of all ages, from the octo- genarian to the puling infant in its mother's arms. The race was evidently productive, and there is but little doubt of Ireland being able to produce her quota of men, whether starvation pre- vails or not. Poverty in Cork is favorable to reproduction, and the low Irish generate as rapidly as negroes in slavery. The crowd grew denser and denser ; Paddy became pugnacious, and a stray fist occasionally found its way into the face of a friend of its owner's just before it. ''Be aisy, Pat Mulonyj" "Kape yer elbows in yer pockets, Ted Murphy;" "Och, yer a fine Amerikin jointleman, sir! and ye'll throw me the sixpence ye hould in yer hand," and such like expressions and compliments, were numerous. We were literally beleaguered by the rabble, until the attention of the police was attracted to the mob, and that useful body made their appearance. The blue coats struck terror into Pat, and the cowardly band fled like criminals before 32 THE FOOTPATH AND highway; them. In a mucli less time than it takes mc to write the story, the whole mass vanished like a litter of young rabbits. Some, more daring than the rest, returned to the charge as soon as they thought the officers out of the way; but they came cautiously — sneaking along as if expecting a blow from some unseen hand, and glancing occasionally to the right and left for a policeman, the sight of whom was sufficient to cause a precipitate and inglo- rious retreat. Our imprudence caused the guardians of the public peace some work. Paddy was too wide awake to let the ^^Jointle- men" who threw pennies about so liberally escape easily, and when we secured jaunting cars and set out on a trip to the coun- try, we had a train of honor, composed of Cork beggars, to escort us on our way, nor did we get rid of the pestering rascals readily. A few pence thrown to them, in hopes of being an in- ducement for them to discontinue their appeals, was encourage- ment for them to follow. They knew " the value of peace and quiet" too well to be satisfied with trifles, and ran after us for several miles. As we passed through the purlieus of the town, our retinue increased, and, I am sorry to say, the additions were far from desirable. Carroty-headed, uncombed females, old and young, joined our guard of honor, and Falstaflf's ragged regiment was a princely set out, to our escort, AYe had no other way of relieving ourselves of the incubus than using the whip, and that effected our object. They skulked at once, and from flattery turned to abuse. ''Ye mane, beastly Yankees, the likes of you jointlemen !" " Sueugh ! yer a set o' sneakin' thaves, and bad luck to ye all !" was the vote of thanks that followed us from the exacting knaves. We dashed boldly out into the country, and soon enjoyed the beauties of rural scenery. Our drive was about twelve miles, going and returning, full of interest to us and highly instructive. There were twelve in our company, four to each jaunting car, an open vehicle, with seats for that number in addition to the driver. The passengers sit facing the wheels, and have excellent opportu- nities for observation. It is an odd way of riding, but for all, agreeable. Our whip was a fair specimen of his race, talkative in the extreme, and well informed. The roads attracted our ad- OR; WANDERINGS OP AN AMERICAN. 33 miration, and they certainly deserved it. They are so beautifully smooth, so evenly made, that all jolting is avoided, and you roll over them as softly as if on a floor. They are not lined with wood-fences as with us, but with substantially built stone walls, or hedges of sweet blossoming hawthorn, the odors from which impregnate the air like incense. The fields were highly cultivated, there being scarcely a spot untilled. Trees. were rare, except in the parks, where we noticed many varieties, natives to the coun- try, besides exotics. The rural residences of the gentry on the route were beautiful places, there being no expense spared by the proprietors to make each an earthly paradise. Some of them were perched upon hills towering 'above trees and shrubbery, rich flowers, and clambering ivy; others were quietly nestled in secluded nooks, at a short distance from the highway, and only visible at openings in the groves, through which they peered, like shy young maidens who are curious to see, yet fear to be seen. They all wore an aristocratic air, and looked the very habitations of ease and affluence. If they were a fair sample of all the rural abodes of Ireland, then we might reasonably expect to see a happy and contented people there ; but, unfortunately^, they are not. I was anxious to learn something of the peasantry, and to see their dwellings, and observe their mode of living. There were abundant opportunities for observation, and, jumping from the car, I soon had a chance to gratify my curiosity. I entered one of the hedge-cottages, on the plea of getting a drink of water, and never did I dream that human beings could be so degraded and sunken in poverty and wretchedness as were the occupants of that sty. Their condition was brutal beyond conjecture, and the place was such as we in the United States would not put a worth- less cur into. There were but the four bare walls, a thatched roof,. with a hole in it, as an apology for a chimney; a ground floor, no windows, and not a single article one could con- scientiously call furniture. In one corner sat an old woman, picking vermin from the person of a little girl, and apparently well pleased with her occupation. There were no bed, no stove, and no cooking utensils of any consequence in the place; no chairs, a single table, which would barely hold together, and a o4 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; pack of filthy rags on the floor for bedding. The only means of light was the door, and that was so low as scarcely to admit a person in an upright position. In this miserable hovel there were nine human hein The British Museum contains an immense collection of speci- mens of two of the natural Kingdoms — Animal and Mineral — and it is also rich in ancient and modern art. The Elgin and other marbles are numerous; but I do not see the utility of dragging the broken fragments of Grrecian temples to the metropolis of Britain, and converting them into a show. The classic ruins of that great land should be permitted to moulder on her hills and among her deserted cities. It may be excusable to dig from the earth the remains of the proud city of Nineveh, and take them to the capital of a nation devoted to Christianity, as an evidence of the accuracy of the Scriptures; but many of the splendid edijQces of the land of Homer still face the storms and gales of the ^gean Sea, and there all the products of the chisel of that immortal land should be per- mitted to remain. Near London Bridge is the monument erected to commemorate the great fire of 1665. It rises to the height of 202 feet, and is built of Portland stone. The inscriptions are in Latin, and quite lengthy. The one charging the origin of the conflagration to the Catholics of that day has been erased some years^ Pope's cutting lines having done much to remove the slander : — "Where London's column, pointing at the skies, Like a tall biilly lifts its head, and lies!" The view from the top is not very fine, and scarcely repays a per- son for climbing up three hundred and eleven steps. The old localities celebrated on account of some remarkable event are but little known to the citizens of London, and the stranger who has studied the literature of England, and the lives of her distinguished authors, is likely to know more of the his- tory of particular places than one born in the city. Numbers of the inhabitants who are nov/ old have never been in the Tower, or St. Paul's, and but few can point out the locality of the famous Tyburn. Little Britain, once tlie residence of pub- OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 91 lisliers and booksellers, is changed, and Paternoster Eow en- joys its honorable trade. It was one of the many London homes of Milton, and our Franklin lodged in it during his first stay in the metropolis. He then worked as a journeyman printer in Palmer's printing-office, at Bartholomew's Close, near at hand. Grub Street, a name once associated with everything vile in literature, has suffered an extraordinary change, and at present is called after the author of Paradise Lost. This is bespattering the sublime with the ridiculous most unaccountably, and chang- ing all that is base and low in the literary world to all that is ennobling and grand. I visited St. Giles' Church, Cripple Gate, the burial-place of Milton, and of Fox, the author of the Book of Martyrs. It is a dingy old building, in an ancient part of the city, and remarkable for being the church in which Oliver Crom- well was married. Not far from my residence, which was in Little Britain, is Bunhiltfields Burial-Ground, the receptacle of the dead during the ravages of the great plague of 1665. Defoe, the author of Robinson Crusoe, and historian of that terrible calamity, is buried there, in the spot whose horrors he described so graphically; and in the same place reposes all that is mortal of John Bunyan, the author of the " Pilgrim's Progress." The tombs in this renowned charnel are so numerous that it appears impossible to find room for another grave. I never saw so many in one spot before. Bunyan was buried in the vault of a friend in whose house he died, and the tomb over his grave has been so much worn by the action of the weather as to obliterate the in- scriptions placed there when it was erected. In one side of the structure a marble tablet has been inserted, on which is inscribed ''Mr. John Bunyan, Author of the Pilgrim's Progress, Obit. 31 August, 1688. Mt. 60." Other persons of celebrity are interred there, among whom are George Fox, the founder of the sect of Quakers, and Susannah Wesley, mother of John Wesley, the founder of Methodism ; and Dr. Watts, the Christian poet, whose hymns are sung wherever the English language is spoken. Gray's Inn Fields, in olden times the fashionable promenade of a summer's evening, is now one of the most secluded retreats in London. The square is situate in the heart of the metropolis, 92 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ; and one of the approaches is through Fulwood's Eents, now the squalid habitation of some of London's most miserable poor. The days of the " Tattler" and '^Spectator" are gone; but the walks in G-ray's Inn Fields are as pleasant now as they were when Addi- son and his contemporaries were accustomed to enjoy themselves, under the bending boughs of the oaks and elms which shade that green retreat. The public gardens and squares of the great city, aside from the parks, are numerous, and at the fashionable or West End mostly abound. I have walked for miles around and through these pleasant places, and always found them welcome resorts. Portman, Cavendish, Grosvenor, Berkley, and Leicester Squares are all worthy a visit for their beauty, and the admirable order in which they are kept. Connaught Square, the Tyburn of old, is one of the prettiest places of residence in the modern Babylon. It was there that the bones of Cromwell were exposed and hung in chains, after they were torn from Henry the Seventh's Chapel in Westminster Abbey, and on that spot the Maid of Kent was burned for disputing with some divines upon a point of doctrine. During a visit to Hyde Park, I had a look at Prince Albert and the Queen. They were in an open carriage drawn by four cream-colored horses, and attended by outriders and couriers in advance. The Queen is a homely little woman, with an amiable expression of countenance, and not much like the portraits we see of her. Her husband is one of the finest-looking men in England, of easy, graceful manners, and a face indicative of a well cultivated mind devoid of ambition. He does not exhibit any marks of care, but on the contrary looks the very picture of happi- ness and content. Among the English people he is highly es- teemed, and without the cares of state or the enmity of political opponents, he enjoys the love and confidence of the nation. The crowds in the park showed great respect to the royal couple, Vv'hich was acknowledged by frequent bows from the prince. Whitehall, the palace in former days of the English kings, and the place where Charles the First was executed, is now but little used, and only interesting on account of its historical asso- ciations. In the court-yard there is a bronze statue of James the Second, as great a tyrant as his father, and who ought to have OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 93 shared the same fate, '^without the reputation of a martyr." It was in front of the building to the north that Charles lost his head; and by authentic statements it appears that the scaffold was erected before the building facing the present Horse Guards, and the king was led to execution through a window of the Banqueting House, which is pointed out to this day. The palace has suffered by fire on several occasions, and has not been used for a royal residence for some years. The Royal Exchange, Cornhill, is the most chaste building in London of modern construction. In this edifice are the celebrat- ed mercantile rooms of the Lloyds. The list of American news- papers on file there is meagre in the extreme, there not being more than three or four in all, and not one of them from Phila- delphia. In the vestibule at the head of the stairs, leading to these rooms, are two or more fine statues, and in the wall of the same apartment is a tablet erected to commemorate the public spirit and zeal of the proprietors of the London "Times,'^ in ex- posing a great commercial fraud a few years since. Westminster Hall, in Palace Yard, is one of the most re- nowned buildings in the world. It is two hundred and ninety feet in length and sixty-eight feet in breadth, and the roof is sup- ported without a single column. It is highly ornamented with carved oak and chestnut, and the view from one extreme to the other is most imposing. It was within its walls that Charles Stuart, tyrant of England, was convicted and sentenced to die. There Sir William Wallace, Sir Thomas More, and the Earl of Strafibrd were condemned and doomed to the scaffold; and in that hall Oliver Cromwell was inaugurated Lord Protector of England. AYarrei||P^astings was tried there; and there the head of Cromwell was raised on a pole, after his remains had been torn from the grave, and beside it were placed the skulls of Ireton and Bradshaw, as an evidence of the attachment of the British people to royalty, and their hatred of him who had raised their country from a mere dependency to a position where it was feared and respected by the nations of the earth. It is now the vestibule to the new Houses of Parliament, and on special occasions it is used 94 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ; as a banqueting-room by the royal family and nobility of the realm. Guildhall, the principal seat of city legislation in London, is famous for two enormous wooden statues of frightful appearance, called Gog and Magog. There is also a very good marble statue of the celebrated Lord Mayor Beckford, represented in the act of politely bearding George the Third. On a tablet under the figure is a scroll, on which is engraved the speech delivered on that occa- sion to the king. On the ninth of July, 1851, her Majesty, the Queen of the British realms, honored the city of London with a visit to Guildhall, at which place a ball was given by the Lord Mayor, in celebration of the Great Exhibition. For some days previously preparations were begun for the royal reception, and at night the streets which formed the line of procession were one blaze of light. The Horse Guards were placed along the line to aid the police in keeping the way clear and preserving order, and hundreds of thousands of people were out to witness the show. I stood in Cheapside, near St. Paul's, to see the gracious sovereign pass, and at about half-past nine her approach was announced. There were seven carriages in the train, each one adorned with gilding in profusion; and servants in costly livery, with gold laced cocked hats, hung like ornaments to the glittering chariots. The Queen and the Prince consort occupied the last one in the retinue, which was surrounded by a detachment of the Horse Guards, who made a splendid show in their glittering armor and uniforms. The carriages passed so rapidly that it was next to impossible to see her Majesty, and, as I had been favored with a look at her on a previous occasion, I was not disappointed. The utmost enthusiasm prevailed among her loyg||subjects, and when she made her appearance many of them testified their admiration and loyalty by taking off their hats, while others were busily en- gaged in picking pockets, as the police records of the next day clearly showed. Bow-bells and the chime in St. Paul's rang merrily out during the evening, and the music of their peals was heard above the roar of the sounding streets of London. The foolish custom of closing the gates of Temple Bar, and requiring the monarch to knock for admission, was omitted on this occasion OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 95 for the first time for many years. The Arch is the only remain- ing bar of the many which once adorned the walls of London. It is at the point where Fleet Street and the Strand join, and the western boundary of the city. In olden days it was there that the heads of criminals were placed after execution. CHAPTER VIII. london thoroughfares — society — the parks — ^^the world's fair.'' The streets of the metropolis are almost constantly crowded with vehicles and pedestrians; nor does this remark apply only to those thoroughfares in the fashionable or business parts of the city. In rambling about London, a person will meet a continuous tide of people, and the cross streets are nearly as much traversed as the main avenues. The population is immense, and the num- ber of strangers very great, so that nearly all places of amusement are well attended. Omnibuses are countless, and run from an early hour in the morning until long after midnight; and as they branch off from central points to every important suburb and neighboring village, intercourse between the business portions of London and the metropolitan boroughs is rapid and cheap. They are substantially built conveyances; nor would it do to have them slight, as they would be jarred to pieces soon if they were- Each one has a driver and conductor, both of whom are absolutely required, in consequence of the construction of the 'Lusses, and the amount of travel by them. There are seats on top as well as inside, and many prefer the outside in clear weather, because of the opportunities it affords for observation. There is but little observance of the Sabbath in London by the working classes — that being as much of a gala-day there as in New Orleans. Omnibuses, steamboats, and railways give the tired denizens of the unfashionable portions a conveyance to the coun- 96 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ; try, where tliey can breathe the fresh air, and enjoy the clear sun- shine. Omnibuses, cabs, and private carriages are more numerous in some parts of the city on that day than any other, and although business is suspended generally, the hurry and bustle going on in the streets do not convey to the mind of the stranger much evi- dence of the day being the Sabbath. All go civilly on, however, and personal encounters or disturbances are of rare occurrence, the police being sufficient to intimidate the riotously inclined. The parks of London deserve the attention of the stranger as much as any other objects of interest in the metropolis. The largest ones are not so beautiful as some of those with fewer acres, but all are splendid resorts. The trees are large, and as they are principally oaks and elms, their branches extend so as to form leafy arcades for a great distance. People are permitted to ramble over the grass, and it is not unusual to see them lying down under the trees, reading, or asleep. Care has been taken in the arrange- ment of the oaks and elms, and they are mostly planted at given distances apart, in a straight line, thus forming an arbor of great beauty. Of a Sunday evening, Kensington Gardens is thronged with the citizens of the West End, and as it is decidedly the finest park in London, it is the most resorted to. Hyde Park is attached to the gardens, but it is not so well cared for. It is the fashionable resort of the " exclusives'^ of the metropolis, and one part is ap- propriated solely to equestrians, while another is used for carriages. The display at the customary hour is great. Ladies are as nume- rous as gentlemen, and liveried servants outnumber even them. The road for equestrians is usually crowded to excess, and it would embarrass one to tell how a lady finds enjoyment in such a thronged thoroughfare, on horseback. Before the fashionable hour arrives, if the weather is dry, water is sprinkled along the road to lay the dust, but the mud created in that way appeared to me to be worse than any dust possibly could be. The horses are splashed with it, and not unfrequently the ladies and gentlemen. The carriages are usually attended by two servants, dressed in livery, mounted on the box, or one on the box and the other hanging on behind like an ornament. These men are generally good looking; but their want of independence, as exhibited in their dress, is re- OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 97 pulsive. They are to be met in every variety of outlandish cos- tume, from yellow coats and cocked hats, trimmed with gold lace, red short-clothes, and powdered wigs, down to genteel black, and neatly tied white cravats, and cockades pinned to their hats. In some instances, a person will meet a lady and gentleman on horseback riding leisurely along, while at a short distance behind, mounted on a fine horse, follows one of those liveried menials, with about as much spirit as a whipped cur. Several times I have seen them asleep on their carriages, in front of the door of a princely mansion, or while waiting in line at Regent's Park. Cattle and sheep in great numbers are frequently seen in the principal parks, and oftentimes there are as many as eight or nine thousand sheep pasturing at once in one of those inclosures. The Zoological Gardens in the last-named ground are kept in admirable order, and the collection of animals is both extensive and various. There are specimens of natural history from every section of the world, and it is a matter of surprise that animals from warm climates live and thrive so well in English air as those do in Regent's Park. The hippopotamus and '^ urau utan'^ (as they will have the orthography of the name) appear to exist there as healthfully as they do in their native climes. In our tour of observation, we discovered several acquaintances from our side of the Atlantic, not the least familiar of which was that perti- nacious and eccentric ^'Old ^Coon.'^ Poor fellow! he looked thin and downcast, English fogs by no means agreeing with his con- stitution. Saturday afternoon is a favorite time, among the wealthy and titled, for visiting the Zoological Gardens, and then and there the stranger has an opportunity of seeing the refined society of Lon- don. Good conduct, gentle behavior, and suavity of manner characterize the gentlemen, and all that contributes to the eleva- tion of female character is discoverable in the ladies. The mem- bers of noble families have little or none of that affected pomp about them that distinguishes the upstart and imitative apes of aristocracy ; and it requires but a small amount of penetration on the part of the observer to discover who is the real and who the spurious noble. The imitation nearly always exposes his vul- 9 98 THE i'OUTl»ATII AInD HIGHWAY ; garity, while the genuiae ever exhibits the breeding of a true gentlemau. Among the ladies in the gardens at the time of our visit, there were some of remarkable beauty, and nearly all of them were fine figures. The band of one of the favorite regiments was present, and per- formed many splendid pieces in masterly style. The presence of that musical corps always attracts a large company to the Zoolo- gical Gardens. The great metropolis is a Pandemonium ! The noise of its streets is eternal, and the throngs which pour down its roaiing thoroughfares are continual. I have wandered over and around it, from the splendid mansions of the West End to the abodes of squalid wretchedness and crime in Spitalfields and Shoreditch. There is every variety of life within its limits, from the highest to the lowest, and people of every nation and clime. The two ex- tremes of the immense city are admirable illustrations of the con- dition of the aristocracy, and of the degraded and ignorant poor. The one is all splendor, and the apparent abode of content; the other a den of misery and want. Thousands of strangers visit London, and confine themselves to Kegent Street, Piccadilly, and Oxford Road, without even thinking of Whitechapel or the more wretched localities in the neighborhood of Houndsditch. When a man travels for information, he should see the high and low of society in the lands he visits, and then he will be better able to form opinions of the exact condition of a people. He who seeks grandeur may go to the palaces of the rich, and drink in inspira- tion by gazing upon the splendid productions of the pallet and the chisel; and, if he desires, he can lounge of an afternoon on the green sward of Regent's or Hyde Park, and witness a di.splay of fiinery and aristocratic pomp not to be seen in any other section of the world in such grand array. If all the inhabitants of the over- grown city were in as good circumstances as those to be met at these places on such occasions, then would London be a happy place, and the residents a contented people. But such is far from being the case. Take an afternoon walk, and follow Bishopsgate Street to Shoreditch, turn oif into White Lion Street, and follow up until you reach Grey Eagle and Wilkes Street, and a dift'erent OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN, 99 prospect from that witnessed in Hyde Park will meet your gaze. Silk of splendid color is there ; but it is in the loom of the poor half-starved Spitalfields weaver, who works from dawn until near midnight over the costly fabric, for a miserable pittance, in a hovel of filth and wretchedness. There are no persons in livery there, no gold-fringed coats, or powdered wigs, but barefooted women and men, and human beings clothed in rags so tattered as to cause one to wonder how they are kept together. The streets are as filthy as the houses, and there is not a blade of grass or a park in the neighborhood. On one of the streets adjoining there is a school-house for the young, but compared with the Queen's stables it is a pigsty, and her Majesty's prancing horses receive more care and have better sleeping apartments than her loyal subjects in the unfashionable streets of Spitalfields. After the visitor has satisfied his curiosity in the localities named, let him return, and pass dovv'n Long Alley, a narrow passage about six feet wide, to the west of Bishopsgate Street, and there he will see another phase of life at the East End of the greatest city in the world, and then he may go to one of the parks at the fjishionable part of the me- tropolis, but not with the favorable opinion of the people of Lon- don he entertained before visiting the classic quarter of Shoreditch. Misery, poverty, and want have always existed in large cities, and must continue under the present social system ; but, for all, much could be done to improve the condition of the poor of the English metropolis^ if those who have it in their power to do so would only try. The customs of some of the people of the ^^ wen of England," as Cobbett called it, are not such as we would desire to imitate. Itfis not unusual to see men walking the streets with ladies, and pulSng the smoke of most abominable tobacco into the faces of their fair companions. The weed is not masticated as with us, and he who chews is not esteemed very highly, but cigar and pipe- smoking is common, and carried to great extremes. Gin-palaces abound throughout the city, and men and women resort to them in vast numbers. They are generally provided with two entrances ; one for those who drink the liquor on the premises, the other for those who purchase it for home use. The signs in- 100 form the public wliich is the ^^jug entrance," and which the com- mon reception-room, while the stranger, who is curious in such affairs, can learn that Mr. Smith, Wuie and Sj^ii'ii Merchant (they are all merchants), is licensed to sell rum in doses from a half-pennyworth to a gallon or more. Many women resort to these dens, and it is not unusual to see them drinking their half-and- half with as much gusto as the most practised male topers. The class usually found there is not of degraded persons such as we would expect to see, but those who have pretensions to respecta- bility in their sphere of life, and many of them are mechanics and small tradesmen. Ale, or beer, as it is commonly called, is the ordinary drink of the people. Water is not much used as a beve- rage, and the one who calls for a glass of that fluid in an eating- house in London is looked at with surprise. The water used in the metropolis for domestic purposes has a bad taste, and it is rea- sonable to conclude that much of the ale-drinking results from this foct. The habit of drinking spirituous and malt liquors is carried to great excess, and there are many families among the better or middle class of artisans and shopkeepers who keep gin and other alcoholic distillations in the house constantly. Gin and hot water, sweetened, is a very common beverage with that class, and it is not only drank by the men, but by women also. It is a house- hold drink on festive occasions or social gatherings, and all par- take of it. To give my readers some idea of the extent of the retail liquor trade in the metropolis, I will state that a publican, doing a small business in the city, informed me that he usually sold 580 gallons of gin in ten weeks alone, and other liquors in proportion, ^is place was small, and he could count thirty gin-palaces beside his own in a circuit of a hundred yards around him. He paid nearly $18,000 for the stand he occupies, with a lease of about forty years' duration. That is for the good-will ! His rent and taxes amount to a considerable sum annually. The premiums demanded and paid for some of these establishments are enormous, and almost incredible. One of them was sold, while I was in London, for $40,000, and the lease had but thirty years to run, after which OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 101 time the house will revert to the owner, unless the purchaser of the good-will and custom can get a renewal. This sum was paid as a premium; the buyer is under an annual rent of $700, in ad- dition to his taxes and other expenses, and yet it was believed that he would realize money from the speculation ; and when we reflect that the poison is sold to poor wretches in penny and three- penny glasses, some idea can be formed of the intemperate habits of a large portion of the London poor, and the enormous profits of the venders of intoxicating drinks. The taxes imposed upon the English people by their rulers are heavy, but nothing in amount to those they impose upon themselves for rum. The churches of London, in earlier days, were the burial-places of distinguishe(^persons, and there are but few of the old ones without monuments to eminent or celebrated individuals. Gold- smith is buried in Temple Churchyard. Lady Mary Wortley Mon- tague, the witty correspondent of Pope, and Wilkes, the dema- gogue, in the vault of Grosvenor Chapel, in South Audley Street; and Otway, the poet, in St. Clement's Danes, a church in the Strand, between Temple Bar and Charing Cross. Nell Gwynne, the originator of Chelsea Hospital; and James Smith, one of the authors of '' Rejected Addresses,^^ are buried, among a num- ber of others, in St. Martin's-in-the-Fields, a very pretty building if it were possible to keep it clean. Every Friday the Charity Children of the Parish, male and female, sing anthems in the choir, and the music of their youthful voices is sweet enough to ''Create a soul Under the ribs of Death." Among the multitude of places in London, having some little historic interest, is Smithfield Common, the spot where John Rogers was burned, and Sir William Wallace and the gentle Mortimer executed. Wat Tyler was killed there ; and a host of wretches suffered death on that spot by fagot and flame, for opinion's sake. Smithfield market-place is one of the filthiest parts of London. Parliament recently decided to remove the stalls, and provide a new inclosure for the sale of cattle. In front of the space, to the south, stands St. Bartholomew's Hos- 9* 102 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; pital, founded in 1102; over the main entrance to which is a good statue of that royal bloodhound and memorable brute, Henry the Eighth. In 1849, during the digging for a new sewer, at the depth of three feet below the surface of the earth, the workmen laid open a mass of rough stones blackened as if by fire, and covered with ashes, and human bones charred and partially consumed. This was on the spot where the authorities used to cause the victims of persecution and bigotry to be put to death, and the remains found were, no doubt, those of persons who died by fire and fagot on this celebrated place of execution. Chelsea Hospital is situated on the Thames, about five miles from London Bridge, and, as the boats running to that institution pass under all the bridges, a good view is afforded from the river of many objects which cannot be seen to advantage from any other point. The houses, with very few exceptions, are built immediately on the river on both sides, leaving no space or wharves as wath us. The new houses of Parliament are so situ- ated; as is also the famous Somerset House. The bridges are noble structures, with a single exception, at the city; but, as the stream lessens greatly in width as you approach Chelsea, the via- ducts become less imposing and less extensive. London Bridge is constantly filled with vehicles and pedestrians, making a con- tinuous stream from morning till night. The others are but very little less traversed, and Southwark Iron Bridge and Blackfriars are always thronged with people. The view of the river from the deck of a steamer, looking down stream, is of a singular character. Probably no river in the world presents such a strange appearance for so great a distance. From below London Bridge, the Thames is literally swarming with craft of every de- scription known to the commercial and marine world, and it often puzzles the uninitiated how the little steamers which ply up and down the river manage to make their trips without being run into and sunk. Sometimes the space through which they are compelled to go is barely wide enough to admit them to pass, and yet they are so admirably navigated that no accident of a serious OR, WANDERINGS OP AN AMERICAN. 103 character ever occurs. They are much crowded during clear weor- ther by excursiooists to the different places on the stream. lu company with an American friend, I made an agreeable trip to Chelsea, and although the Thames is both black and narrow, we saw many objects on shore, as we ascended, to interest us. Lambeth Palace, the ancient residence of the Archbishop of Canterbury, on the Surrey side, is noted for being the prison of the Lollards, the first Dissenters in the days of John Wickliffe, and that fact hallows the pile. Chelsea Hospital was founded by Nell Gwynne and Charles the Second for old and disabled Eng- lish soldiers, and at present there are several hundred supported in the institution. In the chapel and hall a great many trophies are displayed which were taken in battle in different sections of the world by the British army, and I noticed a number of American flags among them. They were captured by the English at Bladens- burg and Washington in 1814, and although they are the only conquests made by British arms upon our soil, still it would be better that they were not where they are. The colors of other nations, however, adorn the walls, and some of Napoleon's proudest banners are exhibited as trophies from Waterloo. The old men are well provided for, and appear comfortable. They grumble for the want of something else to do, and as their days are short, and grumbling is the only thing they are fit for, they are permitted to indulge in that to their heart's content. The rapid increase of London, and its great extent, are proved by the fact that Chelsea Hospital, a few years ago, was out of town, while now the city extends considerably beyond it, and many of the finest residences in the metropolis are in that neigh- borhood. By the last census it appears that London has in- creased four hundred and thirteen thousand inhabitants in the past ten years. This extent is wonderful. From Nottinghill in the west, to Bow Common in the east, both of which are suburbs properly, is a distance of quite thirteen miles, the entire line of which is compactly built with dwellings, stores, churches, and other public edifices. Taking the number of miles above mentioned as the actual diameter of London, we find that the great city has a 104 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ; circumference of nearly forty miles, whicli is rather below than above the real extent. Hammersmith is in fact a portion of the metropolis, as well as Highgate or Dalston, and add that to the diameter, and it will be found to be full sixteen miles. The National G-allery in Trafalgar Square contains some ex- quisite pictures, and is peculiarly worthy of examination, as pre- senting one of the best collections extant of the works of Rem- brandt. Lincoln's Inn, and the Inner Temple, the two celebrated legal schools of England, are attractive places. The hall of the Temple is adorned with some excellent oak carvings, and several old and valuable paintings, among which are portraits of four or five of the English monarchs. The Church of the Templars is the finest in London. The floors are elegantly inlaid with en- caustic tiles, and back of the altar there is a window of splendid stained glass. In the body of the building under the dome are eight or ten tombs of Crusaders, the figures on which are in ex- cellent preservation ; some of them have the legs crossed, thereby indicating that the persons to whose memory they were erected were engaged in the wars in the Holy Land. The excursion down the Thames to Greenwich Hospital, and Woolwich Dock Yards and Arsenal, is a pleasant trip, affording an opportunity of seeing the river to good advantage. The stream is extremely crooked, and multitudes of vessels ride on its waters from London down to the sea. Woolwich Dock Yards are large; and, as they are one of the most complete stations for constructing naval vessels in the empire, they are worthy a lengthened visit. The Arsenal is principally filled with heavy guns and ammuni- tion, there being comparatively few small-arms there. At Woolwich, in one of the churchyards, I noticed a singular monument, which curiosity prompted me to examine. It is a pedestal surmounted by a colossal figure of a lion, sculptured in coarse marble, with one foot on the Champion's belt of Eng- land, and the head upraised, to represent the animal howling. The main inscription informs the reader that Thomas Crib, the boxer, lies under the stone; and below on a tablet is a line, call- ing upon the visitor to "Kespect the ashes of the dead." The English people are greatly advanced in civilization, when they OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 105 thus honor such promoters of enlightenment as Tom Crib, the brutal prize-fighter. Greenwich Hospital may wdth propriety be considered as within the pale of London now, as the buildings extend below it on both sides of the river. The parks attached to the institu- tion are large, and much resorted to by pleasure- seekers. The famous observatory stands on an eminence in the park, in the rear of the hospital, commanding an extended prospect of the country around. Hampstead and Highgate, two elevated points to the north of London, command extended views of the great city. The dome of St. Paul's, when seen from either place, appears to the greatest advantage, and every object of interest can be distinctly traced during a clear day. It was near Highgate that Whittingtou fancied he heard Bow-bells recalling him to the renowned me- tropolis; and the spot whereon he stood at the time he listened to the mellowed notes of the distant chiming bells is now marked with a stone. Visits to such places recall to the mind of the traveller the dreams of his boyhood, and when I rested on the spot, I readily summoned before my mental sight my ideal form of the famous Lord Mayor, as he was when debating whether he should obey the summons of the bells and return to London, or not. The famous Horse Guards are a regiment of mounted men, who appear to be selected more on account of their fine figures and military bearing than for their prowess as soldiers. They wear a splendid uniform, with helmets of burnished steel, breast- plates of the same material, white leather short-clothes, deep scarlet-colored coats, high boots, and gauntlets. None of them are under six feet, and each fliourishes a formidable mustache. They are mounted on fiery black chargers, and when exercising, present a magnificently warlike appearance. They are perma- nently stationed in London and at Windsor, and usually perform the duties of a body-guard, on state occasions, to the sovereign and Prince consort. Their quarters are in a building on Parlia- ment Street facing AVhitehall, with a thoroughfare leading di- rectly into St. James's Park, and at each side of the entrance two mounted soldiers keep guard from ten until four o'clock. They 106 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ; are among the attractions of London, and nearly always have a crowd of citizens around them when they assemble in numbers at their quarters. Military parades are frequent in the metropolis, and each morn- ing during the week one or more regiments exercise in Hyde Park. The men are, generally speaking, fine-looking fellows, clean and neat in appearance, and, when drilling, move with the precision of senseless machinery. Their showy uniforms, waving banners, glittering arms, and harmony of step, go to make up a splendid scene, and the stirring strains of their accomplished bands give the unmilitary beholder some idea of the pomp and circumstance of war. I often witnessed them on parade, and although by no means an advocate of that sort of Christian duty which recom- mends the cutting of other people's throats for the sake of peace, yet I must confess that I derived much pleasure from viewing the military displays in Hyde Park. The ^^ Royal Mews,'' or Queen's stables, are among the London sights, and through the kindness of a friend, I visited them in company with some who were, like myself, curious to see her Majesty's horses. The royal state carriage was shown us first as a great curiosity, which it certainly is. It is large enough for a triumphal car, is ornamented with several carved figures of mon- sters and foliated scrolls, and covered profusely with gilding. "When used, it is drawn by eight of the finest horses in the world, of a cream color, and as fiery as the coursers of Phaeton of old. The stables are capacious, admirably ventilated, and kept scru- pulously clean. The number of animals is about one hundred, all of which are in the best possible condition. In one department there were sixteen or twenty stallions, one-half of which were black, the others cream color, and all seemingly spirited in the extreme, though intensely lazy in the open air. On my expressing a fear of their running away with her Majesty, the groom said there was no danger of that, as they never did so, but lay down instead, and when they once did get down were quite indifferent about rising until it suited themselves. Among those in another section of the building was a splendid full-blooded Arabian horse, sent, as a present to Prince Albert, OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 107 from the East Indies. He is a noble animal, of beautiful figure, and possesses all the agility and swiftness of a true oriental courser. Among the many strange customs which attract the stranger's attention in London, not the least remarkable are the funerals. They are attended by mutes dressed in black, with long scarfs streaming from their hats, and wands wreathed with crape in their hands. The hearses are huge affairs, ornamented with waving plumes, and drawn by horses black as jet, draped in cloth of the same hue. Mourners follow clothed in the robes of grief, and ex- hibiting a vast amount of apparent woe; but, when close examina- tion is made, it is discovered that the heart-broken and sorrowful train is composed of men hired for the occasion, and that there are but few, if any, relatives there, it being considered neither fash- ionable nor respectable for the kindred to follow the dead to the grave. Burials are not so frequent in the cities as formerly, and although there are too many even now in London, the practice of intermural interment is very unpopular. The graves in most of the churchyards of the metropolis are indiiferently cared for. There is no attention paid to keeping them in order. The gravestones are flat, apd serve the double purpose of a flagged way and memorials for the dead. Fragments of tombstones, with partially defaced inscriptions, lie about the yards promiscuously, and are treated with as little respect as the memories of those to whom they were erected. There is a custom, peculiarly English, which, to my liking, is worthy of our imitation, and that is the habit of erecting tablets in the churches to the memory of the departed. These tributes to worth are usually placed in the walls of the chancel, the aisles, or choir of the edifice, and many of them are exquisitely designed and sculptured. The inscriptions on the older ones are generally prosy and trite, but those of more recent date are brief and pointed. The American takes an interest in these records and monuments, and I often found myself reading over the epitaphs upon them when I should have been attending to the discourse of the clergy- man. There is something solemn and appropriate, according to 108 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; my way of thinking, about tliem, placed where they are : solemn, because they remind us that we must die ; and appropriate, be- cause the memory of the loved and just should be kept green in our hearts when we meet in the temple of God. There is scarcely a place of worship in London, Dissenting or State, but has some of these memorials attached to its walls ; and I was often interested in reading the records upon them. Once, while walking along Lombard Street, I observed the door of St. Mary Woolnoth open, and as it is one of the old churches, my curiosity prompted me to enter, nor did I regret my determination. A tablet attracted my attention, and on perusing the inscription, I discovered that it was to the memory of John Newton, the friend of Cowper. He was for twenty-eight years rector of St. Mary's^ and his history, as recorded on the stone, is as follows: — "John Newton, clerk, once an infidel and libertine, a servant of slaves in Africa, was, by the rich mercy of ovir Lord and Savioui* Jesus Christ, preserved, restored, pardoned, and appointed to preach the faith he had long labored to destroy." While speaking of old churches, I may be permitted to give some further information here respecting others, before unnoticed. There are as many as twelve or fifteen in the vicinity of St. Paul's, and each has attractions, either in an architectural or his- torical point of view, or both. One of them, called All Hallows, is famous as being the baptismal place of Milton, or rather on the site of the church in which he was baptized, that edifice being destroyed in the great fire. A stone bearing an inscription, set- ting forth the facts, and on which is engraved some information respecting the birthplace of the poet, is placed in the church wall at the corner of the street in which he first saw the light. In the same vicinity, but nearer to London Bridge, is St. Swithin's London Stone, so named in consequence of a stone, said to be the oldest in the metropolis, which is built into the wall facing Can- non Street, and so placed as to allow the curious the liberty of touching it. It is supposed to be what was once a Roman mile- stone, and the throne on which Jack Cade swore that the conduit should ^'run nothing but claret wine this first year of our reign/' OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 109 The authorities protect it from nmtilatioD; and the curious rever- ence and visit it. The " Great Exhibition" is now numbered among the things of the pastj but it will be a subject of comment and laudation for ages yet to come. During its continuance, London was a miniature world, so far as the varieties of the human race are concerned; and its increase of population drawn from every part of the habitable globe was beyond positive estimate. Hyde Park was the grand centre where foreigners then met, and representa- tives from almost every land were to be seen there on certain occasions. Such a variety of the human family as was then assembled in the British metropolis was probably never before convened in the world's history, and it was a proud thing for Englishmen to reflect that the gathering of the delegates of earth's nations in their capital was for purposes of peace, and the advance- ment of science and useful manufactures. The assembling of the tribes of men on such an occasion was a grand event, and its peaceful tendencies will be felt in all climes in coming ages. It afforded opportunity for interchange of civilities, on the part of the individual members of remote nations, far different from the cold, formal commingling of diplomatists and official representa- tives, such as take place between peoples through their rulers and servants. It was, in truth, a congress of the great family of man, where the swarthy Numidian and fair Caucasian; subtle Chinese and austere Spaniard; scholastic German and mercurial Frank; keen Scot and irascible Hibernian ; embrowned Hindoo and serf- born Russian; emancipated Egyptian and thoughtful Turk; Pa- cific Islander and wily Savage ; wealth-loving Englishman and dauntless, inventive American, met as equals, to exhibit the pro- ducts of their genius, their labor, and their climes; and learn to know each other, so that the ties which bind our common race together might be drawn more tightly by the silver chains of peace. I was in London a considerable time before I determined upon a visit to the then great centre of attraction, the Crystal Palace. Vague and undefined idea# of its internal grandeur were 10 110 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; created and destroyed in my mind ; but of all the conceptions I formed none equalled the reality. The fairy structure was the greatest curiosity connected with the display. It was sublime in every feature, and gorgeous in its grandeur. Harmony was blended in its proportions, and beauty and symmetry in its lines and airy form. It possessed magnitude without the power to weary; and magnificence with simplicity. The lofty and imposing transept was a noble feature of the structure, and the lengthened naves died away in perspective like sweet music softly floating into distance. It would be vain to attempt a detailed description of the great attractions of the display. The vast edifice was converted into a receptacle of the products of man's ingenuity and skill; and there was scarcely an article of elegance and invention known, but was represented there. India and China contributed specimens of the gorgeous fabrics of the eastern loom; and the far islands of the sea sent their manufactures. Egypt, Syria, Persia, Arabia, and the once Holy Land, but now the Moslem's home, exhibited the skill of their respective peoples in arts and works of beauty. Austria showered exquisite gems in profusion before the eye of the beholder; and tasteful France spread out lavishly the splendid products of her looms, her genius, and her cunning hand. Every country in the civilized or half-civilized world displayed its manufactures; and the combined collection constituted, in itself, a tangible history of the industry, ingenuity, and productive skill of man for ages. From the hour of admission in the morning until the heavy bell proclaimed the time for closing the aisles, the galleries and the halls of the spacious edifice were thronged with human beings, intent upon the glories of the place, and absorbed in the splendors of the display. Seventy, eighty, yes ! even one hundred thousand beings were assembled there on one day ; and the noise of their voices and movements went up like the roar of the sounding sea. Order reigned supreme ; all was peace, all cheerfulness and en- tranced attention. The sunlight streamed in subdued rays through the crystal vault, and fell sweetly on fabrics rich as gold or of Tyrian purple dye. The products of the chisel adorned the aisles OR;, WANDERINGS OP AN AMERICAN, 111 and naves ; and fountains sent up tides of gushing waters. The richest works of man were arranged in profusion, and the im- mense palace had the appearance of a creation not of earth. A view of surpassing grandeur was spread before him who gazed down from the transept galleries on the moving mass below. The great arch sprang like a silver bow aloft, while the symmetrical naves swept softly away into dim distance. Along the sides of the galleries, like the gay banners of a countless host, hung the most gorgeous and costly products of the loom, and the eye feasted on their glorious hues, and took in their beauties; and glanced over the busy mass below, mingling and commingling in apparent confusion, yet moving and changing without discord, or tumultuous sound. Colossal figures in bronze, splendid groups in marble, exquisite fountains and classic temples encountered the sight in its range, and carried the mind captive with the magnitude and sublimity of the display. Viewed from such a point, the crystal palace exhibited a scene of unparalleled gran- deur, and exceeding splendor, and left its impress indelibly upon the soul. Its very magnificence awed the mind, and defied the power that would attempt its representation by words ; the paint- er's art quailed before it, and when the imitation came from his hands, it was but the dead, cold shadow of the once triumph- ant and gorgeous reality. Such an exhibition of the skill of man was never witnessed be- fore, and many cycles must roll on ere another can be accomplish- ed. The English people are content with the one, and take the glory of its conception and successful termination to themselves, fully satisfied with the result, and with the honors it yielded. My visits to it were frequent, and always rewarded with pleasure. The last time I was there, I lingered until the close of the day, and felt reluctant to bid farewell. The great organ in the eastern nave was filling the magnificent pile with tides of melodious sound, and nearly seventy thousand souls listened to its tones. After performing a number of sacred compositions, the organist drew from the tubes of his powerful instrument the thrilling notes of England's national anthem, ^' God save the Queen;" and as the sounds quivered in the air, and began to roll 112 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ; in waves througli the aisles of the vast edifice, the voices of seventy thousand human beiugs were blended with them, and rang like a wild hallelujah of praise to heaven. Each individual sang as if his soul were in the strain, and the enthusiasm of the throng heightened the grandeur of the incident, and sublimity of the hymn. The chorus ceased with the words, but the sounds still waved and rolled through the nave and transept, until, like softly beating surges of a subsiding sea on the sandy shore, they died in gentle murmurs in the far distance ; and then, as the assem- blage departed, darkness and silence resumed their reign. CHAPTER IX. RAMBLES AND REFLECTIONS IN LONDON. There are innumerable places in the great city made cele- brated for having been the residences of renowned men, and the stranger, curious about such things, can frequently employ his time advantageously by looking them out. Who that is acquainted with English literature would not like to see the spot whereon Will's Coffee-House stood, or the walls which sheltered Goldy and the other members of the Club ? Some of the old houses have been removed long since, but their localities are distinctly marked to this day, and there is pleasure in knowing that you have been at the precise spot. Button's, and Will's, and Tom's, were all near each other, on Russell Street, Covent Garden, and I took the trouble to indulge my prying propensities, and seek out their celebrated localities. Will's is now a gin-palace, and not remarkable either for good liquor or genteel company. It is at, or near the corner of Bow Street and Russell Street ; but the people in the immediate neighborhood know nothing of its former celebrity, nor is the landlord aware that it was in time past the most popular resort of great men in London. Tom's is the house on the north side of the street, No. 17. OR, WANDERINGS OP AN AMERICAN. 113 At present it is occupied bj a provision-dealer, and he appears to know nothing of its history. There are two pedestals over the shop front, on one of which is a bust of one of the Roman Emperors — the other being vacant. Reference is frequently made to this house in the writings of distinguished men in the days of Queen Anne, and it was in it that Pope's " Essay on Criticism" was first published. On the other side of the street, almost facing the house just named, is the site of Button's CofFee-House, once the resort of Pope, Addison, Colley Gibber, Ambrose Phillips, and others equally distinguished. The house took its name from one Button, who had been a servant in the family of the Countess of Warwick, and continued to be a resort of the wits of the day until Addison's death. It is now scarcely ever looked for, and the pork butcher who occupies it cares nothing about its former celebrity. Will's, however, was the most famous place of its day, and I felt angry to see it converted into a shop for the sale of gin and ale by the pennyworth. Great Dryden was wont to resort there, and all the bright intellectual stars of his time shone brilliantly within those walls ; but now things are changed, and low women, grimy sweeps, and coal-dealers drink their *' half-and- half" in the desecrated hall of Will's Cofiee-House. The neigh- borhood is no longer fashionable as a residence, nor does the world-renowned Covent Garden Theatre attract large audiences at this time. It is called the Italian Opera, and no longer echoes to the plays of Shakspeare or his celebrated followers. New Bond Street was once the great fashionable residence, and it was at Long's Hotel, in that street, that Byron and Scott met for the last time. Moore and his friend, the author of ^' Childe Harold," used to dine frequently at Stevens's Hotel, in the same thoroughfare, and as both houses are still standing I had the cu- riosity to look them out. Old Bond Street is still more celebrat- ed than its modern namesake, it having been the place in which many of the distinguished of former days resided. Sterne, the author of " Tristram Shandy," lived and died in that street, at what was called in his day ^' The Silk-Bag Shop." The house is now in the occupancy of a cheesemonger, who spurns a knowledge either of the immoral parson or his works. If my memory J0f= 114 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ; serves me correctly, it was in Old Bond Street tliat Boswell lived ■when he gave a supper to Jolinson and others of the Club, at which Goldsmith made his appearance in the famous blossom- colored coat his biographers tell us about. The house is not known, and I found it useless to hunt the locality. These re- marks call to mind a visit I made to the graveyard of Temple Church, off Fleet Street, near Temple Bar. Goldsmith was buried there in a common grave ; but, as there was no stone raised upon the spot, his last resting-place is unknown. Others, total strangers to fame, lie around, and lengthy inscriptions on the slabs which cover their tombs record who rest below; but the man, who was really great and good, sleeps the endless sleep in the heart of a great city, and not one can point out the place of his grave. Many seek it, but none find ! The honorary tomb in West- minster Abbey is a mockery, when one is made acquainted with these facts. Some admirers of the bard have placed a beautiful marble tribute to his memory, in the vestry of Temple Church, on which is engraved the following : — This Tablet, recording that Oliver Goldsmith Died in the Temple on the 4th of April, 1774, and was buried in the adjoining- churchyard, was erected by the Benchers of the Hon. Society of the Inner Temple, A. J). 1837. This is something for poor Goldy, and although none can tell his last resting-place, the pilgrim from distant lands can see that his memory is cherished by those who dwell near his for- gotten grave ! The poet lived and died in the building No. 2, Brick Court, Middle Temple, near by his last resting-place ; and immediately under the rooms he occupied, lived Sir W3i. Black- stone, the great lawyer. I went into the house and looked around, but saw nothing worthy of remark, It is secluded OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 115 and quiet, all things considered, but not much can be said in favor of its inhabitants, as they are principally undistinguished lawyers of the London Bar. When I first visited the metropolis, I hunted out the habita- tion in which poor Chatterton committed suicide. It is No. 4, Brook Street, and at present occupied as a furniture warehouse. The house is old and much decayed, and is to be torn down soon, and then the last visible thing connected with the brief London residence of the proud boy bard will be swept away for- ever. He was buried in a shell in Shoe Lane workhouse yard; but, as no one had any sympathy for him at the time of his death, his grave was unmarked. From what I can learn, the Farringdon Market now occupies the former site of the pauper burial-ground, and the ashes of the greatest genius that England ever gave birth to mingle with their mother earth in a market- place. That literary knave and charlatan, Horace Walpole, is not unjustly charged with Chatterton's untimely and horrible end. If he had acted the part of a man, the world would never have had to mourn the sad fate of the Bristol boy. Shoe Lane is a filthy place, and famous for its connection with genius. Savage, the poet, was born in it ; Lovelace died there in miserable lodgings, in a court, still in existence, called Gunpowder Alley ; and there Chatterton was crammed into a pauper's grave, without the rites of Christian burial. The vicinity is not less famous, but I am^ happy to say less filthy. St. Bride's Church is close at hand, and by paying a small fee I was enabled to visit it. The sexton pointed out the tomb of Eichardson the printer, the author of " Clarissa Harlowe." I was glad to meet with a man of some intelligence, and more pleased to find Richardson's resting- place. The slab covering the tomb is half hidden by a pew, but still it can be seen. '' Clarissa" was the first novel worthy of the name I ever read, and I distinctly recollect stealing out of a clear bright moonlight night, and perusing it by the light of Cynthia's beams, after having been threatened with a flogging if I did not lay it aside. The large type in which it was printed was easily traced by my young eyes, although the moon was all the light I had. I read eagerly; no one ever took more interest in the fate of an imaginary heroine than I did at that time in'the fortunes of vir- 116 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY J tuous Clarissa Harlowe. She was my heau ideal of a woman, and though years have passed since then, my mind will never lose the image of the fair young girl. I thought she was at my side, as I stood in the sacred place, looking mournfully upon the grave of him from whose brain she sprung. A short distance further down Fleet Street, towards the Strand, is the famous Mitre Tavern, once the resort of Dr. John- son and Goldsmith. It is in a court of the same name ; and the present landlord is well acquainted with the history of his domicile. I sauntered in there at a rather late hour one even- ing, and ordered a cup of coffee and a roll. The waiter looked at me scrutinizingly, and told me that it would be eighteen pence. *' Only eighteen pence? I thought it was three shillings,'' said I. The fellow looked abashed, and stammered out an apology, and finished by asking my pardon. ^'For,'' said he, "many persons come in here, and not being acquainted with our prices, consider themselves imposed on when called upon to settle." I remained for some time, and was shown the warm corner, once the favorite resting-place of the great moralist. It is in the coffee- room, and a fine copy of Nollekin's bust of the essayist is imme- diately over the spot. I felt perfectly at ease in the presence of the Doctor's sculptured representative, and almost suspected that his spirit haunted the old inn, everything looked so cosy and comfortable. One of the oldest literary clubs of London formerly dined at the Mitre, but they discontinued resorting to it in 1847, and now assemble at the Free Mason's Tavern in Great Queen Street. Still further down, on the opposite side of the way, is Bolt Court, the last residence of Johnson, and the place where he died. I believe the house in which he dwelt was destroyed by fire some years ago; but be that as it may, there is a tavern in the alley at present called after the lexicographer, and every night sees it thronged with visitors, who go there to hear songs and recitations. The passage is rather narrow, and does not appear to have been wide enough to have allowed a man so bulky as Johnson ingress or egress without a gentle squeeze. The place is classic, and worth a visit, for it was in that court that Goldsmith, Burke, and Reynolds frequently assembled and enjoyed their mental feasts. OR, WANDERINGS OP AN AMERICAN. 117 In going up it at night, one hurries through, fearful lest he should encounter the Doctor in the act of bowing his distinguished com- panions to the street, and be wedged in between the walls and his great body. The site of the world-renowned Fleet prison is on Farringdon Street, but not a vestige of the once living tomb remains. Like those it held captive, it has passed away, and the stranger looks in vain for a single relic of a building within whose walls men of genius found a temporary retreat from the clamors of persevering creditors. What a long catalogue of great names the bare mention of that place calls to mind ! There Dr. Donne was imprisoned; and Wycherley, the poet, was incarcerated in the Fleet for seven years ; and Lloyd, the friend of Churchill ; and Mrs. Thomas (Curll's ^^Corinna") died there, as well as a host of others equally celebrated. Even William Penn was once a pri- soner in the famous place, and that for being guilty of owing a few pounds. Poverty is a crime even at this day ! Lord George Gordon's riots caused a deal of harm in London at the time of their occurrence ; but now no one thinks of them. The Fleet was burned then, if I recollect rightly, and Newgate with it. The mob tore down the house of the great Lord Mans- field, in Bloomsbury Square, and burnt his library, or as much of it as was not accidentally saved from the flames. I visited the spot frequently ; but there are no evidences there at this time of arson and pillage. The house is at the northeast end of the square, and in a pleasant section of the west end of the town. D'Israeli lived in the same street, and the house in which he com- piled his " Curiosities of Literature'^ is standing to this day. Other disturbances of a less serious character than the Gordon out- break, however, took place in the same vicinity in after years, and not the least remarkable was the visit of the 0. P. rioters to the house of John Philip Kemble, in Great Russel Street, Bloomsbury Square, before which they sang the popular song of "Heigh-ho,'' written by Horace Smith, of Eejected Addresses celebrity. The dwelling was torn down a few years since, to make room for the additions to the British Museum ; but the spot is pointed out to the curious yet. 118 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; While on the subject of riots, I may as well mention Apsley House, the town residence of the Duke of Wellington, as it still bears some marks of the effects of the great Keform disturbances. The hero had the lower windows closed up with iron blinds since that time, to prevent a recurrence of the outrages committed then by a London mob, and the house looks at those points like a prison. Many persons wonder what is meant by the iron screens, and can- not imagine why they are in their present position ; while others, who are acquainted with the causes which placed them there, say nothing, but feel keenly the silent rebuke — for they were evidently put there by the Duke to commemorate the visit of gratitude paid him by his countrymen. On the Southwark side of the river are several places of note, not the least remarkable of which is the Tabard Inn, famous for being the place in which Chaucer assembled his Canterbury pil- grims. The house is still in existence as an inn, and the stranger can enjoy a glass of ale there as well as at any other old place in London. The entrance is through an arch, which leads into a court-yard, once gay with travellers and visitors to the now com- paratively deserted hostelrie. I have sl penchant for hunting out these embalmed places (for such they are), and take pleasure in passing a short time within their sacred precincts. I feel as if trans- ported back to a bygone age, and imagine around me the bearded men of earlier times^ as I sit quietly gazing around upon the famous walls. But a short distance from the inn noticed above, is St. Saviour's Church, Southwark, one of the oldest ecclesiastical edifices in the metropolis. It is irregularly built, and a new wing does not add either to the beauty or architectural proportions of the structure. The older parts are in the early English style, and, next to West- minster Abbey, are considered the best specimens of that order in London. The monuments in the Lady chapel are numerous, and some of them curiosities. Probably the most interesting fact connected with the place is that it contains the tomb of Edmund Shakspeare, player, brother of the great bard of Avon. The spot pointed out is not clearly identified, but sufficient is known to warrant the assertion that such a person lies buried in the church. 119 He was the poet's youngest brother, and according to the parish register was interred December 31, 1G07. Who ever thought Shakspeare had a brother? Surely, not one in a hundred thousand of his readers. But he had, and his remains turned to dust years ago under the paved floor of St. Saviour's, Southwark. Philip Massinger, the fine dramatist, and forerunner of Soulful Will, is buried in the churchyard ; but there is no stone to mark the place, nor is it an easy matter to learn the whereabout of the grave. John Fletcher (of Beaumont and Fletcher) is interred in the chancel, and old Gower, the poet, has both a monument and a grave in the same building. He was of what is called a noble family, and consequently his tomb is kept in repair. Doctors Commons, where all wills made in the District of Can- terbury are recorded, is located to the south of Saint Paul's, in a narrow street near the Thames. This celebrated legal quarter is much resorted to by anxious heirs and those who are curious as to the legacies of deceased persons. The last testaments of some of England's greatest men are there in their original forms, among which may be named those of Shakspeare, Cromwell, and Dr. Johnson. The will of Napoleon also adorns the place, and it is said to contain a clause bequeathing 10,000 francs to the man who attempted the assassination of the Duke of Wellington, in Paris. Persons desirous to learn any particulars respecting the will of a deceased individual have every facility afforded them in the search by paying a shilling to the officer in attendance, who gives the applicant a slip of paper which, by being handed to another official, secures to the searcher the privilege of examining the records, but no one is allowed to make a memorandum without additional pay. The names of the persons who have died in the district, and left property by testament, are enrolled in parchment books, with the day and year of decease, as is customary in such places. Copies of the wills, written in Old English, are kept for examination, and arranged with great precision. If a person desires to see the originals, he can do so by paying an additional shilling. I went with a friend to search for a will, and after a laborious hunt found what we sought. The clerk recognized me as an American, and endeavored to enter into a conversation with 120 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ) me respecting my countrymen, and what he was pleased to call their uncharitable prejudice against England. I evaded his ques- tion, and excused myself to attend to the business on which we came. Newgate Prison, on the old Bailey, is a sombre, repulsive struc- ture, by no means calculated to win one's admiration; and would, aside from the suffering, wretchedness, and crime connected with it, claim the stranger's attention ; but, when viewed as the great criminal prison of London, it calls to mind the whole catalogue of celebrated felons who have, at various times, suf- fered the penalty of violated law there. Immediately in front of the main door, in the curbstone, are two sockets, into which are inserted iron uprights for the support of the scaffolds used at executions ; and around, for a considerable space, is the ground occupied, at times of strangling, by the humane who love to see their fellows die like dogs. It was there that Fauntleroy was hung, and there public executions take place at this day. On the corner, diagonally opposite, stands St. Sepulchre's Church, a fine old Gothic edifice, remarkable for being the place in#hich prayers are offered up for criminals about to suffer death at the jail. The bells are toiled when an execution takes place, in conformity to the will of a parishioner, who died in 1605, and bequeathed the sum of £1 6s. 8d. to the clerk for such service on such an occasion forever. The interior is quite imposing, and, as the principal entrance is through an arched way under the tower, the visitor is impressed with the sanctity of the fane immediately on going within. Probably the objects of greatest interest to the American in the shrine are the grave and tombstone of Captain John Smith, whose adventures and sufferings are so intimately connected with the early history of eastern Virginia. The slab is pointed out, but the inscription is obliterated, and the only portion of the sculpture visible is the representation of three Turks' heads. The record was in verse, and some copies of it are in existence, but I was unable to procure one. The recipient of the intervention of Pocahontas is seldom thought of now; and I was told by the sexton, who had been in the place a considerable time, that but a single Virginian, to his knowledge, had visited OR;, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 121 the tomb of the romantic adventurer^ in St, Sepulchre's^ in thirty years. Fault-finding is a favorite pastime of travellers ; and it rarely occurs that we find one who does not quarrel with almost everything he sees in a foreign land. Scarcely any object is worth his praise, and nothing escapes his censure. Men who go abroad generally view the countries through which they pass through the lenses with which they have been taught to survey their native lands, and seldom reflect that the persons with whom they are sojourning are educated, and live under governments essentially difi'erent from those under which they have been reared and instructed. The Englishman in the United States discovers nothing but insolence and vulgarity among the inhabitants, and never reflects that the faults he notices exist more in his own imagination than in reality; while the American, who goes to England, usually measures everything in climate and manners by his own standard, and concludes that the islanders are arro- gant, pompous, and vainglorious, or so brutally illiterate and igno- rant as to bo unfit to associate with intelligent men. Both arc wrong, and both should reflect more, and not come to rash or unjust conclusions. We should always make allowance for the effects of early education and the institutions under which people are born and live; and not condemn and denounce, because, for- sooth, things do not suit our peculiar notions of propriety or right. The first few weeks an American spends in London are not agreeable. He complains of the atmosphere — ridicules the stiff- ness of the people's manners — finds fiiult with the apparent checks to personal independence, and entertains a dislike for almost every- thing. A month or two makes a change in his views and ways of thinking. By that time he is reconciled to some extent, and sees beauties where before he observed defects, and sociability where he thought there was nothing but selfishness and cold in- diff"erence to strangers. John Bull has become a respectable old fellow in Jonathan's estimation, then, and as the two open their minds to each other, they agree, after comparing notes, that Eng- land and America are the only great nations on earth. The change in the policy of the government since the days of 11 122 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ; George the Third, respecting the expression of opinion, is re- markable; and I was on one particular occasion greatly astonished to hear a public lecturer condemning, in language far from choice, the entire system under which he lives. His remarks were prin- cipally directed against the abuses of the Established Church, and the rapacity of the bishops, as then just revealed by a committee of examination appointed by the House of Commons to report upon certain alleged misdoings of the Fathers. His audience was composed principally of workingmen, and he gave them a portion of the real history of England, and mentioned some startling facts connected with the establishment of the State Church. He was particularly severe on the bishops, and said that "seventy thousand persons suffered by fagot and flame in the reign of Henry the Eighth, because they dared differ with them; and in Elizabeth's reign things were equally bad. Bishops at this day are no better than they were then, and they would commit the same atrocities now that they did in those ages, if they only dared." As an evidence of their avariciousness and falsehood, he mentioned the extortions they were guilty of in the last seven years, and the enormous salaries they are entitled to. In 1837, the bishops had their salaries fixed bylaw, according to the see, varying from £4000 to £15,000 per annum. These were the sums they declared on oath would be sufficient for their support, and now it was shown that in seven years they had received, over and above these amounts, the enormous total of £80,000, or about 400,000 dol- lars, and not one farthing of it would they return. The lecturer asked whether, if any of those present had robbed so largely, they would be permitted to go at liberty? "No I" said he; "but you or I, had we done so, would have been in the Old Bailey long ere this, and by this time would be crossing the wild waters in chains to a penal colony, as felons." He spoke of some of the early English monarchs as they de- serve. The lives of Charles the First and James the Second were hastily but properly reviewed, and the conduct of the English bishops in the reign of the last-named sovereign carefully ana- lyzed. The doctrines of non-resistance, and the sacredness of his majesty's person, as taught by them so long as it suited their OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 123 purposes to give adberence to such points of policy, were exposed in masterly style; "and," said he, "the seven bishops are called by historians the preservers of English liberty on account of their conduct at the abdication of James the Second, and why? Because they crushed the democracy, by usurping to themselves the kingly power. It would have been better for England had James been allowed to continue his violations of law longer, for then the people would have arisen and swept away kings and royalty forever!" Cheers greeted him on this declaration, although it was Sunday evening, and I began to think I was in bad company, and would soon be under the care of her Majesty's guardians of the peace for being in a congregation of Sabbath- breakers. I turned my eyes to the door in anticipation of seeing a posse of police officers entering, but none made their appear- ance. "Well," thought I, "there's more freedom of speech here than was allowed twenty years ago, or history greatly belies even ■\Villiam the Fourth." The lecturer is an educated man — a lawyer by the name of Ernest Jones. He was imprisoned by the government for a speech at a Chartist meeting, in 1848, and during his confine- ment is said to have been treated with great inhumanity. For two years he was incarcerated in Tothillfields prison, among the vilest criminals; and for a long time was obliged to live in a damp, unhealthy cell, where he was placed with the evident intention of destroying his life. The class of people he is identified with are intelligent, but not very religious. They have a number of lec- turers among them, the most of whom are clever men, not one of whom has escaped the dislike of the government, or imprison- ment for inflammatory speeches at Chartist and other meetings. Thomas Cooper, one of their leading lecturers, is a remarkable person, and a most decided disbeliever in Christianity, as in fact are all. The class to which they belong is large and daily in- creasing, from what I could learn; and if they were to let religion alone, and direct their energies to the reform of abuses in the po- litical system of England, would, no doubt, effect much good; but so long as they continue as they are, must fail to do anything 124 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; more than bring themselves into disrepute with all classes of Christians, professing and unprofessing. The government allows them great latitude at present, but, at the same time, keeps itself well informed as to their movements. The English anti-slavery societies are very much impressed with the wretched condition of the slaves in our Southern States, but, like many other philanthropists, they have a wonderful sym- pathy for suffering at a distance, but cannot see that at their own doors. They expend thousands annually in disseminating their doctrines, and in keeping their philanthropy before the world, and think themselves charitable in the extreme. A meeting was held by one of them while I was in the metropolis, and, during the day, a number of old and young men were employed in carrying heavy boards through the streets, on which were pasted flaming bills, printed with large letters, calling upon the humane to assem- ble in their strength, and express their opinions against " the in- famous system of American slavery V I met one of the walking ambassadors, an old decrepit man, with scarcely sufficient clothing to cover his nakedness, perambu- lating the streets, and sweating under a pair of heavy placarded boards, almost enough to crush him. His condition was forlorn, in truth, and I entered into conversation with him respecting the pay for being thus employed. "I don't know," said he, " how much I will get until I go in this evening.'^ "The people who employ you have plenty of money, no doubt, and will remunerate you liberally," I interrogated. " They are very good, are they not ?" "None of them have ever been to me, and I can't say whether they are to others or not." " How much will they give you for carrying those boards about all day?" "I expect eighteen pence; but I may not get so much.'^ " How many hours do you work ?" "Ten or more," he replied; and on further inquiry I learned that the old man was dinnerless that day, and those in whose em- ploy he was could not help but know it. OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 125 This is a bappy commentary upon the benevolence and sympa- thy of the anti-slavery societies of England, and their practical philanthropy. A few evenings after this, I was on London Bridge, where I met with a decent yellow man, from Philadelphia, who was almost naked, and without shoes. I asked him where he was from, and he immediately told me. When he learned that I was from the same place, he was greatly delighted, and freely narrated his hard- ships. He went to London in a merchant-ship, and foolishly left it under the impression that he would readily find employment, but soon learned, to his sorrow, that he had made a mistake. No one would give him work or money. His clothes were all gone ; he had not slept in a bed for five nights, and had no food that day. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he related his sufferings to me, and I deeply sympathized with him. He was an intelligent man, and, I believe, told the truth. I gave him sufficient money for his supper, breakfast, and night's lodgings, and promised to meet him the next day, which I did. He was punctual to the time appointed, and I gave him a pair of pantaloons to cover his naked- ness. He was unfeignedly grateful, and told me that he would make every exertion to get back to the United States ; and if he succeeded, no one would ever catch him in England again. He had no seaman's protection with him, having lost it while ram- bling about the city, and, therefore, had no claim on the Ameri- can consul. How he made out, I never learned, as I never saw him again. Windsor Palace is renowned, the world over, for being the re- sidence of the Kings of England, and a visit to it is regarded a duty by the stranger in London. The ancient structure is about twenty-one miles from the metropolis, in Berkshire, on the Thames, situate on a commanding eminence, and presents a noble sight, view it from what point you may. Its many towers, its massive walls, its great extent, and solid Gothic grandeur, impress the beholder and carry him back, in thought, to the days of chiv- alry and civil wars. It was founded by William the Conqueror, and, like the old Norman hero, frowns down on all around it, sternly and unflinchingly. It is likely that no castle in Europe pre- 11* 126 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY j serves its ancient glories so well as Windsor, and none is more princely or magnificent. The terrace around it, facing the Thames, and overlooking the valley of that stream, as well as the town be- low, and the famous Eton College, is considered the finest in the Old World. Above it rise the sentinel towers and massive walls, while before you stretches out the splendid promenade. House- hold troops, in the gaudy uniform of the English army, keep guard at certain points along the space, and heavy guns frown from the battlements. The proud pile is of great magnitude, and perched, as it is, on a bold highland, it soars grandly up with its numerous towers and splendid terraces. The interior is in charac- ter with the extent of the place, and sufficiently gorgeous in orna- ment and decorations for the residence of a monarch. My com- panions and self were admitted on presentation of our tickets to the servant in attendance, and conducted through the principal state apartments. The rooms are grand and lofty, hung with tapestry and paintings, and adorned with sculpture. One of them is named after Vandyke, the great Flemish artist, and con- tains some of his masterpieces. Charles the First is boldly set forth, in various attitudes, and each and every picture of him ex- hibits the same pensive face given him by all artists. His ma- jesty will go down to the latest posterity, surely, if pictures will carry any man there. The departments are so numerous that one tires of them ; and as they are all grand, a general description of one is sufficient for all. The presence chamber is, probably, the most attractive, be- cause of the ornament and decoration. The walls are hung with splendid tapestry, illustrative of scriptural subjects, the furniture richly gilt, the chairs and sofas covered with red damask velvet, and the ceiling painted superbly by Yerrio. The Waterloo room is hung around with the portraits of many distinguished men, whose names are intimately connected with the great event from which it takes its name; and St. George's Hall is decorated with the portraits of nearly all the English kings, with cross-spears, helmets, and shields on the walls between the pictures. The mast of the line-of-battle ship Victory, on whose deck Nelson fell, is among the most valued wonders of a particular hall ; and at the OR, WANDERINGS Or AN AMERICAN. 127 head of a magnificent staircase leading into the audience chamber stands Chantrey's splendid statue of George the Fourth. The visitor, unless he has a taste that way, seldom remains long to admire extensive rooms and costly decorations, but is soon satisfied with regal splendors. "VVe made a hasty circuit of the state apartments, and visited the famous round tower of the palace, and St. George's Chapel. The sacred edifice is a fine speci- men of Gothic architecture, with a splendid choir, lofty nave, and several costly monuments to persons of distinction, the most at- tractive of which is that to the Princess Charlotte. As we were standing in the eastern wing of the edifice, the guide informed us that beneath our feet were the remains of Ed- ward IV". and his Queen; of Henry YL, Henry VHI., and Jane Seymour; and those of Charles the First. The bare mention of their names called to mind a flood of great events connected with the history of the past, and a strange feeling came over me when I realized the truth that I was standing over the ashes of these monarchs. Harry the Eighth under my feet ! Yes ! and dead at that ! The river at the town of Windsor is a pure, quiet stream, some thirty yards wide, and flows through a rich valley of great loveli- ness. Eton College is close to the palace, and that renowned seat of learning is in full view from the terrace. The park around Windsor contains thousands of acres of land, and within its limits is the artificial hike, known as Yirginia Water, formed for the gratification of Queen Elizabeth. Heme's Oak, immortalized by Shakspeare, is one of the great curiosities of the park, and much resorted to by tourists. About two miles below Windsor, on the Thames, is the village of Datchet, the spot at which the merry roysterers plunged Sir John Falstafl" into the river, as he asserted, with as little mercy as they would a batch of blind puppies. We remained some hours at the kingly castle, and then slowly wended our way to Slough, and thence across fields by quiet footpaths to Stoke Pogis Church, the scene of Gray's immortal " Elegy in a Country Churchyard," where repose the remains of the great classic poet. The spot is one of the most secluded in the world, and the old church, with its spire point- ing to heaven, and its ivy-covered walls, presents a picture that 128 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ; no artist could resist sketchingj aside from its hallowed associa- tions. A marble slab, with an inscription to the memory of Glray, is placed in the wall at the east end of the church, immediately in front of the tomb wherein the remains of himself and his mother repose. A monument to the memory of the bard was erected in the latter part of the last century, on an elevated piece of ground, a short distance from his grave, on the spot where he is supposed to have written his Ode on a distant prospect of Eton College. That ancient seat of learning is in full view from the point, and the lofty turrets of Windsor form a grand feature in the landscape. On each side of the cenotaph, extracts from his poems are en- graved, and a double charm is given to the selection by the scenes and surrounding localities. The church of Stoke Pogis is irregularly built, and remarkably picturesque in appearance. The interior is adorned with tablets to the memory of the deceased gentry of the neighborhood, and the coats of arms of several families embellish the walls. The escutcheon of the Penns stands conspicuous among them, and the word " Pennsylvania" is the only motto it bears. One of my companions and myself belong by birth to that State, and it was a surprise to us to see heraldry added to the name of William Penn. His descendants abandoned the religious creed of their illustrious relative many years ago, and for several generations past have been connected with the Established Church of Eng- land. One of them is buried in Stoke Pogis Church, but no monument or record, excepting the '^ pomp of heraldry'^ alluded to, marks the tomb. We passed several hours in rural enjoyment at this peaceful place, among the osier-swathed graves and rustic tombs, and at the close of a delightful summer day returned to London, to mingle in the roar and life of the great city. WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 129 CHAPTER X. LONDON TO OXFORD AND STRATFORD-UPON-AVON. After a prolonged stay, I left London at an early hour in the morning, in a drenching rain, and rode through the streets of the city on an omnibus, from St. Paul's down Ludgate Hill, Fleet Street, and the Strand, to the station of the Great Western Rail- way at Paddington. By the time the coach reached its destina- tion, I was quite wet, and as the storm continued unabated all day, there was but little opportunity afforded for enjoying the old and remarkable in cities, or the beautiful in the country. My fellow-passengers were ignorant and stupid, and their conversation was senseless and unprofitable. One of them was an English sailor, who pretended to be as great a navigator as Captain Cook, and talked about himself and his travels almost constantly, and without solicitation. A servant girl from London, on a trip to her parents in Wales, won his admiration, and she, no doubt, loved him before the journey ended, for the same reason that Desderaona did Othello — the hardships he said he had suffered — for she evidently believed his fables, and falsify he did most out- rageously. I left the train at Didcot, and, after a short ride, arrived at the celebrated city of Oxford, the great English seat of learning. This ancient place has a solid Gothic appearance, quite pleasing to an American. The colleges are numerous, and as most of them are large and highly ornamented edifices, the visitor finds much to examine and admire. Christ Church is the largest, and owes its origin to Cardinal Wolsey. It is a quadrangle, with a high tower over the gateway, in which hangs an enormous bell, which gives name to that structure. The picture-gallery is accessible to visitors on payment of a shilling, and as my curiosity prompted me to see what was worth looking at, I paid the fee, and examined 130 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; tlie paintings and library. Some of the pictures are glorious spe- cimens of art, and the collection may not improperly be called one of the most valuable and complete of the old masters in England. The entrance hall is adorned with busts of distinguished men who have at various times been connected with the institution, among which is one of Dr. Busby, the renowned " whipping master/^ as he was popularly called in olden times. " A great man/' said the knight, throwing his hand toward the tomb of Dr. Busby, " a very great man; he flogged my grandfather once," is a passage in the Spectator, and if greatness consists in beating people, why not award praise to the pedagogue as well as the general ? The library hall is a large room, around the walls of which are vast numbers of valuable works, both in print and manuscript. The floors are of oak, and at one end is a chair, said to have been the property of Cardinal Wolsey. The architecture of the inte- rior does not present any remarkable feature, and no man can gain much information by glancing an half hour at a large collection of books. From this edifice I wended my way to the Bodleian Li- brary, one of the largest and most valuable in England. The rooms are spacious, and contain, besides the books, pictures and sculpturg. There is a hall in the same building, under the library, in which Charles the First assembled his lords during the civil wars, and which Cromwell afterwards turned to a better use by converting it into a stable for his horses. His troops broke the stained glass in the windows, and did much injury to the building; but, excepting the colored lights, everything has been restored to its former condition. The floors are of oak, and the ceiling of stone, groined and arched. The adjoining rooms are used for con- ferring degrees, and for schools. They are remarkably plain, both as respects furniture and architecture, and are better suited to a log school-house in the West than the celebrated University of Oxford. The other colleges are spacious buildings, quite cele- brated in their way, but not really handsome. The Kadcliffe Li- brary is a circular edifice, with some pretensions to architectural splendor, but worthy a visit mainly on account of the view of Ox- ford to be obtained from the top. The city from this point looks OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 181 very fine. The whole town appears to consist of extensive build- ings of great age, with towers and domes and tapering spires. There is a fine Gothic cross to the memory of the three bishops, Cranmer, Ridley, and Latimer, who were burnt at Oxford, during the reign of Queen Mary. It is erected on the spot where the burning is said to have taken place, and is really an interesting object to visitors. The inscription is in modern church text, and sets forth in florid language the sufferings of those who died for religion's and opinion's sake. It is popularly called the Martyr's Memorial. As my visit was made during the vacation months at the uni- versities, there were but few students then at Oxford. Those I met were present for the purpose of casting their votes in an elec- tion connected with a place to which numbers were eligible. They wore a long black gown, similar to those of the English clergy, and a cap with a square top of the same color made to fit the head closely. Some of them were mere boys, while others had attained to years of manhood. I visited every college in the city, and strolled leisurely through a beautiful arbor in the grounds attached to Magdalene College, renowned the world over as " Ad- dison's Walk," and after a pleasant stay set out on my journey to the ancient town of 13anbury, distant from Oxford about twenty- five miles. "To Banbury I came, profane one! Where I saw a Puritane one, Hanging of his cat on a Monday, For catching of a mouse on a Sunday!" These lines rang in my ears for some time before my entrance into the famous place. But the days of the Puritans are past, and if Banbury ever did witness such a sight as described by the poet traveller, it certainly did not do so the evening on which I first entered its old thoroughfares. I trudged slowly along its streets with my knapsack on my arm, " the observed of all ob- servers," and not being very desirous of so much notice, I soon made my way to an inn. It was externally a forbidding house; but a man must not take the outside of an English village tavern as an evidence of its internal arrangements, as I have learned from 132 THE FOOTrATII AND HIGmVAY ; frequent lessons. The " Red Lion'' turned out to be a well-fur- nished and admirably kept hotel. The floors and stairs were car- peted, the beds curtained, and the sleeping-rooms clean and in- viting. I was disappointed, and expected to pay for the extras of the room, and made up my mind accordingly; but in this I was mistaken; my bill, all told, for supper, bed, breakfast, and the ex- tortion of servants' fees, was three shillings and seven pence, or less than ninety cents. Banbury is a quiet place, with but little trade and not much intelligence. Some of the streets are wide, while others are quite narrow, and all are abominably crooked. Although Stratford-on Avon is only twenty miles from it, I was obliged to ask a dozen persons without meeting one who was able to tell me which road to take to that place. An old man whom I asked hesitated, and began to tax his memory, when I ventured to aid him by remind- ing him it was the town in which Shakspeare was born and buried. " yes," said his wife, who was standing by, ^' I read it in the newspapers not long ago that he is buried there, but we don't know where it is." I left them, perfectly content with their ac- quirements; and as they were publicans, and likely to be some- what intelligent, I made no further inquiry, and relied solely upon my own geographical knowledge of the country. Wraxton Abbey is on the road, and as that lies near to Banbury, I learned its lo- cality, and made my way to its walls. The day rose beautifully, and after a cold, cheerless rain of twenty-four hours' duration, the sun was a welcome visitor. I turned off the road, and on making application at the abbey gate for admittance, was informed that the person having charge of the building was not in at that time. The edifice is located in a valley, surrounded by trees, so that I could only get a glance at it from a neighboring eminence. My walk lay through several villages and a good country. Some of the hamlets were composed entirely of straw-thatched cot- tages of one story, and the inhabitants were as ancient in appear- ance as the homes they occupied. One that I entered was a representative of all. The floor was stone, neatly sanded, the fur- niture was scanty, but the entire place clean. I noticed in this cottage what I frequently observed before, that, no matter how OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 183 humble tilings were, they were kept tidy, and the clothing of the cottagers, even though patched, was neat. The occupants of the cottage were sociable and kind. One was a perfect specimen of the old English peasant ] the other the good housewife of former days. The old man handed me a seat, and, as I slung my knapsack on the ground and accepted the proffered chair, he exclaimed, "Ay, that's heavy, lad; ye must be sore tired. Come, lass, bring a pot of ale for the stranger." And I soon refreshed myself with the welcome draught. The friendly peasant and his wife regarded me as ar curiosity when they learned that I was from America, and insisted that I should, drink another mug of home-brewed before bidding them fare- well. I conversed with them for some time, and when we parted it was with a hearty ''God bless you !" from the kind couple. The village lay in a valley, from which I ascended to an ele- vated plain, over which I leisurely pursued my way along a glo- rious road, such as is only seen in England. The hedges were green and odorous, the sky pure and cloudless, and my heart light. I was on my direct route to Shakspeare's grave, and realized to my satisfaction that T was on English ground. The soil generally was better than that in many other counties in which I had been, although some of it was indifferent, and pro- duced but little. The land was under cultivation throughout, but not all of it in grain. Wheat, barley, hay, oats, beans, and mangel-wurzel, were the principal products. Several fields were used for grazing purposes, and, in fact, the raising of stock ap- peared to be one of the main stays of the farmer. The consump- tion of meats in England is great, and the demand is always equal to the supply; consequently, the farmer raises that which brings him ready cash, and at the same time improves the land. The method of farming may be better than ours, but I could not discover in what it is superior. The appearance of the country is beautiful to the eye, and as the land is either in grain or grass, and not an inch uncared for, the American traveller usually makes up his mind that the English cultivators are better farmers than those of the United States. The land does not produce more grain to the acre than is grown with us, on the same amount of 12 134 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; ground, and the yield varies from as low as ten to as high as sixty bushels of wheat to the acre, the last being the greatest quantity obtained in the interior countieSj and that not often. The uten- sils are exceedingly clumsy, and some of the ploughs require as many as four horses to draw them. I have seen men ploughing with that many, one ahead of the other, and it rarely happens that less than three are used. The men who do the work are but little better in their condition than the farm-hands in the south of Ireland, and many of them are quite as ignorant. Those "with whom I conversed informed me that they received but from 12d. to 14:d. pence per day, and out of that sum several of them had families to support and rent to pay. They complained very much of their situation, and the manner in which they were com- pelled to live. On the turnpike, I met several laborers employed at breaking stone, and repairing the road, who were really ashamed to tell me what their wages were. One of them hung his head, and said it was little indeed, while others acknowledged that those who broke stone received eight pence per square yard for what they broke, at which rate they earned sixteen pence per day, and the laborers got one shilling. A wagoner informed me that his wages were eight shillings a week ; and, said he, " A poor man finds it a hard job to feed a wife and seven children out o* that, and pay fourteen pence a week rent." He knew I was an American, and expressed a strong desire to go to the States ; many of his acquaintance were there, and all doing well. I stopped at a cottage at a toll-gate, and entered into conversa- tion with a young married woman, who dwelt there. She was illiterate, but agreeable and hospitable. She showed me the house. It had but two rooms, one up and one down stairs, the lower one of which was paved or floored with stone flags. The furniture was scanty; but what there was, was good and clean. She was fond of flowers, and had a garden, of a few yards in length, in which she cultivated some floral gems. She confirmed what the men had told me in regard to wages, and said it was not an unusual thing for men to work in the fields all day for much less than a shilling. Her husband was a gardener for a noble- man^ near at hand, and received but poor pay. He paid ten OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 135 pence per week rent, and had hard work to support himself and family. They had four children, all young. The eldest went to school, where she was instructed in reading and writing at a cost of a penny-ha' -penny per week. Schooling is the cheapest thing the poor have in Warwickshire, but what the quality of it is I was unable to learn. On this route I was fortunate in beholding one of the most magnificent prospects in the world — the Red Horse vale — from the brow of Edgehill, a place remarkable for the first engagement between Cromwell and Charles T. The old Puritan and his troops did sad havoc among the royalists on that memorable day, and now the bones of the slain enrich the land *'Whicli the rude swain Turns with his share and treads upon." The valley, for miles, is beautiful beyond a pen and ink de- scription. I stood upon an elevated headland, whose green sides rapidly sloped to the plain, and as far as the sight extended, to the right and left, stretched the glorious scene. Away, in the blue distance, arose the "stormy hills of Wales;" while at xaj feet, and before me, was a landscape of most living beauty — of fields of waving grain, divided by luxuriant hedges, and traversed by sinuous roads. The blue smoke curled up from the cottage chimneys on the farms, and the sharp spire of a distant village church pierced the pure air above. In a far-off field a number of reapers, male and female, were at labor; and the balmy air of morning was rich with the scent of new-mown hay and the breath of flowers. The landscape looked like a velvet carpet, adorned with the master designs of a great artist, and woven in the rich- est and most pleasing colors. I gazed for an hour, drinking in the inspiration of the scene, and contemplating the magnificent prospect before me. It was unhackneyed and un travelled. I came on it by surprise, and my delight was sincere and lasting. A loquacious innkeeper wanted me to look at some rusty weapons of strife, which had been found on the field of battle at various times, and could not understand why I took so much pleasure in viewing the valley and surrounding scenery. He was 136 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY J full of history, and could point out the very spot where the royal- ists first gave way ; and, if I had permitted him, would have de- tained me a week to listen to his descriptions of the conflicts which have taken place in the valley, for it has been the scene of more than one bloody encounter between furious foes. My road lay through and across the splendid vale before me, and, as I had a long walk to accomplish before sunset, I descended into the plain and pursued my way, a lonely pilgrim to Shak- speare's tomb. The walk was pleasant, and made agreeable by occasional con- versations with such of the peasantry as I met. One young fel- low walked several miles with me, and grew quite friendly before we separated. He was clothed in the usual style of the country people — smock frock, yellow cloth leggings, coarse shoes, and short-clothes, a most abominable dress to my way of thinking. He was not, by any. means, intelligent, and, although we were within six miles of Shakspeare's birthplace, and he himself was born near the famous town, he knew nothing of his immortal countryman. The scenery, as I approached Stratford-on-Avon, grew more and more lovely the nearer I drew to the town, and at last, from a gentle knoll, my eye caught sight of the tall spire of the church of Holy Trinity, where Shakspeare lies buried. I was alone, and on foot, weary and worn with many miles of travel; the sun was low in the western heavens, and the soft sky of an English sum- mer's evening bent over tlie famous place in which was born the greatest of England's bards. Dust clung to my mantle, and the beaded sweat was upon my brow. Before me were scenes, the very mention of whose names makes the heartstrings of the lover of poetry thrill. There was the pensive Avon — there the meadows in which Shakspeare roved, and the mausoleum in which repose his ashes. I could scarcely realize the truth of my situation for a time, and joy filled my heart when the fact was made clear to my senses. One of the brightest dreams of my boyhood was, at that moment, fulfilled, and Stratford-on-Avon was in reality be- fore me. I slowly crossed the old stone bridge that spans the stream and 137 leads into the toTvn, and soon entered its principal street. It was near the close of a market-day, and the space devoted to traf- fic was filled with articles of trade, and crowded with citizens and rustics. I passed on to an inn, and after engaging lodgings, sal- lied out in search of the house in which the bard of Avon first drew breath. Henley Street is neither wide nor attractive, nor are the houses on it remarkable for architectural beauty. Its pavements, however, have borne the tread of some of the greatest of intellectual men ; and strangers from every section of the world, familiar with the works of Shakspeare, have sauntered along that thoroughfare to the house in which he was born. I felt that the earth beneath my feet was sacred, as I moved along in search of the humble mansion so dear to the admirers of the great dramatic bard, and soon stood before the quaint old structure with vague, undefinable feelings, such as we are prone to experience when we realize an aspiration which has been a cherished hope from child- hood, yet a thing we feared would never be accomplished. The house is two stories high, antiquated and humble. It is open to strangers, who are expected to make a small purchase in return for the favor of standing within its sacred walls. The lower floor is flagged with stones, and the room in which the im- mortal poet first saw the light is a very humble apartment, with a floor of oak. The walls are almost entirely covered with the names of those who have visited the house, among which, the old lady, having charge of the place, showed me the autographs of John Kemble, the actor, and Emerson, the American essayist ; and also, in one of the windows, that of the great " Wizard of the North," Sir Walter Scott, written with a diamond on a pane of glass. I recorded my humble name among thousands of the un- distinguished which disfigured the ceiling and sides of the room, and, after purchasing a few mementos, left my autograph in a book kept for the signatures of visitors. The old lady was very obliging and communicative. She told me that more Americans came to the house than any others, and her assertion was borne out by the records. I asked for the book in which Washington Irving had written his name ; but it was not there. The house, a few years ago, changed owners, and at that time the book in 12"^ 138 THE FOOTrATII AND IITGIINVAY ; question was sold, by auction, to a gentleman in London, wlio was curious in such matters, and now graces the library of a pri- vate individual in the metropolis. The building in which the great dramatist died was torn down years ago, and the places which attract the pilgrim's attention now are " the cradle and the grave.'^ Distinguished authors have described Stratford Church in classic language, and thousands have read their descriptions with eagerness, profit, and pleasure. It would be folly in me to attempt an account of that renowned edifice, and yet I am inclined to try, although I can add but little of interest to what has already been said. It is a noble Gothic structure, of great beauty, with a taper- ing spire full one hundred and fifty feet high, which pierces the air like a pointed arrow. The approach is through an arbor of lime-trees, which form an inviting walk, and as the church is built close to the bank of the sylvan stream, it presents a splen- did prospect, and deserves to be the mausoleum of the immortal bard. The chancel is the tomb of Shakspeare and his descendants, and there, also, repose the remains of his wife — Anne Hathaway. At the side, near the vault wherein he lies, is a tablet to his memory, surmounted with a bust, which did not strike me as a correct likeness. There is a fulness of face, and floppishness of the muscles, if I may be allowed the expression, which do not indicate either genius or intelligence. It is not my ideal of Shak- speare, and looks more like the bust of a burly butcher than of the *' sweet Swan of Avon." The vault is covered with a rough stone slab, on which are engraved, in the orthography of the poet's day, these lines of terrible import to the sacrilegious : — - Good friend, for Jesus's sake forbear To dig the dust enclos'd here ; Elest be the man that spares these stones, And cui'st be he that moves my bones. The other tombs are inscribed with the date of the birth and death of his children, and adjoining are the graves of some of the nobility of the country. Figures to the memory of a once noble OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 139 f\uully occupy another section of the church; but the race they honor, like that of the bard, is extinct; and in this respect only is the resemblance borne out, for what their names are, but few learn, and none care to remember. The sexton who told Washington Irving that he had seen the ashes of Shakspeare was guilty of a pardonable deviation from the truth, which has given rise to a very pretty story and a cherished conceit. It is almost sacrilege to break the charm ; but the truth ought to be told, and I will be censurable in tell- ing it if there be censure attached to a statement of facts. The present sexton is grandson to the one celebrated by my country- man, and he says it was and is impossible to see the remains of the bard from the place represented. The vault said to have been opened for the purpose of burial at the time alluded to is not within two feet of the grave of Shakspeare, and from the location of the two burial-places there exists no doubt but that Irving was imposed upon. My guide showed me the tomb, and pointed out the impossibility of seeing through two feet of solid earth into the grave of Shakspeare, for in digging the vault it is not likely that the narrow house would have exceeded by that distance the usual dimensions allotted to man. But the conclu- sive proof is that no vault has been opened immediately along- side that of the poet for nearly a hundred and fifty years; and unless his remains are exhumed, there is scarcely a possibility of mortal eye beholding them until the final resurrection, when ocean and earth shall restore all that their arms entomb, and the mortal put on immortality. 140 THE rOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; CHAPTER XI. WARWICK, KENILWORTH, BIRMINGHAM, AND THE GRAVE OF SHENSTONE. By the stage route from Stratford-on-Avon to "Warwick, the traveller has a fine panoramic view of the silent stream and adja- cent country — the broad meadows through which the immortal bard was wont to roam, and the domain over which his poaching propensities used to lead him. The day on which I left the famous locality was beautifully clear, and an outside seat agreeable. The passengers were a gentlemanly set of men, quite republican in their sentiment, although they occasionally exhibited an affection for royalty. After an hour's ride, we entered the old town of War- wick, and had a view of its famous castle, a towering building of immense proportions and great strength. Its lofty turrets rise up like proud sentinels, and add a feudal feature to the quiet town under its shade to which it gives name. My fellow-travellers left me here with a hearty shake of the hand and a wish for the prosperity of my noble country, hoping to have the pleasure of meeting me again, while I pursued my way to Leamington, a modern town near Warwick, of great beauty and noted for its mineral spas. It is of recent date, and in appearance is as clean and attractive as most American towns. The streets are wide, and mostly shaded with trees, which give the place quite a suburban aspect. Five miles from Leamington are the hale old ruins of Kenilworth Castle, a text from which Sir Walter Scott wrote a novel. It is overgrown with ivy and much shattered, although its walls look as if they would brave the storms of another thousand years. It is hid from view as you approach from the village by a grove of young oaks, and when first seen it comes upon the sight in all its ruined grandeur and lordly glory. The remains are massive, and bear evidence to the magnificence of the building in OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 141 its prime and habitable days. It is extensive, and one of the rooms, which is nearly entire, gives an adequate idea of the dimen- sions of the apartments, when they echoed to the voices of stern lords and ladies fair. In ancient days there was a lake within the walls which inclose the castle, but now it is also fallen, and dwindled to a pond of stagnant water. There were some gentry present from Leamington rambling among the fallen fragments and around the broken towers of the glorious ruin ; while in a meadow, at the castle's side, once used as a tournament ground, a number of reapers were engnged at labor. The day was showery, but not sufficiently so to destroy the enjoyment of the visit^ or prevent " The lords and ladies from making love, Or the clowns from making hay." I sauntered back to the station, and in a short time found my- self in the ancient town of Coventry, celebrated for being the place in which the good Lady Godiva performed an equestrian feat in a costume neither wove nor spun, which excited the laudable curiosity of one of the sterner sex, and gained for his inquisitive honor the world-wide sobriquet of Peeping Tom of Coventry. Tennyson, the poet, has woven the story into beautiful measure, where the lovers of the curious will find a rich treat. ^' He waited for the evening train at Coventry,'' and while contemplating the quaint old city and its three lofty spires, made immortal, through exqui- site verse, the story of the lady and the knave. The town is old and strange. The houses are peculiar to the place, and the streets are both crooked and dirty. Every year the good citizens celebrate the freedom of their ancient city by a procession, in which a young girl, dressed in clothing as delicate as that worn by ballet-dancers, acts a prominent part, and rustics from far and near assemble to witness the display. I was in Lon- don when the exhibition came off in the summer of 1851, and thousands went from the metropolis to view the spectacle. I had no ambition that way, and rest perfectly content now with my ramble through the town, while ''waiting for the evening train to" Birmingham. 142 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; The great Work-Shop of England, as Birmingham may justly "be called, is one of the meanest cities in appearance in the realm. There is scarcely a redeeming feature about it, and, excepting the Town Hall, not a single building deserving of particular note. The streets, like the streets of all English towns, are wretchedly crooked, and, what may be said to be a Birmingham peculiarity, are narrow, irregular, filthy, steep, awry, badly paved, lined with indifferent houses, and clouded even in clear weather with smoke ; while on damp or wet days they are so obscured with it that a man must be blest with wonderfully acute vision if he is able to see one hun- dred yards along any of the few straight thoroughfares in the place. It is situate nearly in the centre of England, on what is said to be the highest land in the country, except the various mountains; and, like Manchester, usually receives a shower-bath from the clouds five out of the seven days of the week. Like all the English manufacturing towns, it is plentifully sup- plied with poor people. In roaming round the city, I met decent- looking men and women standing in the middle of the street singing songs for what pence the moving or gaping throng felt inclined to give them, and at sundown the thoroughfares are the places of ex- hibition of negro singers and similar performers. I cannot think that these people voluntarily follow such occupations as a means of livelihood, for it does not stand to reason that a person would go into the open street as a low performer to earn a precarious sub- sistence, if work were obtainable whereby a living could be had without the disgrace or insults to which one is subjected who fol- lows the business of an itinerant street exhi biter. Beggars were more common than in London (probably because begging is tole- rated to a greater extent than in the metropolis), and in the even- ing men are to be met asking alms, and exposing their mutilated limbs to enlist the sympathies of the benevolent. I met more than a dozen different mendicants with their legs or arms off, and several blind and otherwise afflicted by explosions in mines, or accidents on railways. Ballad-singers were roaming the streets, singing in dolorous tune the blight of crops or the misfortunes of rustic lovers, while gaping children listened to the rambling musician or his doggerel rhymes. Take it all in all, Brummayeu OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 143 (as it is called by the lower natives) is a peculiar town — deserving a visit from the traveller, both on account of the mixed character of its inhabitants, and the extent and variety of its manufactures. Every variety of metallic and ornamental wares is produced in Birmingham, and she really supplies the world with a certain class of her manufactures. Steel pens are made there in im- mense quantities, and the number of persons employed exclu- sively in giving form and temper to those iron recorders amounts to some thousands. I visited the extensive establishment of the Messieurs Gillott, and saw the process of manufacture from rolling the iron into sheets of the requisite thickness to the finishing of the pen. The steel is received from Sheffield in a condition for being converted into writing instruments, and first cut into strips two inches wide, and pickled to remove the scale; then rolled to the required thickness; after which it is passed into the hands of females who are seated at presses worked by hand, and by them cut at one blow into flat pieces of a particular shape, which are the future pens. Side-slitting and piercing follow, which are also done on a hand-press, fitted up with a punch and bolster ; after which the blanks, as they are called, are annealed in quantities in a muffle. The maker's name is next stamped upon them, and then they are pressed into a concave form, the last process of forming the barrel pen. Hardening, which requires great care and trouble, is done by heating in a muffle to a certain degree, after which the pens are steeped in oil, which is cleaned off by whirling them round in a cylinder. They are next scoured by the same process, with the exception that powdered crucibles and other cutting substances are placed in the cylinder along with the pens, which produces on all a bright surface. The grinding on the point is done with great rapidity on an emory wheel, after which they go to the " slitter,'' who is provided with a pair of cutting shears fitted into a hand-press so accurately that a careful examination is necessary to detect that the two blades are not one. The pen is rested on the portion at the bottom, the handle turned, and the slit made. The shades of blue and straw-color are produced by heat. The pens are placed in a cylinder in large quantities, which revolves on a charcoal stove, and the change of 144 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; color watched until that desired is attained, when the cylinder and its contents are removed. The brilliancy of the external sur- face is given by lac dissolved in naphtha, to which heat is applied until the spirit evaporates, when the lac alone remains, and the pen preserves its lustre, and is finished. The white marks on some are produced by grinding them at such points on an emory wheel. I have been thus particular in detailing the process of making a steel pen for the gratification of those who use them, that they may know what labor is required to produce a thing so small and useful. The girls employed in their manufacture pre- sented a better appearance than any others I saw in England, about the workshops. They were well clothed, healthful, and had quite intelligent faces. I spoke to one who was grinding pens, an employment very hard upon the fingers, and she gave ready and respectful replies to my inquiries. As I left her, a companion asked, ^'What is he?" ^'Oh! an American; I know him by his sharp face, and the kind manner in which he spoke to me." The variety of the manufactures of Birmingham is great, and her products singular. In proof of this I can say that she has sent forth almost every article that can be made from iron and com- posites, as well as cotton and flax. The skill and ingenuity of her artisans are astonishing, and the readiness of her master- workmen to manufacture anything proverbial, no matter what it may be, so they get paid. The " News of the World," a London publication of July 20, 1851, said that ^^it is a matter of no- toriety that the strongest and stoutest, the best and the cheap- est slave-fetters to be found, are manufactured in Birmingham ;" and it is equally notorious that she furnished rifles, swords, mus- kets, and artillery to the enemies of Great Britain, both in Africa and India, thereby giving evidence that as it was, and is her business to manufacture, she is ready and willing to furnish arms to friend or foe, so that she is the gainer. There is not much of a romantic character in Birmingham, but some sections of the surrounding country present fine scenery, as well as ruins old, and massive halls. The town of Hales-Owen, celebrated as the birthplace and burial-place of Shenstone, the OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 145 poet, is distant about seven miles, and near it are the Leasowes, the once sylvan home of the bard. I walked from Birmingham to the town named for the purpose of leisurely viewing the coun- try, and observing what was curious on the route. During my ramble, I stopped several times at the small workshops on the road, and the scene that one of them presented it is difficult to describe. The place was small, with a forge and anvil for two workmen. I made an apology to an old man for my intrusion, which was kindly received, and at his invitation I took a seat. He and his wife, an aged grayhaired woman, were busily engaged in making nails for the heavy shoes worn by the rustics and la- boring poor of the country. I expressed surprise at a woman being thus employed, and asked whether it was a usual thing. " Oh yes ! I ha' been at it for more than sixty years,'' said the woman ; " and there are many women beside me at nail-making." " For sixty years I why, how old are you, madam ?" I inquired. "I will be sixty-eight soon; and I was put at the business when I was but six years old; and it was not uncommon i' that day for youngsters to be put to work so soon.'' "How much do you earn in a day?" "Not much, sir. A person maun work hard for thirteen or fourteen hours, and then be a very good han,' to earn eighteen pence, out of which he maun pay for his fire, and find the tools.'^ " The wages were better once ?" I asked. "Yes; but that's, a long while ago. The masters are always cutting down wages, and now a great many of our neighbors are on the strike against a reduction of four shillings i' the pound.'' " But what's the cause of the reduction ?" " That we cannot tell. The masters always have some excuse for cutting off the wages of the poor. Every year they're at it, and I don't think they'll ever stop." I told her that she was so old that she ought to quit work, and rest for the balance of her days. " Yes, I wish I could ; but if I do na' work, I must go to the workhouse or starve, and I don't wish to do either. I have worked long enough, and I think I ought to be rich ; but it is 13 146 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ; not sucli as ought to be rich as are so ; and as I am poor, I must work on till I die, which canno' be long now." I stayed some time conversing with this pair. They informed me that they paid a shilling rent per week for their house, and earned about enough, when work was to be had, to keep them from want. Their clothing was scanty, and their house poorly furnished. The old woman's sight was very dim, and when she turned her dull eyes upon me I could not help but pity her hope- less condition. She was on the verge of the grave, and by the sternest necessity was compelled to bend to her daily task over the anvil to earn a living at a species of labor the most arduous and trying to man. I parted with them, after giving them a few pence, and they both came to the door and bade me adieu with a blessing. Hales-Owen lies in a valley, and is principally famous for its proximity to the Leasowes, the once romantic home of the poet. That estate is now sadly neglected to what it was in the bard's time ; no ^^rural fays and fairies'^ deign to tread its ruined walks, and but few pilgrims roam through its arbors. For many years it was a favorite resort of the admirers of cultivated nature, and pensive lovers ; but, like all sublunary things, its days of glory have gone, and desolation rules in the classic domain. The church of the town is remarkable for a very beautiful spire of great altitude, and for containing an urn to the memory of Shenstone. His grave is in the churchyard immediately be- side a footpath, and as its stone covering is level with the earth, it is worn by the tread of many feet, until the inscription is nearly obliterated. I arrived in the village sufficiently early to meet the aged sexton at the shrine before he had gotten through with his morning duties, and with his permission I spent some time in the church. He was a talkative old man, with a fund of legendary lore, and quite amiable in his manners. He conducted me through the ancient edifice, pointing out the most remarkable tombs, and sat quietly chatting of his early days and courtship in the walks of the Leasowes, whilst I copied the verses on the urn to the poet's memory. Before us was the memorial ; at my side arose a clustered Gothic column; the grayhaired old man was seated near OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 147 me, and the subdued rays of the sun fell on his figure through the mullioned window in the choir. It was a rich scene, and caused me to think it not an unapt picture of a sprig of forest America, in converse with a true representative of old England. The lines on the tribute are no doubt in the published works of the bard, but I have no recollection of overseeing them before. The poet of Hales-Owen was celebrated in his day ; but, at present, only a few persons turn out of their way to pay homage to his genius, and a fee to the sexton. The inscription is as follows : — WILL. SHENSTONE. Ob. 11th Feby. 1763— ^t. 49. Whoe'er thou art, with reverence tread These sacred mansions of the dead ; Not that the monumental bust, Or sumptuous tomb here guards the dust Of rich or great : (Let wealth, rank, birth Sleep undistinguished in the earth : ) This simple urn records a name That shines with more exalted fame. Reader! if genius, taste refined, A native elegance of mind ; If virtue, science, manly sense ; If wit which never gave offence ; The calmest head, the tenderest heart, In thy esteem e'er claimed a part. Ah ! smite thy breast and di'op a tear, For know thy Shenstone's dust lies here! The poetry of the lines is of that class that is said "to belong to neither gods nor men;" nor is the statement respecting the resting-place of the bard's ashes true. But it is the rhymer's license to deal in fiction, and, therefore, the assertion may be al- lowed for convenience sake. Thousands who visit Westmin- ster Abbey believe that England's greatest men lie buried there, when the truth is that the remains of three or four only are in- terred in that celebrated mausoleum. Shakspeare, Dryden, Pope, Milton, Gray, Goldsmith, and many others have monuments in the grand old abbey, but their dust moulders afar from the spot. Hales-Owen is the picture of an English town a hundred years 148 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ; ago. Secluded and nestled in a valley, it receives but few visitors ; and as its inhabitants are content with a retired life, they seldom go far from their dwellings. When a stranger comes among them, as I did, they evidently regard his advent as a remarkable event in the history of the place, if I may be allowed to judge from the commotion my presence among them produced. From thence to Dudley, a distance of six miles, there is an al- most unbroken hamlet. The tall chimneys of the forges emit a black smoke, and the steam from the engines at the coal-pits forms a strong contrast to the dark vapor. At one of the villages there was a meeting in session of the workmen on the strike, and the condition of the men who formed the assemblage was far from flattering. They were badly clothed, and pale and sickly. I stayed and listened to the speakers for some time, but none of them proposed a reasonable means of permanent relief. They were illiterate, and spoke the grating dialect of the country, which was certainly best suited to the audience, and though plain and com- mon-place language was used, it was such as the workmen wanted to hear. In a conversation with some of the men, I learned the particulars of the strike; and their statements confirmed those made by the old man and his wife respecting labor and wages. They appeared to think, however, that the final result of their action would be to accept the reduced prices, and work and starve on! The houses in the villages are miserable hovels, a degree supe- rior to the thatched cottages of the Irish peasantry — and a degree only. They are tolerably well lighted, and contain some furni- ture, but not much. The most of them are kept clean, so far as that is possible in an atmosphere of black smoke, and the few articles of household goods they contain are those of utility. There are numerous coal-pits on the route — some of them of great depth; but my curiosity did not prompt me to descend into them. The workmen engaged in raising the iron and coal (for both are obtained from the same pit) informed me that their wages varied from five to ten shillings per week, and then they were compelled to labor very hard to earn that much. I saw boys, and even women at work at these places, assorting and OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 149 sliovelling coal into wagons, some of whom earned the miserable pittance of two shillings in six days. One of the girls was a fine- looking lass of prepossessing appearance, and it was a sickening sight to see her laboring, like a galley-slave, with a shovel among the inky fuel. But what else was she to do? She could get no other work, and if she did not do that, she must starve. Many of the children of the district are sent to cheap schools, where they are instructed in the rudiments of reading and writ- ing — a blessing their parents never enjoyed. This, however, is not general, and thousands of the present generation must grow up in brutal ignorance. Dudley is a town of about 15,000 inhabitants, and, as it is located in the coal and iron district, it carries on a considerable trade. On an eminence overlooking it, stand the ruins of the Castle, a picturesque old pile, said to have been erected in the year 700, by a Saxon chief. The great halls and once princely apartments where, of yore, the gay and chivalrous assembled, are now weather-worn ruins and roofless cells, echoing only to the tread of the tourist or the sounding storm. The remains of the tower of the Donjon-Keep are very imposing, and command a view of surpassing beauty and extent. While I was upon them, a thunderstorm came up, making the heavens black. The dark smoke belched forth from the thousand towering chimneys in the surrounding valleys, and added a deeper blackness to the angry clouds, while the iron furnaces which cover the landscape sent out the glare of their red flames, making a burning and smoking hell of the plain; nor is the expression too strong when we in- troduce into the picture the swarthy forms of the workmen glid- ing about the apertures to the sunless caves beneath, and the forked lightning as it broke through the black and muttering clouds above. 13= 160 THE FOOTPATFI AND HIGHWAY; CHAPTEK XII. LICHFIELD — STAFFORDSHIRE POTTERIES — CHESTER AN OLD FRIEND — PRESTON, ETC. From Birmingham to LichlBeld, is a distance of twenty miles, and, as the last-named town is celebrated for being the birthplace of Dr. Johnson, I wended my way thither. It contains one of the finest cathedrals in England, and a sta- tue of the celebrated essayist, both of which are sufficient attrac- tions for the stranger, and draw hundreds to the town who would never think of visiting it without some such objects of interest were there. The building is very large, being 491 feet by 151, and surrounded by a splendid close, or inclosure. It was erected in the year 1130, and suffered much during the civil wars, at which time it was garrisoned by the royalists and besieged by the parliamentary forces. The front is elaborately ornamented, and adorned with a great number of effigies in stone of saints and kings, and exquisitely chiselled scrolls and devices. Some repairs have recently been made, but as they are only partial they rather destroy than add to the beauty of the edifice. The interior is really magnificent, and contains several statues of great beauty, among which are those of Dr. Johnson, Garrick, and Lady Mary Wortley Montague, and others less distinguished. The finest statuary is a work of Chantrey, erected over the tomb of two chil- dren. The statue of the great lexicographer is neither a fine piece of sculpture nor an attractive one. It is placed in the market- square, not far from the birthplace of the Doctor, and represents him in a recumbent position and thoughtful mood. The panels of the pedestal are ornamented with bas-reliefs, illustrating events in the life of Johnson, and an inscription setting forth that the statue was presented to the town by the chancellor of the dis- trict. Lichfield was once the residence of Dr. Darwin, and the OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 151 house in which he lived and wrote his " Zoonomia" is shown to visitors. At St. John's Free School, Dr. Johnson, Addison, Garrick, and other eminent men, received the rudiments of their education. The town is quiet, and contrasts strongly with its neighbors, Wolverhampton, Wednesbury, and Walsall, which are under a cloud of black smoke, while the former is open to the clear light of day. As I pursued my way into the country, I turned to look at its fine cathedral, and a glorious scene burst upon my sight. It is a massive and grand pile, soaring above the surrounding build- ings in majestic splendor. The distant prospect of the noble edifice alone should be a sufficient inducement for making a visit to Lichfield. I left the birthplace of the great scholar with feelings akin to regret, strolled along under the shade of the hedges to the station, and took passage to Colwich, in Staffordshire, at which there is a branch railway leading into the Potteries. The village is small, and presents no attractions beyond its church and the walls of a nunnery near by. While waiting for the train, I paid a visit to the place of worship, and gazed around the interior upon the tablets and memorials which the friends of deceased relatives have raised to commemorate the virtues of the dead. In one part is a monument to Sir Thomas Wolsey, who was drowned some hun- dreds of years ago, and whose family has been extinct for ages. The effigy is sadly mutilated, and the face is divested of its nasal appendage, which gives it a comical and ludicrous expression. In the chancel there are several really beautiful tablets to the memory of different members of the Anson family, and a number of me- morials to other individuals less distinguished, and lower in England's classification of men. The nunnery is a short distance from the church, situate on. a hill, and surrounded by high walls and shrubbery. It was founded about twelve years ago, and its occupants have the name of being kind to the poor and attentive to the sick and friendless. The village lies a short distance from the station, and is princi- pally built upon one street. The houses are humble places, hun- dreds of years old, mostly covered with ivy, or festooned with 162 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; clambering jessamine and other flowers, and look the very reality of the cottages of English poetry, and, for aught I know, are. They did not detain me long, and taking the train^ I was soon carried away, through rural scenery, to the potteries of Stafford- shire. Stoke-upon-Trent, a forbidding town, and its sister villages, Burslem and Lane-End, both of which share its characteristics, constitute the principal part of the earthenware and Chinaware district, and are mean, filthy places, although exhibiting great ac- tivity and bustle. The pottery business is a disagreeable and laborious one in nearly all its branches, and furnishes work to men, women, and children. The ornamental designs which adorn the ware are put on by transferring pictures printed from copperplate engravings. The process is simple, and, when a person sees it applied, there is no mystery as to the manner in which the accurate drawings and exquisite designs are produced on China and other earthenwares. I conversed with numbers of workmen, and all of them appeared very well satisfied with their wages ; but they informed me that it was a bright time for them, and they were fearful it would not last. The towns in this district are straggling places, or rather a con- tinuation of villages. The houses of the operatives have no par- ticular charms, and as the same black coal is used in the furnaces that serves for fuel throughout the kingdom, the atmosphere is filled with smoke, and the dwellings are dingy with soot. The rustics are a clownish set, and mostly dressed in a costume un- known in the United States. Knee-breeches are common, and coarse boots, with soles full three-quarters of an inch thick, filled with heavy nails, are the usual coverings for the feet. The dialect is broad and unintelligible, and unless a stranger has had some- previous acquaintance with the jargon of the natives, he is likely to be as far from understanding their outrageous language as he would be the speech of a Kickapoo or Pottawatomie Indian. Wet weather did not improve the appearance of the villages, nor was there anything to detain me after examining the manu- factories. So, once more taking train, I proceeded on my journey to Chester, an ancient city, situate on the Puver Dee, about eigh- teen miles from Liverpool. It is walled round, and the houses on OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 153 several of the streets are so built as to form an arcade of the second stories for a considerable distance, which affords a conve- nient promenade and protection to pedestrians in stormy weather. The walls are nearly three miles in length, and pass through the new part of the city, and around the old. They are a fashionable resort, and present many fine views of the valley of the river, and the surrounding country. At one point is a tower whereon Charles I. stood and witnessed the defeat of his army on a neighboring moor in 1645. Chester is, properly considered, a remarkable town, and it is one that defies description. The traveller may write about the footwalks of the main avenues being in the second stories of the houses, but he cannot convey to the minds of his readers a picture of the reality. To say that you can walk a considerable distance under cover, one story above ground, will give perhaps the best idea of the arcades of Chester to a person who has never seen them. In Trinity Church, in a street called the \Yatergate, in the lower part of the town, near the walls, are the graves of Par- nell, the poet, and Matthew Henry, the commentator. The sexton conducted me through the edifice, and pointed out the tombs I sought. The tablet to the memory of the bard has been broken, and now lies as rubbish in the vaults beneath the floor ; that to the memory of the divine bears a slight inscription, and is a very plain affair. The most interesting building is the cathedral, a noble Gothic edifice, once used as an abbey. One of the entrances is through an arched way, formerly the garden gate of the ascetics, which leads to the walks connected with the religious establishment. The interior of the structure is adorned with carvings and orna- mental devices, and has a triforium, where, it is said, the nuns of yore were accustomed to sing the praises of the Deity, and bow their sacred heads. Tombs are numerous ; but the inhabitants are neither famous nor remarkable for anything but the monuments to their memories, and therefore not worth naming. I visited the silent cells, where of old the Eremites were wont to offer up their orisons, and trod the cloisters with a step solemn and slow, re- flecting upon the ancient day, and the revolutions made by time. 154 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHV/AY ; The lioary walls, the crumbling fane, and the sacred gloom of the inner court, invested the venerable pile with a charm irresistible in its influences to lead the mind captive to pleasing contemplation and divine melancholy. For some weeks I had been a solitary wanderer in lonely places, without the company of friends, or the gratification of seeing a familiar face. Wherever my wanderings led, there was I alone, until reaching Liverpool, where I unexpectedly met with one of my fellow-passengers, whom I had not seen since we crossed the great deep together. He had been to Italy and through other continental countries since we parted, and bore the efi'ects of for- eign travel upon his face, in the shape of a pair of well cultivated mustaches, which he became admirably. Our meeting was one of sincere pleasure and mutual happiness, and riveted the chaia of friendship stronger than before. There was nothing of cold indifi"erence in his manner, and when he grasped my hand a gleam of uncontrolled delight shot across his manly face, and lit up his cheerful countenance. There was a sincerity in that wel- come that will cause me ever to remember my worthy friend and fellow-voyager, Andrew McMakin, Esq., of the Philadelphia ^'American Courier," and esteem him while life lasts. "We com- pared notes, asked a thousand questions of each other, and parted once more to pursue our respective journeys. The great port was, as usual, wet and gloomy, and by no means attractive. I left it for Preston, in Lancashire, a town situate on the River Ribble, a stream of considerable size and great beauty. It is the cleanest of the English manufacturing towns, and presents an appearance entirely different from its sister cities. There is a walk of a mile or more in extent along the river, which affords some fine prospects and much pleasure to the denizens of the place. An arbor of trees forms a promenade on an eminence overlooking the pensive Ribble, and no town of the same size has so many facilities for the rational enjoyment of its inhabitants as Preston. The streets, in the upper part, are kept in excellent condition; and although the cotton-mills are numerous, still the black smoke of their chimneys does not discolor the houses to the extent that those of Manchester and Sheffield suffer from the sooty OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 155 vapor. The laboring people do not differ from the same class in the other towns, if I may judge from their general appearance; but the mass of the citizens look well, and their condition, with the cleanliness of the place, impresses one favorably with the town and its inhabitants. Arkwright, the inventor of the spinning- mule, was a native of Preston, and realized a fortune in its neigh- borhood. The citizens of the adjoining districts speak lightly of the place, and ''Proud Preston, poor people, Low chiu'ch aud high steeple," is regarded as a correct character of it and its denizens. From Preston to Lancaster is a pleasant ride ^' by rail,'' and as the road lies near the hills and sea, much that is attractive is to be seen. This town is blessed with an ancient castle, of formidable and imposing appearance, which serves the double purpose, at present, of jail and fortification. Near the place are the Lancas- ter Sands, that part of Morecambe Bay which lies between Ulver- stone and Lancaster, and which is made bare twice a day by the receding tides, excepting the channels of the Rivers Kent and Leven, and over which is a road for carriages and pedestrians. The government pays guides to direct travellers across at the pro- per time; but, in spite of the precaution, lives are frequently lost, and the passage is a dangerous one, unless a person has an experi- enced pilot. The distance over is eleven miles, and a man must travel pretty fast if he wishes to avoid being overtaken by the ris- ing waters. 156 CHAPTER XIII. THE LAKE COUNTRY OF ENGLAND. After leaving the town of Lancaster, I passed rapidly into the mountainous districts of Westmoreland and the lakes. The hills are rugged and rocky, but where the grass grows the surface is of the richest velvet green. I remained a while at the ancient town of Kendal, a place of 13,000 inhabitants, situate on the River Kent, a brawling brook, from which it takes its name. The ruins of a castle adjoin the place; and a church of the olden times, con- taining a number of curious monuments and relics of the past, in- vites the stranger to a stroll within its walls. My walk from this mountain village to Windermere was over a rough and hilly road, and, as the day was quite warm, the perspiration rolled from me as I trudged along under a heavy knapsack. The bright and trans- parent waters of the lake at last gladdened my sight, and after a comfortable rest at an inn, I pursued my journey to its sylvan shores. The village of Bowness overlooks the water, and com- mands some fine prospects ; but as the highlands partially shut out the view to the south, I plodded on to Ambleside, along the eastern shore of the lake, which village is situated at its northern extremity. Windermere is the largest sheet of water in England, but the scenery is tame, except in the immediate neighborhood of the hamlet just named, at which place the mountains rise majesti- cally to a considerable height, and as I approached them their bold and rugged fronts stood out in wild beauty against the even- ing sky. Ambleside lies in a valley, near a stream called the Rothay, which connects Rydal Water with its more extensive neighbor, and is principally important as a temporary residence of tourists to the surrounding country. The majority of the in- habitants keep furnished lodgings for visitors, and the traveller finds but little difficulty in obtaining excellent accommodations OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 157 in a private house; with all the retirement of a home^ at moderate charges. I entered the village tired enough, and, observing a notice of "lodgings to let'^ conspicuously displayed in the front window of a comely little cottage, I made application for them, and was ac- cepted as a renter. The hostess was a plain young Scotch woman, of agreeable manners, and cheerful disposition. She conducted me to my allotted apartments, and hastened to prepare my tea. The sleeping-room was clean to a fault, the sheets and quilts white as snow, the place neatly carpeted, and provided with table and chairs. A little girl brought me a pitcher of water, and with a slight tap at the door asked me what further I would require, and what I would have for tea. She took ray order with a smile of ac- knowledgment, and noiselessly descended the stair to aid her mo- ther in fulfilling it. In due time she again tapped at my door, and with a courtesy and smile, said; " Please, sir, tea is ready." At her bidding I followed to the dining-room. The meal was prepared with care, the cloth was spotless white, the tea-set clear China, and the apartment plain but neat. Hot water had been poured into the cup to keep it warm, and the bread was cut into thin slices, buttered, for my convenience. "If you require anything,'' said the little dame, "please ring the bell, sir;'' and, with a smile of cheerfulness, she left me alone. The tea had been drawn, the egg was done to a nicety, and my meal was grateful. The master, as the father of a family is designated in England, whether high or low, returned home, shortly after ; but a formal recognition, as if he felt himself inferior to me, was all he uttered. The Vv^ife and child were like him, and neither of them ventured to converse with me, even at my solicitation. They preserved a respectful silence when I spoke, or replied in monosyllables, not knowing what to make of me. I did not persevere in my attempts to encourage them to sociability, as they were clearly unaccus- tomed to meet lodgers who put them on terms of equality. I considered myself fortunate in obtaining a home with mine host, 14 158 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ; and after a sliort rest from a fatiguing walk, clambered up Lougli- rigg Fell, a bold jutting mountain which rises immediately at the head of the lake, and affords a comprehensive and magnificent prospect of the surrounding country. Windermere stretches away to the south, its shores lined with gradually sloping hills, while minor basins of water lie among the surrounding mountains, and rapid streams foam and roar at the foot of the rocky highland. Behind, to the north, the highest peaks loom up to the skies with their broken and irregular summits, while in the vale beneath lies the little town, with its church spire pointing to heaven, like a startled dove nestling under the broad shadow of the mountain. Kydal Knab or Knab Scar, near the residence of the poet Words- worth, forms the background to the picture that way in connec- tion with bold and towering cliffs, and to the west the scenery is wild and chaotic, giving a strong impression of what is the savage grandeur of more rugged mountain districts. At the foot of the hill in that direction there is a village, and beyond the valley rises the tower of a really beautiful church (surmounted by a cross), perched upon a knoll in a meadow of the brightest green, along the borders of which rushes a crystal stream which takes its rise amoflg the springs of the Langdale Pikes, two high hills to the north-west. The view comprehends the principal mountains of that section of the island, and affords distant prospects of Conis- ton and other lakes in addition to Windermere. One of the best walks about Ambleside is that along the west- ern shore of the Roth ay. The high cliffs of Loughrigg Fell and its neighboring hills overhang innumerable cottages and villas of great beauty, whose walls are partially hid by an umbrageous growth of ivy and clambering roses. The dark bills rise abruptly and precipitously behind these elfin haunts, and add greatly to the charms of the little domiciles. The village of Eydal contains but few dwellings, nearly all of which are of the character of those to which reference has just been made. Wordsworth's house is a secluded cottage, quietly perched upon the side of a towering and jagged mountain, which rises like a black wall behind it, while around is a thick growth of trees, and near by a modest little church. The lake is a sheet of transparent water about half a OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 159 mile long, completely encircled by hills, whose frowning fore- heads overshadow its glassy surface. A road winds along its shores, and at one point, at the northern end, the old highway leads over a rocky pass to the adjacent water of Grasmere, in the church of which village is Wordsworth's grave. The view from this road (which is only used by pedestrians at present) either way is splendid, and amply repays the tourist for climbing up its rugged and stony surface. The two sheets of water are small, clear, and picturesque, and present a scene of great splendor. Far away to the north of Grasmere village, which lies on the shores of the lake in a verdant valley, looms up Helm Crag, on whose summit nature has performed a singular freak, by so dis- posing some heavy fragments of rock as to form the perfect figure of a huge lion couchant, with flowing mane, and ponderous paw resting upon what appears to be the body of a dead lamb. The illusion is perfect, and the forms clearly and distinctly defined. Around, high hills rise up, and with the exception of a road lead- ing over Dunmail Kaise, a pass at the northern end of the valley, there is no apparent outlet from Grasmere. The aspect of the country under a bright sun is fine, but when the god of day de- parts, and evening's shade v/s fall on the sides of the hills, the prospect is one of singular beauty. The rich, soft, velvety ver- dure peculiar to the humid atmosphere of England becomes mag- nificent to the eye in the long twilight, and when the hills are covered with it, the effect is exquisite. I rambled for miles around the lakes named, and sought out secluded retreats by roaring cascades and rapid mountain rills, where it was pleasure " To sit on rocks and muse o'er flood and fell, Or slowly trace the forest's shady scene." I never had a great partiality for the bards of the Lake School, and confess myself unable to comprehend much of Wordsworth's heavy verse; but I admire their haunts, and agree that they exhibited taste in the selection of their homes. Nowhere can the poet find scenery better calculated to win him from the world than in Cumberland and Westmoreland. Rude, rugged nature is 160 there untamed and wild; and when looking down into the chasms between the hills, from the crown of Loughrigg Fell, Shellej^'s sublime lines flash upon the mind : — "Is this the spot where the giant earthquake Taught her young ruin ?" And in wandering along the roaring streams and quiet meadows of the vales, wherein the husbandman labors under the shadow of the rocky walls of the mountain, a quiet musing steals into your soul, and you wonder, not that England has produced so many poets, but that she has produced so few. Almost every English- man should be a bard. Near Ambleside are some faint traces still visible of a Koman fortification, built by that heroic and wonderful people when they held possession of that remote and secluded country. They are near the head of Windermere, and under the shadows of Lough- rigg Fell, and served as a post in olden time for the protection of the interests of Rome in the mountain sections of England. A road then led over the top of one of the mountains, connecting with other military points further north, and at this day tiles are occa- sionally dug up, which once formed a part of that paved way. After nearly a week's residence at the quiet village, I set out on a pedestrian journey to Keswick, at Derwentwater, but unfortu- nately was taken ill on the road, and compelled to return. In passing the head of llydal Water, I encountered a gypsy camp, in which were several of that people. They were a rough, ill- looking set, filthy and wretchedly poor, and their general appear- ance did not lead me to desire an intimate acquaintance. Their tent was pitched under a ledge of rocks, and several of them were stretched out on the grass along the lake shore, while an old woman was busily engaged in preparing their morning's meal. I passed them without entering into conversation, and was entirely satisfied to get out of their vicinity, as their vagabond looks fully satisfied me that honesty of purpose was not a main feature of their characters. I pursued my route for six miles from Amble- side, and then returned, and remained until my health was com- paratively restored. 161 In my invalid state, I took occasional walks and drives in the vicinity, and once extended my rambles as for as the church at Grasmere. The shrine is now the tomb of Wordsworth, and on my visit a neat tablet with a medallion likeness of the poet had just been placed in the wall. The bard worshipped at times in the edifice, and quietly sleeps where he was wont to listen to the strains of the morning hymn. Both he and Byron are buried in humble village churches, and both tombs are alike the objects of pilgrimages. In my strolls around the country, I met several parties of Germans with their knapsacks at their sides, slowly walking along, and admiring the scenery. They were gentlemanly, and appeared much pleased to meet an American. They nearly always took me for an Englishman, and treated me as such until I informed them otherwise, when they at once became sociable and commu- nicative. One of the party usually spoke English, and did the conversational part in that language at hotels and in company, while the others occasionally put in a word or listened to what was said. Several of those whom I met were students from Berlin and Heidelberg, passing the summer vacation in England, and all of them were sociable, intelligent, and friendly. From Lake Windermere to the head of Coniston Water, there is a broken country, greatly diversified, which presents some splendid prospects. Soon after leaving the village, the tall peaks of Langdale Pikes rise upon the sight, and then follow Wether- lamb and Coniston Old Man, one of the tallest peaks in England. The village of Hawkshead is on the route, and is remarkable for being the place at which Wordsworth, Coleridge, and others of equal distinction, received the rudiments of their education. It is a small, straggling hamlet, in a valley, between the hills which line the shores of Windermere and Coniston lakes, and never would receive a visit, were it not for its favorable and romantic location. Coniston Water is a much more pleasing and secluded lake, though smaller than AVindermere. Tall mount- ains rise around it, and the village of the same name, at its northern extremity, is in every respect handsome. My ride through this part of the country was agreeable, and as the driver li* 162 was an admirer of nature, and well acquainted with the beauties of the route, the time was passed profitably and satisfactorily. We entered the town of Broughton, and after looking at its attractions, I took my departure for Furness Abbey, one of those ancient ruins so numerous in England, which owe their origin to the monks of old. It is situate in a secluded valley called the Glen of Deadly Nightshade, from the quantity of that plant which grows there, and its extensive walls bear ample testimony to its former greatness. One of the gates of the outer wall still remains entire, and the great east window rises to the height of fifty-four feet, while the towers and walls around add grandeur to the majestic pile. — Like all the abbeys, it is in the Grothic style of architecture, and the ivy, as it twines around and through the arches and windows, gives ornament to the ruin. At present, there is a hotel close to it, where tourists are accommodated, and the walks in the grounds have been improved and restored so as to afford pleasant rambles to those who love to stroll through the retreats once sacred to the eremite and recluse. From Fur- ness Abbey to Morecambe Bay is but a short distance, and thence passengers are carried by steamboat to Fleetwood, a dis- tance of sixteen miles or more. Near Piel (the railway terminus from the monastery) is an island, on which are the remains of a castle of considerable extent, but now useless and deserted, stand- ing a lonely monument of decayed power and greatness in that section of Great Britain. I passed through Preston and the old town of Wigan, to Liverpool, regretting my inability to complete the entire circuit of the English lakes, but content with the beauty of those I was fortunate enough to visit. OR^ WANDERINGS Or AN AMERICAN. 1G3 CHAPTER Xiy. GLASGOW — ITS APPEARANCE — CATHEDRAL AND UNIVERSITY. The fogs which occur on the English coast prevent the traveller by sea from obtaining good views of the shore, and obscure the land during more than half the time. In a trip by steamer from Liverpool to the Clyde, I was deprived of the coast scenery in consequence of the hazy weather, and although the vessel ran tolerably near the shore, no part of it was visible. After being at sea all night, we neared Scotland, and at early dawn I beheld for the first time " Tlie land of brown lieatli and shaggy wood," in the shape of Ailsa Craig, a bold conical rock which rises from the ocean off the Ayrshire coast. The Frith of Clyde is wide and deep, being an arm of the sea extending inland a consider- able distance — its northern shores lined with high hills, while away in the blue distance loom up the softened outlines of the Scottish mountains. The Isle of Arran was soon passed, after Ailsa Craig, and then rose to view the Castle and Rock of Dum- barton. The city of Greenock and other places on the shore commanded our attention, but I saw nothing particularly worthy of note, except the walls of Newark Castle, until near the termi- nus of the canal which connects the Clyde and Forth, at which point rise the ruins of Dunglass Castle, in which is a plain monu- ment of some twenty feet in height to the memory of Henry Bell, the first successful steam navigator of the Clyde. The walls of the castle are overgrown with ivy, and as the old pile stands upon a small promontory, it presents a pretty scene. The river grows very narrow as the traveller approaches the city after leaving Greenock, and the channel is traceable by a number of round stone towers, about sixteen feet high, placed 164 THE FOOTPATII at regular distances on both sides of the stream nearly up to Glasgow. Each pyramid is surmounted by a wooden cross, and the whole number have a fine appearance when seen in perspec- tive by one looking either up or down the river. The Clyde is not more than two hundred yards wide for four or five miles be- low the city, and is extremely difficult of navigation. Glasgow lies on both sides of the stream, and presents a beautiful pros- pect when approached by the river. The harbor is admirable, being wide and convenient, and walled on either side. It was crowded with shipping as we entered, and one particular vessel of splendid form, with tall tapering spars, was the subject of much conversation among our passengers. The English tourists on board were lauding her model, and boasting that she was equal to any clipper ever built in Yankee-land, taking for granted she was British; when a man was seen busy at the color halyards of the stranger, and in an instant the starry flag of the great Re- public rose beautifully to the mast-head of the saucy craft, and a murmur of delight ran along our decks. I felt considerable na- tional pride at the incident. As we neared the ship, we read on her stern, with some surprise, the words ^^ Liberty — New York.'' It was Sunday when we landed, and quiet reigned in the town. A young man from the Province of New Brunswick and myself took a stroll along the Green early in the afternoon, where we saw numbers of men and women lying on the grass, barefooted and indifferently clad. The women wore a shawl over the head, and the men, generally, the old-fashioned Scotch cap. At several places stands were erected, from which preachers were addressing collections of people, a common thing in Scotland of a Sunday, as we afterwards learned. The men were city missionaries, and staying at home trying to convert the heathens there, instead of going abroad to preach to those less savage. The Green is an inclosure on the northern shore of the river, within whose limits there is a drive twelve miles in extent. The ground is in a pleasant location, and must become a grand park at some future period ; but it never will be fashionable so long as crowds of ragged men and women are permitted to roll and wal- OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. iTSS low together on the grass in broad daylight. There is a fine monument to Nelson in the space, one hundred and forty-three feet high, said to be a copy of Trajan's Pillar at Kome. The streets at the west end of Glasgow are handsome, and far more attractive than those of London. The houses are built of an ash-colored sandstone, which is easily worked, and as it does not readily absorb the smoke of the bituminous coal, it keeps clean for a considerable time. Rows of buildings and whole streets are constructed of it. Argyle, Buchanan, and Queen Streets are the principal thoroughfares, and they are lined with handsome shops, dwellings, and public edifices, nearly all of which are of the stone alluded to. The Exchange and some of the banks are solid, imposing structures. The residences at the west end are the finest erections, and command especial notice. They excel, in many cases, the much extolled palaces of the fashionable quar- ter of London, and are both pretty and clean externally. The city lies on very irreguhir ground, and forcibly reminds the American of Baltimore in some particulars; a place it very much resembles, both in the number of its hills and the variety of its monuments. In St. George's Square, there is a fluted Doric column to thf*. memory of Sir Walter Scott, eighty feet high; and pedestrian statues to Sir John Moore, and Watt, the improver of the steam- engine ; while in front of the Exchange is a bronze equestrian image of Wellington, and in the Irongate, at the Market Cross, one of William of Orange. The old part of the city is dull and singular. The streets are narrow, the houses high. They are mostly inhabited by the poor, and built in a style of architecture by no means fascinating. The new streets are wide, straight, and clean. They cross each other at right angles, and are well paved and lighted. The Bromelaw fronts on the Clyde, and is very wide, affording a fine view the entire length of the city, looking down stream from the bridge. It is a noble avenue, not unlike the Levee at New Orleans in some respects, and at times almost as much crowded. The bridge across the river is not so large, but in every way as strongly built as Lon- don Bridge. The traveller who has visited the English cities 166 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; before going to Glasgow forms a favorable opinion of the Scottish commercial capital, and sees less that is objectionable in its streets than will meet his gaze in the majority of the seaports of England. The inhabitants are friendly and intelligent, but cautious and distrustful. They are active and industrious, and keep their streets tolerably free from beggars, so much so as to cause the stranger who has been in England to notice the fact. Near the city, on a mount once a retreat of the Druids, is a modern burial-place called the Necropolis, which contains many tombs. The land is high, rugged, and commanding; and it affords a fine prospect of the surrounding country. On the very summit stands a towering monument to John Knox, the Reformer, on the top of which is a fine statue of the stern Presbyterian holding a Bible in one hand, and apparently look- ing down upon his native city with an ever watchful eye. The grounds are tastefully laid out, and many of the tombs are chaste and elegant. One to Motherwell, the poet, is particularly good on account of the fine bust of the bard it contains. I noticed much affectation of grief in the forms and epitaphs of some of the tombs, and one or two of them were overstrained attempts at originality and eccentricity deserving rebuke. As we were com- ing out of the ground, a man in the costume of a laborer was applying for admittance, but was not allowed to enter, '' because," said the gatekeeper, '^you are not dressed well enough." They don't bury poor people in that graveyard, thought I. Immediately below the Necropolis, on the opposite bank of the Molindinar Burn, located on high ground, stands the ancient Cathedral of Glasgow, one of the splendid structures of the Catholics, erected as early as 1133. It lies directly in front of the statue of the great Reformer, and makes, when viewed from the eminence, a fine foreground to the splendid prospect below. The crypt is a noble work ; and the roof considered by competent judges one of the best specimens of Gothic groining and masonry extant. It is within it that Sir Walter Scott laid one of the finest scenes in " Rob Roy," and being desirous to learn the precise place, I made inquiry of the old sexton. He grew eloquent at once, and replied : '•' Yer standin' on it noo, mon. That's just the OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 167 spot, and there is the column against which the pulpit was raised. in which the minister was preaching. Francis Osbaldistone leaned against this shaft, and Andrew Fairservice, ye ken him? stood alang-side o' Francis, and as he was learned in the true doctrines o' the kirk, listened whether the preacher said onything contrary to John Knox's views. While they were standin' there, Rob Roy cam' in by that door, and, stealing stealthily behind Francis, touched his shoulder, and whispered him that Rashleigh was in town to assassinate him. Ye knaw the rest. Ah ! yes, that's just the vary place ; but there are nae many persons ask me aboot it. Ye maun hae read much o' Sir Walter's writing, or I'm mista'en." I told him that my reading was not extensive, but what it was I remembered, and asked him for the great column to which the novelist makes allusion. ^'There,'^ said he, pointing to a glo- rious supporter of the gloomy crypt. " That's it, an' it's a' solid stone and mortar ; and there is the main arch ; eight different arches spring from that, and it's considered by architects the finest piece o' masonry in Scotland. When her Majesty was here, she asked aboot it, and stood just where ye are now when I showed it her." The old fellow praised the queen, and, in his laudations of her, forgot the splendid work. It is massive and wonderful, convincing the modern how superior the ancients were in architecture. Until within a few years, the building was gradually falling to decay, and the crypt was scarcely ever visited in consequence of the dampness of the department, and the faint light which entered through the choked-up windows. The government sent an archi- tect down from London to put it in repair and restore it as far as possible ; which work was admirably done, and the old pile is now clean and well lighted, affording the traveller an opportunity of examining it thoroughly. On the wall of the north porch is a slab of marble erected to the memory of nine persons named, who, according to the inscrip- tion, "suffered at the Cross of Glasgow for their testimony to the covenants and works of reformation, because they durst not own the authority of the then tyrants destroying the same, betwixt 168 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ; 1666 and 1688." Some verses of indifferent merit follow, and though the prose record is badly written, it evidently alludes to the murders perpetrated during the viceroy alty of James the Second in Scotland when Duke of York, and after, while he sat on the throne of Great Britain as king. The famous university is a sombre, heavy Gothic building, in a gloomy part of the olden city, and has no attractions beyond its age and the celebrated names connected with it. The principal room is a lofty apartment, but slightly furnished, and now used as a reading-room by the faculty. The grounds are large, but not in good order, although they were then undergoing consider- able improvement, and in a few years will be a splendid pro- menade. At the eastern extremity, on the side of the hill under a row of thorns, is the scene of the encounter between Kashleigh and Francis Osbaldistone, so graphically described by Scott in ^^Rob Hoy." An old gardener conducted me to the spot. "But," said he, ''the place is changed since Sir Walter's day." And truly it is. The Molindinar Burn is now arched over, and flows along under a covering of bricks and mortar, no longer forming the main feature in the landscape, nor adding to the beauties of the grounds. All old cities have something historical to claim attention, and those places mentioned in the preceding paragraphs are the princi- pal ones in Glasgow. A few days did not allow much opportunity for learning the habits of the people, or their social condition. I was content with a hasty glance at the city, and not disposed to search out places of folly or wretchedness. Mine host was a true Scot, and his house abominably dirty, and by no means deserving public patronage, although he thought otherwise. Before leaving, I went into a bookstore, on one of the principal streets, to purchase a copy of Tannahill's Poems, when, observ- ing the volume handed me was printed in Belfast, I asked whether it was perfect. '' That I can't tell," replied the shop- man; "but suspect not, as the only things really perfect we can get from Ireland are — beggars !" It appears that Pat and Sawney don't love each other violently. OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. ' 169 CHAPTER XV. AYR — EURNS'S COTTAGE — KIRK ALLOWAY, AND ^^TIIE BANKS O' DOON." The lands made celebrated by Burns are now included in the European tour, and he who does not visit them is considered de- ficient in taste. I went to Ayr, through the towns of Paisley, Irvin, and Troon, and passed several hours in peaceful reflection on the classic ''banks o' bonnie Doon.'^ The town of Ayr lies on both sides of the river from which it takes its name, and within sight of the ocean. The '' auld brig" is decidedly and undenia- bly ugly, with a narrow thoroughfare for foot-passengers only. The main arch is sprung, leading the observer to think the boast made by the structure, in the poem, ''I'll be a brig when j^ou're a shapeless cairn!" will most signally fail of fulfilment, as the new viaduct is both solid and in good condition. Ayr is outrageously filthy, very badly paved, has crooked streets, considerable shipping, an old castle, once famous, but now a soldier's barracks. There is a fine statue of Wallace, the great patriot of Scotland, in a niche in front of the Town Hall, sculp- tured by Thom, the famous self taught artist of Ayrshire ; and it redeems the town from contempt. The day was delightfully clear, and favorable to pedestrianism. I walked out to the birthplace of the poet, along a pleasant road, lined, the greater part of the distance, with hedges of thorns. On some parts of the route there were splendid fields waving with yellow grain, ready for the sickle, and old and young were busy gathering the bountiful harvest. At a turn in the road, about two miles from the town, I sud- denly came upon a cottage, over the door of which there is a sign 15 170 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ; setting forth that within its walls Robert Burns, the great hard of Scotland, was born. I entered the ''clay biggin," and was shown into the room in which the poet first drew breath, and passed a half hour under the straw-thatched roof, where pilgrims from every section of the world have been to pay homage to the genius of the Ayrshire ploughman. The walls are adorned with some good engravings, illustrative of different works of Burns, and a likeness of the bard. One of the pictures there, at my visit, was a scene from the "Cotter's Saturday Night," wherein the patriarchal sire is represented reading from the " big ha' Bible" before offering up a petition to the throne of mercy. The very room in which I sat suggested the scene to the bard, and there he often witnessed the incident he has so beautifully described in never-dying verse. The frame around the portrait of the poet is cut and carved full of the names of visitors, who have in this way sought celebrity. The book for the signatures of pilgrims was handed to me, and on looking over its pages I noticed the name of " A. Tennyson," written in a hand as delicate as the breathings of his own muse. The simple line had far more real admiration for the bard in it, in my eyes, than the many other names on the page, to which were attached stupid verses and senseless prose. The ruins of Alloway Kirk are a short distance from the cot- tage, and near the monument of the bard on the " banks and braes o' bonnie Doon." The old bell still hangs in the solitary belfry, and swings when " chill November's surly blasts" hurry furiously through the roofless and lonely house of prayer. All the wood- w^ork of the edifice has been carried off as mementos, and the burial-ground is a mausoleum for the dead, many of whom have been brought miles to be buried there. The tomb of Burns's father stands immediately in front of the church, and around are the graves of many who made a last request to be interred in the ground made celebrated by the genius of the peasant poet. The monument of the bard is near the church, and between it and the " Auld brig o' Boon," on which Tarn's mare Meggy met with her misfortune. The grounds around the tribute are tastefully laid out, and rich in flowers. The vestibule of the temple con- tains a marble bust of the bard, which, for beauty, exceeds any OR; WANDERINGS OP AN AMERICAN. 171 head I ever saw represented in sculpture. It is more than beau- tiful — it is glorious; and if it be a faithful likeness of Burns, then was he one of the noblest of men in form as well as mind. There is the high and comprehensive forehead — the bare temples, so strongly indicative of poetic excellence — and the massive brow and well developed organs, which so clearly indicate the giant intellect. It is the very soul of the poet, in inspiring thought, jQxed in triumphant marble, as though the artist had caught the expression of the deepest and purest inspiration as it lit up the face of the poet, and stamped it forever on imperishable Parian stone. The appearance is divine, and the pallid marble almost breathes thought. The waving locks fall in thick clusters over the ample forehead, and the rich drapery rests in soft folds on the breast and shoulders of the figure. In a case in the same department are the Bibles presented by Burns to "Highland Mary," and several other relics of the bard. I plucked a fragrant rose from the garden, and walked down to the crystal, gurgling Boon, immediately along-side the ancient bridge, which with one high and splendid arch spans the famous stream. The scenery is pretty, and the thick umbrageous wood on the banks, and the twining ivy which clings to the "keystone of the brig," and hangs in rich festoons over the walls, give a double charm to the secluded spot. I there met an intelligent, gentlemanly young Scotchman, and a beautiful girl, who, I strongly suspected, was not his sister. They entered into conver- sation with me, and became quite sociable. He was on the eve of departure for India, and had come, perhaps for the last time, to pass a few hours on "the banks and braes of bonnie Boon" before leaving his affianced bride and native land for the burning sands and sultry suns of a distant tropical clime. We wandered along the banks of the stream, and passed several hours agreeably together, after which I returned to Ayr, taking with me some ivy leaves, and my stolen rose as mementos of a pleasant visit to one of the places made world-renov/ned by genius ! 172 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; CHAPTEK XYI. THE SCOTTISH LAKES — AN INCIDENT ON LOCH KETURIN. From Glasgow down the Clyde, past Kelvin Grove and Dum- barton's bonny dell, to where the frowning rocks overshade the broad river, and then on, up the banks of Leven Water, and past the monument to Smollett whic-h rises on its shores, to Balloch at the foot of Loch Lomond, occupies but little time, and affords a pleasant treat to him who takes delight in fine scenery. A small steamer traverses the inky waters of the "queen of Scottish lakes,'^ and takes its passengers under the shadows of the rugged hills which line the shores, thereby giving the tourist the advantage of viewing both sides of the Loch in ascending and descending. I embarked early in the morning, when the mists were slowly roll- ing up the mountain sides before the rays of the sun, which pene- trated their vapory forms, and soon was launched upon Loch Lomond's surface. The lake is about twenty-three miles long and five in width at the widest place, and studded at the southern end with a number of small islands, which sit in its black waters like emerald gems in a sea of ebony. The hills which line the shores are mostly of a pyramidal form, and resemble the highlands of the Hudson very much ; in fact, the scenery on the North Kiver is equal, if not superior, to the wildest on Loch Lomond, including the tall peaks of Ben Voirlich, Ben Duchray, Ben Arthur, and the world-famed and cloud-crowned Ben Lomond. At the north- ern extremity of the lake the waters become deep and narrow, and the huge hills rise to the very clouds on either shore. Ben Lomond does not, however, present such a bold front as one would suppose, and its summit is too flat and rounded to impress the mind with a sense of awe, or even intense admiration. The mists shut out the distant hills at the north, but south, as far as the eye could see, the view was unbroken, and the bright rays of the 173 sun lit up the mountain tops and tipped the trees with gold. I met a gentleman from Philadelphia on the boat, and he and I enjoyed the scenery together, until we arrived at Inversnaid land- ing, at which point I parted with my townsman, and set out on a solitary walk to Loch Keturin, over the bleak and desolate country which lies between the two lakes. Ben Lomond was hard to climb, and after ascending its sides for some distance, the vapors en- veloped me in their cold embrace, and prudence dictated a retreat, which was soon accomplished. To have reached the mountain's summit was possible, but foolish, as the rain began to fall and the top was clothed in clouds, while below the landscape was obscured from sight by a thick haze. I therefore trudged on alone along a dreary road over the heath, so often of yore trod by Rob Roy and the warriors of his clan, and enjoyed in solitude the scenery of the desolate landscape. At one point on the road, I crossed an old stone bridge which spans a roaring mountain hum, and ascend- ing a hill came to the ruins of Inversnaid fort, a military post, erected by the government, in 1713, to protect the district against the inroads of the clan MacGregor. The lonely fortress is now deserted, and both the soldiers who occupied it, and the mountain chieftains whose vengeance it often roused, have passed to another world. I sat down within its walls, and after a short rest rambled around the remains, near which I discovered several tombstones ; but the inscriptions were so much defaced that it would have puzzled Old Mortality himself to clearly decipher them. All that I could learn was that they covered the graves of some soldiers of the Buffs who died while on duty at the fort in 1750. The fortress was once the residence of General Wolfe, and it is stated that he received the rudiments of his military education within its limits, in the days of border warfare. I stopped in my walk at the cottage of Rob Roy, and convers- ed a short time with several Highlanders in that smoked and straw-thatched abode. They live better than the Irish peasantry who inhabit the country in the vicinity of Cork, and are blest with a degree of education above what would be expected from their isolated condition. The hut is lighted with windows; and bedding and household furniture afford the occupants comfort and 15* 174 THE EOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; comparative ease. The men were a rougli-looking set, and their appearance did not lead me to think they would be very desir- able companions in a forest of a dark night, although I may be mistaken in my estimate of their characters. The women, with one exception, were anything but handsome ', and she who was the exception was as pretty a little lassie as ever melted the obdurate heart of a crusty bachelor. The hospitality of the wo- men was tendered me in a glass of ^^ mountain dew,'^ and as the morning was damp and chilly, I found the liquid agreeable and refreshing. About midway betwen the two large bodies of water, I passed a pretty little lake, called Loch Arklet, from which flows a crystal stream which falls into Loch Lomond at Inversnaid, and forms at that place a beautiful mountain cascade, of considerable height. The dark shadows of the Highlands cover the entire surface of the valley, and the huge peak of Ben Lomond rises like a wall at its western extremity, and seemingly shuts out all communica- tion with the world that way, while to the east the waters of Loch Keturin afford an outlet from the secluded glen. I reached that lake in good time, and met a party of persons waiting for the steamer, among whom was a young Prussian, a professor, from one of the colleges at Magdeburg, and a nobler-looking man never crossed my path. He was tall and finely formed ; wore a thick mustache, but no other part of his beard, which became him wonderfully well, and set off one of the handsomest faces in the world. We were foreigners, and a mutual feeling of friend- ship sprung up between us at once, which improved and strength- ened while we continued together. We embarked upon the little steamer, and sailed slowly down the transparent lake, enjoying the rich scenery of its shores. The tall peaks of Benvenue and Benean arose clear and distinct to view as we approached their giant forms, and every portion of the country became familiar through Scott's graphic descriptions, from the rich sopnery around the fairy-like Trossachs, to the classic island of "the Lady of the Lake.'^ We took up our quarters at the hotel for the night, and, as the moon was in its full, enjoyed a treat not often shared by the visitor to Loch Keturiq. As soon as the twilight faded out, OR^ WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 175 ray German friend^ myself, and several others procured a skiff, and shot from the dark shadows of Benvenue on to the moon-lit water. There we were in all our glory, and a young Highlander, who was of our company, could restrain his enthu- siasm no longer, and under the influence of the time, place, and scene, sang in glorious tones the ^' MacGregor's Gathering.'^ It was the very hour and spot for it, and, as the musical strains of his voice gave sound to the words — The moon 's on the lake, and the mist 's on the brae, And the clan has a name that is nameless by day : Then gather, gather, gather, Gregalich ! we set up a shout in chorus to his song, which echoed again and again, until Benean answered to Benvenue, and the very mists on the brae quivered in the sound, as though they once more were disturbed by the cry of Clan Alpine. Ay ! it was inspiring, and my German friend took as much delight in it as if he had been a Scot bred and born. The young Highlander stood in the stern of the boat, with his plaid over his shoulders, and with pa- triotic enthusiasm, heightened by our applause, finished the song. As each verse was completed, we made the air tremble with our shouts, and at the following stanza the whole of us arose, and sent up such a cry as almost split the rocky sides of Benvenue : — If they rob us of name, and pursue us with beagles, Give their roofs to the flame and their flesh to the eagles. Then vengeance, vengeance, vengeance, Gregalich ! The Highlander sang the last line as if he meant every word of it, and the shrill sound of his voice came back from the land through our wild cheers, like the sharp cutting of a two-edged sword. The mists began to gather along the shores, and, after proceed- ing up the lake about two miles, our boatmen turned the skiff homeward, and the young Scot sang, with spirit and enthusiasm, the wild lyric which Sir \Yalter puts in the mouths of Roderich Dhu's retainers while sailing down the very lake on which we were gayly moving. It was nppropriate and splendid : — 176 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; ** Row, vassals, row, for the pride of the highlands, Stretch to your oars for the evergreen pine ; ! that the rosebud that graces yon islands Were wi'eathed in a garland around him to twine ! ! that some seedling gem Worthy such noble stem Honored and blest in their shadow might grow ! Loud should Clan Alpine, then, Ring from the deepmost glen, Roderigh Vich Alpine, dhu, ho! iero." The oarsmen stretched cheerfully to their work, and we reached the landing at a seasonable hour, and returned to the hotel highly pleased with our moonlight excursion on Loch Keturin, and al- most unwilling to seek the embraces of the drowsy god. The following morning was beautifully clear, and our time was spent in rowing about the lake or in walks along its shores, on the land made poetic ground by Scott. The mountains are cloth- ed almost to their summits with wood, and the valleys are beau- tiful retreats. The lover of poetry is familiar with the poem in which the landscape is described ; and it would be folly in me to transcribe what is in nearly every man's recollection, and what has become trite from constant repetition. We took stage in the afternoon for Callendar, and rode over every inch of ground traversed by Fitz James in the chase. The smaller lakes were soon passed, and then we came to the scene of encounter between the Gael and the Saxon ! The whip pointed out the place where Roderich astonished Fitz James, by summoning his clan, and dosed us to the full with line after line of the poem. Our com- pany grew merry, and a flask of '-mountain dew" circulated free- ly among us as we approached the spot, of yore the gathering ground of Clan Alpine. Near the place is a thick wood, said by the Highlanders to be the resort of the river demon, who delights to forebode and witness evil on the spot. Our company did not, however, meet with the seer of destiny, and a more cheerful set of fellows never passed through the " wood of lamentation" than on that occasion. The driver looked solemn, and called in vain to us to respect the place. His warning was useless; the Scotch fluid was exhilarating; and we had the consolation of OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 177 knowing tbat it was by no means bad. The opposition stage was ahead, and on dashed our horses to overtake it, which was done in gallant style at the point where the remains of a Roman fortifica- tion stand as a monument of the power of that great people, and near the scene of combat between Fitz James and Koderich Dhu. We stopped at the village of Callendar, where my Ger- man friend parted company with us, and pursued his way to the Highlands, while we shortly after proceeded on to Stirling. The country, as we receded from the mountains, became highly cultivated, and by the time we reached the banks of the rapid Teith, fields of waving grain and fine parks encircled us. "We passed the town of Doune, on the banks of the stream named, and had a view of its ruined castle as we crossed a splendid bridge which spans the river a few yards above the old stronghold. It is square in form, and its walls are eighty feet high and ten thick. The stream is a rapid, roaring body of water, and flows along-side the fortress, which was once the residence of Mary Queen of Scots, when she was in the heyday of her love for Darnley, at which period she and her husband occupied it as a hunting-seat. It was built by Murdoch, Duke of Albany, who was afterwards executed within sight of it on a hill at Stirling. Wc entered that old city at an early hour, and I wended my way through narrow, crooked, and steep streets to the castle, which stands on a hill of great height, the western side of which rises almost perpendicularly from the valley of Stirling. The castle is a barracks for soldiers, and heavy guns bristle on the walls as formidably as of old, when border warfare and intestine commotions made it necessary to keep it in repair and well defended. A soldier guided me through the fortress, and pointed out the various fields of battle in the neighborhood, twelve of which are to be seen from the eminence. The winding Forth runs through the valley to the north of the town, and countless well-cultivated fields lie in the splendid plain below. The scene, with one exception, surpasses all I ever be- held, and repays a man doubly over for the trouble of ascending the hill. To the north, the Grampian and Ochil Hills bound the view; while to the west the frowning summits of Ben Lomond, Ben Nevis, and Benvenue rise to the skies and form a barrier to 178 the sight. Toward the east, the eye can trace the horizon resting on the German Ocean, and the turrets and walls of the distant Castle of Edinburgh; while in the foreground are the field of Bannockburn and the mountain-town of Stirling. I remained for some time enjoying the prospect, and descended in time to visit the Marathon of Scotland, and tread its hallowed sod. The grain grows luxuriantly from its soil, and the sickle of the husbandman, instead of the sword of the warrior, gathers from its surface at present the harvest of peace and plenty, instead of that of tears and death. The old church of Stirling is divided into two places of wor- ship, in one of which James the Sixth was crowned, when but an infant, on which occasion John Knox preached the sermon. It was once a Grayfriars or Franciscan fane, and its splendid Gothic ornaments look too rich for a Presbyterian house of prayer. Many curious scenes have been witnessed in its walls, among which was that of the Regent Earl of Arran abjuring the Catho- lic faith, and avowing the Protestant doctrine, which he subse- quently renounced. The Castle is one of the four military fortresses which, by the articles of union between England and Scotland, are to be for- tified forever. It is a celebrated place, and the scene of the mur- der of Earl Douglas by James the Second of Scotland. Queen Mary was crowned within its walls, and there her son and grand- son were baptized. It has been the place of execution of men of distinction, and near it Murdoch, Duke of Albany, Duncan, Earl of Lennox, his father-in-law, and his sons were beheaded in 1424, within sight of their extensive possessions, and their Castle of Doune. The town is irregularly built, but the situation is beautiful and commanding, and no one will be likely to visit it with regret, if he goes for pleasure. There is a noted bridge over the Forth, in the valley at the north-west part of the town, which is quite old and celebrated in history. Wallace defeated the English near it, and Archbishop Hamilton was hung in his canonical robes, on a scaffold erected on it, in 1571 — a strange way the people of those days had of exhibiting their admiration for the clergy in general, and bishops in particular. OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 179 CHAPTER XYII. Scotland's capital. It is not an agreeable thing to be set down at midnight in a city where one has no acquaintance, and where everything is strange, particularly if the night be moonless and the stars dull. My entrance into the Scottish capital was at such a time and under such a sky, and it was with some difficulty that I succeeded in obtaining comfortable lodgings for the balance of the night in the modern Athens. The railway stations are in a hollow be- tween the old and new towns, and the finest street in the hilly city faces the valley on one side, while the worst-looking and tallest buildings face it on the other. I went up on to the level ground of the new street, and before me arose the superb Gothic monument erected by the inhabitants of Edinburgh to Sir Wal- ter Scott. Its elaborate ornaments and groined arches were lost in shadow, but the tall and delicate structure pointed heaven- ward, and its graceful outline and exquisite form won my admira- tion. It was too late, however, to pay much attention to it, and I was too weary to devote my time to that purpose, so I sought out a place of shelter, and after a good night's rest and pleasant dreams awoke to garish day in the seven-hilled city of the north. Princes Street was early thronged with pedestrians, and the busy tradesman and gaping tourist formed a part of its motley crowd. Here passed a soldier dressed in the scarlet uniform of the English army, there a tall Highlander in the ancient costume of his clan, while amidst the moving mass flashed, from the most tauntingly cut bonnets in the world, the bright eyes of the Scot- tish lassies. I fell into the human current, and floated uncon- sciously along in its tide until under the cliffs of Calton Hill, on the summit of which stand monuments to Playfair, Dugald Stew- art, and other distinguished Scotsmen, and a tall, ungainly, tower- 180 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; looking abomination called Nelson's monument. I ascended to the top of the mount, and although it rises beside the most fash- ionable and thronged thoroughfare in the town, I was as secluded '■ and solitary as if I had been in a deserted city. The mementos and cenotaphs of distinguished men were around me, and in front arose the ruins of a splendid Grecian temple, originally intended to commemorate the heroes who fell at Waterloo, but for want of means abandoned to the mercy of the winds in an unfinished state, and now its classic columns bear testimony to the failure and ambition of the projectors. The design is that of the Par- thenon at Athens, and the half finished structure stands in solemn grandeur on the eminence as an evidence at once of the taste and the meanness of the citizens of Edinburgh. The view from this elevated point takes in the whole of the city, with the towering cliff of Arthur's Seat at one end, and the old castle of the Scot- tish capital at the other ; while seaward appears the Frith of Forth and the German Ocean, and northward the Ochils, East Lomond, and distant Grampian hills. The west is bounded by the High- lands which encircle the lakes, and the tall peaks of Ben Nevis and Benvenue are to be seen plainly in favorable weather. The high houses in the old town, which rise from the valley between the two sections, ascend to ten stories in some instances, and their unpoetic appearance detracts greatly from the beauty of the city. Princes Street runs immediately westward from the hill, and that broad and splendid avenue presents a prospect of human activity and architectural beauty not often beheld elsewhere. The Scott monument rises in a fine park at the side of the long thoroughfare, and beyond, some distance, the eye rests upon an elegant marble edifice called the Royal Institution, over the en- trance to which is a colossal statue to Queen Victoria, in a reclin- ing position, holding the sceptre in her hand. As the sight runs over the city, other objects arrest the attention, among which are the lofty spire of the hall in which the General Assembly of the Kirk of Scotland holds its sessions, and the monuments to Lord Melville and Bobert Burns. The town and port of Leith are visible, and the country for miles around, so that the eye seldom tires of the prospect. I descended and walked to the Scott memo- OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 181 rial, the grounds around wbich were opened to the public that day for the first time, and entered the splendid edifice. The site is badly chosen, and destroys much of the imposing beauty of the structure. The main hall of the temple contains a faithfully exe- cuted full-length likeness of the great writer in marble, with his favorite dog at his side, and several of the niches in more elevated parts of the structure are filled with statues of difi'erent characters in Sir Walter's works. The design is exquisite, being in the florid Gothic style of architecture, and was furnished by a young man entirely unknown to fame until declared, by a committee appointed to select a plan for the monument, the successful com- petitor. He was a self-taught architect, and studied the splendid Gothic edifices of Great Britain when a journeyman mason. He walked from town to town, and made drawings of the beautiful masterpieces of his chosen profession wherever he found them, and, untrammelled by schools or the advice of too ardent friends, perfected himself in his favorite pursuit. Death unfortunately deprived the world of his talents before the splendid edifice was completed which his original mind gave birth to, and another finished and successfully carried out what he so admirably de- signed. I ascended and met a Norwegian sea captain at the top who had been at Philadelphia, and as we were both strangers we joined company for the balance of the day. He had sailed from that port for the West Indies some time during 1850, and mistaking a light on a headland of one of the Antilles, had run his vessel on a reef, and lost her entirely, and was then in Edinburgh endeavor- ing to purchase a steamer for the Baltic trade. The highest niches of the monument are occupied by figures in red sandstone of various prominent personages in the works of Scott, and that of Dominie Sampson is so admirably executed that the beholder cannot resist laughing at the representation of the horrified sectarian, who, with upraised hands and face expres- sive of unmistakable fright and astonishment, is exclaiming, with fervor, '^ Prodigious !" I laughed aloud at the horror-stricken visage and figure of the Dominie, and felt fully reimbursed for my trouble in climbing 287 steps to get a look from the topmost gallery of the monument, without taking into consideration the 16 182 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ; view. The best of the remaining figures is that of the ^' Last Minstrel" playing on his harp 3 but none of the balance, not even the hag Meg Merrilies, is so clearly individualized as the affrighted Dominie. The city of Edinburgh, like that of Eome, is located on seven hills, and the pedestrian finds a great variety of mount and valley wherever he goes. "We strolled around and through the interesting portions of the picturesque capital, after leaving the monument, and ascended to the old castle, and with commend- able curiosity examined its battlements and famous halls. The room in which James the Sixth was born was honored with our presence, and an official personage exhibited to us the window from which the royal prince was lowered in a basket when but eight days old, by some of the Protestant party, and carried to Stirling. The walls of the apartment are decorated with devices and inscrip- tions, bearing upon the events connected with the place, and the date of renovation. The repairs were made at the instigation of James after he was crowned King of England, and at his first visit to his native city after he ascended the English throne. The room is miserably small, and approached through a large hall. A loquacious fellow employed by the government relates the events connected with the place to as many as can get into it at once, and as he is compelled to repeat the story fifty times a day, he goes through it as if he were reading prayers to a sleepy congrega- tion, who take no interest in the service. In an apartment adja- cent are two portraits of James and Mary; that of the mother being a beautiful picture of a splendid woman, and that of the son an unmistakable likeness of his pedantic majesty. The crown jewels are also shown ; but they are not wonderful, nor is a man repaid for standing in a crowded and darkened room to view them by gas-light. The walls of the castle are protected by heavy guns, one of which is very large, and known by the name of Mons Meg. The story goes that it was cast at Mons, in Flanders, but it wants confirmation, and people don't much care to pry into either its history or its chamber, for they learn nothing satisfac- tory of the first, and by looking into the second they are sure to have a sentry bellowing in their ears, '' Go away from that gun," OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN, 183 as if there were clanger of it being carried off in some curiosity hunter's pocket, a thing not very easily accomplished when we take into consideration that its length is about fifteen feet, and its weight in proportion to its size. While in the castle, I endea- vored to find the point at which Randolph and his daring followers entered the fortress in 1313, and recaptured it from the astonished English ; but all my attempts were vain. The sentries were on the spot, and ^^no admittance there" was sure to greet me whenever I advanced toward the place. The old and formidable-looking" fortification stands on a hill which rises perpendicularly on three sides from a plain, and can be approached only from the east through a street in the old town. The houses are built up to the walls which inclose the parade-ground, and one of them is pointed out as having been in former times the residence of Allan Ramsay, the author of the ^'Gentle Shepherd." It bears no evidence of gentility at present externally, and no one would suppose that it had ever been a favorite haunt of the muses. High Street runs eastward from the castle, and terminates in the Canongate, near John Knox's house. We walked down its steep surface some distance, and, turning to the right near the old cathedral, crossed the bridge called after George the Fourth, and thence passed on to the Grassmarket and West Bow, once the main avenue by which the elevated parts of the old town were reached, and through which malefactors in olden times were led to execution. My companion was by no means well posted in Scottish history, and I volunteered to hunt out celebrated localities for our mutual gratification. The Grassmarket was formerly the place of public execution, and I knew that the Porteous mob hung their victim on that spot. We found a stone cross placed in the pavement, in the centre of the street, and learned that it was there to mark the precise locality of the gallows in other times, and that thousands of persons suffered death where it was. On that very spot the enraged and deter- mined populace made the villain Porteous pay the penalty of his rascality, and near there Wilson, the malefactor, effected the wonderful escape of his companion in crime. The West Bow has witnessed, however, other scenes besides executions, and other 184 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ; processions besides those of criminals going to the scaffold, for it was through that avenue that Oliver Cromwell entered the city of Edinburgh, the victorious and triumphant conqueror of Scot- land — and kings and princes innumerable have graced it with their presence. When a man is near a place made celebrated by remarkable occurrences, there is some excuse for his prying curiosity, if he looks out the locality ; and if he do not, he is but a poor tourist, and had better have remained at home. I was aware that the Grassmarket was not far from the scene pf Burke's infernal mur- ders, and, pursuing our course westwardly, we entered a narrow street called the West Port, and threaded its crooked and steep way. The angles of the curves contract the view so much as to make a person feel as if completely hemmed in, without any chance of egress, when he enters the street a short distance; and as the people who reside in it are a wretched set, the place ap- peared to me to be the very spot for such inhuman amusement as that practised by the noted monster. We found the house in which the wretch lived, and that was satisfactory. We had no curiosity to enter it, and soon made the best of our way to a more civilized and inviting part of the world, perfectly content with what we had seen, and pleased to find that we escaped without ^'Burking'' some walking ambassadors from the clothing of the inhabitants of that classic quarter of modern Athens. The capital of Scotland is extremely picturesque, and presents a series of the most romantic views from whatever point a person chooses to survey it. At one place a bridge spans a valley, and crosses the houses of a subterranean town, while at another near by the street leads to the summit of a hill where the houses are so elevated, both in situation and in stories, as to appear as if they formed a part of a city in the clouds. In fact, the modern Athens, as the inhabitants delight to style Edinburgh, is hills and hollows, and if a man don't like its lower regions, he can go up to its hea- ven whenever he wants to. Its natural situation is commanding and exceedingly beautiful, and many of the public buildings are remarkably fine; but, un- fortunately, the ungainly houses in the old town come too near OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 185 the splendid edifices of the new, and the walls of the ten story dwellings, which present such a gloomy aspect when viewed from Princes Street, lead the observer to the conclusion that Napoleon was right when he said that there was but one step from the sub- lime to the ridiculous, as it is but little more than that from the splendid monument to Scott, which is the perfection of Gothic architecture, to the scarred and towering houses on the other side of the hollow, which are the veriest abortions of the distempered imagination of an insane architect. In the Canongate are some singular old dwellings with the second story projecting over the pavement, and the fronts strangely ornamented. John Knox's house is on that street, and at present the old structure presents a tolerably clean appearance, although it is located in a part of the city by no means remarkable for the cleanliness of the in- liabitants or of the avenue. The people hold the ancient building in reverence; but for all that allow a publican to occupy a portion of it, and sell gin and whiskey in pennyworths within its walls. Holyrood Palace is a large quadrangular structure, situate in a valley between the eastern extremity of Calton Hill and Arthur's Seat, and principally interesting on account of its having been the scene of the murder of Rizzio by Darnley and his fellow-con- spirators. The old woman who bows strangers through the apart- ments of Mary is a fair specimen of the ancient cicerone, and be- comes the place wonderfully. She dresses in black, and when in the room once occupied by the unfortunate princess, speaks in a whisper to her auditors, and commands the utmost attention as she describes in solemn tones the events connected with the mur- der, and the articles in the apartment. The bed in which Mary slept the last time she was in Holyrood House is exhibited, with her work-basket and dressing-case, and in the room adjoining the sleeping apartment of the princes is a portrait of Rizzio, at an early age. If the Italian was as handsome as the picture, then there was no doubt some cause for Darnley's jealousy, and it is not injustice to Mary to suppose that her susceptible heart had its secret yearnings for the handsome musician. The old lady is one of the fixtures of the place, and shows, with a pious anxiety 4j for their preservation, the spots of Rizzio's gore which stain the 16* 186 ' THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY J floor. Myself and companion were disposed to doubt the genuine- ness of the blood, and received a sound lecture from the ancient dame for our incredulity. She was shocked at our infidelity, and almost screamed aloud when she heard us express our disbelief. We appeased her anger by apologizing for our hastily uttered doubts, and were conducted through the room occupied by Charles the Second when he visited the house, and then into the great hall where of yore the Scottish lords were wont to assemble, and which Oliver Cromwell turned into a barracks for his soldiers during his stay in Edinburgh. The walls of this apartment are ornamented with what are said to be the portraits of the Scottish kings, but they are nearly all alike, and evidently painted by the same hand. Each face has a nose on it that rises like the peak of Ben Lomond, and looks more like a carbuncle than the nasal ap- pendage of a monarch. The old lady expects a fee from each visit- or, and no one escapes her without paying for her services. There were several persons with us, and, as we were leaving, myself and companion presented her with a small coin for her labor, and were going, when she laid her hand upon my shoulder, and demanded pay for a " cannie Scot" whom she thought to be of our party, and who was quietly getting to the door without paying for his share of her eloquence. I denied the fellow, and she bellowed at the top of her hysterical voice — "Stop that man; he hasn't paid me ;" and, turning to me, she continued, " Til hold you till he comes V I laughed heartily at her, and as Sawney returned and settled the score, I took my departure, completely satisfied with my visit to one part of Holyrood, and wended my way to the ruins of the old abbey. A man conducted us through the fallen chapel and over the tombs of defunct kings and nobles. The rich carv- ings, the crumbling columns, and deserted cloisters had a charm for me far beyond the dusty rooms we had just left, and I derived a melancholy pleasure in contemplating the decaying splendors of the sacred fane. The great east window still remains, and the confessional of Mary is shown with considerable solemnity to the visitor. The church has been used at different periods by three distinct sects of Christians, Catholics, Episcopalians, and Presby- terians ; but each denomination has had its day within the walls, OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 187 and now the officious menials of the Duke of Hamilton exhibit its tombs and architectural beauties to the lovers of the old and remarkable, and obsequiously bow the stranger through its clois- ters; its gallerieS; and its holy aisles. I am no sectarian ; but "The faintest relics of a shrine, Of any worship, summon thoughts divine" within my breast, and I love to ramble in reflective mood among the hallowed and splendid ruins of the monastic houses of the monks of old. The other places of interest in Edinburgh are Arthur's Seat, the University, and museums. The dark hill rises toweringly above the city, and commands a splendid and glorious prospect. I visited it several times during my week's residence in the ca- pital, and never regretted having climbed to its summit. It is always ascended by tourists, and a stranger not unfrequently meets on its top representatives from all the nations of Northern Europe, and delegates from the Republic of the Western World. Its ut- most height is eight hundred feet above the level of the sea, and from that point, looking south, one sees Craig Millar Castle and the town of Dalkeith, with the Lammermuir and Pentland Hills in the distance ; while to the east the German Ocean and Frith of Forth lie as if at the spectator's feet, and the distant point of Preston Pans, celebrated for the engagement fought there between the troops of Prince Charles and those of the government in the rebellion of 1715, is in full view. The ruins of St. Anthony's Chapel, so graphically described by Scott, stand on a cliff, or spur of the Salisbury Crags, and the cottage of Davie Deans is pointed out between the highest peak of the mountain and the castellated and picturesque city. The colleges and museums of Edinburgh do not differ materially from those of other countries, and a description of this class of institutions in one section of the world can be appropriately ap- plied to all. The hospitals and charitable establishments of the city are numerous and well conducted, and the philanthropist will derive both pleasure and knowledge from a visit to these institu- tions of the Scottish capital. 188 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; During my sojourn there, I became acquainted with a Scotch phrenologist, whose talent and acquirements I have no cause to underrate. He lodged at the same house with myself, and, on a dull, rainy day, amused and delighted a company of four of us with reminiscences and observations made during his erratic wan- derings. He was a well read, intelligent man, and possessed a wonderful knowledge of human character. His reading was by no means confined to his favorite science, nor did he follow implicitly the laws laid down by other professors of phrenology in his practice. He was an excellent physiognomist as well as phre- nologist, and judiciously combined the two when judging of the dispositions and characters of men. He had the honesty to acknowledge his many shortcomings, and, in relating his adventures, never purposely made himself the hero of his story. The day wore away imperceptibly as we listened to his fascinating conversation, and not one of us regretted having met with a companion so instructive and agreeable. He was what is called a clever man in England, and his conversational powers were wonderful. Before leaving the city, I visited several interesting places in the vicinity, including Roslyn Chapel and Craig Millar Castle. At the entrance to the latter, there was a huge watch- dog, whose countenance did not lead me to cultivate his intimate acquaint- ance, nor was it desirable to be familiar with him. I asked the boy, who conducted me around the ruin, whether the animal would bite. " I dinna ken, sir, but he tore all the clathes alF a lady yister- day, when she gaed near him.^' That was satisfactory to me, and corroborated my ideas of the true character of the canine guard of the famous prison-house of persecuted Queen Mary. He was a perfect Cerberus. As it was the harvest-season, I met numbers of Irishmen on the road who had crossed from their native land in search of em- ployment as reapers. They were tolerably well clothed, and each had with him a sickle for cutting grain. The cottages on my walk were much better lighted and ventilated than the huts in the Highlands, but still unfit for human habitations. The floors OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 189 were of stonej and the interiors of each abominably filthy. The peasantry were surly and unsociable, and by no means so friendly as the mechanics of the cities. From my own observation, I am inclined to consider their reserved manners a necessary result of their condition and the circumstances by which they are sur- rounded. In other short journeys, I noticed the same. The women were always more communicative than the men, and there was a spirit of inquiry among them more worthy of commenda- tion. Although the men are unsociable, I believe that the rural population of Scotland is a better educated class and more intel- ligent than the English, and consequently superior. CHAPTER XVIIL A VISIT TO THE TOMB OF MICHAEL BRUCE, A YOUNG SCOTTISH POET. Having entertained for years a strong admiration for the cha- racter of Michael Bruce, a young Scottish poet of some distinction, I made a pilgrimage to his tomb, in fulfilment of a long-formed determination. The cold-hearted and cynical may sneer at my simplicity, and ask, with a laugh of derision, " Who was Michael Bruce?" But the jeers of the world never yet deterred me from carrying out my designs, nor prevented me from paying respect to merit, no matter whether it existed in a peasant or a peerj and I feel conscious that they cannot change my disposition now. Michael Bruce was a young man of poor and obscure parents, and, though born in a Highland cottage, his acknowledged talents and amability of character gained for him a name that many a one born in a higher sphere of life may well envy. He died at the early age of twenty-one years, and left behind him a number of poetical compositions which have placed him in the list of British bards, and given his name and character to the republic of letters. He was a contemporary and personal friend of Logan, the reputed ]90 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; author of ^^ An Ode to the Cuckoo/^ a poem which has delighted thousands of readers wherever the language of England is spoken; and as that person published as his own many of the known pro- ductions of Bruce, there are good grounds for asserting that " The Cuckoo" was written by the youthful poet, and stolen bodily from him by Logan. The works of Bruce have attracted considerable attention among literary circles in Scotland of late years, and a copy of them now before me, edited by a distinguished literary gentleman, contains the poem on the merit of which rests the poetical reputation of Logan. Many of the acknowledged odes of Bruce are equal to the " Cuckoo," and that much cannot be said of the writings of the assumed author of the poem. It is a little remarkable that Logan should have written but one ode in the measure adopted in the beautiful composition attributed to him, while Michael Bruce left behind him several of the same prosodical construction. Logan published a collection of his works shortly after the death of his friend, and incorporated in the volume, as his own, a number of odes written by Bruce, among which, there is no doubt in the minds of competent judges at this day, was the " Ode to the Cuckoo." But whether Bruce was the author of that production or not, his fame does not rest upon the doubt connected with it, nor upon the poem if it be his. He was naturally of a weak constitution, and by close application to study and his duties as an instructor of youth, he fell into a rapid decline, and while in the last lingering stages of consumption, possessed the calmness of spirit and fortitude of soul to contemplate his ap- proaching dissolution in a poem, which, for gentleness of thought, beauty of language, and fine imagery, equals, in some respects, the sublime elegy of Gray. Witness the following lines, and imagine the youthful bard quietly contemplating the certain ap- proach of the angel of death, and then say whether my estimation of his character is too high, or my visit to his tomb a foolish journey: — " Now spring returns, but not to me returns The vernal joys my better years have known ; Dim in my breast life's dying taper burns, And all the joys of life with health are flown. OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 191 " Starting and shivering in the inconstant wind, Meagre and pale, the ghost of what I was, Beneath some blasted tree I lie reclined. And count the silent moments as they pass." How beautiful the picture, and how appropriate the thought ! A vigorous tree shivered bj the blasts of spring, and beneath its shattered arms a dying youth silently noting the passing moments, with a full consciousness that his race is near at end, and his soul will soon wing its flight to realms beyond the grave. Death, at all times, is a solemn thing, and but few have the fortitude to witness its sure approach without a shudder, and none to welcome it with more calmness than did the gentle and talented poet of Loch Leven. I left Edinburgh in the morning and proceeded to Granton Pier, from which place I crossed the Frith of Forth, and took rail to Markinch, the nearest station to Portmoak, the burial-place of Bruce. The morning was cloudy and rain impended; but as the wind was high, I was not deterred from my journey, and set out on a walk to the place of my destination. My road lay toward Loch Leven, through a hilly country, and as I was alone I enjoyed without interruption the beauties of the landscape and my own reflections. I passed through the extended village of Leslie, and afi"orded the denizens of that place something to talk about, for they evidently considered me a wonder, and flocked to the doors with as much eager curiosity as if I had been Prince Albert. The way became more rugged and mountainous as I approached the highlands, and the heavy Scotch mists occasionally settled around me, but no rain fell, and after a walk of but little less than ten miles, I entered the secluded village of Portmoak and inquired for the sexton of the kirk. The inhabitants and myself were on a par so far as a knowledge of each other's language 6S» tended, as they understood about one-half of what I said, and I about a corresponding amount of what they uttered. I succeeded, however, without much difficulty, in finding the house of him I sought, and his wife, a plain and intelligent Scotch woman, ac- companied me to the church. The building is a square, prosy- looking edifice, as solemn and sour in appearance as were the 192 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ; Yinegar-visaged Puritan parsons of old; no ornaments, no spire, no beauty — it is the "most straitest of its sect/^ and as dreary as a tomb. The Scotch are wofully deficient in their modern churches, and fall immeasurably behind the English in ecclesias- tical structures. They want a love for the splendid in church architecture — its religion, if you please; and less of that solemn, square, four-walled style of building which prevails to so great an extent among them. Their villages are not handsome ; there is no beautifully designed place of worship, with its tall and grace- ful spire pointing to heaven, to attract the stranger's gaze, and add a charm to the hamlet. All is plain, level, and devoid of ornament. The monks of old knew the glories of a splendid Gothic edifice and its religious influences; but the Scotch, in their great reformation, swept both the beautiful in church architecture and the monks away together, and now bend the knee in temples as devoid of the beautiful, in most cases, as the structures they razed were remarkable for it. I followed my guide into the burial-ground, and as the old lady was well informed respecting the history of the poet, I spent a pleasant half hour in her company, near the urn placed over his remains. The memento was erected by some literary gentlemen as an evidence of their appreciation of the worth of the bard, and numbers of the countrymen of Bruce usually visit the place dur- ing the summer months, when making the circuit of Loch Leven. The churchyard is immediately below the craggy summit of the Lomond Hills, and in full view of the island castle in the lake, so long the prison of Mary Queen of Scots, and which furnished the subject of the longest poem of the lamented and pious bard. The scenery around is picturesque and rugged, though not so much resorted to as the more famed locality of Loch Lomond. On the urn is the subjoined inscription, which is by no means an exaggeration of either the character or talents of him who rests below : — OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 193 THE BODY OF MICHAEL BRUCE, Who was born at Kinneswood in 1746, and died While a student in connection with the Secession Church in the 21st Year of his Age. Meek and gentle in spirit, sincere and unpretending in his Christian de- portment; refined in intellect, and elevated in character, he was greatly beloved by his friends, and won the esteem of all ; while his genius, whose fire neither poverty nor sickness could quench, produced those odes, unrivalled for simplicity and pathos, which have shed an undying lustre on his name. Early, bright, transient, chaste as morning dew, he sparkled and exhaled, and went to heaven. The name of Michael Bruce is unknown except to literary men, and but few strangers, if any, visit his grave. No foreigners go to Portmoak, and I was probably the first that ever visited the place with the main purpose of seeing the poet's tomb. The old lady looked at me with a puzzled gaze, and appeared at a loss to know who and what I was. She was aware that I was a stranger, and said to me, half doubtingly^ half inquiringly, " Ye'r no' En- glish, and I dinna ken what ye be." I purposely kept her in ignorance of the land of my birth until on the eve of my de- parture, when I told her I was an American. Her face brightened up, and she exclaimed, "Ay! I thought they were a' black; but how a body may be mistaken. But were you born there ?" she asked rather eagerly, supposing she had made an error by a too ready expression of opinion. I told her I was, and my ancestors before me. " Weel, weel," she continued, " I'm glad ye cam', for I'd ne'er believed but that they were a' black, had I na' seen ye;" and with a smile at her simple innocence I bade her good- by, and returned to Markinch, past the ruins of Arnot Castle, and through the beautiful valley of the Biver Lcven, and arrived at the Scottish capital, after a pleasant day's excursion to the birth and burial-place of Michael Bruce. 17 194 THE FOOTrATH AND UIGHWAY ; CHAPTER XIX. MELROSE — ABBOTSFORD — DRYBURGH, THE BURIAL-PLACE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. Abbotsford, Melrose, and Dryburgh are sacred names to the admirers of the genius of Sir Walter Scott, and the places to which they belong are now Meccas of the mind. Thousands an- nually resort to their walls, drawn there by the wizard-like in- fluence of the great novelist and poet; and but few make the tour of Scotland without including in their journey a visit to one or the other of these celebrated places. I left Edinburgh in com- pany with a young Englishman, who was, like myself, a pilgrim to the shrine of genius, and after an agreeable travel of thirty miles or more, during which we passed the ruined castles of Both- well and Crichton, arrived at the quiet village of Melrose. A pleasant walk of three miles brought us to the turreted and pic- turesque mansion of Abbotsford, and on presenting ourselves at the lodge, we were admitted to the grounds and most attractive portions of the house. The building is very irregular, but singu- larly imposing, and well calculated to force remembrance upon the mind. In the court-yard, immediately in front of the entrance- door, in the centre of a circular grass-plot, stands the urn which flowed with wine at Holyrood at the time James the Sixth visited that royal abode after he had been crowned King of England; and in the wall of the building are shown the door of the Old Tolbooth of Edinburgh, and the pulpit of Ralph Erskine. Se- veral petrified antlers, of enormous size, adorn the porchway lead- ing into the entrance-hall, and at the side of the approach is a marble figure of the celebrated dog Maida, while the garden in- closure abounds in the fragments of broken columns and nameless sculpture. We were politely ushered into the vestibule of the mansion by an agreeable lady of some forty years, and conducted ORj AVANDERTNGS OF AN AMERICAN. 195 through the various departments open to visitors. One of them is adorned with relics of antiquity and articles of historical note, forming in themselves a perfect museum. Its ceiling is of carved oak; its walls ornamented with curiosities, from the ke}'- of the Tolbooth to the richly blazoned coats-armorial of the most cele- brated of the border families, while the floor is inlaid with black and white marble from the Hebrides. Here are articles described by Sir "Walter in his matchless novels, and they well become the place. From this we entered the private study of the great man, and were allowed to touch his arm-chair, and look at the body- clothes last worn by him. They are kept in a case, and viewed through glass at the top, and are extremely plain and unpretend- ing. No efi"ort at display is exhibited in those garments, and they are just such as any one acquainted with the character of the man would expect Sir Walter Scott to wear. The only furniture in the study is a plain desk and the chair alluded to. It was in that room he wrote the most wonderful of his works, and the visitor treads its sacred floor with a noiseless step, fearful that he is an intruder, and half expecting to see Sir Walter enter from the ad- joining library, lam sure I unconsciously awaited his return; everything looked so natural, just as if he had left the room for a moment and gone to the adjacent apartment after a book for reference. There is a small gallery around three sides of the room, which leads to the sleeping-chamber once occupied by the novelist, so constructed that he could retire to rest from his mid- night labors without disturbing the sleep of others. We passed on to the library, a large and magnificent room, the roof of which is carved oak, after that in Roslyn Chapel. It contains nearly twenty thousand volumes, some of which are extremely rare and valuable. On a stand in one section is an urn of silver, contain- ing human ashes and bones, from the long wall at Athens, which, according to the inscription, was presented by Lord Byron to Sir Walter Scott in 1815. The breakfast parlor is a most winning little room ; but the dining-hall is the richest in art. There is a painting of the head of Mary, Queen of Scots, on a silver charger ; a portrait of Charles the Twelfth of Sweden ; one of that stern hero Cromwell ; and one of the eldest son of the 196 THE FOOTrATH AND HIGHWAY; novelistj in the uniform of a Colonel of Hussars, and a fine- looking man he was. Other works of great merit adorn the walls of the apartment, and the armory is rich in articles of the notori- ous and the great. Here are Napoleon's pistols — there Hob Hoy's death-dealing gun — on this rack Toledo blades, as full of temper as the men who wore them ; while around are swords of kings — spears and battle-axes — arms of crusaders — and rapiers of truest steel. Here a pair of thumb-screws, those mad torturers of Spain, and there a chain that bound a prisoner, now rusty with the tears of him who felt its iron grasp. The curious may pass hours in examining these relics of the past, and find much to amuse and instruct. The windows facing the Tweed command a view of great splendor up and down that rapid, flashing crystal stream ; and the location, the comforts, and the internal arrangements of the mansion are unsurpassed, look at them as we may. It is the very earthly paradise of a poet and a great mind, that Abbotsford — and how pitiful that the originator and wonderful man, whose history is its history, should have lost it in his latter days, and died within its walls, on the sufferance of a creditor! The grounds around are laid out with exquisite taste, and adorned with rich exotic flowers and valuable plants. The walks are mostly secluded and romantic, and the surrounding scenery is beautifully picturesque. We passed several hours most agreeably within the limits of the princely estate, and returned to look upon the walls of Melrose Abbey. The ruin is much smaller than we expected ; but its beauty, even under a dull sky, is wonderful. The carvings are most ex- quisite ; and the long aisles and solitary cloisters, the rich groin- ing and crumbling walls, the secret avenues and solemn cells, all stand in quiet ruin like monuments of the mighty past, and chain-links betweeij these and other years. I never yet entered one of those glorious edifices but my mind at once became im- pressed with a sense of the mutability of earthly things, and the decline and change of earthly power. Here, thought I, of old, the solemn monks trod the cloisters, and engaged in the impres- sive services of their sect — and here dwelt bishops and abbots OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. . 197 wliose influence was all powerful, and whose persons were sacred in the eyes of an ignorant world ; but now what a change ! The roofless abbey is the dwelling of the birds of the air, and its high altar-place is overgrown with grass, while the tourist treads with levity on the graves of the once potent and holy fathers of the church; and people of another creed exhibit the beauties of the edifice to the curious and admiring. The splendid ruin attests the poetical talents of its constructors, and may well be called the fragments of a glorious Gothic poem. Go look at that long range of richly carved windows, which once let sunlight into the lengthened nave, through glass of a thousand colorings — examine the variety of design, and the graceful curves of the fo- liage-formed capitals — the splendid and exquisitely chiselled carv- ings of the columns and mullions — the ornaments of the arches — the rich and graceful curves in the great east window — the sculptured flowers, grasped firm by human hands — the clustered pillars — the deserted choir — the whole of the triumphant pile — and then think of the genius of the past! Now rich velvety grass grows luxuriantly in the chancel, the nave, and the high altar-place, once sacred to rites religious; and the sunlight streams through broken oriel and ornate aisle, in full blaze upon the earth- floored monastic fane. The heart of a once heroic king, and the dust of bishops, warriors, and nobles, mingle with the decayed fragments of the falling temple, and nurture the green vegetation within its walls ; but what there is left of the gorgeous monu- ment of the past claims the admiration of the lover of the beau- tiful, and the liberal mind is consoled with the fact that the emergency which swept away the evil from the shrine permitted sufficient of the beautiful and glorious to remain to claim the ad- miration of men, regardless of creed or clime. I could live for- ever within the shadows of ruined abbeys, and drink in inspira- tion, while viewing their elegance and almost fadeless splendor. My companion was satisfied with Melrose, and did not feel in- clined to keep me company to Dryburgh Abbey, so I set out alone on a walk of nine miles, near the close of a cloudy day, to the grave of Sir Walter Scott. The road lay through a hilly country, and skirted the base of the Eildon Hills, celebrated in J 7* 198 the songs of Thomas the Rhymer, and the works of the novelist. They are three in number, and rise like so many pyramids almost abruptly from the lands on the south of the Tweed, near Mel- rose, and present a remarkable appearance. I leisurely pursued my course, and after following a direct road for more than three miles, turned into a narrow overshaded lane, which led me to the banks of the swift gurgling Tweed. A boatman ferried me across the stream, and I soon entered the extensive park attached to the fine old ruin. The sward was of the richest green, and the broad arms of several cedars of Lebanon, of great magnitude, overshadowed the ground, and lent a peculiar charm to the rich landscape. A yew-tree, supposed to be as old as the Abbey — 700 years — stands like a jealous sentinel among his towering neighbors, and hides from sight the ruins of the ancient monas- tery as you enter the inclosure. I approached, and soon stood within the shattered walls of the building. The chapter-house and cloisters are the most entire, but they are now only a frag- ment of their former dimensions. In the centre of a secluded section, once a favorite resort of the religious brotherhood, stands a statue of Inigo Jones, the famous architect; and another of Sir Isaac Newton adorns the deserted chapter-house. The walls are overgrown with ivy, and the south window, a fine oriel, is almost curtained with the emerald leaves of the ruin-haunting vine. That portion of the abbey is the most imposing part of what remains^ and the richly mullioned circular window which adorns the centre of the massive wall is beauty's self. The building was in the usual form of a Latin cross, but what remains at this day is irregular and imperfect, conveying no exact idea of the extent or magnificence of the edifice when entire. St. Mary's Aisle, a detached portion of the ruin, is the tomb of the " great Wizard of tbe North," and at his side are those of his wife and eldest son. The graves are plain ; three heavy slabs of Peter- head granite cover the three narrow mansions of the dead, and over all rise the ivy-clothed and picturesque ruins. Near by are the remains of the high altar of the abbey, and the defaced and mouldcrino; tombs of several loDo;-foro'otten worthies. The in- OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 199 scriptlon to the memory of the novelist is brief in the ex- treme : — Sir Walter Scott, Baronet, Died Sept. 21, A. D. 1832. It is as plain as the stone on which it is engraved, but still sufficient for the place. His works are his epitaph, and there is not a line in them that his friends would wish erased. Over the remains of his wife is a longer record, and one in all things ap- propriate : — Dame Charlotte Margaret Carpenter, Wife of Sir Walter Scott, of Abbotsford, Baronet. Died at Abbotsford, May 15, A. D. 1826. The soldier is buried in front, and the three solitary graves have a solemn appearance, situated as they are within the crum- bling walls of that old fane. I was alone, and as the day was cloudy, a pleasant gloom settled over the landscape, and the sky appeared as if the sun would go down veiled. While I stood within the ruins and near the tombs, the struggling rays of the splendid orb broke in glory through the misty veil, and flung a shower of golden light upon the massive walls and through the deserted aisles. I never witnessed a more gorgeous scene. The ivy leaves, and mullioned windows, and rich old trees were bathed and tipped and tinged with golden flame ; and the grass in the high altar-place and fallen transept sparkled with liquid light. The arrowy Tweed's soft murmurs came up i^pon the evening breeze, and as the winds crept through the thick foliage of the trees and ivy veil that curtained the windows, the scene was all enchantment, and I stood euraptured with the view. It was a thing of beauty, and poor Keats tells us that " is a joy forever." I will remember the scene till the latest hour of my existence, for it was one never to be forgotten. There were the streaming rays of the sun darting through the foliaged oriel in the nave, and falling in a flood of light upon the velvet floor, while the dark shadows of the massive walls rested in solemn beauty on the tomb of Scott. It was a scene for a pilgrim, and a double glory 200 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; for one wlio bad come so far. I waited an hour contemplating the ruin and the splendor of the setting sun, and wished for Ra- phael's matchless art, to grasp in tints and massive lights and shades the wondrous view. The bright rays slowly faded out, and one by one they gradually expired, and then over ruined aisle, and broken wall, and solemn tower, fell night's shadows gray and silence still as death ! I turned from the spot, and re- traced my steps to Melrose, meditating upon the glorious scene. But the day, so rich in the wonderful to me, was not destined to close with the splendid sight I had witnessed at Dryburgh. When I returned to the village, the night was well advanced, and the moon was gradually rising, though veiled in mist. When all was still, I went to the old abbey. As I passed through the vil- lage, my tread echoed along its deserted street, and through the tall and solitary market cross, and reminded me that I was alone. The ruin is surrounded by a wall, but I scaled it and stood with- in the inclosure among the graves of dead men, and along-side the monastic fane. The moon's rays were no longer obscured, but fell in a flood of silver light upon chancel, tower, and richly carved mullion, and streamed broad through the great east win- dow over the altar-place. While I stood in the Golgotha, the clock-bell, which swings in a tower over the south end of the transept, struck the passing hour. Its sudden and unexpected chime startled me on the instant; but it is proper that an iron sentinel should, from the solemn belfry of that old pile, proclaim the flight of time ! After the sounds had died away, and the echoes had sung a requiem through the aisles, my mind invested the place with life ; and imagination, aided by the hour and scene, summoned up a train of cowled monks and white-robed nuns, who seemed to pass in long array before me. Slowly their midnight hymn went up, and the lengthened throng, with smoking censers, swinging slow, filed along the velvet sward, and marched within the splendid fane. I watched the last one disappear, and a cloud, hiding the face of the moon for a time, dispelled the idle vision, and I stood in darkness within the shade of Melrose Abbey. OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 201 CHAPTER XX. ALNWICK CASTLE AND YORK MINSTER. Almost the entire country from Edinburgh to Newcastle- upon-Tyne abounds in ruined abbeys, castles, and monasteries. At Kelso is a fallen fane of the olden monks ; at Norham, a fine ruin of an ancient castle ', and at Berwick-on-Tweed, the remains of the walls which once inclosed the town. This last-mentioned place is situate on the north bank of the boundary river, within sight of the German Ocean, and is remarkable at present for nothing beyond its crooked, narrow, and filthy streets, and a splendid railway bridge which spans the Tweed. The country immediately adjacent to it is rather poor, but a few miles inland the soil is very fair and productive. When I passed through, the grain was ripe, and men and women were busily engaged in reap- ing. As many as one hundred persons were working together in a field, and they looked like a small army gathering the harvest of plenty. The greater part of them were Irish, who had crossed from their own island for the purpose of aiding the farmers in securing their crops, and earning something towards the support of their families. A railway connects Berwick with Newcastle-upon-Tyne, and lies within sight of the ocean nearly the entire distance, but affords no very fine views either by land or sea. I rested awhile at Alnwick, in Northumberland, celebrated for its fine castle, renowned as the '^ home of the Percy's high-born race.'' The town is neither large nor handsome, but it is interesting, and abounds in monuments of the ancient day. The entrance to the principal street is through a solid and massive gateway, erected by Hotspur, the best and bravest of the Percys; and in the lands connected with the estates of the Duke of Northumberland are the ruins of two abbeys, and one or two crosses to mark places 202 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ; on which noble vrarriors died when engaged in attacks upon the fortified castle^ the main attraction of the town. I presented myself at the gate, and was admitted within the walls of the enormous structure. It is buiifc entirely of freestone, in the Gothic style of architecture, and consists of three quadrangles inclosing a space of five acres. The walls are ornamented with battlements and turrets, and sixteen towers adorn the edifice, on each of which stands a figure in armor in an attitude of defence. Next to Windsor it is the most extensive edifice in England, and the internal embellishments and furniture are in character with its size and magnificence. The country around is extremely picturesque, and the greenest of swards gradually slopes from the outer walls of the structure on the north to the quiet and pellucid Alne. I was blest with a pretty girl for a guide, and she led me through the large halls and splendid rooms of the aristocratic mansion, and around the strong battlements and frowning towers of the building, and showed me the wonders of the place, from the armory which glitters with implements of strife hoarded up from the time of Hotspur, when the court-yard below " Echoed to the light step of the soldier's march, The music of the trump and drum," to the gloomy cells of the donjon-keep in which prisoners were in- carcerated of yore. My bright-eyed companion almost taught me love, and when she conducted me to Hotspur's favorite bower, and told me it was there that the fiery warrior wooed and won " his gentle Kate, a thousand years ago," I was more than half inclined to turn Hotspur myself, and woo the pretty maiden of the ducal palace. She was so fascinating, so modest, and so lady- like withal. The old church of St. Mary's, in the town, contains the tombs of the Percy family for generations past, and the walls are hung with the tattered banners of that house. The musty emblems of war are rapidly falling to pieces, and the gilding which embellishes them is fading away. Dust covers the banners of Hotspur, and the unlifted spears and armorial bearings which surround them are all that remain at present of their valiant defenders. What OR; AVANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 203 a singular notion that is of displaying warlike standards in temples dedicated to the religion of the "Prince of Peace I" It looks much like an attempt to ridicule Christianity in its very altar- places. I did not remain long in Alnwick after viewing the castle, but continued on to Newcastle-upon-Tyne, and passed a night in that place. There are some streets in the Coal Metropolis which are wide and elegant, and some buildings that are handsome, but the greater part of the city is filthy and forbidding. The streets in the unfiishionable sections are dirty, crooked, steep, and black as night. The people are either covered with coal dust or pale and sickly in appearance, and their condition generally does not im- press a person favorably. I visited one of the pits about eight miles from town, but cannot say that T derived either pleasure or profit from my trip. Children are employed in the sunless caves as well as men and women, and all are vulgar and ill-mannered, and appear to consider a visitor fair game to practice extortion upon. Little boys pulled at one side and asked for pence, while men bowed obsequiously for a shilling to purchase beer. Our company of three paid handsomely for the privilege of being covered with coal dust; and taking the expenses of guide, over- clothing, and fees to the workmen together, got off with about five dollars in all — a pretty fair sum for gratifying our laudable curiosity in a Newcastle coal mine. But the shilling is all potent in England. It opens churches and towers — swings back the ponderous gates of the castle — introduces the stranger into the sacred places of old, abbeys and convents — and bows the possessor obsequiously through the palaces of the nobles of the realm. It leads to decayed ruins, and gains information respecting wonder- ful places. Its glittering visage begets hospitality and civility, and opens to its lucky owner the richest galleries of ancient and modern art. It wins esteem and commands respect, attracts ob- servation and hides defects. It opens the doors of prohibited places and reveals the secret recesses in donjon-cells and keeps — it imparts knowledge and confers honor — and covers a multitude of sins. It is a subject of worship, and receives the adoration of 204 the bishop as well as the admiration of the tradesman. In a word, it is sovereijn, and doubly blest is he who "In silken or in leathern purse retains A splendid shilling." York is a wonderful city — one rich in churches, ruins, and Gothic fanes. Thick walls — strong and turreted — with towers and battlements — almost encircle it, and afford a splendid promenade. The Eiver Ouse flows through the town, but, as it differs from most of the English streams in being clear, it gives variety and charm to the quaint old city. The Minster is the wonder, but I deferred my visit to its soaring towers and impres- sive aisles until I had seen the less admired churches within the city walls. First along the crooked streets — so narrow, so ser- pentine, so mazy in their labyrinthine windings — but still so strange and winning, so quiet and so dreamy, that on you go regardless where you may be conducted, or indifferent as to what old shrine you stumble on, or to what ruined castle or abbey wall your steps may be directed. On one side a lane invites you to explore its wonders and admire its strange old structures. You enter, and follow a sort of mental i(/nis fatnus, which leads you forward step by step, until you are almost bewildered with the circling promenade you have had, and the happiness of soul you have felt in traversing a street in the fair and goodly city. I was filled with admiration for the place, and was half inclined to take for granted that there was nothing but pure religion in its churches until I entered one. It was a splendid shrine, with an air of solemnity around it that exacted reverence. The subdued sunbeams faintly struggled through its glass of brilliant coloring, and diffused through the interior the "dim religious light" of which Milton so sweetly speaks. A jockey ivsh parson was reading the impressive burial-service over the body of an infant as I entered; he turned his sickly, calf-like eyes upon me as I stepped into the aisle, and drawled out the beautifid language of the ceremony in a spiritless, soulless strain that made me think lie would rather be present at the horse- ) OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 205 race near at hand than in the pulpit where he stood. He was the veriest burlesque of a clergyman I ever saw, and disgusted me with his unbecoming conduct. I could not tolerate him, and withdrew to view other buildings, although the one in which he officiated was beautiful, and would have detained me longer had he acted more in character with his calling. He certainly did not please me. We require variety to form contrast ; without it, all would be dull and unprofitable ; with it the really sublime becomes inspiring, and we drink in the inspiration of the glorious with eagerness and pleasure. I wended my way to the Minster, the most wonderful evidence of the monkish supremacy, and the most commanding edifice in England. Externally it is marked with decay, and time has defaced the walls and discolored the stone — but there is the structure with its splendid windows, its lofty towers, and its magnificent front. It is a proud monument of the past, and its harmonious proportions, rich details, and great magnitude com- mand silence and admiration, and cause the beholder to stand un- covered unconsciously before it. Reverent regard for the men who designed the splendid edifice is entertained by every specta- tor, and it is wonderful to see the ignorant rustic in an attitude of awe and admiration gazing up to its beauties. But enough of the exterior. Let us go within its walls. How high, solemn, and impressive is the glorious transept. Look away into the distant perspective, on to that gorgeous window — it glows with all the colors known to man — that is ideal sublimity realized! Now turn your gaze up, along those perfect Gothic columns, and let the eye follow them to the very roof of heaven, as it were, where the graceful arches meet in beauty. Two hundred feet above your head soars the tower roof. The eye never tires at that pageant, nor does the scene pall upon the mind. It elevates the soul, and lifts it high above the cares, and anxieties, and dross of this poor world. There's religion in this fane, and those noble aisles and towering walls proclaim it. That nave is a wonder of itself, and the great window in the centre is like the concave sky in the coloring of a rich sunset, diffused with gold and emerald, topaz and amethyst, ruby and sapphire dyes. But look at this altar 18 206 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ; screen, a holy temple like to that of proud Jerusalem, and, as I live, all sculptured stone. Why, a whole century must have been consumed in creating this. Those solemn monarchs appear like petrified men, not sculptured figures! But look above them. There's a dense throng of angels, each with timbrel or celestial reed and face expressive of most heavenly peace, chanting the praise of Him who reigns forever ! How numerous they are ! How perfect in their attitudes and forms, and how appropriate to the place in which they stand ! It's right to call them the Angelic Choir ! But come ; we'll engage that verger to guide us through the fane — down into the crypt — to the chapter-house — to the chancels, and, if you will, around among the musty tombs of long- forgotten and nameless prelates of the church, who flourished here when this proud shrine was Rome's. The chapel rivets attention, and commands silence. Some years ago, a lunatic set fire to this portion of the building, and destroyed the greater part of the interior. The great east window was saved from the flames, and thanks for its preservation. It is regarded as one of the most perfect and imposing specimens of cathedral decorations we have left us, and not improperly. It is seventy-five feet high, and about thirty-five in width at the base, and the ma- sonry and the design of the details are in character with the magnitude and gorgeousness of the splendid ornament. There is a gallery across it, midway up, which is four feet wide; but it looks so small, when viewed from the floor of the chapel, that no one would know that it was a gallery if he were not told. It has the appearance of a sash or mullion. The organ is the largest in the world, and contains eight thousand tubes and eighty stops. Around the choir, to the right and left, are the stalls of the pre- bendaries; and in front of the great east window, in the same section of the edifice, is the archbishop's throne, in ornament as costly and elegant as that of a sovereign. To the east of the choir is the ''Lady Chapel;" but it is remarkable only for its tombs. " That is a monument to Sir George Saville," said the verger, " a native of York, who used his utmost endeavors to put an end to the American war. He holds a scroll in his hand, on which is engraved the petition he presented to the throne against OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 207 tliat unnatural and unjust crusade. I always show that to your countrymen, and I know you are an American," he concluded, with an inquiring air. I assented, and he became more obliging, and conducted us to the musty crypt, and several Roman sar- cophagi, recently found in the vicinity of York; for the old city was for four hundred years a Roman military station, and here one of the emperors, Constantino the Great, was born. During the great civil wars, the Parliamentary troops occupied the building as a barracks, and the verger took especial pains to point out the injuries inflicted by the soldiers on the edifice at that time. " These niches," said he, ^^ were adorned with statues of saints; but as the Puritans did not admire such ornaments, they destroyed them. These large coffers were made for carrying off the valuables of the church, when the troops withdrew, and Crom- well was not satisfied with the gold and silver, but took away the lead and brass which adorned the Minster, for the purpose of converting them into ammunition. He injured nearly every ca- thedral and abbey in England." I told the guide that I greatly esteemed Oliver, and considered him by far the greatest man, both as a statesman and a general, that Great Britain ever produced. He appeared to regard me as heretical, and was not half so obliging afterwards. The chapter-house is a most magnificent part of the edifice, and it has recently been restored and beautified. It is octagonal, and each side, except the entrance, contains a window of richly stained glass, while the walls are ornamented with scroll-work, very ela- borately executed. The whole circumference below the windows, excepting the segment containing the door, is occupied hy forf^'- fouv canopied stalls for the canons, who compose the chapter of the cathedral, each of which is decorated profusely with sculp- ture. The roof is simple, but elegant; and the floor is gorgeously inlaid with encaustic tiles, a most beautiful method of ornament- ing an edifice. The softened light difi"used through the place gives it a sacred air, and impresses the visitor with a sense of re- verence. In the transepts, both north and south, of the main building, are tombs, on which rest full length marble effigies of the dead. 208 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY j Some are black with age, and conjecture only attempts to say wlio the nameless occupants are. It matters but little who rests under the monuments, the gazer is indifferent as to that, and is more delighted in looking at the marble figures which adorn them than curious to learn to whom they were erected. While standing in the nave, I was unexpectedly joined by the young German whose acquaintance I was so fortunate as to make in Scotland, and re- mained some time with him admiring the glorious structure. While we were together, silent spectators of the splendid nave and aisles, the Minster chime rang wildly out to the bright sky, and filled the immense vault with melodious sound. The great heavy bell of the cathedral joined in the iron clangor, and the air vibrated and rolled as waves to its deafening tones. It was grand — that chime in York Minster. We visited the ruins of St. Mary's Abbey, one of the greatest attractions in York, after we had passed around the splendid ]\Iinster. The north wall of the nave of the church is all that remains of the once extensive structure, for it was, when entire, almost as large as the cathedral. Eight windows adorn it, but the mullions are gone, and the wall is nearly covered with ivy. In the same inclosure are the ruins of a Koman fortification, and the York Museum ; but as the abbey walls are the sole attraction for the stranger, the cupidity of the owners extracts a shilling from the pocket of each visitor for the privilege of looking at the fragments of the ruined Papal shrine. The English talk to us of a desire for gain, and pretend to think that no people in the world covet money more than the Americans, when they themselves take from travellers at every turn, and demand pay for exhibiting the most trifling articles, and the most sacred places. In the conser- vatory connected with the Museum, there was a Victoria Regia, and the owners modestly asked an additional sixpence from each person for the privilege of looking at that single plant. My German friend had a young architect with him who was an enthusiastic admirer of the ecclesiastical edifices of York. His sketch-book was embellished with several exquisite drawings of the Minster, and churches of the place, besides a number made in Wales and Scotland. We took an evening walk along the OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 209 walls of the city, from which we enjoyed some fine views of the old Roman stronghold. Our artist added a fine picture of the town to his collection of sketches, while we took pleasure in the scenery. Large gates span the entrance to the principal streets, and the towers and battlements along the inclosure give the town the appearance of being inclosed by extensive fortifications. Church spires rise in every quarter, and the ruined tower of the castle frowns down upon the quaint city, while over all rises, like a stately and majestic giant, the immense form of the glorious and indescribable Minster. During my stay, the York races came off, and thousands of sportsmen were present. Betting, boasting, gambling, and drink- ing were the order of the day, and night closed over a scene of prolonged debauchery. The streets were filled with pedestrians, and at the corners men were to be seen singing in stupid strains and verse the achievements of the winnino; horse. Ballad-sinjxers, candy-women, and itinerant dealers generally mingled in tha throng, and the moral influences of a horse-race were exhibited in the streets of York. A swaggering rider bet on his favorite filly, and staked his shillings with as much consequence as his master did his pounds; and the successful gamblers fleeced the stupid clowns. London sent her delegates of ''the Fancy ;'^ and the tradesmen and innkeepers of the town made a good harvest of the " meeting/' as they term the racing. These black- guard gatherings are demoralizing and pestilential in their efl"ects; but England loves to encourage both horse-racing and ring-fights, and, when the wealthy in most instances support and foster these branches of popular education, it is not surprising that the poor and ignorant take pride in witnessing the sport, and keeping holiday, when occasion permits. Having satisfied my curiosity at the antique city of York, I availed myself of a cheap excursion train to the metropolis, and set out in company with my German friends, through a country rich in yellow grain ready for the sickle, and over a por- tion of the dreary wolds of Yorkshire. We made a short stop at Doncaster, and then dashed on to Lincoln. Miles bef )re we 18* 210 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY J reached that city, we obtained a sight of its lofty and imposing cathedral and stately castle. Both buildings stand on an eminence, and command a prospect of great extent. The beautiful Gothic fane is not surrounded by houses, and consequently affords a splendid view. A stay of twenty minutes enabled us to run up the hill on which it stands, and walk around the structure. Niches, now saintless, and rich carvings embellish its external walls, and around it spreads a velvety sward, as soft to the tread as a rich carpet. Portions of the old walls which once inclosed the city still remain, and one or two gateways span as many streets. The city is not large, nor is it very handsome, but it has many attractions for the stranger, and is well worth a visit. A stay of a few minutes allowed no time for an examination into the habits and condition of the inhabitants, and not sufficient for a look at its principal structures. From Lincoln to Peterborough the road lay through the re- claimed fens, one of the most fertile and productive grain countries in the world, and as the crops were ripe for harvest, we saw numbers of people in the fields reaping. Women and fair young girls were engaged in this rural labor, and many a bright eye glanced at our lengthened train as it pursued its iron way. The country is almost a dead level, and at no remote bygone period was a vast and useless swamp. Now, thanks to science in mechanics and agriculture, the whole surface is drained tho- roughly, and fields of waving grain, and numerous farm-houses, and villages and cities abound throughout the district. The system of drainage is most excellent, and the same that is used generally in England and Scotland. Large ditches are cut through certain parts of the land, and some of them are so extensive as to greatly resemble canals. Into these flows the drainage of the land, which is conducted through earthen pipes, laid under ground, in almost every field. The only comparison I can make, by which a correct idea of the plan can be imparted to others who have not seen it, is to say that the system is the same for drainage here as that used for supplying water to the city of Philadelphia. No conduits are seen — all are under ground, and the water is conducted from the surface into small reservoirs, OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 211 wbich lead to the pipes, and through these pipes into the large canals, and then into the natural streams. Some of the rivers are embanked to prevent overflows, and the country reminds one of Holland, where they " scoop out the sea, and usurp the shore." We made a short stop at Boston, in Lincolnshire, a considerable town near the sea-coast, and had time to see its famous church, the spire on which is three hundred feet high, and can be seen at a distance of forty miles in clear weather. Nearly all the cities, in this section of England, boast a cathedral or other noble eccle- siastical edifice, and every village has its Gothic church and soar- ing tower and spire. By the time we arrived at Boston, our company had grown so- ciable and mutually entertaining. The young ladies were agree- able and — pretty. The Germans were polite and gentlemanly, and chatted English intelligibly enough. The Englishmen relaxed their usual stiffness, and joined freely in the conversation. I, as the representative of young America, came in for an occasional rub about slavery and our territorial acquisitions, and the show we made at the Exhibition; I laughed at their jokes, and, as the yacht ^^ America" had just beaten the whole fancy fleet of such English craft at Cowes with ease, I had some show for fight, and did not hesitate about exulting at the achievement of my country- men. I intimated to them that Jonathan would play them a Yankee trick yet, and take the conceit out of the nation in more things than building ships, and they had the candor to acknow- ledge that it was very likely he would. The time passed away pleasantly as we fled through the counties of Lincoln and North- ampton, and, in fact, during the entire journey. At Peterborough we made another half hour's stay, and looked at its hale ca- thedral, the burial-place of Catharine of Arragon, and, for a time, of Mary, Queen of Scots, who, it appears, was not even allowed repose in death, and she was afterwards removed from Peterbo- rough to Westminster Abbey. As we approached the modern Babylon, the country became more hilly, and parks more numerous. Our route lay through a number of old and remarkable towns, among which were Huntingdon, the birthplace of Cromwell, and Bedford, the place in which Bunyan wrote his " Pilgrim's Progress," 212 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; and near wliicli city he was born. Hertford, and Barnet, a town celebrated for a fight which took place near it during the wars of the Roses, in which the great Earl of Warwick fell, were success- ively passed; and then we pressed on to the great city, which we entered after night in the bustle and confusion incident to the arrival of an immense train within its bounds. I parted for the time with my German friends and travelling companions, and wended my way along the crowded thoroughfares of the metro- polis to my former lodgings. Thousands of people thronged the streets, and the black smoke obscured the stars and moon — the atmosphere was not that of the country, nor the inhabitants like those of the smaller cities. As I passed the numerous gin-palaces on my route, the fumes of liquor impregnated the air, and the dazzling light from the windows of these sinks of iniquity flared broad in the streets, and contrasted strongly with the dark slums and back lanes which lay in my walk. Degraded men and women crowded the bar-rooms of the poison palaces, and the atmosphere was thick with smoke and the fumes of gin. I pressed on, and gained my destination, where I met a hearty and sincere wel- come home; still, I could not divest my mind of thoughts con- cerning the scenes I had just witnessed — the change from the rural to the metropolitan life was so great. Surely enough, " God made the country, man made the town." CHAPTER XXI. LONDON — NORTHUMBERLAND HOUSE — HAMPTON COURT MADAME TAUSSAUD's — VERNON GALLERY, ETC. The metropolis of England is unlike any other city in the world; it has no counterpart, no imitation. Its great magni- tude, its busy throngs, its sombre aspect, its squalid misery, and matchless splendor, alike defy description and claim observation. A writer may throw a few sketches of it together, and call them OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 213 a picture of London ; but he who examines the tableau will de- tect its many defects, and expose its inaccuracies. No one can convey to the mind of another, by means of words, a correct idea of its wonders and peculiarities; nor is it possible for a reader to comprehend its greatness and its poverty, its glory and its shame. I was as much a stranger in it on my second visit as at my first ; and threaded its thoroughfares, eager to behold its curiosities, and admire its many attractions. There was an endless throng of con- veyances and pedestrians in the streets, the noise from which was ceaseless and stunning. Carriages dashed past, bearing the wealthy on to the abodes of luxury, while shoeless men and women roamed the sideways, begging the passers-by to purchase of their stock of wares — a cane, a knife, a dancing-spider, or some other useless toy. The Great Exhibition was still in existence, and crowds from the provinces, as well as thousands of foreigners, had taken up their temporary abode in the royal city. New attractions had been added to the many already designed for the edification and delight of the people, and the Duke of Northumberland, with a praise- worthy liberality, worthy honorable mention, had ordered his town- residences — Syon and Northumberland Houses — to be opened to the public. Both are fine mansions, and princely in their internal arrangements. Northumberland House is in the city, at Charing Cross; and is mainly remarkable for a superb marble stairway, which leads from the ground to the first floor. The rooms are hung around with pictures by the old masters — the most valuable being the original of the "Cornaro Family,'' by Titian. The ball- room, a very large and lofty apartment, is adorned with copies of two of Raphael's great works — "The Marriage Feast of Cupid and Psyche," and the "School of Athens;" and a copy, by Mengs, of Guido's ^'Aurora." The paintings are of great magnitude, and occupy three sides of the room, which is decidedly the finest in the palace. The furniture, although costly, did not appear to me to be in character with the splendor of the decorations and extent of the place, and some faded tapestry in a particular de- partment would better suit a rag-shop than the walls it now defaces. 214 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ; Syon House is a few miles from town on the ThameSj near Brentford. It contains some fine pictures by Vandyke, and several of Sir Peter Lely's and Kneller's best productions. The " long room" is embellished with portraits of the Percys, from the days of William the Conqueror down to our own time, in- cluding one of the valiant Hotspur. The drawing-room is the finest apartment, being hung with rich crimson damask, and orna- mented at the ceiling with paintings from ancient mythology. In the entrance-hall is a number of verd-antique marble columns, said to have been recovered from the Tiber at Rome; and several fine bronze figures of great excellence. The grounds are extensive and extremely sylvan. They abound in secluded walks and shady groves, tall cedars of Lebanon and brave old elms. The Thames flows not far from the house, and although the building is very plain, the scenery around gives the visitor a strong partiality for the quiet and princely residence. Thousands of persons availed themselves of the privilege of visiting the two mansions, and the strictest decorum and propriety characterized the conduct of all. Many were the wives and daughters of London tradesmen and mechanics, and in no instance did I ob- serve the slightest rudeness on the part of a single individual — a proof to me that it does not require a person to be of noble blood, even in England, to be of good manners and genteel behavior. Hampton Court, the former residence of the deposed and dis- graced Wolsey, is now the resort of the public, and the freed, toil-worn citizens of London fly to it on Sundays to drink in the rich air of its magnificent parks, and admire the wealth of its splendid galleries. They go there by thousands, and well may they be proud of the privilege their sovereign grants them, of viewing the monarchic palace, and living in its healthful grounds. I have seen thirty thousand persons there at one time, nearly all of whom were London mechanics and their families, and not once did I notice a single improper act. Every individual conducted himself as if upon his behavior depended the reputation of his class, and he was determined it should not sufier in his keeping. Cheerfulness, sociability, and a spirit of kindness characterized all, from the little child to the grayheaded man ; and not a pro- 215 fane or vulgar expression fell from the lips of an individual. Of the vast throng there, there was not one who exhibited the least sign of intoxication, but all were sober, respectful, and devoted to rational enjoyment. Each had a proper respect for the rights of others, and each revelled intellectually in the feast to which he was admitted. The intelligent mechanics and tradesmen of London are a refined people, and they appreciate the favor they have of visiting Hampton Court on the Sabbath, and never abuse it. Their enjoyment of the day at the old palace, and in its glorious grounds, is not a desecration, but both a harmless and beneficial use of the time. They feel when there that life has a sweet draught mixed with its bitterness, and if many of them do not hold to a religious observance of the Sabbath, they welcome it as a glorious boon from Heaven, a day of rest from toil and a release from confinement. The palace is built in the quadrangular form, and is of vast extent. The entrance to the first court-yard is adorned with busts of Tiberius, Vitellius, Trajan, and Hadrian, all of which were sent to Wolsey from Rome by Pope Leo the Tenth. A large hall to the left of this entrance contains some fine tapestry embellished with splendid designs, and a glorious window with the red hat of a cardinal conspicuously marked on its glass of gay colors; while around are the coats of arms of deceased monarchs and queens, and halberts, pikes, and banners. The apartment is said to have been used as a theatre in the reigns of Elizabeth and James, and that the play of Henry the Eighth, or the Fall of Wolsey, was represented in it first on the very spot which had witnessed the prelate's greatest power and splendor. The presence chamber contains seven cartoons of great merit, by Carlo Cignani, and the galleries and various apartments are literally lined with masterpieces of art. There are " Countesses mature'^ in robes and pearls, by Kneller, and beauty speaks from out the canvas. Sweet girls and capricious belles, by Sir Peter Lely. Here shines a Titian in all its glories; there young Palma stains the canvas with the blood of martyrs ; before you a Van- dyke wooes the sight, and at your right a gloomy Tintoretto. Here a Saint, by Parraigiano, pleads and begs you to release him 216 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; from the pain he suffers, while glorious Rubens calms you into peace ! There's old Jordaens, there a Snyders, there a golden and celestial Claude, and here a rich and sweet Murillo. There's a Giorgone black as night, and here a very gem of Guido ; while around you shines a world of triumphs by a hundred artists. Here the genius of Caravaggio left its impress, and there sublime Angelo holds the vision captive. Spagnoletto stained this form with sainted gore, and gloomy Spada colored that St. John. Paul Veronese, Leonardo da Vinci, and matchless Ricci, crowned the place with all the holy ! Here's a rich Ferrato; and a warrior by Guercino scowls from yonder frame, as if he meant to step down and slay the gaping gazers. There's a Rembrandt dark as Hades, yet as light as day. Here a Venus by Albano and at its side a faultless masterpiece of old Teniers. And even West, he of the bloodless palette from beyond the far Atlantic, here shines in glory and vies with all the masters of the olden time in his lio-hts and shadows, splendid forms, and rich celestial coloring. I'll give him praise for once, dash away my prejudice, and own he WAS AN ARTIST. But, over all the throng, triumphant and sub- lime, unapproached and unapproachable, stands the youthful artist, glorious and immortal Raphael. The others' pictures are but shadows when compared with his cartoons — the very per- fection of design. I shall never think of Hampton Court without summoning up a lengthened and imposing throng of painters, who, with noble air, shall pass in file before me; and at the head and front of all will be the form of Raphael with that calm face of his, BO full of art and genius ! The Vernon Gallery, at Marlboro' House, is composed almost exclusively of the productions of modern English artists. Some of the works are remarkable, but none exhibit the soul that glows in the picture of the artists of the Flemish and Italian schools. The pictures have the appearance of having been done to order, and it is an established fact that no painter ever yet produced a masterpiece when he painted solely for lucre. The idea of work- ing in art for money drives the inspiration away, and the result is a senseless unfeeling effort of the pencil ; rich it may be in color- ing, and possessing decided mechanical merit^ but wanting most cer- ORj WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 217 tainly the poetry and soul-elevating characteristics of the works of those whose labor in art was a religion, those who painted from a be- lief in what they did and a faith in their chosen profession. The pictures of Gainsborough are the best in the collection, and evidence the superiority and sincerity of the artist. The Hogarths, in the same building, stand pre-eminent for their truthfulness to nature and character. One of the great resorts of sight-seers in London is Madame Tussaud's exhibition of wax figures, and scarcely a night passes that the place is not densely thronged with gaping and admiring humanity. The untravelled countryman and his rustic daughters there see the sovereign in regal robes, and her descendants repre- sented in yellow wax, and look with admiring wonder on the stupid show. Wretched figures of more wretched kings and queens are judiciously disposed for exhibition, and the tin spangles on tlieir faded robes glitter in the gas-light, and astonish the delighted and loyal crowd. A whole host of the line of Brunswick stand around like wooden men and women, with eyes agape, staring upon the throng who stare again at them. Miserable caricatures of Napoleon, Washington, Cromwell, Shakspeare, and Byron occupy niches, and the soul sickens at the contemplation of the figures, they so outrage humanity. Each one looks as if ophthal- mia were a distemper of the atmosphere, and all sufi'er from the sad disease. Shakspeare is represented as a modern dandy^ *' who cultivates his hair;" and Byron as a Greek, with a belt around the waist containing a whole arsenal of arms. One naturally enough concludes, after viewing that caricature, that his lordship is admirably prepared for a Cuban expedition, and *' Was the mildest mannered man That ever scuttled ship, or cut a throat," and took delight in nothing short of murder. Other figures are arranged throughout the apartments, and some of them even move. A Chinese lady nods her head most vehemently at times, and after the lacqueys wind up Cobbett, that worthy old gentleman twists his neck determinedly until the weights run down, when he very wisely keeps hiaiself quiet until put in motion again by the ma- 19 218 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; cliinerj. There are some miserable pictures around the walls, and several plaster casts of female forms, none of wliieli are re- markable for beauty. But this is not all. The '' room of horrors" invites attention next, as if there were not enough of horrors in the first apartments to horrify any decent, well-disposed individual. The difference between the two sections is, I suppose, that the first contains the murdered, the last the murderers, as every one who sees the figures in both must acknowledge. The chamber of horrors is rich in the wonderful of the cri- minal world; and there the enlightened and intelligent can see Mrs. Manning, and others equally distinguished, who have added to the Newgate literature of England. Every exertion has been made to cause the poor wretches to look as rascally as possible ; and the artist is not even content with that, but must call them, in the catalogue, all the '' diabolical" names to which he can con- tort his classical tongue. Burke, the Edinburgh miscreant, is represented as a fiend incarnate, and his face is well calculated to frighten children to death. Napoleon's carriage is in the apart- ment; but I could not ascertain what crime that unfortunate yehicle had been guilty of to entitle it to a place in that horrible chamber of horrors. It surely did not commit murder; and yet, why is it there? So much for Madame Tussaud's exhibition of wax figures, the resort of the curious, and a sham to please or alarm children. It is, without misrepresentation, the most abo- minable abomination in the great city, and the very audience-hall of humbugs. Barnum ought to have it. CHAPTER XXII. JEWISH QUARTER — PUBLIC STATUES — PECULIARITIES. There is a street in the Whitechapel section of London called Petticoat Lane, a long, narrow avenue, almost entirely occupied by a set of low, thieving Jews. It is a carriage-way; but in con- OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 219 sequence of being filled with goods, but few vehicles enter it. With Iloundsditch, another similarly inhabited, though better con- ditioned thoroughfare in the neighborhood, it comprises the Jew- ish quarter of the metropolis. Both sides of the narrow, filthy alley are lined with shops, filled with trumpery of every kind. Old clothes (and no one will doubt their being old), broken china, shabby furniture, rusty iron, dirty children, slatternly women, and vagabond-looking men crowd the place. At one side, the curious wight who enters the avenue is almost forced into a shop to buy a hat better than new; while, at the other, an opposition dealer insists that you purchase of him, and declares his neighbor will cheat you. The centre of the lane is occupied with stands, on W'hich is exposed for sale a conglomeration of such trumpery as only Jews would collect or offer to sell. The whole of the in- habitants look like professional thieves, from the children up, and it is the presence only of the police that prevents a man being robbed in broad daylight. No one can be mistaken in the people. All possess the indisputable nose that characterizes the tribe of Judah; and the sharp, penetrating black eye, and sinister, dis- honest, avaricious expression of countenance exhibited by all, induce the visitor to make a hasty retreat from Petticoat Lane. I thought the very atmosphere of the place thick with villany; and when I reached my lodgings took my coat off and aired it, so as to get rid of the infection. Talk about the Five Points! Pshaw! In gaming phrase, Petticoat Lane will beat it, and give it a thousand start. The public statues of persons of distinction in London are nu- merous- Wellington has at least two, both of which are eques- trian. The best is in front of the Ptoyal Exchange and the Bank. The other is over the triumphal arch at Hyde Park corner, and opposite Apsley House. There is a very fine bronze figure of George the Third, mounted, in Cockspur Street; and one of Charles the First, at Charing Cross, immediately before the Nel- son Pillar, on the top of which stands a colossal figure of the great naval captain. George the Fourth had a statue of himself placed on one of the pedestals in Trafalgar Square, at his own expense, and it remains to this day as a monument of his vanity. There is a very fine pedestrian figure of the sailor king, William 220 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; the Fourth, at the foot of King William Street, near London Bridge, on what is said to be the site of Dame Qaiglej's Boar's Head Tavern. It is a masterpiece, and one of the best public statues in London. There are representations in bronze, in the public squares, of Fox, Pitt, and Canning; and a really graceful and fine figure of James the Second in the court-yard of White Hall. A tall column, of Scotch granite, rises near Carlton Ter- race to an altitude of one hundred and some forty feet, attracting considerable attention. It is surmounted with a fine bronze statue of a portly, baldheaded man, and can be seen to great advantage from St. James's Park. A few days after my entrance into Lon- don, I was walking near the shaft, and not knowing to whom it was erected, I asked a man of genteel appearance what it was. " We call that," said he, looking up to it with a sarcastic smile, " the I. 0. U. column. It was built by subscription to the memory of the Duke of York, a man who died indebted to almost every tradesman in London who would trust him; and it would have been more to the honor of those who built it if they had paid some of his starving creditors with the money, instead of erecting that to insult those he cheated." I did not expect such a reply; and as my informant was of the class called tradesmen, I concluded that His lioyal Highness, the valiant Duke of York, had left him some mementos of his great- ness in the shape of unpaid bills. The circulating medium of England is gold, silver, and copper, a currency far superior to flimsy paper, and one with which there is not the slightest difficulty. The American is impressed with its utility and excellence at once and lastingly. There is no trouble about change, and as the currency is the same throughout the three kingdoms, a man is never at a loss in a strange place to know whether his money is current or not. The lowest note is £5, or about $25; and go where you will, that always commands its full value in gold or silver. I often thought, when ram- bling about the kingdom, how much superior is the currency of monarchical England, compared with the trashy paper of our Republic. I had not occasion to pay an exorbitant discount on flimsy, soiled, and mutilated bills in every town I entered, as OR; AVANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 221 one must do in the United States, nor did I run the risk of hav- ing a counterfeit note palmed on me when I required change. The sovereigns and shillings were always at par, no matter where I went, and never refused; and that is more than can be said honestly of one-half of the notes of the many swindling banks now circulating in our land. The Government has established a very convenient system of forwarding remittances, which is worth describing. It is con- nected with the post-office, and has its branches in every town, and nearly every village in the country. The plan is simple and reliable. The person remitting goes to the money order office, as the head-quarters are called, and obtains a draft for the amount required payable at a given place. The order is forwarded by mail by the one who bought it; and at the same time information is transmitted by the Grovernment agent to the office on which the draft is made, stating the sum, and the name of the person sending. The person who receives it presents the order; and, after signing his name to a receipt on its face, is asked who the order is from. If the answer be satisfactory, the amount is paid at once; but if not, it is withheld until the one presenting the draft shows conclusively that he is the proper recipient. Sixpence is charged on sums of five pounds or less, and when the advantages are taken into consideration it is very reasonable. Fraud seldom or never results from the system, and losses are rare. Some per- sons pretend to think the Grovernment has no right to act the part of a small exchange broker ; but the majority think other- wise, and as the system prevents sharpers from taking advantage of the necessities of those who want to make remittances in small amounts, it is popular among the masses, and both useful and safe. Notices of habits and customs are worthy of record, and probably a description of a London barber's shop may not be uninteresting. They differ much from the showy and convenient saloons for shaving so numerous in the United States, and are neither clean nor attractive. The barber is usually a slovenly sort of fellow, or an arrant dandy, whose "odoriferous attempts to please" are detestable. Hair-dressing is his proper business, and as nearly all Englishmen in respectable life shave themselves, the barber 19* 222 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; has more use for bis scissors than his razor. The shop is indiffer- ently fitted up — the chair for shaving being one of the ordinary kind, without a bead-rest or support for the feet, and the subject is obliged to sit in it upright, as if invested -with a strait-jacket. As soon as he is seated, the knight of the razor applies the soap with a brush, and then proceeds to shave — an operation he usually performs in a very negligent and imperfect manner. The conveni- ences for washing are indifferent, and as the shaved is obliged to dress his own hair, he must do so with a public comh, provided for the purpose; and also dry his face with the puhlic toicel, both of which may have been used by twenty persons before he had occasion for them. The charge for the favor is two-pence, or about four cents ; but in many cases not more than half that sum is demanded, and the service is dearly bought at that. Many English travellers in the United States tell stories about people here using the same tooth-brush, and in their holy fright at our barbarity entirely forget that it is a common thing in England for men to use, in a barber's shop, the same shaving-brush, razor, comb, hair-brush, and towel, and know very well that no man who gets shaved there at a hairdresser's has his own cup, razor, towel, and brush, as every permanently resident gentleman has who is shaved at a barber's shop in the United States. It is true that we have many habits to reform, but there are few only of them worse than the one here noticed. CHAPTER XXIII. WAITING FOR REMITTANCES A TRIP INLAND — TRAVELLING COMPANIONS — THE COUNTRY THE TOWNS — A JOURNEY ON FOOT — FARM WAGES — MEN AND THEIR SHOES — THE LAN- ■ GUAGE. Weary of London, and disappointed in not receiving letters from home, I determined to await no longer the tardy action of OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 223 my friends, but to proceed inland, and visit such parts of the country as circumstances would allow and inclination might prompt. Yorkshire, although distant from the metropolis, pre- sented a region yet unexplored, and various circumstances directed me to that section of country. With a sadness, I bade farewell to my generous friends in the metropolis, and set out on my jour- ney. The rain threatened, and when I arrived at the station it was to learn that the hour of departure had been changed, and I would of necessity be compelled to wait for a considerable period. The time hung heavily on me, and a short stroll in Regent's Park did not contribute much to relieve my anxiety. The hour at last arrived, and having obtained a comfortable seat, I made myself as contented as possible under the circumstances, endeavoring to reconcile myself to the stupid company around me. My travel- ling companions regarded me as a rara avis, and it was some time before they ascertained to what country I belonged. ^' You are not a Frenchman V said one, with a puzzled look, fearful lest he had made a mistake, and yet ambitious to be con- sidered an adept in recognizing foreigners. '' No ! I am not a Frenchman,'' I replied in a tone by no means calculated to encourage or induce further questions. " Then your loike to be a Yankee, or Fm greetly mista'en.'^ " Yes, I am an American," and then several chimed in and gave their opinions of slavery and war. One or two thought Jonathan would be too much for John Bull, should another con- test arise between the two countries, while others entertained opinions to the contrary. ^' The Yankees are too impudent, and ought to be thrashed, and the sooner it is done the better." I made no answer, expressed no opinion, and consequently provoked no ill feeling. Silence is a virtue when a person is in such com- pany, and even if it be not so, I was too dejected at the time to take much interest in a conversation with those from whom what little information I might gain would be of such a character as to be scarcely worth preserving. It is said that knowledge can be obtained from a jackass, but it would puzzle a good chemist to extract the smallest particle of that useful article from a whole army of such donkeys as surrounded me at that time. They were 224 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; the dumbest bipods of the race I ever saw, unquestionably, and as boorish as they were dumb. We proceeded at a rapid rate, and soon gained the open coun- try. The landscapes were lovely, and although the grain had been gathered from the fields, the pasture was green, and the clumps of wood, and scattered trees, and rich autumnal appear- ance of the hedges made a most delightful succession of scenery. The interior of England is less wild than the coast sections, and more subdued in aspect. Occasionally, the sharp spire or square tower of some old village church starts up from among the trees; and the quiet hamlets, with straw-thatched roofs, look at a dis- tance the very abode of content. The absence of large forests and desolate tracts of land contributes greatly to the pleasing ap- pearance of the country, and makes one love it, whether he will or not ; and, when October's sober brown tinges the hedges, and sears the leaves of the scattered trees, and the quiet cattle graze un- disturbed on the rich sward of the beautiful fields, and the hazy atmosphere sheds a sort of dreamy influence over the landscape, one is impressed lastingly with the poetry of the rural life of England. The rain began to fall heavily, and the day wore away with clouds, as we dashed on towards our destination. "We made short stops at several stations, but not long enough to allow time to visit the interesting objects of the towns at which we tarried. The old cathedral of Leicester was too far off for examination, and I was compelled to be content with a distant and circum- scribed view of its outer walls. It is a pretty structure, and the town is famous, for it was there that the noted Cardinal Wolsey expired, and other incidents of importance occurred. Loughboro* came next, and the dazzling lights of a lace factory told unmis- takably how many weary hours the factory-classes are comj^elled to labor within the walls of such prison-houses. Night closed in, and darkness shut out the landscape. Town after town was passed, and at two o'clock in the morning the train arrived at the city of York. I took my knapsack, and hunted up a tavern. — The landlord descended and admitted me, and as he was in his bare feet, I had a sight of two of the dirtiest pedal extremities ORj WANDEP.IxNGS OF AN AMERICAN. 225 ever worn by mortal. They certainly did not argue much for the cleanliness of the house or its inmates, but, as I had stopped there previously, I knew the place to be clean, and had no cause to change my opinion when shown to a room for the balance of the night. Everything was comfortable, and as a weary man is easily satisfied with a resting-place, after a long travel, in the short hours of the night, I soon fell asleep and forgot my troubles, both mental and physical, in the enjoyment of peaceful rest. The following day dawned gloriously and bright, the rain had ceased, and the soft wind blew fresh from the south-west. York was clean and gay; its quaint and crooked old streets wore a cheerful aspect, and, prompted by their inviting appearance, I took a stroll around the proud and lofty Minster for the last time. The air was redolent of health and the odor of trees, and the town appeared to be enjoying one of Nature's Sabbaths. I looked up in admiration to the peerless structure, and entered its soaring transept with a heart full of the religion of hope and calmness. The dome of heaven, without, lifted my truant thoughts to the Great Creator of the Universe, and caused me to muse his praise in silence; and the rich tracery and gorgeous productions by man within the august pile held my soul captive to sweet and pleasing contemplation; the works of the All- Wise Being inspir- ed me with gratitude, those of the Mundane claimed my admira- tion and praise I But enough of this — " Away, nor let me loiter in my song, For I liave many a mountain patli to tread," and must descend from the sublime to the commonplace things of this world. At ten o'clock I started for Leeds, a distance of twenty-five miles, a journey I determined to accomplish on foot. The day was favorable to the undertaking, and with my knapsack and staff, pilgrim-like, I took to the road in good spirits. For miles there was but little to interest, and the landscape presented no remarkable features, either natural or artificial. A few miles to my right lay the field of Marston Moor, famous for being the scene of a fierce and desperate struggle between the Parliamentary 226 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY j troops and those of Charles the First, but except its historical celebrity it has no attractions for the visitor at this day. Some farm hands and hedgers were at work in the fields and along the road-side, but they were a stupid set, and spoke a dialect scarcely intelligible. Their condition was poor, and from the amount of wages they receive it would be unjust to expect them to live better than they do under the circumstances. Seven shillings a week for working on a farm from daylight to dark will not aiFord a married man, with a wife and three or four children, many com- forts ; and if he and his family are ignorant, it is not much won- der, and certainly not his fault, when there are no schools but such as must be paid for dearly, and no food but what costs ex- travagantly. Clownishness and stupidity are the natural results of the social and political condition of the rustic population of England ; and so long as men are regarded by those who are their superiors in wealth and position as but little better than swine, so long will the farm hands of Great Britain be held in their present condition. In this section of the country, the men wear that abominable approximation to a petticoat — the smock-frock, and shoes sufficiently heavy to answer the purpose of street paving. They plod along with a shuffling gate, and it is not surprising when one looks at the immense weight they have attached to their feet. I weighed a pair of the shoes, and they fell but little short of six pounds and a half, and appeared to me to be heavy enough to fix a man to the ground without any fur- ther weight. The nails in the soles are oftentimes three-eighths of an inch square on the head, and as the bottoms are full of such ornaments, the great weight cannot be wondered at. I have measured the heels of some of these rustic dancing pumps, and found them to be an inch and a half thick, with soles in pro- portion, and then filled with the nails above described. The language of the great mass of the inhabitants of York- shire is a jargon it would be an insult to call Eoglish, and only intelligible to those who imbibed it in their childhood, or have acquired it by study. But few readers, I presume, are familiar w^ith the classical productions of the Lancashire bard, Tim Bob- bin^ but if they wish to learn something of the tongue of his OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 227 section of the worldj they had better obtain a copy of his works, and then they will be able to appreciate the beauties of his native language, after they have studied it sufficiently to comprehend it — a thing not easily done without the aid of a competent linguist. He wrote in his vernacular, and as that is the present language of Yorkshire, his work is a curiosity. Take the following spe- cimen, and it will give some faint idea of the common and usual style of speech : — "An ther wur a peinter that lived unce at Halifax (but hes been livin a Froglan a mony a yer sin), an int' order o' his per- fesshun he wor called aught o't'tawen t-goa t-at gentlemans hawse to tak t'likeness o' sum o' his cattle I" That may be considered fair — not exaggerated — but much better than is generally spoken, and yet it would puzzle any but a linguist to tell what is meant by it. To translate it into English, it would be : " And there was a painter that lived once at Halifax (but he has been living at Frogland for many a year since), and in the order of his pro- fession he was called out of town to go to a gentleman's house, to take the likeness of some of his cattle.'' The grammatical arrangement is not correct, but the paragraph is copied literally from a printed work, and is nearly an exact specimen of the best of the spoken language of the country people of Yorkshire and Lancashire. I frequently met with persons whose speech was so outrageous that I could not understand what they said, and they were equally at a loss to comprehend me. The road over which I travelled is through a gently rising country, and, like the majority of the highways in England, it has a foot- walk running its entire length. For miles this way is flagged, and were it not for the continuous hedges and open country, the pedestrian would almost imagine himself on the edge of a town, while following its level course. I entered the village of Tadcaster about noon, and, after dinner, looked around the place. My land- lord was one of those who judge of people's pockets by the ap- pearance of their garments — a practice not confined to England; and when the servant asked the price of ray bread and cheese, some questions were propounded to which I was an accidental listener. 228 "Is he dressed well?" was inquired by the host ; and, a satisfac- tory answer being given, the waiter was directed to charge me seven pence ha'penny for what a person poorly clad would have had to pay about four pence. I settled the score, knowing well that it would be the last one I would ever pay in that house, and went out to look at the village, which is a pleasant place, quite clean, and blest with streets much wider than those of many other ham- lets in which it has been my lot to rest. The River Wharf flows through the place, and as it is clear and placid, it contrasts strongly with the black waters of the streams, which run through the manufacturing towns. A fine stone bridge spans the current a short distance above, where is a beautiful arti- ficial cascade, which far surpasses all the natural falls I saw in the island. The church is an old Gothic structure, with a square tower, and stands in a bower of trees on the river's bank. Time has dealt harshly with its walls, and but little care is taken of the burial-ground around the edifice. Children were romping among the tombs when I was there, and cattle were cropping the grass, which grew on the hillocks, under which *' The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep." As I pursued my course towards Leeds, the land became more elevated, and the village spires shot heavenward from the distant valleys. Large farm-houses occasionally met my view, and their appearance was so different from what I had seen in other parts that I could not fail to notice them. The barns, in most cases, were immense, and strongly resembled those of Lancaster County, Pennsylvania. Some were of brick, others of stone, and all sub- stantially built. The farm-yards were filled with large stacks of grain, for it is a custom to keep the wheat in the ear, in many cases, until there is a demand for it, or it is sold; and, conse. quently, it is housed or stacked under a thatched cover. Numbers of cattle were grazing in the pasture lands, and once in a while I met a drove of well fed mutton on its way to market. The drovers were accompanied by one or two shepherd dogs — an animal which, for sagacity, surpasses all the canine species we have amongst us. They are wonderful, and it is surprising to see them keep a flock OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 229 of sheep under control. If one goes out of the direct route, the dog, unbidden, dashes ahead, and drives the wanderer back to the flock. Sometimes, when in a hurry, he bounds over every obstacle in his course, and the backs of the sheep afford him a safe bridge in his determination to get ahead. If the drove comes to a crossroad, he keeps in front, and watches vigilantly the flock under his charge. If one attempts to take the wrong course, away he goes, and, by barking and following it up, drives it back to the throng, and waits quietly until all have passed, when he moves on in their wake, carelessly, and apparently indifferent to his charge. But a want of vigilance is not a characteristic of him. He is ever watchful, and never neglects his duty, and when occasion requires, is quick to perform his part. He is of a small race, has the appearance of a hungry wolf, with a sharp face, and a restless and ever-watchful eye, and, to take his performances as an evidence of his worth, he is the most valuable of the canine tribe. A few miles to the south-west of Tadcaster, I met an African — one of the blackest of that sooty race. He was dressed rather fantastically, and meeting him, as I did, in such a remote section of the world, my curiosity was excited as to who and what he was. On inquiry, he told me he was a native of Congo, on the coast of Africa, and had been in England eight years. His main support was derived from the sale of books, and he had with him a number of volumes, which he was trying to dispose of to the country people. He said that he was not successful in his business in the section of country through which he was then passing, and found no encouragement to proceed. His speech was broken, and strongly marked with the negro accent ; but I am free to say that he spoke English much better than many of the natives with whom I conversed. After parting from him a short time, Q I met a white woman with two children, and it did not require much penetration to satisfy me that the curlj'-- headed urchins, who called her mother, were the offspring of herself and the Afri- can, with whom I had so recently been in conversation. The boys d^ were of a light brown complexion, and had all the characteristics of a thorough amalgamation of colors in their hue and features. The 20 230 ■white predominated, however, and altogether the young sprouts of the two races were rather prepossessing than otherwise. The mo- ther was a fair specimen of the lower class of English women, and appeared to be proud of her ebony progeny, and happy in the love of her black lord, who was certainly as sooty as the most particular delineator of Shakspeare could desire Othello to be, though there is little reason to suppose that he entertained the jealous feeling of the Moor, for he was of a cheerful and contented disposition. A short distance on my right, when a few miles from Tadcaster, I passed a village called Towton, celebrated for a battle fought near it, on Palm Sunday, 1641, between the rival houses of York and Lancaster, in the famous wars of the Roses. At a few hun- dred yards from the village, is an obelisk of about forty feet in heioht ; but I was unable to learn what it was placed there for, although it may, properly, be conjectured that it was erected to commemorate the scene of battle. As I neared Leeds, the country became quite thickly spotted with villages, but none of them were on the road. The famous residence of the once powerful Knights Templar lay but a few miles to my left ; and, being desirous to see the renowned edifice, I diverged from my direct course, and paid it a visit. The reader of " Ivanhoe" will recollect it as Templestowe, and as being the scene of the interview between Isaac of York and the Knights, when the Jew paid the place a visit for the purpose of effecting the release of his daughter. It is called Temple New- sam at this time, and is occupied by a gentleman who is said to be a lineal descendant of one of the soldier priests. The lands attached to the estate are very extensive, and but few places, even in that beautiful country, can boast finer prospects, or nobler elms and oaks than the lordly domain of Temple Newsam. The man- sion stands on the side of a hill, and is almost encircled by trees. In front opens a most living and peaceful landscape, and the mind of the visitor is impressed with the princely manner of life enjoyed by those who erected and inhabited the old pile. It is, in form, three sides of a quadrangle, and the main entrance-door on the west side of the noble court-yard is adorned on either side with a full length figure of a Knight Templar, in the peculiar dress of that order; while over the doorway is the bust of some person, either OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 231 real or fabulous. The battlements around the top of the house, facing the court-yard, are ornamented with mottoes in large Roman capitals, which, as nearly as I could copy them, are as follows : — ■ " All glory and praise be given to God, the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost on high. Peace on earth and good will towards men; and Honor and true allegiance to our gracious King, and LOVING affection AMONGST HIS SUBJECTS. Health and plenty be within this house." The letters have a singular appearance, and the old mansion, with its strange ornaments and antiquated look, comes nearer to my ideal of a baronial hall than any other building I saw in the land. It is the very place for happiness, and its historical asso- ciations, aside from the charms thrown over it by the novelist, make it a place of interest; and the man who could not enjoy life within its great walls should be compelled to live in the filthy town, whose tall tapering chimneys and black smoke rise in full view from the rear of the mansion. Seven miles distant, 1 distinctly saw the dark vapors from its countless manufactories, hovering over the great cloth town. They ascended into the pure air above, and polluted it as you would a crystal stream by pouring ink of the blackest hue into its trans- parent waters. Where I stood, the atmosphere was pure and uncontaminated, and the dewy air was laden with health to those who were fortunate enough to inhale it, while in the distant town the overworked artisan and eager citizen were breathing an element thick with smoke and productive of disease. Weary and sore, I entered Leeds, and plodded my way along its crooked, steep, and dirty streets to a comfortable, and to me welcome inn, at which rest and quiet were to be commanded. After a good supper, I enjoyed a night of sweet refreshing sleep. 232 THE FOOTPATH AND JTIGHWAY CHAPTER XX I y. LEEDS AND HER MANUFACTURES — AYORKING PEOPLE — KIRK- STALL ABBEY. Leeds bears a strong resemblance to Sheffield, and the person who visits both places will at once notice the fact. Some of the principal streets of the cloth city are clean, and as they are well paved with cubical blocks of stone, they present a better appear- ance than any of the thoroughfares of Sheffield. Both towns are situated on hills and surrounded by hills, or nearly so, and both abound in the suburbs in crooked, steep, and filthy streets. Over each there is a continual cloud of smoke, and the clearest day or brightest sun cannot dispel the blackness from the atmo- sphere. Here the comparison ends, and Leeds, probably, has the worst of it. There is a large number of courts, or, as they are locally termed, yards, in the town, and they are the hotbeds of misery and degradation. They are the slums of the place, and the residences of the poor, or the workshops or business-places of the small manufacturers of Leeds. They are generally entered through arched ways from the streets ; and there are but few of the main thoroughfares, in what may be considered the old part of the town, that do not contain more inhabitants in these obscure courts and alleys than live in the houses in front. The streets most deserving notice are Briggate, Xorth Street, Commercial Street, and Yv^ood-house Lane. The shops on the first named are quite imposing, and many of them are as taste- fully fitted up as those of London. The town is situate on both banks of a stream about thirty yards wide, dignified by the name of river; but its black and filthy waters and narrow limits do not extort from the stranger admiration. The woollen manufacture of England is principally confined to Yorkshire, and Leeds is the centre of the business. There are OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 233 immense cloth establishments in the town, and large quantities of cassimeres, broadcloths, and kerseys are annuall}^ made and sold in it. The markets are held on Tuesdays and Saturdays, in buildings erected expressly for the purpose, and nearly all the sales take place in those concerns, and at the times named. The manufacturers or merchants assemble at a specified time, each behind a stand or counter on which are exposed samples of goods, and there the sales are effected. The prices of cloths are much lower than one would suppose. None of those manufactures that I saw exposed for sale exceeded in price twelve shillings per yard by the piece, and none of them were of an inferior quality of broadcloths. The stock is usually large and various, and the purchaser can obtain almost any amount or quality of woollens he desires. The town is a filthy one, and the constant cloud of black smoke which hovers over it gives almost everything an aspect of gloom. The houses are black, the stream that flows through the place black, and some of the inhabitants are only one shade lighter than very many negroes. At the dinner hour, the streets are to a certain extent thronged with the operatives of the factories, and their appearance is by no means favorable. The women are either bareheaded or barefooted, and the men are dressed in greasy clothes, or what may properly be termed rags. Their faces bear no marks of intellectual cultivation, and their language is a jargon scarcely intelligible, while their conversation is generally upon some species of brutal amusement. I occasionally went of an evening to a drinking concern where some of them assembled, and there was nothing to be seen there that impressed me with a favor- able opinion of their morals or education. Drinking ale and smoking tobacco in long pipes were their common evening amuse- ments, and when a little fuddled they indulged in most vulgar and obscene language. Gin-palaces and ale-houses absorb the greater portion of their leisure time, and there are but few of them who regularly attend the Mechanics' Institutes, or the lecture-rooms of the place. Some of them are able to read, but the number of such is small in proportion to the mass who cannot, and there is but little prospect of the rising generation being much superior to 20* 234 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; tlie present in that particular. One of the principal causes which operate to degrade the laborers and mechanics of the manufactur- ing towns and districts is the common use of ale as a beverage, both among men and women. It is considered indispensable at the table, and a meal without it is not regarded complete. The habit of drinliing grows with the individual from childhood, and as he in- creases in years he generally increases the quantity he consumes. As an evidence of the general use of the article, I may mention an incident that occurred to me when on my walk from York to Leeds. I was very thirsty, and stopped at a cottage door, where I asked for a glass of water. The woman looked at me a while, and told me she had no water on hand, but she would sell me a glass of beer, which I of course declined. She kept beer in the house, but no water, and that in the country, at a considerable distance from a city. The wages of the operatives at Leeds do not differ from those paid in other manufacturing towns, and when you ask the amount usually given to a person for a particular service, the answer is a few shillings more or less per week, but never over a dollar per day. Kents are high when the taxes are taken into the account, a very important item by the way, in the English tenant's yearly expenses, for the landlords rent their houses with the express un- derstanding that the renter is to pay the church-rates and taxes, which usually amount to an additional sum equal to one-half of the rent. Provisions are dearer than with us, newspapers are about ten times as expensive, and almost everything excepting the article of clothing is, at a fair calculation, twice as costly as the same things are in the United States, nor are they as a general rule superior to ours. The meats and some few fruits are better than the American, but the prices demanded are much higher than are paid in the States. How the poor live is a mystery, and the only rational conclusion that can be got at is that they do not live, but drag out a miserable existence, in a condition a little better than starvation, and sustain their spirits by the con- stant use of ale. To say that all the factory hands and operatives are ale-drinkers and ignoramuses would be unjust to a number of the class, who ORj WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 235 are in reality the salt of the land, but unfortunately they are a small band, and cannot exercise suflScient influence over the larger class to effect a visible improvement in the mass of the present generation. The temperance cause wants more advocates among them, and those who will go out into the highways as missionaries in the cause. A practical advocate of temperance could do some- thing ; not one who preaches total abstinence and practises ale- drinking, but one who acts up to his profession. In the days of Franklin, the English workmen drank beer, and all the efforts of that philosopher failed to effect a reformation among his shopmates; and it will take a man with all of Franklin's arguments and all his energy to destroy the fashion of drinking ale that prevails to this day among the English ; but it can be done, and it is to be hoped that the thing will be accomplished, at least partially, before the rising generation reaches the years of maturity. The Briggate, or principal street of the town, is lined on both sides to a considerable extent (of a Saturday evening) with booths and stalls for the sale of various articles of use and comfort. The market space, in a different section of the town, is the great resort, and there one can see English low life to perfection on a market night. The poor throng the place in search of such articles as they can afford to purchase, and they seldom buy more than a few pounds of meat and potatoes, or, perhaps, apples or pears, all of which are sold by weight in England. The space is an open square, occupied on market-day by such as obtain the privilege of a place. The collection is a motley one, and the observer can see, arranged around in carts, on stalls, or on the ground, quanti- ties of earthenware, hardware, potatoes, apples, peas, calicoes, hats, shoes, and trumpery of every description. Men, women, and children, dressed indifferently, crowd the alleys and keep up a constant Babel with their outrageous pronunciation. Punch and Judy shows, or something quite as intellectual and instructive, give variety to the medley j and a wandering German boy may be met in one section with his organ, playing, in no unmusical strains, the sweet and plaintive air of ^' ! Susannah, don't you cry for me !" or the once cherished American song of "Carry me back to Old Virginny's shore !'^ It is strange to hear these 236 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY J tunes of a Saturday night, in an English town, gushing from the pipes of an instrument manufactured on the Rhine, and borne about by a fairhaired boy from Bavaria. I met such minstrels often in my rambles, and travelled for miles with them along the secluded lanes and by-ways of Old England ; and let others say what they please against the itinerant organ, I ask to be allowed the indulgence of my taste in listening to the much abused and despised instrument, particularly when playing in my dreaming ear in a foreign clime the sweet airs of the land which is my birth- right. Through the friendship and influence of an American gentleman, resident in Leeds, I was enabled to visit one of the large woollen establishments of the town. The factory is distant a few miles from the city, and as every branch of the business of cloth-making, from the raw article to the perfect finish, is carried on in the con- cern, there was abundant opportunity afforded me for careful observation. The manner of manufacture and the machinery did not impress me asdiiferent from what we have in usej and, except the quality of the cloths and the extent of the place, there was nothing deserving particular mention. The manufactures con- sisted of cassimeres, broadcloths, and kerseys, of various qualities and styles, the principal portion of which was dyed in the piece. One of the workmen conducted me through the building, and as he was rather talkative, he ventured to make an advocate of free trade of me, and stated that our protective tariff was of little con- sequence, as it was systematically and successfully evaded by several extensive woollen houses in Leeds, the partners in which had their agents in the United States for the express purpose of smuggling. His statement may be true, and as he spoke confi- dently, he certainly believed it himself. Li my endeavors to obtain statistical information respecting manufactures, and other matters of importance, I found great dif- ficulty, and was often surprised at the small number of persons, even among those who might be presumed to know, who were able to give me reliable information of the character I sought. Statis- tics do not receive so much attention in England as in the United States, and it is only the few who take an interest in them. In 237 my endeavors to learn something of the number of woollen facto- ries in Leeds, I met with no encouragement whatever. The editors and publishers of newspapers knew nothing of the matter, and all looked astonished when I asked the question. It may be stated as a fact, without fear of contradiction, that there are not fifty persons in Leeds who can tell the exact number of woollen manu- factories in the town, although it is the centre of the cloth trade in Yorkshire, and contains more establishments in that line than any other town in England. Through the kindness, and com- mendable determination to serve me, of one of the clerks in a news- paper-office, I obtained a statement of the number of spindles and hands employed, and as it is an abridgment from a parliamentary report it is reliable. Other manufactures are named; but it is to the cloth business that I confine myself. There were in York- shire, in 1850, five hundred and thirty-two woollen factories for spinning only — the greatest number in any one place being in Leeds — with 629,838 spindles, and an aggregate horse-power, steam and water combined, of 7431; furnishing employment for 20,153 persons, of which number 5063 were females above thir- teen years, and 5819 boys, from thirteen to eighteen years of age, the balance being males above eighteen. Of weaving factories there were 180 in the county, employing 295,611 spindles, 3604 power-looms, and 14,002 hands, of whom 7000 were females. Of other woollen factories, not enumerated in the above, there were 159, employing 6128 persons, the number of spindles, &c., not being named. This does not include the worsted mills, which, although, strictly speaking, woollen manufactories, are arranged under another bead. The number of yards of cloth annually ma- nufactured is not given, nor are the wages stated; but it appears that there has been an increase throughout the kingdom, since 1834, of 51 per cent, in the woollen and worsted factories, and an increase of hands employed of 116 per cent. The consump- tion of foreign and colonial wools, which form less than one-half of that consumed, has advanced 64 per cent, in the same period. From this statement, necessarily much abridged, it will be ob- served that the manufacture is extensive, and its increase astonish- 238 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; ing. The mills in Wales and the West of England are but few compared with those of Yorkshire. Leeds is not famous for any events in the history of England, and, with the exception of a ruined abbej'' a short distance from the town, has no monuments of antiquity. The old monastery is in the usual form of a cross, and although built of common and rough stone, it is massive and imposing. Like all similar struc- tures, it lies in a secluded valley, near a stream, and its great ex- tent, even in decay, tells plainly how important it was in bygone years. Cattle were quietly feeding within its walls when I was there, and my echoing tread scared a flock of rooks from their nests in the dark ruin, and caused them to wheel through the air, screaming and cawing above my head. Cattle and crows are the present occupants of the once holy abode of the abbot, the bishop, and the monk. How wonderful are thy changes, Time ! CHAPTER XXy. HARROWGATE — KNARESBOROUGH — EUGENE ARAM — RIPON — FOUNTAIN ABBEY — BRIMHAM ROCKS — REFLECTIONS. I LOVE the deep, fadeless green of the English landscape, and glory in a ramble along the roads, when the sun is bright, and the native birds sing sweetly from the gay hedges. Others may fly through the island at railway speed ; but give me the roads, the glorious roads of old England, for a ramble, and I'll enjoy the scenery and the attractions around, as none can enjoy them but the pedestrian. By rail, things are seen as we see the passing beauties of a moving panorama, for a moment only; but the ^' view afoot'^ is far otherwise. You unroll the scene at your pleasure — you gaze on what interests you most, until your senses become intoxicated with the beauty of nature or the allurements of art, and feel that you are really reaping advantages unknown OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 239 to those wlio move, mere birds of passage, over the country, and not through it. The land may be uneven, but the roads are smooth and level, and so admirably constructed as to extort admiration from him whose lot it is to ramble at will along them. It is worth an American's while to go to England, if for nothing but to see the splendid roads and soft verdure of the fields. There is scarcely a turnpike in the island that is not as smooth as a floor, and in many places I have seen men repairing them where it was impossible for me to discover a necessity for their doing so. When away from the towns, you are away from the smoke that envelops them, and live in an atmosphere healthful and pure. Nature and science enrich the landscape, the villages have an an- cient, indescribable air, and the rustic population is in strong con- trast with the refined and educated middle class of the realm. There is a want of independence in the English peasant, growing out of his admiration of wealth and titles, that degrades him, and makes him appear servile to an American. He is rude and ignorant, but neither impudent nor forward to those he considers his equals, in which respect he differs greatly from the Irish. He has some dignity of character even with his rudeness, and when made an equal by those whose circumstances are better than his, seldom assumes to himself that importance so readily put on by the Hibernian peasant when a superior person is dis- posed to be sociable with him. There is a wide difference between the two classes of peasantry, and I am ready to confess the En- glish infinitely the superior. On the road from Leeds to Harrowgate, there was opportunity afforded me to observe their way of living, but it did not differ from what I saw in other sections. It was the old story as to wages, and the same statement as to food. Many of them had never been ten miles from home, and either did not, or pretended not to know anything about the country. Some of them were able to tell how far it was to the next village, provided they lived within two or three miles of it, but it seldom occurred that I met one whose knowledge of the country extended beyond that dis- tance from where he resided. I several times asked how far I 240 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ; was from Ilarrowgate, wben within eight miles of the place, and one said, ''I doon't knaw V another scratched his head and reclwned " it be five miles ;" while a third made it ten. There was au evident indiflference as to a knowledge of the country about them that surprised me, and an adherence to the customs of their fath- ers quite in character with their ignorance of the world outside of the villages in which they dwelt. Harrowgate is celebrated for its mineral springs, is a fashionable resort, and pleasant residence. The principal portion of it stands on an elevated plateau, which commands a splendid prospect of the country in every direction ; taking in, in clear weather, a dis- tant view of York Minster, and the dreary wolds of the East Riding of Yorkshire. The town is built principally around the outer edge of a circle, footpaths leading through the centre, but no roads. Hotels are numerous, and the visitor can be accommo- dated at a cost of from four to twenty shillings per day, according to his propensity to be fashionable. The springs are highly com- mended by the medical profession for their mineral properties, and are usually well attended. They were discovered in the latter part of the sixteenth century by an English nobleman, whose estate inclosed them, after he had been running all over the Con- tinent to derive benefits from the most celebrated springs there. The story goes that he returned in a more feeble condition than he left, and was cured at last by the medicinal water which he had ignorantly neglected at his own door. The place is amply provided with lodging-houses, and comforts are readily obtained. I was fortunate in procuring quarters with an old widow lady, whose father, she informed me, was an Ameri- can citizen, but not a very good one, I fear, as she exultingly stated that he was a spectator of the engagement between the Shannon and Chesapeake from Boston Harbor, and inwardly gloried when he saw the English frigate capture the American. I sarcastically intimated that her father, if an American citizen by adoption at the time, was what might be called a perjured man without fear of contradiction, and therefore no credit to her. She said but little more about him, but treated me with marked kindness and reoiard. OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 241 Knaresborough lies about three miles to the east of Harrowgate, and although famous for its ruined castle, and the siege it sus- tained during the civil wars, is more frequently visited on account of the celebrated Eugene Aram, than for either the beauty of its location, or the curiosities in its vicinity, of which there are not a few. The town is romantically situated on the Nidd, a rapid stream which foams through a valley hemmed in by towering rocks and high perpendicular banks. The ruins of the castle are bold and jagged, and stand like the town, on a lofty cliff which over- hangs the roaring, dashing little river. It was one of the prisons of Kichard the Second, and afforded shelter to Fitz Urse, De Tracy, Brito, and Sir Hugh de Morville, the murderers of Thomas a Becket, in the days of Henry the Second. A storm came up while I was rambling around its walls, and the old gateway over the dungeon afforded me protection from the rain, one of the best uses probably ever made of it. The church, a fine specimen of Gothic architecture, contains the tombs of the Slingsby family, a once powerful name in the manor of Knaresborough, now extinct. There lay the effigies of the dead in coats of mail, stretched at full length on the musty tombs. They are sad and solemn, and the beholder is half inclined to be- lieve the figures are those of petrified men. Nearly opposite the castle, across the river, is what is called a dropping well, being nothing more, however, than a small stream of water possessing petrifying qualities conducted over a rock, so as to be continually dropping into the reservoir below. St. Ro- bert's Cave is a short distance down the river, and the cupidity of the owners has prompted them to convert it into a show, at a shilling per head. It will be remembered that it was at this cave that a skeleton was discovered in 1759, which led to the arrest, trial, and execution of Eugene Aram, a name made celebrated by the eloquence of him who bore it, and the genius of Bulwer. Becent excavations have been made in the vicinity, and a grave discovered in the ruins of a small chapel, located immediately in front of the cave, but no human remains found in it. Some per- sons consider this a strong argument in favor of Aram's innocence of the crime for which he suffered, and as it is known that the 21 242 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ', hermit died, and was buried near the cell, it is presumed that, as there were no bones discovered in the grave, those said to have been Clark's (the murdered man's), were in reality the remains of the anchorite. But whether guilty or not, Aram suffered death, and was hung in chains and quartered near the town, as a terror to evil-doers; and if it be ascertained at this late date that he died innocently, all we can do is to remove the stigma of murder from his character, and place him among those who have forfeited their lives to the blind prejudice and wilful credulity of an igno- rant age. The house in which he taught school stands where it stood when he instructed youth within its walls, but it no longer echoes to the murmurs of slothful urchins in the act of conning over lessons, but is used as an ale-brewery. Some of the inhabit- ants with whom I conversed were firm believers in the school- master's guilt, and as they were taught in their childhood to con- sider him a murderer, it would be a difficult task to convince them of his innocence now. The town has crooked, steep, narrow, irregular streets, but is still a most picturesque place; and a splendid railway bridge over the Nidd adds to its romantic appearance in connection with the scarred and jagged ruins of the castle. There is a dreamy air about it, reminding one of the olden time, and the curfew is rung nightly within its bounds, but only as a custom of the Nor- man rule, and under far different regulations from those imposed by William the Conqueror. In his days the sound of the curfew was a signal for extinguishing all lights and fires under a penalty of punishment or fine; but, at this period, the bell, which usually tolls at eight o'clock in the evening, is no more than the harmless continuation of a custom which originated in a bar- barous age for the protection of conquerors against the probable revolt of a subjugated people. Knaresborough was burned by the Normans, and suffered severely in the conflicts between rival factions in subsequent years. The curfew is rung in nearly all the cathedral towns of Eng- land, and many of the smaller places. I have often listened to the bell at a distance as the sound came floating over lowly mead and bosky dell, and as the tones of the iron monitor trembled in ORj WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 243 the air my thoughts would involuntarily go back to the age of conquest, when mailed warrior and rustic churl obeyed alike its summons on the very ground whereon I stood. About eleven miles north of Harrowgate stands the beautiful city of Ripon, on an elevated piece of ground near two inconsiderable streams, the Ure and Skell,and on the edge of the moors, although in a productive and highly cultivated part of Yorkshire. It is ancient, and contains a cathedral of fine proportions, the main attraction of the place. I was conducted through its lengthened nave and lofty choir, and whilst within its walls the impressive service of the English Church was begun, and the sweet tones of the rich organ filled the interior with a flood of harmonious sounds in conjunction with the fine voices of the youthful choristers. The building is imposing, though not very large. Under the chapter-house there is a charnel full of human bones, piled up in regular order around the walls like so many articles of trade. There are hills of skulls with their lustreless and eyeless sockets turned on the beholder, and arms and other bones arranged like pieces of wood. Those who like such exhibitions can satisfy their curiosity and indulge their tastes in llipon Cathedral ; but I beg to bo excused hereafter from visiting such museums, no matter where they may be located. The city has but few other attractions; the chief of which is an obelisk of some ninety feet in height in the market space, and it can be seen at a distance of several miles. As there are but few, if any manufactories at llipon, it has a clear atmosphere, and quiet, neat aspect. I walked out to Studley Royal, the seat of Earl Grey, one of those magnificent abodes of the nobility for which England is so famous. My route was agreeable, and as I turned occasionally towards the town, the tall market cross and stately fane rose full to view. Many of the houses on the road-side were overhung with ivy and jessamine flowers, bright beautiful homes, the seem- ing abodes of content. Hedgerows flanked the turnpike, and the gardens of the cottages were rich in exotic and other flowers. I turned from the road into an old path, one of those ancient privileges the sturdy Britons so ardently contend for against the rapacity of landholders, and at the end of half an hour entered 244 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; the park of Studley Royal. The grounds are laid out in drives and walks, lined with fine old shade trees. Upwards of four hun- dred deer of various kinds were feeding on the sward or reposing in groups beneath the oaks, and as my truant step disturbed them they would bound away into the denser forest or to the rich mea- dows in the distance. About midway of the park I turned into a walk leading under an archway formed by a number of tall beech trees whose branches intertwined like the groinings of a Gothic roof in some lofty minster, and emerged upon the shore of an artificial lake formed by damming up the waters of the Skell. The scene was sylvan and peaceful. A little further beyond, I entered the lodge, and after paying a small fee for a guide visited the principal objects of interest in the grounds. The river is a mere rill, not more than ten yards wide ; but art has done much to make it beautiful, and it flows for a considerable distance be- tween walls of stone in a straight line, which are covered with perennial verdure. Lodges and temples are interspersed among the trees and along the stream, and many good copies of antique sculpture are placed at favorable points throughout the parks. The ruins of Fountain Abbey, justly regarded the noblest of the kind in the countr}^, lie in a secluded valley near the Skell in the confines of the park. The site of the monastery was well chosen. It was granted to several monks who adopted the Cistercian order, by Archbishop Thurston, in 1132; and, although the originators of the establishment were poor, and the place suiFered severely by fire in its early history, it eventually became one of the most wealthy monasteries in the kingdom. The buildings were immense and numerous, and as the church and cloisters are in excel- lent preservation, there is much to interest the student of architec- ture. Extensive excavations made within a few years have re- vealed foundations lost to sight for ages. These are clearly the remains of detached buildings used by officers of the establishment in its palmy days, when it was the hostelrie of the weary traveller and home of the friendless and poor. A quantity of silver coins, io all three hundred and fifty-four pieces, bearing date 1640, was exhumed at the time, and the conclusion is that they were buried among the ruins in the civil wars. The interior of the church is OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 245 imposing, its arches and columns being curtained with ivy. The entire length is about three hundred feet, including the lady chapel. The tower, one hundred and sixty-six feet high, is in a good state of preservation — solid, massive, and grand. It is adorned with several Latin inscriptions in black letter. The transepts are one hundred and thirty -five feet long, the nave one hundred and ninety-nine feet, and the cloisters, the most perfect section of the ruins, three hundred feet in length. They are groined and arched throughout the entire distance. They do not, as in other monasteries, form the sides of a quadrangle, but are in a straight line. To the south of the building, near the cloisters, are several large yew-trees, said to be full thirteen hundred years old, under which the monks are represented to have taken shelter during the erection of the abbey. The Norman, early English, and pointed Gothic styles abound in various sections, it having been erected at different periods from 1132 to 1494, the date of the building of the tower, the last addition to the sacred pile. My guide was an intelligent countryman, very anxious to give me all the information respecting the ruin he possessed; and as we were turning from the lady chapel, he directed my attention to a stone coffm, in which he stated Henry Percy, first Earl of North- umberland, was buried in 1315, but both the lid and remains have gone to dust, so that the grave is tenantless. It may have been Percy's tomb, hui not Percy the Jirst; lie came with William the Conqueror, in 1000, and it is not likely that he lived three hun- dred years ! The establishment was complete in its entire economy, and the old mill, in which the meal used by the monks was manufactured, is used to this day for grinding corn. After a stay of several hours, I took my departure for Harrow- gate, and walked through a dreary country, along secluded lanes and by-paths, to the Brimham Eocks, a number of huge and singularly disposed rocks, of strange shapes and various sizes, conjectured to have been the principal altars of the Druids, in the north of England. As I approached them, they presented the ap- pearance of a ruined city scattered over an immense surface; and when among them, I saw but little that bore marks of human 21* 246 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ; labor or ingenuity. The old man who haunted them pointed out several for which he had particular names, and those used as high altars by the Druids. The scene was dreary and desolate; the fierce winds from the north-west moaned among the weather-worn rocks, and howled across the sterile moors; while the flying clouds and dull sky threw a shade of awe over the solitary waste. I was Bot in a mood to encourage the talkative hermit of the place, and, slowly plodding my way homeward, I fell into a train of reflec- tions upon the scenes I witnessed during the day, and the events that had transpired in the country through which I was passing. Years ago, thought I, the rude Briton trod these barren hills, roamed in savage independence over these moors, and bowed in fear and wonder to the Druid brethren, whose simple altars stand to this day in solitary grandeur upon the spot where the doctrines of their order were undisputed. Then came the warrior cohorts of Rome, in victorious marches, and the sheen of their spears and helmets flashed in the sunlight. As conquerors, they advanced civilization at the dagger's point, and set up their gods in the place of the Druid deities. For four hundred years they held sway; but at last, when effeminacy corrupted the Roman people, the soldier was required at home. He left the land to the mer- cies of the fearless Saxon, and his noble works and proud temples to decay. The Danes came next, contending with the Saxons for supremacy, and the land of the natives was the prize. Wars, long and terrible, followed, and the light of Christianity slowly burned. The religion of the cross succeeded the pagan rites of the Briton, the Bonian, tlie Dane, and Saxon. The priests who officiated at the shrines of those people abandoned their profession, and the new creed became supreme. Abbeys and monasteries arose. The brethren of the cowl and crozier exerted an influence over the minds of the people equal to unlimited power. The Con- queror came, and the Saxon and Briton were the Norman's slaves. Castles were built, feudal systems established, domestic dissensions created, wars followed, and rival houses strove for supremacy. A corrupt king expelled the monks, and the monasteries became deserted places. They are now the abodes of the rook and bit- tern, the bat and the owl. Race followed race, nation succeeded OR, AVANDERINGS OF AN AMERICxlN. 247 to nation J religion to religion. These wild hills have witnessed the ceremonies of all creeds, from ''Jove to Jesus;" and the tendencies of the times are still onward, and for change — onward in the dissemination of the brilliant light of an evangelical gospel, and the redemption and elevation of man. How vain is the boast of nations that proclaim themselves unconquerable ! How idle the hyperbole of oriental compliment, "May the king live forever" — the fiction of modern legitimacy, '' The king never dies I" CHAPTER XXVI. A WALK WAKEFIELD — VALLEY OF THE CALDER — ROCHDALE queen's visit TO MANCHESTER AND LIVERPOOL — EATON HALL. A CLEAR day is a blessing to the pedestrian, and then a walk of a few miles can be enjoyed, even without company. By returning to Leeds and proceeding to Wakefield on foot, I attained an object and derived pleasure. The wind was rather high, but the way level and easy of travel, although it did not furnish much to write about. The country presented some quiet scenery, and con- siderable diversity of soil and natural products, but there was little worthy of note. The road-side inns prompted me to seek rest within them, and I yielded to their invitations. Shen- stone wrote in their praise, and although times and customs have changed since his day, I bear willing testimony to the kindness and attention of the landlords and domestics of these houses of entertainment, and can repeat with approval the lines of the bard : — "Whoe'er has travelled life's dull round, Where'er his stages may have been, May sigh to think he still has found The warmest welcome at an inn!" Wakefield is a small manufacturing town on the Calder,a stream of contracted dimensions, and not deserving of the name of 248 THE FOOTrATII AND HIGHWAY; river. The streets do not diifer much in appearance from those of the generality of English towns, and the principal objects of interest are an old church, the spire of which is the highest in the county, and a small chapel built at the side of a bridge, on a little island in the Calder, by order of Edward the Fourth, to commemorate the deeds of his father and several hundred followers, who fell in an engagement near the town. It is a small florid Gothic building, neat, airy, and clean ; and curious in consequence of its strange location. Scenery is all well enough to behold, but tedious from descrip- tion, no matter how varied. The valley of the Calder is romantic, abounds in villages, and is the seat of countless manufactories. I wandered through it for some miles, but as there was nothing particularly deserving attention, and incidents were few, I took to the rail and sped on past town and hamlet, over meadow and moorland, until the train halted at the black, smoky, dull, grimy birthplace of Tim Bobbin, Rochdale in Lancashire, a town of considerable magnitude, devoted to woollen and cotton manufac- ture. It is almost as filthy as Stockport, and gloomy as a coal-pit. I was either in a bad humor with everybody and everything; or it was, just at the time of my visit, suifering from long rains, clouds of smoke, and unusual quantities of mud, things calculated to spoil the beauty of any place. The manor was once the property of the Byron family, and was sold by the poet in his youth when he was pressed for funds, since which time it has been in the possession of the heirs of Mr. Derden, the purchaser. Neither manor, manufactory, nor Rochdale had power over me, and I pressed on to Manchester, where I arrived late in the eve- ning at a time of extraordinary excitement, bustle, and activity, being no less than the eve, I may say, of Her Britannic Majesty's visit to the Jacobinical borough. The streets were thronged with people of every grade and condition of life, and triumphal arches were in course of erection in various sections of the great cotton town. Barricades were built along the principal thorough- fares through which royalty was to pass, and stands v/ere con- structed at every available point for the purpose of affording those who were able and willing to pay for it a comfortable place ta 249 look at the queen, who, according to the published programmes, was to be exhibited to her delighted Manchester subjects, for the first time, in a day or two. Banners of every possible color were spread to the breeze, or rather rain, and transparencies of Victoria and Albert adorned the shop fronts of enthusiastic tradesmen, while British lions and coats of arms without number stared the gazer in the face at every turn. Thousands of pounds had been appropriated by the loyal authorities of the borough for decora- tions, and large bills announced to the populace that much abused Manchester was fully determined to give the sovereign of the realm such a reception as would prove to the kingdom how devoted were the patriotic inhabitants to the rights and person of their beloved queen. Streets were being dug up, and new gas-pipes being laid for illumination; and the fountains in the grounds of the infirm- ary were doing their best to throw a jet of water ten feet high. The next morning dawned in torrents of rain; but no shower could dampen the loyalty of the Manchester patriots, and with the first faint streaks of returning day, the click of the hammer was heard, and labor was busy in completing the preparations for the royal reception. I walked along several streets through which the procession was to pass, and everywhere there was evidence of the cupidity oT the people. At many places were enormous posters, on which were printed in large letters the advan- tages particular stands possessed over others for viewing her Majesty, for the sum of one shilling ! The people were " Queen mad," and her name was on every lip, I was told by a gentleman resident in the town that it was the first time in nearly three hundred years that a sovereign had visited, or made known a determination to visit, that borough, and the only reason he could assign for it was the radicalism of the in- habitants. " Our kings and queens of the last centuries," said he, " have been taught to believe us the most Jacobinical set in the country, and for that reason not one has condescended to smile upon us until now, when lo ! no sooner is the announce- ment of the intended visit made known than we are frantic with delight, and make every exertion to receive our sovereign in a style of elegance and pomp unparalleled in the nation's history. 250 TOE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY j We liave either been greatly belied heretofore, or are the greatest hypocrites known/' I inclined to the latter opinion, and told him so, and, as he entertained the same idea, we were of one way of thinking on that point. The order of reception made it incumbent upon every shop- keeper, merchant, and manufacturer to close his establishment for the day so as to afford all classes an opportunity of welcoming Victoria to the city of spindles. The poor were anxious to appear in their best, and have a jollification on the occasion; and as the most of them had not means to spare, they crowded the pawn- brokers' shops to pledge goods for funds. Watches, trinkets, and even bedclothes were placed in pawn to supply a few shil- lings for pocket-money, and the two hours the queen was in town cost more misery than it is possible to estimate. The barefooted, the ragged, and the hungry were evidently as loyal as the well- clothed and wealthy, and their delight at the approaching advent of their sovereign proved the fact. My stay was short ; and on the morning of the day on which Victoria was to visit Liverpool, I left Manchester by an early train for that city. The rain fell in torrents, but the ardor of the people was unchecked. On the line between the two places preparations "were in progress for the royal reception, and at the station near Worsley, at which place the queen was to be the guest of the Earl of EUesmere, there was a magnificent triumphal arch over the railway, and a covered avenue reaching down to the canal, a distance of about two hundred yards, the entire length of which was carpeted with red velvet, while the station was hung with festoons of flowers, and banners from the " haughty scroll of gold,'' or royal standard, to the more familiar blood-red cross of St. George. From the housetops, along the line of the rail, flags were flying, and mottoes and devices ornamented the dwellings of some of the more patriotic and enthusiastic. When T arrived at Liverpool, the rain was falling heavy and continuous. The streets were densely crowded with anxious hu- manity, and the houses presented as much scaffolding as those of Manchester. Barricades lined the streets, and thousands of police- men were stationed at convenient distances along the route to OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 251 preserve order. Flags surged in the dull heavy breeze, and among the thousands hung along the line, I noticed several American, and one or two French. The concourse of spectators was com- posed of all classes, and the women faced the pelting storm with a determination to see " her Majesty" that was creditable to their loyal curiosity. All the stores were closed, all business suspended but that of the rumseller ; and the patriotic found it convenient to wet the inner man at the same time the storm drenched the outer one. Poor miserable barefooted wretches stood in the cold rain for hours awaiting the approach of the sovereign. When at last Victoria arrived at a particular stand near where I was sta- tioned, some of those on it cried out " Her Majesty nods — Her Ma- jesty approves I" and the whole assemblage appeared to have lost their senses, and what little independence they once possessed. I positively believe they would have gone down on their knees to the queen had she requested them to do so, or even intimated a wish to that effect. Fortunately for the British nation, Victoria is a plain, sensible woman, and neither a tyrant nor lover of show, or affairs might be different from what they are. She exhibited an evident detestation of the fawning sycophancy to which she was an unwilling witness, and her countenance revealed her feelings. Public receptions are disliked by her, and she is well tired out of being conducted about the country and shown to her subjects by the fat aldermen of certain towns, or a designing few who seek popularity by publicly feasting her. After the procession passed, the streets presented a scene of excitement and hilarity at once wild and bacchanalian. Patriot- ism gushed out in songs and cheers, and each of the drenched spec- tators of the queen's etitree into Liverpool was a sovereign in his own estimation, happy in the enjoyments of the day. Tired of the place, I departed for the old city of Chester, where I spent several days in quiet and to advantage. While resident in it, I visited " Eaton Hall,'' the princely mansion of the Marquis of Westminster, distant about three miles, in a romantic part of the country, on the banks of the Dee. My walk was full that extent through the grounds of the estate after passing the lodge-gate, a massive Gothic arch of exquisite design and V70rkmanship, in 252 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; which the lodgekeeper and family reside. The parks are in a comparatively uncultivated state, there being considerable under- wood and more wildness than usual in such grounds. Numerous alterations were being made in the drives and hall, which is built in the pointed Gothic style, and turreted most beautifully. Large additions had recently been made to it, and when the alteration it is undergoing shall have been completed, it will exceed, in magnificence, any one of the royal palaces in the realm. The re- ception-room was shown me, and, as it was just from the artist's hand, it had an appearance truly gorgeous; and with its rich tracery and harmonious coloring, bright gilding, and Alhambrian scenery, presented the reality of what our imaginations lead us to suppose the interior of an ancient Moorish palace to have been. And to give greater effect to the noble edifice, a fine terrace stretches away in front, laid out in walks and beds of flowers ; and adorned with statuary and vases, the whole of which is surrounded by a beautiful stone palisading, from which extends a lawn to the Kiver Dee. The jagged and imposing ruins of Beeston Castle, with the bold form of the Welsh hills, constitute the distant horizon line, while the intervening space between them and the stream is a rich landscape, interspersed with farms and cottages, and thickly clustered with massy oaks and other noble trees. The owner of the palace occupies it but rarely ; and with all its magnificence and extent, its wealth and costly keeping, it is only one of the many seats of its possessor. Next to Cbatsworth, it may justly be considered the noblest edifice of its kind in the kingdom, and, without exception, the most superb modern Gothic structure for purely private use in England, or, perhaps, Europe. OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 253 CHAPTER XXVII. WALES — WALK TO MOLD AND ST. ASAPH — AN INCIDENT AT AN INN — BANGOR TUBULAR BRIDGE SUSPENSION-BRIDGE — THE WELSH NATIONALITIES. Wales is a portion of tlie dominions of Her Britannic Majesty mainly visited in the summer season by the denizens of England for the purpose of enjoying the mountain air and scenery, and passing a few weeks in relaxation from the cares of business or the dissipations of fashionable life. Beaten routes are followed, and certain places visited, and the tourist returns with a pocket considerably lightened, and a vivid recollection of cloud-capped hills, rugged and sterile mountain sides, lowly valleys, and peasant women, who wear the hats of the sterner sex, and the rough coarse boots of country clowns. But few see the people in their dwellings, or examine into their mode of life, and none come home with a very favorable impression of Wales upon their minds. The language of the natives is a sealed book to the Englishman, and as there evidently exists a mutual detestation of each other between the present representatives of Edward the First, and the descendants of the Cambrian bards, there is but little intercourse between the two classes, and no sympathy in common. The visitor roams the land for pleasure and relaxation — the native entertains him for his money, and so far only do they render each other what may be called a mutual benefit. I set out from Chester to Mold, a town of considerable size in Flintshire, but saw so little to interest between the two places as scarcely to deserve notice. The farms differ greatly from those of England ; the hedges were poor and thriftless, the land stony and of light soil, the houses small and mean ; some of them being but little better than the thatched cottages of the Irish peasantry. The town of Mold cannot be said to be a place of 22 254 THE rOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; consequence, and beyond its old cburcli there are no buildings of note. The sacred pile is situate on a bill, and tbe space around de- voted to burial purposes is large, and gives ample scope for viewing tbe edifice, wbicb is one possessing several peculiarities not often seen in village cburcbes. Tbe tower is bigb and imposing, nnd tbere are battlements around tbe main portion of tbe building, and a curiously ornamented frieze under tbe cornices on wbicb are sculptured figures of nearly every species of animals, from tbe stately lion and ponderous elephant to the agile monkey and slothful bear. Tbe streets are paved oddly enough, the usual order of things being reversed, for the sidewalks are laid with rough rounded pebbles, while the carriage-ways are smooth and easy of travel. Tbe surrounding country is hilly, and not much adapted for farming purposes. Tbe turnpikes between Mold and Denbigh are good ; but as they wind through valleys tbere is not much to be seen beyond tbe sides of tbe bills, and tbe white- washed cottages of the peasantry, and not many of the latter. I walked nearly twenty miles to St. Asaph, but saw little on tbe entire route of interest, except tbe stupid rustics whom I met, and they were almost as dull and ignorant as tbe donkeys they drove. Nearly along-side of Mold, on a bigb point of a range of bills, stands an obelisk of considerable altitude, with the his- tory of wbicb I supposed every person in the vicinity was fa- miliar, but found myself greatly mistaken, when I made inquiry of those I met. Not one, out of twelve or more to whom I spoke, could tell what it was, and I began to think that it would be useless to make any further exertions to learn, when an old man, who was breaking stone on tbe road-side, told me all be knew about it. He was a grayhaired veteran, quite sociable and friendly, and appeared to take pleasure in being able to inform me what the pile was erected for, and its name. " It was built,^' said he, ^' when George the Third was king, to commemorate the fiftieth year of that sovereign's reign, and is a landmark to mariners, as well as an object of curiosity to travellers, and is called tbe Moel Famma.'' As I passed on, tbe lofty ruins of Denbigh Castle became visible, and their bald and jagged outlines were clearly OB, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 255 defined by the bright rays of the declining sun. The hmdscape grew more lovely, and the farms began to look well. By turning into a by-road, my course to St. Asaph was much shortened, and made easier of travel, for the scenery was fine, and in the absence of a companion, the main object of interest to the pedestrian is the landscape, and the more lovely it is, the more cheerful is the road. When within a few miles of the last-named town, I en- countered several huntsmen with a pack of hounds, in all about sixty. The men were mounted upon swift-looking steeds, and each one wore a red coat and buckskin short-clothes, and carried a horn at his side. They were going to a rendezvous in the in- terior of the country, in the vicinity of which fox-hunts annually take place in the autumn. Both the dogs and the men trotted along with an easy, careless motion, as if they were made for no other purposes than self-indulgence and enjoyment. St, Asaph is one of the cleanest of the Welsh towns, and, although small and secluded, it is both pretty and important in some respects, inasmuch as it is the seat of a bishopric, and con- tains a cathedral and episcopal palace. The Clwyd and Elwy, two inconsiderable streams, flow near it, and in the vicinity are coal-pits and furnaces; but the town fortunately does not receive the benefit of the black smoke of the manufactories and mines. While at the place, I inquired of a young female the name of the river which is nearest the town, and as we were both standing on a bridge which spans the stream, I naturally enough supposed she would be able to tell me; but not she; her knowledge did not extend so far, and after looking at me for a while, apparently sur- prised that a person should ask such a question, she replied that she did not know any other name for it than the river j that being the only one she ever heard. Such instances of ignorance among the people are frequent, and it seldom happens that persons of even mature years among the laboring classes are able to impart the slightest information to strangers respecting the country around them, and the very places in which they were born. The Welsh in this particular resemble their English neighbors, and do not appear to consider it of consequence whether they inform them- 256 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ; selves respecting local affairs or not, and transactions and events at a distance are altogether unknown to them. • The cathedral of St. Asaph is small but neat, and in the usual cruciform shape of minsters and sacred colleges. The east win- dow is elegantly adorned with some modern stained glass, and the choir is richly decorated and profusely ornamented, while the aisles of the nave contain some fine monuments and excellent statuary in white marble. The building is on a hill, and there is a large open space around it which adds to its appearance, and exhibits its proportions to the best advantage. Tired of a twenty miles' walk, I made my way to an inn, and was politely ushered into a pleasant little parlor where a blue-eyed servant-girl awaited my orders. I sat down by the fire while she prepared the table for my repast, and it was a welcome treat to meet with such a cheerful and vivacious girl. People may abuse the domestic females of English hotels, but they do not deserve the many ill things that are said of them, and it is from them alone that the weary traveller receives the kindest treatment when he enters an inn. Your every want is anticipated, and their modesty and gentle behavior make them angels of welcome to the lonely and toil-worn wanderer. The little sprightly Welsh lass was not an exception to the class to which she belongs, and herunassumed kindness and assiduity were consoling and well-timed. She soon spread the clean white cloth and prepared the cheerful meal. I paid her some compliments, but she warded off the flattery with" adroitness, and kept up a strain of entertaining humor that made her company agreeable. ''Evil be to him who evil thinketh," is the motto of the Knight of the Garter, and it is only the evil in heart who will entertain opinions derogatory to the ministering angels of the village or way-side hostelrie. How pleasant, how polite, how attentive and friendly they are ! "Will you make the tea, sir," said my little maiden, with one of the sweetest voices in the world, " or shall I ?" " Why you, by all means, for all I can do is to drink it;" and she asked again, '' Will you have it all black, or shall it be mixed ?" '' Mixed, if you please;" and she took each canister alternately in her taper fingers, and poured out as much as she thought would OR; WANDERINGS OP AN AMERICAN. 257 be sufficient; at the same time asking me to saj whether the quan- tity was too great or too little. It was soon arranged, and the boil- ing water poured upon it, and when the tea was drawn, she filled my cup, while I sat watching her pretty face, and in the contem- plation of it forgot my meal. She pretended not to notice my rudeness, but said, in a half persuasive, half rebuking tone^ "Are you unwell, sir? or do you think the tea too strong?'^ *'It's not the tea/' said I, "that's too strong, nor am I ill, but, but—" "But what, sir V she inquired, with a look of perplexity, hardly knowing how to finish the sentence. "I was thinking that the tea would taste better, if you were to take that chair and favor me with your company/' said I, rising, and waving her to-a seat at the side of the table, in doing which I awkwardly enough upset the Chinese beverage over the cloth, and cut a jidiculous -figure in the bargain. "Never mind," said she, with the most provoking coolness possible. "I'll put another one on the table; it won't take me long;" and she commenced removing the articles to an adjoining sideboard. I interposed, and laid my hand softly on her arm to induce her to desist, and assured her that the mishap did not dis- turb me, and hoped there was no harm done. " 0, not the least, if you are not annoyed by the accident;" but the provoking little fairy paid no attention to my invitation, and, after reflection, I came to the conclusion that it would look oddly enough if the landlord should happen to come in and interrupt our social meal. She filled my cup again, and being satisfied that I could make myself comfortable, she went to the door, and as she was going out said, " If you want anything else, sir, please ring the bell, and I will immediately wait upon you ;" and with a face all smiles, and a sly look at the stained cloth, she vanished. " Confound thee, pretty maiden," mused I, as, with eyes fixed upon the door through which she had disappeared, I fell into a train of thought, instead of eating my food, " you have destroyed my appetite, caused me to upset my tea, been indifferent to my 90^ 258 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; invitation to dine, and now go away laughing at my mishap ; but never mind, you are a pretty girl, and that fact is a consolation even if you were not so agreeable and friendly." I finished the meal and rang the bell, at the sound of which she tripped lightly into the room, and stood looking at me quietly, until I asked her to remove the cloth and bring my bill. She soon performed her task, and then I put a shilling in her hand, and requested her to secure me a seat on the stage to Khyl, along- side the driver. She looked at me, and asked whether the money was to pay the fare. '^ 0, no, that's for you;" and, as I still had her hand in mine, I felt the warm blood in it as it gushed from her heart, and knew that the blush that sent it so wildly to the extremities was one of modesty and sinless innocence. ^' Go," said I, " secure the seat, while I prepare for the journey." The stage was ready ] she came to the door, and as I mounted to my elevated station, she nodded good-by, and bade me the sweetest possible adieu ! The day was fast merging into night as the coach whirled out of the old town of St. Asaph, and the cool breeze of an autumnal evening made a warm overcoat comfortable. Our company was like my tea, mixed, and some of them con- versed in the Welsh language, while the uninitiated quietly listened to the strange tongue. Hedges and groves of trees flew past, and as the miles fled by, the company became sociable, and such as could speak English kept up a conversation which lasted during the journey. We passed the ancient and strongly built castle of Pthuddlyn, near the village of that name, on the east bank of the Clwyd, one of those fortresses which Edward the First built to keep his unwilling Welsh subjects in awe. The main portion is in tolerable preservation, and the bold, tall towers at the angles look as formidable as they must have done when the troops of the conqueror of Wales found shelter and protection within them. We entered the town in the haze of evening, and were shown the house in which Edward held his parliaments during his residence in the principality; but neither the village nor the particular building alluded to impressed us favorably with the cleanliness of the place, for any quantity of dirt was visible, and none of the OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 259 Louses appeared fit for a white man to live in. We pursued our course to Rbjl, a modern town on the sea-coast, mainly important as a resort during the summer for sea-bathers and fashionable idlers. I rested in it all night, and proceeded by rail in the morning to Conway, a town within fifteen miles of Bangor, and famous at the present time for its tubular and suspension-bridges, and the remains of its castle and walls erected in the days of Edward the First, and I may add with propriety its squalid and filthy appearance. The city walls are in ruins, but the immense towers which rise from them, and the gateways are in tolerable preservation. The castle stands on a rock washed by the river, and^ the two bridges cross the stream immediately at its side. The twenty-four massive towers of the walls remain almost entire, and they, with those of the strongly-built castle, give the town, when seen from a distance, the aspect of a strongly fortified and picturesque city ; but a nearer acquaintance with the place dispels the romantic, and the visitor is glad to get away from one of the dirtiest, muddiest, and most wretched-looking collections of miser- able houses in Wales. The inhabitants appear to be engaged in fishing and coasting, and their aspect is one of wretchedness and indifference to personal cleanliness. The adjacent land is hilly, stony, and rather unproductive ; and as the people are not remark- able for thrift and industry, there is not that amount of labor bestowed upon the cultivation of indifferent soil that one sees in England. Bangor, although an old city, is indebted for its increase and present importance more to the modern than the ancient day. Perched in between the high eastern bank of the Menai Straits, and a range of hills which run seaward from the Cambrian Alps, it rests as quietly in the secluded valley as if it were out of the Avorld of Clreat Britain. The streets are narrow and crooked, and the side-walks are paved with rounded pebbles, which make it next to impossible for the pedestrian to perambulate its avenues without pain to his feet, particularly if he is blessed with those fashionable modern appendages — corns. The cathedral is a large cruciform building, externally much decayed, but, like all Gothic 260 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; edifices of the olden time, a structure possessing many beauties, for age improves as well as decays those hallowed shrines. Slate abounds in the vicinity of Bangor, and even the tomb- stones in the burial-ground are made of it. In looking at the inscriptions in the graveyards, I noticed some peculiarities not observed elsewhere, which may, with propriety, be considered Welsh. Nearly every other tomb was inscribed Jones, and as there were many Johns among them, the surviving relatives had taken the precaution to place the occupation of the defunct on his gravestone, and one of them informs the reader that the wife of the deceased continues the business at the old stand. Jones is not only in the majority in burial-places, but throughout the country, and at least one-third of the inhabitants bear that name, the other being divided between Williams, Davies, Evans, and Griffith. The Joneses are seldom related, and on the stage-coach from Rhyl to St. Asaph, nearly all the outside Welsh passengers bore that name, and yet none of them had ever seen each other before; nor was that the only occasion on which the greater part of those with whom I was thrown into contact, while in the country, were of the name, and I am safe in saying that Jones is so common in Wales that it is no name at all — although borne by some very deserving people. The shops of Bangor are showy, and many of them contain all the luxuries to be obtained in similar London establishments, and as the town is a fashionable summer resort for those who are fond of sport and fine scenery, the tradesman seldom fails to dispose of his stock. Penrhyn Castle, one of the noblest of its kind in the princi- pality, is near the town, and the famous Menai Suspension and Britannia Tubular Bridges are distant only a few miles. On a pleasant afternoon, when the sun was a few hours high, I took a walk to these celebrated works and along the shores of the world- renowned straits. Persons at a distance, who are not acquainted with the national pencliant of the English for exaggeration, both as writers and artists, are led to believe, from the drawings and engravings common of the suspension-bridge, that the renowned straits are a good-sized arm of the sea, and deep enough to allow OR; WANDERINGS OP AN AMERICAN. 261 heavy vessels to pass through the channel with ease. The artist, to give effect to his sketch and importance to the place, intro- duces vessels into the picture, which are represented as large ships sailing under the bridges; when the truth is that the water is not more than nine hundred feet wide at the point where the suspension-bridge spans it, and so shallow as to be extremely difficult of navigation by vessels of from two hundred and fifty to four hundred tons, even at favorable tides, and dangerous when the waters are out. Shoals and sandbars are numerous, and bare at low water, and the few steamships which navigate the straits seldoin go more than a few miles south of the tubular bridge, and not often beyond Caernarvon, a town only seven miles distant by water. The bridge is unquestionably a triumph of engineer- ing skill, and the tubular span is justly regarded the wonder of the nineteenth century. The suspension structure is a noble erection, but not so immense as Americans generally suppose. The entire length of the chains, and they extend several hundred feet beyond the river banks on cither side, is 1714 feet, which, it will be observed, is less than one-third of a mile. The height of the road-way from the high water line is 100 feet, which is an altitude sufficiently great to allow, without hindrance, the passage under of the largest class of vessels that navigate the straits. I do not wish to detract from the structure any merit or importance it may possess; but it is no more than right that the spirit of exaggeration, so prevalent in England respecting great national works, should be rebuked, and my humble efforts shall be exerted to that end, whether successfully or not. The banks of the straits are bold and high, and as the water is wider than any of the rivers of Britain, excepting only those of the Thames and Severn in certain places, there is some excuse for a cockney going into ecstasies on viewing the straits for the first time, but surely none for the artist or author who purposely magnifies the truth when attempting, in his own particular way, to describe the place. The bridge is kept in admirable condition, and men are almost con- stantly engaged in repairing and painting it. The iron work is kept from rusting, the road-way clean, and the grx3atest care taken with the structure. The payment of a single penny entitles the 262 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; payer to the privilege of crossing as often as be feels inclined during the day, and forty times the amount would be judiciously expended by the traveller, were the charge that much, for the gratification he derives from walking over and examining the structure, or in viewing from it the splendid scenery on both sides of the strait, and the bold, cloud-capped hills of Caernarvon- shire. I crossed the stream, and walked down to the tubular bridge on the Anglesea side along the Holyhead turnpike, which runs parallel to the straits, and affords numerous fine views of the mountains on the opposite side. The black and frowning high- lands contrasted strongly with the white mists and clouds which veiled their summits, and the distant peak of the far-famed Snow- den rose like a stately giant in the background, as the rays of the evening sun revealed its lofty front. The immense tube of the Britannia Bridge passed over the stream to the south of me like the body of a huge serpent, while northward the aerial form of the delicate suspension structure looked like a fairy fabric, and the carriages and pedestrians crossing it appeared as though suspended upon gossamer woofs, and travelling upon the '^ baseless fabric of a vision," betwixt earth and heaven. The bridge can only be accurately described by an experienced engineer, who thoroughly understands the principles upon which the enormous structure is constructed and sustained. The tubes at the bottom and top are the main support of the stupendous mass, and the simplicity of construction is wonderful. The tall towers, which rise from the water between the abutments on either shore, are considerably higher than the abutments themselves, being full thirty feet above the body of the bridge. The main, or Britannia tower, in the centre of the structure, is 199 feet 8 inches over the high-water mark ; and the total height, from the foundation, is 221 feet 8 inches. The straits are about eleven hundred feet wide at the place where the tube crosses, and con- siderably wider than at the suspension-bridge, which is nearly a mile farther north. The abutments, at each end, are terminated by four colossal lions, which are placed one on each pedestal, erected for the purpose, at the sides of either extremity of the bridge, and they are attractive features of the structure, and re- OR; WANDERINGS OP AN AMERICAN. 263 markably well executed in the Egyptian style of sculpture. They are colossal, in every sense of the term, and, although conchant, measure 25 feet in length by 12 feet some inches in height, and the breadth of each paw is 2 feet 4 inches — dimensions suiiiciently great to convey some idea of the magnitude of each. I was al- lowed to walk through the tube, a privilege granted strangers by the company, who provide a guide expressly to conduct visitors through, and describe the peculiarities of the bridge. The tubes are composed entirely of iron plates securely fastened with bolts, and angular pieces of the same material above and below. The great weight is mainly sustained by the most important part of the structure, and exhibit extraordinary thought in the design, and care in the workmanship, every portion of which is executed in the best possible manner. The trains pass through it at a much greater speed than one not acquainted with it would consider safe, but never exceed the rate of a given number of miles per hour, each engineer being under positive instructions to shut off the steam when approaching the tubes from either end. It is re- markable how little noise is made by the crossing trains, there being not more than would arise from a heavy carriage being drawn, at a moderate speed, through one of the covered viaducts so common in the United States. Two guards are constantly kept on duty, night and day, for the purpose of preventing people pass- ing without a conductor, and guarding against accidents of every description. Men are employed to keep the structure in order and the tubes clean, and every precaution is taken to prevent damage to the bridge or injury to the passengers and trains. The first view of the enormous edifice does not create a feeling of surprise in the mind of the beholder; but a close examination of its peculiarities, and a familiarity with its proportions, extort admiration, and cause the observer to stand in wonder before it. It is somewhat like Niagara Falls at first sight — creates a feeling akin to disappointment, which soon, however, gives way to the opposites of wonder and astonishment. The country around is rocky and hilly, and presents some grand natural scenery, as well as artificial objects. On a high point, near the western end of the tube, stands a column, erected by the citizens of the counties on 264 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ; either side of the straits to commemorate the services of the iMar- quis of Anglesea, in the campaigns of the peninsula and the hun- dred daj^s' reign. It is conspicuous in the landscape, and rears its bold Doric front in solitary majesty to the skies; but it is doubtful whether the man it was erected to honor possesses, to this day, the confidence and esteem of his countrymen as entirely as he did when it was built, for much is said against him by the inhabitants in consequence of his being a non-resident of the dis- trict, and squandering his income in the fashionable follies of Lon- don, instead of spending some of it among his tenantry, from whom it is chiefly derived. On my return to Bangor, I met with a gentleman whose frank- ness and sociability struck me as not characteristic of an English- man; and, as he spoke the language of the country in its purity, both as regards pronunciation and grammatical arrangement, I was at a loss to satisfy myself where he was from. He was evi- dently not Welsh, and, as he told me that he was a stranger in the land, I was in a quandary, for some time, to know where to place him. We walked along for one or two miles in agreeable conversation, and, although I paid particular attention to his ac- cent, there was no brogue on his tongue. He icas not English, nor Welsh; and I thought he exhibited more of the refined and educated Scotchman than the enlightened and polished Irishman, one or the other of which I felt confident he was, after an hour's acquaintance. We arrived at the railway station, when I learned that he was going on to Dublin, and that he was a native and resident of Wicklow, and would be extremely happy to have me visit him, if I should ever come to Ireland. I exchanged ad- dresses with him, and parted, highly pleased with his gentlemanly behavior and social qualities, and could not help contrasting, in my mind, the friendly disposition exhibited by him with the reserve of the English, generally, who seldom give a stranger a kind look, and appear to regard all foreigners with distrust, unless they come with a patent of nobility, or are introduced with the formalities of modern society. The Straits of the Menai are spoken of by different authors, OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 265 under various names; and it is to them that Gray alludes^ in his poem of the "Bard/^ when he says, <'0n dreary Arvoa's shore tlicy lie, Smeared -with gore and ghastly pale ;" and the British bards make frequent allusion to them in their compositions under other names. It was near the site of the pre- sent Britannia Bridge that a Boman army crossed the straits under Suetonius Paulinius, about the sixtieth year of the Christian era, when^ he attacked, and nearly destroyed the British Druids in Anglesea. The inhabitants of the country are almost as ancient in appearance as their native hills, and their absurd adherence to the customs and language of their ancestors creates a smile on the countenance of the stranger, if nothing more. Here is a race of people occupying a sterile, barren, mountainous tract of country within two hundred miles of London, the capital of the civilized world, and they appear to be blindly determined to oppose progress, and stupidly continue in the ways of their forefathers. Their language is as odd as their costume, and they have such a hearty national hatred of their Saxon neighbors that they will not even speak English, and live as completely isolated from the inhabitants of the other sections of the island as if they were dwellers in the remote recesses of the valleys of Thibet. In my rambles, I met with many who could not speak a single word of English, and those who did were generally illiterate and almost ill-mannered. The peasant women wear " shocking bad hats" of the steeple or sugar-loaf pattern, and with half a dozen ruffles at each side of the face, they look the most perfect frights in the world in human shape. The men do not appear to have a high regard for female character, and many of the women are no better than domestic slaves, and it is a frequent occurrence to see old and young fe- males wearing coarse, heavy shoes, the soles of which are filled with large nails, and dressed otherwise in the costume of the country, wheeling barrows along the highway, and even driving sheep and cattle. The figure the women cut when mounted on a shuffling nag, and dressed in the Welsh style, with a broad-brimmed black fur or silk hat on the top of the head, is ridiculous in the 23 266 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; extreme, and no stranger comes out of tlie country after seeing such pictures with a partiality for the native costume. Not only are the language and style of dress considered sacred and preserved as national jewels, but they celebrate the "Eisteddfod" (pro- nounced Estethvod) or "Sittings of the Bards/' every three years, at some particular place in the principality, and award pre- miums to those who produce, at such triennial exhibitions, the best articles of domestic comfort and personal wear, such as cloths, stockings, hats, etc., manufactured entirely from Welsh materials; and confer honors and medals upon those poets who produce the two best poems in the Welsh language upon purely national subjects. Their dwellings are indifferent, and not much calculated for com- fort ; their habits neither pleasant nor agreeable ; and, as they have no partiality for things English, they entertain a holy hatred for the Established or Episcopal Church, and seldom go within its walls. Some of them nurture the idea that Wales will, at some future day, regain her ancient independence, and shut their eyes to every species of rational advancement, being content to live as their fathers lived, and die in the faith and opinions of their an- cestors. Such are some of the characteristics of the Welsh people at the present day — a people inhabiting a land, the extent of which is not so great as many of the counties in the American States, and about as productive as the iron sides of the Alleghanies of Western Virginia. The railways in the north and south have contributed somewhat towards bringing the people more in contact with the world from which they are now estranged ; but as they traverse only the remote boundaries of the principality, and do not penetrate to the interior, there is but little prospect at present of the Welsh following in the progressive spirit of the age, and every reason to believe that they will continue for a century to come, as they now are, full a hundred years behind the times. I speak of the people at large, the peasantry and masses; and as they are the nation, and blindly adhere to old customs and usages, there is but little hope for their present regeneration. That some individuals among them possess well cultivated minds and enter- tain liberal sentiments, cannot be denied, but they are few. If mankind are to be taught advancement by the Welsh people^ they OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 267 will have to wait a long while, and tyranny will have grown cun- ning, and made rapid advances at crushing the spirit of freedom, with his iron and villanous power, ere they will enter the lists in favor of human rights and human progress. I visited other sections of the northern part of the principality, besides those mentioned, and walked from Bangor to Caernarvon along the shores of the "dreary Arvon," for the purpose of view- ing the scenery of the famous Straits and rugged aspect of the adjacent country. Tameness is certainly no feature of the land- scape,^and the clouds, which float over the hills and envelop the mountain tops, are not sparing to the land of their crystal con- tents, as I had abundant proof during my walk. Caernarvon is a mean-looking place on the eastern shores of the Straits at a point where they expand to the distance of two miles, and is re- nowned for its castle, built by Edward the First ; the walls and towers of which are in good preservation, considering the many years they have been standing. The room in which Edward the Second was born is shown to visitors, and the guide, like most exhibitors of old castles, points out numerous other objects about the place unknown to history, and only known to himself. From Caernarvon I originally intended to proceed inland to Llanberis, and thence on to Llangollen; but the weather was wet, expenses heavy, and the country losing its robes of green. The driver of a " Fly," a species of jaunting car, had the excessive modesty to ask me fourteen shillings, or nearly three dollars and fifty cents, to take me eight miles, and when I declined his generous offer, and told him I would sooner walk the distance than pay so exorbitant a sum, he politely hinted that I would run a risk of robbery, if I attempted it. I told him I had my doubts about that, but none as to his robbing me, if I should be fool enough to pay him the sum he demanded for the service required. Seeing no chance of getting on immediately with comfort, I availed myself of a conveyance back to Bangor, and returned from thence to the western part of England, very well satisfied with the north of Wales. 268 CHAPTEK XXVIII. A WEDDING-PARTY SHREWSBURY — MARKET-DAY — BATTLE- FIELD CnURCH. A CONSTANT change of residence is sure to bring with it a suc- cession of scenery and incidents, and whether' walking, or travel- ling in more easy and rapid way, the tourist always finds something to attract his attention, and afford him instruction or amusement. On my route to Shrewsbury by rail, I passed through a romantic and beautiful part of country, and had a distant glimpse of the far-famed Yale of Llangollen, and the interesting and well-culti- vated lands around Raubon, as, also, a good view of the town of Wrexham and its noble old church, one of the largest and most ela- borately finished of the many Gothic shrines of England. When we arrived at the station, it was decorated with wreaths of flowers, chaplets of evergreens, and waving flags; while along the road and on the platforms were groups of village maidens and rustic swains, arrayed in their best, some of the men looking as prim as pikestaves, and taking delight in flourishing immense nosegays in the button-hole of the left breast of the coat. The girls looked rosy and cheerful, and each wore a smile of bashful modesty on her countenance as if expecting an agreeable event soon to trans- pire, of which they chatted and jested as young females will when one more favored than themselves is about to be led to the altar of Hymen. The bells of the church rang wildly and cheerily out, and kept up a glorious sound of joy with their iron tongues, which sounded to my ear like the harmonious commingling of the voices of a host of happy girls, whose hearts are all gladness, and whose souls are all peace. *' What now ?" was the inquiry of more than one of my fellow- passengers. "What is all this about?" "Do you not know?" interrogated a lady at my side. 269 ^' Not I, indeed.'' ^' Then you are unusually stupid, if you cannot see that this is a wedding-party waiting to escort the happy couple to the church." I acknowledged my want of discernment, and received a look of scorn from the fair one, who appeared to consider me a hope- less bachelor, and singularly deficient in experience respecting weddings; and when told that this was the only one of the kind I had ever noticed, she thought it quite time for me to learn some- thing of the ceremony, and advised me to alight and witness the one about to take place. ^' Your education must have been sadly neglected," said she; ^' or, what I suspect to be nearer the truth, you are no great ad- mirer of the ladies." I told her she did me injustice, and assured her that I was half inclined to fall in love with herself, but was doubtful how my suit would be received. " 0, sir, you need not have any misgivings as to that, as I am married already; and if I were not, it would make no difference, for you never would be my choice." I looked from the window at the rustic maidens until the train started, and not inside again until the carriage arrived at Shrews- bury. The famous county town of Salopshire (or, as it is commonly called, Shropshire) is one of the few places rarely visited by strangers, because of its remoteness from the regular line of tra- vel, and not being connected with any of the more southern towns by rail. The Severn flows around three parts of the town, find the city may be said to occupy a plot of ground in shape like the centre of the Roman capital letter C, the river nearly encircling it. It is on two hills, and the streets are generally narrow and steep, with side-walks of pebbles like those of the Welsh towns. It contains but few buildings worthy of note, the churches being both old and ungainly, and the castle much shattered. Many of the dwell- ings are built with the gable to the street, and as most of them have bay windows, there is an air of antiquity about the town quite pleasing. Two fine bridges span the Severn^ one leading toward Wales, 23* 270 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY J the other into England, for Shrewsbury is a kind of neutral town between the two countries. The river is rapid and clear, and the place much cleaner than manufacturing towns. I noticed there what frequently attracted my observation in English villages — a fine promenade for the recreation of the inhabitants. It extends along the Severn for more than a mile, and is planted on both sides, for a considerable distance, with rows of tall lime-trees, whose branches unite at the top and form a continuous arcade? thus affording a shaded walk of great beauty along the shore of one of the cleanest and swiftest of the English rivers. It was market-day when I entered the jincient place, and the streets were thronged with country people, who ranged themselves along certain thoroughfores, and exposed their goods on the side-walks, or in the streets, a short distance from the curb, while the purchasers literally jammed up the remain- ing portion of the street. Ballad-singers were doling out the misfortunes of forlorn lovers, and here and there were to be seen men with oily tongues praising, in extravagant language, the merits of the articles they had for sale. The rustics were dressed in coarse clothing, and the men wore the smock-frock and shoes similar to those worn by the farm-laborers in Yorkshire and other counties of the realm. The women were in ^character, both as regards dress and personal appearance, and their pattens clanked on the pavement as noisily as the heavy shoes of the sterner sex. Piles of produce were ranged for sale, and here sat an old w^oman with butter and eggs; along-side her was a quantity of apples; a little further on, potatoes, turnips, and cabbages; while opposite arose a hill of yellow cheese. Some had cloth to dispose of; others, homemade stockings and mits; and thus along th' entire ..space was exposed, in baskets and tubs, on tables and *^ands, the produce of the farm and workshop. Wagons were nub permitted to pass through the crowd; but lazy rascals occa- sionally rode in on a cart drawn by a half-starved donkey, or poor, spiritless dog, those animals being used as beasts of burthen by the poor. Shrewsbury is famous in English history for the many fights which have taken place near it, and remarkable, in a literary pointy for being the town in which the witty but immoral George OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 271 Farquliar wrote his corned j', the " Recruiting Officer/' while serving in that capacity in it. The room in the Raven Inn, where he composed it, is still shown to the curious. I observed that the trade of the recruiting officer was still important in Shrewsbury, and that bills were posted up at the corners, calling upon the " heroes of Shropshire'^ to join the army of her Majesty, and win for themselves an imperishable name by cutting the throats of their country's enemies for the enormous sum of one shilling per day. . It was within four miles of the town that Hotspur lost his life, in his ill-starred rebellion against Henry the Fourth, more than four hundred and fifty years ago. The readers of Shakspeare will recollect the poet's account of the action, as given in the second part of the tragedy bearing that monarch's name. The king erected a church upon the battle-field, to commemorate the victory of his arms, and as the walls of the edifice are standing to this day, I felt considerable curiosity to visit them, and tread a field so famous as that of Shrewsbury. The sun was fast declining, the evening rather cool, and the sky cloudy; but these did not deter me from making a pilgrimage to the celebrated spot. At a mile or more from the town, a toll-gate keeper directed me to the tower of the distant church, and after a farther walk of two miles along a smooth and pleasant road lined with trees, I arrived at a footpath, into which I turned, and, crossing several fields, came up to the partially roofless shrine, for a portion of the edifice is under cover, and used to this day as a place of religious worship. It is a small Gothic building, situate on a level plain about a quarter of a mile from the turnpike, in a lonely place, and some willow and yew-trees grow in the graveyard, and wave their long tresses above the tombs of the dead. Ivy clambers up the walls of the beautiful tower, and solitude brooded over the ruin which marks the spot whereon Hotspur fell. Evening's shadows gathered fast around me, and the pale moon threw her mellow light over the plain occasionally, as the flying clouds passed from her face, and I stood alone, at the twilight hour, on the ground where the bravest Percy yielded up his life, a rebel! It was the hour of gloaming, and the faint light glimmered through the cliinks iu 272 the ruin, summoning up in m}^ mind the clays of old, and the stern warriors who, in coats of mail, fought with battle-axe and falchion on that field. But it was no place for dreams, and shak- ing off the poetic mist that was hovering over me, I slowly returned to my lodgings, satisfied with having visited the most remarkable spot in the vicinity of Shrewsbury. The capital of Shropshire makes a fine appearance at a dis- tance. I saw it one evening, under a fine sunset, from a point two miles off. It was grand then, perched upon hills, with a glorious flood of sunlight falling in golaen arrows upon its walls and tapering spires; and the music of its church bells came sweetly to my ear on the roral air over the verdant meadows between it and me. CHAPTEK XXIX. A WALK HARE-SIIOOTING TRAVELLING CO:\IPANIONS — KID- DERMINSTER — RIDE TO WORCESTER — THE TOWN AND ITS CATHEDRAL. Some of the English railway companies carry passengers rea- sonably enough sometimes, but not so much to accommodate the public as to gratify a spirit of rivalry. When I went to the sta- tion at Shrewsbury, and asked for a second-class ticket to Welling- ton, a distance of eleven miles, I was surprised that the charge was only three pence, and expressed a doubt to the clerk as to the correctness of the demand, having frequently before paid two shil- lings for being taken a similar distance. He shook his head dole- fully, and told me it was the established fare, but stated that it was ruinous to the company, and must soon be discontinued. Opposition was the cause of the charge being so small, and either one or the other of the competitors would soon be compelled to yield in consequence of the losses each sustained daily by continu- ing to carry persons at such low rates. The train soon conveyed ORj WANDERINGS OP AN AMERICAN. 273 me to my destination, and finding that there was no stage from there to Kidderminster, as I had been led to believe, I walked through the dirty, mean-looking town, and, after securing my knapsack, continued my journey on foot. The country partakes of the same character as that around Dudley and Wolverhampton ; in fact, it is only another section of the same iron and coal district. I passed numerous collieries on my route, where the creak of the windlass and the puff of the steam-engine were constant. Thick black smoke and lurid flames belched from the furnaces, and as I pursued my journey the only persons I met for a considerable distance were workmen engaged in the neighboring pits — men poorly clothed, sallow, and worn, whose appearance indicated neither comfort nor intelligence. As I left Wellington, the tall peak of the Wreken, one of the highest points of land in England, arose on my right, and the clouds began to distil their contents upon the earth; but before an hour had passed, the wind veered southward, the sun burstforth in beauty, and I found myself uncomfortably warm. The country became more picturesque as I receded from the col- lieries, and at Coalbrookdale and Iron Bridge, two small places located in a valley through which I passed, the scenery was grand. The trees were clothed in the foliage of autumn, and the rich green grass, high woody hills, and rapid pellucid Severn made a picture to be remembered when seen under a sun so bright, and a sky so clear. Iron Bridge is an inconsiderable village which takes its name from an elegant structure of a single arch, about one hundred and twenty feet long, which spans the Severn at that place. It was built in 1779, and is a masterpiece of workman- ship, and one of the first bridges of the kind erected in Great Britain. The people were evidently surprised at my advent, and conjec- ture was busy as to who or what the stranger was. Nor was the curiosity confined altogether to Iron Bridge, for at Brosely my appearance created as much sensation as if I had been a stray ele- phant, and, however, amusing my visibility may have been to the inhabitants, their ill manners and rude gazing were by no means agreeable to me, and I marched out of the place in quick step time, and soon gained the open country. The scenery through 274 which I passed was beautiful ; my road was level and easy of travel ; and as it sometimes wound its course along the tops of hills which skirted a broad and highly cultivated valley, it afforded many grand prospects of the surrounding country. The season was the one for game, and I laughed more than once at the pomp- ous and foppish sportsmen whom I encountered in my walk. They nearly all regarded me with coldness and indifference, and I watched them with an eye to fun, for they were, one and all, the greatest wonders in their particular line I ever saw. When an American reads in an English Newspaper that Mr. Smith, or the Right Honorable Mr. Brown, shot one hundred and thirty brace of partridges on a specified day, and so many hares, rabbits, and pheasants to boot, he forms a good opinion of the gunnery of the gentleman named, and very naturally, too ; but, as there is a marked difference between hunting in England and the same sport in the United States, some account of the English system may not be uninteresting to a portion of my readers, and may serve to correct certain erroneous impressions the said readers may entertain respecting English shooting. It may not be gene- rally known that the animals and birds which are, by law, pre- served as game in England, are comparatively tame, from the fact that no persons but those of a privileged class are allowed to hunt them, and that only at a certain season; consequently, they become accustomed to man during the remainder of the year, and seldom take fright when he appears; and, therefore, when the hunter or sportsman makes his advent at the fall of the leaf, he finds but little difficulty in dealing death among the feathered tribe. He comes prepared with pointers and setters, whippers-in and game- keepers, who drive the devoted birds and animals from their co- vert, and then the work of destruction commences. The hares can hardly be kicked into a walk, and generally sit on their haunches, with their eyes agape, wondering what is going on; while the eager and delighted sportsmen raise their guns, and, at the distance of ten or twelve feet, fire at the astonished and affrighted victims, who appear thunderstruck, and sit wondering what all the noise and excitement is about, little dreaming that they are the cause. The partridges and pheasants are better able OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 275 to get out of tlie way than the hares and rahbits, for they gene- rally take to the wing; but, as they scarcely ever rise until the Nimrods are near enough to knock them over with the butt end of the gun, there is but little credit due sportsmen for marksman- ship. Some of the young gentlemen I met were smoking cigars at the same time that they were waiting for the game to appear; and one particular individual did " murder most foul, strange, and unnatural'' upon a poor wretch of a hare that happened to be roused up before him. The animal moved slowly out of the grass, made one or two springs to the distance of about fifteen or twenty feet, when, as it turned to look back, the sportsman sent the con- tents of his gun into it, and was congratulated by his companions upon the '''•excellent shot!'' I was looking over the fence, at the time, and laughed aloud at the feat the youth had accomplished, and thought that it would have been strange if he had missed the unlucky animal; for the merest boy could have killed it with a gun, un'der the circumstances, and any man could have knocked it over with a club without difficulty, and saved the powder and shot. The lacqueys who attend the sportsmen are seldom Uceiis,ed to kill game, and content themselves with driving it into the meshes of their employers, without enjoying the pleasures of a shot, that being the exclusive privilege of the master^ and never assumed by the man. By noon I entered Bridgenorth, a town of considerable size on the Severn, but rapidly declining in importance, in consequence of its remoteness from railways. It is remarkable for a natural terrace, or public promenade, which overhangs the river, and ex- tends for a mile along the edge of the high cliff on which the town is mainly built. The footway is fifteen or twenty feet wide, and protected, on the water side, by a fine iron railing, which runs the entire length of the terrace ; and, as the promenade is full 150 feet above the level of the river, and commands extensive views, it is a most delightful resort, in clear weather, for the citi- zens of the place. A large majority of the English towns have some such place of public comfort and pleasure, and it is greatly to the credit of the authorities that they have. Bridgenorth did not have many attractions for me, and, having learned that I could 276 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; obtain a passage to Kidderminster in the evening, I secured a seat in a heavy van or wagon, used for conveying goods from place to place, and, in company with several others, left the town. My fellow-passengers were agreeable, the driver a talkative, jocular, good-natured man, and the ride a pleasant one. We chatted of the Exhibition, the crops, trade, and railways, and the time passed pleasantly by. Once in a while, as we travelled along the bound- aries of the large estates on the route, we would come up to a cozy little lodge, or gatekeeper's cottage, over which ivy and hardy roses clambered in profusion ; and as our driver had a package for nearly every one of them, we had abundant opportunity to view their beauties, and admire their comforts. All looked well, the occupants appeared content, and the children that peeped from the windows were rosy and healthful. The road was cut through solid sandstone for some distance, and the sides were as smooth as hewn walls could be, for such they were. The highways of England are usually level, or as nearly so as it is possible to make them, and neither labor nor money is spared in constructing them. The one alluded to above was a level and easy-travelling thoroughfare, and there was a raised footpath its entire length, from Bridgenorth to Kidderminster. Night came on before we reached our destination, and as the evening air grew cool, we alighted at a road-side inn, where we were welcomed heartily, and found a good coal fire burning brightly in the grate. Everything around looked clean and tidy ; and we sat down by the warm hearth-side with a determination to have '^ our pleasure in our inn.^' The air might bite without, we heeded it not — and a glass of home-brewed ale was better for us than a cold blast, and soon set our tongues clattering. A young lady who was of our company was very witty and entertaining in her conversation, but I cannot say that she won my admiration by choosing ghij when she was asked what she would like to drink ; but, as it is a custom of the country for women to use both malt and distilled liquors as a beverage, it deserves no more blame in her particular case than tha a of any other English female. The fire was comfortable, the inn warm and cheerful, and the company sociable; and as none of us were in a hurry, we spent a pleasant 277 half hour in the road-side hostelrie. But no good thing lasts long, and the time of departure having arrived, we were obliged to desert the pleasant room, and take to the heavy van. We rapidly neared the town, and one by one the passengers dropped oif, as they arrived at their homes. The young lady bade us adieu at the lodge of a gentleman's mansion, where there was a good- looking young fellow waiting for her; and as she alighted, several prattling children came running out to welcome her home. One of my fellow-passengers continued on to the town with us. As he had seen me walking through Coalbrookdale in the morning, he was very curious to know where I was from. He could not exactly satisfy himself as to my fatherland, and as I take a par- ticular pleasure in keeping some people in suspense respecting that one thing, I let him puzzle his sconce for a considerable time, before I gave him the information he sought. He told me he had seen me passing through Iron Bridge early in the day, and stated that I was the subject of considerable curiosity, as none were able to comprehend who or what I was, though '^ all agreed that your linen was too good for one who tramps from necessity.'' I thanked him for his compliment, and told him where I was from, which gave considerable satisfaction. He was a sociable, friendly personage, and quite intelligent. We reached Kidderminster, at a late hour in the evening, and I found it utterly impossible to perambulate its crooked streets without losing myself, unless accompanied by a guide, and there- fore confined myself for the remainder of the night to the hotel, and on the following morning visited the principal places and buildings, but found nothing remarkable, or deserving particular notice. The town was once famous for the manufacture of carpets, but its trade has greatly declined, and the inhabitants complain of bad times- The streets are the most crooked I ever beheld, and I may be presumed to have seen some that are tolerably awry. The old church is the main feature of the place, and a promenade for the citizens claims attention. Baxter, the celebrated noncon- formist, once officiated in it, but my time did not allow me to wait long enough to gain admittance to the sacred fane. Those who like it may talk about railway travelling for seeing 21 278 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ; a country, but give me an outside seat on a good, old-fashioned English stage-coach, and I will submit to the extortions of the driver for the gratification to be derived from being conveyed through the rural sections, at a moderate rate, where fine views can be had of splendid roads, rich valleys, and an undulating country. Four horses whirled us out of Kidderminster, but not much can be said honestly in favor of the good condition of the animals, for they were only apologies for horses, and scaly ones at that. However, they answered the purpose, and the coach moved rapidly along a level road, and through several cheerful little vil- lages. The church is always the architectural wonder of an Eng- lish hamlet, and the beauty of the structure deserves notice. I like to see the elegant spire or battlemented tower of a neat old Gothic shrine, starting heavenward from a clump of stately trees ; and then the ancient pile, with its diamond-shaped panes and traceried windows, has an air of religion about it, that I, for one, am loath to divest it of; there is scarcely a hamlet or village in the land but can boast one of these quiet fanes. The houses along my route looked as ancient as the churches, many of them being built in the Elizabethan style, with the gable end facing the street or road, and the framework of the structure even with the outer surface of the wall, the masonry being painted white, the wood black, which gives the edifice a look of antiquity never observed in the houses of our land. The village of Ombersley, through which we passed, is built in this style, and may be considered the most unique place of the kind in the country. The gables of the houses face the road, with their bay windows and projecting roofs extending from the surface of the wall; and their checkered fronts give an ancient air to the street. They all resemble each other, all are clean, and all look comfortable. The church stands in the centre of a green, and is a perfect picture of itself, with its tall, sharp spire, and spear-shaped windows. We soon reached Worcester, the capital of the county of that name, and its clean appearance, red-brick houses, fine shops, and well-paved streets were in strong contrast to the towns I had visited the day previously. Some of the dwellings are quite im- posing, and there is an aristocratic air about the place in character 279 witli its cleanliness and the stiffness of many of its inhabitants. The two principal thoroughfares are wide for those of an English town, and the showy fronts of the shops and absence of black coal smoke render the city the next thing to elegant. There are seve- ral extensive porcelain manufactories in the place, and some of the finest specimens of that ware made in Great Britain are pro- duced in Worcester. Glove-making is also largely followed, and the most celebrated manufactory of those articles in England is in this city. The hop-market is one of the largest in the kingdom, and there is a building expressly for the sale of hops, and one's olfactories are constantly assailed by the odor arising from the bitter-smelling, but not unpleasant flower, not only on market- days, but during the entire week. The city is on a gently sloping hill on the banks of the Severn, and possesses, in addition to a beautiful promenade along the river, a fine walk of nearly a mile in length, at the back of the town, where the inhabitants seek recreation'. It is famous for a battle which took place near it in the civil wars between the parliamentary troops and those of Charles the Second, in which the monarch (then Prince Charles) suffered a most signal defeat. The scene of strife is shown to the curious, and the hill on which Cromwell planted his artillery when he opened his batteries upon the city. Probably no name in English history is charged with so many outrages and crimes as that of Oliver Cromwell, and every town of note in the king- dom exhibits the scars it received from his troops. Vergers are the persons to paint Oliver's misdeeds, and if a church or cathedral bears about it the slightest marks of pillage. Old Noll receives the credit of having committed the injury, whether guilty or not, and in the absence of another upon whom to charge the act, he, like the compositors in the printing-ofiice, bears on his shoulders the errors of his realm and day. Like most of the provincial cities of England, Worcester owes its celebrity mainly to its famous cathedral, a large Gothic build- ing of fine proportions and elegant workmanship, celebrated for containing the tomb of King John of 3Iagna Cliarta memory, and an elaborately finished florid Gothic chapel over the remains of Prince Arthur, son of Henry the Seventh. The tomb of the 280 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; monarcli is the most ancient royal sepulchre extant in England, and occupies a portion of the centre aisle of the cathedral choir, and is kept in excellent preservation. The choir itself is grand, and contains some curious ornaments in the shape of the armorial bearings of the Houses of York and Lancaster after the union of the two families. There are some splendid monuments in the transepts and nave, and one to Bishop Hough, by Roubiliac, is as fine a piece of sculpture as can be found to adorn a tomb. The principal figure is that of the divine supported by an angel, who is in the act of flying and pointing the way to heaven ; below is the representation of the trial of the seven bishops in the days of James the Second, and the arrangement and grouping are master- pieces of design. Religion is holding a Bible in her hand, and watching, with a calm expressive face, the deliberations of the judges, while Justice pleads with dignity the cause of Protestant- ism. The artist has surpassed himself in this splendid efi"ort of the chisel, and produced a group that would make any man im- mortal in America. There is also in the building a fine female figure, by Chan trey, over the tomb of the deceased wife of a clergy- man. The nave and side aisles contain the effigies of several crusaders, wearing coats of chain-armor ; but the names of those to whom they were erected are unknown, and the stranger gazes upon the marble figures deeply impressed with the uncertainty of worldly fame and posthumous glory. The cloisters of the cathedral are richly groined, and of quadrangular form ; the court-yard in the centre being used for burial purposes. Many repairs have recently been made in the sacred edifices of the country, but none of them impress the mind more with the ancient glory of the ca- thedrals than the restorations in the cloisters. The solemn aspect they present when completely restored to their former condition is impressive in the extreme, and it does not require a lively imagination to people them with the brethren of the rosary and cowl. I ascended the tower of the edifice by a series of staircases, and, after viewing the eight heavy bells which swing within its walls, continued up to the leads, from which I enjoyed an extensive prospect of the city, including the hills of Malvern, with the OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 281 towns of the same name which nestle at their feet ; the valley of the sinuous Severn, with its meadows and bright villages, and the distant mountains of Wales. In my walks around the city, I observed several objects, besides the cathedral, worthy of note; one of them being a stone tower of solid masonry, erected near the minster, and wearing the appear- ance of having been at one time a portion of what may be con- sidered the city walls. It is a massive affair, built like a city gate over one of the principal streets, with turrets at the tops and port-holes for defence. The Guildhall of the city is highly orna- mented in front, and there is a profusion of gilding upon some of the scroll-work, and a statue of Queen Anne, which occupies a niche at an elevation of some feet above the principal doorway, at the sides of which are wooden statues of Charles the First and Charles the Second, both of whom wear their crowns with appa- rent ease, a thing neither of them was able to do during the entire term of their natural lives. The Foregate, or main street, is nearly straight, but irregular in its width, but still a fine avenue, and busy withal. The clear atmosphere, the clean houses and streets, the gay shops, the numerous churches, rapid Severn, and old cathedral, make Wor- cester a pleasant place for the stranger, and a credit to its inha- bitants. CHAPTER XXX. COMMERCIAL TRAVELLERS — GLOUCESTER AND ITS CATHEDRAL HOSTELRIES. There is a class of men in England who may be regarded as native, and almost incapable of existing in any other land. I mean those known as Commercial Travellers. They are gentle- men ; generally well educated, and never illiterate. Shrewd, active, business men, always on the move ; and real birds of passage — now in the south, in a few days away to the west, or 24* 282 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ', traversing the eastern or northern counties. They all live at good hotels, and on the best the markets afford, meanness in living being no trait in their character, and niggardliness scouted by all. Their combined patronage v^ill build up a hotel, and particular houses in each town receive their support. The land- lords treat them with great respect, and servants pay them par- ticular attention. They keep late hours, enjoying the amusements of the places in which they remain at night, seldom rise early, breakfast at fashionable times, dine late and sumptuously, wines being indispensable at dinner, and dress genteelly, but neither foppishly or in the current fashion of the day. They travel in second-class carriages, and go from the railway stations to hotels in cabs or flies, seldom or never condescending to walk. They are affable, courteous, friendly, and humorous. When in cities where business requires attention, they perform their duty first, and make all other things subservient to their particular calling. They are well informed, and therefore liberal-minded, freely enter into conversation with strangers, and readily accommodate them- selves to the society into which they are thrown. Constant inter- course with the inhabitants of remote sections of the land and strangers makes them a distinct class, and they meet the natives of the extremes of their own island with a friendly spirit, always overlooking sectional peculiarities and sinking their early preju- dices. They regard foreigners as brothers, and treat a French- man, a German, or an American with as much cordiality as one of their own countrymen. They know no distinctions among men except in manners, and without the chilling reserve of the untravelled and pompous Englishman, they possess all tbe self- respect and good behavior of the well-informed and dignified man, and never transgress the laws of gentility. Many of them speak French, or German, have travelled on the Continent and in Ireland, and converse fluently on most subjects. They are strict disciplinarians at the houses in which they stop, and have a method of recognition amounting to freemasonry. They travel almost constantly, and seldom remain longer in a town than their business requires. Take them as a class, and they assuredly are a peculiar one, they are eminently original and distinct from the ORj WANDERINGS OP AN AMERICAN. 283 4 balance of their countrymen. But enough of their habits and customs ; let me tell you who and what they are, if possible. They are attaches of mercantile establishments and manufactories in the large cities and towns, and travel through the country, making sales by sample. They ordinarily receive a guinea per day for expenses, which accounts for their liberal style of living, and in addition to which they receive salaries according to their capacities, varying from one hundred to eight hundred pounds per annum. Many of them are married, but their almost con- stant absence from home estranges them in a great measure from their families. But few of them accumulate fortunes, in conse- quence of the expensive habits they acquire in the performance of their duty, and numbers of them die prematurely, leaving small and destitute children to the tender mercies of a selfish world. They have beneficial societies, and support one or more schools for the education of the orphans of deceased members, to which they contribute liberally and are very attentive. In some cases, they entertain high notions, and never lower their dignity by patronizing a third-rate house, considering themselves degraded by doing so. This comes from their employment and associations, and necessarily so, as English society is constituted ; for the buyer will not make his purchases so readily from the Travellers who stop at the third-rate as he will from those who frequent the second-class inns, and therefore it is the interest of the Com- mercial, in both a business and personal point of view, to take up his abode in those hotels to which the majority give the pre- ference, and to which purchasers usually repair. In their intercourse with society, they endeavor to make them- selves agreeable, knowing well that cheerfulness and sociability, blended with good breeding, will advance their interests greatly. This may be considered selfish by some; but charity will lead the liberal mind to conclude that there is less of that spirit in it than a disposition to be on good terms with all men. In my inter- course with them, I found them as described, and never rude or uncourteous — a thing I cannot say of some of their country- men with whom I met, who appeared to consider themselves made of superior clo^^ to that used in the composition of the Com- 284 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ; mercial Traveller. On the journey from "Worcester to Gloucester, I became acquainted with one of the best of his class, and as he was an intelligent, sociable man, we grew quite friendly, and rode to Gloucester in company, where, while he attended to his duties, I rambled about, visiting the most interesting and im- portant objects in the city and vicinity. Gloucester is situate on a plain near the Severn, and presents an air of cleanliness and beauty never met with in the large manu- facturing towns of the north. In fact, the cities of the south and west of England, with one or two exceptions only, are different in nearly every particular from those of the midland and northern counties. This comes from the absence of great woollen, cot- ton, and iron manufactories, and the small amount of black, filthy coal soot and smoke like that which rises in such density from the tall chimneys of the steam-engines and workshops at the north. The principal streets of the city cross each other at right angles, but they are not uniform in width, and, consequently, far from pleasing. The peaked gables, projecting windows, arched ways, 'and great court-yards of three or four old hostelries, in certain sections, carry the observer back in imagination to the times when men made pilgrimages to the shrines of saints, and weary, dusty travellers, with staff and scrip, wallets and sumpter-loads, thronged the court-yard, or passed the hours in noisy conversation in the large rooms where the guests met in common. But the old is being blended with the new, and the hostelrie will, ere long, dis- appear. Improvement is visible in Gloucester even now, and commerce is enlarging her limits. A ship canal unites her docks with the Severn, and vessels from the West Indies, United States, and other foreign lands lie side by side at her wharves. Her docks are ample to accommodate several hundred vessels, and there are some large warehouses adjoining, equal in dimensions to those of Liverpool, but far superior in appearance. The great architectural feature of Gloucester is the cathedral, a grand specimen of Gothic masonry. The tower is highly enriched with windows and ornamental mouldings, graceful pinna- cles, and fine parapets. The body of the edifice is in character OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 285 with the graceful lantern, the angles of the transepts being adorned with small pinnacled towers of chaste proportions. The interior of the nave, although grand, did not impress me with its beauty. The pillars are plain unfluted shafts of considerable height, and as the arches are Gothic, bounded by heavy zigzag mouldings, they have the massive appearance of the plain Grecian column. The windows are rich in colors, and the entire effect upon the mind is impressive, but not imposing. There is a solid grandeur about the interior rarely observed in Gothic edifices, and not so much of the foliated chiselling and elaborate ornament usual to the style. The choir is exquisite. The groining and mouldings, the tracery and carvings, and clustered columns are like beautiful em- broidery petrified; and when the modified and mellowed light streams through the immense and gorgeous east window, the largest in the world, that section of the edifice wears an air of grandeur and solemn magnificence it would be difficult to describe to one who has never seen the interior of a richly ornamented Gothic fane of past centuries. The stalls of the prebendaries at each side of the choir are of carved oak, and represent some strange scenes. One of these is two knights playing at dice, and each is completely absorbed in the game. Others defy description, but all are curious, and the most of them decidedly inappropriate church ornaments. The morning service was begun while I was in the cathedral; but, by speaking to a verger, I obtained a guide to conduct me through the edifice, and point out its attractions. A modest young girl, arrayed in a neat dress of black, was introduced to me, and we soon became sociable. She was intelligent, and well versed in the history of the shrine, and the principal objects con- nected with it. We slowly paced the lengthened aisles, she point- ing out the tombs, and I admiring them. One old, solemn monu- ment, in the chancel, was particularly attractive, in consequence of its position and the excellent preservation of the figure and or- naments. It is in an exquisite florid Gothic chapel, through the stained windows of which the shadowy sunlight wavered, as I 286 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ; stood at its side, with my gentle guide opposite, with her arm rest- ing upon the prostrate crusader. ''This/' said she, "is the tomb of Robert, Duke of Normandy, the eldest son of William the Conqueror. The figure is carved in Irish bog-oak, and remarkably perfect, considering that it was executed so early as 1134.'' The effigy is a masterpiece of work, encased in a coat of chain armor, the right hand crossing the body, and resting upon the hilt of a sword. The face is expressive and the features unimpaired, which are unusual in figures of so great an age. The legs are crossed, crusader-like, showing that the stern warrior, to whose memory the tomb was reared, was engaged in the mad expeditions of his class in the Holy Land, and won honorable distinction there. Thoughts of the past entered my mind, when gazing on the musty monument — of armed knights and mailed cavaliers, Nor- man barons and boorish retainers. That figure is well calcu- lated to recall to mind the dim events of the Middle Ages, and the romance of history. The interior of the beautiful cha- pel was a picture, to me, as we stood on the side of the pros- trate crusader, conversing of his deeds of valor and daring. What a change, thought I, since he who rests below walked upright upon the earth ! Then, the noble wielded more power than Eng- land's monarch at the present day. Now, a timid, gentle maiden shows, as a curiosity, the tomb of one, once mighty, whose literary attainments are surpassed, at this time, by those of nearly every ploughman in the country. In the same chancel is the tomb of Edward the Second, who was murdered at Berkley Castle in 1327. It is near the high altar, and adorned with a figure of the king, in repose, finely carved, and in good preservation. As we entered the north tran- sept, my attention was arrested by a tablet in the wall to the ^'memory of Gen. Wm. Lyman, of Massachusetts, late United States Consul to London, who departed this life 22d September, 1811!" The incident may not be worth mentioning, but an American is glad to meet his countrymen in a foreign land, dead or alive -, and I am sure that, if I did not derive pleasure from OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 287 reading the inscription quoted, I came on it so unexpectedly that I read it with more interest than I would have done had it not marked the resting-place of one of my countrymen. And then it was some gratification to know that he was buried beside dukes and kings; although it is more than probable that he was a better man than either of his ducal, or royal neighbors. The cloisters of the cathedral are the finest in England, the roof being embellished with superb fan tracery. The nave is im- posing, and adorned with modern monuments and statues, the best being that of Dr. Jenner, the discoverer of the Kine Pox and vacci- nation. There is a tablet to the memory of a clergyman, who ma- terially aided Robert Kaikes, the printer, and founder of Sunday- schools, in his laudable endeavors to establish those institutions permanently. The names of both are mentioned on the marble; but it occurred to me that the founder of Sunday-schools deserves a separate monument, instead of the bare cold mention made of him on the tablet of one who owes his fame to money. Glou- cester is his birthplace, an 1 there should be his grave, and a tribute to his worth. Every Sunday-school child in Christendom would contribute something to his monument, if a project to build one were set on foot; and what more appropriate place for it than Gloucester Cathedral ! From the far lands, from the isles of the sea, and remote sections of the earth, contributions would be sent; and lisping children of every clime, by their united efforts, would raise to Robert Raikes's memory a record at once appropriate and honorable to his name. 288 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY CHAPTER XXXI. THE WEST OF ENGLAND — BRISTOL — ST. MARY REDCLIFFE — SIR WM. draper's TOMB — STERNE's ELIZA — LADY HESKETH — CLIFTON DOAYNS COLSTON SCHOOL PRONUNCIATION. The west of England is mostly undulating, and well wooded. There is less sterility than at the north, and greater diversity of scenery, and none of the flatness of the large eastern counties. The spirit of manufacture is not so much encouraged as in Lan- cashire, and there are no large cities with clouds of smoke hover- ing over them to prove the existence of white slavery and great monopolies. The woollen manufacture is on a large scale, but in a more primitive condition than in Yorkshire. The factories are in the country, on the banks of pellucid streams ; are mostly clean, cheerful-looking edifices, differing, in every particular, from the dingy, prison-like castles of the northern cities. Capital does not appear to have swept away the man of limited means ; and here and there, throughout the rural sections, the traveller sees mills of moderate dimensions surrounded by a village of neat and com- fortable cottages. Between Bristol and Gloucester such are numerous. They are similar in build to the isolated cotton factories of the United States ; and the fact of the atmosphere around them being clear proves that the workmen, when out of their shops, enjoy pure air, a luxury seldom indulged in by the operatives of Leeds and Halifax, towns over which the smoke hangs too thick for easy breathing. Bristol is, perchance, the exception, in respect to cleanliness, among the towns of the west of England ; but even it, with its dirt and inky atmosphere, is not so bad as its sister cities of the north. When a man enters a large town alone, and passes along its streets without recognizing a face or meeting a mortal who knows him, he feels a sense of solitude as keen as that which comes over him in the depths of the forest or the wide-foaming waste of ORj WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 289 ocean. He presses forward through the throngs that fill the streets without exchanging a word with a single individual, unheeded, but not unheeding. Not one of the hundreds whom ho encounters meets him with a friendly look, and he searches in vain among the passing faces for a glance of recognition. His unusual dress may attract the momentary attention of an idle boy or curiosity- seeker, but, as soon as the observer is satisfied with gazing, he pursues his way without a word of friendship to the stranger. On the wanderer goes, and the deeper he penetrates into the city the denser becomes the mass of humanity, and the more indifi"erent he becomes to them. With feelings such as a solitary stranger may be supposed to entertain under like circumstances, I en- tered the really ancient-looking city of Bristol. J^ tide of mortals poured along the thoroughfare in which I trod with my knapsack at my side, and as the haze of an autumn evening slowly settled around, the antique houses on either side of the narrow, crooked, and circumscribed way more forcibly reminded me, than the in- different crowd, of my isolated and lonely situation. I felt that I was a stranger in a strange land, but it was a melancholy feeling of pleasure, and one that I rather encouraged than dismissed from my thoughts. The lights began to glimmer in the windows before I reached an inn, and as I passed over the old bridge made renowned by the genius of Chatterton, the recollection of him flashed across my mind, and I stopped to survey the objects around me, and breathe a sigh for the " boy bard of Bristol.^' On I went, looking now on this side, now on that, in search of a place of rest, and at the end of another quarter of an hour came up to an old gable-fronted building, with bay-windows, filled with diamond- shaped panes, having a passage-way which led into a court-yard. I was a dusty pilgrim, with stafi" and shell, and this was, in truth, an ancient hostelrie. There were some servants in the space, and the light of the lamps revealed to my sight a series of stories, one rising above the other, around each of which was a gallery. The attendant took my pack, and ushered me into a cheerful room, where a bright sea-coal fire burned briskly and a number of gentlemen were enjoying their tea. The people did not have the look of the ancient day, and I soon dismissed from my 25 290 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY J thoughts the idea that I had been transported back three centu- ries into the company of men contemporary with Queen Bess. They were not subjects of the virgin ruler of England, not they. Doublets and hose they scorned, and ruffles found no favor with them. The inn was ancient ; they were modern, and dressed in the mode of Victoria's reign, not that of Elizabeth. Tired of a long walk, I found sweet repose before the parlor fire, and relaxation from the toil of travel. Sleep invited to rest, and I was led, like a sheep to slaughter, up several pairs of stairs, and along three or more galleries to the room assigned me. I was bewildered with the windings, and would have perished in the flames, no doubt, had the house been burned that night, because I would not have been able to retrace my steps, and, consequently, could not have escaped. The sleeping apartment, except the bed, was in character with the exterior of the house, and its secluded court-yard. The floors were oak ; the room wain- scoted; the windows of diamond-panes set in leads; and the ceiling ornamented with the arms of some defunct noble. It was a place to dream in, and I lay down with vague impressions on my mind of being in the company of staid old fellows in un- fashionable breeches and powdered wigs, but thought no more of them, and awoke at daylight with the happy consciousness of having enjoyed a good sound sleep in a comfortable downy bed. A daylight ramble, through the olden part of the town, contri- buted to my gratification. The houses almost touch each other at the upper stories as they bend across the street. The gables face the avenues, and as the stories project one over the other, they form a shelter for the pedestrian. Some of the dwellings are richly ornamented on the front with strange carvings, oriel windows, foliated mouldings, and scroll-work of gay designs, with doors of solid oak. One not accustomed to such things notices all, and finds pleasure in contemplating the curious and quaint in the architecture of Bristol, a city with more of the really ancient left it than any other in England. It is large, with narrow, crooked, and dirty streets. Some of the more fashionable avenues in the business part abound in fine showy shops and good modern dwellings, but the by-streets are quaint and curious, Elizabethan OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 291 and dreamy. The city was famous centuries ago, and carried on an extensive foreign trade when even London had but little com- merce. Its merchants then were numerous and wealthy, and be it said charitable, for Bristol has one or more institutions at this day of a benevolent character established centuries ago by her merchant princes. The river (or more properly rivers!) flows through the city, and as the waters are navigable for large vessels, numbers of ships line the quays. Several bridges cross the streams at different points in the town, and crowds throng them, but not such as were wont "to checker the Rialto;" but merchants of another class, itinerant dealers in fruits, &c. The new portion, known as Clifton, is a place of '' magnificent distances," and very irregular. It is built as if every individual proprietor were determined to have a street of his own, regardless of the taste or convenience of his neigh- bor ; and as the ground is hilly, there is great diversity of surface and scenery. There are plenty of streets with fine names ; cres- cents and terraces; parks and places ] squares and rows; and hills and hollows in abundance, but still great beauty. There are nu- merous noble views from the hills in the parks, and from Clifton Downs, which will repay for the trouble of climbing. The best is that of the Avon and Severn from St. Vincent's Ptock, a bold, precipitous clifi^, which overhangs the first named stream. One of my earliest visits was to St. Mary Redcliffe — the church made celebrated by the genius of Chatterton. I threaded my way for a considerable distance through old and gloomy streets — dark as those in Eastern cities — now surrounded by a mass of filthy, barefooted children, and anon in a crowd of slatternly women and ill-looking men — until I emerged into the full light of day in a wide space before the splendid edifice. The spirit of restoration was rife then, so far as repairing the churches of Bristol went, and St. Mary's was undergoing many improvements. The new masonry and sculpture are excellent, and bear evidence to the fact that the artisans of this day are equally capable of producing fine buildings as those of bygone centuries, when they have the opportunity. The edifice is large and unusually fine, being in three several styles of Gothic architecture, and rich in mould- 292 ings, carvings, and elaborate ornaments. It is in the cruciform ghape, and bears^ greater resemblance to a monastery or cathedral than a simple church. I entered its walls with feelings of admiration bordering on en- thusiasm, because they are hallowed by the genius of Chatterton, and historically blended with the names of Canynge and Rowley, the reputed author and the presumed preserver of the poems pub- lished by the proud boy in an obsolete language, the better to deceive mankind. The interior is very fine, having the appearance of a cathedral. I wandered through the nave and aisles, and, after noticing the principal objects there, ascended to the Muniment room over the north porch, where the Rowley MSS. were reported to have been discovered. The chamber is sextangular, of consider- able extent, the windows being without glass, and open to the weather. The old coffers, or chests, which once contained the records of Canynge's mercantile operations, are open and empty, but still regarded with veneration, and preserved in the same con- dition in which they were left by the authorities under whose direction they were broken open nearly a century ago. The place is secluded, and just suited to such a mind as that of the wonderful youth, whose literary forgeries have made it famous, and sought for by the admirers of his extraordinary, but misapplied talents. I have ever felt an admiration for Chatterton, and visited his native city for the purpose of seeing those places made renowned by his writings. The church just mentioned is the most interesting object extant connected with the history of the wayward boy, and pilgrimages are made to it by the admirers of his genius. The interior is imposing and handsomely ornamented. While roaming about it, I observed several interesting mementos of the past — two of which are original paintings by Hogarth, of large dimensions, executed by the artist expressly for the church during his resi- dence in Bristol. The designs are scriptural and well drawn, but the coloring, although good^ partakes too much of West's brick shade to be pleasing. The tombs of Rowley and Canynge are in the usual style of such works of past centuries, and owe their celebrity more to the talents of the bard than to their artistic merits. Near them, OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 293 attached to one of the columns of the south transept, is a marble tablet, on which is engraved a long history of the services of Sir William Penn, the father of the founder of Pennsylvania. The guide insisted that it was to the memory of the grandfather of the Quaker, but the date 1670 sets the matter at rest. Several torn and decayed banners, captured by the deceased in battle, hang motionless in the dead air above his tomb, together with a coat of mail, visor, gloves, and pair of spurs, the property of the admiral in his lifetime. The family escutcheon, also, adorns the column, but the motto ^' Pennsylvania" is not on the scroll, as at Stoke Pogis. ^'The dim, religious light," which diffuses itself through the interior of St. Mary Ptedcliffe, must have had its effect upon the gloomy mind of Chatterton; and that the idea of his literary forgeries was suggested to him, when musing over the tombs of Canynge and his contemporaries, is probable from the fact that he was familiar, to a certain extent, with the history of the Bristol merchant, and in the constant habit of passing hours in the church. He knew that the world would scout the idea of one so young as himself being able to produce the poems he composed, and the rejected papers obtained from the coffers of Canynge, in connection with his reflections among the tombs, decided him to impose upon the world, as the works of Rowley, the productions of his own mind. Chagrined and disappointed in his ambitious schemes, he died by his own hand at an age when others are but children, and a cold, selfish world heeded not his struggles and manly battles against adversity. Uncomplaining fortitude in him was a crime, and he expired without a friend to mourn his un- timely and melancholy fate. The austerely pious may condemn his rashness and unbending will, but the truly charitable and hu- mane will regret his end, and hope that the Great Creator, in his infinite mercy, has granted to the proud boy in another and a better world that exemption from misery and pain he never enjoyed in this. Bristol is built so oddly as to defy a pen and ink description, and the only way to convey an idea of it in writing is to give short general sketches. Two streams and a canal run through it, 25* 294 but their course is so irregular that one descriptive expression will sufl&ce for all — abominably crooked ! The larger of the two rivers has a wide quay on either side, and lies between the new town known as Clifton, and the old part of the city, where the trade is mainly transacted. There is wide space on either side, between it and the houses, which is crowded during the day with people, and vans laden with merchandise. The thoroughfare is the most direct road to the cathedral and Bristol Downs, and consequently much crowded. I wandered along until I reached the old church of St. Augustine, an elegant Gothic edifice of considerable extent, surrounded by a graveyard thickly studded with tombstones. While loitering in the ground, the sexton di- rected me to the last resting-place of a man whose fame comes down to us more because of its accidental connection with the " Let- ters of Junius," than of any particular merit of its owner, although Sir William Draper was not a common man. He provoked the enmity of a writer whose lash he could not bear, and whose powers he misjudged; and found, too late, that he had unwittingly out- generalled himself (as many military men have done both before and since his time) by trusting too much to his ability to wield the pen and too little to the sword. The sarcasm and pungency of Junius's sentences were too severe, and after seeking, unsuc- cessfully, forgetfulness of his mortifications in America, he returned to his native city, where he died of a broken spirit, and was buried in the same grave with those from whose blood he sprung. But few are cognizant of his burial-place, and fewer yet seek it out. His memory will live longer in the pages of " Junius" than those of military history; and as I stood by his tomb, I could not avoid moralizing on the follies of ambition, when I discovered that the stone did not even bear his name. The survivors of the knight did not think it proper to encumber his tomb with an epitaph, and those curious to know must learn the locality of the resting-place from the sexton, in whose memory is the register of the dead within his realm. The vicinity was evidently a favorite of the ecclesiastics of old, as the cathedral, a fine cruciform building, is but a few hundred yards from the church. The old pile is fine, both internally and OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 295 externally. The transepts and aisles are adorned with numerous monuments, some of which are elegant, and others of more than ordinary interest even to the casual observer. The edifice may not inappropriately be called a second Westminster Abbey; and if the fact of its being the last resting-place of many who have been distinguished for genius, or amability and personal excel- lence, be sufficient to entitle it to the appellation, then it is richly deserving the name. As I entered the sacred fane, the first object that arrested my attention was a monument in the form of a Gothic arch, within which are two female figures, chastely sculp- tured from pure statuary marble — one representing Genius, the other Benevolence; each pointing to a tablet between them, on which is engraved an epitaph to the memory of Mrs. Elizabeth Draper — Sterne's Eliza. The attention I paid the record and monument was observed by one of the vergers, a gentlemanly man, wdio immediately ten- dered his services to guide me through the building. We turned to the left from the transept into the north aisle, where there are several fine pieces of sculpture, not the least deserving of notice of which is a bust of Robert Sourbey, by Bailey, one of the best of English statuaries. The form has the appearance of life; the features are chiselled with a masterly hand, bearing in every line an unmistakable resemblance to the original. The peculiari- ties of mind of the versatile poet are forcibly depicted, and the physiognomist can trace instantly, in the speechless representative, the character of the man. In the same section of the edifice is a rather gaudy and heavy monument, deficient in chasteness and purity of design, but still interesting, from being to the memory of the wife of the Rev. William Mason, the friend and companion of Gray. The record is simple, concluding with the incomparable lines of the author of " Elfrida," the acknowledged merit of which has procured them a place in the classic poetry of England, and a repetition here, however trite it may appear, cannot impair their beauty : — 296 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ; *' Take, holy earth, all that my soul holds dear : Take that best gift Avhich heaven so lately gave ; To Bristol's font I bore, with trembling care. Her faded form: she bowed to taste the wave, And died. Does youth, does beauty read the line ? Does sympathetic fear their breasts alarm ? Speak, dead Maria, breathe a strain divine; Even from the grave thou shalt have power to charm : Bid them be chaste, be innocent like thee ; Bid them in duty's sphere as meekly move ; And if so fair, from vanity as free. As firm in friendship and as fond in love, Tell them, tho' 'tis an awful thing to die, ('Twas even to thee,) yet, the dread path once trod, Heaven lifts its everlasting portals high. And bids the pure in heart behold their God." There is a neat marble tablet, in tbe east wall of the south transept, to the memory of '' Dame Harriet Hesketh, the relative and valued friend of the great moral poet Cowper." Her remains rest in a tomb in the south aisle, covered by a flat stone bearing an unostentatious inscription. The admirer of the letters of the amiable poet of Olney muses with peculiar feeling over her grave, for to her genius and sincere friendship for the bard the world owes the production and perusal of some of the finest epistolary compositions in the English tongue. The architecture of Bristol Cathedral is Gothic, and although the edifice is of moderate dimensions, it is handsome. The chap- ter-house is one of the finest specimens of pure Norman extant. The verger led me to it, and his descriptions of its beauties were far from exaggerations. The windows are adorned with glass of splendid coloring, the decorations of the walls are superb, and the interlacings of the Norman arches exquisitely beautiful. While I was admiring the department, one of the resident clergy- men entered, and approached me in an easy, friendly manner, so Christianlike as to gain my esteem at once. There was no hy- pocrisy in his face, and his sociable, gentlemanly deportment, and cheerful, communicative disposition were indicative of true piety. He conducted me to one angle of the room, and directed my at- OR; WANDERINGS OP AN AMERICAN. 297 tention to the glories of the edifice with an evident desire to con- tribute as far as he could to my gratification. The mouldings, the stained glass, the painted walls, the harmonious proportions, all the splendors of the place were pointed out with care, and I scarcely knew which to admire most, the conversation and amiable manners of the man, or the grandeur and perfection of the archi- tecture. Both were gems, and both deserving a niche in the tem- ple of memory. There was a spirit of gentleness about the man, and dignity of character blended with humility, that argued in my mind the sincere Christian and upright being, and satisfied me that he was in fact what he professed, and at the same time an honor to his sect and calling. My visit was pleasant, and I left the old fane much gratified with what I heard and saw. The spirit of improvement and restoration is evident in Bristol, and not confined to the churches. At one extreme of an open space or park, called College Green, near the cathedral, the city authorities have recently caused to be erected a light, airy, chaste, florid Gothic market-cross, which, for delicacy and richness of or- nament, cannot be surpassed. It is of a light-colored stone, in the most finished style of the florid period, and yet not so elaborately ornamented or decorated with rich carvings as to create in the mind of the beholder an idea of profusion. It is open, with fine, bold, well-proportioned arches and buttresses, and pinnacles at the angles, and as it stands in a grove of trees it appears to great ad- vantage. The principal parks are on the Clifton side of the harbor, and are large and handsome. I walked through several, and visited the Downs, a public ground lying at the top of the eastern bank of the Avon, known as St. Vincent's Rocks. The surface is irregular, and as the elevation is great, a fine view is aiforded of the surrounding country and the deep chasm through which the river flows. On the summit are the remains of an ancient Koman fortification 200 yards in length and 150 feet wide. The form is semicircular, and traces of a fosse are visible. The walls are composed of limestone piled in regular line, and cemented together with heated mortar so solidly as almost to defy separa- tion even at this period. On the opposite side of the river simi- 298 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; lar remains exist, and antiquaries are of opinion that those on Clifton Down constituted the most important Roman camp in western Britain, and here were beacon-fires lighted when dan- ger threatened the minor fortresses in the valleys, the remains of many of which still exist in the surrounding country. Clifton is the fashionable section of the city, and much resorted to by invalids who seek the advantages of its mineral waters. The walks around the springs and baths are romantic, and command in clear weather fine prospects in every direction. The atmo- sphere is salubrious, being exempt from the thick, black smoke which impregnates the air over Bristol. Its streets are steep and crooked, wide and clean, which is more than can be said with truth of many avenues in other English towns. Among the noted places of the old town is the Colston School, where Chatterton was for a short time a scholar. The building is an antique structure, in the Elizabethan style, located on a back street, and may be described as a quaint '' house with seven gables." The founder bequeathed lands and tenements for the support of the institution, and one hundred boys are educated, boarded, and clothed there for seven years, after which time they are apprenticed out to trades. It is an excellent institution, and cherished by the inhabitants as a noble charity. The inhabitants of the city speak a dialect difi'erent from that of the north or east, and whether educated or not their pronunciation of certain words is the same. I was forcibly reminded more than once of the negroes of the Southern States when I heard persons say ''yer'^ and <'gwain" instead of ^* here" and ^^going." The same peculiarities exist in the remote districts of the south-west, and the pronunciation there differs in every particular from that at the north, and from that of the cockneys who mouth every word, and put the o where the a should be, in addition to the known habit they have of calling horses orses, and the atmosphere the hafmo- sphere. The educated English about London pretend to laugh at the " nasal drawl" of the Yankees, and speak of it as a national pecu- liarity. It would be well if they were to look at home before OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 299 sneering at Jonathan about that. They will find as much to ridi- cule in Somerset as ever they will in the United States if they go there for a few months. The nasal drawl is outdone by the sniffling twang of the people of that county and Devonshire, sections of England where puritanism was rampant in its day, and whence the Yankee 'pronunciation was exported to the shores of New England. The untravelled cockney who visits America is shocked at our speech, and pretends not to understand us, when, if he were to go into Yorkshire, Northumberland, or Devonshire, he would be equally at a loss to comprehend the natives of those sections of his own isle, some of whom use words unintelligible to the educated man, and incomprehensible to the Londoner. x\lmost every county has its peculiar dialect, and the native of each is generally recognized by his tongue. Somerset and Devon have the sniffle and the drawl, and some of the rustics of those provinces speak through the nose as strongly as the rawest Yankees of Vermont or Connecticut. CHAPTER XXXII. BATH — ITS BEAUTY ABBEY CHURCH AN INCIDENT. The city in which Beau Nash reigned the monarch of fashion is one of the most beautiful in England, and at the same time one of the most aristocratic. Cleanliness is a peculiarity of the place, and although some of the permanent inhabitants are not remark- ably free from dirt, but few of them are so filthy as the illustrious Prince Bladud was when, wallowing in the mud of the valley in which the city stands, he discovered the medicinal properties of the springs for which it is chiefly celebrated. Night had fairly closed in when I arrived at Bath, and as the darkness was intense, I had considerable difiiculty in ascertaining the geography of the town. The railway station is not immediately in the thickly set- tled section, and as the place is scattered and built on both high 300 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ; and low land, I witnessed a singular scene. Brilliant gas-lights glittered on the surrounding hills like dazzling planets, and as they were far above me, I was at a loss which way to proceed, not knowing whether the principal thoroughfare lay in the valley or on the highland. The darkness made the lights doubly bright, and therefore the scene they presented, scattered on hills and dis- persed through the valley, was extremely strange. I soon obtained lodgings, a thing rarely denied me, and on the following morn- ing commenced my rambles in and about Bath. The streets are wide and well paved, the houses built of stone and generally imposing, the parks large and beautifully laid out, and the whole appearance of the place fashionable and aristocratic. There are several fine crescents flanked by noble edifices, and much that is really imposing. Many of the streets in the level section are straight and elegant, and those that ascend the hills are both picturesque and secluded. There are several large public build- ings of note, the most attractive of which are the Abbey Church and Pumproom, the latter being embellished with a full-length marble statue of the great leader of fashionable folly in other days, Beau Nash. The baths and springs are numerous, and much resorted to by invalids ; in fact, the city is always well attended by the feeble, and the stranger notices those in large numbers on fine days taking exercise in the open air on foot, attended by serv- ants, or being drawn about the parks by men in small vehicles called Bath-chairs, in shape like a gig, and so constructed as to be readily closed up by glass doors in case of rain or unpleasant cold. They are of great service to those who are too weak to walk, or endure the jar of a carriage drawn by horses, and although an American may regard them at first sight as admirably adapted to the idle and lazy, he cannot but acknowledge their utility in cases of sickness, where the patient is too weak to walk or ride, and yet sufficiently strong to endure the passive exercise of being drawn slowly over a smooth, level causeway in an easy-going carriage such as the Bath-chairs are. The Abbey Church is a fine large edifice, in the Gothic style of architecture, and rich in external as well as internal ornaments ; not the least singular of which is a representation, at the western OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 301 end of the edifice, in stone, of Jacob's Dream, in which the per- sons descending the ladder are distinguished from those ascending by being represented in the act of coming down head foremost. The idea of illustrating the vision thus, in sculpture, is original and laughable : but correct, after all ; for how else could the artist picture the descending throng ! If all were heads up, the observer would be puzzled to know which set was on the ascent, or which journeying earthward. The figures looked quite ridicu- lous, and caused me to laugh heartily. Each one sticks his head over the heels of his neighbor in the advance, as if fearful of being kicked in the face ; or anxious, mud- turtle like, to draw his cra- nium under cover, in case of danger becoming imminent. The authors of "Rejected Addresses" talk somewhere about '^ sprawling grifiins;" but I never fully realized their meaning until I saw the figures on the ladder in Jacob's Dream at the Abbey Church of Bath. They are sprawling, to all intents and purposes. The building is situated in a central part of the city, and, as it is not inclosed by houses, it is seen to considerable advantage. The interior is lofty and grand, the nave and transepts fine, and crowded with tombs and tablets, among which is the monument of lieau Nash, on which there is a Latin inscription setting forth the virtues of the fop ! Of the tablets, that to Quinn, the actor, is really fine, the medallion head of the wit being a masterpiece. It is inscribed with a florid epitaph by Garrick. There are several pieces of sculpture by Chantrey; but as they are to the memory of persons whose sole merit was wealth or title, they shall be nameless here. The Avon flows through the city, but it is so contracted that no one, in the least acquainted with noble rivers, would ever call it by that name. It is navigable for small vessels, and, like nearly all the English streams, although narrow, is deep. To the south of it is a range of hills which commands a magnificent panorama of Bath and the surrounding country. I ascended to its summit to enjoy the prospect it presents, and was repaid for my toil. The city lies deep in the valley, immediately at the base of the highlands, its suburbs stretching away to the north, the isolated mansions dotting the distant hills. To the east are the elevated 26 302 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; grounds upon wliicli Prince Bladud is reported to have tended swine, when an exile from his father's court in consequence of being afflicted with leprosy, while a little to the south of them is a valley of great beauty, with a secluded village nestling in its bosom, whose romantic little church, ivy-crowned, is the charm of the place and the resort of the sketcher and tourist. Turning again to the north, the eye runs over the gay city, resting for an instant on its spires, its parks, its crescents, and its sinuous streets, and follows on until it meets a tall, ungainly, tower-like edifice, on the summit of Lansdowne Hill, erected by the celebrated author of ^' Yathek," William Beckford, during his residence at Bath, for the purpose of commanding an extended prospect of the adjacent country. At a distance, it has a clumsy appearance ; but when the beholder is near, it presents a handsome, bold front. Crom- well fought one of his most desperate and successful actions on Lansdowne Heights, and guides pretend to point out to the stranger the grounds on which the rival armies were posted. The western view is intercepted by highlands ; but on a clear day the city of Bristol can be seen from the summit of Beachy cliff, the site of observation. The Avon winds its serpentine course through the verdant valley, like a ribbon of silver, and is lost at last in the blue distance. The grand Victoria Park, with its lion-guarded gateways and tall granite obelisk, its fine walks, and noble trees, and pedestrian throng, gives a semi-rural, semi- civic aspect to the west of the city. During my stay, government opened an office there from which were issued grants of land in Australia to those who wished to emigrate to that distant colony, provided they fulfilled the require- ments of the law. A large collection of people was assembled in front of the place where applications were received, and there was many a careworn face in the throng. Some of the people were evidently above the laboring class, and had seen better days ; but stern necessity had decided them to seek a home beyond the land of their nativity, and with timidity and blushing faces they were seeking the only available means by which they could be con- veyed, voluntary transports, to an island tens of thousands of miles away in the far Southern Ocean. From the countenances OR, WANDERINGS OP AN AMERICAN. 303 of a large portion of those wbo composed the assemblage, it was evident that they wished to go, yet feared they would be success- ful applicants. Home, although wretched, was still home to them, and as they stood waiting to learn their fate, woe was heavy at their hearts, because they dreaded to be separated from old England — the scene alike of their pleasures and misery. One family of genteel appearance, consisting of parents, a son and two daughters, interested me much. The father went into the office to gain some information relative to his application for the grant, while the others remained in the street. During his absence, the little band consulted in a low and sorrowful tone, turning anxious looks occasionally in the direction they expected their protector to return. I could not understand why the whole family was present, unless the government required them to be, and not wishing to break in upon the sanctity of the consultation, stood, unobserved, at a short distance, a quiet spectator of the scene. The father at last made his appearance, with an expres- sion of countenance in which hope and regret were predominant. As he approached the group, there was silence deep — a silence of expectation — and *' Eacli held Ms breath for a time !" I watched their faces attentively. The surface exhibited clearly the conflicting feelings within the breast, but no questions were asked. The parent faltered out, " I have it !" when they clung to each other and wept audibly. The aged mother trembled with grief, and the tears coursed silently down the manly faces of the father and son. The scene was affecting, but scarcely remarked by others besides myself. The sorrows of the family were their own, and the gush from the fountains of pent up suffering gave relief. They slowly left the spot after the violence of the out- burst had subsided, to prepare for voluntary transportation from the land of their birthright, because they could no longer gain a livelihood in it. ''Mcrrie England" is not now to thousands of her children what she was in bygone times ; in the days when those who desired work could have it, and the honest man wanted not bread ! Competition has made the selfish more selfish, and 804 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ; tbe dependent but little better than slaves; and therefore, when adversity overtakes a man, and he loses his employment, his neces- sities oblige him to seek a home in that land where his labor will afibrd him a living and comparative independence. CHAPTER XXXIII. A COACHMAN INCIDENTS ON THE ROAD — WELLS — ITS PALACE AND CATHEDRAL GLASTONBURY ABBEY — SEDGEMOOR A SATURDAY NIGHT IN AN INN — MONMOUTH's REBELLION. A NOBLE stage-coach, drawn by four fine horses, was driven up to the house of mine host, the second afternoon after my arrival in Bath, and as I had engaged a seat upon it for Wells, a distance of twenty miles, I mounted to the box, but was not there more than two minutes, when an impudent-looking fellow accosted me with an obsequious touch of his hat, and hoped that I would re- member him for keeping the box seat for me. ^^Did I authorize you to keep it?" " No, sir ! but we al'ays gets something from gentlemen what wants it.^' ^' You have no claim on me. I did not employ you, and there- fore have nothing to pay. If you are a beggar, and want a six- pence, I'll give you one; but I will not submit to extortion.'' I soon found it useless to resist the claim, as my fellow-passen- gers began to regard me with evident disrespect, taking for granted that I was mean, because of my non-compliance with the modest request of my determined dun, who stood his ground manfully, fully bent upon filching from me at least one sixpence. I threw the extortioner the coin, and thought no more of the incident. But not so my companions. They did not think favor- ably of me, because of my refusal to pay the demand at first, and by them I had been weighed and found wanting, as their looks clearly testified. We commenced our journey in silence, ascend- OR, WANDERINGS Or AN AMERICAN. 305 ing the bold hill to the south of the city without exchanging a word. Taciturnity is characteristic of the English when among strangerS; and a chilling coldness was preserved on this occasion for some miles. The first hour was dull, only a few venturing to exchange words, and those monosyllables. None addressed me until I entered into conversation with the driver, who was a thorough gentleman, and an intelligent, agreeable man. The road was hilly, but smooth and easy of travel, and as we were drawn along rapidly by our spirited anim^als, some romantic scenery met our view. I never met a more accomplished whip, nor one who managed horses so skilfully. He and I became ex- tremely sociable ; the company caught the feelings, and relaxed their sternness, exhibiting considerable surprise at what they were pleased to call my " remarkable knowledge'' of the country. I knew we were traversing a part of the island through which the famous Roman Fosse lies, and asked the driver to point out that celebrated way, which he did. I could distinctly trace it for con- siderable distance ahead, and followed in its course for several miles, as it forms a part of the turnpike road between Bath and Wells at this period. It is much narrower than the modern high- ways of England, but solid, and bears evidence of the skilful and compact manner of its construction. Two thousand years have passed since the Roman conquerors laid it out, and it is a re- markable fact that, although it was located that many years ago, and at a time when the geography of the country was imper- fectly known, it is the direct route from Lincolnshire to the sea- coast of Devonshire. It is crossed by the Watling Street of the Romans near Bath, and both roads are public highways to this day. These are two of the many great works of a people who were all powerful in Britain, anterior to the English, and speak volumes for the antiquity of the country, as well as the intelli- gence of those who constructed the roads. We pursued our way pleasantly for the balance of the journey, and, although some of the company maintained silence, I enjoyed the discourse of the gentlemanly driver with feelings of entire satisfaction. No object of note on the route escaped his eye, and he pointed out to me, long before we reached them, the blue outline 2G* 306 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ; of tlie IMendip IlillS; and afterwards, when we passed over them, directed mj attention to the villages and coal-pits for which they are faiuous. The afternoon was delightful; the trees clothed in autumn's livery, the fields shorn of grain, and a light hazy veil hanging softly over the earth. There was a dreamy influence in the atmosphere that affected all, and while the taciturn ruminated, the talkative expressed themselves in appropriate language without an effort; easy, calmly, and to the point. We passed several extensive coal-mines, and met numerous workmen ; the most of whom were grimy with the dust of bitu- men, and dull and besotted in appearance. Carts heavily laden with the black fuel, rolled by, drawn by half-starved donkeys, some of which were not more than three feet high, wretched, shrivelled beasts, not fit to labor. The villages were anything but cheerful, and the colliers whom we met were in character with the uncomfortable aspect of the cottages. In all my rambles in England, and I was in nearly every county in it, the most ignorant and stultified people I met were those engaged in the collieries. The nature of their employment forbids the idea of their being elevated in soul, or refined in manners, and they plod through this earthly existence without an aspiration to be released from their eternal drudgery and debasing calling ; a calling of servitude compared with which the hardest labor required of the swarthy slave is play ; and then they receive a mere pittance for their toil in a sunless, underground cell, where the light of day never beams. Every county in England has its peculiarities. In Somerset- shire, the farmers remove the bristles from the hogs by a quick fire of shavings or straw, and the hide of the porker is left black with smoke, and sometimes burnt to a crisp. It was the season for killing, and country people were taking bacon to market in the condition in which it is left after undergoing the process described. Another custom, worthy of remark, is the way certain teamsters drag the wheels of their carts, to which two donkeys are attached, when descending a steep hill. When at the edge of the hill one of the animals is put to the jear of the van, and as it moves OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 807 down the poor brute braces liimself on all-fours, and thus acts as a clog to the wheels and prevents a too rapid descent. The donkeys are well aware of what is required of them, and perform their duty with singular dexterity. We made a short stay at Shepton IMallett, a town famous for the part some of its inhabitants took in the rebellion of the elegant but unfortunate Duke of Monmouth. The main street is long, narrow, and compactly built — the houses are old-fashioned — the church large and weatherworn, and the market-cross, which stands in a space near the centre of the town, a fine specimen of that kind of edifice, being octagonal in form, with arches spring- ing from square pillars and a shaft rising above the roof. It is a fine structure, and the great centre of excitement on market- days. The famous Jefi'ries held a court at Shepton Mallett, while making his " bloody tour'' of the west, and several of the parti- cipants in Monmouth's ill-contrived rebellion perished at the town-cross on the occasion of the legal murderer's visit, for their attachment to the cowardly duke. Our ride to Wells after leaving Shepton was the most agreeable part of the journey. The scenery between those places is unsur- passed by any it was my lot to behold in England. The road lay along the edge of a picturesque hill; the Mendip Hills on our right, before us the towers of the cathedral, and the quiet city; and away in the distance the commanding form of Tor Hill at Glastoubur}^, with the square tower of St. Michael's ruined (jhurch on the very summit. The dim twilight of an autumnal day settled slowly down, and mellowed the outlines of the hills to a faint mark by the time we entered the little city. Our road lay along-side the old cathedral, and we soon dashed past it through one of the ancient gates into the main street and on to our destined inn. I was directed to a comfortable hotel, and, as the weather was keen and chilly, found my way to the parlor, kicked my boots off before the fire, stirred the coals, and sat down as independent as a lord. A good supper was promptly served, and being joined by a gentleman who was a sociable companion, I passed the evening in pleasant conversation and agreeable quarters. 308 The city of Wells is clean, neat, and like a burnished gem when contrasted with the dingy towns of the north. Clear gurgling waters flow musically along its gutters, and the liquid is so pure and crystal that none would object to abate his thirst with it. The streets are clean; the market-cross chaste and graceful, there being a fountain of '' living water" gushing ever from its secret well; and the market-square old and quaint — its sides being lined with houses in the Elizabethan style, whose projecting gables and oriel windows give an air of antiquity to the place. Two gates with buttresses and turrets stand at the eastern end of the inclosure, one of which conducts to the famous cathedral, the other to the bishop's palace. The residence of the present prelate is a modern structure of considerable beauty, within the ruins of the dwelling of the ecclesiastical functionaries of the Church of Kome. A battle- mented wall, gray with age and covered with ivy, incloses both the old and the new palace, around which is a moat about thirty feet wide, filled with clear, crystal, running water. Towers ornament the angles of the inclosure — and a stern old gateway flanked with projecting bastions, protected by a drawbridge raised by massive chains; and a formidable-looking portcullis within the arch speaks plainly to the modern visitor of the days of old, when pennons floated from the towers, and warrior-knights with armed attendants asked food and shelter of the dwellers within. Seven acres are inclosed by the walls, nearly all of which ground is laid out in gardens and gay parterres. The ruins are noble in their decay, curtained by the branches of trees and luxuriant ivy. A mound runs around the inner side of the extended wall, forming a magnificent promenade along the frowning battlements. The corner towers are tastefully fitted up with seats, and the perennial, ruin-haunting vine clambers in gay festoons over the indented walls, forming rich curtains under which young lovers may sit and hear the waters in the moat gurgling and murmuring along from the holy well of St. Andrew's. The chapel is the greatest attraction of the modern palace, and really superb. A coifsider- able portion of the old edifice remains in partial ruin ; the main hall, in which the last abbot of Glastonbury was tried in 1540 for 309 resisting the king's authority, being the most entire. The victim of Hcnr3''s power was hung, drawn, and quartered on Tor Hill immediately after his conviction, and his terrible fate tinges with romance the hall alluded to. I noticed among the garden-trees specimens of the black wal- nut, silver maple, tulip-poplar, and rich magnolia of my native land, growing in close proximity to a thorn from Palestine, said to be a sprout from the staff of Joseph of Arimathea. The story goes that the apostle, on his arrival in England, rested with his followers the first night on a promontory near the southern coast of the island, which he called Weary-all-hill, into the soil of which he thrust his cane, which immediately took root, and continues to put forth blossoms ever since on Christmas day. The romance may please children, and, as the sprouts of the fabulous original still bloom in December, the idle tale may be believed by the devout and misguided; but the naturalist will smile at the story; and as the thorn of Palestine is a hardy plant, and the climato of Somerset is remarkably mild in winter, the blossoming is easily accounted for to the satisfaction of the unprejudiced and non- superstitious. The splendid cathedral of Wells is regarded by many architects as a work of surpassing elegance and beauty of finish, and is assuredly grand. The interior was restored in 1851, and no similar ancient edifice in England will compare favorably with it at present. Every corner and portion of the beautiful nave, choir, and lady-chapel is now as it was three hundred years ago, so far as appearance is concerned; and the clear stone, foliated capitals, splendid groining of the ceilings, clustered columns, tri- forium, decorated.stalls of the prebendaries, and every other part of the interior are as rich and bright as if just from the stone- cutter's hand. I have seen many of the old cathedrals ; but of all, grand and imposing though they are, there is not one — not even that majestic monument of architectural elegance, York Minster — that has so much richness about it as Wells Cathedral. York is more impressive, more soaring, and awe-inspiring; while that of Wells is more ornate, more gorgeous, more elaborate. When standing at the west end of the nave, and looking east, the whole beauty of the magnificent interior bursts upon the delighted 310 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ; gaze. The long perspective, the lofty roof, the bold triforium, the string courses and rich moulding, the carvings and foliated ornaments, the groining and the bosses, the mellowed light that hallows the fane — all give the edifice an appearance of grandeur and solemnity seldom seen in similar structures. The columns are clustered, the capitals of various designs — there being birds, human faces, animals, and foliage among the ornaments of each bell, and the corbels which support the vaulting-shafts that sus- tain the nave. Under the central tower are buttresses in the form of inverted arches erected for the purpose of strengthening the massive pile, and although they mar, to a certain extent, the bold spring of the lofty curve, still they are beautiful and singular. The lady-chapel is sublimely ornamented and gorgeous in the ex- treme. The fretted roof is emblazoned with gold, scarlet, and azure ; the floor inlaid with encaustic tiles ; the windows glazed with glass of the most brilliant hue and color ; and the vault sup- ported by clustered shafts and lancet arches. Stand where you may to gaze, the eye is feasted with grandeur, and the soul refined by beauty. Nor is the lady-chapel alone in its elegance. The choir is equally gorgeous, and the chapter-house is but little less sublime than its sister departments. A single, slender shaft springs from the centre, and spreads in the most delicate fan tracery at the roof, the ribbings of which radiate from the main column, and vault to the corresponding mouldings which rise from the side walls. The approach to this part of the cathedral is by a grand geometrical staircase, the angles of which please the be- holder. The crypt contains a few cofiius of Norman knights, and several relics of the early bishops of Wells; and at the south side of the vestibule, is the shrine of a distinguished Catholic digni- tary of the olden time. The modern monuments are few, and those are in the main building, the cloisters being reserved for burial-places, a wise use of them, as they are better adapted to the purpose than the nave or body of a cathedral in which service is performed. The finest piece of sculpture is in the chapel, near the choir. It is one of Chantrey's best works, and merits its posi- tion in one of the great temples of the past. I often stood, in admiration, before the splendid productions of the chisel which OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 311 adorn the shrines of England; and frequently, at such times, a drawling, simpering parson, who had received divinity into his form from the finger-ends of a bishop, commenced chanting, in dull, long-drawn strains, the service of the church; and while thus gazing, musing, and hearing, I thought what fool can be- lieve such dolts as he inspired, because a mortal, assuming holi- ness, has declared him so by the laying on of hands, and, at the same time, condemn the ancient Greeks, wondering why they con- sidered the splendid figures, from the hand of Phidias, the temples of Gods ! Who would not sooner believe the glorious form of the Apollo Belvidere the dwelling of a divinity, than the decaying body of a mortal ! Among the tombs in the cloisters, is that of the wife of Richard Brinsley Sheridan. It is placed in the east wall of the eastern avenue, and contains a long inscription to her memory. The reader will recollect that she was a Miss Linley, and an actress of some celebrity. From the record, I judge she was a native, or at least a resident of Wells, as the grave in which she rests is the same in which repose the remains of her mother and other rela- tives. There are several curious ornaments on the capitals of the col- umns, in the south transept, not the least amusing of which is a series of groups representing two boys stealing apples, their ar- rest by two men, condemnation by a magistrate, and punishment. On others are a woman with the toothache — a man whistling with might and main — a cobbler repairing shoes, and a boy extracting a thorn from his foot. It is these things, so admirably sculptured, and the sharp, foliated carvings and mouldings of the clustered columns, and other sections of AVells Cathedral, that make it so grand and imposing, now that it is thoroughly restored. There is a wonderful clock in the wall of the northern transept. It was made by a monk, at Glastonbury Abbey, in 1322, and removed to its present location at the dissolution of that monastery. It is a very ingenious piece of mechanism, formed of brass and iron — proclaims the hours, strikes the quarters, and gives the age of the moon. Above the dial-plate, in the transept (for there are two dials, one outside the building, and one in), is a platform, around 312 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ; which figures of mounted knights dash at a furious rate when set in motion, with lances poised at each other. Their movements convey a tolerable idea of an ancient tournament. There is a male figure connected with the clock, which strikes a bell with its heels every fifteen minutes; while, on the external side of the same wall, and moved by the same machinery, are two mailed knights on foot, armed with swords and shields, who strike the fractions of the hour with their swords on each other's buckler. The ex- terior of the cathedral is quite as ornate as the interior; but its dingy color, and in some cases saintless niches, do not compare with the internal portions. The front buttresses are embellished with numerous figures of kings, knights in armor, saints, apostles, abbesses, and bishops, some of which are nine feet high, and tolerably perfect. The drapery is very fine, and exhibits great skill in the sculptor. The edifice stands in an open space, and is seen to the greatest advantage from the west, or from the adjacent hills, from which a fine panorama is presented. A visit to Glastonbury is considered a duty by the temporary sojourner at Wells, and as the distance is but six miles, I walked through the valley to the town and abbey of that name. The lands between the two places are low and swampy, but carefully drained and cultivated; large quantities of apples are raised, and considerable cider made. The rustic population speak a language difi"erent from that of the same class at the north, and although their pronunciation is not so broad, still it is almost as hard to comprehend. Grlastonbury is small, but interesting to the Christ- ian if the traditions connected with it are true. It is the reputed landing-place in Britain of one of the Saviour's apostles, Joseph of Arimathea, and the spot on which he planted the first Christian church founded in England, and whence the light of Christianity spread over the island. The ruins of the abbey are meagre, but there is sufficient left to impress the beholder with the extent of the building when entire. The nave is the most perfect part remaining, but time has dealt harshly with it, and only one side wall remains. The style of architecture is Norman, and the string courses, hood moulding of the doors and windows are in excellent preservation. Between the nave and choir are several OR, AVANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 313 steps which mark the division of the two sections. There is a chapel named after the apostle, within the crypt of which is a well of pure water called holy. A thorn-tree grows in the yard or garden, and as it is a sprout from the staiF of Joseph, it is pre- served with great care. The abbey was once the residence of St. Patrick, and tradition says that he was the presiding officer at one time. The old hostelries where pilgrims took up their abode when at Grlastonbury still exist as taverns or inns, and the wine vaults and kitchens prove that the faithful had an eye to the comforts of the body as well as the salvation of the soul. The Church of St. Benedict is said to be the oldest place of Christian worship now in England, having been erected shortly after the founding of the abbey. It has undergone frequent repairs, and retains but little of its original form or the materials first used in its construction. The remains of St. Michael's Church, on the Tor Hill, are conspicuous for miles around. The tower of the building is bold and strong, and can be seen from nearly every part of Somersetshire in clear weather. The original church is repre- sented to have been founded by the apostle named, but the pre- sent structure bears evident marks of an architecture unknown before the twelfth century. The last abbot of Glastonbury and two monks were hung on the hill along-side of the sacred ruin in 1540, and their bodies drawn and quartered as a terror to others of the rosary and cowl. The head of the first named was placed on a pole in the tower, and his body hung in four equal parts on the walls of as many neighboring towns. The hill takes in a fine view extending westward to the sea, and northward to the Mendip range and the city of Wells. The gloomy field of Sedgemoor is in full view, and its dark surface is a fit pall for the dead who slumber in its bosom. The last actual battle on English ground was fought there, and there many a brave follower of the cowardly and courtly Duke of Monmouth found a grave. The land is intersected now by farms and roads, but it still retains some of the peculiarities from which it is not inaptly named. The principal towns in Somersetshire are noted for the trials held in them by the brutal Jeffries during his murderous judicial 27 314 tour following the defeat at Sedgemoor. Wells was one of his places of sojourn, and a gentleman, resident in the city, pointed out to me the site of the court-house in which the wretch perpe- trated much of his villany, and, in the name of justice, com- mitted his atrocious outrages against the blindly infatuated dupes of the favorite son of Charles the Second. The older rustic families of the county cherish to this period a hatred for the name of the legal hero, and shower down on his crime-stained soul anathemas for the persecutions he waged against their unfortunate ancestors. A traveller finds much amusement at times in the mixed com- pany which congregates around the bright fire in the parlor of an English inn ; and no place is better calculated for observation of English character than one of those rooms when occupied by a fair amount of company. I spent a pleasant Saturday evening at Wells with the gentlemen assembled in the social hall of mine host, and among other subjects our conversation turned upon America. The portly, ruddy-faced islanders sipped their liquor with cheerfulness, and grew entertaining as the night advanced and the ale enlivened. Some of those present were anxious to know whether the servants in the United States really do eat at the same table and at the same time with their employers ? Is New York as large as London ? How soon will you abolish slavery, and how do you manage without a state church ? Do the people speak English, and how do they get well without doc- tors when they live so far apart as many of them do at the west ? And then it was laughable to hear their opinions respecting our morals and intelligence. I chuckled at their nonsense and ignorance frequently. Some thought us as bad as the savages of the forest, and quite as rude and illiterate. Their ideas of the country were intimately connected with steamboat explosions, Bowie knives, and Colt's revolvers. They seemed to think that every man of us goes armed, and ready, on the instant, to commit murder. When I gave them some information respecting our large cities, they looked unbelievingly at me, and evidently doubted my words. I was a vara avis among them, and regarded with curiosity, for some of them never saw a live Yankee before OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 315 they saw me, and viewed the animal with wonder. I found them a gentlemanly set of men, however, and could not have passed my time more to my satisfaction than in their company. The room was filled with a cloud of smoke, and each person had either a glass of gin and hot water, or ale, and long pipe, supplied with adulterated tobacco. Each paid for what he drank, and none con- sidered it a mark of disrespect to a friend, or meanness in himself, to call for a pipe, or liquor, and not invite others to join him, it being the custom of the country for each individual to pay for his own drink. To me there was an appearance of sordidness in the habit of pushing out two or three pennies for a glass of gin far from creditable or worthy of imitation. And drinking hot water in their liquor did not strike me as in character with the English rule of avoiding mixed food ! But certain people are over-par- ticular in some things, and not particular enough in others, and John Bull is eminently so. lie faints at the idea of eating fried ham, and yet swallows cheese and ale together before going to bed, and drinks sweetened gin and hot water with commendable national vanity, swearing by his troth there's naught so healthful. My companions of the evening were of different professions, including lawyers, commercial travellers, tradesmen, and farmers, most of whom were tolerably informed respecting their own county, but not so of other parts of England. The farmers — and when I speak of them I make no allusion whatever to the rustics, but confine myself entirely to what are known as gentlemen farmers, or renters of large tracts of land, which they cultivate by means of the peasantry — although gentlemen in dress, are the most ignorant, stupid set, who have pretensions to respectability and position, of any men I met in England; and of the many whom I came in contact with, there was but one who was a well-informed man, and he was originally a cutler at Shefiield. The balance were by no means refined. They were mostly hospitable, but not cultivated. 316 THE FOOTPATH AND highway; CHAPTER XXXIV. FUN AND FOGS — SALISBURY AND ITS CATHEDRAL — A WALK TO STONEHENGE OVER SALISBURY PLAIN. Reader, bave you ever been in an English fog ? a real un- adulterated penetrator, that chills a man to the heart's core if he happens to be exposed to it for half an hour ? If ycu have not, then may you never be obliged to endure a ride of twenty- odd miles through one so dense as to prevent your seeing ten feet ahead of the four horses attached to the stage-coach. To look at the bleared sun through the misty veil, from a cheerful parlor window, does very well, and you may derive an inward delight in trying to trace from such a point of sight the dim outline of the houses on the opposite side of the street, or the phantom-like figures of the almost invisible creatures who pass before you ; but to grope your way, or ride through, it is enduring, and not alone seeing. The walk is not so bad as the ride, for in that you navi- gate yourself, and roll along like a ship in a veil of mist at sea, and when a fellow-mortal heaves in sight, and you trace his out- line through the vapor, you shape your course to steer clear of him, and in nautical phrase ^' give him a wide berth." You see a gas-light occasionally to cheer you, its dull rays glimmering like a beacon on a dreary cliflF to guide the lonely mariner, and if you choose you can come to anchor along-side a shop-window, or the door of a chop-house, where you can recruit your energies, make observations, get your latitude and longitude, and renew your journey with a prospect of completing it satisfactorily. But the ride is a different thiog ; muffled up on a stage-coach and en- veloped by fog, you soon become chilled and cheerless. You look at your neighbors, and see their hair and whiskers white with ac- cumulating frost ; each one is as cold and comfortless as yourself, and the keen air cuts your face with its damp breath as you move OR, V/ANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 317 tlirougli it. The houses are moving phantoms; there's no sky; no road ; no sun; no fence ; no houses ; no fields; nothing but fog, thick and impenetrable. When you come to a hill, the driver tells you to hold on and not be alarmed, for the stage may escape being upset by a special Providence, but the chances are in favor of going over. You are going; but where to is the question. To upset? Yes, just as likely as not. But you escape that, and thump your feet on the footboard to get them warm, and put 3^our blood in circulation, until you are tired; and then you pro- bably will try to see the beauties of the charming country through which you are passing so agreeably. Yes ! magnificent landscape it is, too! All fog-banks; all so beautifully misty; so admirably obscured ; so dreamy ; so like Melville Island, Spitzbergen, or some other equally splendid northern land of fairies and fogs ! You enjoy it so, and, if blest with a happy imagination, you can build such airy castles, and have so much material to form them of, all ready to your mind. The cottages, the parks, the man- sions are all before you, and all totally beyond your vision, but still before you; and decorate them to your own satisfaction, in such colors as your fancy may supply. But while you are thinking of these things, something goes wrong, and a reality surely enough rouses you to cold matter-of-fact things. What 's up now ? O, only run into the fence ; soon all will be right. You don't like the idea of backing out while on the coach, and descend until the horses are extricated. They are speedily put into the road ; you mount again, and start, but do not get far on your journey before the driver " believes that the horses have been turned completely round, and we are going back again. '^ Here's a pretty mess, indeed. Don't know where you are. The whip swears ; the pas- sengers don't pray; but the stage does stand still, and what's to be done ? comes from every mouth. Gro back and see whether the coach really was turned ; you can tell by the marks of the wheels in the road. Away goes the driver, and with him a pas- senger, to learn the truth. They soon return out of breath, de- clare we are wrong, turn the horses, and pursue the journey. After considerable trouble, a good deal of grumbling, and a tho- rough chilling, you at last reach your destination, fully satisfied 27* 818 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; with your ride iu the fog, and pretty sure you won't readily forget it. My return trip from Wells to Bath was nearly as above described, and when I reached the city of warm springs, I was shaking like an ague patient. A good fire soon made me com- fortable, and I once more mounted on the top of a stage-coach, but not for Wells. The sun had by this time conquered the fog ; the landscape was gay, and my companions good fellows. There were five of us, with the driver ; and we were as merry a set of wanderers as ever sailed over the sea, or climbed a high hill. One was an Englishman, who had been in Russia ; another a Scottish gentleman, connected with the Oriental Steamship Company, who had been wrecked in the Indian Ocean, crossed the deserts of Arabia, stood on the pyramid of Cheops, and traversed the mighty Ganges ; the other had been in Rome and Venice ; and I could tell of the Mississippi, Niagara Falls, the great lakes, and the boundless prairies of the west. We made a glorious com- pany, and right merrily did the hours and miles go past together as we dashed over Salisbury Plain and on to the city of New Sarum. Our ride, after leaving Bath, was through a greatly diversified country', and along a most beautiful little valley, through which wound two canals and a small, transparent stream. As we pro- gressed further to the south, the country became level and chalky, chalk being the main geological feature of the famous Salisbury Plain. The villages on the route were small, but clean ; and the town of Warminster, where we made an hour's stay, presented great activity and bustle. It was a fair day, and the market- space was filled with rustic humanity and Wiltshire cheese. The usual amusements attendant upon a country fair in England were to be found in the town, and every species of bufi"oonery was going forward, from Punch-and- Judy shows to negro serenaders ; can- vas tents were numerous, and men stood at the entrance to each, proclaiming, in loud voices, the merits of the respective exhibi- tions. One establishment contained wax figures of the royal family, and the walking and talking advertisement was trying to persuade the public to go in and see ^' 'Er Majesty and the Prince of Wales, for sixpence.'' Another was an itinerant circus, and OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 819 the clown, with his deathly pallid face, stood on a raised platform outside the doors, pleading to the crowd to patronize the wonder- ful performances within. One was a theatre, one a menagerie, and one the dwelling of a seer, where '-'■ young ladies were shown the faces of their future husbands. ^^ Nor were these all. There were booths for the sale of every description of trumpery wares, and stands from which auctioneers were disposing of their goods. Two of the sons of the hammer amused me much. They both dealt in clothes, and as they were on opposite sides of the street, facing each other, they entertained the bystanders with a choice se- lection of doubtful compliments to themselves, and extravagant stories respecting the articles they had for sale. ^' Ere 's a splendid waistcoat; cost me six shillings; sell it for eighteen pence; fit for Prince Halbert's wear; let me show you how it will fit; made in the best style ; excellent goods ; I'll take one shilling — one shilling only; five goold buttons, and all for one shilling; buy it for a wedding-vest, young man — I know you'll marry that lass soon;" and he turned his head towards a silly clown, nearby, who was standing along-side a rosy-faced, coarse-looking country girl. The salesman threw his own coat and vest off, put on the one he had to sell, and talked like an exhorting parson. The fellow on the other side of the street was not one whit behind his antagonist, and they soon fell abusing each other roundly. " The buttons is brass; don't buy that thing; 'ore's yer waistcoat, young man; this 'ore's yer wedding waistcoat ; only nine pence ;" and they almost frightened the clown out of his senses, with their appeals to buy. The maiden's face was like a full moon, and the poor girl did not know which way to look. Her ^^ sweetheart" was dumfounded, and wondered how they found out he was about to be married. The mob laughed and shouted; the auctioneers abused each other more and more ; the rustics were ready to cry, and in the midst of the confusion, the band of one of the exhibi- tions — a drum, cymbal, and fife — broke forth with its thunders, and caused me to think " chaos had come again." My compa- nions and self roared with laughter at the scene ; and after look- ing at the mounds of cheese, the rosy-faced maidens, the motley crowd, and the old town, we ascended to our seats on the stage, 820 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGIIAVAY ; and pursued our way. The country now became level ; the earth was white, and flocks of sheep, attended by shepherds, cropped the scanty herbage of the plain. We stopped a few nainutes at the town of Wilton, famous for its rich carpets, gorgeous church, and for being the seat of the Earls of Pembroke, where Sir Philip Sidney wrote his " Arcadia;" and as the sunlight faded out and the stars began to twinkle in the sky, we arrived at Salisbury, and passing its brave old cathedral, moved on to our hotel, where I parted with my pleasant companions, they going to Southampton, and I remaining in New Sarum. The stranger who visits cathedral towns must have his atten- tion occupied chiefly in the inspection of the noble edifices for which they are famous; and, as nearly all these buildings are grand and beautiful to behold, he finds in each and every one something to admire peculiar to itself. They are difi'erently con- structed, diff"erently ornamented, difi'erently located, and however much frequent allusion to them may annoy the reader, the be- holder seldom tires of their many places of interest and splendor, aside from their architectural merits. They are mostly the burial- places of the distinguished and remarkable, and abound in monu- ments, ancient and modern, some of which are triumphs of art. It is quite probable that the cathedrals of England contain more masterpieces of the chisel than the public galleries of the land; and the student of sculpture will find in these noble structures the finest productions of Roubiliac, Chantrey, Bacon, Bailey, and others equally distinguished, and works of elegance and perfection unknown outside the transepts and aisles in which they are placed. Not only cathedrals, but village and hamlet churches boast splendid statuary; and the marble figures in those places oftener contribute to elevate and refine the soul than the rounded periods and classic compositions of the clergymen who officiate in them. The cathe- dral of Salisbury contains some fine ancient monuments as well as modern, the most remarkable being those of knights and warriors, the greater number of which are in the nave. There arc figures of crusaders, in excellent preservation, among which is one to the memory of a warrior who fell in the Holy Land, and was buried at Acre; and a highly ornamented altar-tomb of wood. OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 321 supporting a stone effigy of the Earl of Shrewsbury, the son of Fair Rosamond and Henry the Second, who died in 1226 ; and in stern repose, on another tomb, in the same section of the build- ing, lies the full-length figure of an armed knight who was stand- ard-bearer at Bosworth field. There are two marble skeletons, over as many tombs, each of which was erected to the memory of a bishop, who, in endeavoring to fast forty days, in imitation of our Saviour, starved to death in the pious and laudable attempt! The charnel aspect of the figures makes the gazers shudder with horror, and pity the fools who thus committed self-murder. There is a very highly ornamented monument in the lady-chapel to the Earl and Countess of Somerset. She was Lady Catharine, sister to Lady Jane Grey, and grand-niece to Henry the Eighth ; and to mark her rank, her tomb is raised several inches above that of her husband. Among the other monuments, is one to the "boy bishop" of the cathedral. In the days of the Catholic su- premacy in England, it was customary, in certain parts, for the boys connected with the cathedrals to elect one of their number bishop over themselves for the month, for which time the juvenile prelate wore the robes of office usual to the mature official; and if he died during his term, he was buried with all the ceremony usual on the occasion of the death of the real functionary. It seldom occurred that one of the cloister bishops died in office, but when such a thing did take place, the deceased was honored with a tomb of considerable elegance in the nave or aisles of the edifice. The one in Salisbury Cathedral is the most perfect of the kind in the country, and the boyish face and figure of the effigy in its long robes have a solemn appearance to the beholder. The verger and myself wandered among the tombs, and through the long perspec- tive aisles of the magnificent fane, he pointing out the objects most worthy of note, and I admiring that which was important and grand. In the south transept are several banners, from the Punjaub wars, waving over a monument erected by the "surviv- ing officers of the G2d regiment of Wiltshire Springers, to the memory of their companions in arms who fell in the Sikh war,'' and a singular memento to the services of a lieutenant who was killed at Moodkee in 1845. 322 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ; The cathedral is built entirely in one style of Gothic architec- ture, that of the thirteenth century; and its uniformity, both of proportions and style, renders it an exception to other English edi- fices of the same character. The whole aspect of the structure is grand, and, as a perfect work in one species of Gothic, is without a rival. It has double transepts, to the east of each of which is a side aisle; and the nave, transept, and choir rise into an elevation of three tiers. The columns of the nave are clustered, each com- posed of four pillars, with as many slender shafts. There is a clere-story, consisting of triple windows, of the lancet shape ; and the gallery, or second tier, which is the roof of the aisles, has pointed arches, ornamented alternately with quarter- foils and eight- leaved carved rosettes. The interior, although fine and imposing, is not either solemn or gorgeous; nor does it inspire one with awe or veneration. Its want of elaborate ornament causes it to be ad- mired for its simple grandeur and uniformity, like the chaste and plain temples of Greece. The harmony of its proportions, and consistency of architecture, have won for it the name of the " Queen of English Cathedrals f and, as a specimen of one style thoroughly carried out, it deserves the appellation, but when com- pared with York or Wells for sublimity and elaborate ornament, it suffers greatly by the comparison. The exterior is grand when viewed from a particular point of sight in the cloisters; and its many graceful angles and harmonious geometrical lines, its tall and cutting spire, and its immense form, receive the admiration of the beholder. The structure is surroifnded by a large inclosure, or close, planted with trees, and laid out in convenient walks and beautiful grass-plots. The spire is four hundred and eight feet high, having a greater altitude, by four feet, than the dome of St. Paul's, and is as sharp as an arrow, but, unfortunately, out of per- pendicular. The variation is twenty-four and a half inches south, and sixteen and a half west ; but, as no change has taken place in its position for two hundred years, there is every reason to believe that the settling has been permanently arrested. A stone, placed in the floor immediately under the spire, marks its deviation from perpendicular, and was put in its present position by Sir Christo- pher Wren, when he ascertained, by actual measurement, the OR, WANDERINGS OP AN AMERICAN. 323 variation of the structure. Observations subsequent to bis have been made, and at each it was satisfactorily learned that the spire maintains its position. The city of Salisbury is near one or two of the small streams, the waters of which are conducted through the town by means of sluices, and the purling liquid runs ceaselessly along the gut- ters of the principal streets. The buildings are mostly old, and not of much importance. The school in which Addison was educated is shown to the curious, but beyond the fact of its being his Alma Mater, it is without interest. Near Salisbury are the remains of the British city of Old Sarum, and several ancient Roman highways, besides the more modern ruins of Clarendon Palace. The mounds of Old Sarum are remarkable for their extent and antiquity, and although com- posed of chalkstone, and overgrown with grass, they are very high and strong to this day. Twenty-one acres are contained within the inner mound now remaining, and the fortifications are a mile around. At this period, not a vestige of its buildings is to be seen, and sheep, attended by shepherds as stolid as the clods upon which they tread, are the only inhabitants of the once royal city of Old Sarum. I procured an aged peasant for my guide, and visited the immense mounds, and now dry moats, and the site of its castle, and main edifices. The dwellings, like their occupants, have resolved into dust, and left no trace of their individual being. The page of history records some early traditions of the place, and the researches of the antiquary have revealed some few facts connected with the extent and importance of the ancient city, but they are mystified and obscured, and the dull, stupid shepherd is as likely to render positive information to the tourist of the place as the historian or antiquarian — each being quite as well informed as the other, though difiering in the quality and kind of their knowledge. The celebrated monument of antiquity, Stonehenge, is about nine miles from Salisbury, in the direction, but considerably north of Old Sarum, and when at the place last named, I determined to walk to the famous Druidical Temple. I was directed across the dreary downs, and pushed my way for a considerable distance. 324 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ; When thinking I had gained the vicinity of the object for which I sought, I made inquiry, and was coolly informed that I had been misdirected, and was several miles out of my way. I di- verged from the regular highway, and ascended the hills before me in the face of a stiff breeze, which bore upon its wings a drizzling rain ; and after a toilsome march, attained the summit, where I paused to survey the surrounding country; and the dreary wolds upon which I stood presented a scene of almost utter desolation. To the south, the bold form of Old Sarum and the sharp spire of Salisbury Cathedral burst upon my sight, and relieved the monotony of the prospect in that direction, while to the north stretched away the chalky downs with scarcely more than a dozen trees visible, and but a single house to cheer the eye. I heard human voices somewhere near me, but the rolling hills hid the speakers, and, after making a little search, I came up to a plough- man and a shepherd boy. I inquired for Stonehenge, and being directed to the spot, looked far to the north, and there, beyond a clump of trees, in the misty and shadowy distance, I traced the form of the renowned temple. The rain increased ; the object of my visit was full four miles off by the shortest route ', the land was, with but little exception, ploughed up, and the only animate objects visible were a few droves of sheep feeding on the distant plain, and the shepherds in attendance. I was assured that there were no " man-traps nor spring- guns'^ in the way, and that I would not be trespassing if I pursued a straight course to the circle across the farms, and it did not take me long to decide what to do. Here I stood within sight of the famous temple ; I had come thousands of miles to see it ; and, though the rain was driving fast against me, it would be foolishness to retrace my steps without gaining my point. — There is too much of the go-ahead spirit in me to be daunted by rain, and, buttoning my overcoat, and fixing my eye on some landmarks before me, I pushed on. For two miles there was nothing particularly attractive, and as the land over which I was passing was undulating, my view, for the distance mentioned, was circumscribed. At last I gained the elevated and level plain — level, compared with what I had so recently been on — and met several shepherds, but they were a OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 325 harmless^ idle set — boorish in manners and stupidly ignorant. Each one was attended by a dog such as I have frequently seen in other sections of the country, and the faithful animal was in every case an object of greater interest to me than the shepherd. The man was dull and stupid— the dog intelligent and active -, the dog could do without the man, but I could not see that the man could get along without the dog. As I advanced towards my destination, I observed some mounds of earth so strongly resem- bling the tumuli of the Western States of America, that the similarity struck me as wonderful. The nearer I approached Stonehenge, the more numerous they became, and I began to reflect that too much attention had been bestowed by antiquaries upon the circle to the neglect of the other objects of interest around. May not these mounds be monuments of a people an- terior to the Druids of Stonehenge? And is not their resem- blance to the tumuli of the Western World evidence of the existence of a race of men, now extinct, who were contemporaneous in both hemispheres? These questions are not for me to answer, but the fact of human bones having been found in some of the mounds into which excavations have been made proves a resem- blance in more than one particular. I neared the temple rapidly, and soon stood within its shadow. The rain had greatly abated, and the high wind bore along a thick mist, much more agreeable than a drenching storm. The ponderous rocks afforded me protection from the blasts, and I sat down in solitude upon one of the fallen masses before surveying the mysterious circle — an erection that none have ever satisfac- torily accounted for, and about which antiquaries differ. The stones of which it is built are ninety-four in number, and of enormous size; some stand erect, and transverse blocks rest on the tops ; others are strewn over the ground in confusion, but the line of the circle is distinctly marked. There they are — those stupendous rocks — miles away on a dreary plain, where the largest native stone to be found will not exceed two pounds in weight; and then it is of chalk formation, while the great masses differ from it in every geological feature. They are solid, and have stood, unworn, facing the storms of centuries. Those I measured 28 326 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ; are full twenty feet high, and one of tliem is seven feet wide and three feet eight inches thick. They were evidently carried to their present position by some powerful machinery, for it is barely possible that rocks weighing seventy tons each could have been transported for miles by the mere physical force of man, and the Druids are not known to have used any other power. What are they, and who placed them in their present situation? are ques- tions to which no satisfactory answers have ever been given, and there is but little reason to suppose that any persons will yet be able to account positively and accurately for them. They were, no doubt, at one period, a Druidical temple ; but that the Druids placed them where they now stand is altogether problematical. That class of men availed themselves of natural and artificial creations adapted to their purposes, and the fact that the altars of the sect in Wales were, for the greater part, mere flat stones prostrate upon the earth, is proof that they went to but little labor to build their shrines, even in countries where rocks were large and abundant; while the temple of Stonehenge owes its origin to great physical and mechanical exertion, and must have cost years in its construction. Located in the centre of a sterile, desolate plain, many miles from large quarries or deposits of stone, and in a country the geological formation of which is so different from the rocks of which it is built, the very existence of the circle in that spot proves what power was required to place it there ; and as the Druids were never guilty of performing any bard labor, it is no more than justice to acquit them of the charge of having erected the temple of Stonehenge. If they were the authors of it, they also raised the mounds before alluded to ; but as no similar tumuli are to be found in the vicinity of acknow- ledged Druidical temples, there is a further proof that Stone- henge is the work of a people anterior to the ancient Britons and murderous Druids. It stands alone in the centre of what was once a solitary waste, and what is but little else now, although the labor of centuries has been expended in its cultivation. A scanty herbage is produced for sheep-feeding, but the soil is not more than an inch deep, and the farmer is often repaid for his trouble of ploughing, by an abundant crop of chalk stones, so OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 327 numerous as nearly to cover the earth's surface over Avhich his rule extends. I returned to Salisbury, as I went, on foot, but, instead of keeping the road, I struck a bee-line for the city over the downs, and in the walk of eight miles but a solitary house cheered the way. No trees — no crops — nothing but the leaden sky and the chalky earth — the scattered flocks and the lonely shepherds. It is true there were villages in the far distance, and on the edge of the waste; but the plain was lifeless, treeless, houseless, herbless, save the few objects alluded to above. I struck into a turnpike-road, when near Old Sarum, and stopped for dinner at a village inn. Mine host was a sociable man, his wife a tidy, bustling woman ; and between them, they soon pre- pared me a meal to which I did justice, for my appetite was sharpened by the walk and humid atmosphere. Some few of the shepherds whom I met on the southern borders of the downs managed to open their mouths when I spoke, and from them I gleaned something of their mode of life. Their wages vary from sixpence to a shilling per day, out of which sum they must find themselves; and for that pittance they are exposed to all weathers, and are frequently compelled to '^ tend their flocks by night" as well as by day. What little I saw of them did not im- press me favorably with their social condition or intelligence, but did much to remove the romance I have always invested them with since reading in my Sunday School days the story of the Shepherd of Salisbury Plain. Campbell somewhere says: — "When Science from Creation's face Enchantment's veil withdraws, What lovely visions yield their place To cold material laws!" And the sentiment applies to other things not scientific; for how much do those objects sufl"er from contact with us, that our imaginations have invested with a charm — things which we have viewed with our mental eyes, at a distance, through the medium of written descriptions, but which on inspection become cold matter- of-fact affairs — without poetry, without beauty. The realm of fancy is invaded when our desire to see what we regard so beau- 328 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; tiful is fulfilled; and when we do behold it, lo! it too often turns to dust; and for our pains we lose the dreams of the beautiful which have been our loves for years. This coming into contact with things real and historical, things which our minds have in- vested with a halo of glory, is a sad end to many a splendid vision, and destroys the happiness of many a mind. The being finds he has been cheated, and cries, in the bitterness of his dis- appointment — '* How vain tlie wish that sighs for sublunary things !" The sun was low in the heavens when I reached my hotel in Salisbury, and there was but little time allowed me for observation. The city is level and clean. The principal streets cross each other at right angles. There are some fine stores, several places of amusement, and a rich assortment of churches. Like all the large towns of the kingdom, it is well lighted with gas, has an efficient police, and an extensive market. Railways connect it with Southampton, Winchester, and London, and its trade is con- siderable. CHAPTEK XXXY. WINCHESTER, AND ITS ATTRACTIONS — ST. CROSS HOSPITAL — KING Arthur's round table, etc. My entrance into the ancient capital of the realm was at a late hour of the night, and I followed along, not exactly knowing where I was going until I gained the main street of the city. The thoroughfare was comparatively deserted, and I sought out a place of rest. No one knew me, and I knew not a soul in the town, and sauntered along as independent as an Indian chief. A comfortable inn invited a visit, and I entered its doors for the purpose of obtaining lodgings, but on application was refused. The landlady looked at me from head to foot with a suspicious eye^ and then at her husband, who surveyed me in like manner, OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 329 and, after the cautious pair had fully satisfied themselves, they gruffly told me they had no room — and a lie ! I did not stand to plead, but returned to the street and sought further, and with success. A servant took my knapsack, and ushered me into a parlor, where a bright fire blazed cheerfully. I sat down in an arm-chair, drew off my boots before the grate, ordered supper, read ^'The Times," and didn't care a button for any one connected with the Dolphin, over the way — the shanty in which I was re- fused a bed — and that the first time in my life. The cities of the south of England differ so greatly from those of the north, that the traveller is led to believe that they don't belong to the same realm. There are no large manufactories and smoky atmosphere, but, what is infinitely better to view, clean streets, brave old cathedrals, and quaint buildings of the ancient day. The streams near by are mostly pure crystal currents, and the air above is uncontarainated — unpolluted. Winchester is the oldest city in the land, and was the home of royalty before London. Its origin is involved in obscurity, but tradition and the historical monuments of the nation represent it as one of the earliest settlements of the first known inhabitants of the island. It is the burial-place of Alfred the Great, Canute the Pane, and the tyrant William Rufus. It has been the royal residence of a long line of England's kings, and the scene of many historical events of importance. In its palmy days, it was the seat of govern- ment, and contained the Koyal Mint, Treasury, and office of pub- lie records. A few remains of a castle, built by William the Conqueror, are still in existence, and portions of the city walls, erected anterior to the days of King Stephen for purposes of de- fence, are in fine preservation. The great massacre of all the Danes settled in England commenced at Winchester, and Sir Walter Ealeigh, and Lords Coleham and Grey were tried in it for high treason in the days of James the First. Jeffries there condemned to the block the amiable Alice Lisle, when on his bloody tour following the suppression of Monmouth's rebellion, and she died on a scaffold in the market-place of the city. It wit- nessed the coronation of William Rufus, and the second crowning of Richard Coeur de Lion, after his return from his romantic ad- 330 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ; ventures in the crusades. There Henry the Fourth wedded Joan of Brittany, and it was in the cathedral of the city that the mar- riage between Mary of England and Philip of Spain was celebrated. During the civil wars, it was the scene of battle and siege, having been taken and retaken three several times, twice by the Parlia- mentary, and once by the Royal troops. In the last engagement, Cromwell blew up the castle, battered the fortifications to pieces, and destroyed the bishop's palace, besides stabling his horses in the cathedral, and allowing his soldiers to deface the monuments, and otherwise injure the edifice. Charles the Second commenced a palace in it in 1682, but it never was completed, and is now used as a barracks ; and Richard Cromwell, after resigning the Protectorate, passed the balance of his days in retirement, at the old manor-house of Mardon, at Hursley, in the immediate vicinity of the city. These are some of the historical records of Winchester, and if this were the place for it, I might recount other incidents of equal importance which transpired in the once royal, but now decayed and fallen capital of England. When I pored over the pages of English history in a remote village of Pennsylvania, and read with breathless interest the events so graphically described by the historian, I scarcely be- lieved it possible that I should ever stand in the places made famous by the occurrences of time and the pen of the chronicler, and hence, when I enter an ancient city, whose name is connected with never-to-be-forgotten events, I move along its streets as if in a consecrated place, and with feelings akin to veneration. The old and crooked streets, the renowned buildings, and the ancient aspect of AYinchester are well adapted to recall to the mind of the student of English history feelings such as I have referred to. Its Gothic market-cross is preserved with pious care, and its cathedral and college are shown with pride. The city is small, but attractive, and the little stream that flows by it is a deep, transparent rill, clear as a burnished mirror. Some of the houses on the main street are built immediately on the curb, but the first story in each of these is a part of an arcade or passage-way for pedestrians, and the whole combined form an OR. WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 331 agreeable covered promeoacle for some distance, with shops facing the walk. Mj day of observation succeeded to a night of rain, and the clear air and bright sun made things more than usually beautiful. The streets were clean, the shops showy and fine, the people act- ive, and the sparrows doubly tame and sociable. I wended my way to the cathedral through a paved court entrance, and soon reached the green inclosure or grounds around the edifice. The building is very large, in the usual form of a cross, with a tower rising from the transepts and choir. The exterior, particularly the western end, is richly embellished with carvings and niches, ar- cades, and splendid windows. The buttresses are fine ornaments to the structure, and as each of them is surmounted by pinnacles terminated by finials, richly foliated, they have a pleasing effect to the eye. The great western window is divided by transoms and mullions, which give it a superb appearance, in connection with the smaller ones at the side, the great arched doors, and the mouldings on the other sections of the front. The interior of the nave is sublime, and the eye shoots along the lofty vault, fretted with exquisite tracery, and rests in admiration on the glowing colors of the eastern window. The extent of this portion of the gorgeous shrine is three hundred feet, and its vaulted ceiling eighty feet high. Imagine to yourself its grandeur from these dimensions, and reflect that the choir and lady-chapel add one hundred and eighty feet more to the view. Probably the great fault of Winchester cathedral is, its want of architectural uni- formity — a fault belonging more or less to nearly every similar edifice in England. There are grand specimens of Norman, English, and pointed Gothic ; and the student of the art will find in this building the perfection of each of these styles. The fact that the edifice was four hundred years in course of erection suf- ficiently accounts for the variety of its architecture; but it is to be regretted that it was not completed as it was begun, in the purest Norman. The tower is too low — too squatty, if such an expres- sion may be allowed. The transepts are lofty and grand, and the whole interior masterly. The tombs are numerous, and that of the celebrated Wykenham the best preserved ecclesiastical monument 332 of the olden time in the country. The figure of the bishop re- poses at full length on the richly carved tomb, and it is in such a state of preservation that one would suppose it a modern instead of an ancient work. There is a bronze statue of Charles the First on one side of the entrance to the choir from the nave, and one of James the First on the opposite side ; and both are fair specimens of the art, and must have been chef-cV oeuvres when executed. The interior of the choir is glorious, and with its stained glass windows, its decorated ceiling, and carved stalls, leaves a lasting impression on the mind of the beholder. West's grand picture of the "Raising of Lazarus" ornaments the altar-screen at the chancel-end of the choir, but the tone of its coloring, though better than that of the majority of the artist's works, is not so mellow as could be desired. It is so placed as to obscure a great portion of the screen, the delicacy of which is marvellous, and a study for the sculptor of this age. Two elegant stone partitions, one on either side, divide the choir from the side aisles, and on the tops of these are ranged, in regular order, six mortuary chests containing human bones. They bear Latin inscriptions, setting forth that within are deposited the skeletons of various kings of England, from the year 641 to 1100. One of these chests, the third, contains the bones, in part, of Canute, the Danish king, his queen Emma, the Fair Maid of Normandy, and William Rufus — a strange commingling, surely, of the ashes of the royal. In addition to these, may be mentioned the remains of two Saxon prelates, Wina and Stigand ; and the inscription states that they were deposited in their present resting-- place in 1661, "having been exhumed and scattered about by sacrilegious barbarians in the year 1642," which is another sin for poor old Noll's broad shoulders. I was conducted through the building by an officer who pointed out the tomb of William Kufus, and Richard, the second son of William the Conqueror ; and the chair which Queen Mary occupied at the time the mar- riage ceremony was performed between her and Philip of Spain. They were married in the lady-chapel, and the chair is in that department. There are several fine figures of crusaders in the chancel and aisles, and a splendid statue of Bishop North, by OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 333 Chan trey. The verger left me for a time to myself, and as I loitered about the aisles and chapels alone, I devoted my attention to such objects as most interested me, in an architectural or histo- rical light. The Norman arches and doors of the lower stories impressed me with their solemn grandeur — and the elegance of the upper work contrasted strongly with the heavier parts below. There are several small chapels connected with the principal build- ing by vaulted passages, and in one of these, called Prior Silk- stede's Chapel, I stepped upon a stone fitted in the floor, which contained an inscription, and, on reading, found it to be the tomb of that prince of anglers, " honest Isaac \Yalton I" There he sleeps in that lonely cell of the great cathedral, and not far off gurgle the waters of the meandering Itchen, in whose depths he so oft dipped his treacherous bait. The rays of the sun struggle through the misty glass of the solemn Norman windows, and fall wavingly on the black marble on which the curious may read as follows : — Here resteth the body of Mr. Isaac AValton, wlio died the Fifteenth of December, 1G83. Alas! he's gone before, Gone to return no more ; Our parting breasts aspire After their aged sire, Whose well-spent life did last Full ninety years and past ; But now he has begun That which will ne'er be done ; Crowned with eternal bliss, We wish our souls with his. And in Latin : " Thus, modest hours his children wept." The lines are dull enough, and quite as effective as a dose of opium for purposes of sleep, and do not speak much in favor of the poeti- cal talent of their author, whoever he was. One of the old charities of the land is still sustained at the Hospital and Church of St. Cross, about a mile from Winchester, on the banks of the Itchen. Thirteen arred men live there in 334 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; houses provided for them, and pass their days in repose. They are clothed in a long-forgotten costume, and have the appearance of the ghosts of men who died in the twelfth century. It is a peaceful home for those weather-worn old men, that Hospital of St. Cross, and they enjoy its charities in quiet and seclusion. The custom of giving away to any who may apply for it a mug of beer and crust of bread is still adhered to. The porter's lodge is in the great arched gateway, and on knocking at the door of the attendant's residence, and demanding the gift, you are at once supplied. Many persons of respectability go and receive the beer and crust through mere curiosity, and to continue the ancient custom. When I was there, several Irishmen were sitting on the bench at the porter's gate, waiting for the bounty of the place. I continued my walk around the city, visiting the most famous places, and among others the barracks, once the palace of Charles the Second. A regiment of red coats was on parade, and every man moved with the precision of a piece of senseless machinery. The officers were a set of whiskered dandies, and the soldiers wooden men. I left the brave warriors of her Majesty, and pass- ing through the west gate, the most entire of the ancient city fortifications, approached the old castle. What remains of the fortress has been converted into a portion of the walls of the modern Court-House, and therefore does not show to advantage. The grand room contains a relic of the past — famous the wide world over — the Round Table of King Arthur and his knights. It is suspended on the eastern wall, and, to prevent it from falling to pieces, has an iron band securely placed around the outer edge. I had no means of measuring it, but should judge it to be full fifteen feet in diameter. The top is divided off into regular and equal portions, which are painted alternately white and green, beaded with red lines. The name of each knight and baron is in the arch of the division allotted to him, and the portrait of the king is conspicuously painted on one of the sections. The table bears an inscription, in addition to the names of the knights, and is perforated with bullets, said to have been fired through it by Oliver Cromwell's soldiers, when in Winchester. The old relic calls to the mind of the gazer the throng of twenty-four mailed OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 335 barons who were wont to gather round it in the days of chivalry, and there *' Drink the red wine thro' the helmet barred." Each one had a space sufficiently large for his goblet of grape- juice and flagon of bright Burgundy, and many a loud laugh and piquant jest has circulated round that famous board in the days of old when the luscious beverage was at work in the brains of the warriors there assembled. It looks as if designed for wassail and revelry, and right well do they who preserve it in iron bands as it now is. In my rambles about the city, I noticed the condition of the lower order of people, but as it varies but little from that of the same class in any of the other southern cities, there is but little worth recording here. While sitting in the cofi"e«-room of my inn, I entered into conversation with a workingman, who readily communicated such information respecting the city as I desired. He possessed a strong intellect, good conversational powers, and a friendly spirit. Wherever I met with intelligent workingmen in England, and there are many such, I always found liberal sentiments and kindly treatment, and a knowledge of history and politics truly astonishing, when it is considered that such know- ledge was acquired by hard study after a long day's labor. Such are the thinking men of England, and their numbers are daily increasing with their stock of knowledge, and if they continue to increase throughout the country for the next ten years, as fast as they have done in the ten just past, they will, ere long, seal the fate of royalty in the realm of Great Britain, and sweep into the vortex of the past every kingly claim. They think — they reason — they act; and, however much they may be sneered at and con- temned, ridiculed, vilified, and abused, they still press on in the path of justice and popular rights, unmindful of the titled drones who suck their life's blood, and yet laugh them to scorn ; and are sowing the seeds now of a revolution which must eventually tell with terrible force against the aristocracy of the country, and fix its doom. They are not very numerous comparatively, but they are not idlers, and act with a firm conviction of being the soldiers 336 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; of a righteous cause, and neither falter nor halt in their manly course. What they sow takes root, and the fruits of their labor will be felt and seen among the young of their class of the rising generation. Kingcraft is sealed in England, and these men are silently, noiselessly, slowly, but surely, working out the truth, and will develop it to the world in its own proper time. It will be a bloodless revolution — a revolution of mind over exploded theoiies — of intelligence and justice over tyranny, hypocrisy, and wrong — of the too long downtrodden and spurned many over the legal- ized^ aristocratic, supercilious, and arrogant few. CHAPTER XXXYI. Return to London — rambles — old places — fallen women. From "Winchester to the metropolis I met with but little of note, and as the route lay over a country both level and unin- teresting there was nothing worthy of particular attention. When I arrived at the Waterloo station, on the Surrey side of the Thames, things were different from what they were during the continuance of the Exhibition. The trains were less crowded, the cabs more idle, and the landing less thronged than when I last visited the place. Then foreigners with mustaches crowded the approaches, and one's ears were saluted by a confusion of tongues, strange and incomprehensible. Frenchmen, Belgians, Germans, and Spaniards were there preparing for their return to the Con- tinent, and busy porters and interpreters were directing the strangers to the carriages which were to convey them away. Now there were none but natives present, and they were cold and re- served in manner. I escaped from the mass that emerged from the cars and filled the platform, and gained the open street as soon as circumstances would permit. The streets were not thronged with pedestrians, as in the zenith of the Exhibition en- thusiasm, and the omnibus proprietors had relaxed their ava- OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 337 riciousness by reducing the fares from sixpence to one-half that sum. Seven weeks had worked wonders in the great city, but no great change in my friendly landlord, for, when I knocked at his door, I was welcomed with unfeigned delight by himself and ftimily, and felt that I was really at home. It was a sincere out- pouring of true, honest friendship, that cordial greeting, and such a one as comes with joy to the heart of a stranger in a foreign land. The man who has a penchant for the old and remarkable finds sufficient to occupy his time and attention when in London. There is abundant to admire, and much to record. I amused myself in various ways when strolling about the city; but my greatest gratification was derived from visiting such places as are celebrated by their connection with the famous men and remarkable events of the olden time. I hunted out the '' Devil Tavern" and the "Grecian;" but there is not a feature of their ancient glory remaining. The people who resort to them are clothed in the habit of our day, and you look in vain for the strange costume of the time of Queen Anne. At night, these houses ap- pear more sacred than during the day, for it was at night that they were fullest of company in their days of glory, and it is then that they are most crowded now. The vicinity of Temple Bar, and thence up the Strand, was a favorite resort; but I sometimes varied my walk and rambled into the eastern part of the city, as far as Tower Hill and the Docks. St. Dunstan's Church, in the east, has often attracted me; and not only its strange steeple, but its architectural beauties repaid me for my trouble. The old houses on the narrow, crooked, and steep streets, and the busy, maritime, mercantile-looking people there- about during the day, have so much of the air of the past about them that I took more pleasure in visiting them than any other objects in London, because the inhabitants are more in character with the buildings they inhabit than the dwellers in Cheapside and Fleet Street are with those renowned sections. Tower Hill de- tained me frequently, and I looked over it with strange feelings, on to the prisons of many whose names are household words in America — Lady Jane Grey's, Anne Boleyu's, and Sir Thomas 29 338 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; More's. Then there is Trinity House, and the birthplace of Wil- liam Penn, for he was born on Tower Hill, I sometimes stood there alone in a reflecting mood, and, regardless of the showman who exhibited his learned birds and quadrupeds, called to mind the scenes witnessed on that spot in other days, when crowds gathered there to look upon such as were brought forth to die. The grass grows green in the once fetid moat, and flowers bloom on the place that soaked the gore of the too often innocent who sufi"ered there ; but the earth is the same now as when executions were common on the spot, although time and policies are changed, and my fancy often pictured before me the assembled crowd wait- ing to witness a fellow-being die. That is the place of death, and the one who is familiar with the history of the Tower cannot help calling to mind the scenes of the past when standing near it. In front is the White Tower, with its solid Norman arches and im- penetrable walls, and beyond that the crime-begrimed Bloody Tower, in which the prince sons of Edward the Fourth were mur- dered by their uncle's hired assassins; and nearer, the Bowyer Tower, where tradition says Clarence was drowned in a butt of malmsey. Men in the soldier-dress of the days of Henry the Seventh, big, burly, heef-eating Britons, stand within the archway by which you enter the gloomy prison ; and sentinels pace to and fro before the ponderous gates. The building and its towers, its walls and battlements, its cells and apartments, are, with but few exceptions, the same as when men were chained therein for real or fancied crimes ; and, as I gazed upon the Hill and the Tower of London, the names of those who there suff'ered death flashed across my mind. The place of execution is visible from the outer side of the walls, and I often stood where Margaret of Shrewsbury, Surrey the poet. Lord Dudley, the Earl of Stafford, Archbishop Laud, young Harry Vane, and Howard, Earl of Strafford_, yielded up their lives in extenuation of real or imputed crimes. Years have gone by since the last execution took place on Tower Hill ; but the murders perpetrated there can never be obliterated from the pages of history, nor will the impression of the spot made upon the minds of youthful readers by the chronicler ever be fomotten. OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 339 As tlie stranger stands and looks riverwards from the eminence, his eye meets the crowded Thames and the various craft which traverse its bosom ; and the mind is led into reflections on the past, suggested by diiFerent associations from those connected with the walls of the tower and the places of execution. Large steam- ships navigate the sinuous river, and countless shipping blacken its waters, and with their tall masts almost shut out from sight the opposite shore. How different is the Thames at Londou now from what it was when the keels of the Pvoman galleys divided its waters, and the fleets of the conquerer covered its surface ! And how altered from what it was two hundred years ago, when host3 of wherries and watermen moved upon its bosom, and but one wretched, rickety bridge spanned its waters ! The glory of the abusive boatman has departed, and his calling is almost unknown at this day in the very locality where, less than a century ago, it was deemed indispensable and considered imperishable. Now, steam usurps the stream and business of the once useful wherry; and foot-passengers cross and recross from shore to shore of the Thames, both over and under its waters, without molestation, at all hours, day and night, and almost without charge. The river streets of the eastern section of the metropolis are narrow, muddy or dusty, and thronged. They partake, more or less, of the character of the streets nearest the rivers in other cities, so far as business is concerned, and the people who inhabit them ; but the houses are old, the footways narrow, and the general appearance gloomy. The men you encounter there are bent on trade, and the heavy vans and ponderous carts which roll lazily through those avenues, lumbered up with merchandise, convey to the mind of the beholder an idea of the peculiar business transacted there. I was rather fond of sauntering through them, and my face became known in one or two coffee-houses in Lower Thames Street, but more particularly in that one called Czar's Head, cele- brated for having been the place to which Peter the Great was accustomed to retire after finishing his day's labor in the ship- yard where he wrought as a journeyman when in London. Below the Tower, the streets are generally badly built, and the abodes of wretched poor. Eose-Mary Lane, in that quarter, was 340 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; famous, centuries ago, for its squalid appearance, and its trade in worn-out articles of apparel, old furniture, and scraps of iron. I never saw a more varied collection of broken and worn-out things than is contained in some of the shops in that home of the desti- tute poor, and resort of thieves and vagabonds. Petticoat Lane, the Broadway of the cheating and lying Jews of London, is pro- bably worse in its general features ; but it does not harbor so many really destitute beings. Squalid wretchedness meets the stranger at every turn ; and I was more than once shocked in beholding women so badly clothed as to be scarcely fit for public gaze, and certainly unfit to go into the presence of those members of their sex whose nerves are shocked when they come in con- tact with ill and unfashionably dressed people. In a walk of half an hour, I met more degraded, half-naked, barefooted females, and sickly children, than I ever saw in the United States in nearly twent}'- years. Poor wretches, without bonnets, whose straggling hair streamed in the cold damp winds of December, were walking barefooted over the mud-clotted pavement, and shivering with chill, and I was touched with compassion for their awful and friendless condition. My store was opened to their relief; and it was a luxury to me to be able to render such as I could a tempo- rary good. Who that has ever gazed upon a fallen, sunken woman, wandering the streets, barefooted and with loosened hair, without a sympathizer and homeless, but has felt his heart throb with compassion for the houseless outcast ? I never see such an object of pity without reflecting that the degraded one before me was once a sinless child at her mother's knee, and happy — a guileless prattler, whose voice was music to its parents' ears ; and then to think how fallen — how corrupt — how degraded her woman- hood ! But few look kindly on her, and the world passes her by unheeded. Let her reform, let her work, is the cry ; but who takes her by the hand, and raises her from her degradation ? Who offers her a home and employment? Surely not those who tell her to labor. Where, then, is she to find the means of re- forming, and work, if she wants it ? The opportunities for im- proving her condition are rare ; nearly all shrink from her as from contagion ; and at last she dies in a ditch and rots on a dung- OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 341 hill ! — the usual fiite of that home of a soul — that form of an angel. I occasionally took a stroll, after sundown, along Holborn and Oxford Streets, where I saw another phase of life from that exhibited on the streets nearer the river. Those thoroughfares are wider than the Strand, or Fleet, and constantly crowded, day and night. The shops are showy and fashionable, and in many of them are displayed finery of every description. Gin-palaces are numerous, and their dazzling lights and gilded signs never fail of attracting the eye. Every species of humbug is practised by some of the keepers of these places to obtain custom, and crowds of the curious assemble nightly at the doors to see bar-maids arrayed in the Bloomer costume, or some other equally stupid attraction. As the night wears on, the respectable portion of the people, who may be abroad, gradually disappear, and by eleven o'clock have nearly deserted the streets, and given them up to the houseless and the profligate, the abandoned and the prostitute. Holborn and Oxford Streets are not the only night resorts of degraded women, unfortunately. Almost every thoroughfare in Loudon is the haunt of these poor beings, and thousands of them go forth at night to pursue their wretched calling. From obser- vations made during a residence of some months, I firmly believe that the abandoned women of London are of every age — from the tender 3^ears of childhood to the more advanced and declining periods of life — and various conditions and castes. Some flout in silks and jewelry, satins and feathers ; while others are more humble and less showy. The great majority of them are young and handsome — noble-looking. ! it is sickening to see those forsaken outcasts, as they perambulate the streets, using their arts to fascinate such as cross their path. In the early part of the evening, they are cautious and ladylike in their every movement ; but, when the clock points to eleven, they become bold and shameless. Their degradation is awful, and they stop at nothing. I cannot think they act as they do from choice, but from necessity. They will throw their arms around a man, and plead with him for his company. Persuasion, smiles, lasciviousncss — every device is tried to induce those they meet to follow them. If they find their 29* 342 THE FOOTPATH AND ^IGR^YAY; eloquence fail of that end, then they ask for a few pence whereby to purchase a glass of gin to drown their sorrow. They assume cheerfulness and gayety when their hearts are leadlike with woe ; and their forced smiles and hysterical laughter prove their misery of soul. Night after night they follow their unholy trade ; up one street, and down another — now in a gin-palace, inhaling the poisonous beverage, and now pacing the pavement with weary limbs and aching heart ; and thus continue until the gray gleams of morning flash along the eastern sky. They are forsaken and fallen — outcasts and harlots — but still women ; and I shuddered when I beheld them in their shame. Some men in this world have sins to atone for, and the worst one is the betrayal of woman. CHAPTER XXXVII. DINING OF THE BLUE COAT SCHOOL-BOYS DUKE OF WELLINGTON MECHANICS — TRADESMEN — SOCIALISTS. The attractions of London are so numerous, that no one can notice them in regular order, and therefore it is useless to try. I somewhere before alluded to the Blue Coat School, but not in de- tail; and as it is one of the many really interesting objects in the metropolis, I may here devote a short space to it, at the risk of the charge of being trite. The buildings in which the boys reside and receive instruction are off Newgate Street to the north, the principal one facing that avenue, as well as a large court-yard between it and the thoroughfare. The scholars number from seven hundred to a thousand, are from ten to eighteen years of age, and dressed uniformly. The costume is singular, and at- tractive to strangers, but by no means handsome. The long blue coat, reaching down to the heels, is the main feature, and it is this which gives name to the school. Many of the boys tuck it up under their red leathern girdle when romping about in the great playground, but all of them are proud to wear it, and evidently OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 343 regard it a badge of honor, although there was a time in England when blue was a color no gentleman would wear. The boys ramble about London during certain hours of the day barehead, and, rain or dry, it is the same to them. The discipline is not so rigid as when Charles Lamb was a scholar there, and several of the old customs are fallen into disuse. The most interestino- exhibitions continued to this day are the boys' participation in the service at Christ Church (the place of worship of the school), and dining in public on Sunday. I went to the great hall of the institution one Sabbath day to witness them dine, and never was I present at a more imposing ceremony than that performed by the boys before they partook of their meal. Tlie room is large, with a gallery at the western end for spectators, a great organ at the east, and the walls adorned with some old and curious pic- tures of merit. The tables are fifteen in number, and a female takes post at the head of each at the dining hour. The children usually go directly from the church to the hall, and as the whole seven hundred pour into the room about the same time, the tread of their many feet and the sound of their voices commingle, and absorb all other noises. After they have all entered the room, and taken their places at the table, a signal for quiet is given, at which every murmur is hushed. One of the elder youths reads an appropriate service; they kneel like a mighty host in prayer -, and then, as the full tones of the powerful organ roll out upon the air, the chorus of their thousand childish voices swells to heaven in harmonious praise. It is an impressive ser- vice, and no spectator can witness it unmoved. If those boys of the Blue Coat School were taught nothing else but that sublime prayer and glorious hymn, the institution would not be useless. From the least to the greatest — from the youngest to the oldest, they all unite, at the dining-hour of the Sabbath day, in praise to Him who reigns on high, and there is an earnestness in their voices, when hymning thanks to the Deity, that bids every tu- multuous thought be still in the breast of the beholder. After the ceremony is performed, the meal is served in nearly the same manner in which it was usual to serve it three centuries ago. The meat is in wooden trenchers, the beer poured from 344 leathern black jacks into wooden piggins, and the potatoes are cooked with the skins on. The phites are of a particuhir pattern, the food plain, the bread being in rolls, and served from large baskets. The strictest decorum characterizes all, and the dining of the Blue Coat Boys on Sunday is among the most instructive and agreeable sights in London. The Duke of Wellington was one of the few men who excited the curiosity of strangers in England. His renown made him an object of interest, and foreigners eagerly sought an opportunity of seeing him. I had been in the metropolis on several occasions, at each of which periods I made exertions to get a look at the hero, but without success, until March, 1852, when by mere acci- dent I met him near Charing Cross, on his way to the Horse Guards, a place he visited frequently, on official business. From my childhood I entertained opinions averse to the personal at- tractions of AYellington, solely on account of the published pic- tures of him, in which the nose is represented so prominently. The portraits do not give that feature breadth sufficient at the nostrils, and consequently the physiognomist notices a deficiency in calculation that it is difficult to account for in a man so famous as Wellington was for forethought and skilful investigation. The artists too often exaggerated the prominence, but never the width of that most singular feature of the " Iron Duke.'^ When I saw him he was on horseback, followed by a servant mounted, and trotted slowly along, occasionally returning the salutations of the people as he passed. He was dressed in a plain suit of blue cloth, rode with ease, but bent forward considerably from age. His appearance was that of a quiet, sensible old man, who had ex- hausted the honors of the world, and was cheerfully journeying to the grave. His eye was bright, his countenance furrowed but calm, and he was to me the very best specimen of the affluent, contented, old English gentleman it was my good fortune to see in Great Britain. His nose agreeably disappointed me, as its breadth at the nostrils fully satisfied me that he was, in fact, what fame and his deeds proclaimed him, and not what pictures led those personally unacquainted with his features to consider him. OR, AYANDERTNGS OF AN AMERICAN. 345 I liked the great man much, and dismissed my prejudices against him as soon as my eyes beheld his face. He was a greater object of interest than the Crystal Palace, and almost any man would have called him great without knowing who he was. His ap- pearance indicated good living, and, if I may be allowed to ex- press an opinion from his countenance, he was not by any means a bad judge of wine. Probably his campaigns in the peninsula afforded him an opportunity of perfecting himself in deciding as to the qualities of the juice of the grape, for he evidently knew and loved the good. But the grave incloses him now, and history will say more of the blood than of the wine he spilt, and more of his virtues than his vices. The condition and manner of living of the mechanics of Lon- don are subjects worthy of note, and if accurately described, interesting. During ray various residences in the city, I met with families of that class with whom I freely associated, and had, therefore, opportunities of observing them at their hearth- sides. Those whose acquaintance I made were of the better class, men of intelligence and refinement, and some of them decidedly clever. Their domestic comforts were few, and their mode of living by no means enviable. Wages are not so high in London, in propor- tion to rents and provisions, as they are in some of the provincial towns, and it rarely occurs that a mechanic has his own house in the metropolis. They usually live in lodgings, that is, two or three rooms in some large building, in which a number of families are quartered, and their furniture is comprised in a case of drawers, beds for the accommodation of all, and the requisite chairs, car- pets, and tables. Thus packed in a contracted space, they live without being able to enjoy domestic seclusion, and cannot be said to have what every Englishman calls his castle — a house ; but only a small portion of one. The young, or single men, generally have a room which they furnish to their taste, or bargain for furnished, and in that they live, or rather lodge, for many of them obtain their meals at coffee-houses and other places of resort. Some do their own cooking in their apartments, and thus live 346 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; economically. They dwell apart from their landlords, and rarely enjoy that semi-home known among us as a boarding house. The system is productive of much evil, and leads many young men into habits of dissipation and immorality. It may be set down as a fact, without fear of contradiction, that not one journeyman mechanic in London out of fifty has a house to himself. They either rent rooms out to others, or from others; and the stranger, in rambling about the city, will notice " lodgings to let" in nearly every house of moderate size in those sections where the artisans reside. The distinctive classes of society are numerous, and there are castes among all occupations. The small master tradesmen are above the workmen, and live, in many cases, in comfortable, convenient houses in the suburbs, in a style approaching to ele- gance. It is among that class of people that the greatest amount of happiness is to be found in England, as well as virtue, and hospitality to strangers. In reality they are the men of the realm, and the bulwark of the nation. They are intelligent without pe- dantry, refined without pomp, and cultivated without affectation. Too sensible to be worshippers of rank, they admire what is good in their government without bowing to what is vile in the system, and although educated and reared under monarchical institutions, by no means hold to the divine right of kings. Ardent lovers of their native land, and proud of their country's glory, they never- theless oppose the unjustifiable use of its power against weak and inoffensive nations, and denounce alike the conquests in India and the shameful encroachments of England on the lands of the Kaffirs and Hottentots. Among such men I spent hours most agreeably, and never remarked anything in their families but the most exemplary conduct and creditable behavior. Their manner of living is plain, and yet some of their customs are decidedly censurable. They seldom rise before seven, breakfast at eight or nine, dine at two or three, take tea at five, which is usu- ally a plain meal of bread cut into very thin slices, and buttered, with tea, and a species of plum or fruit-cake. That is the favor- ite hour of gossip among the women, and the Chinese beverage generally sets their tongues actively to work. At about nine o'clock they foolishly have a hot supper, which is out of all reason ORj WANDERINGS OF -AN AMERICAN. 347 for people of their intelligence, and must be decidedly injurious to the digestive organs, as well as a disturber of sleep. The English are remarkably particular in some things, and eat no fruit unless the skin is removed — consider it horrible to bite bread, and faint to see a person eat pickles with fish ; and yet they will gor- mandize from morning to midnight, swallow hot meats, cheese, and ale at twelve o'clock at night, and then retire to rest with loaded stomachs and bewildered brains. To do so is the error of the class I now speak of, and about the only thing in which they imitate the fashion and folly of the aristocracy. The routine de- scribed is peculiar to the tradesmen of London, and is pretty generally practised. The employers do not get to business so early as with us; nor do they work so constantly and late. They like the customs of their class, and expect tea at five o'clock as regularly as breakfast at eight in the morning. Sis winter weeks in the metropolis afforded me frequent oppor- tunities to visit such places as my inclinations prompted, or chance presented; and during that time I often mingled in pleasant even- ing assemblages at the hearth-sides of my friends, and enjoyed social and intellectual treats of an agreeable character. I was fortunate in my acquaintance, and no one could desire the friend- ship of nobler men and women than it was my lot to pass my time with. They were in the middle walks of life — free from pride — free from envy — free from rudeness. All intelligent, and some persons of superior acquirements and strong intellects. They were of that class of men that is in reality noble, and of that portion of the English people that redeems the national cha- racter from pride and vain conceit. They were moral, refined, sincere, honorable, and hospitable, and consequently a credit to their country. Some of them were socialists, practically and theo- retically; but the conduct and lives of these were unimpeachable. In fact, although they made no profession of religion, but, on the contrary, denounced all systems indiscriminately, they were in all the relations of life practisers of true Christian principles. During an acquaintance of five months, in which period I often visited at their houses, I never observed the slightest rudeness on the part of their children, or heard a single indelicate expression 348 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ; fall from the lips of an individual member. Intellectual improve- ment and correct deportment were aimed at by all, and even the little, prattling children used correct language, and vied with each other in good conduct and kindly feeling. The ruling power was kindness; and it was a potent and a refining instrument surely. The evenings I passed in the company of those to whom I refer will never be erased from my mind; and although some may doubt my statements in respect to thes6 practical socialists, and pretend to regard me as an advocate of the social system, and over-warm in my admiration of it, I here most decidedly declare my oppo- sition to the doctrine; but, at the same time, as a candid and truthful man, must say that, wherever I visited in the families of English socialists of intelligence, I observed the most exem- plary conduct, and an amability of character and a charity for the degraded and fallen of our race that would put to the blush one-half, at least, of the professed followers of Jesus. Those who are familiar with the workings of socialism may be able to trace the effect, recorded above, to causes foreign to socialist doctrines; but whether they will or not, I am willing to bear my. testimony to the facts as stated, and to believe them the result of proper training and solid education. Of the socialists I met in London, and became intimate with, there was not one in whom I would not repose the most implicit confidence. On the 12th of December, 1851, I wrote thus in my journal, and transcribe it to break the monotony of the narration : This morning we have a regular old-fashioned London fog — thick, murky, dull. I have just returned from a walk through it, and can speak feelingly of its density. There's no sky, no sun, no daylight. I passed along St. Martin' s-le-Grand, but could not see the post-office on the opposite side of the way. Cheapside was full of obscurity and omnibuses ; and St. Paul's churchyard full of phantoms. The gas was burning in the shops and street lamps, and things looked to me like the works of a dream. As I stood at the side of St. Paul's, I tried to catch a sight of its form, but in vain. I could see the iron railing over the way, but the grand cathedral was entirely veiled from view. Every spot OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 349 was alike. I could see about ten feet ahead of me, but beyond that all was misty and impenetrable to the eye. The people moved along noiselessly and quick, like figures in a dream — now in sightj the next instant lost to observation. As I descended Ludgate Hill, a caravan of omnibuses was going toward St. Paul's, and the three or four that I could see at a time appeared as if they were moving through the clouds. The outside passengers of the foremost were scarcely visible, and those of the others were only distinguishable through the fog by their dark clothing, and by the fact of their being much above the densest portion of the mist. I continued on down to Faringdon Street, and, turning into it, passed over to Blackfriars Bridge, where I found the lamps lighted and a tide of people. The river was not to be seen, and it was with difficulty that I could distinguish the outline of the opposite side of the carriage way. It was not night — it was not day, and yet it appeared like a combination of the two. The air was thick with smoke as well as fog, and the black flakes of soot emitted by London chimneys settled on the ground and floated through the atmosphere. I was content to be an observer, and asked no questions, but retraced my steps, and continued down Fleet Street to Temple Bar; but it was all the same, go where I would. The beggars had ceased to implore alms, the itinerant tradesmen to solicit custom. Every one seemed disposed to silence, and if I cast a glance in at a shop window it was to see the sales- men working by gas-light like phantoms; and to walk the street was no easy matter. The pavements were thick with greasy mud, and a man had almost as much as he could do to keep up- right. Bunning against one another was a common occurrence, and not an agreeable one at that. But no one scolded, and each appeared determined to get a harbor as quick as possible. Nor are things changed now, at twelve o'clock. From where I sit I can just manage to see to the opposite side of the street, and am writing by gas-light. This will give some idea of a London fog — a sort of blanket atmosphere thrown over the city to generate colds, consumption, and rheumatism. It will do very well to look at once, but to be for a month continually dwelling in it won't answer at all. There is some sport in ploughing your way through 30 350 it the first time, but you soon get satisfied, and are content to find your "way into a cheerful parlor along-side of a comfortable fire, where you can look through the window, and see the mist without feeling its damp breath. There's no use to go looking at '' mag- nificent buildings" where it prevails, and as for a walk in the parks, if you happen to get into one, you will be wonderfully lucky if you find your way out short of three or four hours. There you lose the latitude, and longitude, and all the landmarks are ob- scured, and there is considerable difficulty in finding a policeman to direct you the proper course. Take it all in all, a London fog is a poser and a mysterious thing — a damper to the spirits, and a generator of disease — a villanous compound of noxious gases, and a very plague; and I'll have no more of it. CHAPTER XXXVIII. CAMBRIDGE AND ITS UNIVERSITY — THE EASTERN COUNTIES. The railways of England soon whirl a man from the smoke of London into the broad fields of the country, and in an hour or two one can be set down miles away from the metropolis. My time, for six weeks, had passed very agreeably in the city ; but, as there were unexplored fields before me, I determined to visit them, and directed my course to the eastern counties and the University of Cambridge. The train soon left the capital behind, and on we dashed through a low level country, intersected by canals and sluices, farms and villages, streams and turnpike roads. The hedges were bare, but the fields green, and, although midwinter, the atmosphere and landscape gave no evidence of the frosty breath of the season, except the absence of foliage from the trees. The waters were unfrozen, and it was a difficult thing to convince myself that this was an English winter. The day of heavy deep snows has passed in Britain, and the reader of Irving's graphic descriptions of Christmas weather in England can never, with 851 reason, expect to see those descriptions realized, eitber in the cold- ness of the season or the cheer of the time. The spirit of the age has swept away the festivities of old, and aside from the dinner, and the pleasant custom of kissing ruby lips under the mistletoe, there is nothing of the glory of the ancient Christmas time remain- ing in the land of roast beef and homebrewed ale. We passed hamlets at a distance, and the square towers of the old churches peeped from among ivy and leafless boughs, and pre- sented a solemn appearance to the eye. Several places of note lay on the route, but no time was allowed for close observation, and I was obliged to be content with a rapid glance at Waltham Abbey, the burial-place of Harold, and a distant prospect of the famous parish church of Saifron Walden, with its tall and grace- ful spire, the highest in the county of Essex. The sun had sunk to rest ere we reached the celebrated seat of learning, and when I alighted from the carriage, a clear bright crescent moon was shin- ing on the earth, with more than Turkish serenity, from among a host of dazzling constellations. I sauntered slowly into the town, sought out a comfortable inn, where I met a number of gentle- manly fellows, and then rambled about the place, peering into the court-yards of the colleges, or admiring the fine Gothic buildings in the pale light of a silver moon. The avenues were alive with pedestrians, but, save the footfalls of the busy citizens, or the slow leisurely tread of the robed and square-capped students, there were no sounds to disturb the quiet of the collegiate city. The pilgrims to the wells of learning were more numerous than the plain denizens ; but I was surprised to see so large a number of fallen women as was following the footsteps of the scholars. Pros- titution is one of the curses of University towns, and one of the most fearful of the snares that beset the young and inexperienced seeker after knowledge at the English colleges ; and Cambridge is said to contain more lewd females than any other place of equal size in Great Britain. They literally swarm its streets at night, and it requires the most rigid rules and careful police re- gulations to keep them within the bounds of common decency. They gaze lasciviously upon every male they meet, and invite attention by every artifice known to their sex, and seldom let a 352 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY;' person escape them until they have exhausted their entire stock of scheming to entrap him. A clear bright clay is a godsend to the sight-seer in any place, and to the stranger in Cambridge nothing can be so favorable for his purposes of observation. The colleges attached to the Uni- versity number seventeen, and some of them are noble edifices. The most renowned is Trinity, the Alma Mater of many of Eng- land's celebrated authors, among whom may be enumerated Newton, Coke, Bacon, Donne, Herbert, Cowley, Dryden, and Byron. The majority of the edifices lie on the banks of the Cam, and all have spacious grounds attached to them, the greater part of which are beautifully laid out and ornamented with rows of stately elms, groves of oak, and wide shaded avenues. The river flows noiselessly through these splendid parks, and the halJs of classic learning repose on the banks of the famous stream in stately dignity, bearing in their every feature the secluded characteristics of the houses of knowledge. In my rambles around these college inclosures, I frequently met studious young men, with book in hand and eyes intently bent upon a favorite page, slowly saunter- ing under the leafless trees, regardless of the curious passer-by. Deep thought was traceable in many a countenance, and the intens- ity with which some studied was a proof to me that aspirations to be "great filled the hearts of the pale students, and visions of future renown prompted them to increased diligence in the pursuit of knowledge. There stood one against the trunk of a stately elm, clasping in his hand a Greek or Latin tome ; another paced the shores of "revered Cam,^' where, of yore, " The melanclioly Cowley lay ;" and, as the breeze of winter moaned and whistled through the leafless branches over his head, he heeded it not, but drank in the rich draught of learning. I envied those young fellows, and longed to be a participant in their delights. The splendid parks are so admirably designed for the purposes to which they are applied, and the old halls so classic in their appearance, it seemed to me that learning falls unsought like a mantle upon the student who is fortunate enough to be an inmate of the University of Cam- bridge. OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AxMERICAN. 353 When the day had somewhat advanced, I entered the great court-yard of Trinity College, and, procuring the services of an intelligent guide, traversed the principal hails of the old pile. I visited the great dining-room, an apartment adorned with portraits of distinguished English scholars, and passing from it entered the grand library of the college where Thorwaldsen's splendid statue of Byron stands conspicuously. It is a noble production of the chisel, and the great Swedish artist has thrown into the speechless marble of Carrara the very semblance of the wayward bard. The figure is in an easy sitting posture, resting one elbow on a number of volumes, while the right hand holds a crayon carelessly in the fingers, one end of which is against the chin, and the eyes upraised as if the soul were drinking in the sweetest in- spiration. The whole aspect of the figure is extremely youthful ; but the librarian, who knew Byron, informed me that it is re- markably like the great bard, both in form and expression of face. The body is clothed in modern costume, with a single-breasted frock-coat, buttoned carelessly across the chest, so as to leave the throat exposed; and over the shoulders is a loose mantle, which falls in graceful folds around the form and feet of the figure. The expression of the countenance is angelic, and the dullest mind would experience pleasure in contemplating it. Aside from the subject from which it originated, the statue is sublime, and when the beholder reflects that it is a faithful representation of the erratic and wonderful author of ^' Don Juan," he stands in admira- tion of the intellectual and personal beauty of the man. Such figures as that of Byron are worthy of immortal marble, and gene- rations yet to come will gaze with delight upon the petrified form of the bard left us by the genius of Thorwaldsen. There are other productions of the chisel in the room, but none of them deserve particular mention. There is one object, how- ever, of the greatest interest to the lover of the sublime in literal ture, and that is the original* of ''Paradise Lost" in Milton's own * A correspondent of the " New Yoi-k Courier and Inquirer," in which journal this chapter was published in letter form, raised a doubt as to the existence of the MS. alluded to, and, after quoting from the third book of 80* 354 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; Landwi'iting. It is preserved with the greatest care, under a glass case. I was not aware that it was in the place until my <' Paradise Lost," some lines in wliich the poet makes mention of his blindness, closed his communication with this confident interrogation : — *' Now, gentlemen, do you think that your corresj)ondent saw the ' ori- ginal of " Paradise Lost" in Milton's own handwriting?' " To which the editors of the "Courier" replied as follows: — "In spite of the views presented by our correspondent, and of his tri- umphant query, we do think that ' Pedestrian' saw the original of ' Para- dise Lost' in Milton's own handwriting. ' Pedestrian's' assertion that he he did so would be very satisfactory to us upon the point, if not perfectly conclusive, even if it were not entirely consistent with the recorded facts in the case. ' A Subscriber' seems to take it for granted that, -because Milton was blind during the composition of a part of 'Paradise Lost,' he was so during the composition of the whole of it ; and also to be ignorant of the fact that Milton's great poem was written first in the form of a Dra- matic Mystery. Such, however, was the case. It was written twice thus by his own hand : and then, abandoning that plan, he was ten years in writing the Epic as we now have it. A perfect manuscript copy of this epic Milton showed to El wood the Quaker in 1665, taking it out of a bureau where it had probably lain completed for some time. Now, as INIilton was not blind until 1652, or perhaps 1654, it is very evident that the original of ' Paradise Lost' must have been composed when he had the full use of his eyes. "But as to the existence of the MS., the following from Mitford's 'Life of Milton,' Pickering's edition, is conclusive : — "'Milton describes himself as long choosing, and beginning late the subject of his poem ; and when that was selected, it was at first wrought into a dramatic form, like some of the ancient Mysteries. There were two plans of the tragedy, both of which are preserved among the manu- scripts at Trinity College, Cambridge.' "The noble apostrophe to light in which the allusion to the poet's blind- ness occurs was probably not included in the first plan of the poem ; at least, it does not follow of necessity that it was, and the allusion itself was certainly an after-thought. Some have found in the third book which this apostrophe opens, an internal evidence of Milton's blindness, aside from his direct assertion. They reason thus. Milton's early poems show, in their descriptions of nature, a strong feeling for color, which is comparatively wanting in the description of Paradise in this book : this was the result of the blindness of the writer, in whose memory the glow of nature had faded out. "VYc think not thus. Milton had merely passed OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 355 attention was directed to it by the librarian; and even the contem- plation of the penmanship of the illustrious poet was a gratifica- tion. The chirography is exceedingly good and quite distinct, although somewhat cramped, as if the author wrote with the side of the pen. The poem of " Lycidas/' one of Milton's most beauti- ful minor productions, occupies the page facing the title of '' Para- dise Lost,'' and a person accustomed to MS. can read every word of it with ease. Another great curiosity is Newton's telescope, said to have been manufactured under his immediate superintend- ence, and the instrument by aid of which he was enabled to observe the motions of the heavenly bodies. It is an ungainly object, and contrasts unfavorably with the splendid telescopes of our day. Nearly all the colleges are Gothic structures, quadrangular in form ; and some of them have several court-yards within their limits. St. John's is a grand old place, and lies on both sides of the famous Cam, the most imposing part, however, being on the opposite side of the stream from the majority of the buildings. from youth to age ; his sensuous notions were dulled, while his mental powers were in their full activity. Now, color embodies no thought, and gives but little aid in exciting sentiment : its ofi&ce is almost purely that of bestowing sensuous pleasure, Milton, like other artists, felt this, even if he did not assert it directly to himself; and hence the mere effects of color were comparatively slighted by him, in his picture of the earthly Paradise. Light and shade have not these sensuous (we say not sen- sual) offices. Their office, being connected with the idea of form and re- lation, is one of thought and sentiment ; and hence they are strongly used by Milton throughout his work, which is one of consummate and con- scious art. The strength with which he opposes them was a result of his blindness. His word-painting of material objects was from the model furnished by a memory of forever-lost glories of day; and these, by poignant regret, could not but have been enhanced to the mental chiaro scuro of Rembrandt. The same moral reason would have insured a more glowing picture of the colors of his Paradise, had he not learned by age and an entirely reflective life to rate low the mere sensuous pleasure be- stowed by color." I give the remarks entire, as they are valuable for the information they contain, and a proof positive of my declaration that I did ''see the ori- ginal of ' Paradise Lost' in Milton's own handwriting." 856 The front of this edifice is really noble, and may not unjustly be called the finest structure in Cambridge for purely college pur- poses. The two sections have communication by means of a deli- cate bridge across the Cam, which is romantically named the Bridge of Sighs, in consequence of its being a copy of the celebrated Venetian structure of that name. It was at St. John's that Henry Kirke White died while a student there, and he lies buried in the Church of All-Saints near by, where there is a beautiful tribute to his memory from the chisel of Chantrey, erected at the expense of an American gentleman from Boston. King's College Chapel is the most gorgeous sacred edifice in the city, and surpasses every religious structure that Oxford caij boast, in elaborate ornament and delicate finish. The interior is 300 feet long, but the width does not appear sufficient for the length. The roof is sustained and ornamented by fretted fan-tracery, sup- ported by clustered vaulting shafts, which spring from corbels in the walls, the whole being eighty feet high from the floor. The windows are of richly stained glass, representing scriptural subjects, and the ante-chapel walls are ornamented with arms in marble, formed of the crown and roses, having reference to the union of the Houses of York and Lancaster. The floor is inlaid with black and white marble, and the stalls are of carved oak. Between the ante-chapel and the main portion of the edifice stands a rich oak screen, but not so high as to obstruct the view from end to end of the building. It is said to be the gift of Anne Boleyn to the College, and contains the royal arms in several places, with the initials H. and A. in large characters. The view from the leads is picturesque in the extreme, and the eye takes in at a glance the quaint old city, and its numerous seats of learning. These stately edifices meet the beholder at every turn, and their Grothic pinnacles and massive towers stand like lofty sentinels watching over the court-yards below, and the suburban-like city. A visit to one or two of the larger colleges gives the observer an idea of all, and an examination of the exterior of the smaller ones, after viewing the interior of the larger, is sufficient for the stranger. There are schools, besides those mentioned, worthy of attention, and Christ's College is one of them, being the place in which 357 Milton received his education. The gardens are beautiful, and there is a mulberry-tree in the ground said to have been planted by the author of " Paradise Lost." It is preserved with care, and held in reverence ; and I was told that it was customary, when a bough falls off, to apportion it among the fellows, to be by them kept as a sacred memento of Milton. The trunk is so much decayed as to require to be banked up with earth to the first branches, and there is every appearance of its soon dying. The town of Cambridge is different, in general, from Oxford, and not so compact as that city. It is favored with finer walks and pleasure-grounds, but does not possess the solid, sombre, Gothic character so peculiar to Oxford. There are some modern edifices in it of fine dimensions and architectural beauty, the most finished of which is the Fitzwilliam Museum, a noble structure. It contains, among other objects of interest, a splendid collection of pictures, the works of the old masters, among which are seve- ral exquisite Claudes. A market-day occurred during ray sojourn in Cambridge, and I had an opportunity of observing the throngs that filled the market-place, but saw little in the general appearance of the people diff"erent from what is presented on similar occasions in other towns. The rustics were a stupid, clownish set, and far from intelligent. Some of those with whom I conversed told me that they were farm-hands, and complained of the want of em- ployment, stating that when they could get work they seldom earned over seven shillings per week, and that did not support their families. In the winter season, when they have but little or nothing to do, it is with difficulty that they manage to live. A shilling a day is the usual wages, and not one in five has constant employment at that miserable pittance during the cold weather. One man told me that he had not eaten a piece of meat for four months, and lived on oatmeal bread, cheese, and ale. He did not have a healthy look, nor could it be expected that he would under such a regimen. The wealthy student, or contented tradesman, pays but little attention to the starving rustic, and while enjoying the superfluities of life rarely dreams that his rural neighbors are 858 suffering for the common necessaries of existence, and, although called freemen, are in reality the slaves of want. Cambridge, of a market-day, presents a contrast of poverty and wealth not to be forgotten. The country, from the University city to Norwich, is, with but little exception, quite level and wet. The surface is intersected by broad drains, constructed to conduct the waters from the fens, and the villages are mostly comfortless in appearance. But few hedges are to be seen ; fences of wood being in more general use, and not many of them. The ditches serve the double purpose, in most places, of fence and drain. Large windmills abound, and the broad arms of their propelling sails remind the traveller of the heroic exploits of the famous knight of La Mancha. Each establishment presents a bold front to the breeze, and when the sails revolve, the beholder from the Western World cannot divest his mind of the idea that the tall tower is possessed with life. In passing through the country by rail, I had no opportu- nities of close observation, and was obliged to be content with such glances at the landscape as my situation afforded. We made a short stay at the cathedral town of Ely, and had a good view of its stately fane, one of the largest edifices of the kind in the country. It is on a commanding elevation, and is easily seen at the distance of ten miles. Like all cruciform structures, it stands east and west, with transepts to the north and south, but differs from others by having two towers in front, and a massive octagonal lantern over the cross. The town itself has no pretensions to beauty, and when I was there, was viewed under decided disadvantages. Be- tween it and Norwich the land is low, and the settlements or dwellings few. The country partakes of the characteristics pecu- liar to all low, sandy, pine-growing soils, and for miles houses are not to be seen. The system of farming in England differs from that of the United States, and it is only in certain sections that the traveller notices noble farm-houses and barns, such as abound in the old settled portions of our Republic. Occasionally, one sees a fine hall or baronial residence ; but such are the houses of the wealthy, and not of the fiirmers. Cottages peep out at in- OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 359 tervals on the route, but not those the poetess sings of when she breaks forth, in ecstatic strains — "■ The cottage homes of Euglaud, how beautiful they are !" For, as to beauty, they have none; and as to the accompaniments to that agreeable charm of a cottage, healthy situation and com- fort, they belong to few of the rustic homes I saw in the rural districts. The houses of the peasantry are wretched tiled or straw-thatched hovels, ill ventilated, badly warmed, indifferently lighted, and surrounded by imperfectly drained lands. But few of them appear to be the abodes of content; and if a person imagines that article is to be found in an English cottage, all he has to do is to look into one and satisfy himself. This route lay through the ancient town of Thetford, famous in the days of the Catholic supremacy for its numerous churches and monasteries. The remains of one of the priories form part of a barn at present; and of the seventeen or twenty churches once contained in the place, only three exist entire. The principal in- terest the town has for the tourist, at this day, is the fact of its having been the birth place of Tom Paine, the political and infidel writer. CHAPTER XXXIX. NORWICH — CHURCHES — PEOPLE — ITS TREADMILL — LOWESTOFT YARMOUTH FARM HANDS AND FARMERS FALSTAFF'S CASTLE — ACLE — FARMING AND PRODUCTS — VILLAGE PREACH- ERS — WHERRIES. Dull, rainy weather is by no means calculated to give a man a favorable impression of any place, and as Norwich is one of the dirtiest of the cities of the kingdom, and does not show well even in clear weather, it would not be just to describe it as I saw it full of mud and dirt. It is the ancient capital of Eastern En- 3G0 gland, and indifferently built in a valley and on the sides of a range of sand-hills near the Elver "Wensum. The streets are the narrowest it was ever my lot to perambulate, and the footwalks of some are not wide enough to allow two persons to walk abreast with comfort, and are paved with round pebbles similar to those used in the streets of American cities. There are but few modern edifices in it, and the older ones are in many instances dilapidated, and decidedly ugly. The castle, a large, square Norman structure, occupies a commanding position on a hill in the centre of the city, and the cathedral, a fine edifice, lies in the valley near the river, and with its tall, graceful spire forms a beautiful ornament to the place. Churches are abundant, there being no less than forty-two of the Establishment alone, besides nearly as great a number of chapels belonging to the various sects of Christians. When viewed from Castle Hill, the city is picturesque in the extreme, and its many church towers give it the appearance of an Eastern town filled with innumerable mosques. Some of the churches are large and well built; but the great majority of them are quite contracted, and constructed of boulder, or a mixture of flint and stone, which does not have a pleasing effect to the eye. A large cattle-market is held every Saturday, in a space devoted to the purpose on the Castle Hill, and the number of animals sold on such days is great. The farmers of Norfolk have the reputation of raising the best beef and mutton in the kingdom, and the spe- cimens they exhibit in Norwich are no discredit to them. The cattle are large and fat, and the sheep are the very perfection of that animal. The sales are usually effected with little noise or bustle, and droves pass from one owner to another so quietly that a stranger scarcely knows whether a sale has been made or not. Norwich is the largest city in England. This assertion may appear incredible to some readers who have London before their eyes. But it must be borne in mind that the city of London is but a contracted affair, and if a man were to stump his toe on one of its boundary lines, he would most likely fall into one of the adjoining districts. There are there a city proper, and a host of subdivisions or outer sections, while Norwich is under one jurisdiction and of considerable extent, having a population OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 861 of 70.000 nearly. Neither Mancliester nor Liverpool is a city; that name belongs exclusively to cathedral towns, and is only given to those places which sustain a bishop. The city of Norwich was walled in years gone by ) but its walls have been sujBfered to go to decay, and all that remains of them now are detached fragments, and one or two towers. The bridges over the Wensum are mean affairs, and although the inhabitants will call one of them the " Bridge of Sighs," there is nothing about it worthy of note, except that it is anything but a sizable bridge. If the contractors for street-cleaning were compelled to perform what they have agreed to do, the city would appear much better than it does; but it is believed that the person contracting is a good fellow^ and because he is such he is allowed by the authorities to pocket the people's money, and permit them to clean the streets themselves. I noticed fewer beggars in Norwich than elsewhere in England; but that does not argue the non-existence of suffering among the poor. The agricultural laborers of the country, adjacent to the city, receive a miserable pittance for their labor, and the conse- quence is that the Union workhouses are full of those people in the winter season, when employment is scarce. The difficulty of obtaining work had caused many men to abscond from their families, and there were bills posted up around Norwich by the authorities, offering rewards for the arrest of certain persons named and described, who had left their families chargeable to the parish. These posters and printed descriptions of absconding married men reminded me of handbills announcing runaway ne- groes, and the manner in which some of the persons were described was quite as full and particular as any account ever given of a fugitive from servitude. The hospitality of the citizens of Norwich is proverbial, and my residence there was one of enjoyment. Those with whom I associated were intelligent and liberal-minded; tolerably informed respecting the United States, and not blindly prejudiced against our institutions. They did not underrate our rapid progress, nor profess to regard us as savages. I am satisfied that the notions once prevalent in England, as to the manners and habits of our 31 362 people, are fast vanishing, and the stories of the Trollopes, Mar- tineaus, and Marrjatts are no longer believed by intelligent peo- ple. The well-informed look across the great deep to our shores with high hopes for the future, and an honest pride thrills the liberal Englishman's heart when he reflects that the great Kepub- lic of the West sprang from the seed of Albion's Isle. Norwich sent many delegates to the settlement at Plymouth Rock, and the county of Norfolk is well represented by her descendants in the States of New England. ^' Who reads an American book?'' was sneeringly asked by a British critic some years ago, and no one could answer ; but now all England wants to hear full particulars respecting the United States, and books about us and books pro- duced by us are to be met with in every well-stored library in the land, both public and private. Norwich Castle belongs to the county of Norfolk, and serves the purpose of a prison. The criminals are employed at the use- ful and intellectual labor of turning a tread-mill in punishment for their crimes, and they tread upon the revolving wheel with a cautious and slow step, as if perfectly conscious of having their tender shins barked provided they don't " push along, keep mov- ing." Oddly enough they look as they plod their way over the steps of the tireless wheel, and the rumbling axle is the only music to which they march. There they go, but never advance, and the regularity with which they raise their feet is amuse- ment to the beholder if not pleasure to themselves. Before them are the blank, wooden walls ; at their sides the partitions which separate them ; and beneath their feet the moving surface of the instrument of punishment. Each man is dressed in a suit of coarse striped clothing, and each is as completely isolated from his neighbor as if he were treading alone upon the axle of the North Pole. Not a word is spoken, not a murmur heard, nothing like the sound of the " human voice divine" breaks upon the ear ; and so they live within hearing of each other, those imprisoned men, yet pass their days like so many mutes. The vigilant keeper never relaxes his watch, and no opportunity is afforded for conversation. It is a fortunate thing that all are men, for such a punishment would be death to women. At certain hours of the OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 363 day, they are allowed a few minutes' recreation, and pace up and down the yards attached to the cells, but no talking is allowed ; that is a crime, and the imprisoned must submit to the discipline of the place, and be content to move among each other like things devoid of speech. I think the system cruel ; but not so the governors. They call it good, and say it produces rich fruits. No vicious acquaintances are formed ; but few leave the prison at the same time ; not one knows the other's name ; and they meet and separate, not knowing who or what the other is. The cells are clean and comfortable, well lighted, well ventilated, well kept. But there's the silence eternal — the solitude of the grave. A Bible and prayer-book comprise the library of each, and perhaps from these some derive a consolation which serves them instead of companions. The splendid language of Holy Writ may de- light, aside from its heavenly teachings; but who is to tell? No questions are asked, and no communications made, and if pleasure is the result of the reading, it is known and felt only by the caged human being who occupies the silent cell. Many of the inmates of Norwich Castle might, if they dared, exclaim, in the language of liobinson Crusoe, that they " Never hear tlie sweet music of speech, And start at the sound of their own!" As Norwich is a central station, from which excursions can easily be made to the most interesting places in Norfolk, I con- verted it into my head-quarters for a short time, and took trips from it to the adjacent country. The railway and stage commu- nication existing between the city and places of note in the vicinity is great, and a man can readily make journeys of forty or fifty miles and return in a day, and have suiBcient time allowed him for viewing the towns he visits. I went down to the coast, and passed some hours very pleasantly at Lowestoft, a small seaport in Suffolk. The town is perched upon a hill overlooking the German Ocean, and carries on a considerable trade with the mari- time nations of northern continental Europe, in addition to a large traffic with London and the ports of the island to the north. The summer season attracts thousands of pleasure-seekers to the 364 place, and there are few finer beaches in the world for sea-bathing and promenading than that of Lowestoft. The companion of my rambles was an English lady of most amiable character and refined manners, and withal handsome, vivacious, and intelligent. We strolled slowly along the sandy rim of the restless deep, and, like children, gathered the shells cast up by the ever-heaving sea. The surging breakers crashed in thunders on the shore, and re- coiled again into their yeasty caldron, leaving their white surf to sink into the sand. My cheerful companion heeded not the waves, but her bright eye sparkled like the watery pearls flung to the winds, and the breeze of the ocean developed the rose of England on her pretty cheek. The sea might roar, the- spray might foam and fly, the wind might dash the surf over us, we laughed at them all ; and as each succeeding wave washed away our foot-prints from the sand, we pressed another and another on the yielding beach, and joyously as- the waters that danced before us, drank from the sunny atmosphere and the light of each other's face the nectar of delight. Some of England's daughters are the perfection of women, and the beauty at my side was and is one of the most glorious of her sex. I was not mad, nor yet bewitched ; but just imagine to yourself, dear reader, the pleasures of a stroll along old ocean's rim with such a syren as walked the sands with me, and if you can resist an outburst of deep and holy feeling, then I don't envy you your nature. It is a joy for a lone stranger to meet with pleasant female company in a foreign land, and I was fortunate in my acquaintance there. That visit to Lowestoft will not soon be erased from my memory, and should I never again tread that beach I will often recall it to mind, and imagine myself on it with my amiable companion. We made the most of our time, and our walks extended to the esplanade, the pier, and the streets of the quiet town. From the clifl"s we had some fine prospects of the sea and the countless sails that dotted its glassy surface. A fleet of several hundred vessels was in sight of all sizes, from the wherry to barks and full-rigged ships, but mostly craft of two masts of the schooner build, nearly all of which trade coastwise or with the adjacent shores of Sweden, Denmark, and Holland. The point of land on which Lowestoft stands is one of OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 365 the most easterly of the island, and vessels going either north or south generally pass in sight of it. Five hundred sail are often seen at once, and the ocean then presents a gay appearance. Ships move slowly by, steamers roll the black smoke from their funnels and glide swiftly on, the light wherry cleaves the waves like a sea-bird, and the continual change of position among the vessels creates an exciting scene. The harbor of the town is not uninteresting, and there can be seen the dull sailing Dutchman, the black collier from Newcastle, and the sharp, rakish revenue cutter of her Majesty's customs service. Take it all in all, Lowes- toft is a pleasant place, and the visitor will not soon tire of it. The sharp sea breeze improves his appetite, and if he be so fortu- nate as to have an intelligent companion with him he will not regret his trip to the town. The country around it is marshy and low — crossed by drains, and traversed by streams ; and windmills innumerable are dotted over the level land. These concerns are used for pumping water from the ditches, and are*almost constantly in motion. The creak of their sails can be heard at every turn, and look in what direction you please, you see their broad arms slowly moving through the air. Grazing is the principal business of the farmer, and thousands of cattle are fed upon the lands, and sold to dealers from Norwich and London. The occupier has no tithes to pay, and therefore does not complain so bitterly about free-trade as the farmer who raises grain ; and, instead of losing money, generally amasses considerable of that very important and desirable article. The rustics get but a trifle for their labor, and it is a difficult thing for one to say how they live on seven shillings per week, that beinsj the usual wao;es of farm hands in these marshes. The farmer realizes wealth and lives comfortably, while the laborer starves through years, and at last dies in a "Union.'' Yarmouth, another seaport within twenty miles of Norwich, but ten or twelve miles to the north of Lowestoft, is a famous place, and is resorted to greatly in the warm season by sea-bathers and pleasure-seekers. It has a beach of several miles in length, and commands a splendid ocean view similar to that of Lowestoft. It has more trade than its sister port, and more extensive wharves, 31* 366 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; but does not appear to be greatly superior to it in other respects. The streets are wide and tolerably clean, but there are what are called "Rows" running from the principal thoroughfares, which are no more than ordinary alleys of four feet in width, and in these are the dwellings of the greater part of the poor population. Narrow, and badly paved, they do not much invite attention, and if one is seen the stranger is usually satisfied with all. There is a long pier or jetty extending out into the sea, and a low level plain of one or two miles in length and about one mile wide, called the "Yarmouth Denes," on which is a tall Doric column to the memory of Nelson, and several forts erected to resist the at- tacks of Paul Jones during his cruise off the coast in our revolu- tionary war. The inhabitants are chiefly employed in marine pursuits and herring fishing. Thousands of the finny tribe are annually caught and prepared for market, and the trade is one of the main supports of the place. Like most sea-coast tov/ns, it stands on a sandy plain, and for miles around the countr}^ is level and tiresome to view. Sand, sand, land is nearly everywhere, and marshes, divided by ditches and small running streams, sur- round the place. The sails of the wherries occasionally break the monotony of the flat landscape, but there is nothing to cause the stranger to desire a residence at Yarmouth. It is the fifth port in England in amount of tonnage, and like Lowestoft carries on a large trade with the Baltic and Sweden. The method of farming in England is very different from that practised in the United States, and necessarily so, from the dissi- milarity of the customs of the two countries. In that part of the ■world, the cultivator of the soil is seldom, if ever, the owner, while in our land it is just the reverse. There the farmer rents a large or small tract of land from one of the great proprietors, and hires his laborers at a small salary per day, he himself lording it over his rustic servants with as much pomp and circumstance as a West Indian over his slaves. The farm-houses are generally small, and seldom more than straw-thatched cottages. Sometimes, and most frequently, the cultivator or renter of land lives in a village and dresses in fashionable style, scarcely ever condescend- ing to put his hand to labor, and only exercising a directing power OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 367 over bis employees. The laborers regard bim with reverence, and look up to bim with fear, as one superior to tbemselves, and be generally considers sucb marks of respect and bora age as bis by rigbt. Probably no classes of Englisb society exhibit the differ- ence of caste so thoroughly as the rustic farm-laborer and the gentleman farmer. The one looks upon the toiler with contempt and indifference ; while the other regards the renter with dread and wonder. The workingman earns the wretched pittance of a shilling a day by toiling from daylight to dark, and lives in a miserable hovel on oatmeal cake, or some equally coarse food, seldom or never enjoying the luxury of a piece of meat. He rarely has more than one suit of clothing, and that of the roughest fabric; and oftentimes cannot obtain employment even at a shilling a day. Some of these men have large families to support, but by what species of necromancy they do it, it is hard to divine. Many of them obtain parish relief, and drag out a life of pauperism of the meanest character. They are not slaves, they are not marketable cattle; but they do, in certain sections of the country, stand in the market-place at a particular time in the year, and ask persons to give them employment. This is a custom in Norfolk; and in the large market-towns men and women range themselves in rows on market-days, in the markets, as the slaves are ranged in New Orleans, and ask the passers-by to hire them as servants. I was met by appointment at Yarmouth by a farmer living near the village of Acle, and went with bim in his own convey- ance to his house. The rain beat against us fiercely as we drove in an open vehicle over the dull, flat, marshy lands through which lay our route, and a distant view of the ruins of Caistor Castle, the stronghold and residence of the family of Shakspeare's im- mortal Sir John Falstaff, was the only object to interest me on the drive. Night closed in before we reached our destination ; when we did arrive, eyes were there that grew brighter with* our coming, and the homebrewed and roast beef of Old England supplied the cravings of the inner man, while the blazing fire and the cheerful faces of my entertainers made me feel at home. I was hospitably entertained for a week at Acle, and passed the 368 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; time in rural simplicity. Mine host was a cheerful, friendly man, a fair specimen of the superior English farmer, and devotedly wedded to the customs of his class. He cultivates about three hundred acres of marsh land, and employs but few hands; but such as he does, he pays well and treats kindly. His house is pleas- antly situated near a stream of considerable magnitude for the country, and as it is navigable, he has abundant facilities for get- ting his produce to market, and realizes fair profits. The rent is what would be called high in the United States, and a man can purchase good land here for the annual sum he pays as rental there for land of indifferent quality. His farm is considered cheap, but it is difficult to see wherein the cheapness consists, when it is known that he pays seven dollars and fifty cents per acre rent, besides taxes, poor-rates, etc. He can get better land in AVestern Virginia for two dollars an acre clear title, and be al- most as near a market as he is now, without the encumbrance of heavy taxes, although he may be obliged to live in compara- tive retirement. There is more care in the cultivation of the land in some sec- tions of England than in others ; but, as a general rule, I cannot say that the soil is better farmed than in many cases with us. They cultivate every inch, and, consequently, the farms have a highly improved appearance. The climate keeps the grass richly green the whole year through, and the American can scarcely imagine why it is so. But the sequel is the moisture of the atmosphere, and the mildness of the summers and winters. In every section of the country the traveller sees turnips in the ground in the cold weather, there not being sufficient frost to in- jure them. This vegetable is much cultivated, and is used as food for cattle. Grains are grown to a great extent, and grazing is followed by nearly every farmer. Orchards of fruit-trees are seldom seen in the eastern counties ; and, in fact, it may be said that there are few orchards in England excepting those of Devon- shire and Somerset. The village of Acle is small and pretty, being situated on an elevated piece of land which rises from the flat marshy district lying between Norwich and the sea-coast. It is irregularly built, OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 3G9 like all English bamlets, but that very irregularity gives it beauty. The church is a neat Gothic structure, with a square tower of con- siderable altitude, and contains a font quite singular in form and construction. I was agreeably surprised to hear a preacher so eloquent as the clergyman stationed there, and can give him credit for being the best speaker I heard in the Established Church. His calm, persuasive, argumentative tone, and unpresuming piety, won my admiration and esteem, and I listened to his sermon with satisfaction. His personal appearance was far from prepossessing ; but, although his face was not handsome, it was expressive of honesty and piety, and did not belie his character. It is a pleasure to meet such men in these latter days in the Church of England ; and as they preach Evangelical doctrine, and eschew the notions of Tractarians, they serve as props to the wavering fabric. This man lives in comparative obscurity among a rustic population, but he performs his part, and that as unos- tentatiously as Goldsmith's village clergyman. He resides in the old parsonage near the church, and renders unto the poor, in spirit and in store, such aid as he commands. It was pleasant to see the villagers gather round him after service, **To pluck the good man's gown and share his smile." They took delight in being recognized by him, and he appeared equally delighted to behold them, and exchange a few words with those who came near him. The church service was conducted in a solemnly devout manner, and I must say that I never heard it performed with so much effect before. The choristers sang with a heart, and did not strain after approbation ; the subordinate churchman read well, and the clergyman preached as a man in his holy calling should preach — with a belief in what he uttered, and a desire to do good to others. The country around Acle is very flat, and as the village stands on the highest ground in that section, views are aiforded of the surrounding district. Yarmouth, eleven miles distant, can be distinctly seen in clear weather, and the ocean, with its fleets of coasters, is visible to the naked eye. The marshes are intersected by drains and small rivers, and, in almost every section, windmills 370 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; fight their way through the thick atmosphere. Their broad arms slash about like the swords of warriors, and, toweriug up as they do from the level plain, they give the landscape, in connection with the wherries that traverse the rivers, a picturesque appearance. Acle is one of the best places in the county from which to view the marshy district, and the scenery adjacent, although not rugged and imposing, is attractive and unusual. The rivers winding through the lands are very small streams, but navigable for wherries. These are a species of craft peculiar to Norfolk, and hard to describe. They vary in size from fifteen to twenty-five tons, have one mast that can be raised or lowered at will, and are usually sailed by a man and his wife, who live on board, and change their locality as business or duty requires. They sail very fast, and leap along the crooked little rivers like war-steeds, dash- ing the waves from their bows in sheets of foam. The sails are usually black or of a dirty brown, the hull much the same color, and the crew in character with sails and hull. They are used for conveying farm and other produce to market, and are to the rivers of the eastern counties of Englaifd, so far as carrying freight goes, what the steamboats of the West are to the mighty waters there. CHAPTER XL. A VISIT TO BLICKLING HALL, THE BIRTHPLACE OP ANNE BOLEYN. The County of Norfolk abounds in places closely connected with many of the great historical events of England, and its baronial halls are rich in objects of interest to the stranger. There are several in the vicinity of Norwich, and others a few miles distant, among which is Blickling, the birthplace of Anne Boleyn. I had considerable curiosity to see the famous hall, and in company with two companions paid it a visit.- We left the city at an early hour, and drove through one of the most pic- OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 371 turesque sections of the countrjj passing on our route numerous villages and princely dwellings. The landscape did not present the rich aspect peculiar to the country in the spring, but never- theless it looked gay, and the balmy weather sufficed in a great measure for the absence of foliage from the trees. The village churches, with their ivy-covered towers and antique walls, always riveted my attention, and the quiet parsonages looked the very abodes of earthly happiness. Clambering vines were wreathed around the oriel windows, and snowdrops and primroses modestly peeped up from the green sward around, and lent a charm to those pleasant abodes. At a distance we could see the hamlets and their sharp church spires or square towers, and the skylarks sang their matin song in the clear sky above our heads. The weather was as soft and mild as early spring with us, and I could scarcely satisfy myself that it was February in England, the atmosphere was so different from what my preconceived notions of it at this season were. We made a short stay at the town of Aylsham, the largest on our route, and as the church is the greatest attraction of the place we bent our steps towards it. The grass was brightly green on the numerous hillocks in the burial-ground, and the old church gray with age. Its tall tower commands a view of the surrounding country, and can be seen for miles in almost every direction. The sacred pile is large, and has a number of tablets on its walls to the memory of the gentry of the neighborhood, and some tombs, in the aisles, of long-forgotten families. The principal windows are of stained glass, the designs being the armorial bearings of the titled residents of the parish and adjacent country. I noticed one tomb in the ground on which there was an epitaph in itself original and worth copying. The stone is over the grave of a lawyer, and the verse as follows : — " Not like Egyptian tyrants consecrate, Unmixed with others shall my dust remain, But mouldering, blending, melting into earth, Mine shall give form and color to the rose, And while its varied blossoms cheer mankind Its fragrant odors shall ascend to Heaven!" It seldom happens that the mortal remains of a U7nb of the 372 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; law nurture roses to delight mankind, and it is a gratification to be told that the body of one of the honorable profession is useful after death, and smells more of the attar gul than of fees and parchment. A further drive of three miles along a fine road brought us to Blickling Hall, and after having our horses cared for at the inn near by, and ourselves refreshed and rested before the bright fire in the parlor, we went over to the aristocratic mansion, and were welcomed in true English style by the persons in charge of the dwelling, for the family was absent. We ascended a broad flight of oaken steps, and were ushered into a hall of great extent, the floors of which were of solid oak, white as scrubbing could make them, and after many cordial grasps of the hand and con- gratulations upon our arrival, we were served from the cellar with tankards of foaming homebrewed ale, and from the larder with Cheshire cheese and a cold cut of roast beef. The enlivening beverage quickened our colloquial powers, and the cheerful faces of the ladylike housekeeper and laundress, to say nothing of the bright eyes of the waiting-maids, made us for the time feel indif- ferent to worldly cares; and as I enjoyed the ale and the society of the hall, I could not resist calling to mind the peerless Boleyn and her countless suitors, from the gallant knight down to Royal Harry. And then the Falstaff's once occupied Blickling ; and who knows but what that roaring wassailer. Sir John, of Shakspeare's masterly pen, might have revelled in the very room in which I now sat, surrounded by some of England's matchless girls, with ^' bright blue eyes and brown hair lightly curling ?" Away with conjecture ! When in Blickling, I was in a congenial spot, and for the first time realized my idea of an English hall and good old English cheer. There were the high ceilings, the oaken floors and wainscoting, the antique upright chairs, the ladylike domestics, the tapestried rooms, the pictured walls, the roaring fireplace, the gentlemanly butler, the well-stored vaults, the massive plate, the savory odors of viands, and the very air of baronial dignity and rural aristocratic comfort. The long galleries and numerous rooms, the spacious library, stored with thousands of volumes, the halls, the bedchambers, the drawing-rooms, the parlors, the OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 373 grounds, the parks, all were visited by us, and were enjoyed as far as seeing went. The pictures are nothing to boast of, and the only one worth naming is a portrait of Charles the First by Vandyke, and a good picture it is too, but its authenticity may be questioned. Every loyal English gentleman in the realm, that can afford it, has a portrait of the martyred monarch, by Van- dyke; and, at a moderate estimate, there must be a hundred of such pictures by the Flemish artist in England, if we believe all we are told. But I do not credit all that is said of pictures, and take for granted that these original Vandykes are mostly imita- tions of the great painter. It would have taken him a lifetime to paint one moiety of what is attributed to him, and then they could not be good. His style is easily copied, and his Charles the First has been imitated so well that but few can tell the ori- ginals from the copies. Go where you will, where there is a pic- ture-gallery, and lo ! '^ Charles the First, by Vandyke,'^ meets your startled vision, and you begin to marvel at the amazing industry of the artist who has left so many fac-similes of the beheaded king. He must have worked night and day to have completed one-half of those accredited to him; and, as he painted other pictures besides portraits of Charles, it is no more than fair to acquit him of having painted all the Charleses attributed to him at this day. But I must away from the pictures, and speak of something of more interest, if I can find a more inte- resting subject to speak about. The grand staircase is very im- posing, and although not so richly ornamented as that of North- umberland House in London, is much more effective. The stairs are broad, the platforms wide, and the banisters carved and gilt in gorgeous style, with posts rising at intervals, above the top rail, on which are fio'ures of men in armor in various attitudes of defence. The niches on either side of the stairs are occupied by statues — one of Anne Boleyn, the other of her daughter. Queen Elizabeth. The exterior of the hail is in keeping with the interior, and is aristocratic in every point of view. What was once a moat still surrounds the building, and the drawbridge remains as in olden time. The house is quadrangular, with towers at e£U}h angle^ 374 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY j and one immediately over the entrance-gate, and has two court- yards. It stands a few hundred yards from the high road, and is approached through grounds inclosed on either side by rows of small yew-trees, so trimmed and arranged as to form an avenue of fadeless green of great beauty. The parks are very extensive, containing full a thousand acres. There is a large lake on the estate, and groves of noble oaks, elms, and chestnuts, and nume- rous deer. The walks are many, some of them being overhung with the broad arms of massive trees, which afford shelter from the sun and rain, and have a truly Arcadian appearance. Here and there are flower-gardens, and even at the season of .which I write, midwinter, roses bloom in the open air in those homes of Flora. The primrose and snowdrop decked the mead, and the crocus modestly peeped up from the earth as if over-anxious for the breath of spring. If the grounds of Blickling arc always thus gay in winter, they must be a garden of Paradise in the time of flowers. The building occupies a beautiful site, and is imposing. There is a room near one of the towers in which, tradition says, the spirit of the father of the unfortunate queen, Anne Boleyn, was confined for over two hundred years. The story goes that he was impri- soned there for giving his consent to his daughter's union with the brutal Harry; and that he escaped from confinement only a few years ago, when the roof was raised for purposes of repair, at which time he took flight in a cloud of brimstone smoke, amid peals of thunder. The legend is popular among the rustics of the neigh- borhood, and is told by them with evident pleasure; not that they believe the story, but because there is a dash of romance in it that throws a charm over the hall, and makes it an object of greater in- terest to the curious than if no such tale were connected with its history. The tradition is cherished by the peasantry for the sake of their fathers; and as nearly every old mansion in the realm has some such harmless fable connected with it, it is meet that the stories be handed down from father to son, because of the plea- sure their repetition begets for the stranger and the lover of the marvellous. Superstition is at the foundation of such narratives, but the day is past when harm will result from their repetition; OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 375 and the wanderer wlio goes thousands of miles to gaze on old ba- ronial halls will prize thera as highly for the traditions connected with them as for any other charm they may possess. Why do more tourists visit Kirk Alloway than Kilmarnock? Simply be- cause romance is blended with one — fact with the other. Burns invested the ruin with a halo by his writings, and merely pub- lished his rhymes in Kilmarnock ! and hence the ruin is famous — the town disregarded. We had a pleasant dinner-party in the old dining-room, sipped a social cup of tea, drank the prosperity of the residents in a bumper of homebrewed, and at a seasonable hour took a farewell of Blickling and its cheerful inmates, and with a lasting impression of the hospitality of the place on our memories, returned to Norwich. CHAPTER XLI. THE RESTING-PLACE OF WILLIAM COV>'PER. The readers of English poetry, in every section of the world, entertain a profound admiration for the character of the amiable poet Cowper; and, although the grave has closed over him for some years, his name is fresh in the memory of thousands, and he holds converse, through the medium of books, with gentle minds in every portion of the world in which the English tongue is spoken. The tone of pure piety that pervades his works makes him popular with old and young ; and his hymns are sung in great and in humble assemblages in both hemispheres. But few pilgrims to England pay a visit to his last resting-place ; and many persons may look upon the one who seeks out his grave as an enthusiast, and overwise in his admiration of the bard. I know not whether I am peculiar in having a penchant for visiting the last resting-place of the distinguished or not ; but I never yet passed one without examination, and looking at the objects of in- terest around. East Dereham, the burial-place of Cowper, is but 376 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY] a few miles distant from Norwich, and being in the vicinity, I de- termined to extend my walk, and look upon the poet's grave. A slight crust of snow covered the earth, and the landscape wore a wintry aspect not in character with the weather recently so mild and balmy. I plodded my way along the highway between leaf- less hedges, and entered the town about midday, when the slug- gish denizens were just beginning to move about the streets. There was but little to merit my notice in the town itself, save the house in which the poet died ; and, after looking up one street and down another, wandering into the market-place and scrutinizing the in- habitants, I sought out the old church, and, on making inquiry, succeeded in securing the services of the clerk to show me through the sacred fane. The snow covered the countless graves in the churchyard, and hung on the leafless branches of the stately elms, whose boughs spread above the mouldering heaps, and afforded resting-places for the cawing rooks. The scene reminded me of the '^Winter Morning Walk;'^ and, as I was near the poet's tomb, and in the very town in which he composed his most cele- brated work, I felt a spirit of admiration not easily described. Before me stood the stately edifice, with its imposing and solid towers, while the bright rays of a clear sun fell softly on the car- pet of snow that hung, like a white shroud, over the graves of the humble dead. The landscape stretched away to the south, in wintry beauty, and the smoke from the distant cottages ascended, like incense, to Heaven. All was quiet, all was still ; and I would have stood, no doubt, for an hour contemplating the solemn yet pleasing prospect, had not the official mildly reminded me that his time was precious, and it was important that we should enter the sacred fane at once, if I desired to see the interior. I followed him into the chancel, where the softened rays of the sun streamed in mellowness through the richly-stained glass upon the sacred altar. There is nothing really gorgeous in the design of the win- dow, but the brilliant colors of the glass, tinged by the bright sun's rays, were sweet to behold ; and, although the church was cold, I enjoyed a feeling of comfort while gazing on the warm hues of the deep-stained glass. The poet is buried in the north chapel, and a small piece of brass is inserted in the stone covering the OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 377 grave. A heavy, cumbrouSj ungraceful marble monument to his memory is erected in the window immediately over the tomb ; and a more inappropriate design for the memorial of such a man could not be conceived of. It is pyramidal in form, surmounted by representations in marble of the Bible, and another volume labelled ''The Task;" but they are so wretchedly executed, that one would scarcely suppose them intended to represent books. What was evidently designed for a branch of laurel is wreathed around the top of the monument, but it is no credit to the sculp- tor. The inscription is simple, and reads thus : — IN MEMORY OF WILLIAM COWPER, Esquire. Born in Hertfordshire, 1732, Buried in this church, 1800. Some lines follow; and on a tablet, at the side of the epitaph, is a memorial to Mrs. Unwin, the friend and companion of the poet. She is buried in one of the aisles of the nave, and a slab of mar- ble, with the simple record, MARY UNWIN, 1796, is all that marks her grave. The guide was a talkative old man, and took evident pleasure in pointing out what of interest there is in the church. He had a distinct recollection of Cowper; but, as many such officials are blest with a personal knowledge of the distinguished dead intrusted to their keeping, I did not encourage the communicative clerk in his attempts to give me his impressions of the pious bard. I was content with what I saw, and not disposed to record the well-arranged story told me by my guide. He knew too much, and as he was not over fifty years of age, there was no reason for supposing him to be par- ticularly fond of the truth. What he said of Cowper may be true; but I cannot vouch for it, and therefore shall not record the story. The exterior of the East Dereham Church is imposing, and as the building is located on a gently sloping hill, and surrounded by 32* 378 THE FOOTPATH and highway] a large burial-ground, the views of it are numerous and good. There is a tower at a short distance from the main edifice, built in the reign of Henry the Eighth, to sustain the chime of bells, the one on the main edifice not being considered sufficiently strong. It has an odd appearance in its isolated position, and conveys to one's mind the idea that it is the sole ruin of a fallen church. But such is not the case ; its origin is as above stated, and it is used to this day for the purpose for which it was built. Dereham is a small place with but few streets, and they are mostly long and narrow, the houses not being more than two stories high as a general thing. It was once a busy, bustling town, in the glorious days of stage-coaches ; but its star of pros- perity has declined, and now there is but little business transacted, except on market-days, when the farmers and dealers from the adjoining country pour into it from railway carriages, instead of their own conveyances or the lamented coaches of old. There was nothing attractive beyond the poet's grave described, and I soon left the old town behind, and returned to the famous city of Norwich, ruminating on my way on my visit to Cowper's tomb. CHAPTER XLII. ENGLISH RAILWAYS. The railways of England are among the greatest attractions of the Island, and so numerous as to create some doubts as to the necessity for so many. There is scarcely a town, or considerable village, but has its station or depot, and the roads cross each other in every direction. New tracks are constantly in course of con- struction, and from present appearances there is every reason to believe that railways will be almost as general as turnpike roads before ten more years pass by. Every line is laid with double tracks, the gauges used being two : one four feet eight and a half inches, which is called the narrow — the other seven feet, or there- OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 379 about, and known as the wide gauge. The last named is not much in use, and I observed it in only two or three instances — on the Great Western road and its branches. The narrower scale is almost universal, and it is not an unusual thing to see the carriages of the southern railway companies on the Scottish lines. They are readily shifted from one road to another, and as a mutual under- standing exists between certain companies, by which each is allowed to travel the other's rails with their own cars, this fact is at once explained. In some cases, great rivalry exists, and it does occasionally happen that no favors are granted by opposition cor- porate bodies; but such things arc rare. During the summer of 1851, when cheap excursion trains were all the rage, the Great Northern and Midland Counties companies were running in oppo- sition to each other, and the cars of the first named traversed the line of the other from Doncaster to York, a distance of some thirty miles, and each issued tickets from the same station in the latter city. The Great Northern paid the Midland Counties com- pany for the use of their road, and then carried passengers to London and back in competition with them for five shillings, a distance of more than two hundred miles. The same principle was carried out on other routes at that time, but the system was discontinued at the close of the Exhibition. The Great Northern is a new company, and the line runs through Peterborough, Lin- coln, and other cities of the eastern and central parts of the island, terminating at York. The rails were not down during the sum- mer to that city — not being laid further than Doncaster ; and it was in the power of the Midland Counties line to cut the Great Northern out of the York trade entirely, but they pursued the contrary course, and admitted their rival to a share of the traffic. The whole system of management difiers from that in use in the United States. The cars are of three distinct grades — first, second, and third. The first are cushioned and divided into apart- ments for six persons ; and are, in all respects, even more comfort- able and convenient than the cars in use in the States. One-half of the passengers are under the necessity of riding backwards, but that mode of travel is considered the better one by the English, because it does not expose the traveller to the draughts of air which 880 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; rush through the carriage when the windows are open and the train is in motion. The second-class are plain, and without cushions, and in some instances very much contracted. They are usually divided into apartments for ten persons, five on a seat or bench; and in some instances the partitions by which they are separated are not higher than a man's shoulders when seated. The Scottish roads are pro- vided with much better carriages of this class than those of Eng- land, the most of them having cushioned seats. The third-class are worse, of course, than either of the two preceding, some of them being open to the weather, and without seats. Those that are covered are generally indifferent, but, as it is presumed by the companies that a man who travels in the third- class carriages is used to roughness, they never have a glass in the door to allow him to see out, and keep him in darkness as far as possible. You can, if you choose, let the slide down that is placed in the door, and then you can enjoy the breeze, and snuff the smoke and dust from the engine. There is a train called the Government or Parliamentary, which consists of good, comfortable, covered carriages, equally as convenient as the second-class, in which passengers are conveyed for a penny per mile; but the companies manage to arrange the time of departure of such from the principal stations at unseasonable hours, and thus throw obstacles in the way of those who desire to travel by them. They are, however, compelled to run one train of this character each way every day, for the accommodation of the people, and it is a bitter thing for them to comply with the law. Before the act was passed, the third-class carriages were usually mere pigstyes, without covering, and men were exposed to all kinds of weather when tra- velling in them, and obliged to stand up at that. Now it is differ- ent, and I would as readily travel in a Parliamentary, if I were not in a hurry, as in a second-class carriage. Thousands of tradesmen and genteel people go by these conveyances, and it seldom hap- pens that a stranger falls into very bad company in them. The fares are generally high, and the charge in a third-class or Parliamentary train is quite as much as that demanded for a first- class passage over most of the roads in the Northern States. OR, WANDERINGS Or AN AMERICAN. 381 The sums paid for seats in first and second-rate carriages are from one- third more to twice as much as is asked for the best rail- way conveyance with us. None of these cars have fire in them at any time, and in winter John Bull freezes as he travels. The usual rate of travel per hour is not greater than the ave- rage on our best roads, and it rarely occurs that a train exceeds thirty miles in the time mentioned. T speak now of the ordinary passenger trains — those that are composed of two classes of car- riages — first and second. The express trains may reach forty miles to the hour, but seldom go beyond. The speed on Eoglish railroads is greatly exaggerated in the United States, and the stories we hear of sixty miles an hour are fabrications. That rate is rarely, if ever, attained; and if it ever is run, it is only on special occasions when something of great importance requires such rapid travel. At least, such is my belief. The system of ticketing or booking passengers is excellent, and might be adopted in the United States with advantage. Every passenger must obtain his ticket before taking his seat, under a penalty of fine or imprisonment, and a printed card is given him on which is a number, the date of issue, and the train in which he is to travel. The plan is carried out all over the country, and if a stranger, unacquainted with the regulations, takes his seat with- out first obtaining a ticket, he is shown the rules and where to pay his fare. It seldom happens that fines are imposed, unless in cases where fraud is attempted on the company and clearly proved. Sometimes persons are called upon to show their tickets before the journey is ended, but not often. The roads are all inclosed, and no one can get out of the inclosure without being seen. There are attendants at every station ', in fact, the road-side stations are neat, comfortable houses, occupied by the station-master and his subordinates. Some of these buildings are grand, and fitted up beautifully. The passengers' waiting-rooms are separated ac- cording to the class, and the same distinctions are observable in them as are noticed in the cars. The stations in the large cities are immense in size, all covered in, and all convenient. There is but little doubt that the heavy cost of the English railways is mainly owing to the immoderate expenditure upon 382 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; stations — in embellishments and fine fronts. No road is brought into a town or village, as with us, down a main or by- street. They are all either walled in or raised on arches, which are built at immense expense, and no person can get on to the track in either town or country without being immediately put oiF. The turnpikes and roads do not cross the railways as with us. They either pass over the track on strong bridges, or the rail is bridged across them. In only two instances did I notice the turn- pike and the railroad on a level with a carriage-way across the rail as in the United States, and those were at Harrowgate, Yorkshire, and a village called Colwich, in Staffordshire. In both cases there were strong gates on either side of the rail, and no vehicle could pass through, unless by the consent of a guard, one of which was constantly in attendance. The name of the town or village is painted in large letters on the station, and the master of the depot opens the carriage-doors when the train stops, and tells the passengers where they are. The people are often locked in to prevent accident, for some are impatient to get out as soon as they arrive at their destination, and if the doors were not secured, many would suffer injury from alighting too soon. Both doors are not usually locked, however; only the one next to the landing. The rails are admirably laid, and easy to travel. There is no jolting, no uneasy motion, no suffocating dust. The fact that grass is cultivated on the sides of deep cuts and slopes is one reason why clouds of the choking substance do not arise from the agita- tions of the air by the flying trains ; and coke is used as fuel, which is another reason for the small amount of dust about the carriages when in motion. The cars are constructed on the same principle as those in use in the early history of railroads, and the conductors do not pass from car to car to collect tickets as with us. "When the trains are near their destination, if it be a large town, they are stopped a mile or more from the station for the collection of the tickets, and it really seems as if it never yet entered the head of an English- man to contrive or adopt a means by which this stoppage could be avoided. The simple method formerly in use in the United OR; WANDERINGS OP AN AMERICAN. 383 States, when carriages, such as those on the English roads, were common here, of passing from car to car on a footboard outside, while the trains are in motion, and collecting the tickets, does not appear to have occurred to John Bull; or, if it has, it has never been acted upon; nor has he thought proper to change the shape of the carriages so as to allow of a passage through from one to the other as with us. Some one of my countrymen who has visited England says that there is no noise made by the railway-engines when starting or stopping, but my observations lead to a contrary conclusion. I never was in a train that w^as not started at the ringing of a bell or shrill cry of a steam-whistle, and it often occurs that the eno;ineers make one's ears tinde with the noises of those instru- ments. The locomotives are mostly small, and differ materially in their construction from those made on our side of the Atlantic, being more concentrated. The driving-shaft is under the boiler, and not at the side as with us. The most of them are manufactured at Manchester, Newcastle-upon-Tyne, or in Scotland, and all of them are finished in admirable style. The chimney or smoke funnel is not so high as those on the American engines, and the wheels appear to be much larger in proportion to the size. Great precaution is taken to prevent accidents. Men usually go round the train at the principal stopping-places on a long route, and try the wheels by sounding them with a hammer, and at the same time oil the journals on each axle. This care is con- sidered necessary on account of the constant use made of the cars, and it is a prudent one. The trains are all run on the left track from the place of starting, that being the rule throughout the country. The left is the right of the road, and everywhere observed. The tunnels in some sections of the country are very long, particularly in the mountainous districts of Yorkshire, and all of them are walled with brick or hewn stone throughout. I have passed through two in that county of great length, one being three, the other two miles long. From this fact the reader can form an idea of the heavy cost of English railways. I believe 384 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; tliej average ^llO^OOO per mile! And then large viaducts are erected over valleys and rivers wbicli would be considered wonder- ful in our land. Nothing is done meanly, but everything grand ! Perfection is aimed at in every case, and beauty is always as much sought after as utility. The ground on the sides of the tracks is often cultivated with care, and at nearly every village station one sees in season a bed of gay and delicious flowers. If the carriages for passengers were as elegant as the roads, there would be no fault of consequence to remedy; but such is not the case, nor soon likely to be. There are four great trunk lines in England, the names of which are as follows : London and North-western, Great Northern, Great Western, and Midland Counties, although the latter may not be considered so by some persons. The first two are import- ant lines, and traverse the island from the metropolis north to Scotland, the former on the western side, the latter on the eastern. The South-western and the Eastern Counties roads are next in importance, and with their branches do a large traffic. One begins at London and terminates at Yarmouth in Norfolk ; the other diverges from the metropolis and reaches to Southampton, and branches thence to various towns and cities in the South- western counties. There are innumerable minor roads not in- cluded in the branches of the above, the most important of which is the Chester and Holyhead line, over which the principal travel between England and Ireland passes, and on which route is the Britannia Tubular Bridge. There are but two roads in Wales, one at the extreme north, just named; the other at the south. The interior of the principality is so mountainous, and the people so little given to travel, that railroads, thus far, have met with but little favor with them. There is a wonderful amount of business on the principal lines, both in passengers and freight, and on some of the great roads diverging from London, as many as fifteen trains for the convey- ance of passengers only, leave daily. The luggage vans (the name given to all freight cars) are constantly on the move, and day and night they can be heard rolling on over the iron rails. In fact, an English railway is an index to the trade of the country. 385 and one of the large stations in a city of importance is a minia- ture of the island. Passengers, bales, boxes, and produce, each have their allotted department, and each are moved and removed by system and by rule. If the carriages for the conveyance of second or third-class passengers were as convenient and comfortable as the rules for the government of the roads are good and admira- ble, then there would be more to admire in the system than there is now, and but little of which to complain. We have the advantage of the English in our luggage system^ and they might adopt our plan of checking baggage with profit. They never " check" your trunks, but generally pile them on top of the cars, and cover them with canvas to keep the rain out, and if you don't have an eye on them yourself, they are likely to be carried off by some watchful thief. It is worth while to observe that the phrases " up train,^' and ^' down train," are used throughout the Island of Great Britain, and have reference to London. From some cause, never explained to me. Englishmen always speak of London as " up," no matter in what direction it lies from where they reside; and consequently those designated as " up trains" are understood to be going to the metropolis, while it is as clearly understood that the ^' down trains" are those which go from London. 886 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; CHAPTER XLIII. BRIGHTON, ITS APPEARANCE — THE PAVILION — ESPLANADE — A NIGHT WITH A "BLUE COAT BOY/^ I PURPOSELY pass over a month of inactive life, and if my reader •will follow me away from London, I will conduct him in imagi- nation to Brighton. Here we are in the train, a bevy of chatting girls is at our side, the railway officials are sounding the alarm of departure, and now we go, over the house-tops of Bermondsey, the smoke from the chimneys below puffing in our faces, and the shrill cry of the steam-whistle ringing in our ears, away from the thick atmosphere of the metropolis to the broad fields of Kent and Sussex, and thence to the side of the ever-sounding and heaving sea. Two hours' travel brings us to the city of fashion, and we are soon quietly released from the carriages and station ; we hunt up a hotel, perform our ablutions, and sally forth to observe. There is an air of grandeur about the place absolutely bewitching, and the clear sky above you, and clean streets around, completely captivate. The thoroughfares are not straight, nor are they level, nor yet narrow. Steep, crooked, wide — describe them ! But the houses ? ! they are noble. Bow after row they rise — in ter- races, crescents, places. Nearly all are beautiful, lofty, imposing, and aristocratic. The city is not like others in England ; it is new and grand. The parks are numerous; the drives really magnificent; but Til not anticipate. First let us go into the pavilion — George the Fourth's Folly. It is a gorgeous palace, and rich in Turkish ornament. Mosque-like outside, the interior, decorated with gold and brilliant colors, hung with dazzling lamps, and crystal chandeliers, conveys to the beholder's mind the idea that he is in some splendid eastern palace, to ornament which ingenuity has been taxed to its full, and the stock of oriental fan- OR, WANDERINGS OP AN AMERICAN. 887 cies and arts completely exhausted. Dragons of green, with fiery eyes and forked tongues, embellish the walls of one department ; Alhambrian scenery those of another ; and all the colors of the palette the third. It is the very abode of voluptuous ease, and one cannot divest his mind, when in it, of Cyprians and sensual- ism. The taint of immorality is blended with its elegance, and the various halls are looked upon only as places once reeking with royal dissipation. The present Queen of England never ad- mired the Pavilion, and by her advice it was wisely sold to the city of Brighton; and now serves the purposes of an exhibition- hall. I said before that the houses of the great bathing-place are beautiful, and, it may be added, they are like palaces. Nearly all are built with bow fronts ; the windows are spacious ; the rooms lofty; the style of building imposing. But the drive along the cliffs is the principal attraction for the stranger, and there, of a clear day, crowds come and go, as rich and gay as those which throng Hyde Park. The road follows along the sea, overlooking it a great distance, and extends full three miles in an unbroken line, to the north of which is a continu- ous row of splendid mansions. Travellers say that it is the finest drive in Europe, and when the fashionable hour throngs it with equestrians, it does not take a large fancy to make it so. The ocean rolls at the south, and as you dash along the edge of the clifi', in an easy-going carriage, your eye involuntarily wanders out upon the blue waves, watching them in their wild play as the breeze curls them up into capes of foam. France is beyond, but the eye cannot reach it, and you content yourself with the fact that she is there ; and to be nearer her shores, you go down on to the Chain Pier, a long artificial promenade, erected on a number of abutments, and extending out into the deep brine. As you pass along its stalls, on which are exposed for sale variegated sea- shells, splendidly polished stones of brilliant colors, and inge- niously constructed articles for the work-box or toilet arrest the eye, and you stop to purchase a memento of the place. The pier is of no great utility, and is to Brighton what the Thames Tunnel is to London, a monument of engineering skill, and an evidence 388 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; of what man can do, rather than a work from which the public derive any benefit. The inhabitants of the city (for so it may be calledj although in England that designation belongs only to the town claiming a bishop) are agreeable and hospitable; at least I found them so, and, after a day's examination of the most interesting places in the town, I passed an evening in the com- pany of a gentleman belonging to it who received his edu- cation at the famous London Blue Coat School. He was a cheer- ful companion, an intelligent man, and an admirer of America. The bright sea-coal fire in mine inn parlor added to the comfort of the room, and as the hours stole on we enjoyed the occasion, and grew glorious over poetry, speech, and drama. The Brightonian was proud of his Alma Mater, and delighted in being a graduate of that institution within whose waills Coleridge, Charles Lamb, and Leigh Hunt drank from the stream of learning. He warmed when it was mentioned, eulogized its advantages, and drank its prosperity in a stoup of Burgundy, while I did the same in a cup of Souchong, when we parted for the night. Morning found me in London ; he in bed, probably, for I never heard of him more^ and know no more either of him or of Bri2;hton. OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 389 CHAPTER XLIV. FAREWELL TO ENGLAND. My wanderings, as detailed in this volume, are now ended ; but while on the eve of bidding adieu to " Fatherland," I feel obliged to acknowledge my indebtedness to James McHenry, Esq., of Liverpool, for his friendship to me. His gentlemanly deport- ment, kindness of heart, and amiability of character endear him to all who know him, and he is an honor to his native land, as well as a representative in Europe of the American merchant, of whom his brethren on this side of the Atlantic may be proud. The deck of a liner leaving Liverpool for the United States presents a scene of bustle and confusion of a remarkable cha- racter. The throng of emigrants, huddled in a particular place ; the song of the sailors; the authoritative orders of the officers; and the running to and fro of the men in the performance of their duty, commingled with other sounds not readily described, make tip a scene calculated to confound the clearest head. As the ves- sel slowly moves from her dock, surrounded by a fleet of similar craft that wedge her so closely on all sides as to cause you to wonder how she is to be extricated, the confusion increases; and by the time she clears the gates and gains the river, it has reached its height. The close of the day is usually chosen for departure, and as the ship moves down stream the voyager literally bids the town good-night. We drew out at such time, but in consequence of a death on board, that of the child of one of the emigrants, the ship was obliged to anchor until morning, so as to send the body ashore. Day dawned in mist; and when I went on deck, soon after sunrise, the sailors were lowering the corpse into a boat, which lay along-side, to convey it away. The captain and some men entered the yawl, and in a few minutes were lost to sight in 390 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ; the fog as tbej pulled shoreward. Death, on the very threshold of the voyage, was not regarded as a favorable omen. The piping of the winds through the cordage, and the dash of waters, chafed and angry, united with the roll of the vessel, soon convince a man that he is on the deep. We passed Great Ormes Head, and the shores of Anglesea, and then bade adieu to Old England. Farewell, I murmured, as the hazy outline of the Welsh highlands slowly blended with the waves and sky — fare- well, land of chivalry and song ! I love thee, proud Albion, and in my heart dwells a hope to behold thee once again. I came to thee a wanderer, and found among thy sons and daughters friends, whose hearts were warm, and whose souls were true. In the shadow of thy ruins, in the solitude of thy moors, in the aisles of thy cathedrals, I drank in the spirit of poesy ; and my heart beat high with indescribable emotions. I felt as a pilgrim at a sacred shrine, when I stood beside the graves of thy wonderful and thy great ; and the recollection of the scenes enacted within thy bor- ders — scenes stamped upon the pages of history, and pictured in the poet's song — made my heart thrill when I could realize the truth that I was treading on thy soil. Thy faults and virtues are many ; inequality and oppression dwell with thee ; but, though thy artisan is cast down, and thy peasant debased, still thy soil is freedorrCs soil; and from thy shores goes forth the only voice of liberty heard in Europe. Pro- gress is busy with thy people ; the one-man power is declining; and the toiling many are braving the titled few. That spirit which actuated the men who left thee exiles, to defy the tempest and battle with the dangers of an inhospitable clime and forest lands, rather than suffer the tyrant's chains, is burning within thy sons ; and although centuries are on thy brow, thy manhood is not yet. A hale and vigorous ^outJi is thine. Decay has left no marks upon thee ; and although thine enemies wish thy overthrow, and point with complacency to what they are pleased to call thy decline, the close observer, who visits thy shores from other lands, sees nothing in thee indicative of a speedy fall. If the casting aside of follies and semi-barbarism — the spurning of the divinity of kingS; and the adoration of nobles — and the expulsion of the OR, WANDERINGS OP AN AMERICAN. 391 rule of ignorance — be evidences of decay, then thou art decaying. But no ; these speak loudly for thy future. Brute force is giving way to reason ; intellect is superseding rank and patents of no- bility; mind is becoming supreme, and justice asserting her right. Revolution, silent and peaceful — the revolution of reason, not passion — is progressing on thy soil, and among thy people ; and though the advancement is slow, it is sure ; and even now its fruits are visible. A few years hence, and thy masses will assert their rights, and sweep away that aristocracy which has ever been thy curse. Then thy manhood will dawn, and England and freedom will be synony- mous terms over all the earth. The waves are around me now ; and farewell to England ! The ship feels the breeze, and bows cheerfully to its pressure. The white sails are full; the sailors are singing aloft, and the emi- grants fretting below. THE END. "oo"^ Cf' ^ •=3 1^ ■«' , V. vO o. c,^-^^ -0 '^oo^ .x\^" .• ' » -f v ■■ ^-? ,0- t '.>, ■1 '. "-f