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OLD ENGLAND: 
 
 i/ 
 
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 ITS SCENERY, ART, AND PEOPLE. 
 
 BY 
 
 
 JAMES M. HOPPLN, 
 
 PKOFESSOK IN YALE COLLEGE. 
 
 
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 y :« 
 
 ,<V 
 
 CX NEW YORK: 
 PUBLISHED BY HURD AND HOUGHTON, 
 
 459 Broome Street. 
 1867. 
 
 
s 
 
 s 
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1867, by 
 
 James M. Hoppin, 
 
 in the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the District of Connecticut. 
 
 
 Ul 
 
 RIVERSIDE, CAMBRIDGE: 
 
 STEREOTYPED AND PRINTED BY 
 
 H. 0. HOUGHTON AND COMPANY. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 The motive which has chiefly led to the publica- 
 tion of the following recollections of English travel, 
 has been the hope of exerting some little influence 
 upon our countrymen who go abroad, to induce 
 them to spend more time in England than they 
 are commonly inclined to do, and to see that 
 country more thoroughly, instead of making it a 
 stepping-stone to the Continent. 
 
 There have been heretofore, it is true, good 
 reasons for this disinclination of Americans to 
 remain very long in England ; but these rea- 
 sons do not now exist, or at least to the extent 
 that they once did. And it hardly need be said, 
 that there is no country which contains so much 
 of absorbing interest to a thoughtful American 
 as Old England; finding there as he does the 
 head-springs of the life and power of his own 
 nation, and in almost every object that his eye 
 rests upon, seeing that which (a short two cen- 
 turies ago) formed part of his own history. He 
 
IV PREFACE. 
 
 finds there the complement of the life of the New 
 World. It is especially good for his intensely 
 active American nature to come in contact with 
 the slower and graver spirit of England, and it 
 thereby gains calmness and sobered strength. 
 
 I do not profess in these pages to present much 
 that is new or comprehensive in relation to so well- 
 known a country as England ; but I have striven 
 to draw a faithful though rapid picture of the 
 English portion of the island, going from Tweed- 
 mouth to Land's End, touching upon nearly every 
 county, and making the entire circuit of the land. 
 The English Cathedrals have particularly attracted 
 me, and I have loved to linger in their majestic 
 shadows ; and for the sake of younger readers, 
 some account has been given of the history and 
 progress of Architecture in England. 
 
 I have everywhere spoken with the freedom 
 which an American is accustomed to exercise upon 
 all subjects, and yet in no spirit of bitterness or 
 hostility, but, on the contrary, in a spirit of rever- 
 ence and love for the great land of our fathers. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 » 
 
 CHAPTER PAGB 
 
 I. Liverpool to London 1 
 
 II. London 25 
 
 III. London Art and the London Pulpit ... 42 
 
 IV. Environs of London 70 
 
 V. Homes of Arnold and Cowper .... 84 
 
 VI. Weston Underwood to Cheltenham . . 99 
 
 VII. Cheltenham, Bristol, and Gloucester . . 115 
 
 VIII. Worcester to Dudley ... . . . 130 
 
 IX. Lichfield to Matlock 152 
 
 X. Matlock to Manchester . . . . . 171 
 
 XI. The Lake Country 189 
 
 XII. The Lake Country (continued) . . . 205 
 
 XIII. TWEEDMOUTH TO HAWORTH 219 
 
 XIV. Home of the Pilgrims . 241 
 
 XV. Lincoln to Ely ........ 252 
 
 XVI. The Universities 265 
 
 XVII. London to Folkestone 305 
 
 XVIII. Tunbridge Wells to Isle of Wight . , 325 
 
 XIX. Southampton to Salisbury . . . . . 344 
 
 XX. South Devon and Torquay ..... 361 
 
 XXI. Cornwall and Penzance ..... 382 
 
 XXII. Land's End 407 
 
 XXIII. North Devon and Wells ..... 424 
 
 XXIV. Glastonbury and the Wye .... 441 
 
OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 LIVERPOOL TO LONDON. 
 
 Solid, unromantic Liverpool, whose greatness is 
 entirely of modern growth, though its charter dates 
 back to the twelfth century, will not detain us ; for 
 it is too much like Boston, or one of our own large 
 commercial cities. 
 
 Red-walled Chester, also, which is invariably the 
 next step of an American traveler who longs to see 
 something of Old England, — something different 
 from what he sees at home, — has been so often de- 
 scribed, that I will begin my story at once in the 
 railway carriage flying out of Chester westward to 
 Bangor ; for I intend to take my reader to London 
 around by the way of North Wales, which is by far 
 the most interesting route, and which, if not taken 
 at first, is not apt to be passed over upon one's 
 return. 
 
 Emerson calls an English railway carriage, " a 
 cushioned cannon-ball." There is a wonderfully 
 smooth rapidity upon an English railway ; and yet 
 with all this speed, one has a great sense of personal 
 
2 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 security. Were the American system of checking 
 luggage adopted, there would be an improvement. 
 It depends upon word-of-mouth communication 
 whether one's trunks go with one and stop with 
 one ; and thus by mere good luck they are shifted 
 and passed along. Sometimes a label is pasted, but 
 at most places one is told that labels are not used ; 
 for the idea seems to be that the owner himself 
 should mark, or at least look out for, his own lug- 
 gage. This may be done for considerable distances, 
 but it is impracticable for tourists making frequent 
 stops in the course of a day. It is the best plan for 
 a traveler in England, to take with him a simple 
 portmanteau that he can carry in his hand. The 
 first-class carriage is truly luxurious, light and 
 splendid with plate-glass sides, and furnished with 
 capacious springy seats, and with every accommo- 
 dation for the bestowing of bundles, hats, and um- 
 brellas. The second-class carriage forms a lament- 
 able contrast to this ; it is as hard, bare, and un- 
 comely a box as oak boards can make it ; its seats 
 are uncushioned, and frequently dirtied by the bas- 
 kets and boots of railway workmen, market-men, 
 and " tramps." There seems to be little or no dis- 
 tinction between the second and third class car- 
 riages excepting in this, that the second-class car- 
 riages are resorted to by the most respectable peo- 
 ple, on account of the expensiveness of the first. 
 But let me say a word of commendation of the 
 English railway porters : they are true friends of 
 the traveler, being easily distinguishable in a 
 
LIVERPOOL TO LONDON. 3 
 
 crowd from their dress of black velveteen, and are 
 always at the right spot to afford assistance, to re- 
 lieve one of his parcels, to point out the booking 
 office, to put the luggage in the right carriage, in 
 fact to do all that can be done, — and to expect no 
 fee for it. I was always tempted to break the strict 
 letter of the law, and to reward these men for such 
 efficient service. 
 
 On leaving Chester the railway runs along the 
 artificial canal made for the channel of the Dee. 
 The river widens toward its mouth into a shallow 
 bay, forming an enormous bed of shifting sand, 
 covered grandly with the water at full tide, but 
 shrinking into dribbling rills and petty ditches at 
 ebb. As one speeds along he catches distant views 
 of the Welsh Mountains on the left, and on the 
 right lies the broad river Dee, and soon the sea it- 
 self. The green valleys run up into the highlands, 
 and now and then a castellated mansion, or ruined 
 tower, or genuine old castle is seen, hanging on the 
 slope of the hills. The road from about this point 
 to Bangor is a triumph of engineering skill. 
 Sometimes the track is crowded between the 
 mountains and the sea so narrowly, that in stormy 
 weather the cars are dashed by the waves. The 
 tunnels and the tubular and suspension bridges at 
 Conway are stupendous w r orks. With the solid 
 piers of the bridges, and the massive old castle 
 above, Conway is a city of the Anakim. After 
 crossing the bridge here one comes into Caernar- 
 vonshire, which of all the Welsh counties con- 
 
4 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 tains the most rugged and characteristic Welsh 
 scenery. Soon the track runs around the project- 
 ing rocks of Penmaen-bach and Penmaen-maur, 
 precipitous crags jutting out like great foreheads 
 into the sea, and which were the former terror of 
 travelers. Dr. Johnson records the peril he felt in 
 climbing the dizzy road which once crept around 
 their sea-face. Now these formidable crags are 
 tunnelled, the first cut being six hundred and thirty 
 yards long, through flint rock. 
 
 Bangor (derived from " ban gor " or the " great 
 circle," a generic British word for a " religious con- 
 gregation " or " fraternity ") is situated along a 
 narrow ravine, with a mountain at its back, and 
 Beaumaris Bay in front. It is the seat of a bish- 
 opric, and is one of the oldest centres of a still more 
 primitive faith ; for here doubtless existed a pure 
 Christianity before the time of Augustine, the re- 
 puted apostle of England. A profound spirituality 
 still characterizes the religion of these Welsh peo- 
 ple. They are held, even by Englishmen, to be 
 the best kind of dissenters, because they are firmly 
 attached to their own ancient and simple forms, 
 rather than jealously antagonistic to the forms of 
 the Established Church. That the Spirit of God 
 can reach them through their more rigid modes of 
 thought and worship, the many powerful reforma- 
 tions of religion which have visited them, and espe- 
 cially that of 1860, which spread over and lighted 
 up these old mountains, may testify. 
 
 Travelers must be allowed to talk and even 
 
LIVERPOOL TO LONDON. 5 
 
 grumble about hotels ; for these are often the only 
 " interiors " they see, and they sometimes form the 
 only means strangers have of judging of the style 
 of living, and of a hundred little things in the com- 
 mon life of a people. One is made exceedingly 
 comfortable at a first-class English hotel, but there 
 is a stiffness about it which is not apt to be found 
 in the best American or Continental hotels. Sel- 
 dom is there a public table ; and if the party com- 
 prise ladies, one is forced, even if staying for a 
 single day, to take a private parlor. But I am 
 quite converted to the English private parlor. 
 After a long day's journey in heat and dust, strug- 
 gling on with an eager and vexed human current, 
 to be ushered into one's own room, quiet as a room 
 at home, furnished often with books and every lux- 
 ury and comfort, this goes some way toward recom- 
 pensing the traveler for the exclusiveness of the 
 thing. He is, it is true, entirely isolated. If his 
 dearest friend were dying in the next room, he 
 would not find it out, for seldom is there a registry- 
 book kept in an English hotel. And one rarely 
 risks a question to the dignified and taciturn waiter, 
 with gravity and white cravat enough to be the 
 Dean of Westminster. 
 
 The best English hotels have one feature that it 
 were surely well for us to imitate. They are not 
 altogether confined to interior magnificence and 
 showy upholstery, but have generally a pleasant 
 breathing-space of ornamental grounds and garden 
 about them. In the dry heart of busy cities, there 
 
6 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 will be a few flower-beds, a bit of green grass, and 
 walks enough at least to turn around in. At the 
 " Penryhn Arms " in Bangor, the garden is truly 
 beautiful. It is laid out in star and crescent shaped 
 beds, fringed with bright flowers, and the grass is 
 soft and springy with moss. It slopes off toward 
 the water, commanding a fine view of the harbor, 
 the entrance of the Menai Strait, the Bay of Beau- 
 maris, and the opposite mountainous shore of the 
 island. When I first saw it, the harbor of Bangor 
 had a very odd appearance. The tide was out, and 
 a vast mud-bank swept smoothly and steeply down 
 to the deeper abyss beyond. The vessels looked as 
 though they were climbing up this immense bill- 
 side of mud. Some stood erect ; some were heeled 
 over ; some were stern-foremost to the sea ; and 
 some were hitched painfully up sideways upon the 
 bank. The flags nevertheless were all gallantly 
 flying. 
 
 I shall not attempt to describe the remarkable 
 bridges over the Menai Strait ; but cannot pass by 
 the view of the Strait itself, and its surroundings, 
 as seen from the roof of the Britannia Tubular 
 Bridge. It is an epitome of almost all that is great 
 in Nature and the works of man. 
 
 On the Caernarvon side of the Strait are seen the 
 craggy mountains of Wales, that looked blue and 
 soft in the misty distance, while the hazy morning 
 sun filled the spaces between their summits with 
 that undefined and vapory light which the artist 
 loves. Yet their rugged outline, culminating in 
 
LIVERPOOL TO LONDON. 7 
 
 the sharp-pointed cone of Snowdon, could be per- 
 fectly seen to the southeast. To the south, on the 
 island itself, was the ancient Druidic grove, in the 
 midst of whose shadows stood the white walls of 
 the Plas Newydd, the seat of the Marquis of An- 
 glesea. More than a hundred feet immediately be- 
 low,, raved and whirled the broad Strait itself; not 
 a river, nor a sea, but something of both. In some 
 places it is two miles in breadth, its sides precipi- 
 tous and its banks thickly wooded. The sea, as if 
 chafed by its narrow walls, looks petulant and an- 
 gry, though here and there it is entirely smooth in 
 back-setting pools. Vessels sailing through the 
 Strait are at the mercy of the currents and tide ; 
 now they crowd sail for one bank, and now they 
 drift like a loo* to the other. In a storm the scene 
 must be magnificent, such an ocean race-way as it 
 is. How the great green billows would leap and 
 chase each other through the long gorge ! There 
 is a fisherman's small white house standing on a 
 low rock almost in the middle of the Strait, which, 
 with its irregular shape, its lines of fishing-stakes 
 set around it, and its bold insulated position, is a 
 picturesque object. The water boils and swirls 
 around it, and rushes by it with tremendous ra- 
 pidity. Indeed, this whole channel reminded me 
 of the formidable gorge of Niagara River just below 
 the Falls, filled with its vexed, foam-streaked, and 
 green-colored flood. 
 
 At the completion of the central tower of the 
 " Britannia Tubular Bridge," which is two hun- 
 
8 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 dred and thirty feet high, and holds the whole 
 structure in its strong hand, Mr. Stephenson said : 
 " Let them not, any more than himself, and all 
 who have been connected with this great work, 
 forget that whatever may have been, or whatever 
 may be the ability, science, intelligence, and zeal 
 brought to bear on the creature's works, it is to the 
 Creator we should offer praise and thanksgiving ; 
 for without his blessing on our works, how can we 
 expect them to prosper? He fully believed that 
 Providence had been pleased to smile on the under- 
 taking, and he hoped that they all with him would 
 endeavor to obtain those smiles." It is pleasant to 
 see such a simple faith in a mind devoted to so ma- 
 terial a science as mechanics. Who can say that 
 the deep secrets of Nature which such a mind 
 grasped, were not also the fruit of this faith, just as 
 truly as if he had thought and labored in purely 
 spiritual things. Truly they build strong who thus 
 build. 
 
 It is but a short distance of some nine miles by 
 rail from Bangor to Caernarvon on the Menai 
 Strait, where are the ruins of the majestic castle of 
 the ancient kings of England, who finally suc- 
 ceeded in dominating over Wales, partly by force 
 and partly by politic concession. Height gives the 
 singular majesty which is so marked in the remains 
 of Caernarvon Castle ; and some of its loftiest 
 towers are still perfect to the topmost stone. 
 There are thirteen of these towers, most of them 
 being surmounted by tall slim turrets. From the 
 
LIVERPOOL TO LONDON. 9 
 
 water side the aspect of the " Eagle Tower," from 
 which the broad flag of England floats, is imposing. 
 The principal entrance of the castle has a sober 
 grandeur that all the changes of time cannot de- 
 stroy. A featureless statue of King Edward I. 
 stands above the gateway arch. An area of three 
 acres is said to be inclosed by the walls. It is a 
 good place to study the plan and details of an early 
 mediaeval castle built on the largest scale of regal 
 magnificence. The soldiers' quarters, prisons, sta- 
 bles, granaries, kitchen, servants' rooms, chapel, 
 royal chambers, banquet hall, jousting yard, can 
 still be perfectly made out. There seems to have 
 been a proud and complete separation kept up be- 
 tween the military and civil departments. But 
 lord and servant are now one. Jackdaws have 
 poked their sticks in the windows of queens' cham- 
 bers ; and it would not be possible for the lightest 
 maiden's foot to traverse the battlements upon 
 which kings have walked and mused. Stairways 
 hang broken midway ; the sides of great towers 
 have rushed down, taking the heart out of them ; 
 the stone eagles on the turrets of the Eagle Tower 
 are reduced to black, shapeless, wingless blocks ; 
 and well has it been called " that worm-eaten keep 
 of ragged stone." The first Prince of Wales was 
 born in this castle, but the room shown as his birth- 
 place is not probably authentic. 
 
 The first part of the ride from Caernarvon to 
 Llanberis, a distance of ten miles, is a slow ascent, 
 and has no peculiar interest; and yet one has an 
 
10 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 opportunity to see the miniature white stone farm- 
 houses, with their black funereal-looking wooden 
 porticoes, and the small black Welsh cattle dotting 
 the hill-sides. The farms appear to be principally 
 grazing farms, and they become more and more 
 rocky and unpromising as one approaches the hills, 
 the stones growing as thick as in a New Hampshire 
 sheep-pasture. After some five miles, the moun- 
 tains of the Snowdon range are seen over the lower 
 hills in advance, rising by one bound in a bold wall 
 from the plain ; and through a narrow rock-portal, 
 like that at Cluses on the way from Geneva to 
 Chamouni, one enters the mountains. " Snow- 
 don " is a later Saxon name ; the more ancient 
 British name of this range is said to signify " Eagle- 
 ridge " or " Eagle-crag-ridge." The craggy and 
 wild characteristics of a mountain pass are now be- 
 fore and around ; and one soon begins to skirt the 
 shores of the small twin lakes of Llanberis- These 
 are insignificant in size, it is true, — rather ponds 
 than lakes, — but the upper and inner one of some 
 ten miles in length, is a singular sheet of water, 
 lying smooth and glassy in the shadow of gloomy 
 and verdureless mountains. The sharp-edged and 
 splintered character of the slaty mountains of Wales 
 adds to their sombreness, — being almost literally 
 black, — and when wet glistening and gleaming 
 fiercely in the sun, and their immense shelving 
 precipices of sheer rock well atone for their want 
 of great height ; for a thousand feet of bare Alpine 
 precipice always looks grander than three thousand 
 
LIVERPOOL TO LONDON. 11 
 
 feet of wooded and gentle descent. The view from 
 the top of Snowdon is said to be one of the noblest 
 in England, commanding as from a central throne 
 all of rocky Wales, the sea, the island of Anglesea, 
 and the highest points of England, Scotland, and 
 Ireland. And another interest attaches itself to 
 this broken range of Welsh mountains ; they are 
 held by the best modern geologists to form the old- 
 est portion of the island of England. They rose 
 first of all from the waters ; and around them, as a 
 solitary nucleus in the ocean of the earliest period 
 of creation, the rest of the land was gradually 
 formed. We tread here on the primitive land of 
 Britain. We are at the head source of her an- 
 tiquity, before a living thing had appeared. 
 
 On the further shore of the lake of Llyn Peris is 
 a vast slate quarry scooped out of the mountain 
 side, and lying open to view, resembling a gigantic 
 Roman amphitheatre with its regular rows of seats. 
 A small locomotive puffs and smokes along at the 
 foot of the Alt Du Mountain, to carry slates to 
 Caernarvon, whence they are shipped to all parts 
 of the kingdom, and to America. Slate constitutes 
 the wood of this region. It shingles the roof, clap- 
 boards the wall, makes the door, floors the room, 
 and builds the fence. Tall boards of it, knitted to- 
 gether with wire, form a very strong, enduring, 
 and neat style of fence ; so that a farmer could con- 
 veniently make all his " calculations " while swing- 
 ing on his gate, — as the farmer boys are said to 
 do in Yankee land. 
 
12 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 After passing through the village of Llanberis, 
 the real mountain Pass in its true wildness and toil- 
 someness begins ; it is a rough scene ; for the bed 
 of the Pass is strewn with vast fragments of rock 
 torn from the crags above ; and in and out and 
 among these the road wearily turns and winds ; the 
 walls of naked cliff rise boldlv on either hand : and 
 the only relief to this savage desolation is now and 
 then a little clump of fox-gloves, that push up their 
 slender stems, hung with spikes of faintly crimson 
 nodding bells, from the crevices of the grim rocks. 
 
 From the summit of the Pass, a descending road 
 of five miles, affording more free and open views 
 of the irregular mountains of the Snowdon range, 
 brings us to Capel Curig, which is the centre of 
 the best scenery in Wales ; for Southern Wales 
 is by no means so grand in its mountain scenery, 
 although it contains much that is boldly picturesque ; 
 and there is no place also which commands such 
 fine points of view within such short distances. 
 Capel Curig is a spot where one would be satisfied 
 to stay day after, day, until the snow and storms 
 of winter made it dreary. The inn is a comfortable 
 and neat one, built almost entirely of slate, within 
 and without. Maps, books, a quiet parlor, a clean 
 table, and a tasteful garden, — these are charms for 
 any man ; and then, by a few steps out of the house, 
 or by a climb up the steep hill at its back to a little 
 grassy alp or mountain pasture, one comes to perfect 
 solitude, with a noble view of the whole pyramidal 
 mass of Snowdon in the distance, and a tranquil 
 
LIVERPOOL TO LONDON. 13 
 
 valley with a gleam of peaceful waters at your feet. 
 The wild flowers upon this hill-side appeared to 
 me to be wonderfully lovely ; but with the exception 
 of the fox-glove, they were generally very small, 
 such as hare-bells, daisies, crow's-foot, and heather 
 blossoms ; and the very grass seemed to be filled 
 with the most minute moss-smothered flowers, too 
 delicate even for fragrance. Wales is a favorite 
 botanizing region, and its ferns, heathers, and all 
 kinds of mountain plants, are of exquisite beauty 
 and numberless variety. 
 
 The road on toward Corwen, passes through a 
 region gradually growing less rocky, and milder, 
 and more fertile in its character ; the lofty sides of 
 the vale of Llugwy are covered to the summit 
 with larches, — beautiful trees when found standing 
 together in a wood, — making pointed lines of the 
 greatest regularity and softest hue. A step from 
 the road through the larch-forest brings one to the 
 "verge of the " cataract of the Swallow ; " something 
 more than a pretty waterfall, for without being on 
 a very large scale, it is really beautiful. The light 
 penetrating through such a dense mass of foliage, 
 and struggling in upon the water, is itself of a. rich 
 emerald green. A little beyond is Bettwys-y-Coed, 
 the shady and romantic summer retreat of landscape 
 painters, reminding one of our own picturesque 
 Conway in sight of the White Hills. The church 
 at Corwen, just back of the inn, is of fabulous 
 antiquity; and its gray churchyard is patriarchal 
 in appearance, like that of Ramlah, or the old 
 
14 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 Hebrew burial-ground in Prague. It has a monu- 
 ment of Owen Glendower. Was not his name 
 derived from the river Dee ? 
 
 It was market-day at Corwen, and the costumes 
 were primitive, particularly the high hat of the 
 peasant women, which, when crowning strong and 
 masculine features gives the impression of a man 
 being under it, especially if the whole figure is not 
 at first seen. One may still meet in Wales the 
 conical " cappan " or cap, which is said to come 
 down from the most ancient British days. 
 
 From Corwen to Llangollen, we come again 
 upon the romantic river Dee, here in its impetu- 
 ous youth. It was the sacred stream, the " Diuw," 
 the Divine, of the ancient Welsh ; and few rivers 
 of the same length link together more opposite or 
 striking scenes, — the quiet Bala lake and the 
 ocean, splendid modern Eaton Hall and venerable 
 old Chester, the rocky Welsh mountains and the 
 broad tranquil Cheshire meadows. We now reach 
 the region of cultivated fields, of flowering hedges, 
 and the white briar wild rose ; the Berwyn hills 
 rise steeply from the valley ; and indeed the scen- 
 ery now becomes a succession of changing and 
 lovely valleys — Llangollen the loveliest of all. 
 This vale spreads out into wide and majestic pro- 
 portions, its barriers of high green hills receding 
 and rolling away gently toward the east, forming 
 the very heart of all that is rich and lovely in 
 Welsh scenery. 
 
 Coming out of Wales, the first natural stopping 
 
LIVERPOOL TO LONDON. 15 
 
 place is "good old Shrewsbury." Shrewsbury, in 
 the county of Shropshire, or Salop, is the ideal of 
 a hearty English town, comfortable and quaint ; it 
 is still fit to live in, which cannot be said of some 
 old towns, such, for instance, as Chester, which is 
 too antique for modern breadth and convenience ; 
 but it appeared to me as if the good citizens of 
 Shrewsbury, with their Welsh mutton, shady trees, 
 quiet walks and rippling Severn River, lived as 
 handsomely and happily as any people in England. 
 Abundance flowed down their streets ; fat ducks 
 and poultry lay in piles in the market-place ; Chesh- 
 ire cheese and butter barricaded the side-walks ; 
 rosy farm-maidens, such as Edwin Landseer paints 
 and " George Eliot " describes, stood bare-armed 
 and bare-headed in the sun. How different these 
 buxom English peasant girls, from the gaunt and 
 care-worn market women that one sees in a Ger- 
 man town ! In January, 1860, the statue of Lord 
 Clive was erected in the Shrewsbury market-place, 
 although Clive was born at Market-Drayton, not 
 far distant, where his youthful exploit of climbing 
 the church-steeple and sitting on the spout, is still 
 fresh in the traditions of the people. 
 
 The Severn River forms a bend around the city 
 of Shrewsbury, and at this bend outside the walls 
 there are meadows which have been left open as a 
 public park ; and here, skirting the river, is " St. 
 Chad's Walk," the most stately avenue of lime- 
 trees in England. These trees were said to have 
 been planted by one man in one day, nearly a 
 
16 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 century and a half ago, — another James Hillhouse 
 in good taste and public spirit. Battlefield Church, 
 on the spot where Falstaff fought his hour by 
 Shrewsbury clock, is about four miles distant; I 
 did not visit it, but am told that it stands desolate 
 and neglected, the roof having tumbled in, and the 
 nave being open to rain and weather. . But one 
 tower of the ancient wall of Shrewsbury yet remains, 
 though the elevated site of the town and its long 
 line of old-fashioned buildings and steeples, still 
 show picturesquely from the river. 1 
 
 At Wolverhampton, on the London and Holy- 
 head road, where one passes into Staffordshire, the 
 scenery suddenly changes its character ; it is as if 
 an invisible line were drawn between Paradise and 
 Purgatory. Instead of the sweet clear sky, one 
 rushes into an atmosphere like an oven's mouth ; 
 and in the place of green and daisy-dropt fields, the 
 ground becomes herbless and black, gloomy enough 
 for Dora's pencil. Blast furnaces are vomiting 
 smoke and flame ; the streams run darkness ; the 
 sun glares raylessly and luridly through the simmer- 
 ing gaseous air; men and women look begrimed, 
 
 1 1 never could see the Severn, whether here in its modest youth, or 
 near its mouth in its Amazonian greatness, without thinking of that 
 old quatrain : — 
 
 " The Avon to the Severn runs, 
 The Severn to the sea : 
 And Wiekliff's dust shall spread abroad 
 Wide as the waters be." 
 
 In 1425, WicklifPs body was exhumed by the order of the Bishop of 
 Lincoln, burned, and the ashes thrown into the Swift, a little stream 
 which emptied into the Avon. 
 
LIVERPOOL TO LONDON. 17 
 
 and smutchy-faced children play hide-and-seek 
 through old burst engine-boilers; and the whole 
 country around is strewn with heaps of shag, scoria, 
 and the refuse matter of the blast furnaces. This 
 represents a narrow streak of country across which 
 the road passes, running from the neighborhood of 
 Newport down to Worcester ; and there is also a 
 much broader coal region that lies between Lich- 
 field and Kidderminster. But in this " Black 
 Country," notwithstanding its Tartarean aspect, 
 the power of Old England couches herself like a 
 dragon breathing flame and smoke, — the dragon 
 that St. George of England (George Stephenson) 
 has manfully subdued and hitched to the car of 
 progress. 
 
 The railway into Birmingham, in Warwick 
 County, runs above the tops of an immense assem- 
 blage of low, dingy brick houses with red-tiled 
 roofs ; block after block, street after street, undis- 
 tinguished by any architectural superiority the one 
 over the other, are passed over ; the fragments of 
 machinery strew the work-yards ; long factories 
 are glided by ; sign-boards that seem to stretch the 
 length of a train are spelled out word by word ; 
 and at length one comes to a stand-still in the heart 
 of the workshop of England, where John Bull has 
 his sleeves rolled up, and a square paper-cap on 
 his head. 
 
 All things have an opportunity to prove them- 
 selves in Birmingham ; and from the last invention 
 in machinery to Dr. Newman's Catholic Convent, 
 
18 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 there is free and kindly soil for the theorist. Here 
 John Angell James, like another aged " John," 
 made this work-a-day world of Birmingham sacred 
 with his apostolic presence. He was of that type 
 of practical Christian men who force respect from 
 all classes. His power lay in his moral energy ; but 
 above all, there shone in his life that spirit of Chris- 
 tian love, that takes the world into its embrace. 
 I spoke of Dr. Newman. I had noticed a small 
 portrait of him in a shop window, which I mistook 
 for the likeness of Ralph Waldo Emerson ; and 
 this awakened my curiosity to see his religious 
 establishment ; so taking a seat in an Edgbaston 
 omnibus, I was soon at Dr. Newman's conventual 
 house, — an unsightly brick building not far out of 
 the city, with a shabby little chapel attached to it, 
 ■ — any thing but the imposing ecclesiastical struct- 
 ure one would have expected from a man of taste 
 and a scholar. Inside of the chapel door was 
 pasted this notice : " Plenary Indulgence to all the 
 faithful who after confession and communion shall 
 visit the chapel and pray for the intention of the 
 Pope." There was certainly nothing to attract the 
 faithful into this door ; — the whole affair was com- 
 mon, flimsy, dirty, and cheap, with some faded pre- 
 tensions to paint and splendor, and with a crude 
 image of the Virgin that would have hardly satis- 
 fied a third-rate Italian village church. If this be 
 the chief instrumentality to convert England to the 
 Catholic faith, it will probably fail ; but in saying 
 this, I would say nothing against the amiable per- 
 
LIVERPOOL TO LONDON. 19 
 
 sonal character of Dr. Newman, and that spell of 
 genius and power, with which he is said to attract 
 all who come within the sphere of his personal in- 
 fluence. 
 
 I noticed in Birmingham, what I also noticed 
 more especially in Liverpool and Manchester, and 
 in some other cities whose greatness is of modern 
 growth, that notwithstanding this fact, the city 
 looks perfectly finished. Every thing is as com- 
 plete and solid as if this life were to last forever. 
 There is nothing more to be done. There is no 
 gap to be filled, no pulling down and building up, 
 as with us. We may be sure that the English 
 would not be apt to pull down an old house like 
 " the Hancock House," to make way for a modern 
 building, though something of this sort has been 
 done of late in London by the pressure of neces- 
 sity. An old sign-board, half undecipherable, 
 would be very likely to be left hanging for the sake 
 of its past respectability. Whatever has stood the 
 trial of time, has acquired in England preemption 
 from change. Whatever is established, is con- 
 cluded to be right, beautiful, and good. 
 
 In the midst of the earnest life of this hard-work- 
 ing city, at the exciting hour of high noon, when 
 the busy human tide was greatest in the streets, I 
 saw our lively little friend " Punch," in vigorous 
 discussion with his worthy helpmate. An Eng- 
 lish institution this ! The contracted brow was 
 relaxed ; the quick step was arrested ; and the 
 English love of fun and fighting broke out. High 
 
20 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 and low gathered around the small booth ; men 
 with bars of iron upon their shoulders, carmen sit- 
 ting sideways on their elephantine horses, clerks 
 with their papers in their hands, all for the mo- 
 ment forgot work, and even bank hours, and as 
 they gazed roars of hearty laughter followed the 
 fierce piping denunciations, and the determined 
 thwacks of Mr. Punch. 
 
 Although, going out from Leamington Spa as a 
 centre, I visited Warwick, Kenilworth, and other 
 well-known places, I cannot bring myself to speak 
 of but one or two more of these places on the road 
 to London. 
 
 I have no intention to rhapsodize at the tomb of 
 Shakspeare. When I visited it, there happened to 
 be a great gathering of people in the church upon 
 the occasion of instituting " The Bard of Avon 
 Lodge of Free Masons ; " and it appeared to me to 
 be a strange enough ceremony to occur in such a 
 place as this. The Masonic Brotherhood, distin- 
 guished by their dress and decorations, filled the 
 body of the church. A young clergyman preached 
 from the fifth chapter of Ezra, about rebuilding the 
 old temple of true worship and of Christian broth- 
 erhood in these godless and degenerate days. 
 Though not one of the initiated, I joined in singing 
 a hymn beginning thus : — 
 
 " Great Architect of earth and heaven, 
 By time nor space confined, 
 Enlarge our love to comprehend 
 Our Brethren, all mankind." 
 
LIVERPOOL TO LONDON. 21 
 
 One would think that better poetry than this 
 might have been produced and sung in Shak- 
 speare's church, and yet, after all, its expansive 
 sentiment harmonized with the spirit of the place. 
 An opportunity was given to contribute to the 
 erection of a new painted window to the edifice, 
 which will be something pleasant to think of here- 
 after. 
 
 While the religious services were progressing, a 
 loud and unearthly shriek rang through the church. 
 Such a singular interruption came from one of the 
 side-aisles, where a poor tired woman had been 
 suddenly seized with a fit. This event created 
 considerable confusion, and it was indeed, for the 
 moment, quite as startling as any of the poet's own 
 weird scenes. 
 
 In the heavy shadow of one of the ancient pil- 
 lars, I noticed a very old man wearing a red vest, 
 leaning on his crutch, with trembling head, bleared 
 eyes, and long, tangled, white locks, seeming to be 
 hardly conscious of what was taking place around 
 him ; and here, I thought, truly was Shakspeare's 
 Old Age. And, I could also see, just about me 
 there in the motley crowd composed as they were 
 of the poet's own towns-people, the burly magis- 
 trate, the bearded soldier, the young man, or it 
 may be lover, the school-boy, and the nursing babe. 
 It was altogether like reading a leaf of the poet in 
 the same daily and natural light in which it was 
 written. 
 
 How strange that after centuries of acquiescence 
 
22 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 in the authorship of Shakspeare's plays, a Yankee 
 woman should be the first to challenge his claims. 
 And now another fearless American has taken up 
 the bold assertion. It is almost like attacking the 
 authorship of a gospel. Though the arguments are 
 ingenious the confidence of ages is not easily 
 shaken. Homer is believed to have written the 
 Iliad by the settled conviction of the world, founded 
 on internal evidence as well as the testimony of 
 history, although German criticism has exhausted 
 its strength to overthrow the claim of the unity of 
 its authorship. Above all, to add the fame of 
 Shakspeare to that of Lord Bacon, were to " pile 
 Ossa on Pelion." The world would groan under 
 the weight. The testimony and friendship of Ben 
 Jonson outweighs the envious assaults of a fellow- 
 play-writer on him whom he smartly calls " the 
 only Shake-scene in a countrey." That strange 
 and incomprehensible impersonality which has al- 
 ways been noticed in Shakspeare's writings, be- 
 longs to the greatness and universality of his mind, 
 not surely to the mere desire to conceal the author- 
 ship of the most wonderful works of human genius. 
 If Shakspeare could have written one of his plays, 
 he could have written them all ; and his very great- 
 ness seems to lift him serenely above doubt, or crit- 
 icism, or discussion. But this is not the time or 
 place to argue this matter. In what promises to 
 be an exciting passage of arms, I am not now pre- 
 pared to "shake a spear." Doubtless there will be 
 a host of spears raised to sustain the falling heavens 
 of Shakspeare's bright, immortal fame. 
 
LIVERPOOL TO LONDON. 23 
 
 The next day after, I looked from the window 
 of Elizabeth's room in the " Swan Tower " of Ken- 
 il worth, over the region of what was once a part of 
 the forest of Arden, the same region that gave the 
 name to Shakspeare's mother, and where he laid 
 the scene of that rich June poem, " As You Like 
 It," — perhaps a poetic tribute to his mother, Mary 
 Arden. 
 
 At the Kenilworth railway station, there was 
 gathered a rustic bridal party. The bride wore the 
 invariable white ribbons and white veil, which 
 English etiquette requires of brides high or low. 
 I admired the honest sincerity of the scene, and the 
 modest meekness with which the bride bore the 
 smiles and pleasant remarks of all around. It was 
 a half-triumphal and half-annoying ordeal. 
 
 " 1 waited for the train at Coventry," 
 
 and the " three tall spires " rising from the plain 
 proved that the old town still belonged to the un- 
 enchanted present, and is not yet spirited away into 
 fairy land. One is more painfully reminded of this 
 material present by the number of coarse modern 
 liquor-shops that spot and infest this ancient city, 
 as well as all other English cities and towms. In 
 some smaller places, it is said that every fifth 
 house is used for this purpose ; and by far the most 
 elegant and ornamental shops in the kingdom are 
 those which bear the staring signs of " Stout," 
 " Wine," " Gin," " Brandy." The light wines of 
 France and the Continent would be preferable to 
 the strong liquors and soddening beers used univers- 
 
24 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 ally by the common people ; but it is quite doubtful 
 whether the English will adopt these light wines 
 to any extent, or, what is better, become soon an 
 entirely temperate people. They will sog on until 
 Mr. Gough, or that more eloquent speaker " Facts," 
 converts them. But intelligent Englishmen are 
 feeling deeply the force of these appalling facts in 
 regard to the wide-spread and terrible ravages of 
 intemperance. 
 
 The antique interest of Coventry lies chiefly in 
 the neighborhood of St. Michael's Church, and the 
 more venerable St. Mary's Hall ; the first of these, 
 with its towering spire of three hundred and three 
 feet, is inferior only to the great cathedrals. This 
 spire is a beautifully shaped octagon, supported by 
 flying buttresses ; it pierces the sky like a wedge. 
 St. Mary's Hall by its side takes us back to the 
 days of the feudal " guilds " and pomps ; and it is a 
 familiar fact that Coventry, even to this day, is a 
 marvelous city for shows and pageants. Some of 
 these, it is said, exhibit very odd and ludicrous 
 mixtures of ancient helmets and modern beavers. 
 
 The story of " Lady Godiva " meets you every- 
 where. It is repeated in street statues, in archi- 
 tectural ornaments, and upon shop sign-boards. 
 But in these coarse and grotesque popular illustra- 
 tions of the story, one cannot recognize the same 
 legend as it shines in the hazy amber light of Ten- 
 nyson's poetry, — the pure and delicate picture of 
 her, who, for the love she bore the poor, 
 
 " took the tax away, 
 And built herself an everlasting name." 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 LONDON. 
 
 London, on the first visit, gave me little pleas- 
 ure, and I was glad to leave it for the free, sweet, 
 open country. It was overpowering. It was like 
 going into the stifled breath of a furnace-mouth. 
 Life is on so vast a scale, so terribly real, that one 
 has little opportunity to think calmly, or play, or, I 
 had almost said, pray. There is such an endless 
 mass of human life that a man grows insignificant 
 in his own eyes ; he loses his individuality ; he is in- 
 clined to cry, " I am a mere bubble — a speck — on 
 this immense sea of existence ! I am worthless and 
 insignificant in the eye of God ! " I know this 
 feeling is foolish, especially to a genuine Londoner, 
 than whom no one enjoys life more heartily. An 
 English gentleman, to whom I expressed some such 
 sentiment, remarked that one must be a difficult 
 person to please if he could not live comfortably at 
 the West End of London ! A second visit, and 
 agreeable lodgings in clean and handsome St. 
 James' Street, gave me a far more cheerful impres- 
 sion of London life. Many London families, in the 
 summer time, I was told, are in the habit of renting 
 their houses or apartments, with all their furniture 
 
26 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 and table-service, while they spend the warm 
 weather in the country or on the Continent. Thus 
 there may be seen "Lodgings to let" in the best 
 streets of London, and sometimes on very fine 
 houses, reminding one of Ben Jonson's " Alche- 
 mist," and showing how English fashions do not 
 change. To take lodgings in some neat and com- 
 fortable quarter at the West End, is by far the 
 pleasantest way of spending a short time in Lon- 
 don. 
 
 The tranquil, free, and wide-spread parks of Lon- 
 don, yield one also at any time an escape from the 
 surging current of life that rolls through the streets, 
 — the countless trains of omnibuses, carts, car- 
 riages, men, women, and children. To slip into 
 St. James' Park by the side of the dingy old palace, 
 you are at once removed from the presence of the 
 heated and roaring city, and enjoying the pure air 
 and quiet freshness of Nature. The sudden con- 
 trast is the more refreshing. 
 
 One of the most delightful spots in London is the 
 " Botanic Garden " in Regent's Park, at the height 
 of the season of flowers. Here you may see gath- 
 ered the beauty and aristocracy of the city. Yet 
 you cannot but be struck by the fact, that when 
 crowds of the best and noblest London families are 
 brought together in an afternoon promenade con- 
 cert, few of these beautiful women and elegant men 
 seem to be acquainted with each other. They are 
 silent and unsocial. There appears to be, to a 
 stranger, an icy reserve among the English toward 
 
LONDON. 27 
 
 each other, which all summer heats and the soft 
 breath of flowers cannot quite melt. The London 
 exhibitions of American shrubs, of such shrubs as 
 our wild azaleas and rhododendrons, brought by 
 skillful cultivation to great beauty and size, are 
 well worth seeing. Few know the vast pains and 
 expense taken in England, to send botanists to 
 every part of the world, and especially into new 
 countries, to collect every foreign species of tree, 
 plant, and flower. Even as far back as two centu- 
 ries ago, this painful and costly process was going 
 on. Our American maple-leaved hawthorn was 
 then introduced into England. The cedar and 
 larch were brought in a little earlier, and the mul- 
 berry in the reign of James I. The native of every 
 land on the globe may thus see with delight, in the 
 public gardens of England, his own familiar home 
 plants and flowers, and scent the breath as it were 
 of his own hills and plains. 
 
 The literary man, too, finds London his paradise. 
 The cosy book-shops about St. Paul's Churchyard, 
 and other snug grazing fields, are places too tempt- 
 ing for any but literary nabobs, or for that insa- 
 tiable hunter of books, Dr. Cogswell, to revel in. 
 Every thing golden in antique or modern let- 
 ters drops at last into these half-hidden but pro- 
 found treasure-houses. When I was in London, 
 many of Mr. Mitford's most precious books, with 
 his neatly written and valuable marginal notes, 
 could be purchased. Those russet-covered vol- 
 umes haunt the imagination, long after the poor lit- 
 
28 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 erary epicure has come back to his small study and 
 slender oat-meal. Mr. Mitford's books sold very 
 cheap. A Scaliger copy of a valuable Greek au- 
 thor, rich in historic annotations, was bought for 
 £1 Is. An Aldine Catullus, with four hundred 
 notes by Professor Porson, was purchased for 
 <£3 6s. 
 
 As a central point to see London, half an hour 
 spent on one of the bridges will enable a person to 
 impress some feeble picture of the mighty city on 
 his mind, and to take a sweep up and down the 
 almost unimaginable extent of London. Words- 
 worth's sonnet on Westminster Bridge at morning, 
 showed that he had a human heart, which some 
 have denied him : 
 
 " Earth hath not any thing more fair ; 
 Dull would he be of soul who could pass by 
 A sight so touching in its majesty. 
 The city now doth like a garment wear 
 The beauty of the morning ; silent, bare, 
 Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie, 
 Open unto the fields and to the sky, 
 All bright and glittering in the smokeless air. 
 Never did sun more beautifully steep 
 In his first splendor, valley, rock, and hill ; 
 Ne'er saw I, never felt a calm so deep ! 
 Dear God ! the very houses seem asleep ; 
 And all that mighty heart is lying still ! " 
 
 The poet was fortunate to see the city in this 
 " smokeless air." A London fog has often been 
 described, but rarely exaggerated. That yellow 
 gloom, that " darkness that could be felt," rolling 
 into the innermost chamber of the house, and cast- 
 ing a haze about the friend who sits in the opposite 
 
LONDON. 29 
 
 corner, can hardly be overdrawn. And yet three 
 miles from the city, at the same point of time, it 
 may be bright and clear. Another thought of 
 quite justifiable pride cannot but occur to an Amer- 
 ican looking at the river Thames, and that is, the 
 vast superiority of New York to London in its site 
 as a commercial metropolis. The Thames toward 
 its mouth is a broad river it is true, but how won- 
 derful is the harbor of New York, with two deep 
 arms of the sea on either side, and the magnificent 
 bay spreading out in front ! 
 
 There is a great source of historic fact and in- 
 terest not always explored in the London churches. 
 Take, for instance, St. Giles' Church, Cripplegate ; 
 this is in an out-of-the-way corner of the old city, 
 near Grub Street, where poor authors once starved. 
 In this church is the tomb of Milton. There is a 
 marble bust of him over the spot where he was 
 buried. It represents his face in old age, meagre 
 and deeply lined, like his picture in Pickering's 
 edition of Milton's Works. Here also is the tomb 
 of Fox, the martyrologist. There is an inscription 
 in this church upon the monument of a young noble 
 lady, that was so simple and beautiful that I copied 
 it. " Here lies Margaret Lucy, the second daugh- 
 ter of Sr. Thomas Lucy of Charelcote, in the 
 county of Warwick, Knight, (the third by immedi- 
 ate descent of y name of Thomas), by Alice sole 
 daughter and heire of Thomas Spencer, of Clareden, 
 in the same county, Esqr. and Gustos Brevium of 
 the Courte of Comon Pleas at Westminster, who 
 
30 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 departed this life the 18th day of November 1634, 
 and aboute the 19th yeare of her age ; for discretion 
 and sweetnesse of conversation not many excelled, 
 and for pietie and patience in her sicknesse and 
 death few equalled her : which is the comforte of 
 her neerest friendes, to every one of whom she was 
 very deare, but especialie to her old grandmother, 
 the Lady Constance Lucy, under whose government 
 shee died ; who having exspected every day to have 
 gone before her, doth now trust by faith, and hope 
 in the precious bloode of Christ Jesus, shortly to 
 follow after, and be partaker with her and others, 
 of the unspeakable and eternal joyes in his blessed 
 kingdom ; to whom be all honor laude and praise, 
 now and ever, Amen." 
 
 In the yard of the same old half-hidden black 
 brick church, is to be seen a bastion of the Roman 
 wall. The obliging and intelligent sexton of " St. 
 Giles," was the only official that I remember in 
 England who refused a fee. " St. Pancras in the 
 Fields" was the last church in England whose bell 
 rung for mass. On the register of " St. Martin's 
 in the Fields," Lord Bacon's baptism is recorded. 
 In one of these old London churches, Cromwell 
 was married. Miles Coverdale was buried in " St. 
 Bartholomew's." " Shoreditch Church " was built 
 over the spot where Jane Shore died in a ditch from 
 starvation. What is now " Finsbury Circus" was 
 then about the limit of the city in that direction. 
 
 All English history, law, literature, religion, have 
 met in London, and have radiated from London 
 as a common centre. 
 
LONDON. 31 
 
 With the aid of Murray here and there, the 
 following may be mentioned as a few such points 
 in London, touched by the presence of great men 
 and events. In the neighborhood of the Islington 
 suburb, was the scene of Suetonius' victory over 
 Boadicea, in which 80,000 Britons were slain. 
 Where " Barclay's Brewery " in Southwark stands, 
 the " Globe Theatre " stood, and Master William 
 Shakspeare played his own dramas and " suited the 
 action to the word." At this spot also General 
 Haynau was well drubbed by the sturdy brewers. 
 In Bethnall Green, still live the descendants of the 
 French silk-weavers who fled to England after the 
 massacre of St. Bartholomew. Milton's father re- 
 sided in Bread Street, Cheapside ; and in this street 
 the poet was born. He was a true Cockney born 
 within the " sound of Bow Bells." The same 
 " Cheapside " it is, whose stones did rattle with the 
 " chaise and four," and the precious burden of — 
 
 " My sister and my sister's child, 
 Myself and children three." 
 
 At Cheapside, Tyndale's English translation of the 
 Bible was burned in 1526. Goldsmith died at No. 
 2 Brick Court Temple. Benjamin Franklin lived 
 at No. 7 Craven Street, Strand. Handel lived in 
 Piccadilly. In King Street, Edmund Spenser died 
 for " lack of bread." Here also Louis Napoleon 
 lived when he acted policeman; and rumor says, 
 he believes it is his destiny to die at Cheapside. 
 Lord Byron was born in a boarding-house on 
 Cavendish Square. Samuel Rogers' house was No. 
 
32 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 22 St. James Place. William Turner was born in 
 1775 at 26 Maiden Lane, near Covent Garden. 
 In the Inns of Temple Court, the memories of 
 Goldsmith, Johnson, Mansfield, Eldon, are still 
 fresh. In Whitehall Chapel one sees the window 
 out of which Charles I. stepped to his execution. 
 In the centre of Lincoln's Inn Fields, Lord John 
 Russell was beheaded. Every one knows of that 
 vast cemetery of Bunhill Fields near Finsbury 
 Square, where the best genius and piety of the 
 old dissenters found rest from their labors. 
 
 In Smithfield Market the martyrs of the Marian 
 persecution were burned, and William Wallace was 
 beheaded. Here also King Richard III. had his 
 encounter with Wat Tyler. Would one ask for 
 the burial-place of Cromwell? His body was dis- 
 interred and burned under Tyburn gallows, in the 
 new part of London now called " Tyburnia," and 
 the most aristocratic portion of the city. On 
 Temple Bar, which must soon come down like 
 a rock in the middle of a busy river, the heads of 
 traitors were hung. At Guildhall one may still 
 see " Gog and Magog " in all their bearded majesty, 
 in spite of Mr. Punch. One of the most intensely 
 interesting places in London is Christ's Hospital, 
 founded by pious Edward VI. for fatherless children 
 and foundlings. This is the famous " Blue Coat 
 School." I was told that there were eight hundred 
 now belonging to the school. Here Stillingfleet, 
 Richardson, Lamb, Leigh Hunt, and " the inspired 
 charity boy," Coleridge, went to school. A frisky 
 
LONDON. 33 
 
 herd of boys just let out careered through the yard 
 in front of the hall bare-headed, many of them 
 with their long blue coats tied up around them in 
 front, and their spindle shanks and yellow stockings 
 making a great display. 
 
 I visited a spot where the memory of one " gentle " 
 spirit still lingers, and makes the most unromantic 
 place in the world attractive. Set down in front 
 of a sombre row of columns, and a low dingy pile 
 of buildings, one could hardly conceive that this 
 was the seat of that company of merchants who 
 once ruled a vast empire with absolute sway, — the 
 East India House in Leadenhall Street. An apart- 
 ment up one flight of stairs toward the back of the 
 building, was where Charles Lamb used to write. 
 There I was introduced to a courteous white-haired 
 gentleman, who told me (though I know nothing 
 more of him) that he was a fellow-clerk with Lamb, 
 and occupied the next desk to his. He showed the 
 place where Lamb's desk stood, under a window 
 which looked out on the blank brick wall of a house. 
 He spoke of him whom he was proud to call a friend, 
 with enthusiasm. He said he was the best-hearted 
 man in the world. Sometimes he would say to him, 
 " Now you, who live in the country, go and spend 
 a day at home with your family, and I will take 
 care of your books." He had tremendous fits of 
 work, and would accomplish three men's tasks in a 
 day. At other times he would keep them all merry 
 with his stories, and fill his pages with the oddest 
 scrawls and etchings. This called to mind Lamb's 
 
34 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 boyish delight, which he speaks of in one of his 
 letters, when he had learned to make " flourishes " 
 and (poor Elia) " corkscrews, the best he ever 
 drew." Among other pleasant things and sayings 
 which this old gentleman related, I recall but this : 
 " One day a wealthy London merchant was ushered 
 into the room, and introduced to Lamb as ' Mr. 
 So-and-So, a distinguished spice merchant.' ' Oh 
 yes,' said Lamb, quick as lightning, ' I 'm happy 
 to see you, sir ; I smelt you coming.' " 
 
 The India House Library forms a rich and splen- 
 did collection of some 24,000 Oriental works, 8000 
 of these being still in manuscript. Among them 
 is the famous " Koran," copied on vellum by the 
 Caliph Othman III. a. d. 655. 
 
 Let us now turn to quite another theme and 
 quarter of the city, and glance at the English 
 " House of Commons." 
 
 Ascending the noble staircase leading up from 
 old " Westminster Hall," one passes into an ave- 
 nue or corridor, connecting with the new " Houses 
 of Parliament." This superb avenue is called " St. 
 Stephen's Hall." Along its sides are ranged full- 
 length statues of Hampden, Falkland, Selden, 
 Chatham, Burke, Pitt, Fox, and others of the 
 great Commoners of England. This hall leads 
 into a vestibule highly decorated and gilded, by 
 which one enters immediately into the " House of 
 Commons " on the one side, and the " House of 
 Lords " on the other. Let us enter the House of 
 Commons. We go up a flight of stairs, and seat 
 
LONDON. 35 
 
 ourselves in what is named the " Reporters' Gal- 
 lery." Opposite us are the reporters' desks, at 
 which you see anxious-looking men seated, w T ho, 
 after writing a little time with intense application, 
 get up and go out, being relieved of their severe 
 toil by others. The House of Commons is almost 
 as gorgeous as wrought gold, fine brass, oak-wood 
 carving, rich frescoes, and stained-glass windows 
 can make it. I say " almost," for the House of 
 Lords, though of the same general architectural 
 character, is still more elaborate in its finish and 
 ornament. It blazes in crimson and gold. 
 
 After having looked around and above, and 
 sated our eyes with richness, and studied out the 
 Tudor rose and portcullis ornaments, and other 
 historic emblems, then look down and see what 
 this magnificent house of the gods contains. Are 
 they gods or men ? They are truly but men ; and 
 they are men who all wear their hats on as at a 
 Quaker meeting. But it is no Quaker meeting ; 
 for the spirit of heavenly repose which broods over 
 the assemblies of the saints, is not surely here. 
 There is an anxious, angry, almost fierce spirit of 
 debate and conflict. The only unexcited counte- 
 nance is that of the Speaker, who, profoundly 
 buried in his big gray wig, sits imperturbable as a 
 machine, or rises at long intervals to put a vote in 
 the shortest and driest manner. 
 
 It is odd to see the quiet, matter-of-fact way in 
 which vast money-bills are voted upon and disposed 
 of in the English Parliament. I heard money 
 
36 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 enough to set up a small government appropriated 
 in about five minutes, all the members voting in 
 favor of it, though there had been a protracted and 
 violent debate upon it, in which it seemed as if the 
 tottering government must give way. The real 
 business goes on by machinery. Discussion is like 
 a dance on the mill-floor while the great wheel goes 
 steadily round. The cold, firm will of the govern- 
 ing class, sovereign in the House of Commons as in 
 the House of Lords, allowing little possibility of pop- 
 ular interference, manages every thing in its own 
 way. A long, green table stands in the centre of 
 the room, at one end of which two bewigged clerks 
 are seated, and at the other end hangs the ponder- 
 ous " mace." The Government party occupy 
 seats on one side of this table, and the Opposition 
 on the other. 
 
 There is an impression now prevailing in Eng- 
 land, that the business of the nation has become so 
 gigantic and complicated that Parliament is really 
 not equal to its transaction. I have certainly 
 rarely seen a more wearied and fagged-out set of 
 men than the Government bench at that time pre- 
 sented. The brilliant gas-light streamed down on 
 care-worn, haggard faces. They were then, it is 
 true, in a state of siege, and brought by a powerful 
 and unrelenting opposition into the most desperate 
 condition. Lord Palmerston, however, carried a 
 bold air. In the broad and racy expression of his 
 face he looked the born Irishman. He seemed to 
 have the elasticity of immortal youth. It was 
 
LONDON. 37 
 
 highly interesting to hear this inimitable veteran 
 debater roll off his easy and stereotyped phrases of 
 defense, now rising into stately rhetoric, now get- 
 ting up an immense indignation, now casting him- 
 self back on his official dignity, and now darting a 
 fatal thrust of mingled ridicule and power into the 
 weak place of his opponent's harness. His vener- 
 able compeer, Lord John Russell, has a pompous 
 way of speaking for a small man, but is ingenious 
 in gliding oilily around a difficulty ; and when he 
 cannot answer it, has an imperious way of tramp- 
 ling it down. It was wonderful to see these old 
 men sustaining these severe midnight debates ; for 
 the sessions of Parliament begin at five or six in 
 the evening, and last sometimes until three o'clock 
 in the morning. 
 
 Confessedly the most polished and fluent speaker 
 in Parliament is Mr. Gladstone ; but, as a rough 
 Englishman said to me, " He is too eloquent to be 
 honest ; " not that this is literally true, but with 
 English people too great facility is looked upon 
 with suspicion. I was fortunate to hear Mr. Bright 
 speak, although but briefly. He has a round, full 
 forehead, and a large, resolute mouth, but the ex- 
 pression seemed to me gentler and more refined 
 than I had imagined of this strong popular tribune. 
 He looks like a good man — a man whose heart, 
 whose moral nature, predominates over and sub- 
 ordinates his intellect. You get just the reverse of 
 this idea, I think, from the face of Gladstone, who 
 is pure intellect, though he has shown that he pos- 
 
38 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 sesses a noble heart. Bright's speech was charac- 
 terized by straightforward plainness, and also by- 
 singular force of condensed scholarly expression. 
 There was none of the drawling mannerism of 
 the other speakers, but a marching right on in 
 a free, fresh, direct current of remark. There 
 seemed to me a consciousness that he was the 
 leader of a growing power in the State, and was 
 bound to say something " telling " and strong. 
 He stands on his own legs, and not on pre- 
 scriptive reputation, opinions, or policies. He is at 
 this moment the grandest figure, the foremost man 
 in England. He seemed to me, morally, to tower 
 immeasurably above all the nobles and distinguished 
 men about him. He is indeed a dangerous man. 
 He goes rather too fast for John Bull. " Still," as 
 one of my English friends said to me, " England 
 will and must have substantial reforms, it matters 
 not what minister may be in power." The most 
 striking-looking man in the House of Commons is 
 Disraeli. I did not hear him speak. His head, 
 from the distance where I sat, appeared not un- 
 like Webster's, though of far less massive mould ; 
 perhaps it was his saturnine complexion and im- 
 perturbable countenance that gave me this impres- 
 sion. His dark features and black hair, his con- 
 templative and even sombre expression, single him 
 out among all. He is a stranger there. Although 
 his spirit may not be wholesome, and his eloquence 
 is often more brilliant than sound, he has dared 
 to rise above the dead level practical standard of 
 
LONDON. 89 
 
 English debate into a new world of ideas and prin- 
 ciples, and to discuss subjects in a more comprehen- 
 sive and philosophical way. The best speech I 
 heard on the whole, for its vigorous English and 
 manly thought, was from Sir T. Baring. Judge 
 Haliburton (Sam Slick) delivered a long, gossip- 
 ing discourse with no particular point. With no 
 lack of point was Mr. Roebuck's attack on the 
 Chancellor of the Exchequer. He speaks deliber- 
 ately and in a low voice, but with that distinct 
 whisper, or hissing tone, that makes every word 
 tell. His keen shafts, drawn firmly to the head, 
 are sent twanging home with no reservation of 
 human feebleness or pity. Chaucer must have 
 written prophetically of him : 
 
 " The arwes of thy crabbed eloquence 
 Shall perce his crest and eke his aventayle." 
 
 Although seated on the lower tier of benches oppo- 
 site the reporters' desks, it was some time before I 
 could begin to understand a word that was said. 
 The thick articulation, and the broken, jerking way 
 of speaking, made the English language sound like 
 another tongue. Even Lord Palmerston at times 
 got floundering and gasping in a painfully pro- 
 longed course of barren " eh-eh-eh's." 
 
 In the House of Lords, the dull and drawling 
 style of oratory was still more pronounced. Lords 
 Normanby, Clanricarde, Waters, De Canning, 
 Brougham, and others spoke. Some of the 
 noble lords actually went to sleep with folded 
 arms beneath their broad-brimmed hats. Lord 
 Brougham has siill the lionlike look and the 
 
40 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 energetic sweep of the arm ; but the silver hair, 
 bent back, and, above all, failing voice, tell of the 
 decay of physical force. In the remarks that he 
 made there was no lack of mental vigor, and 
 of downright crashing common sense. He made 
 the impression of greater genuine oratorical power 
 than any speaker whom I heard in England, 
 though it was power on the wane, and the old fire 
 but faint. Sir Stratford de Canning, who has done 
 a great work as a diplomatist, wielding the influ- 
 ence of England on the side of humanity and Chris- 
 tian civilization, is certainly no speaker, judging by 
 the effort which I heard. His place is not in the 
 stirring field of debate. He delivered an elaborate 
 speech that read remarkably well the next morning 
 in the " Times," but he nearly broke down twice 
 in doing it. 
 
 The best way for a young man to see London, 
 is to take " Cruchley's Map of London," which 
 has references to more than six hundred streets, 
 squares, and public places, and which distinctly 
 denotes what buildings and institutions are wor- 
 thy of being visited on both sides of every street, 
 and then to see London by walking. In this way 
 he is independent of valets and cabmen, loses 
 nothing that is memorable, and gains some, it may 
 be tiresome, personal experience of the incredible 
 vastness of the city. 
 
 An American need not be reminded to visit 
 Westminster Abbey, the Tower, St. Paul's Cathe- 
 dral, the National Gallery, and the British Mu- 
 seum. His national instincts will probably lead 
 
LONDON. 41 
 
 him to the Bank of England in Threadneedle 
 Street. The British Museum comprehends a 
 square in the heart of London. To go through it 
 is like walking through the avenues of a dead 
 world. It is a pleasant toil, but toil it certainly is. 
 By going day after day, or rather week after week, 
 it may be slowly conquered. When in visiting 
 Athens I saw the holes in the frieze of the Parthe- 
 non out of which the Elgin marbles had been torn, 
 it was with a feeling of indignation and sorrow ; 
 but as one reflects that it was by this means that 
 the sculptures were probably saved from the de- 
 struction of war, or from being ground into lime by 
 the Turks, and that they have been the instrumen- 
 tality of regenerating modern Art, he is reconciled 
 to the change ; and perhaps, hereafter, when 
 Greece becomes a nation worthy of the name, 
 some " Great Eastern " will transport the marbles 
 back again, and they will take their old place in 
 the entablature of the temple. In passing the case 
 that contains the " Codex Alexandrinus," one is 
 inclined, like my genial and accomplished friend 
 Mr. Henry Stevens, the librarian of the American 
 department of the library — to take off his hat. 
 This version, according to Cyril Lucar, Patriarch 
 of Alexandria, was copied by an Egyptian woman 
 named Thecla, in the fourth century ; and it bears 
 evident marks of female chirography. Tischendorff 
 and other modern scholars, however, assign it to 
 the fifth century. It stands next in value after the 
 Vatican and Sinaitic versions. It was a gift from 
 Cyril to Charles I., in 1629. 
 
CHAPTER HI. 
 
 LONDON ART AND THE LONDON PULPIT. 
 
 Art in London has been derided by those 
 who live on the Continent, and nothing beauti- 
 ful is thought capable of blossoming in that foggy 
 atmosphere. It is true that Nelson's monument 
 in Trafalgar Square does not permit Nelson to 
 be seen ; and Wellington's statue at Hyde Park 
 is the ideal of military " old fogyism ; " and all 
 the " pleasant singers " are Italians ; and many 
 of the metropolitan sculptors and builders have 
 foreign names ; yet, in spite of all, London is one 
 of the world's art-centres. It would be too great 
 a task to discuss English Art as developed in the 
 numberless schools, galleries, and expositions of 
 London. Between three and four thousand new 
 pictures are annually on exhibition. Who can say 
 that English Art is doing nothing ? Perhaps no- 
 where in the world is there so much done, to 
 judge by the quantity, and in some respects the 
 quality, of the fruits. There has been an impor- 
 tant revolution in English Art, as every one knows, 
 since the days of Reynolds, Wilson, Romney, and 
 Gainsborough. In some respects it has lost, but 
 
LONDON ART AND THE LONDON PULPIT. 43 
 
 in others gained, power. The trials of Wilkie, 
 the agonies of Haydon, and above all the eccentric 
 but inspired studies of Turner, have produced de- 
 cided changes. English Art has gained in natural 
 vigor, and in truthfulness of drawing and detail, 
 what it has lost in ideal power. It is a good thing 
 to go back to Nature, and copy even her stones 
 correctly ; this lays a foundation for genius to build 
 upon. Pre-Raphaelitism is already giving over its 
 minute realness, and beginning to clothe its lean- 
 ness with the beauty of life and of higher truth. 
 It has done good; but it has not proved that 
 those things which God has made small and 
 earthly are as beautiful as those he has made 
 great and heavenly. " There are glories terres- 
 trial and glories celestial." Purity is not sufficient 
 for greatness, or a little child would be morally 
 greater than a tried and victorious man. Passion, 
 ideality, the divine life, must breathe and glow in 
 every truly great work of Art. I am Ruskinite 
 enough to think that Turner, in his best style, was 
 as near an approach to the great English painter 
 as has yet been made. " But after my words they 
 spake not," said Job ; and who wishes to enter 
 into an elaborate discussion of Turner after the 
 Oxford oracle has spoken. Turner did a great 
 work, if it were only to have been the occasion 
 of Ruskin's marvelous eloquence. One has a per- 
 fect right, however, to look, and see, and judge 
 whether he likes or dislikes Turner's paintings. 
 There was, when I was in London, a fine oppor- 
 
44 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 tunity to do this at the Kensington Museum, popu- 
 larly the '■ Boilers," where there were three large 
 rooms full of Turner's best and worst pictures, 
 arranged it is said by Mr. Ruskin himself. What 
 impressed me most in Turner's greatest pictures, 
 those which belong principally to his second and 
 sound style, was their imaginative power. In such 
 paintings as " Dido building Carthage," in the 
 National Gallery, and the " Shipwreck," and 
 " Ulysses deriding Polyphemus," and " The Fight- 
 ing Temeraire tugged to her last Berth " — (who 
 gave these taking titles.? 1 ) and " Childe Harold's 
 Pilgrimage," say what you will about their " light " 
 and "atmosphere," their "depth" and "aerial 
 perspective," it is the power that brings before you 
 new things, that calls them up from the pure realm 
 of imagination, — it is this poetic power that gives 
 the charm to these pictures. They awake the 
 sense of the infinite that a great poem does. They 
 take down the bars and let you into the green 
 fields of joy and freedom. One has the feeling — 
 (always a delightful one) — that the author of 
 these pictures could do any thing he wished, could 
 build a Carthage or a Rome. 
 
 As I was looking at one of those sublime scrawls 
 before which the real votary of Turner is drunk 
 with frenzy, a plain farmer's wife came in and read 
 
 1 Since writing the above I have seen it expressly stated in 
 Thornbury's biography of Turner, that the name of " The Fighting 
 T^me'raire," and the names of others of his pictures, were Mr. Tur- 
 ner's own titles. Turner was a poet, though he wrote but poor poetry, 
 His poems were his pictures. 
 
LONDON ART AND THE LONDON PULPIT. 45 
 
 the title, " The Day after the Deluge." " Wull ! 
 I should think it wur ! " was the only remark she 
 made ; and then she walked through the room 
 without noticing another picture. 
 
 That there is any thing in these later fantasies 
 of Turner's brain which appeals to the universal 
 understanding and common sentiment of beauty, 
 I cannot suppose ; though, for expressing this opin- 
 ion, an Englishman almost told me that there was 
 a want of appreciation in myself. And he added, 
 moreover, that these last pictures of Turner com- 
 manded better prices than his earlier ones. I 
 pitied him as too far gone to be saved. Looked 
 at as unfinished sketches, or dashing experiments 
 in color, or studies of the concentration of light, 
 they are artistically interesting, and some of them 
 have a confused grandeur, as the sketches of " A 
 Fire at Sea," and " The Deluge." But to call 
 the " Angel standing in the Sun," and " Rain, 
 Steam, and Speed," and " Hannibal crossing the 
 Alps," and the various spotty reflexes of " Venice," 
 true pictures of Nature, or of a healthy imagina- 
 tion, this were like calling Carlyle's worst style 
 pure English. They have no regard to form or 
 fact. They are but dashes, streaks of pigment. 
 Take the picture called " Tapping the Furnace ; " 
 there is no furnace, nor bell, nor workshop, nor 
 any thing that particularizes such a scene, but it 
 is a universal explosion of high colors. Yet before 
 Turner's finished pictures, radiant with truthful 
 splendors, full of the movement of life, boldly fol- 
 
46 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 lowing Nature and catching her deepest expres- 
 sions, honestly regardful of fact, painting, as he 
 gruffly declared, " his clouds from the clouds in the 
 sky — how else would you paint them ? '■ — but 
 despising the minute and the dull, we may rever- 
 ently bow. His coloring, as well as drawing, is 
 inspired by one living impulse ; that is, it is paint- 
 ed from the momentary pregnant suggestion, and, 
 as it were, flash of Nature. This shows the great 
 painter whose coloring is not the result of elaborate 
 work in the study, but the inspiration of living 
 truth. We had rather see mistakes in such great 
 and original pictures, than the most careful per- 
 fection of execution in common works. 
 
 " Landscape painting," De Quincey said, " is 
 the peculiar product of Christianity ; " and it is 
 certain that the most Christian nation delights in 
 landscape painting. The walls of its galleries are 
 not hung with huge historic scenes and battle 
 pieces, as those of France ; or with ideal paintings 
 of heathen poetry and religion, as of Italy; but 
 with tranquil views of beautiful English nature, 
 lighted by some simple sentiment or home affec- 
 tion. The historical style is having its commence- 
 ment in England. Such powerful painters as 
 Maclise and Ward, prove that England need go 
 no more to the Rubenses and Van Dycks of other 
 countries to illuminate her story. But let a man 
 wander over England, walk from one northern 
 lake to another through the whole string of pearls, 
 climb the mountains of Wales, explore the lonely 
 
LONDON ART AND THE LONDON PULPIT. 47 
 
 coves and rocks of Cornwall, roam through the 
 ferny combes of Devonshire, and over the smooth 
 downs of Kent and Surrey, sit in thatched cot- 
 tages, linger in the solemn shades of old cathedral 
 towns, and then let him go' into the Fall Exhibi- 
 tions of Art in London, and he will see it all over 
 again, and will almost know the very rocks and 
 meadows, houses and hay-ricks, in the pictures. 
 He must have dined with more than one of those 
 artists, an angel unawares. One is willing to say, 
 " Let High Art go to the sepulchres of Ossian's 
 heroes ! " when enjoying these delightful pictures 
 of Nature, that draw the thorn from the careworn 
 mind. And if one wishes for power, vastness, 
 agitation, terror, he has it in the sea and storm 
 pieces, that no artist loves more, or has a better 
 opportunity to delineate, than he who lives in an 
 island which is the home of tempests, and on 
 whose thousand bold headlands the ocean perpet- 
 ually thunders. Turner painted a snow-storm off 
 the coast of England, in which his own life was 
 imperilled. 
 
 English Art has of late years, as every one 
 knows, run much into the representation of pure 
 animal life. Animal life has been strangely lifted 
 into the sphere of sentiment and poetry. We do 
 not see merely Paul Potter's bellowing " bull 
 and cows," but we see a reflex of human traits, 
 whether noble or mean, in the rough faces and 
 mute actions of the creatures made for man. It 
 is a fine Christian recognition of the hidden links 
 
48 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 of being, and of the love of God in his plan of 
 creation. Yet this idea may be overstrained, as 
 in Landseer's picture of a " Highland Deluge," 
 exhibited in the " Royal Academy." A dying 
 cow is made the heroine of that tragedy, of which 
 a whole Highland family are but subordinate feat- 
 ures. Our pity is turned into contempt, on the 
 principle of Jonathan Edwards' definition of vir- 
 tue, — that it is " love to being in general," but 
 graduated in strict accordance to its standard of 
 worth. We are inclined to give the palm to 
 Rosa Bonheur over Edwin Landseer. The last 
 paints wonderful pictures, the first living animals. 
 We heartily believe the story that Rosa Bonheur 
 lives with her animals, and does not shun the 
 reeking shambles and abattoirs, to study the psy- 
 chology of her dumb favorites. She evidently 
 loves them, and does not paint for money or rep- 
 utation, but to express her affection for animals, 
 and to embalm the memory of her friends and 
 heroes. 
 
 The American will be glad to see in the 
 " British School " not only the most famous 
 paintings of West, grand though cold, but some 
 of Gilbert Stuart's lifelike portraits ; and many 
 of Leslie's works, who, born in England, was of 
 American parentage, and resided for a time in 
 America. He was, moreover, a student of Wash- 
 ington Allston. There is clearness and bright- 
 ness in his coloring, and an air of sunny life 
 about his pictures. He is not a great painter, 
 
LONDON ART AND THE LONDON PULPIT. 49 
 
 but no one has caught the airy spirit of Shak- 
 speare's comedy and Cervantes' humor better than 
 he. " Don Quixote reproving the Ecclesiastic," 
 in the British Institution, is not a coarse carica- 
 ture of the brave knight, but it revels in the ludi- 
 crous points and contrasts of the scene, the flaming 
 indignation of the demented hero, the red-hot, 
 roaring, stamping rage of the fat priest, the Count 
 holding a hard battle between mirth and Castilian 
 dignity, the beautiful Countess really more inter- 
 ested for the Don than struck with the comical 
 aspect of things, and the unconquerable gravity 
 of the Spanish attendants. The illustrious Gov- 
 ernor of Barataria, last but not least, lives again 
 in Leslie's paintings. Still it must be said that 
 Leslie did not work a deep vein. 
 
 The " Bridgewater Collection " is rich in Italian 
 and Flemish pictures. Three exquisite Raphaels 
 would seem to be enough for one collection. The 
 masterpiece of Gerard Dow is there. There are 
 also two powerful landscapes by Richard Wilson. 
 
 To England belongs the glory of painting in 
 water-colors. It may be called an English art. 
 Turner himself was one of its originators, or 
 rather reformers. He introduced the new system 
 of employing local tints, and of shading each 
 object with its own tint, instead of laying on first 
 a formal groundwork of India ink, or some neu- 
 tral monotone, and tinting it afterward. The 
 present system lends freedom and brilliancy to the 
 painting. It is like genuine oil painting. Colors 
 
50 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 are intermingled as in Nature, and there is a pecu- 
 liar transparency and vividness that oil-colors do 
 not give. 
 
 I do not know a more refreshing and pleasing 
 place to spend an hour, than an Exhibition of 
 English Water-color paintings. Every hue of 
 water, earth, and sky is flung around. Fancy 
 plays endless freaks. The subjects are as various 
 as the expressions and wantonness of Nature. 
 
 The delicate fineness of Birket Poster's land- 
 scapes equals the exquisiteness of a camera 6b- 
 scurd. Almost every individual flower and grass- 
 spire upon a natural bank or meadow, flourishes 
 in his little cabinet pieces. There is a gem-like 
 light on them. This kind of painting is better 
 fitted for landscapes than for "genre" pictures. 
 And one is surprised to see the boldness and power 
 often thrown into these small paintings. The 
 gloomy " Pass of Glencoe " with its frowning 
 walls of misty mountains, or a deep black Welsh 
 tarn, or broken coast scenery, or the ocean torn 
 by a winter tempest, are scenes that these artists 
 do not shrink from. But to catch the bright 
 sparkle of English summer fields, or the green and 
 golden gleam of an autumn corn-field, or to invade 
 the cool home of the shy lilies, or to paint a pink- 
 cheeked Dutch family of squat mushrooms and a 
 group of blue-bells and buttercups, or to give a 
 gleam of the portentous harvest moon silvering an 
 old castle with a broad-winged bird of night flying 
 athwart its face, is more to the taste of these 
 bright-fancied playful artists. 
 
LONDON ART AND THE LONDON PULPIT. 51 
 
 Holman Hunt's picture of the " Finding of 
 Christ in the Temple," has created much contro- 
 versy. Though learned and marvelously elab- 
 orate, it will not establish the superiority of the 
 Pre-Raphaelite school in the higher elements of 
 the art. It wants unity and elevation. I have 
 seen just such dull, blear-eyed Rabbis in Jerusa- 
 lem, representing the utmost fall and degradation 
 of modern Judaism, but certainly not representing 
 the proud and philosophic princes of the old Jewish 
 hierarchy of our Lord's time. The Saviour is rep- 
 resented as a youth of genius, with blue Saxon 
 eyes and bright auburn hair ; there is nothing Ori- 
 ental, or what is infinitely more, Divine, in his face. 
 But I will say no more of Art here, for it is a 
 subject upon which every one thinks that he knows 
 more than others, and therefore is disposed to treat 
 what others say with contempt. 
 
 While in London I heard Charles Spurgeon 
 preach twice, and saw the power this apostle of 
 modern Babylon exerted upon the masses of the 
 people. He has the prime quality of great preach- 
 ers, that he speaks to the popular mind ; and " the 
 common people heard him gladly." There he 
 bends his efforts, and there he shows his greatness, 
 and his resemblance to his Master. I heard Spur- 
 geon several times afterward in Paris, and prob- 
 ably he then preached with more than usual care 
 in the arrangement and style of his sermons, 
 though they may for that very reason have lost 
 something of their rough popular power. I will 
 
52 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 give the impression his preaching then made upon 
 me, with the simple addition that it fails to convey 
 a full idea of his free, homely, and often coarse 
 illustration. I would apologize for the particularity 
 of the description, but it may serve to correct some 
 false popular notions of this preacher. 
 
 Mr. Spurgeon preached his first sermon in the 
 American Chapel, Rue de Berri. This service was 
 well attended. The chapel was full, and the aisles 
 crowded. All his congregations were chiefly com- 
 posed of English people. At the " Oratoire " a 
 larger portion of the audience was French than at 
 the American chapel. There was no rush, how- 
 ever, at either place. The capacity of the houses 
 was quietly and entirely filled, and that was all. 
 But it was something remarkable for Paris. Mr. 
 Coquerel draws such audiences on the Sabbath, 
 but we know of no one else who does so. Whether 
 he could have done the same five times, on week- 
 day afternoons and evenings, is a question. 
 
 After prayer, and a running comment upon the 
 103d Psalm, Mr. Spurgeon said that he should 
 preach upon the simplest text in the Bible. He 
 then announced his text from Acts xvi. 31 : " Be- 
 lieve on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be 
 saved." He commenced with the description of a 
 city of refuge in old Hebrew times, and the roads 
 leading to it. These were made straight and 
 smooth, that the fugitive might not miss them, or 
 stumble on them, but shoot over them to the open 
 gate, like the arrow from the bow. These roads 
 
LONDON ART AND THE LONDON PULPIT. 53 
 
 were carefully kept. It was the duty of preachers 
 to keep the roads to Christ as open, and straight, 
 and smooth as possible. All he would do, then, 
 would be to heave out of the way any stone of stum- 
 bling that might hinder the sinful man from com- 
 ing to Christ. He went on to clear the road — of 
 the stone of a man's imagining that he was too 
 great a sinner to be saved ; of the stone that he 
 was unable to come to Christ ; that he had not 
 enough feeling ; that he had doubts, fears, and evil 
 suggestions. Then he told what was this refuge, 
 this salvation. It was Christ alone, not even the 
 faith that brought to him. It was Christ's five 
 wounds and bleeding side. He ended with a touch- 
 ing appeal to come at once to Christ. Say not, 
 " Go away, thou sorrowful man, thou makest me 
 sad, and destroyest my happiness. I cannot en- 
 dure thy thorn-crowned head, and deep gashed 
 side." The preacher seemed to wish to say noth- 
 ing else but Christ — to point to Him crucified and 
 bleeding. He tore down all drapery, all form, all 
 doctrine, all philosophy that hung around the cross, 
 and veiled the blood of Christ. He spoke in this 
 relation some strong and earnest things. " The 
 five wounds ! the blood ! the blood ! the blood ! " 
 He dwelt upon this with passionate pathos. 
 
 There was a fresh and sensible, it may be said 
 sensuous, setting forth of the agony and passion of 
 our Lord. The sinner might almost say, " How do 
 those five wounds bleed for me ? How does that 
 blood wash away my sin ? " And to answer this, 
 in the simplest way, would be philosophy. 
 
54 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 The next day Mr. Spurgeon preached another 
 sermon in the chapel, upon the passage contained 
 in Eph. iii. 19 : u And to know the love of Christ 
 which passeth knowledge," etc. We might know 
 that which was beyond our powers to grasp entirely. 
 We might know the science of astronomy, without 
 piercing all the secrets of the illimitable universe 
 around us. The knowledge of Christ had to be 
 learned in its own proper schools, such as holy 
 Scripture, Penitence, Suffering, Communion. He 
 then went on to speak of what was learned in these 
 schools, or the true nature of the love of Christ 
 — its breadth ; its depth ; its length ; its height. 
 This easy and textual plan was beautifully filled 
 out. There was every thing in the sermon to 
 charm and move the mind. Little love, little faith, 
 was precious. By touching the hem of the Saviour's 
 garment, the woman was made whole. But it was 
 the Christian's privilege to be filled with the love of 
 Christ, to pierce its depths, to soar into its heights, 
 to lie in the embrace of his God. This love was 
 not a miserable trickling stream, soon running dry, 
 but it was a broad perpetual river flowing from 
 eternity. The love of Christ was deeper than any 
 sin, higher than any attainment in holiness, or 
 heavenly joy. In treating of the different schools 
 in which this love was learned, his language (said 
 a friend) might have satisfied Coleridge or Charles 
 Lamb. He said the Bible was not a book of rules 
 dry as autumn leaves, but a great, rich, illuminated 
 missal, delightful to turn over, every leaf filled with 
 
LONDON ART AND THE LONDON PULPIT. bb 
 
 golden letters, and exquisite pictures, and flowers. 
 He traced the features of Christ in it from Gene- 
 sis to Revelation. In speaking of the enduring 
 character of the love of Christ, that it was from 
 God and therefore unchangeable, he introduced a 
 touching episode borrowed from an old writer, of 
 a conversation that might be supposed to have oc- 
 curred at the feast given on the return of the Prod- 
 igal Son. In the midst of all the joy, the son was 
 sad. " What makes you sad, my son ? " said the 
 father ; " is there not enough of good things at the 
 feast ? " " Oh yes," said the son. " Do you 
 doubt that I love you, my son ? " " Oh no, 
 father." " What then makes you sad ? " "I feel, 
 father, that I shall sin again, and go away. Make 
 me stop here, father." And the father promised 
 this, and sadness rolled away from the face of the 
 son, and the feast went on with unclouded joy. 
 The simple, tender manner in which this was told 
 brought tears into many eyes. 
 
 Mr. Spurgeon preached again in the evening at 
 the church of the " Oratoire." His plan is to make 
 a short introductory prayer, then give out a hymn, 
 then read a portion of Scripture, with copious expo- 
 sition, then another hymn and the sermon. He 
 reads every verse of the hymn twice, and insists 
 upon loud, universal congregational singing. He 
 gave the organ a contemptuous buffet for spoiling 
 all the singing, and would have it done away with 
 altogether. Congregational singing, and united 
 prayer, were his idea of true worship. His sub- 
 
56 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 ject for the evening was Prayer, — from Psalms 
 Ixxiii. 27. There were many powerful passages in 
 this sermon, but it had not the rich and delightful 
 flow of the morning's discourse. He compared 
 prayer to a bell in a tall tower. The rope hung 
 down to earth ; and when it was pulled it made 
 music in heaven. But if the rope were cut, there 
 was no response on high. There must be true 
 union with God in the heart through faith in Jesus, 
 to make prayer efficacious. Prayer, he said, was 
 invincible. Like the " Old Guard," God's children 
 kneeling might receive the hosts of evil upon the 
 bayonets of their prayers. This whole passage, 
 which was highly elaborated and impassioned, was 
 spoken in a kneeling attitude. This dramatic 
 power was continually perceptible in Mr. Spur- 
 geon's preaching. He at one time held the great 
 Bible above his head with outstretched arms, to 
 show that it was above all human authority. 
 
 The fourth sermon was in the American chapel, 
 on the next afternoon. It was the crowning effort, 
 and established the conviction in the minds of all 
 who heard it, that the preacher was capable of a 
 very high character of calm, literary excellence, 
 and of elevated spiritual thought. His language 
 flowed like a river, easy, abundant, clear. After 
 expounding the 23d Psalm, comparing it with the 
 song of a nightingale, till it sung itself into heaven, 
 he took his text from the first sentence : " The 
 Lord is my Shepherd." It was a sweet pastoral 
 sermon. He had evidently been in the sheep-feed- 
 
LONDON ART AND THE LONDON PULPIT. 57 
 
 ino; districts of England. He never laid aside the 
 shepherd's crook to the end, but ran every thought 
 and argument into this simple mould. Some sheep, 
 he said, needed to be lamed and disciplined, because 
 they were always leaping fences and straying away. 
 This laming was deliberately done by good shep- 
 herds. There were always a few pet sheep in the 
 flock, that followed close to the shepherd, and they 
 were the fat sheep. They got the dainty bits. If 
 the shepherd reached up and plucked a soft tuft 
 from a high rock, they who were always fondling 
 his hand were ready to get it. When he described 
 the Shepherd laying down his life for the sheep, he 
 drew a vivid and tremendous picture of the death- 
 grapple between an Eastern shepherd and a lion 
 that had leaped the fold — turning it gradually to 
 the dreadful conflict and passion of our Lord with 
 the power of darkness and evil. His illustrations 
 were almost always of this fresh and picturesque 
 character. They were sensible, material, palpable. 
 He does not deal in refined and subjective parallel- 
 isms of thought, nor does he seek for the scientific 
 or the hidden truth. He takes the revealed world 
 and Word of God, sees its beauty, draws forth its 
 power, is content with its teachings. He alluded 
 in the course of this sermon to three men who had 
 followed the Shepherd with wonderful closeness, 
 who lived upon his hand, and enjoyed his smiles 
 and caresses — the evangelical Puseyite, George 
 Herbert ; Rutherford, the loving Presbyterian ; 
 and another whom he called the odd, adoring Puri- 
 
58 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 tan. Mr. Spurgeon has evidently not drunk deep 
 at the fonts of modern literature, but he shows his 
 reading of the old Puritan divines. His words often 
 have a quaint Old English sound to them. He 
 speaks of the Devil " sniffing at such paltry de- 
 fenses." His sentences are compact and nervous. 
 They are sometimes as condensed and massive as 
 any of Webster's sentences. They have a hurl, 
 and weight, and hiss, like hot shot. But in the ser- 
 mon of which we are speaking, the preacher's words 
 had a singularly musical and rhythmical flow ; he 
 seemed almost to be reciting verse ; and this was 
 heightened by his frequent and spontaneous intro- 
 duction of snatches of hymns, not always the best 
 poetry, but always hearty, sensible, and spicy with 
 the devotional associations of ages. 
 
 The last sermon was in the " Oratoire," on the 
 same evening. It was upon the " New Song," 
 from Rev. xiv. 3 : "And they sung as it were a 
 new song before the throne." In this discourse 
 there were bursts of true eloquence, but it lacked 
 the unity and spontaneous character of the preced- 
 ing sermon. The speaker seemed to have the 
 feeling that more was expected and required in 
 that great church, — that more eyes, and hostile 
 eyes, were upon him. In illustrating the loudness 
 of the new song, he piled roaring sea upon roaring 
 sea in massive layers, but turned skillfully from this 
 stupendous chorus to paint the sweetness of the 
 song, even as the music of harps, which he de- 
 scribed in an exquisite strain, that none but a gen- 
 uine lover of music could have done. 
 
LONDON ART AND THE LONDON PULPIT. 59 
 
 It is sufficient to converse with him for a little 
 time to see that he has a thoroughly kind and char- 
 itable heart, and bears no man living ill-will. 
 
 Mr. Spurgeon's personal appearance is too well 
 known to need description. He has a blacksmith's 
 frame, and a ruddy face, glowing with health and 
 good nature. It is a good face, with great purity 
 of expression, and at times it shines with a kind of 
 celestial radiance. 
 
 The first element of power in his preaching (not 
 to mention those higher and secret helps which God 
 gives the true preacher of his Word) is undoubt- 
 edly his earnestness. No one can doubt that his 
 one great purpose is to serve the Master, and 
 bring men into his kingdom. He shoots every 
 shaft in his quiver with a well-aimed, inflexible in- 
 tent to transfix the conscience. There was nothing 
 in his Paris visit to show that he was displaying 
 himself, but he evidently bent himself to the work 
 of awakening Christians to a higher life, and pleas- 
 ure-seekers to thought and repentance. Then his 
 fluency. This quality may be said to be unrivalled 
 in his case. It seems as easy for him to speak as 
 to breathe. He preaches without notes, with never 
 a stop or break, or ill-made sentence. In the easy, 
 continuous flow of his speech, the hearer's mind 
 floats along upon it with hardly a consciousness of 
 the speaker, which is always a delight. Then again 
 his voice. He has a regal voice, with youthful tones 
 still in it. It is an " organe ires agrSable" as a 
 French gentleman sitting beside me remarked. It 
 
60 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 is loud without ever losing its roundness and sweet- 
 ness. Also his practicalness. We have said that 
 his style of preaching was exceedingly simple and 
 objective. It would not be considered sufficiently 
 logical or philosophical (in a true sense) for an 
 American congregation. He does not reason pro- 
 foundly, and avoids the speculative side of truth. 
 Yet there is substance and soul-travail in his ser- 
 mons. They are not devoid of a certain kind of 
 logic. He does not leave his hearers with a mass 
 of crude matter, but is careful as to the orderly de- 
 velopment of truth. Yet every thing he says is for 
 immediate effect. It is pointed to the present in- 
 stant. His preaching abounds in well-told facts — 
 in close, apt, ringing bits of human experience that 
 clench the important and perhaps unwelcome truth. 
 He has the Luther temperament, that delights in 
 pithy sayings, and stories that penetrate into the 
 springs of action, let them be even odd and laugh- 
 able. And his dramatic talent. This we have 
 spoken of. He is a native orator, knowing how to 
 handle his arms, his feet, his head, his eyes ; and 
 this subtle faculty all men perceive, if they cannot 
 comprehend and describe it. Above all his good- 
 ness. This shines out from him. He looks kind, 
 friendly, frank, and sympathetic. Let him say 
 what he will, he wins esteem, confidence, love. 
 He has no cant and long-facedness, though he 
 shows himself tremendously in earnest. He has a 
 big, warm heart, a sunny countenance, and a pure, 
 simple, Christ-like spirit. 
 
LONDON ART AND THE LONDON PULPIT. 61 
 
 I have thus dwelt on this English preacher be- 
 cause he seems to me to be a singular illustration 
 of a higher wisdom in the choice of its instru- 
 ments. No dainty-fingered orator, no feeble arm, 
 could thus lift up the Gospel in the heart of 
 London, could smite with the rod of God's Word 
 the Black Sea of London's reeking ignorance, cor- 
 ruption and sin. While possessing more refined 
 qualities than is generally supposed, he is above 
 all a man w T ho can say plain things, who can speak 
 strong words. 
 
 It has been estimated that in London less than 
 one quarter of the population are attendants upon 
 public worship. This is an astounding estimate of 
 the number of non-worshipers in the gigantic cap- 
 ital of Protestant Christendom. But let one enter 
 a London church and he can believe it. The vast 
 tide of human life flows past the churches, not into 
 them. Why this apathy to the regular worship of 
 God ? Why do these hosts turn away from the 
 temples of the Most High ? Undoubtedly the mass 
 of them belong to the poorer and laboring classes, 
 who take Sunday for a day of bodily rest and 
 amusement. A great number of them also are 
 branded outcasts, religious u pariahs," wdio would 
 no more think of entering a church than a palace. 
 And they could no more do so, as the churches are 
 constituted. But this would leave an immense 
 class still, who have sufficient means, social position, 
 and intelligence, to be good church-going people in 
 formal Old England. Why do not they attend 
 
62 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 public worship? It becomes a traveler who has 
 limited means of observation to speak modestly, but 
 one of the principal reasons of this non-attendance, 
 I believe, is that neither the people's minds nor souls 
 are sufficiently fed by the preaching. The preach- 
 ing that I heard from the two bodies of the Estab- 
 lished Church, and also in some of the dissenting 
 churches, was, as a general thing, I am forced to 
 say, dull and jejune, wanting in interest and draw- 
 ing power. On the part of the Establishment there 
 was either a narrow circle of argument upon the 
 mystic functions of the Church and ritualistic ques- 
 tions, or a dry repetition of common orthodox state- 
 ments of theology, with little personal earnestness 
 and application ; there was a dogmatic assailing 
 of heresies, without making the truth itself shine 
 out clear ; and lastly, there was such an exclusive 
 preaching of the Old Testament as almost to ex- 
 clude the brighter light of the New. The only re- 
 lief was a tone of tenderness and devotional warmth 
 which often broke out unexpectedly, and illu- 
 mined the whole service. Among Dissenters there 
 seemed to be, with great purity of doctrine, some 
 lack of spiritual earnestness, and also of cultured 
 style. Such remarks could not of course apply to 
 men like Dr. Raleigh, Newman Hall, Dr. Massie, 
 and many others. But among both clashes, rarely 
 did I hear any thing like close thinking, grasping 
 the depths of the subject, and manifesting an orig- 
 inal development of truth. The theology seemed 
 to be taken bodily from the Prayer-Book, or some 
 
LONDON ART AND THE LONDON PULPIT. 63 
 
 ancient manual of doctrine. It was not burned into 
 the preacher's mind, and poured glowing into the 
 minds of others. And there seemed to be too lit- 
 tle of true metaphysical groundwork. It was not 
 thought out and through, and the profound and 
 delightful harmonies of Truth made to come forth. 
 Bald, disjointed, and monotonous declarations, ut- 
 tered with the positiveness of ages of unchallenged 
 authority, cannot now hold men. Nor is such 
 preaching fitted to awaken practical benevolence 
 and sympathy for the poorer classes. It does 
 not touch the wants and hearts of men, and the 
 heart will not go where it does not find either life 
 or repose. It is probably the contrast to such 
 preaching that makes Spurgeon, notwithstanding 
 his occasional rudeness and homeliness, so popular. 
 There are many very eloquent divines in England, 
 men of fervid faith and stalwart minds ; but the 
 level of preaching in England, as to the essential 
 qualities of earnestness, force, and manner, is, I be- 
 lieve, below that in America, and below it also in 
 practical results. I heard Henry Melville preach 
 a sermon addressed to working people at Christ's 
 Church, Newgate Street. I had long had before 
 me an ideal of this distinguished pulpit orator, 
 with a name like the sound of a flute. Every thing 
 noble, beautiful, and scholar-like was blended in 
 that conception. He was probably thin, worn with 
 thought, but with classic features and spiritual 
 brow, and with the voice of a silver trumpet. He 
 was calm and peaceful like a deep river, but rolling 
 
64 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 along rich burdens of thought. Alas ! I found a 
 grizzle-haired athlete in the desk, a brusque old 
 gentleman, with sanguine manner, with a voice 
 like a November storm, and a dogmatic positiveness 
 in the enunciation of sensible but commonplace 
 propositions, that fairly astonished me. He flamed 
 away against sceptics, and called them " pert cox- 
 combs," and other old-fashioned names of scorn. 
 What he said may have been sound, but it was not 
 peculiarly salted with learning, nor inspired with 
 high spiritual views. It was undoubtedly meant to 
 be adapted to the class of working people, which I 
 did not think of at the time, and I hardly recovered 
 myself sufficiently in the course of the evening to 
 recognize a remarkable degree of vigor of style 
 and delivery. My English friends told me it was 
 not a favorable specimen of his preaching. I had a 
 different but not much more satisfactory experience 
 in listening to another sermon addressed to working 
 people by Rev. F. D. Maurice. It was in the 
 ancient chapel of Lincoln's-Inn-Fields, that den of 
 lawyers. He is a short man, with piercing black 
 eyes, very pleasant face, but worn and scholar-like, 
 and with a thoughtful pensiveness of expression. 
 The loved brother-in-law of Sterling, the friend of 
 Archdeacon Hare, of the present Bishop of Oxford, 
 of Kingsley and Tennyson, he must have an attach- 
 ing and stimulating power. But he does not show 
 it in the pulpit, and his small congregation proved it. 
 His delivery was artificial, almost a sing-song tone, 
 and by no means distinct ; and his style was alto- 
 
LONDON ART AND THE LONDON PULPIT. 65 
 
 gether too high-pitched and essayish, to reach a 
 common audience, much less an assembly of uned- 
 ucated men. It sounded just as his books read ; 
 with now and then the gleam of a suggestive 
 thought, but with no clear development of it. The 
 experience of some others in respect to Mr. Maur- 
 ice's preaching is also different from my own, 
 therefore I advance it with some hesitation. He 
 wields in England an indefinable though perhaps 
 not now increasing influence. He is liked for his 
 manliness, his progressive capacity, and his noble 
 sympathy with the religious doubts and difficulties 
 of men. He shows more sympathy for the igno- 
 rant and lower classes than practical power to help 
 them. He does not certainly possess the logical 
 faculty in a high degree, and his style is criticized 
 for its vagueness ; but his intuitions of truth are 
 penetrative and sometimes profound. He is not 
 a good guide, but is an independent explorer. His 
 bold gropings in the dark will have increased the 
 limits of truth. He lacks that objective or positive 
 element of faith, that all great preachers and theo- 
 logians have had, and is disposed to refine Christian 
 truth too much. In his controversy with Mr. Man- 
 sell he showed the more Christ-like spirit, and in 
 many things assumed a higher and more immovable 
 position. He by no means admits himself to be an 
 innovator upon the old Faith ; but means to be a 
 reviver of its deeper claims on our obedience and 
 love. He holds that our nature was made for 
 Faith. He thinks that man can know God, and 
 
 5 
 
66 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 the Son of God ; that he may feel assured of the 
 truth, and have the living demonstration of the 
 truth in his own heart. His views of the character 
 of God are also attractive, regarding Him prima- 
 rily in the light of a Father. Yet it must be 
 said that generally in England he is considered 
 to have introduced an ideal and modified system, 
 that views Christianity in the aspect of a fact ac- 
 complished, and which every man has but to open 
 his eyes upon and enjoy, rather than of a truth that 
 must be personally received by every man, and 
 enter into every soul's individual experience for its 
 renewal and eternal life. In conversation at his 
 own pleasant home, if one be not converted to all 
 of Mr. Maurice's opinions, he will be converted to 
 Mr. Maurice himself, as a noble man and Christian 
 gentleman. Rev. Newman Hall occupies the pul- 
 pit of Surrey Chapel in Southwark, where Rowland 
 Hill preached for nearly fifty years. It is a dingy, 
 octagonal brick edifice, plain within and without. 
 Mr. Hall is a whole-souled man, speaking that 
 which he knows and believes, and reminding one 
 of an earnest American preacher. There is spirit- 
 ual life in his ministrations, but he has, it appeared 
 to me, a somewhat strained and hammering style. 
 The audience looked like an intelligent New Eng- 
 land congregation 
 
 In polish of manner and outward grace, Dr. 
 Cumming, of Craven Court Chapel, near Covent 
 Garden, is superior to all these. Nor, when I 
 heard him was there aught visionary or apocalyptic 
 
LONDON ART AND THE LONDON PULPIT. 67 
 
 in his discourse. Before the sermon he gave an 
 exposition of the 23d chapter of Matthew, which 
 might have been continued through Mark, Luke, 
 and John. A peerless capacity for " continuous- 
 ness," has Dr. Gumming. But there was much 
 that was fresh in it. He did not shrink from say- 
 ing that such and such a passage was not translated 
 rightly, as for instance " straining at a gnat and 
 swallowing a camel," should be " straining out a 
 gnat," &c, in allusion to the practice of straining 
 wine through a fine sieve. His sermon on the 
 text, " O Jerusalem, Jerusalem," &c, had a mag- 
 nificent ending, in which he described the new 
 Jerusalem coming down from heaven, and em- 
 bracing all the goodness that God had inspired and 
 recreated in human nature. He has little sweep 
 or largeness of manner, but great ease and flow. 
 It is a conversational style. His voice is rich and 
 mellow without being powerful. He is a tall man, 
 with high white forehead and dark hair. It was 
 difficult to find a seat even upon the pulpit stairs. 
 Dr. Cumming, as a graceful yet not effeminate 
 preacher, has good claims to his celebrity. 
 
 I will not speak further of the preachers of the 
 Established Church whom I heard. Some of them 
 compared well with those already named ; but in 
 regard to the Church of England, in its ministry, 
 polity, and general features, notwithstanding its 
 noble history, its benevolent spirit, and its essential 
 purity, from my own limited observation, and cer- 
 tainly from no uncharitable or prejudiced state of 
 
68 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 mind, I am disposed to coincide with a remark 
 in the "London Review," "that great practical 
 changes must be made in the arrangements and 
 working of the Church of England if she is to be 
 the spiritual home of the whole people of the land, 
 as she ought to be." The English Church has not, 
 in the spirit of true Christian philanthropy, gauged 
 human misery to the bottom — has not truly 
 preached the Gospel to the poor. Methodism ran 
 before and did this work for it. But how much 
 remains still to be done in a city like London ! 
 Yet, it should be said, while these high instru- 
 mentalities of the great London parish churches 
 fail to do their appointed task, humbler ministries, 
 raised up and going forth it may be from their 
 bosom, are effecting a silent but mighty work in 
 the moral wastes of London, and like invisible 
 angels are continually active in soothing the sor- 
 rows and spreading the tables of the poor. 
 
 There is one thing to be admired in the worship 
 of the English Church — the apparent unity and 
 fervor of devotional interest and feeling in the 
 congregation. The moment the text is announced 
 there is a general opening of Bibles, all following 
 the preacher's explanation of the passage with the 
 greatest earnestness. The singing also is diffusive 
 and congregational. There are no instrumental 
 interludes between the stanzas of the hymn. 
 There is no flourishing of trumpets in the playing 
 of the organ, and nothing like executing music. 
 Art is subordinated to devotion more than it is 
 
LONDON ART AND THE LONDON PULPIT. 69 
 
 with us. The choir is mixed up with the congre- 
 gation, thus giving correctness and fire to the sing- 
 ing of all the people. I have never heard in 
 Catholic countries, or in any part of the world, 
 church music, that for beauty, animation, and fer- 
 vor, at all equalled the choral singing in the public 
 service of the great English cathedrals. 
 
 In closing this chapter, I would simply add that 
 in speaking of the defects of the English Church, 
 I have not had reference so much to the individ- 
 uals composing that Church, as to the system itself 
 which produces these defects. The faults of the 
 Established Church, in whose body may be reck- 
 oned some of the most perfectly developed and 
 beautifully symmetric Christian characters to be 
 found on earth — these faults are inseparably con- 
 nected with the working of a State Church. In 
 the same manner much of the rigid controversial 
 spirit of Dissent arises from its long continued and 
 sincerely maintained hostile position ; and in such 
 hard soil have matured some of the richest and 
 noblest spirits of the age. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 ENVIRONS OF LONDON. 
 
 While in London I made an excursion to Stoke 
 Pogis, the much-bewritten scene of the most sol- 
 emnly harmonious poem in existence. It was the 
 favorite poem of Daniel Webster, in whose mind 
 there was a vein of pensiveness, and its music 
 soothed the weary statesman's dying hours. As 
 was the case with Goethe, so it was true in a far 
 more marked manner with Gray, that " nothing 
 came to him in his sleep." He wrote, it is said, 
 on an average about ten lines of poetry a day : 
 three golden verses of " The Elegy on a Country 
 Churchyard " a day, were surely enough for any 
 man to have wrought. The village is situated 
 near Slough, on the Great Western Railway. 
 After leaving Slough one drives into a hedge- 
 fringed lane with tall elms on either side. Passing 
 the entrance of Lord Taunton's Park, and turning 
 into it by the side of a flower-embosomed cottage, 
 the spire of the church comes in view ; and trav- 
 ersing the trim lawn of the Park one arrives at 
 the gate of the " Country Churchyard." This 
 ancient church is now, of course, more " ivy- 
 mantled " than in Gray's time. It is built of flint 
 
ENVIRONS OF LONDON. 71 
 
 pebbles, with red-tiled roofs, and has three low 
 gable fronts, with long windows and a tower 
 draped thickly with ivy. The spire upon it looks 
 modern. There is a brick wall and screen of tall 
 trees about the churchyard, separating it from the 
 Park. The " rugged elms " and the " yew-trees' 
 shade," spread their shadows in front of the curi- 
 ous wooden porch and over many a " heaving 
 turf." There are some moss-grown monuments, 
 but not as many as I expected to see. It is a 
 humble " country churchyard." A small slab 
 under the window of one of the gable ends of the 
 church bears these words: " Opposite to this stone, 
 in the same tomb upon which he has so feelingly 
 recorded his grief at the loss of a beloved parent, 
 are deposited the remains of Thomas Gray, the 
 author of ' The Elegy written in a Country 
 Churchyard,' &c, &c. He was buried August 6, 
 1771." 
 
 The tombstone which lies under the window 
 bears an inscription to the poet's aunt, and also 
 the following one to his mother : " In the same 
 pious confidence, beside her friend and sister, here 
 sleep the remains of Dorothy Gray, widow, the 
 careful and tender mother of many children, one 
 of whom alone had the misfortune to survive her. 
 She died March 11, 1733, aged 67." 
 
 Birds in great numbers flew around among 
 the trees, and hopped fearlessly upon the tombs. 
 The air had the delicate hum of insect life, and 
 now and then the whir and flutter of little wings ; 
 
72 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 otherwise it was as still and reposeful as the 
 grave. 
 
 Walking a short distance over the green meadow 
 in front of the church, one comes to a pretty 
 laburnum-fringed path, that leads to a stately and 
 classic stone monument, with a grove over against 
 it and a swelling green hill beyond. It commands 
 a fine view of the church and graveyard. The 
 monument is in honor of Gray, and of the region 
 consecrated by his genius. It has quotations from 
 the " Elegy " and other poems. In the direction 
 of the grove is written the stanza beginning with, 
 
 " Hard by yon wood now smiling as in scorn." 
 
 On the opposite side toward Eton are the well- 
 known verses, — 
 
 " Ye distant spires, 
 Ye antique towers," &c. 
 
 On the side looking toward the churchyard are 
 the deathless " household words " that sing so 
 sweetly of death and the grave. 
 
 I sincerely hope that in the foregoing brief 
 description I have not committed the blunder of 
 another American tourist, who, after expending a 
 great amount of poetical sympathy upon the spot, 
 discovered that he had pitched upon the wrong 
 churchyard. 
 
 Hampton Court, standing quiet and empty amid 
 its gardens, is but three quarters of an hour's ride 
 from the Waterloo Station, by the South Western 
 Railway. We are set down on the bank of the 
 Thames, but as different from the Thames at Lon- 
 
ENVIRONS OF LONDON. 73 
 
 don, as a fair-faced and pure-hearted child from a 
 black giant man reeking with every foulness and 
 corruption. We row over the tranquil, osier-fringed 
 stream, followed by greedy swans that fearlessly 
 oar themselves along by our side. We are met 
 on landing by a greedier company of little girls, 
 who press upon visitors their baskets of straw- 
 berries. The sober though majestic red-brick walls 
 of the Palace are before us, and we enter its clean- 
 swept and solitary courts. Court-yard opens be- 
 yond court-yard. The first is that of Wolsey ; 
 the second that of Henry VIII. ; the third of Wil- 
 liam III. ; and the fourth of George II. We 
 ascend Wolsey's grand staircase, — a type of his 
 superb taste who designed and built this palace on 
 a scale corresponding too nearly to his own regal 
 ideas. Hampton Court opened the eyes of Henry 
 VIII. Here, the prelate who just missed the 
 Popedom from having been a private tutor in the 
 Marquis of Dorset's family, had bishops to wait 
 upon him, and compelled the first noblemen in the 
 realm to present him water and napkin. So says 
 the historian ; who also relates that at Hampton 
 Court were two hundred and eighty beds of silk 
 for royal and noble guests. The Richelieu of 
 England would also have governed it to the end, 
 had Henry VIII. been a Louis XIII. But this 
 monarch had great governing capacity of his own. 
 In his face, with his thick dewlaps and eyes stand- 
 ing out with fatness, there is a vast rough energy. 
 Be his sins ever so great, he was master of his 
 
74 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 kingdom. He outgrew his minister. He could 
 understand the greatness of Wolsey, and so high 
 was the king's estimate of his talents, that some 
 of the last political failures of Wolsey were evi- 
 dently attributed to his want of fidelity, not of 
 foresight ; this fact sealed his downfall. There 
 have been in the long course of English history 
 three prelates who have attempted the subjugation 
 of England, — Dunstan, Thomas a Becket, and 
 Thomas Wolsey. Froude says, Wolsey " loved 
 England well but Rome better." He dreamed 
 of rebuilding the Catholic Church in more than 
 its former glory. In these late years there has 
 been another bold attempt of this sort, but the 
 scheme, though deeply laid, has lacked the pow- 
 erful genius to direct, or has happened some cen- 
 turies too late. The long suites of apartments 
 in Hampton Court, " empty, swept, and garn- 
 ished," contain a few good pictures, especially the 
 portraits of the children of George III. by West ; 
 but there is a rumor that this palace is made a 
 lumber-room for things too valuable to be thrown 
 away, yet not good enough for the choicer collect- 
 ions. Perhaps this is saying too much ; Hamp- 
 ton Court is understood to be a gathering place 
 of historical antiquities. In the room hung around 
 with the beauties of the Court of Charles II. — 
 and they are splendid English beauties — it is 
 well that the irreproachable one among them 
 should be the most lovely of all, — the Countess 
 of Grammont. 
 
ENVIRONS OF LONDON. 75 
 
 Many of the rooms have pictures commemora- 
 tive of the reign of William III. His own home- 
 ly but high and intrepid face is frequently seen. 
 Here was the favorite residence of this king who 
 loved to shut himself up in perfect seclusion ; and 
 it was when riding from Kensington to Hampton 
 Court, that he fell and broke his collar-bone, which 
 was the occasion of his death. The "Cartoons 1 " 
 of Raphael are the precious things of this palace. 
 These original drawings on paper are nobler than 
 any copies of them in tapestry or on canvas. 
 They show that grace was not the greatest quality 
 of Raphael, that breadth, dignity and power were 
 equally his. These u Cartoons " justify the re- 
 mark of Lanzi, that notwithstanding the beauty 
 of Raphael's female heads, his male heads have a 
 nobler character. Yet it is after all a little amus- 
 ing to hear art-critics attempt to defend the small 
 boats, and the storks, in the picture of the " Mi- 
 raculous Draught of Fishes." 
 
 In the " Hall of Henry VIII." the architectural 
 glories of the palace centre. The ceiling is of the 
 richest open beam-work, with pendent corbels. 
 Here also is some genuine old arras. There is a 
 tradition that in the time of Elizabeth, Shaks- 
 peare's plays were first acted in this hall. Small 
 but interesting portraits of Wolsey, Henry VIII. , 
 and his seven wives, adorn the room. In this 
 room probably James I. held that annoying confer- 
 ence with the conflicting parties of the Church and 
 Puritan denominations, in which he enunciated the 
 
 1 Lately removed to Kensington Museum. 
 
76 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 famous apothegm of " no bishop, no king; " and he 
 boasted afterward, in a letter to a Scotch friend, 
 " that he kept such a revel with the Puritans these 
 two days as was never heard the like ; where I 
 have peppered them as roundly as ye have done 
 the Papists. They fled me so from argument to 
 argument, without ever answering me directly, as 
 I was forced at last to say unto them," &c, &c. 
 Glimpses of the garden from various windows and 
 angles made me more desirous to see the outside 
 than the inside of the house, on such a sweet, 
 cloudless, balmy morning. It was in the month of 
 June. The loveliness of an English garden ! I 
 don't care to describe it artistically, even if I were 
 able to do so ; it is enough to enjoy it. In what 
 other country could one find the same perfection ; 
 not in France surely, where the trees stand like 
 "gens cFarmes" shouldering their muskets. The 
 grass, green the year round, is as soft, and bright, 
 and springy, as that of some hidden alpine pasture. 
 It grows close up under the trees and shrubs, to 
 their very stems, so that the shadows are beauti- 
 ful upon the smooth velvet. We do not always see 
 this in our more fiery America. The rich varieties 
 of standard roses, and the English guelder-rose with 
 its superb white blossoms, embroider the borders of 
 the long terraces. The dark shade of the sycamore 
 mixes with the lighter green of the oak. The 
 smooth-leaved elegant lime, brought into England 
 by the Romans from Italy, whose blossoms are so 
 deliciously fragrant, forms groups with the rougher 
 
ENVIRONS OF LONDON. 77 
 
 pine and the trailing elm. What matters it that 
 the lines are artificial ? It can be forgiven when 
 every thing is so fresh, and so wonderfully neat, as 
 if the elves and fays had shaved the borders and 
 polished the leaves. Naught is heard but the faint 
 plash of the fountain and the warble of birds. Near 
 the fountain we found some blind persons sitting. 
 They had been invited to pass the day in the gar- 
 dens, to enjoy the summer perfumes and the pleas- 
 ant sounds. The English excel in these little refine- 
 ments of benevolence. They make them a study. 
 The visitor is shown the famous Black Hamburgh 
 vine, which requires a whole conservatory for it- 
 self, and produces every year from 2000 to 3000 
 bunches of grapes. It is said to be over two hun- 
 dred and fifty years old. 
 
 I took a carriage and drove through Bushy 
 Park toward Twickenham and Richmond. The 
 first part of the way lay through a splendid avenue 
 of horse-chestnut trees, the Park stretching away 
 pleasantly in green glades on either side. It 
 seemed to be a merry time on this midsummer 
 day. Everybody was out junketing. There 
 were dancing parties under the oaks, with all the 
 gypsy apparatus of baskets, plates and pans, spread 
 upon the grass. We met cricket matches going 
 on, each with its absorbed crowd of spectators. 
 Every little village has its cricket ground ; but 
 there are permanent centres, or societies, for the 
 instruction and organization of this game, that give 
 the law to the kingdom. The laws of cricket, as 
 
78 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 put forth by the celebrated " Mary-le-bone Club," 
 are contained in forty-seven articles, as precisely 
 drawn up and worded as the statutes of Parlia- 
 ment. And all this to knock down two or three 
 sticks stuck in the ground ! But these sticks are 
 guarded by such skill, activity, and tenacity, that 
 all the manhood in the field is brought out in this 
 exciting sport. Cricket, and foot-ball, and quoits, 
 and golf, and bowling, and hurling, and rowing, 
 and riding, and hunting, go far to make the deep- 
 chested, big-armed, enduring English race. Are 
 not these sports preferable to the flashy listlessness 
 with which many of our fashionable youth, both 
 in city and country, consume their leisure hours ? 
 It is better to get an arm broken in foot-ball, or 
 in being thrown from a horse, than to have the 
 whole system and soul eaten out by smoking, 
 drinking, and in-door idle dissipation. When, a 
 youth or young man has grown to be too lazy to 
 play foot-ball, or base-ball, or cricket, there is not 
 much hope for him intellectually or morally. Of 
 late years, it is true, American muscularity has 
 made astonishing progress, and the war has done 
 more for us than cricketing. But this love of 
 energetic sport and of out-of-door life runs through 
 all classes. It gives England her race of Nestors 
 in the field and in the council. We heard of Lord 
 Palmerston riding thirty miles on a stretch. Have- 
 lock drank no wine, brandy, or even ale. An 
 early riser, a hard rider, a lover of Nature, he was 
 ready to do the impetuous work of a young man 
 
ENVIRONS OF LONDON. 79 
 
 in his old age. An English family of the wealthier 
 class considers it the greatest luxury, and the real 
 superiority which wealth gives, to be able to be 
 out of doors, walking, sketching, botanizing, riding, 
 driving, almost all the day. Perhaps this is car- 
 ried too far by the " spindle-side " of the family ; 
 for an English lady, it is said, knows very little 
 of the practical management of home matters. 
 She secures fine health and a well-stored mind, 
 but her hands rarely touch the household machine. 
 This is left pretty much to the housekeeper and 
 the servants — a rank heresy in the eyes of a 
 New England matron who possesses " faculty." 
 
 We soon came on to " Strawberry Hill," the 
 home of Horace Walpole. A high wall shut in 
 the grounds and indeed the house itself from the 
 road, though glimpses of the lawn and garden 
 showed that they were charmingly laid out. They 
 were not open to visitors. King Louis Philippe at 
 one time lived here. Here the cunning letter- 
 writer sat like a spider, and drew into his brilliant 
 dew-spangled country web all things, characters, 
 history, and gossip, that was rife in his day. He 
 sucked the life out of his times, and sometimes 
 ejected his poison also into them. " That was the 
 great event in the day," some one has said, " when 
 the mail was made up at Strawberry Hill." It 
 may be remembered that in one of his letters he 
 speaks of " a young Mr. Burke, who wrote a book 
 in the style of Lord Bolingbroke, that was much 
 admired." 
 
80 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 Leaving the Teddington Road upon our right, I 
 drove on through a shaded lane to Twickenham, 
 passing by the spot where Pope's villa once stood. 
 It must be acknowledged that these wits, Wal- 
 pole, Pope, Thomson, and their London fellows- 
 poets who ruralized in the vicinity, had good 
 taste. The Thames lies in broad, silvery reaches 
 in the vale of Twickenham, with gem-like islets ; 
 and " Richmond Hill " is a green cockney Parnas- 
 sus. We do not wonder that the neighborhood of 
 London gave a tinge of the artificial sublime to 
 their productions. Pope could not forget that 
 the brilliant Lord Bolingbroke was to have the 
 reading of his verses, and that they would be dis- 
 cussed by befrilled gallants at the clubs. He 
 never got at the heart of Nature or man. If he 
 " scorned the city and its meaner ways," and the 
 smiles of the great, and the shams of polite life, and 
 drew pastoral pictures of humanity, it was still "the 
 pride that apes humility." Give me poor Cowper's 
 more genial and honest love of Nature, and of man, 
 with all his diseased fancies ! He did scorn the 
 mean and evil things of his day, and sought his 
 refuge in the solaces of Nature, his own heart, and 
 the Divine Word. 
 
 At Twickenham is a French colony of royal ex- 
 iles. Orleans House, beautifully situated near the 
 river, where the Due d'Aumale now lives, was 
 purchased by his father Louis Philippe. The story 
 is told here with gusto that when the king, under 
 the name of" Mr. Smith," applied to the man who 
 
ENVIRONS OF LONDON. 81 
 
 had the care of the house, in order to look at it, he 
 recognized in him a person whom he had pre- 
 viously known when he lived in this neighborhood. 
 He said, "I have seen you before, have I not? " 
 
 " It may be, I was once gardener at ." 
 
 " Well, what do you do now ?;" " Now I keep 
 the ' Crown.' 5 "Ah," said the ex-monarch with 
 a shrug, " I tried to keep the Crown too, but I did 
 not succeed." Claremont House, where the old 
 Queen Amelia lived, is some distance away from 
 the river to the right. We drove over the mead- 
 ows and crossed Richmond Bridge, climbing up 
 that long and far-famed hill, to the " Star and Gar- 
 ter Hotel." With every evidence of the most 
 sumptuous abundance, I could not get a morsel of 
 luncheon, and was decidedly informed that it was 
 impossible to be served, — that orders must be left 
 four hours beforehand. This was true, as every- 
 body in England must dine alone, and all the rooms 
 were occupied. After enjoying the fine view from 
 the terrace of the hotel, over the valley, park, and 
 river, softened with a delicate golden haze of early 
 summer afternoon, I went on to Kew. Here, at a 
 neat inn, I met with a better reception, and when 
 the strawberries and cream were finished, was pre- 
 pared to enjoy a walk in the Gardens. They are 
 the largest public gardens in England. They for- 
 merly belonged to the Georges, and were part of 
 the grounds of the old Kew Palace. Sir Joseph 
 Banks in his day was greatly interested in" the lay- 
 ing out and nourishing of the Botanic Gardens, 
 
 6 
 
82 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 and planted them with exotics obtained by himself 
 in his voyage around the world. In 1841 a new 
 impulse was given to the improvement of the 
 grounds, and the plan was adopted to make this the 
 home of all the plants that grew within the borders 
 of the British Empire, the world over. One sees 
 the harmoniously combined beauties of all parts of 
 the earth, and the marriage of the tropics with the 
 arctics, as if it were Eden from which all things 
 sprung, or a restored Eden, in which all things 
 again flourish. Such a garden makes us think of 
 the physical capabilities of the earth, when it shall 
 be brought under the perfect influences of Love, 
 Light, and Order. The immense " Palm-house," 
 or " Palm-stove " in the midst of the garden, is its 
 chief point of interest. From it three broad walks 
 or vistas radiate, one of them running nearly a 
 mile to the river's brink. Its hot-water pipes ex- 
 tend 24,000 feet in length. Beneath its glass roof 
 one may see the fan-leaved trees of the Pacific 
 Islands, and the spice-trees and banyan of India, 
 the caoutchouc, the cotton and the indigo plant. 
 
 Near by is the tropical "Aquarium," where the 
 glory of Kew Gardens, the " Victoria Kegia " 
 from South America, grows. Here also the papy- 
 rus is cultivated, from which good paper has been 
 made. To the west of the " Palm-house " extends 
 the " Pinetum," a grove of some twenty-four acres, 
 devoted to coniferous trees. In front of the 
 " Palm-house " is an artificial pond. It is delight- 
 ful at the calm hour of evening to walk in a garden 
 
ENVIRONS OF LONDON. 83 
 
 like this when the flowers are sending up their in- 
 cense, and all colors blend together, and all de- 
 scriptions of plants, from the cedar of Lebanon to 
 the lowly English laurel, and whinbush, are to be 
 seen. The humblest ferns and heaths are not 
 wanting. The heaths of Australia, I remember, 
 were particularly beautiful. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 HOMES OF ARNOLD AND COWPER. 
 
 Eighty-three miles from London, upon the 
 London and Birmingham Railway, is the town of 
 Rugby, anciently Rokeby. Although Rugby lies 
 near the river Avon, it has little natural beauty. 
 Speaking of mountain scenery, Dr. Arnold writes : 
 " I only know of five counties in England which 
 cannot supply it, and I am unluckily perched down 
 in one of them. These five are Warwick, North- 
 ampton, Huntingdon, Cambridge, and Bedford. 
 I should add perhaps Rutland, and you cannot 
 name a seventh ; for Suffolk, which is otherwise just 
 as bad, has its bit of sea-coast. We have no hills, 
 no plains, not a single wood, and but one single 
 copse ; no heath, no down, no rock, no river, no 
 clear stream, scarcely any flowers, for the lias is 
 particularly poor in them ; nothing but an endless 
 monotony of inclosed fields and hedge-row trees. 
 This is to me a daily privation ; it robs me of what 
 is naturally my anti-attrition, and as I grow older I 
 begin to feel it. My constitution is sound but not 
 strong, and I feel any little pressure or annoyance 
 more than I used to do ; and the positive dullness 
 of the country about Rugby makes it to me a mere 
 
HOMES OF ARNOLD AND COWPER. 85 
 
 working-place. I cannot expatiate here even in 
 my walks." It proves - the nobleness of the man, 
 that during his vacation rambles, his visits to West- 
 moreland, and his journeyings in Switzerland and 
 Italy, in which he showed the bounding enthusiasm 
 of a boy, he always kept his eye steadily on uncon- 
 genial Rugby as the place of his work. He had an 
 aim in life, a work to do, which he placed above 
 the cultivation of the beautiful, and which was the 
 most beautiful thing. He was wont to repeat the 
 words of Bacon, "In this world God only and his 
 angels may be spectators." 
 
 But before speaking further of Dr. Arnold, or 
 Rugby, I would say a word about a brief visit to 
 Bilton Hall, the home of Addison. This is a mile 
 and a half to the south of Rugby. I was kindly 
 permitted to see the house and grounds. There is 
 a fine avenue of trees, or short drive, leading up to 
 the house, which last is not seen until one comes 
 into the court-yard itself. It is an old-fashioned 
 and picturesque building, rather low, but covering 
 much ground. Though aware of the historical fact, 
 one naturally asks how could a literary man have 
 gotten himself housed in such a famous old pile? 
 I passed through the house into the garden. This 
 is large and pleasantly laid out, without being stiff. 
 Beyond the garden and separated from it by a wire 
 fence, is an ancient park. There were no orna- 
 ments but trees and smooth lawns. The trees were 
 here and there disposed for shady walks. A little 
 summer-house upon a green knoll near the mansion 
 
86 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 was the favorite resort of Addison. This summer- 
 house is particularly mentioned in the sketch of Ad- 
 dison's life in the " History of the Kit-cat Club." 
 It was an agreeable nook for well-dressed Sir Roger 
 de Coverley with his moderate and well-regulated 
 love of Nature, to take his philosophical siesta in. 
 The flower-garden, especially rich in roses, and just 
 then in its June brilliancy, was directly in front of 
 the house, sending its delicious perfume into the 
 open windows. It seemed altogether a most genial 
 and home-like spot. The drawing-room was a fine 
 apartment, hung around with full-length pictures, 
 chiefly historical, among which James I. figures 
 with his look of wisdom. I was last of all shown 
 up-stairs into Addison's study, truly a contrast to 
 Henry Kirke White's, or even Southey's. It 
 seemed to correspond in size with the room below, 
 and here Addison wrote much of his " Spectator," 
 walking to and fro the length of the room, as was 
 his wont. There was the very table (so I was 
 told) upon which he wrote. It was now well cov- 
 ered with books, and the whole apartment bore ev- 
 idence of a refined culture in its present occupants. 
 How could it be otherwise with Addison himself 
 looking down upon them in a life-like portrait ! 
 The features are handsome, but there is a shade too 
 much of the fine gentleman in the redundant curls, 
 open collar, and brave air. The portrait of his 
 child, " Miss Addison," as the waiting-woman 
 called her, hung by his side. In the other part of 
 the room was the likeness of his wife, the Countess 
 
HOMES OF ARNOLD AND COWPER. 87 
 
 Dowager of Warwick, a very good face, resembling 
 Queen Anne, but more amiable and gentle. Yet 
 she was any thing but gentle, it is said. There was 
 also a portrait of her son, a slender, aristocratic- 
 looking youth, the same whom Addison summoned 
 for him to see how a Christian could die. 
 
 And now for Rugby School. Its battlemented, 
 castle-like walls and buildings form the prominent 
 object in the small country town. It is indeed all 
 the place. Its army of boys and teachers over- 
 whelm every other interest and association. The 
 school was founded in Queen Elizabeth's day by 
 one Lawrence Sheriff, a London merchant born in 
 Rugby. The original donation during this long 
 period has greatly increased in value, so that the 
 school enjoys a revenue of some .£5000 from this 
 source alone. The general plan of the school is as 
 follows : " Any person who has resided for two 
 years at Rugby, or at any place in the county of 
 Warwick within ten miles of it, or in the adjacent 
 counties of Leicester and Northampton, to the dis- 
 tance of five miles from it, is entitled to send his 
 sons to receive their education at the school without 
 payment. But if a parent lives out of the town of 
 Rugby, his son must lodge at one of the regular 
 school boarding-houses, and the expenses of his 
 board are the same as those incurred by a boy not 
 on the foundation. Boys who have this right to 
 the advantages of the institution are called 'founda- 
 tioners,' and their number is not limited." 
 
 Classical studies are all in all at Rugby, and in 
 
88 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 Arnold's time the school won its preeminence in 
 these studies. He introduced a thorough drill in 
 the grammatic elements of language, that laid a 
 sure foundation for good scholarship. Nothing 
 could atone, in his eyes, for grammatical incorrect- 
 ness, no beauty of expression or ingenuity of con- 
 struction. He threw new life into the readings of 
 the old authors, by opening to the minds of his pu- 
 pils fields of illustrative truth in history, geography, 
 ethnology, and art. He taught his pupils to dis- 
 criminate between different ages of the same lan- 
 guage, the colorings of outward circumstances, and 
 the changes of idiom. The consequence of this 
 training was that Rugby boys have studied with 
 the zest of mature minds, and have taken the first 
 stand at Oxford. Arnold also had the courage to 
 introduce the natural sciences and the modern lan- 
 guages into Rugby, and though it is said that he did 
 not become himself a perfect German scholar, he 
 has done for England what Stuart did for America ; 
 he opened the way to the general study of the Ger- 
 man in English schools and universities. '* He 
 changed the face of public education throughout 
 England." But he did infinitely more than this, — 
 he drew back education to its true source. He 
 chased out the spirit of a negative philosophy, which 
 separated the school from all divine influences and 
 nourished a deep immorality. In the discipline of 
 the school, and its entire system of instruction, he 
 let in the sunshine of the Divine Word. He chris- 
 tianized the school as he would have done the 
 state. 
 
HOMES OF ARNOLD AND COWPER. 89 
 
 The buildings of Rugby School are of the 
 square English Gothic, and are of considerable size 
 and extent. There is a turreted gateway Tower, 
 a handsome Chapel, and a cloistered quadrangle. 
 The whole edifice, however, has a rough look, or 
 the boys have made it look so. What building 
 could stand centuries of boys ! The pyramids have 
 never stood such a test. There is a large park 
 upon one side, with great elms but miserable 
 scanty grass. The whole has a half-ecclesiastical, 
 half-military aspect. I was introduced through a 
 flower-embowered porch into the principal's house 
 and study. It was Dr. Arnold's room. It was 
 the room where " Tom Brown " had his heart- 
 searching interview with the great man. The por- 
 trait of Arnold, with its intense, almost fiery expres- 
 sion, as if in agony with some brave thought or 
 purpose, and other pictures and busts, adorned the 
 room. Papers, pamphlets, and books, crowded 
 every part of it. It was " the heart of the con- 
 cern," where the " Head-master " wrote, thought, 
 toiled, and prayed. I was allowed to visit the 
 whole establishment, and had considerable conver- 
 sation with some of the instructors. Boys under 
 thirteen or fourteen years of age were not recom- 
 mended to come to Rugby, as the system was 
 adapted to minds and characters that had acquired 
 some tone of self-regulation. No one can remain 
 at Rugby after he has reached nineteen. I peeped 
 into the boys' studies, minute apartments six by 
 four, opening into a large arched passage-way. 
 
90 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 Here was amusingly shown the natural history of 
 a school-boy's mind. The arranging and orna- 
 menting of each room is according to its own occu- 
 pant's particular fancy. Pictures, plaster-of-Paris 
 figures, flowers, whips, boxing-gloves, mingled with 
 maps, slates, and books. Here was the boy artis- 
 tic, the boy athletic, the boy commercial, and the 
 boy sentimental. But, on the whole, pictures of 
 hunting scenes predominated. The boys' un- 
 leashed minds evidently ran on horses and dogs. 
 Some of the little dens were as neat as Shaking 
 Quakers' herb-stalls, and some, say most, were 
 genuine hurra - nests. I may have passed 
 " Brown's " and "Arthur's " room, and that of 
 their queer, bird-stuffer friend, but I did not know 
 them. It is a good idea to let a boy have a place 
 that he can call his own, where he is lord of his 
 own castle. This breeds contentment, develops 
 taste, and encourages the reflective spirit, so want- 
 ing in the hasty mind of youth. The dormitories 
 were bare, lofty rooms, the scenes of many a 
 Waterloo pillow-fight, shy prank, and hard joke. 
 No wonder little Arthur could not say his prayers 
 unmolested here ! The class-rooms, and even the 
 room where Dr. Arnold taught the illustrious 
 " Sixth," were of the barest, roughest character. 
 As every boy is allowed to cut his name on his 
 own desk after having been a certain time in 
 school, the desks and tables are horribly hacked. 
 Some of them are but spindle-waisted skeletons of 
 what they once were. They look like the work of 
 
HOMES OF ARNOLD AND COWPER. 91 
 
 beavers. One hardly sees how they can be used 
 for the purposes of writing and study. Compared 
 with the convenient furniture and handsome fit- 
 tings of modern American school-houses, these 
 apartments appeared semi-barbarian. But there 
 was a certain pleasing contrast in the polished classic 
 culture that issues from these rooms, and the abso- 
 lute savageness of their whole aspect and furnish- 
 ing. Rugby is considered rough, though standing 
 the highest in manhood and morals of all the Eng- 
 lish schools. Eton and Harrow are the aristo- 
 cratic schools. Shrewsbury is now equal to any in 
 scholarship. 
 
 The Arnold Library, which has been built since 
 the Doctor's decease, contains the nucleus of a fine 
 classical and historic collection. I noticed among 
 the books a complete set of Arnold's own works. In 
 the yard under the chapel windows we saw some 
 young Rugbyans playing racket. Out of this yard 
 extends the broad and famous " Campus Martius," 
 the scene of the foot-ball glories. Rugbeia floreat ! 
 
 What a grand spirit of movement and power 
 Arnold infused into his whole system of instruction. 
 It was a mingling of the best idea of old Greek cul- 
 ture with the Christian, in which the body should 
 become the strong instrument of the trained mind 
 and free heart, open to every pure, high, heroic 
 feeling ! 
 
 The Chapel is the culmination of the interests of 
 the spot. In the north transept stands the monu- 
 ment of Dr. Arnold. It bears a Latin inscription 
 
92 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 from the pen of his friend Bunsen. As a specimen 
 of monumental Latinity I give this inscription. 
 
 VIR. REV. 
 
 THOMAS. ARNOLD. S. T. P. 
 
 HISTORIC. RECENT. MVI. TRADEND-ffi. APVD. OXONIEN. PRO. REG. 
 
 HVXVS. SCHOLE. PER. ANNOS. XIV. ANTISTES. STRENWS. VNICE. DILECTVS. 
 
 THVCIDIDEM. ILLVSTRAVTT. HISTORIAM. ROMANAM. SCRLPSIT. 
 
 POPULI. CHRISTIAN!. 
 
 LIBERTATEM. DIGNITATEM. VINDICAVIT, FIDEM. CONFIRMAVIT. SCRIPXIS. 
 
 VITA. 
 
 CHRISTVM. PR^DICAVIT. APVD. VOS. 
 
 IWENVM. ANLMOS. MONVMENTVM. SIBI. DELIGENS. 
 
 TANTI. VIRI. EFFIGIES. VOBIS. HIC. EST. PROPOSITA. 
 
 CORPVS. SVB. ALTARI. CONQVLESCIT. 
 
 ANIMA. IN. SVAM. SEDEM. PATRE. VOCANTE. IMMIGRAVIT. 
 
 PORTIS. PIA. LMTA.. 
 
 NAT. A. D. XIII. JVN. MDCCXCV. MORT. A. D. XH. JVN. MDCCCXLH. 
 
 AMICI. POSVERVNT. 
 
 The windows of the Chapel are of painted glass. 
 One of them in commemoration of Dr. Thomas 
 Arnold, is touching in its design. It represents 
 the meeting of the Saviour and Thomas, with the 
 words inscribed beneath, " And Jesus said unto 
 him, Thomas, because thou hast seen me thou hast 
 believed ; blessed are they who have not seen, and 
 yet have believed." These are said to have been 
 among his last words. Under another memorial 
 window there is a plate of brass inscribed with the 
 names of Rugby scholars who fell at the Crimea. 
 Everywhere in school, and church, and domestic 
 fireside, the martial ardor of the youth of England 
 is nourished. The beautiful death of those who 
 die for their country was one of Arnold's favorite 
 themes. We do not stop now to speak of this 
 peculiar trait of English Christianity, that it min- 
 gles the heroism of the earthly and spiritual soldier, 
 
HOMES OF ARNOLD AND COW PER. 93 
 
 and blends their glories as it were in one. But 
 here the true soldier of Christ lies on the field of 
 his glory. Arnold is buried near the pulpit, 
 where he so often preached in living earnestness 
 and power to fresh young minds. He pointed 
 them directly to Christ. He dropt the worn-out 
 robes of dogmatism, ecclesiasticism, pietism, and 
 stretched out the arms of love, truth, hope, to the 
 young. The words of Dr. Arnold's favorite morn- 
 ing hymn, from the German of Baron von Canitz, 
 are expressive of his life : — 
 
 " Come, my soul, thou must be waking, 
 Now is breaking 
 
 O'er the earth another day; 
 Come to Him who made this splendor, 
 See thou render 
 
 All thy feeble powers can pay. 
 
 From the stars thy course be learning ; 
 Dimly burning, 
 
 'Neath the sun their light grows pale ; 
 So let all that sense delighted, 
 While benighted 
 
 From God's presence fade and fail." 
 
 Olney, in the county of Buckingham, or 
 u Bucks," as it is called, is situated in the marshy 
 valley of the slow-winding river Ouse, as if it 
 had been formerly the bed of a wide and shallow 
 lake. Long before arriving I saw the spire of 
 John Newton's Church, frequently referred to by 
 Cowper as a grateful way-mark in his weary pil- 
 grimage. It is the only salient feature of the 
 otherwise flat and melancholy scene. The town 
 itself, of about five thousand inhabitants, is on 
 
94 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 very slightly rising ground, with the river run- 
 ning, rather sleeping, at its side. Two bridges, 
 or one bridge in two parts, cross its wide 
 undefined bed, for it seems to have no particular 
 current at this spot, but generally diffuses itself 
 around in stagnant ponds and pools. It was not 
 the river to rush through a poet's brain, and 
 cleanse it of its unhealthy fancies. The very 
 bridge this over which the Postman of the " Task" 
 came thundering and tooting, — 
 
 " That with its wearisome but needful length, 
 Bestrides the wintry flood." 
 
 I drove directly to Cowper's house, a tall red-brick 
 mansion, with stripes of black brick, and under 
 each window an ornament of carved stone-work. 
 It was the most presentable house in town, and 
 stood at the angle of a triangle formed by the 
 meeting of three roads. In the square or open 
 place itself was one large tree, which must have 
 flourished in the poet's time. The house seems 
 to be now cut up into two or three dwellings. Its 
 roof also has been altered, being made a plain 
 shelving roof, whereas it had formerly been a bold 
 parapeted one. The front room, which was Cow- 
 per's sitting-room, is now used as a milliner's shop, 
 and is filled with bonnets and caps. The amiable 
 mistress of the shop did the honors of the house, 
 seeming to have an appreciation of Cowper. The 
 room is very small, with bay windows ; Cowper's 
 bedroom is smaller still. In these rooms the 
 " Task " was probably written, for it was com- 
 
HOMES OF ARNOLD AND COWPER. 95 
 
 posed .mostly in the winter time. Here also lie 
 kept his hares, Puss, Bess, and Tiny. We might 
 see a faint smile pass over his sad face, when he 
 wrote of the veteran survivor of the famous 
 three : — 
 
 " Though duly from my hand he took 
 His pittance every night, 
 He did it with a jealous look, 
 And when he could would bite." 
 
 The garden is now disjoined from the house, but 
 still exists in about its ancient size and integrity. 
 Its present owner is a hospitable, open-hearted 
 man, who entertained me with fruit and luncheon 
 in Cowper's own garden-house. This is getting 
 rickety, but still stands. Cowper wrote here much 
 that bears his name, and this same little summer- 
 house has its own place in the map of human 
 freedom ! Here he used to sit in conversation 
 with his friend John Newton late into the night. 
 Newton's house is just beyond the garden, over a 
 narrow field that the poet called his " guinea 
 orchard," having purchased a right of way to his 
 friend's house for a guinea a year. I walked 
 through this field to the parsonage. Newton's 
 study- window looked directly down upon this 
 meadow. Under this roof these two pure spirits 
 held sweet counsel together, and in many ways 
 important results have flowed from their apparent- 
 ly accidental friendship. To Newton's influence 
 the world probably owes Cowper's poetic works. 
 From that eleven years' imprisonment in the house 
 
96 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 of bondage, flowed forth the sweetest spiritual 
 songs in the English language. Newton's house 
 is now occupied as a vicarage, as it was formerly. 
 The present young vicar of Olney showed us 
 Newton's study, an attic-room, ornamented with 
 Scripture texts painted in large letters on the 
 walls. I crossed over also to the church. The 
 yard and the church itself appeared neglected. It 
 looked like an earthly rather than a spiritual 
 sheep-fold. Newton's pulpit still stands. With 
 what feelings must he have given out some touch- 
 ing tender words from the " Olney Hymns," with 
 that almost ever- vacant seat before him ! 
 
 I called upon a very venerable lady of the name 
 of Mason, living near Cowper's house, who re- 
 members to have seen the poet when she was a 
 little girl, and was frequently at his residence. 
 She said " he was a good man, but quite, quite 
 reserved." She showed me a poker which he in- 
 vented for his friend Sir John Throckmorton. 
 She said very simply, that "if we were good 
 enough to go to heaven we would meet William 
 Cowper there." 
 
 I drove over to another well-known home of 
 Cowper, about two miles distant, " Weston Under- 
 wood." He removed from Olney to this place on 
 account of its greater healthiness, and to be nearer 
 the Throckmortons. The house called " The 
 Lodge " is a superior house to the one at Olney. 
 It was wreathed over with a luxuriant vine, and 
 seemed to be a comfortable mansion. On account 
 
HOMES OF ARNOLD AND COWPER. 97 
 
 of the illness of the lady of the house, I did not 
 see the chamber where the poet has left some 
 desponding lines, written in pencil on the inside 
 of the window-shutter, dated July 22d, 1795. I 
 carried away a branch of the yew-tree standing in 
 the garden. A walk in '* The Wilderness," near 
 by, brought to mind the poet more vividly than 
 any spot I had seen. It was the most of genuine 
 Nature that he enjoyed. It is a thick luxuriant 
 copse-wood left apparently just as when Cowper 
 was living. At the end of a shadowy walk stands 
 the bust of Homer with the Greek inscription. 
 Here are the monuments to the " pointer," and 
 the spaniel " Fop." An old white decaying acacia 
 in front of the arbor seemed like his own leafless 
 spirit, seared by mental disease, but kept from 
 dying by the invisible stream of a divine faith, so 
 that it now stands transplanted, putting forth 
 leaves and blossoms on the border of the River of 
 Life. Here also is the favorite lime-tree walk, and 
 beyond this, in the depths of the Park, is the 
 famous "Yardley Oak." So thick is the shade 
 in " the Wilderness," and so perfect the quiet, 
 that no words would better fit the place than those 
 of his own simple hymn : — 
 
 " The calm retreat, the silent shade, 
 With praj^er and praise agree, 
 And seem by thy sweet bounty made, 
 For those who follow thee. 
 
 " There, if thy spirit touch the soul, 
 And grace her mean abode, 
 7 
 
98 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 Oh with what peace, and joy, and love, 
 She communes with her God. 
 
 " There, like a nightingale, she pours 
 Her solitary lays, 
 Nor asks a witness of her song, 
 Nor thirsts for human praise." 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 WESTON UNDERWOOD TO CHELTENHAM. 
 
 I made (to myself) an unexpected discovery in 
 Weston Underwood, of the house where Dr. 
 Thomas Scott once lived. Taking in Turvey, a 
 little way from Olney, where was Leigh Rich- 
 mond's home after he left the Isle of Wight, and 
 much of interest, in the history of English faith, 
 is comprised within this circle of ten miles. New- 
 ton, Richmond, Cowper, Scott, — do you call them 
 the representatives of a type of religion that in 
 some respects was narrow, and is now undergo- 
 ing changes ? But they were the faithful of their 
 day — a day in which scholarship in the illustra- 
 tion of divine truth was at a low ebb. Dr. Scott's 
 house stands at the head of the principal street of 
 the village. An intelligent and cultivated family 
 now occupy it. It is not the large thatched-roofed 
 cottage diagonally opposite, which Hugh Miller sup- 
 posed it was. It is strange that so accurate an ob- 
 server should have made this mistake. It arose 
 probably from hearing it said that the cottage was 
 formerly the parsonage. But Scott clearly defines 
 the situation of his house in his Autobiography. In 
 a front chamber of this house he wrote his " Com- 
 
100 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 mentaries." In the garden stands the same pear- 
 tree (a wall-tree covering nearly all of one end of 
 the house) to which he refers in his Autobiography. 
 " In fact Mr. H." (his landlord) " took no rent of 
 me but a hamper of pears, annually, from a fine 
 tree in the garden, for which he regularly sent me 
 a receipt." Cowper, in a letter to John Newton, 
 speaks of " Mr. Scott as an admirable preacher, 
 but one who was apt to spoil his sermons by " scold- 
 ing" too much. The stone church where Dr. 
 Scott preached is not far from the house, a solid 
 structure containing monuments of the Throckmor- 
 ton family. This was a Catholic family, and 
 strange to say, in the village where Scott and 
 Cowper lived, most of the inhabitants at this day 
 are Catholic. 
 
 That genial though thorough Englishman, " Ar- 
 thur Helps," has made the remark that tempera- 
 
 "tjment is but the atmosphere of character, while its 
 groundwork in nature may be fixed and unchange- 
 able. This remark might explain the difference 
 between the Englishman and the American, look- 
 ing at both in their broad national traits. It has 
 been pleasant to me to think that deep down under 
 all the changes of history and circumstance, there 
 was a common root to the two nations, and that 
 this still is to be found. The temperament of the 
 American, since his ancestors landed in New Eng- 
 
 ** land and Virginia, has been affected by a thousand 
 new influences. More oxygen has flowed into his 
 soul as well as his lungs. His nature has been in- 
 
WESTON UNDERWOOD TO CHELTENHAM. 101 
 
 tensified. His sympathies have found another 
 rano-e of objects. But, after all, it is hard to wash 
 away the original basis of nature. Its force and in- 
 tegrity remain. What can be more different than 
 a genuine Yankee and a true John Bull ? Yes, we 
 can say they are no longer the same ; but still they £ 
 do not differ as an Englishman differs from a 
 Frenchman, or a German, or an Italian. Many 
 unchangeable qualities belong to each, though 
 transformed. I have an American friend in view, 
 a traveling acquaintance, who has the distinctive 
 American traits in broad relief; and I should be 
 perfectly willing to show him the following photo- 
 graph. He would recognize it, laugh at it, and 
 glory in it. He worshiped his own country. He 
 meant that everybody else should know how great £ 
 it is. There was nothing that America did not 
 have ; there was nothing in fact out of America. 
 He hated an Englishman because the Englishman g 
 would not acknowledge the same thing. He was 
 ready to fight England, just to make her wake up, 
 and open her eyes, and see the "living truth" 
 about America. But if he hated an Englishman, 
 he had an infinite contempt for a Swiss, because he 
 considered him to be mercenary and not to be de- 
 pended upon. In going over some of the wilder 
 passes of the Alps, although he had a horse so that 
 he might not appear to be mean, he would not 
 mount the horse until his guide happened to ask 
 him if he were afraid ; then he jumped on, and rode 
 unconcernedly along the edge of the most terrific 
 
102 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 abysses, where every one else dismounted. He 
 told me that he had never had a sensation of fear 
 in his life, and I believe him, for Jhe would climb 
 places where few would dare to follow him, and 
 then go " a touch beyond," and dangle his legs over 
 the precipice. He took a guide rather as a matter 
 of course, for he always found the path himself, and 
 walked ahead. He filled his pockets with small 
 change every morning, to be distributed to all the 
 little children he met during the day, but he would 
 raise the hotel when he thought himself cheated to 
 the value of a ten-centime piece. He was a rich 
 man, and had made himself. When he had just 
 begun business he discovered by reweighing an 
 article that he had charged a customer a dollar too 
 much. He went immediately and rectified the 
 mistake. His customer, an old Quaker gentleman, 
 said to him, " Young man, thee shall never be the 
 poorer for that dollar." "And that dollar," he 
 said, " had brought him thousands." Every thing 
 new, useful, and practical, he swooped upon in- 
 stantly. He spoke little about the Alps, but a new 
 style of bolt running upon rollers, which he found 
 in Switzerland, he was much interested in, though 
 he said he had the same idea himself when a boy. 
 Stone stairs, in case of fire, was the only thing I 
 ever heard him acknowledge as something pecu- 
 liarly foreign and good. He did not like any thing 
 ©because it was old, and despised a "battered old 
 torso " ; but if a work of Art looked nice and beau- 
 tiful at the present instant, whether new or old, he 
 
WESTON UNDERWOOD TO CHELTENHAM. 103 
 
 indulged in vehement praises of it. The past was 
 past with him. A thing must be entirely up to its 
 professions, for the slightest respect on his part. 
 He affected to scorn sentiment and the emotional, 
 but he was ever doing little delicate and kind 
 things. I discovered accidentally this iron-nerved 
 man, who prided himself on his sang-froid, gazing 
 with bedewed eyes on the miniature of his dead 
 wife, that he had caused to be painted in the most 
 exquisite manner by Lamuni&re of Geneva, and set 
 about with enamels of forget-me-nots in a casing of 
 massive gold. 
 
 Whatever he bought, or wore, or ate, or had, 
 must be of the best quality, and he put himself on 
 a lower seat to no living being. 
 
 Now in many things, although absolutely trans- 
 formed, do we not see here the original English 
 nature, — its self-confidence, uprightness, courage, 
 practicalness, acquisitiveness, womanish tenderness, 
 and insufferable pride ? He disliked an Englishman 
 for the same reason that an Englishman disliked 
 him. But is there not here, in better things, a 
 ground of future union of the two nations to civil- 
 ize the world ? They both have the same English 
 " pluck." There is in both nations the same love 
 of home, the same capacity of religion. They are 
 nations that do have a conscience. Therefore they 
 are better, and worse, and greater, than other na- 
 tions. A far more strongly marked comparison 
 might be drawn between the Englishman and the 
 German. They too are not mentally or morally 
 
104 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 antagonistic, as are the English and French, but 
 only, as the Englishman and the American, tem- 
 peramentally dissimilar. The chief feature of dis- 
 similarity consists in the practical directness of the 
 ^English mind, as compared with the thoughtful cir- 
 cuitousness of the German. This comes out amus- 
 ingly in conversation. The German dwells on par- 
 ticulars while tenaciously pursuing the main track ; 
 is minute and episodical ; must examine every stone, 
 and turn over every straw, and does not perceive, 
 or does not wish to do so, the few things of true im- 
 portance. The Englishman goes to the other ex- 
 treme in brevity ; marches immediately to the con- 
 clusion ; disdains the intermediate ; relates a fact 
 and gives a reason without obscuring either in un- 
 essential detail. But a German who wishes to say 
 " I went home from the Post-office," would feel 
 obliged to tell every corner he turned around, 
 every person he met, every thing that every person 
 told him, and every thing that he told every person. 
 It is sometimes, therefore, a small torture for an 
 Englishman or an American to talk with a Ger- 
 man, because the definite fact or idea which he is 
 seeking for is so long in finding expression. But 
 on philosophical and scientific topics, this systematic 
 method and absolute thoroughness of the German 
 mind is a noble feature, while English bluntness 
 and American rapidity become real faults, and lead 
 to intellectual superficiality. Another striking dif- 
 ference between an Englishman and a German is, 
 that if the former has in him anv thing like senti- 
 
WESTON UNDERWOOD TO CHELTENHAM. 105 
 
 ment, he tries to conceal it as a weakness of which 
 he is heartily ashamed ; the latter delights to make 
 a show of sentiment. The Englishman hates 
 scenes ; the German revels in such manifestations. 
 The Englishman tries to look contemptuous ; the 
 German appears rapturous. The Englishman de- 
 spises pipe-claying and outward manifestations ; the 
 German glories in red tags and demonstrations. 
 And since we are in for it, to strike out in the gen- 
 uine Macaulay vein, the Englishman has an island 
 solitariness of temper ; the German has a conti- 
 nental sociality. The Englishman thinks more of 
 himself than of his neighbor; the German thinks 
 more of his neighbor than of himself. The Eng- 
 lishman has more self-respect ; the German has 
 more self-complacency. 
 
 There is one quality in the English character 
 patent to all observers, which is one of its least 
 worthy features, — suspicion. Whether it be so 
 or not, there is almost always an apparent suspi- 
 cion of every thing, and of everybody, in his looks 
 and conduct. He seems to be suspicious lest his 
 right-hand neighbor is a thief, his left-hand neigh- 
 bor an artful imposter, and the man who sits oppo- 
 site him a humbug. Sometimes when one really 
 supposes he is on terms of easy confidence with an 
 Englishman, some trivial thing happens to rouse 
 the old John Bull suspicion, and your pleasant and 
 intelligent companion is instantly transformed into 
 a lump of ice and formality. Perhaps the next 
 time you meet him, he will either not know you, 
 
106 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 or you are so disgusted as not to know him. This 
 suspicion has seemed to me sometimes to poison an 
 Englishman's own happiness. I remember a little 
 incident in riding from Mansfield to Chesterfield 
 through the Robin Hood forest region. The 
 weather was good, the roads smooth, and all the 
 company seemed to be in excellent spirits. Two 
 burly gentlemen in front of me took an especial 
 liking to each other, and chatted, and joked, and 
 laughed, till the groves and orchards rang again. 
 Something, however, jarred suddenly in their con- 
 versation, the English suspicion seemed to creep up 
 into their faces, they looked at each other askance, 
 the conversation dropped, each buttoned up his 
 top-coat, settled himself in his seat, and one felt 
 that if any thing more occurred between the two, it 
 would be to pitch each other off the coach. This 
 little circumstance had an evident effect upon the 
 whole company. Each one seemed to be reminded 
 that he, too, had been too free with his neighbor 
 with whom he had no previous acquaintance. It 
 was in vain after this to attempt to raise a conver- 
 sation, and rain coming on, the discomfort and 
 wetting confirmed this unsociability for the rest of 
 the ride, into downright savage taciturnity. 
 
 On arriving at an English inn, apparently the 
 same chill suspicion meets one. A prim landlady 
 receives the traveler and consigns him immediately 
 to the laconic offices of " Boots." He is shut up 
 alone in a sombre-looking parlor ; is obliged to ring, 
 and ring, and ring, for the most common and in- 
 
WESTON UNDERWOOD TO CHELTENHAM. 107 
 
 dispensable services ; eats his dinner alone and in 
 silence ; and when he leaves is besieged by the inso- 
 lent demands of three or four understrappers, to 
 whom he is not aware of having been indebted for 
 any assistance. But the trim and pleasant-looking 
 landlady appears again at this moment of departure, 
 with the invariable courteous commonplace, " I 
 hope you have passed an agreeable time, sir ! ' 
 
 I have indeed sometimes amused myself with 
 the idea, that a traveler entering an English inn 
 is looked upon in the light of an intruder upon a 
 private family circle. He can get little informa- 
 tion by asking questions ; is expected to keep his 
 own room, to make as little noise as possible, and 
 give as little trouble. In traveling in England, 
 one meets with few pleasant personal adventures, 
 because it is rare that an Englishman suffers you to 
 assist him, or suffers himself to be interested in you. 
 I asked an educated Englishman once what was 
 the reason of this. He said it was English phlegm. 
 John Bull would n't absolutely take the trouble to 
 ask questions or answer them, to sympathize with 
 others, or to strive to win others' sympathies. He 
 prefers to sit still and tranquilly digest his plum- 
 pudding. It is hard for a genuine Englishman to 
 meet a stranger, as a Frenchman does, on the neu- 
 tral platform of well-bred indifference. He must 
 either be cool or hearty, suspicious or all- confiding. 
 I have found in traveling in England that if I 
 could chastise my own intemperate nationality, 
 and not let it stick out offensively, that I soon made 
 
108 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 friends with Englishmen, who, in the end, would 
 volunteer more in reference to their own failings 
 
 £j> than I should ever have thought of producing to 
 them. Mutual pride prevents Englishmen and 
 Americans from seeing each others' good traits 
 and positive resemblances. And all Englishmen 
 are not disagreeable, neither are all Americans in- 
 sufferable. There are the pleasantest and sweetest 
 people in the world in both nations ; so there are 
 undoubtedly the most insolent and contemptible. 
 I remember one evening at Bath occupying the 
 coffee-room with one of the most agreeable men I 
 ever met. He was not only a cultivated man, and 
 one too who did not despise an American book, and 
 who lived daily with our best authors and poets, 
 Ibut he was an Englishman who had no prejudices 
 against us as a people, and where he disagreed with 
 us did so in a manly way. He was a genial man, 
 open as the day. He was a Christian man, not 
 dry or solemn, but the heart of the true Christian, 
 the fighter against all wrong and meanness, was in 
 him. His spirit met your spirit in love. So free 
 and pleasant was our talk, that it was near one 
 o'clock before w T e parted. During the evening, an- 
 other man had taken his dinner in the same room. 
 While we were conversing upon the Crimean war, 
 
 * he had joined in the conversation. I could not 
 make out what he was. He was neither decidedly 
 military nor decidedly clerical. He might have 
 held some civil post in the army. He was coarse, 
 and there was something about him that did not 
 
WESTON UNDERWOOD TO CHELTENHAM. 109 
 
 speak the gentleman. My friend thought differ- 
 ently. He supposed that a campaign in the East 
 might have roughened him. But the next morn- 
 ing he came into the room, ordered the waiter in a 
 peremptory manner, ate his meal in sullen silence, 
 and neither in coming in nor going out, although 
 we had talked together the night before, did he 
 make the slightest sign of recognition. After he 
 had disappeared, my companion raised both hands, 
 pronouncing the awful sentence, " Snobus est ! " 
 In the same way one is continually encountering 
 people of different characters, and of all shades of 
 character. One man is obliging and another rude. 
 ,,We should surely not forget the many agreeable 
 people we meet, when we think of the opposite 
 ones. In traveling in other countries, I have for 
 many days, and even weeks, been thrown in com- 
 pany with English persons of rank, occupying neigh- 
 boring rooms, sitting at the same table, taking the 
 same rounds in walking and riding. Some of them 
 have possessed the faculty of ignoring the pres- 
 ence of other beings, though in an unexception- 
 able way ; of not seeing when looking ; and of giv- 
 ing to perfection the u stony British stare." But 
 others have good-humoredly resigned themselves to 
 what they may have considered the force of circum- 
 stances, and consented to recognize, on the neutral 
 ground of good society, those about them who were 
 respectable and intelligent. Should we go away 
 and say that all the English nobility are proud and 
 supercilious ? Perhaps there might be even hidden 
 
110 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 reasons of considerable weight, why common po- 
 liteness and kindness of heart should not be mani- 
 fested to all, if felt, though it were hard to see 
 this. For myself, whenever I have had the good 
 fortune and skill to open the English oyster, I have 
 rarely failed of finding a pearl. Dr. Bushnell was 
 about right when he said, that you must break an 
 Englishman's head and walk in, and you would find 
 most excellent accommodations. 
 
 We were traveling in the neighborhood of 
 Woodstock. The road here, whether over hill 
 or through dale, was bordered by the invariable 
 hedge-rows, and the fields divided by the same. 
 Yet even the English hedge is said to be getting 
 into disrepute among the farmers, because it takes 
 up valuable ground, and nests so many predatory 
 little birds. But may the English hedge never 
 give way. It has a beauty higher than any spirit 
 of utility. It is a blossoming, tangled conglomera- 
 tion of briar, rose, and thorn, impervious to any 
 thing but an English fox-hunter's rush. The 
 Hawthorn, or White-thorn, is the chief basis of an 
 English hedge. Its thick, luxuriant foliage is of a 
 rich dark green, and its blossom is of pure white, 
 whose delicate perfume in the months of May and 
 June, comes on every breeze over the fields, — • 
 
 " The milk-white thorn that scents the evening gale." 
 
 But every other kind of blooming running thing 
 mixes up with it, the Wild Rose, the Blackberry 
 with its colored flowers, the Stone Bramble, the 
 
WESTON UNDERWOOD TO CHELTENHAM. HI 
 
 spiky-leaved Holly, the common Raspberry, the 
 bright-green Buckthorn, and the Hazel, whose long 
 tassels, or catkins, are the first blossoms of sprincr. 
 All these left to grow and twine together, on a 
 sacred ridge, one might say for centuries, then we 
 get the English hedge, — to be seen only however 
 in its perfection in the South of England, in Dev- 
 onshire, or the Isle of Wight. Bloom on centuries 
 more, sweet English hedge ! 
 
 From Mr. Everett's description I had mustered 
 up very splendid visions in regard to Blenheim. 
 They were not entirely realized. The gardens 
 were lovely, they might be called magnificent; 
 but the park and grounds for miles around looked 
 deserted and uncared for. The water of the arti- 
 ficial lake lay in broad, stagnant pools, the home 
 of bitterns, piping frogs, and mosquitoes. The im- 
 mense palace itself of yellow limestone was rusty 
 and begrimed. It had a vast, faded splendor, but 
 never could have had architecturally a very im- 
 pressive character. It is heavy and strained. Of 
 the interior, the Library is by far the finest room, 
 having a length of 183 feet. A statue of Queen 
 Anne stands at one end. The " great Duke," with 
 his hooked nose and decided mouth, like a later 
 but better great duke, figures everywhere upon 
 miles of canvas and fresco. He drove six marshals 
 of France out of the field, but could not write the 
 English language correctly. The tomb of Marl- 
 borough in the chapel has no particular meaning or 
 point. It is a huge, cold, and pompous pile. A 
 
112 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 modern finely carved pulpit, of one piece of Derby- 
 shire spar, was by far the best thing in the Chapel. 
 Marble and paint, and we have seen Blenheim, the 
 great Duke's show-place, built for him by the Eng- 
 lish nation at the cost of half a million pounds ster- 
 ling! 
 
 Just by the side of the Triumphal-gate of Blen- 
 heim Park, stood once the house of Chaucer. The 
 gentleman who lives upon the spot allowed me to 
 see his garden, and what very little remained of 
 the poet's house. He told me that he himself took 
 down what there was of it to construct his own 
 dwelling ; preserving, however, two or three small 
 arched windows which he built into a wall. He 
 possessed an original title-deed of Chaucer's in re- 
 lation to this very house. 
 
 Woodstock is a gone-by little town, contented to 
 sleep under the shadow of the Duke of Marl- 
 borough's wings. It makes buckskin gloves and 
 tippets. It is on the south or opposite side of the 
 stream upon which old Woodstock stood, the scene 
 of Scott's novel. The palace has entirely disap- 
 peared. 
 
 By one of the few remaining stage-routes, I rode 
 from Oxford to Cheltenham, about forty miles. It 
 was good to sit by an old-fashioned English coach- 
 man, and behind a team of well-matched nags. A 
 ringing, musical gallop was indulged in down a 
 gentle plane ; and as we drew up to some lonely 
 " Barley-mow " hostlery, the horses reeked with 
 smoke in the morning air. Not long after crossing 
 
WESTON UNDERWOOD TO CHELTENHAM. 113 
 
 the Isis, and leaving Oxford, we came into the 
 neighborhood of Cumnor Hall. From the simple 
 ballad that begins with a picture of the moonlight 
 shining on the towers and oaks of this ancient 
 place, Scott was inspired to become a poet. 
 
 We passed by one of the new cemeteries es- 
 tablished according to a recent act of Parliament, 
 requiring all burial-places to be outside of towns. 
 The yards belonging to the Established Church 
 and the Dissenters were separated by a high wall, 
 and were made as distinct as possible. Can it be 
 that such divisions are carried up to the tomb's 
 mouth ? 
 
 The town of Witney, famous for its blankets, 
 but now gone rather to decline, lay upon our 
 route. It has a fine old church in the early Eng- 
 lish style. This, and Burford, presented the usual 
 features of small inland English towns, — one wide 
 street of sober low stone houses, more picturesque 
 than neat, with frequent open butchers' stalls, and 
 now and then an inn sign, with somewhat more 
 of bustle about the inn door than elsewhere. 
 Shortly after leaving Burford, and before coming 
 to Northleach, we left Oxfordshire and entered 
 Gloucestershire. Our ride was through a farming 
 and grazing country, a region celebrated for its 
 wool-raising. There is a notion that one kind of 
 land makes good mutton and another good wool. 
 In the farm-yards, with their high stone walls, 
 stood immense symmetric straw-ricks, partially 
 cut, and as precisely as a wedding-cake. Great. 
 
114 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 differences in the neatness of yard, and house, and 
 fields, were observable here, as in other countries. 
 All the farmers were not thrifty, as all doubtless 
 were not intelligent. Before reaching Cheltenham 
 we drove over a very high range of country, com- 
 manding fine prospects into the vales of Evesham, 
 Tewksbury, and Worcester, even as far as the 
 Malvern Hills. This is said to be an exceedingly 
 bleak and storm-swept region in winter. At Chel- 
 tenham I stopped at the ancient " Plough Inn," 
 now a fashionable and luxurious hotel. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 CHELTENHAM, BRISTOL, AND GLOUCESTER. 
 
 Cheltenham, on the river Chelt, under the 
 Cotswold hills, is a well-grown city of some 40,000 
 inhabitants. It is one of those peculiar English 
 towns where our serious " Motherlanders " gather 
 themselves together to enjoy and display their 
 wealth in fine equipages, elegant assemblies, and a 
 nice union of gayety with comfort. It is not one 
 of those migratory and butterfly watering-places 
 that shines for a month or so ; but it is a place 
 where people have a good time all winter long, 
 where they live in their own substantial stone 
 villas. I was in Cheltenham at the dull season, 
 and the heat was oppressive. The Assembly 
 Rooms, and Pump Rooms, and the spacious orna- 
 mental grounds at Pittville, were all in the highest 
 condition of neatness, but quite solitary and de- 
 serted. The pleasantest incident in my visit was 
 the privilege of seeing Lord Northwick's immense 
 collection of paintings at Thirlestane House, before 
 it was scattered. It was like visiting one of the 
 public galleries of the Continent. It is marvelous 
 how one man's purse, and one man's will, and one 
 man's life, could have brought together so many 
 
116 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 precious works of Art. Few kings have had such a 
 collection. With some trash, the gallery abounded 
 in original works of the great masters. Titians, 
 Van Dycks, Raphaels, Rubenses, were plentiful. 
 The portrait of the Duke d'Urbino, taken in a 
 common dress trimmed with fur, and a black hat, 
 is one of Raphael's finest pictures. It has large 
 animated eyes, and is full of life. If he had not 
 painted the Transfiguration, the Sistine Madonna, 
 and the School of Athens, Raphael would have 
 been immortal by his portraits. How manly and 
 honest they are ! The gloomy and imaginative 
 picture of Salvator Rosa, called u L'Umana Fragi- 
 lata," was one of the glories of the collection. 
 Even in Italy there is no more characteristic or 
 powerful specimen of this painter's genius. The 
 coloring is deep, with strong contrasts. Life and 
 death seem to mingle in the picture. There was 
 an odd but vigorous picture of " Jacob and the 
 Mandrakes," by Murillo. I noticed also a highly 
 finished " St. Jerome," by Albert Diirer, and a 
 "St. John," full of feeling, by Guido. There 
 were two very beautiful Claudes, one of them a 
 sunset. There were many noble paintings of the 
 Spanish school. The older Flemish and German 
 masters were fully represented. The collection 
 was rich in Cuyps ; but especially in Ruysdaels. 
 One might there have been convinced, if not 
 before, of the power of this last painter. He 
 gives the rush of torrents, the movement of rivers, 
 the grandeur of rock and precipice, the still-life 
 
CHELTENHAM, BRISTOL, AND GLOUCESTER. 117 
 
 in the depth of forests, the aspects of unchanged 
 Nature, with unequaled freshness and boldness. 
 Though all the great modern artists seemed to be 
 present in their familiar works, I did not see a 
 single Turner. Perhaps the old lord, who died 
 at eight y- nine, and who was whimsically inde- 
 pendent and fastidious in his taste, would not give 
 in in his old age to Turner and Ruskin, but re- 
 mained true to his Claudes, and Gainsboroughs, 
 and sweet old English landscapes. We saw the 
 little desk where he was accustomed to sit, with 
 two small pictures of a church aisle, and of an old 
 beggar's head hanging over it. His life was un- 
 doubtedly lengthened through his love of Art. He 
 lived in his gallery ; and when he could find any 
 one like-minded, who would walk with him through 
 the rooms, he would pour out immense erudition 
 in relation to Art and artists. But he was willing 
 to explain his pictures to the common laborer and 
 the child, and to instruct all in the method of com- 
 prehending and studying paintings. He left no 
 will ; and his intentions in regard to this vast col- 
 lection were not then certainly known. But these 
 choice paintings, these cases of historical gems, 
 these bronzes, marbles and cameos, these thousand 
 objects which to the smallest of them bore the 
 stamp of mind, were to be separated, some of them 
 perhaps finding their way back to their native 
 shores. They were soon afterward sold at public 
 sale, and found purchasers, if I am rightly in- 
 formed, from many different lands. One hardly 
 
118 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 sees what great purpose such a stupendous gallery, 
 formed at such cost and care, and suddenly falling 
 into its ten thousand original parts, could have 
 answered. If it were merely for the enjoyment 
 of one man it looks selfish. But doubtless many 
 English artists have received here their first in- 
 spiration ; and in a quiet way it may have served 
 to mould and refine the taste of the land. 
 
 In a small stone mansion at Cheltenham, called 
 the " Georgiana Villa," Lord Byron, it is said, 
 composed the " Corsair." He did not do it sitting 
 in a stalactite cavern in one of the rockv isles of 
 Greece, as Byron-mad youth might imagine. But 
 if the noble lord had gone to his own Sherwood 
 Forest, or to the Malvern Hills near by, or over 
 the Severn into rocky, legendary Monmouth, or 
 along the bold and romantic shores of Devonshire, 
 he would have found a much better English hero, 
 and as lovely scenery. 
 
 Among the pleasant drives about Cheltenham, 
 one may visit the fountain-head of the Thames, 
 on the road to Birdlip. It is a small pond of very 
 clear and sweet water, shaded with trees. Here is 
 the meeting of seven springs. 
 
 Let us now, without going through the details 
 of the journey, find ourselves in Bristol, a dirty 
 old business city, but with aristocratic suburbs, and 
 not without some interest to the stranger in itself. 
 In the ancient church of St. Mary RadclifFe, situ- 
 ated in a still and deserted quarter of Bristol, one 
 finds more architectural riches than in the Cathe- 
 
CHELTENHAM, BRISTOL, AND GLOUCESTER. 119 
 
 dral, which is chiefly interesting as containing the 
 monument of Bishop Butler, that most massive of 
 reasoners, who marked out for all time the affinities 
 between religion and the constitution and course 
 of Nature. The inscription upon the monument 
 was written by Southey. The exterior of St. Mary 
 Radcliffe is extremely worn and black, but its inte- 
 rior is one of the finest examples of the pure Per- 
 pendicular Gothic that there is in England. An 
 intenser interest attaches to it as the place where 
 young Chatterton wrought his wondrous literary 
 forgery. I climbed the narrow stone stairs of one 
 of the transept towers, so often bounded up by the 
 feet of Chatterton on his stealthy and mysterious 
 errand, and entered the small open-windowed and 
 many-sided room, where are still the two old chests 
 in which he pretended to have found the Rowley 
 manuscripts. The windows look out over the city, 
 with its red roofs, and many hollows, hills, and ir- 
 regularities. From this strange and lofty study, 
 open to the air and birds of heaven, how often did 
 he look down on the toiling city, feeling himself 
 entirely cut off from all that glowing human life. 
 It was singular to be alone in the room where that 
 young and restless mind worked so intensely upon 
 a lie ! Having once conceived the idea as a flash 
 of fancjr, did he not almost begin to believe it him- 
 self, and really to live in that old world of romance 
 and battle ? Would that then he could have had 
 one true friend of genuine heart and wisdom. If 
 Southey or Coleridge had been living, instead of 
 
120 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 Horace Walpole, how different would have been 
 the event. The chests are rough affairs, and the 
 liveliest imagination cannot make any thing more 
 of them than old coal -boxes. They are now much 
 decayed, though some large nails still remain in 
 them. But they are more like rough troughs than 
 those carefully made and iron-bound " chestes" in 
 which precious things were anciently deposited. 
 
 Chatterton, it is said, would roam in the fields 
 about Bristol the whole Sabbath long, and lie 
 stretched on the grass gazing at the tower of old 
 St. Mary's Church. He preferred to write, it is 
 said, by moonlight. He was but seventeen years 
 and nine months old when he died. 
 
 Broadmead Chapel is situated at the opposite 
 extreme of the city from the Church of St. Mary 
 Radcliffe, and is outside of the old walls. It is in 
 the commercial, or sailor quarter of the city. I 
 approached it by a long back street lined with little 
 shops for the sale of old clothes, old iron, ship fur- 
 niture, etc., and sprinkled freely with tap-rooms, 
 decorated with their red-baize curtains. Nothing 
 in particular indicated the fact of a church, but a 
 little notice upon the door of a block of houses. 
 The portress admitted me into the chapel through 
 some low entries ; and it seemed to be a room situ- 
 ated between two streets, and all about it was so 
 filled in with houses and shops, that no one would 
 suspect that there was such a chapel there. It is 
 itself a small church, capable of seating perhaps at 
 the largest estimate five hundred people, and as 
 
CHELTENHAM, BRISTOL, AND GLOUCESTER. 121 
 
 plain as plain could be. There were three pillars 
 on a side, supporting low galleries. A black iron 
 chandelier hung in the centre. The pulpit was of 
 painted wood, and clamped together, where it had 
 been broken, with common iron bands. It had no 
 ornament of any kind. And here preached the 
 prince of preachers, Robert Hall. The visit would 
 have done any one good. It taught both humility 
 and hope. Here a great genius was content to 
 labor for his Master. The place does not make a 
 man small or great. A little marble slab, on the 
 wall by the side of the pulpit, bore three inscrip- 
 tions to three ministers of the chapel. The middle 
 one was in these words : " The Rev. Robt. Hall, 
 A. M. Pastor of this church 5 years. Died 21st 
 Feb'y 5 1831, aged 66." I went into the vestry 
 where he used to retire after preaching, to throw 
 himself upon a bench in perfect agony. It was the 
 merest miniature of a room. In an adjoining 
 apartment hang the portraits of Robert Hall, John 
 Foster, and other distinguished Baptist ministers. 
 The elderly woman, looking upon his portrait, 
 (which represents him as leaning on his desk, and 
 simply raising his hand from the Bible,) said, " I 
 remember Mr. Hall very well, and that was all the 
 gesture he made." But Robert Hall could not be 
 hid any more than a mountain. His strength lay 
 in the solidity of his intellect. The intellectual 
 element predominated. His mighty mind pene- 
 trated by the pure weight of thought to the depths 
 of subjects. There was joined to this a vast power 
 
122 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 of moral feeling and of burning indignation against 
 all untruth. He apprehended clearly the far-off and 
 most distant results of wrong opinions, and this made 
 him the greatest moral reasoner of his age. What 
 great trains of thought run in expanding light 
 through his magnificent argument on Modern Infi- 
 delity ! And how marvelously his style blends the 
 totally opposite qualities of simplicity and splendor 
 of diction ! 
 
 I was fortunate while in Bristol in hearing that 
 remarkable " man of God," — I can think of no 
 better name, — George Miiller, who built the Or- 
 phan Houses at Ashley Down. The life of this 
 primitive Christian is well known in America. He 
 was born in Prussia in 1805. While a student in 
 the University of Halle, he made the acquaintance 
 of a body of warm-hearted and active Christian 
 disciples. He devoted himself from that time to 
 preaching and doing good. He came to England 
 in 1829 to apply to the Continental Missionary So- 
 ciety to be sent as a missionary to the East. He 
 preached for some time at Teignmouth, living upon 
 the small voluntary contributions of his friends. 
 He was a man of child-like faith, who practically 
 believed in the power of pra}^er and the Father- 
 hood of God. He was frequently brought down 
 to the lowest extremity. He and a Scotch friend, 
 Mr. Craik, removed to Bristol, establishing there a 
 little preaching chapel, which in its temporal affairs 
 was to exist on the same principle of trust in God. 
 He was led to do something for poor children, and 
 
CHELTENHAM, BRISTOL, AND GLOUCESTER. 123 
 
 to found an institution for giving them a religious 
 education ; and he commenced this plan of benevo- 
 lence when he and his friend were actually reduced 
 to a single shilling. For the pressing wants of 
 himself and the poor children he made particular 
 prayers, and seemed to be supplied just enough for 
 every day. He established in this way a " Script- 
 ural Knowledge Institution " as it was called, and 
 afterward the larger " Orphan Houses." This 
 last establishment has been supported entirely by 
 free-will offerings. At some junctures there would 
 not be a half-penny in the hands of the matrons of 
 the houses, to provide the children bread. Yet 
 Miiller would not borrow, and some providential 
 event, or gift, would carry him around the point, 
 into smoother waters. He personally applied to no 
 one for assistance, but it flowed in upon him, as he 
 asserted, and who will deny it, through the power 
 of prayer. He had received, up to 1858, £147,- 
 667, had built substantial and spacious buildings for 
 his Institution, and had nourished and taken care 
 of more than a thousand orphan children. This is 
 a singular tale, and I trust that no one who goes to 
 Bristol, whether he looks upon him as an enthusiast 
 or no, will forget to visit George Miiller' s Orphan 
 Houses at Ashley Down. He is a thin, black- 
 haired man, quiet but with flashing eyes, and in his 
 gestures and expressions giving the idea of great 
 energy. His little children, and their instructors, 
 in neat dresses, were present, in the plain, Quaker- 
 like church. 
 
124 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 There are twenty-nine churches in England en- 
 titled to be called Cathedrals. Perhaps it would 
 not be out of place, for the benefit of young read- 
 ers, to name them. They are Bangor, Bath 
 Priory, Bristol ; Canterbury, Carlisle, Chester, 
 Chichester ; Durham ; Ely, Exeter ; Gloucester ; 
 Hereford; Lichfield, Lincoln, LlandafF; Man- 
 chester ; Norwich ; Oxford ; Peterborough ; Roch- 
 ester ; Salisbury, St. Asaph, St. David, St. Paul's ; 
 Wells, Westminster, Winchester, Worcester ; 
 York. Of these, the Cathedral of Gloucester is 
 neither one of the largest or smallest. It compre- 
 hends the whole range of English church architect- 
 ure. Begun at the latter end of the 12th century, 
 and finished at the beginning of the 15th, it em- 
 braces all styles. Its nave, foundations, and crypt 
 are Norman, of the most solid and massive charac- 
 ter. The sixteen round unornamented and ponder- 
 ous columns of the nave are majestic. The repose 
 of eternity seems to sleep under their shadows. The 
 ancient Anglo-Saxon phrase of " God's house " is 
 here well applied. It looks unchangeable. It is a 
 place of rest. The stone vaulting of the ceiling is 
 also simple and plain, but there is much elegant 
 flower-work and tracery-work about the clere-story, 
 the windows, and the western end, which were all 
 later additions. This is the chief feature of 
 Gloucester Cathedral, that it mingles massiveness 
 and lightness, simplicity and richness. The central 
 tower, which is the most modern part of the build- 
 ing, is the perfection of elegance and harmony. It 
 
CHELTENHAM, BRISTOL, AND GLOUCESTER. 125 
 
 is like a full-blown rose on an oak stem. Its 
 pierced and open tabernacle work, and its fretted 
 clusters of graceful pinnacles, when seen at a dis- 
 tance, form a rich vision. And this is one benefit 
 of these great churches, that they aiford a charac- 
 teristic feature to the town. They are sacred land- 
 marks to every one born under their shadow. 
 They are his " golden mile-posts " on the road to 
 eternity. They are hailed by him when coming 
 home with joy, and make his first involuntary 
 thought on returning, one of God. Though we are 
 apt, in America, to speak disparagingly of these 
 mighty edifices of stone, supposing that they dero- 
 gate from the spiritual temple, I am not disposed, 
 for one, to yield up too easily an early enthusiasm 
 for them. 
 
 Gloucester Cathedral has felt the modern move- 
 ment in England to restore the old churches. And 
 this is chiefly apparent in the complete renovation 
 of its noble cloisters, only they look too new and 
 staring. They are the most perfect in England, and 
 perhaps in the world. Their low-branching fan- 
 tracery ceiling is like travelers' descriptions of a 
 thickly arching, low bamboo forest in South Amer- 
 ica. These cloisters, formerly as now, were entirely 
 shut in with glass, which in ancient times was 
 richly painted. They were habitable places ; and 
 were not alone used for the sober walk and solitary 
 musing. They were evidently employed for read- 
 ing and work ; as the little adjoining monks' rooms, 
 or stalls, now testify. 
 
126 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 Among the monuments in the church there is 
 one of Duke Robert of Normandy, " Robert Curt- 
 hose." The effigy is carved of Irish bog-oak, and 
 covered with a wire net-work ; its legs are crossed, 
 for he was one of the first Crusaders ; the head 
 is crowned with a coronet of pearls and fleur-de-lis ; 
 the body wears a chain-mail suit of armor, and his 
 right hand grasps his sword, which still bears its 
 ancient coloring and gilding. It is not too much to 
 say that this is the likeness (if it be a likeness) of 
 a remarkably handsome man. The limbs are long 
 and gracefully turned, and they are by no means 
 so stalwart and big as we might suppose the build 
 of the strong; Norman race to have been. The 
 features of the face are as regular as those of a 
 young Greek warrior. There is a mournful inter- 
 est attached to this monument. Robert, from 
 having been a stirring, bold, ambitious prince, with 
 a life full of adventure and fighting, was made 
 prisoner by his brother Henry, his eyes put out, 
 and for twenty-eight years he lingered in misery as 
 a close prisoner in Cardiff Castle, Glamorganshire. 
 He was the eldest son of the Conqueror. 
 
 I said that the pillars of the nave were unorna- 
 mented. Their capitals, however, were strung 
 around with meagre but curious flower and carved 
 work. Nothing is more varied than the Norman 
 capital. Its shape is usually that of a bowl trun- 
 cated at the sides; but its carving and ornament 
 are exceedingly diverse and fanciful. Sometimes 
 it is braided with interlacing lines of bead-work, as 
 
CHELTENHAM, BRISTOL, AND GLOUCESTER. 127 
 
 if hung over with a net of pearls. Sometimes it is 
 wreathed with large-leaved flowers, or a stiff wide- 
 spreading vine, resembling a Corinthian capital. 
 At other times it is like a number of bird's-nests, 
 with the birds sitting in them. Then a strange 
 monster, or dragon-lizard, twists around the bell of 
 the capital. Then human faces appear, sometimes 
 of men holding their mouths open with their 
 fingers ; and sometimes of female heads, or the 
 upper half of the figures of veiled nuns inter- 
 lacing their arms around the column. And I have 
 been much struck with the resemblance between 
 these human-headed capitals and the Isis-headed 
 pillars at Denderah, and other temples in Egypt. 
 Nor is the resemblance less striking between the 
 common tulip-capital of the Egyptians, and one 
 rather rare capital of the Norman architecture, 
 which is composed of a single bell-shaped cup. 
 All architecture came from the East ; and the in- 
 fluence of the Byzantine style upon the Norman 
 is very direct. What is Norman architecture but 
 the ancient Byzantine-Roman, still farther modified 
 by the gloomy and grotesque fancy of the North ? 
 It has the ponderous masses and round lines of the 
 older Roman edifice. Sometimes the Norman arch 
 has its centre above the line of the impost, and 
 then curves inward below the point of springing, 
 making a perfect horseshoe arch, thus increasing 
 the resemblance to Oriental buildings. The chapel 
 in the White Tower in London, and the little Iffley 
 church near Oxford, are among the best examples 
 
128 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 of the peculiarities of the most ancient Norman 
 architecture in England. This style was intro- 
 duced into Britain by William the Conqueror, and 
 continued about one hundred and twenty-four 
 years, to the end of the reign of Henry III., in 
 1189. Then came the first true Gothic, or Early 
 English style. 
 
 Gloucester is beautifully placed in a broad valley 
 on the banks of the Severn, and has just claims to 
 its British name of " Caer Gloew," the " fair city.' 
 It is a city which mingles largely in the early 
 history of England, and was one of the twenty- 
 nine principal towns of the Britons before the 
 Roman invasion. It was " Colonia Glevum " of 
 the Romans. Hengist, Athelstane, and the un- 
 fortunate Elgiva, wife of Edwy, are said to have 
 died in Gloucester. Here Edward the Confessor 
 lived, and the Norman kings frequently held their 
 court. Henry III. was crowned in the old Abbey 
 church, and Edward II. was buried in the Cathe- 
 dral. After his accession to the throne this was 
 the residence of Richard of Gloucester, of whom 
 Sir Thomas More wrote, — " Richarde, the thirde 
 sonne of Richarde, Duke of Yorke, was in witte 
 and corage eqall with his two brothers, in bodye 
 and prowesse far under them both, little of stature, 
 ill fetured of limmes, croke backed, his left shoulder 
 much higher than his right, hard fauoured of vis- 
 age, and such as in states called warlye, in other 
 menne otherwise, he was malicious, wrathful, envi- 
 ous, and from afore his birth ever frowarde. It is 
 
CHELTENPIAM, BRISTOL, AND GLOUCESTER. 129 
 
 for trouth reported that he came into the world 
 with the feete forwarde, and also ontothed, as if 
 Nature chaunged her course in hys beginnynge, 
 whiche in the course of his lyfe monny thinges 
 vnnaturallye committed." But he adds, " none 
 euill captaine was hee in warre." 
 
 Gloucester sustained a memorable siege by the 
 royal army commanded in person by Charles I. ; 
 the inhabitants enduring great sufferings. It is 
 likewise not without its interest in the conflicts of 
 truth and religion. Here George Whitfield was 
 born and preached his first sermon ; here Robert 
 Raikes, in 1781, began his Sunday-school enter- 
 prise, which vitalized the Christian church, and 
 brought back the primitive spirit in respect to her 
 fostering care of the young ; and here, above all, 
 the good Bishop Hooper, one of the most illustrious 
 victims of the Marian persecution, suffered martyr- 
 dom near the old Minster gate, proving that he 
 held a " doctrine that would abide the fire." 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 WORCESTER TO DUDLEY. 
 
 For those who are traveling about England, and 
 are of necessity left to spend an odd hour now and 
 then in a railway station, there is nothing mbre 
 entertaining than to look over the books in the 
 ample stalls at the station-house of every consider- 
 able town. And there is more of interest and 
 point to this, from the fact that one house in Lon- 
 don (W. H. Smith & Son) supplies all the rail- 
 ways in the kingdom, with the exception of a 
 single line. One gets, therefore, a pretty good 
 idea of the books that are read by the traveling 
 community ; and this, after all, represents the 
 more intelligent class. Thus we may approximate 
 to a tolerably correct judgment of what is the 
 living modern literature of England. Of course 
 we do not expect to see the books of the highest 
 scientific character at the railway stands, though 
 even this is not impossible ; but we find there the 
 books that are read, that seize the popular rnind 
 and heart. One finds in these stalls books that 
 glow with the fresh life of genius, whether they 
 be new or old. Translations of the Iliad I have 
 frequently seen. Robinson Crusoe everywhere 
 
WORCESTER TO DUDLEY. 131 
 
 displays his peaked cap. Macaulay's Lays and Es- 
 says are more common than his Histories. Kings- 
 ley's vigorous productions abound. Tennyson's 
 poems are rarely wanting. Such books as Hugh 
 Miller's " Testimony of the Rocks," and Lie big's 
 Chemistry, and works upon scientific agriculture, 
 are generally to be found. 
 
 It is surprising how many female authors supply 
 this every-day literary food to the traveler. The 
 works of Charlotte Bronte, Mrs. Browning, Mrs. 
 Stowe, Mrs. Gaskell, Miss Yonge, Miss Mulock, 
 and above all the authoress of " Adam Bede," 
 occupy the prominent places on the crowded 
 shelves — a delicate index this of the high and 
 true character of English civilization. In few 
 other countries are women suffered to instruct or 
 give the moral tone to society. The writings of a 
 George Sand, or a Bettina von Arnim, are read, 
 it is true, in France and Germany, for their ex- 
 citing and novel spicery, but they give no perma- 
 nent nourishment to the thought or life of the 
 nation. It is gratifying, also, to see how many 
 American books pass daily through the hands and 
 minds of the English public. When I was in 
 England, besides Mrs. Stowe's writings, which 
 appear at all book- stalls and shops, Hawthorne's 
 stories, Irving's and Cooper's works, Arthur 
 Coxe's poems, H. W. Beecher's " Life-Thoughts," 
 Dr. Holmes's works, Prime's book on the East, 
 Motley's and Prescott's histories, but, above and 
 beyond all, Longfellow's poems, were the famil- 
 
132 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 iar hand-books of every reading person. An Eng 
 lish gentleman told me that Longfellow was even 
 more generally read in England than Tennyson. 
 I could almost believe him, for I have frequently 
 met cultured persons who could quote Longfellow 
 freely. He is really, as De Quincey says, "pub- 
 lished " in England. He has struck that happy 
 middle chord of sentiment and fancy that vibrates 
 in the English heart averse to high excitement and 
 pure idealism. Wordsworth was metaphysical, and 
 gathered the select circle about him. Tennyson 
 is, perhaps, too subjective for the present money- 
 making age. He is not yet altogether understood. 
 Longfellow plays upon the familiar, pathetic harp, 
 that hangs by the fireside, that breathes of com- 
 mon duties, home affections, pure thoughts, and 
 ennobling fancies ; that just touches the imagina- 
 tion and fires it, without tasking thought. 
 
 " Who ne'er his bread in sorrow ate, 
 
 Who ne'er the mournful midnight hours 
 Weeping upon his bed has sate, 
 He knows you not, ye heavenly powers ! " 
 
 Even to such a translated verse Longfellow has 
 given his inimitable grace and music, and one likes 
 to be crooning and singing it over to himself. It 
 eases the heart of annoyances and pain, and does 
 one good. 
 
 Worcester comes next in our course of travel 
 north. Its imposing cathedral is nearly of the same 
 magnitude, and has much the same character, as 
 Gloucester Cathedral. Like that edifice, its crypt 
 
WORCESTER TO DUDLEY. 133 
 
 and nave were Norman, and it has no western tur- 
 rets, but its central tower, with rich open parapet 
 and octangular turrets, is the very flower and per- 
 fection of the later style. The choir is Early Eng- 
 lish, with highly carved canopied stalls, and won- 
 derfully bold flower-work. Those old artists seemed 
 to have brought basketfuls of all the flowers of the 
 field into the church, and flung them over the 
 walls. 
 
 As the Early English may be called the second 
 style of architecture to be found in England, we 
 will say a word about it. This style gradually suc- 
 ceeded the Norman, and prevailed from the begin- 
 ning of the reign of Richard I. in 1189, to the end 
 of the reign of Henry III. in 1272, a period of about 
 one hundred years. We may date the time of tran- 
 sition from the chivalrous epoch of the first cru- 
 sade, when the troubadour and ballad poetry arose, 
 and new-born ideas of freedom and beauty seemed 
 to be struggling with the old force and tyranny. 
 The simple characteristic of this style is the pointed 
 arch, long and narrow at first like the head of a 
 knight's lance, and then expanding into the great 
 windows, such as those at York Minster, which, 
 filled with painted glass, have such a glorious effect. 
 Still the round lines of the Norman architecture 
 were retained in many particulars, in the trefoil 
 and quatre-foil heading of doors and windows, and 
 in the large circular windows, like those at Lincoln 
 and Peterborough. We can even see how the 
 pointed arch grew from the accidental intersections 
 
134 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 of round arches with each other, making pointed 
 arches of the intermediate spaces. The pointed 
 arch lifted the building from its heaviness and 
 earthiness. It heightened the ceiling, and as a nat- 
 ural development, it sprung toward heaven as far 
 as it could carry upward its lines in the slenderly 
 pointed spire. We find perhaps the most perfect 
 instance of the Early English style, from end to 
 end, from foundation stone to the summit of the 
 exquisite spire, in the Salisbury Cathedral. To 
 support this greater height, this mighty upspringing 
 mass, wide and prominent buttresses were added, 
 which in the compact Norman architecture were 
 usually but small round projections from the wall 
 itself. These flying buttresses with their double 
 stories of arches and their pinnacled tops, form a 
 new and bold feature. In the original contract for 
 the building of Fotheringay Church, it is written : 
 " And aither of the said Isles shal have six mighty 
 Botrasse of Fre stone, clen hewyn ; and every Bot- 
 rasse fynisht with a fynial." A very characteristic 
 ornament of the Early English style is the " tooth - 
 ornament," taking the place of the Norman zigzag 
 moulding around the arches of the windows and 
 doors. It is as much like a necklace of shark's 
 teeth that the Pacific Islanders wear, as any thing. 
 But all kinds of rich and delicate decoration begin 
 to appear in the later period of this style. Profuse 
 flower-work is seen in the garlanded heads of pil- 
 lars, and the budding tips of corbels. Every thing 
 ended in a flower. There was far more of grace 
 
WORCESTER TO DUDLEY. 135 
 
 and delicacy, and yet hardly less of strength, than 
 in the Norman style. The vaultings of the roof at 
 their lines of intersection were ribbed ; and cross- 
 springing and transverse ribs were introduced, thus 
 weaving a rich tracery over the plain Anglo-Nor- 
 man ceiling, though it was just as massive stone- 
 work as before. And while the columns and piers 
 were as mighty and ponderous, yet the rounds and 
 hollows into which thev were cut save them a more 
 elaborate and elegant character. So that the 
 Early English style has been judged by some to be 
 the perfection of English architecture, because it 
 retained the strength and simplicity of the Norman 
 united with most of what was truly ornate and 
 beautiful in the later styles. But these old churches 
 were so long in building that we find examples of 
 all the ages of architecture in their various portions, 
 and a practiced eye will take them apart and read 
 their history at a glance. From a little moulding, 
 or hidden newel, the age of the hand that reared 
 the tall tower might be known. For an educated 
 American youth to have no knowledge at all of 
 architecture, this would deprive him of a species of 
 sharpened culture that is not dreamy or vague, but 
 is as scientific and harmonious as the laws of music. 
 It requires study, and taxes the analytic powers. 
 Such a youth would not be fitted to visit Westmin- 
 ster Abbey, and to tread the solemn and storied 
 temples of Old England. Let him defer his voyage 
 a year, until he knows the difference between a 
 tower and a spire, a groin and a gable. Besides, 
 
136 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 there is nothing finer in the architecture of the 
 world than the English Cathedrals. 
 
 In Worcester Cathedral is the tomb of King 
 John. Some sixty years ago the tomb was opened, 
 and the dress was found to be precisely similar to 
 that represented upon the monument. His statue, 
 which was probably a portrait, looks better than his 
 portrait as it stands in history. The point of his 
 sword is held in the mouth of a crocodile with a 
 •lion's body, denoting strength and cunning. The 
 strong old Bishop of Worcester, St. Wulstan, who, 
 tradition says, struck his silver crosier into the rock 
 so that no one but himself could draw it out, is also 
 buried here. Here too is the monument of Stilling- 
 fleet, who was Bishop of Worcester, appointed by 
 William III. It is interesting to happen upon the 
 discovery of the spot where a great man lived and 
 died, for one easily forgets these local particulars in 
 recalling the work that he did and the ideas he 
 originated. Stillingfleet did no small work for the 
 cause of rational Christianity and a true Christian 
 philosophy. 
 
 From Worcester I took the regular coach to 
 Great Malvern, which stands upon the slope of the 
 hills that rise gracefully from the plains to the 
 height of 1300 feet, and extend in a long ridge run- 
 ning from north to south. The crest of the green 
 hill just above the town is grand from its height and 
 steepness. Until late in the evening I saw the 
 moving of small white figures upon the dark back- 
 ground of the sky ; they were indefatigable English 
 
WORCESTER TO DUDLEY.] 137 
 
 ladies, who will walk and climb as long as they can 
 see. These hills are a favorite roaming ground for 
 all who visit Malvern, lifted up into the pure cool 
 atmosphere, yielding magnificent prospects, and 
 sprinkled with brilliant and hardy flowers. I spent 
 the next day in driving about the hills to Little 
 Malvern, West Malvern, and Malvern Wells. The 
 way lay through a laurel-fringed road opening con- 
 tinually upon a wide panorama below, * stretching 
 away over the vale of the Severn and the flat green 
 plain of Worcester and Warwick, like an immense 
 prairie. Macaulay sings, 
 
 Till twelve fair counties saw the blaze 
 On Malvern's lonely height." 
 
 We passed Camp Hill, cut into military terraces by 
 the old Romans for one of their strong mountain 
 citadels, when they held a half-conquered country 
 by main force. I may be wrong in saying this, for 
 it may be remembered that when the northern 
 tribes began to threaten and harass the British, the 
 last sent a petition to Rome called " the groans of 
 the Britons," showing a thoroughly crushed and 
 discouraged people, and one that had become en- 
 tirely dependent upon their conquerors for protec- 
 tion. I saw on both sides of the Malvern Hills the 
 entrance to the Tunnel which runs through them 
 for a mile and a half, and which is not yet com- 
 pleted. It promises to be as arduous an undertak- 
 ing as the " Hoosac Tunnel," but English pluck 
 and capital will carry it through, as Yankee energy 
 will doubtless do what it undertakes. The sheep 
 
138 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 were nestling beneath the banks in little hollows in 
 the dirt, to protect themselves from the heat. They 
 run almost wild over the hills, and in winter sustain 
 themselves upon the clumps of " gorse " which they 
 dig out from the snow. They do not wander far 
 from the spot where they are first turned out and 
 fed. Brown thrushes and yellow humbers were 
 plentiful. 
 
 In the distance, upon the Hereford side of the 
 Malvern Hills, rose the monument or pillar of the 
 Somers family. This is one of those proud memo- 
 rials, the one responding to the other over hill and 
 vale, which remind us of the well-known fact that 
 England is divided up chiefly among twenty or 
 thirty great families. The Marquis of Bute, who 
 not many years since attained his majority, has im- 
 mense estates in nine counties of Great Britain. 
 These rich and powerful families give the law to 
 every thing. All is cut to this large pattern, and 
 the tendency is and will be, until a great change 
 comes, for landed property to be more and more 
 consolidated in the hands of a few. The land ap- 
 pears to one like a great temple, around which the 
 " Dii majores " and the " Dii minores " sit, and 
 shed down upon the common people influences in 
 some respects perhaps benign, but certainly not al- 
 together so. Among some useful virtues of order 
 and reverence that may be engendered by this sys- 
 tem, it would be extraordinary if the vices of mer- 
 cenariness and servility were not also bred by it. 
 " Your Honor this," and " Your Honor that," sig- 
 
WORCESTER TO DUDLEY. 139 
 
 nify " act the lord now by your humble servant," — 
 " do the generous thing." None are more willing 
 to confess this than intelligent Englishmen them- 
 selves. The class of people who are the immediate 
 dependants of the great are the most injuriously 
 affected. They catch a faint reflection of the 
 higher polish with which they come in daily con- 
 tact, and this serves to separate them from people 
 of their own station, which in turn drives them 
 back into a closer and more slavishly humiliating 
 dependence upon the higher class. It would re- 
 quire singular virtue for such a class to retain any 
 nobility of character. The insular position and con- 
 fined spaces of the kingdom tend to fix and stratify 
 these distinctions of society, and do not permit 
 classes to come nearer together. The old Danish 
 distinction of the people into " eorls " (earls) and 
 " ceorls " (churls) exists still in English society. 
 The fact however, that some have derided, of so 
 many of the English peerages having had a com- 
 mercial origin, as the modern Earls of Northumber- 
 land and Warwick, and the older houses of Dart- 
 mouth, Pomfret, Leeds, Ducie, and Ward, is on 
 the whole a fact that speaks better for the aris- 
 tocracy than many others that might be named. 
 Even the rigid old law of primogeniture is not so 
 rigid as I for one had supposed, Justice Sir John 
 Barnard Byles, now of the Court of Common Pleas, 
 stated to a friend of mine in conversation that the 
 entail of all the entailed estates in England could 
 be cut off, when the eldest son coming of age con- 
 
140 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 sented, excepting in four cases. These four were 
 estates conferred and made hereditary by act of 
 Parliament, and the entail could be cut off only by 
 Parliament. They were the estates of the Duke 
 of Wellington, Duke of Marlborough, Earl of 
 Shrewsbury, and Earl of Arundel. It is quite pos- 
 sible that one or more of these may have derived 
 their estates from some other source, the main point 
 being that the entailment is permanent. The Jus- 
 tice furthermore stated that no property could be 
 entailed for any period longer than a life or lives in 
 being and twenty-one years. He illustrated this by 
 the case of the Duke of Buckingham, who got so 
 heavily in debt that his personal property could not 
 pay his debts. His eldest son, heir to the title and 
 estates, the Marquis of Chandos, being of age, 
 joined with his father and cut off the entail, thus 
 giving up the property to satisfy the creditors. He 
 said the Duke was at that time living in lodgings 
 in London, too poor to keep a servant. The Duch- 
 ess was living at Hampton Court in apartments 
 granted by the Queen without charge. The Mar- 
 quis of Chandos was held in great respect, and on 
 the death of his father would doubtless become a 
 peer of the realm. 
 
 England is a country which moves onward, 
 though in its own way ; and the majority of Eng- 
 lishmen believe with Lord Bacon that political 
 changes, like those of Nature, should be gradual. 
 Sooner or later, however, they must come. 
 
WORCESTER TO DUDLEY. 141 
 
 " When Reason's voice, 
 Loud as the voice of Nature, shall have waked 
 The nations ; and mankind perceive that vice 
 Is discord, war, and misery ; — that virtue 
 Is peace, and happiness, and harmony ; 
 When man's maturer nature shall disdain 
 The playthings of his childhood." 
 
 But we cannot judge England by America. 
 There is a painful and ponderous sense of form in 
 the English mind that we cannot comprehend. 
 There is often real freedom where there seems to 
 be but servile routine. A newly created constitu- 
 tion built upon abstract principles and cut off from 
 the Past, however perfect, would not work well for 
 England, or at least all at once. A " Code Napo- 
 leon " would be out of place. Something like it, I 
 believe, is being now attempted in England in the 
 reform and codification of statute law ; but the vast 
 confusion and overturn it would necessarily intro- 
 duce, were it carried out suddenly and thoroughly, 
 will , probably prevent a transformation of the pres- 
 ent English Constitution into any thing like a 
 purely philosophical system. 
 
 Would that in America we could see our real 
 advantage over England, and not those factitious 
 advantages concerning which we are sometimes in- 
 clined to glorify ourselves. The principle of self- 
 government is a higher principle than that of loyalty 
 to the best sovereign, genuine as that principle may 
 be ; for it is fidelity to the highest good of all, and 
 to virtue, intelligence, and God. He who shares 
 in the government gains in moral dignity. His 
 
142 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 manhood is developed by responsibility. He loves 
 and will maintain a government in which his own 
 will and intelligent choice are involved. He will 
 feel that upon his single arm, his single voice, his 
 single life, hangs the preservation of the govern- 
 ment and the national freedom. This is the Amer- 
 ican feeling. It burns in every true American 
 breast. It gives us an incalculable advantage over 
 aristocratic nations such as England, but it is a 
 perilous superiority. We have cut away from a 
 vast deal that is useless, and worse than useless, 
 and we have a free field before us, if we can but 
 stand fast in this liberty, and not be again entan- 
 gled in the bondage of Old World political ideas, 
 and of our own low passions for power and wealth. 
 Man is free in America to develop himself if he 
 can govern himself. This is the difficult but glori- 
 ous problem before us to work out. Let us be 
 humbler and more watchful, for we carry the 
 world's higher destiny with us over the trembling 
 road that leads to the universal freedom of the race. 
 That with all our faults and imperfections we have 
 in the main succeeded thus far in the maintenance 
 of the principle of popular sovereignty, the people 
 of the Old World cannot deny. Many have been 
 magnanimous enough to confess it, as have such no- 
 ble minds as Jeffrey, and Macaulay, and such true 
 men as Goldwin Smith, Richard Cobden, John 
 Bright, and Thomas Hughes. What great praise 
 was that which was freely accorded to our country, 
 by an English newspaper, in connection with the 
 
WORCESTER TO DUDLEY. 143 
 
 Prince of "Wales' visit : " He has seen a nation of 
 soldiers without an army ; civil order without a 
 police ; wealth, luxury, and culture without a court 
 or an aristocracy. He has learned to mingle with 
 the busy crowd of men without the intervention of 
 chamberlains and courtiers ; he has found respect 
 without ceremony, and honor without adulation." 
 England is the only truly free country of the 
 Old World, and the Englishman is a free man ; 
 but our glory is, that humanity itself, one and indi- 
 visible, may rise to a higher plane with us than in 
 England. In England the son treads precisely in 
 the footsteps of his fathers, and it is hard for a man 
 (though there have been a few marked exceptions 
 to this) to rise above the dead level of the class of 
 society — it may be the lowest — in which he was 
 born. There is an oppressive weight resting on 
 the spirit of the lower classes, and a volcanic heav- 
 ing beneath this mass of ancient tyrannic opinion. 
 If the English government had spent as much for 
 the education of the people, as it has to sustain the 
 Poor Laws, there would have been a different state 
 of things now in England ; but so long as the abso- 
 lute caste-system prevails to such an unnatural and 
 irrational extent, the government will feel no sincere 
 desire to educate the people above their present 
 condition. Here then is our undeniable ground of 
 superiority. And yet we seem to be ever on the 
 point of casting away this inestimable practical ad- 
 vantage, and of allowing the really vulgar idea of 
 material luxury to overcome and overwhelm the 
 
144 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 higher and nobler good. But let us leave such 
 high themes on. this gentle summer's day! The 
 wild thyme of the hills smells too sweet for contro- 
 versy. 
 
 We come now to a different region from the 
 green and fragrant Malvern Hills. Dudley, where 
 I happened to be detained for some two or three 
 hours, is one of the reeking mouths of the great 
 Stafford coal-pit. I walked up the long, dirty, 
 paved hill, to see the ruins of Dudley Castle. Ruins 
 they were indeed, not smoothed over, and cherished 
 and sentimentalized upon, but left pretty much to 
 time, decay, and filthiness. Yet there was some- 
 thing rather grand in the grim old keep, that looked 
 down in majestic scorn on a hundred modern man- 
 ufactories. Lady Jane Grey, whose death the 
 world mourned, probably lived here for a while. 
 The castle belonged to an ambitious, bad, and plot- 
 ting race, of which Robert Dudley, Earl of Leices- 
 ter, was one ; and which in the person of John 
 Dudley, Duke of Northumberland, grew all-power- 
 ful. Protector, but as history more than hints, 
 murderer, of Edward VL, and the tempter of Lady 
 Jane Grey, he undoubtedly aspired to absolute 
 power. Now his very home, and seat of power, 
 which he also obtained by treachery, is one of the 
 least cared-for wrecks in the land. Its stones are 
 defiled, its trees are cut down, its broad lands are 
 turned into scorched coal-fields and places for flam- 
 ing blast-furnaces. It is singular to look down 
 from the walls of this feudal castle, over a region 
 
WORCESTER TO DUDLEY. 145 
 
 like the plain of Shinar, as far as the eye can reach, 
 glimmering with fires, and its smoke ascending 
 continually to heaven. The town of Dudley itself 
 is hardly less smutchy and comfortless than the 
 castle. A savage-featured, reckless set of dirty 
 men and women hung about the little station-house, 
 which was in the neighborhood of a large mine 
 three hundred yards deep. A brutal " mill " be- 
 tween an obese gray-haired man and a powerful 
 middle-aged man, came off upon the platform of 
 •the station-house. I helped to raise the old man 
 who fell on his back like a bag of sand, and appar- 
 ently as lifeless. The affair seemed to be a matter 
 of course, and I need not have interfered. These 
 men have a lawless code of laws among themselves, 
 and fighting is a daily business, — a way of settling 
 pretty much every thing. The word is followed 
 by the blow. Life is not valued too highly. If a 
 man is killed by a fall of coal, or by being crushed 
 in the shafts, there is a kind of " wake," which is 
 rather a merry-making than a funeral. The col- 
 liers make a great deal of money, and spend it as 
 quickly in carousing. The proportion of crime in, 
 the mining counties is lamentably the greatest. 
 Some faint attempts at reformatory and missionary 
 operations in this vicinity have been thus far of 
 little avail. It requires the courage and self-devo- 
 tion of a Wesley, to go among this people. They 
 differ entirely from the Cornish miners, and a part 
 of this is owing to the noble efforts of Wesley him- 
 self amid the rocks and pits of Land's End. In- 
 10 
 
146 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 stead of quarreling about white surplices and purple 
 chasubles, what a noble field of Christian warfare 
 is here ! Some George Miiller, or Miss Marsh, or 
 Florence Nightingale, will doubtless come down 
 like an angel and stir this black pool. But here 
 lies the material strength of England. " Deep in 
 unfathomable mines " God has here garnered up 
 her physical resources. If there be a correspond- 
 ing depth of trust in His work and Word in spirit- 
 ual things, England may yet stand some cycles 
 more against the world. England has not had the 
 fatal gifts of gold and silver, but she has had the 
 better gifts whereby she may get gold and silver, 
 and all that they stand for, and at the same time 
 draw out her own skill and force. 
 
 After other geologic ages which had their impor- 
 tant place in the foundations of the world, and of 
 this favored corner-stone of it, there was an untold 
 period when England, rising above the waters in a 
 number of scattered islands, was one great forest of 
 fern and coniferous trees. They grew upon the 
 earth of the carboniferous limestone. The imagi- 
 nation of Hugh Miller could only begin to faintly 
 conceive of the stupendous richness of this vegeta- 
 tion. It has been reckoned that a 122,400 years 
 were necessary for the accumulation of sixty feet 
 of coal." God only knows what ages it must have 
 required to hide away in so quiet a bed that the 
 most delicately rayed palm leaf is not broken, such 
 abysmal layers of coal deposite. The beds of coal 
 in South Wales are reckoned to be 12,000 feet in 
 
WORCESTER TO DUDLEY. 147 
 
 thickness. We are reminded of a characteristic 
 answer of one of the vigorous-witted Beecher fam- 
 ily, when asked if there were enough coal in the 
 prairie country of the West to supply the wants of 
 those woodless regions : " Enough to warm the 
 world while it lasted, and to burn it up when it 
 was done." It is true that nice calculations are 
 made as to the probable giving out of the coal 
 wealth of England ; but practical miners, I am 
 told, do not generally agree with the theories that 
 assign such very brief limits of two hundred, or 
 even one hundred years, to the coal resources of 
 England. There are such great and unexpected 
 variations in the arefi and thickness of seams, that 
 there is no absolute judging of the amount or the 
 direction of the coal deposite in a given locality. 
 The coal limits are, it is true, externally mapped 
 and accurately defined, but internally they are not 
 and cannot be. It is answered that though there 
 may be coal enough stored away in the bosom of 
 the earth, yet on account of increased heat, venti- 
 lation and expense of machinery, it is impracticable 
 to work it at such immense depths. But there are 
 now shafts twenty-one hundred feet deep, or nearly 
 half a mile, up which the coal is easily raised. 
 This is done by means of engines of enormous 
 power with wheels of thirty feet in diameter, that 
 bring up the coal from that depth in a minute of 
 time, each revolution raising it ninety feet. At 
 the Merton Colliery near Durham, there was, 
 during the sinking of the mine, I am told, a sud- 
 
148 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 den obstruction to the works from a great flow of 
 water. Shaft after shaft was sunk, until nine 
 powerful engines were in operation, pumping 
 up the incredible amount of fourteen millions of 
 gallons of water, or seventy-two thousand tons, 
 in twenty-four hours, from a depth of 450 feet ! 
 In this way a subterranean lake of water and 
 quicksand was drained. Here surely was energy. 
 We argue that so long as coal is to be found, it 
 can be got at by that Anglo-Saxon hardihood and 
 ingenuity which already mines for it under the sea, 
 and under other geological strata. And if the coal 
 should fail, this is not, I believe, the end of Eng- 
 land. This race will find out and utilize some 
 other force of Nature. There are coal substitutes 
 now discovered, which need but the development 
 and application of science to make them available 
 in a hundred practical ways. If a spark of elec- 
 tricity sends a message from shore to shore of the 
 Atlantic, what limitless power resides in this agent 
 alone ! While I rejoice that God has given us un- 
 limited coal resources, I am not disposed to exult 
 with some in the fact that the period of England's 
 greatness is drawing to a culmination, simply be- 
 cause of the probable or supposed failure of her coal 
 crop. She may have to husband and economize her 
 coal somewhat more carefully in future, but coal is 
 no more king than cotton. This is quite the tend- 
 ency of much of the reasoning at the present time, 
 which gives no place to higher spiritual forces. 
 I do not believe that a nation's greatness resides 
 
WORCESTER TO DUDLEY. 149 
 
 in her material resources, but in her will, faith, 
 intelligence, and moral forces. Civilization rests 
 upon deeper principles than the earth's soil or pro- 
 ductions. The same race, on the rocks of New 
 England, w T here granite and ice are the chief 
 crops, became powerful without coal. Mr. Glad- 
 stone himself may get frightened (or may feign to 
 be) by the prospect of the coal giving out, and 
 declare that the debt of England will never be 
 paid if such an event should occur, but he would 
 be the last man to confess that the English nation 
 would give out with her coal. Why should we 
 wish England's power to decline ? Is it from a 
 jealous sense of rivalry ? That is a sentiment un- 
 worthy a great nation. Is it because England is 
 our enemy and is working us injury? England 
 has done us wrong, deep wrong, but there are in- 
 finitely more points of affiliation at this moment 
 between America and England, than between 
 America and France, or America and Russia. 
 America is working more change upon England 
 than England upon America. The same blood, 
 faith, ideas, and literature, constitute a unity in 
 nature and spirit, that no external or accidental 
 relations can ever create between us and other 
 foreign nations : — 
 
 Tb £vYy€v4s roi Seivbv % 0' djxiXia. 
 
 I profess no special love of England, and have 
 felt as deeply as any one the sense of her blind 
 and selfish injustice toward our country in the 
 
150 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 late war, but I have never lost sight of the prin- 
 ciple that the two nations were essentially one, 
 that they should acknowledge this unity, that they 
 will do so in the final struggle between free and 
 despotic principles, and that for the sake of hu- 
 manity they should learn to know and love each 
 other better than they do. Lord Derby has truly 
 said, that " no other earthly event would conduce 
 so much to the future of civilization as the union 
 of these two countries." I believe this. And I 
 believe also that both countries have in them 
 greater sources of peril to their prosperity than the 
 possible failure of their coal or cotton crops. Eng- 
 land will perish if she rests on her material re- 
 sources for her greatness, and so will America. 
 But to return to the Staffordshire coal region. 
 Birmingham, the home of Watt, is a busy child 
 of the Severn coal basin, and is almost within sight 
 from the walls of Dudley Castle. She stretches 
 her black hands to Manchester, who shouts over to 
 Leeds, who sends on to grimy Newcastle the cry 
 of " Coal ! Commerce ! and Chartered Rights ! " 
 
 The chief amount of coal deposite thus far found 
 in England is, if I mistake not, in the Newcastle 
 and Durham coal-fields, from the Am to the Tees. 
 There is also an immense coal basin in Yorkshire, 
 in the West Riding, south of Leeds and Bradford, 
 extending to Nottingham. There is an equally 
 important coal region in Glamorganshire, in South 
 Wales. In Cumberland and Lancaster Counties 
 are likewise vast fields. And in many of the 
 
WORCESTER TO DUDLEY. 1.51 
 
 midland counties coal is found in great and ap- 
 parently exhaustless quantities. But while enu- 
 merating the coal riches of England, the poor col- 
 lier himself, driving his dismal work down under 
 the ruins of a former world, exposed to per- 
 petual peril from mephitic vapors and crumbling 
 walls, dangling upon a slender rope, or crawling 
 up shafts like interminable chimneys, upon ladders 
 that will rot, should not be forgotten. There is 
 stout manhood under his dirt-crusted brutality. 
 He says he " wins " the coal. He does indeed win 
 it. He never descends into the coal-pit but with 
 the chances immensely augmented that he will 
 never see another sun. It is computed that fifteen 
 hundred lives are annually lost in England by acci- 
 dents in coal mines. The most dreadful of these 
 enemies is the " fire-damp," whose chief ingredient 
 is carburetted hydrogen, which, with a certain 
 mixture of common air, becomes explosive. In 
 mines where the ventilation is imperfect, a single 
 act of carelessness will fill miles upon miles of sub- 
 terranean chambers with a streaming blaze of fire, 
 sometimes rising to the surface and bursting out of 
 the shafts with the roar and violence of a volcano. 
 And the poor miners, it is said, will carry their 
 pipes, though forbidden, into the long and distant 
 reaches of the mine — whence this continual danger. 
 When we sit down before a genial winter fire, let 
 us think of those bold hearts who have " won " 
 the coal for us. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 LICHFIELD TO MATLOCK. 
 
 A more tranquil, sleepy, and yet high-feeling 
 old ecclesiastical town than Lichfield, in the green 
 and pleasant valley of South Offlow Hundred, can 
 hardly be found. It is proud of its Cathedral, of 
 its siege, of its Tory renown, of its memories of 
 Dr. Johnson, of its relationship to the illustrious 
 families of Anson and Anglesey. Lichfield is a 
 genuine example of an unchanged English town 
 of some six or seven thousand inhabitants, with its 
 walled " Close," its " Minster Pool," its " Butcher 
 Row," its " Three Crowns Inn," its " King Ed- 
 ward's Grammar-School," all as in the former 
 days. 
 
 The Hotel bore evidences of considerable past 
 splendor. The mahogany furniture, black and 
 polished, was majestically carved and stately. The 
 principal staircase had white marble steps, though 
 they were worn into hollows in the middle. And 
 there was a long ball-room up-stairs, with old- 
 fashioned mirrors and a gorgeous chandelier. The 
 names of the streets, St. John Street, Bird Street, 
 Frog Street, Gore Street, Wade Street, etc., are 
 unmodernized. One road out of the town leads to 
 Tamworth, and to Ashby-de-la-Zouch some eight 
 
LICHFIELD TO MATLOCK. 153 
 
 miles distant, the scene of Ivanhoe's achievement. 
 Drayton Manor, the seat of Sir Robert Peel, " the 
 member from Tamworth," is seven miles from 
 Lichfield. Tamworth Castle, now belonging to 
 the Townshend family, is a very old Norman 
 structure built by Robert Marmion. 
 
 " They hailed him Lord Marmiou; 
 They hailed him Lord of Fontenaye, 
 Of Lutterward, and Scrivelbaye, 
 Of Tamworth tower and town." 
 
 Five miles from Lichfield is venerable Wichnor 
 Park, which was formerly held by the tenure of 
 its possessor being obliged to furnish an annual 
 flitch of bacon to every married pair " w T ho, after 
 being married a year and a day, should make oath 
 that they had never quarreled ! " This custom has 
 been revived, and there have not been wanting 
 honest candidates for this amiable prize. Thus 
 every thing in and about Lichfield leads to the 
 past, and makes a pleasing and restful contrast 
 from the surrounding workshop and coal-bin of 
 Staffordshire. 
 
 In front of the Bishop's Palace, on the north 
 side of the Cathedral, is a shaded avenue called 
 " The Dean's Walk," and is said to have been a 
 favorite resort of Major Andre. This looks down 
 upon the lovely pastoral vale of Stow, and the 
 traditionary spot where the early martyrs were 
 slain, called " The Field of Dead Bodies," which 
 gave the name to Lichfield, or Litchfield, as it is 
 sometimes written, and which signifies field of the 
 
154 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 dead. The arms of Lichfield is a shield covered 
 with the representation of piteously hacked limbs, 
 mixed with axes and knives. 
 
 " Lichfield should be a field of good, 
 For it was watered with holy blude." 
 
 In the rural valley of Stow Mr. Day lived, the 
 author of " Sandford and Merton." With ten 
 thousand others who have been boys once, I 
 should like to assist in erecting a monument to 
 him and Defoe conjointly, in some secluded and 
 beautiful spot in the middle of green England, to 
 be given and consecrated to the " Joy of Boys." 
 Forever blessed be the memory of men who have 
 done something to make yOuth " frisch, frei, 
 frolich, fromm.'" 
 
 On the little path that leads down into Stow 
 Valley, stands an off-shoot of Dr. Johnson's willow- 
 tree. The original one in which he took a great 
 interest was blown down about forty years ago. 
 Passing along u Butcher's Row " toward the mar- 
 ket-place where is Dr. Johnson's statue, is the spot 
 where Lord Brooke was killed by a shot fired by a 
 deaf and dumb man from the battlements of the 
 Cathedral. The monument of the Doctor fronts 
 the house where he was born and lived. I found 
 two big-limbed young countrymen intently gazing 
 at it, and after a long pause one of them asked the 
 other, " Who war the mon ? " The other an- 
 swered, " I 'se forgot, but he war some gret mon." 
 
 It is a clumsy affair, but perhaps good enough 
 to answer every purpose. There is a colossal sit- 
 
LICHFIELD TO MATLOCK. 155 
 
 ting figure, with plenty of books around, if indeed 
 the " gret mon " is not sitting on a pile of them. 
 The relievos of the pedestal represent the good, 
 brave Englishman in his youth, one of them as a 
 boy chaired by his schoolfellows ; another of him 
 listening to Dr. Sachervell's preaching, mounted 
 on his father's shoulders ; and another of him 
 standing bareheaded in the rain at Uttoxeter, to do 
 penance for youthful disrespect to his father. 
 
 The house where he lived in his youth, on the 
 west side of the market-place, is a neat, three-sto- 
 ried, excellent brick dwelling. Instead of M. 
 Johnson, which was formerly written upon it, it 
 has now a sign in large letters, " Clarke — draper." 
 The next door to it is the u Three Crowns Inn " 
 where Dr. Johnson and Boswell put up, and where 
 the autocrat of the bar-room told Boswell, who was 
 disparaging the respectable quietness of Lichfield, 
 " Sir, we are a city of philosophers, we work with 
 our heads, and make the boobies of Birmingham 
 work for us with their hands." 
 
 The Grammar-School where Johnson, and Ad^ 
 dison (who was the son of the Dean of Lichfield), 
 and Garrick went to school, had fallen into decay, 
 but has been recently repaired, and indeed rebuilt, 
 preserving its ancient Elizabethan character. The 
 little shops that one sees going down quiet St. John 
 Street to visit it, reminded me of Hawthorne's de- 
 scription of the " Cent store " in the " Scarlet Let- 
 ter," and of such little magazines of respectable and 
 uncomplaining poverty as even now may be seen 
 in some of our oldest New England towns. 
 
156 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 My first visit to the Cathedral was immediately 
 on arriving in the evening. I walked by the long, 
 tranquil " Pool " in the heart of the town, which 
 reflects each object and building around in its 
 smooth mirror, giving a reposeful look to the whole 
 place. I turned down the neatly paved and al- 
 most solitary lane, that led to the Cathedral inclos- 
 ure, and was delighted with its west front, simple 
 in form, yet enriched with elaborate lines and 
 ornament, and carrying the eye upward in its soar- 
 ing towers and spires. 
 
 The good verger's wife let me go in and walk 
 around as an especial favor, at this late hour. Ev- 
 ery one who has a taste for such things should see 
 one of these old cathedrals at this moment, just 
 when evening is fading into night. The yellow 
 moon shone in the lofty painted windows on one side, 
 and the last crimson light of day struck the upper 
 windows on the opposite side. Parts of the vast ed- 
 ifice were already lost in darkness, and while some 
 of the round pillars and foliated capitals stood out full 
 in light, others were hardly seen, as in the depths 
 of a forest, and masses of black shadow like giant 
 hands crossed the pavement. The silent figures 
 of martyrs, saints, and heroes stretched on their 
 tombs, lay around. The activities of this life were 
 over with them forever. It was a place where the 
 ages had come, and bowed down and confessed 
 their sins and need of God. Here rich and poor 
 had knelt together. What were our shadowy 
 earthly life and its restless ambitions, compared 
 
LICHFIELD TO MATLOCK. 157 
 
 with these holy and eternal associations of " God's 
 house." In such places, the old Catholic hymn 
 seems to have a truth in it : 
 
 " O ! tua palatia 
 Quanto decet sanctitas ! 
 O ! tua sacraria 
 Quanto decet pietas, 
 Deus formidabilis ! 
 
 " Quis profanis pedibus 
 Audeat accedere ? 
 Quis pollutis vocibus 
 Hymnos tibi canere ? 
 Hospes, terribilis! " 
 
 The danger is, that the worshiper will be satisfied 
 with the lower beauty, and the temple will stand 
 in place of Him to whom it is consecrated. The 
 desire also to restore the perfect church, even to its 
 smallest seat and wash-basin, naturally draws along 
 with it the wish and intention to reinstate in its old 
 place the ancient ceremonial, the entire Catholic 
 service ; and it were perhaps well on this account 
 not to continue to call these " Cathedral " churches, 
 or not to give them any distinction above other 
 houses of worship, for they are after all but stone 
 and mortar. They had better be burned down by 
 a madman, as York Minster came so near being, or 
 left to tumble into the sea, as Kilnsea Church did, 
 rather than draw men's thoughts from the true 
 building and worship of God. 
 
 I spoke of the west front of the Cathedral. It 
 is a pyramidal gable, supported on the sides by two 
 towers and hexagonal-banded spires, with a large 
 
158 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 decorated window in the centre, and the whole 
 face lined with rich canopied arcades. The door is 
 deeply recessed, and almost as sumptuously and 
 curiously wrought as the entrance of a Moorish 
 mosque in Spain. Figures of the evangelists stand 
 around the cavernous portal, in niches under frost- 
 work tabernacles. Luxuriant iron scrolls run like 
 vine branches over the doors. The middle spire, 
 258 feet high, built in the place of one which fell 
 in the siege, is six-sided, and incomparable for 
 lightness and elegance. These three magnificent 
 spires rise from the bosom of the town like three 
 tall tapering pine-trees, that shoot up to heaven far 
 above the rest of the low forest by which they are 
 surrounded, and bear the thoughts up with them 
 into a higher and purer region. The church is 
 terminated by a rich hectagonal Lady Chapel, 
 whose interior, with its central shaft, is still more 
 delicate and elaborate. The heightened ornament- 
 ation, the free and flowing carved foliage, the --di- 
 verging net-work of the groined roof, the trefoiled* 
 arches, the clustered pillars, the exquisitely finished 
 Lady Chapel, belong chiefly to the epoch of the 
 Decorated style ; and happening thus naturally in 
 the order of our journeying, I would give a glance 
 at this third description of English architecture, 
 which followed the Early English, and prevailed 
 about 100 years from the reign of Edward I. in 
 1272, to the end of the reign of Edward III. in 
 1377. It may be called the style of the first three 
 Edwards. 
 
LICHFIELD TO MATLOCK. 159 
 
 The name of this style, " Decorated," suffi- 
 ciently describes it. It is the former style or styles 
 covered with a freer, bolder, and more flowing or- 
 nament, all parts being modified by this graceful 
 idea. As yet it begins to show but few signs of 
 decay or weakness. Ornament is not generally 
 the end, but the means of a richer and heightened 
 effect. Two characters of lines are seen in the 
 forms of its windows, doors, arches, mouldings, 
 etc. ; these are the geometric and the flowing lines, 
 The first might be cut with the playful turning of 
 a pair of compasses into semicircles, circles, ellipses, 
 trefoils, quatrefoils, cinquefoils, etc. ; the last are 
 composed of wavy and flowing lines, and especially 
 of what is called the u ogee," a combination formed 
 by the meeting of a round and a hollow, a concave 
 and a convex. The " ogee-arch " is one whose 
 two sides are composed of two contrasted curves. 
 There is a greater drawing out and more striking 
 pronunciation of all lines, the hollows being deeper, 
 the rounds longer. There are very irregular com- 
 binations, bold clusterings of things great and 
 small, round and sharp. The flower-work is no 
 longer a stiff thorn-bush foliage, but vine-like, run- 
 ning and flame-pointed, wreathing over and smoth- 
 ering every capital, and flowing along every 
 groined arch, in tropical profusion. The bare, 
 plain shaft of the Norman, or Early English, 
 seems, like Aaron's rod, to have budded. In the 
 earlier times of this style, an ornament called " dia- 
 per work " frequently occurs. One may see fine 
 
160 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 specimens of it in the side-screen of Lincoln Cathe- 
 dral, and upon the monument of William de Va- 
 lence, in Westminster Abbey. It is a four-leaved 
 flower cut in stone, and inclosed in a little square ; 
 and multitudes of these squares are brought close 
 together, producing a singularly rich effect. The 
 lines and tracery of windows are especially elegant, 
 satisfying the eye with every idea of luxuriant 
 beauty. The exquisite chapel of Merton College, 
 Oxford, affords throughout a splendid though 
 rather diminutive example of this period. The 
 windows of the Decorated style are large, com- 
 posed of two, three, or more lights. The east- 
 ern windows of Lichfield Cathedral are noble in- 
 stances of the general splendor and delicate tracery 
 of this style. The smallest corbel or finial is highly 
 carved, and drops in a bunch of grapes, or a hand- 
 nil of flowers. Some of the finials and crosses of 
 Winchester Cathedral belonging to this epoch are 
 hardly describable, so richly woven over are they 
 in shooting leaves and blossoms ; they might have 
 stood out neglected in some Italian or Sicilian gar- 
 den for half a century of summers, and then have 
 been transplanted with all their tangled wealth 
 hanging about them into the temple. 
 
 The sturdy buttresses of this style are more 
 adorned than the Early English, with slender 
 foliated pinnacles and canopied niches. Very 
 characteristic of this epoch are niches for statues, 
 with lace-work tabernacles suspended over them. 
 But this is quite enough. 
 
LICHFIELD TO MATLOCK. 161 
 
 The great fault of English cathedrals is want 
 of height. To use an expressive word, they are 
 squatty. Contrasted with the French, German, or 
 Italian edifices of the same periods, this is a strik- 
 ing deficiency. Give York Minster, or Lincoln 
 Cathedral, or even these smaller edifices of Lich- 
 field, Worcester, and Gloucester, the height of 
 St. Onen, or St. Stephens at Vienna, or Milan 
 Cathedral, and they would be greatly ennobled ; 
 for they have enormous length, solidity, and eleva- 
 tion of tower and spire, and would bear this height- 
 ening of the roof. 
 
 In Lichfield Cathedral is a monument to Lady 
 Mary Wortley Montague, a small mural slab, its 
 inscription adverting to her agency in introducing 
 the system of inoculation into Europe. The fa- 
 mous monument by Chantrey of the " Sleeping 
 Children " is touching. Seeing it first by moon- 
 light, it was like looking at the sweet sleep of child- 
 ren in their nursery. One thinks what a start 
 they would have to wake and find themselves in 
 such a strange solemn place. The mother of the 
 children here commemorated — (the youngest of 
 whom was burned and the eldest died shortly 
 after) — is still living. One does not feel like 
 criticizing such a work. Its purity and innocence 
 would seem to preclude all criticism. 
 
 The traveler cannot help taking some notice of 
 
 the more general geological features of such a 
 
 country as England. They appear in the scenery 
 
 and vegetation, and are most striking and varied. 
 11 
 
162 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 They thrust themselves upon you ; they sculpture 
 and paint themselves before the very eye. Derby- 
 shire scenery (for we now come into this beautiful 
 country) is as different from Devonshire scenery 
 as a lily-white English maiden from a swarthy red 
 Indian squaw. I stopped at the town of Derby 
 long enough to see something of it, and to make 
 some small purchases of carved fluor-spar and mar- 
 ble. It has a pleasant site on the lovely Derwent 
 River. It appeared like a prosperous agricultural 
 town, the centre of a fertile region ; it formed a 
 great contrast to Lichfield in its bustling streets. 
 Farm-wagons, cattle and sheep, were going to and 
 from market. But it was doubtless very quiet 
 compared with a Derby race-day, as Leech repre- 
 sents it. The race-course in which England royal 
 and England plebeian, England bearded and Eng- 
 land smooth-chinned delight, is upon the Notting- 
 ham road. The Derby silk manufactures are said 
 to be important, but the buildings themselves do 
 not show signs of very considerable works. The 
 most striking feature of Derby is the remarkable 
 tower of All-Saints Church, running up to a great 
 height, and elegantly divided into stories, or com- 
 partments, with buttresses and crocketings, grow- 
 ing more and more enriched as it climbs to its 
 battlemented summit, and finishing with delicate 
 tracery-shields and lofty pinnacles. But the church 
 itself is low and small ; it is like Daniel Webster's 
 head on Tom Thumb's body. Derby was the 
 native town of Richardson, the novelist ; and here 
 
LICHFIELD TO MATLOCK. 163 
 
 also was the home of that pure spirit, Adelaide 
 Newton. 
 
 Seventeen and a half miles further north is Mat- 
 lock Bath, in the heart of the picturesque scenery 
 of Derbyshire. The road lies along the Derwent 
 valley, in which the peculiar charms of the Derby- 
 shire landscape soon begin to appear, though of a 
 softer and more rural type. But at the village of 
 Ambergate, at the Ambergate and Rowsley Junc- 
 tion, there bursts upon one the genuine Derbyshire 
 dale scenery in all its boldness and beauty. Here 
 the rocks begin rising in sheer walls from the val- 
 ley ; lovely niches, or small territories of bright 
 green, are shut in by rocky barriers, the river 
 gliding softly between ; and I was reminded of the 
 scenery in " Saxon Switzerland," but more espe- 
 cially " Franconian Switzerland," frequently no- 
 ticing vales that were almost the exact counterpart 
 of the lovely little valley of the Wiesent, which is 
 the German Tempe. But, clanking into the tun- 
 nel through High Tor, we are at Matlock Bath. 
 
 We arrived at the station just as a monstrous 
 excursion train came in from the north. I drove 
 slowly up the road to the hotel in the company 
 of thousands, literally thousands, who were soon 
 diffused over the beautiful village and its vicin- 
 ity, filling the walks, scaling the cliffs, riding the 
 donkeys, rowing on the river, laughing, singing, 
 and apparently spending the fine day in hearty en- 
 joyment. 
 
 As the " Old Bath Hotel," famous in Matlock 
 
164 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 fashion and story, was temporarily closed, I went 
 to the " New Bath Hotel," a much finer situation 
 at the further end of the village, on the Cromford 
 road, commanding delightful views of High Tor, 
 the river, and the cliffs on the opposite side. I 
 have lying before me the tariff of prices at the 
 Matlock hotels. It might be well to quote it just 
 to give an idea of the prices at this favorite Eng- 
 lish watering-place among the hills. 
 
 " Old Bath Hotel," W. Greaves. Bed, 2s. ; 
 board per day, 6s. ; private room, 2s. 6d. ; attend- 
 ance, Is. ; bed and board in public, 7s. per day. 
 
 " New Bath Hotel," Ivatts & Jordan. Bed, 2s. ; 
 breakfast, Is. 6d. to 2s. ; lunch, Is. to 2s. ; dinner, 
 2s. Qd. to 3s. ; tea, Is. 8c?. to 2s. ; supper, Is. to 2s. ; 
 attendance, Is. ; private rooms, 2s. 6<#., 3s., 3s. 6c?., 
 4s., or 5s. ; board, 5s. 6d. per day ; sitting-rooms, 
 15s. to 30s. per week ; bedrooms, 7s. to 14s. per 
 week ; servants' board, 3s. Qd. per day ; maid ser- 
 vants, for attendance per week on one person, 7s. ; 
 on two, 12s. ; on three, 15s. ; on four, 20s. 
 
 The garden and grounds at the Matlock Hotel 
 are beautiful. How calm and restful the evenings 
 spent in them, as I sat under the great lime-tree's 
 shade ! The house fronts upon the river, and looks 
 directly upon the gigantic wall of bald cliffs across 
 the Derwent, with tufts of green or painted foliage 
 upon their white perpendicular face, from which 
 two great rocks swelled out like regularly builded 
 round towers with bastions ; while to the left the 
 deep narrow grassy vale of Matlock extended, with 
 
LICHFIELD TO MATLOCK. 165 
 
 its yellow clustering stone houses, terminated by the 
 sombre " Heights of Abraham," and above them 
 Mount Masson, and a little beyond, at the very 
 extremity of the vale, gleamed the towering and 
 silvery crag of High Tor. 
 
 The lime-tree of which I spoke merits the title 
 of " magnificent." Its branches are supported by 
 poles, so that it looks like a banyan-tree, and it 
 covers an immense area with its grove-like shade. 
 A tepid spring runs under its roots. It is a garden 
 of itself, and filled the atmosphere with the sweet 
 perfume of its blossoms. 
 
 I went to see the " Old Bath Hotel " for Lord 
 Byron's and Mary Chaworth's sake, who used to 
 meet here during the days of his comparatively 
 sincere and uncorrupted life. On making some 
 remark of pity and sympathy for the poet, the 
 young lady who showed us the assembly-room 
 spoke out with that English positiveness so refresh- 
 ing to hear, — "I have no pity nor sympathy for 
 him ; he was a decidedly bad man." 
 
 High Tor is a noble cliff, the centre and king 
 of all. It is a mighty mass of limestone more than 
 four hundred feet high, standing out boldly over 
 the river, beautifully white in many parts of it, 
 and draped at its foot with a noble growth of elms 
 and sycamores ; while vines and shrubs wreathe its 
 front with a tangled tracery ; the river runs at 
 its base, and continues to glide swiftly on under 
 the shadow of cliffs nearly as high, and of the 
 same perpendicular character. To sit on the 
 
166 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 grassy river brink when the sun tinges the summits 
 of these rocks with that last serene light just before 
 its setting, and at the same time to watch the swift 
 dark stream beneath, it seems like life flowing idly 
 away under nobler lights and aims that still linger 
 pensively above it. 
 
 In the early part of the afternoon we were called 
 to the window by the merry sound of music more 
 animated than harmonious, and found that it ac- 
 companied a long procession of all the boys and 
 girls of all the Sunday-schools of the neighborhood, 
 with their banners and decorations. After parad- 
 ing the streets and lanes, they passed through the 
 garden of our hotel into a green, sloping, mountain 
 meadow just behind the house. There, with their 
 teachers and pastors and pastors' wives, and fathers 
 and mothers, and friends high and low, they had a 
 long pleasant afternoon of sports. I sat also on the 
 grass enjoying it as much as they. The boys would 
 start all together from a given tree on the side of 
 the meadow at the bottom of the hill, run up the 
 hill, around another tree in the distance, and down 
 to a given point in the centre of the field, making 
 a course of half a mile or so. It was tough strain- 
 ing work to get up the steep and rough hill, and I 
 don't know when I have laughed more heartily than 
 in watching the manoeuvres of the boys at outwitting 
 and outstripping each other. After turning the tree, 
 thev streamed down like a herd of deer, one slim 
 bright- cheeked boy leading them all in most gallant 
 style. He, of course, took the prize. There were 
 
LICHFIELD TO MATLOCK. 167 
 
 also foot-races among the girls, and full as much 
 earnestness and competition were shown by them. 
 There were leaping-bars, leap-frog, and other games 
 that brought out skill, strength, and activity. The 
 trial that created the most interest was climbing a 
 greased pole. Boy after boy bravely essayed to 
 pull the streamers on the top of that taper mast. 
 Some would get up a few feet, some half way, some 
 nearly to the top, and be obliged to give up in spite 
 of every encouragement and pelting of sugar-plums 
 from below. The writhing motions, the red grin- 
 ning faces, the pantaloons pulled up over the knees, 
 the bold hot beginnings, and the desperate elutch- 
 ings at the end, were ludicrous enough, for nothing 
 in creation is more comical than a boy, as well as 
 nothing more beautiful in certain moods. One sun- 
 faced, sturdy little Hodge nearly did it, but though 
 within two inches of his object, and straining for 
 dear life, he had to slide down. A good-looking 
 larger youth at last succeeded in pulling the rib- 
 bons, amid loud shouts and cheerings. A wealthy 
 lady of the parish I understood had provided the 
 afternoon's amusement for the children. The cler- 
 gymen present managed all the sports, and adjudi- 
 cated some of the prizes, which must have been 
 very acceptable to the poorer children. This was 
 one instance of many which I have noticed in Eng- 
 land, of a very cheerful and natural tone of religious 
 feeling. I am certain that we sometimes war 
 against nature and grace in shutting up the currents 
 of flay, or what may be called pure enjoyment, in 
 
168 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 our type of piety. A good hearty laugh now and 
 then that expands the pent breast, and makes the 
 blood circulate freely, is better than a handful of 
 " greenbacks." It has gone so far with us that when 
 we lash ourselves up to really enjoy ourselves, and to 
 play, it is very sad work. We are soon tired of it. 
 But the soul can hardly be sound and healthy if 
 the springs of joy are not sometimes touched. They 
 may otherwise take inner, tortuous, and evil chan- 
 nels, as we have seen streams in a limestone coun- 
 try like Derbyshire, wearing out for themselves 
 tremendous caverns under the mountains, until they 
 fall into some horrid chasm and disappear forever. 
 Following a charming road along the Derwent, 
 with the gray grit-stone cliffs that descend into and 
 form the mighty ramparts of Matlock Dale on one 
 side, we came in sight of "Lea Hurst," the home 
 of Florence Nightingale, not far from the villages 
 of Lea and Holloway. It stands on a wooded hill 
 forming the termination or higher summit of a most 
 glorious valley, with crag, mountain, dark forest, 
 glistening river, and green pasture-land spread be- 
 fore it. The scenery though beautiful is wild and 
 free, fitted to inspire fresh thoughts. The house at 
 a distance appears embosomed in woods and vines, 
 and stands just on the skirts of a thick park. An 
 open lawn slopes away down from it. It is an Eliz- 
 abethan structure of cruciform shape, with quaint 
 gables and square-headed windows. One great 
 bay-window, in particular, overhung by an enor- 
 mous wealth of ivy, is impressed on my memory. 
 
LICHFIELD TO MATLOCK. 169 
 
 It is one of those incomparable English homes, in 
 the midst of a nature where every thing that this 
 world can yield of grand without and exquisite 
 within seems to be combined. Here " the Sol- 
 dier's Friend " was reared. Her family has an- 
 other fine place in Hampshire called " Embley 
 Park," but in a more plain and rural county. 
 She was born in Florence in 1820. Her paternal 
 name (changed to Nightingale in 1815) is Shore, 
 an ancient Derbyshire family. Her mother was 
 the daughter of William Smith of Norwich, a well- 
 known friend of Slave Emancipation. We learned 
 in the neighborhood that Florence Nightingale had 
 begun to do good at home among the sick, poor, 
 and ignorant. She went when thirty-one to Kai- 
 serwerth on the Rhine, to learn in that school of 
 the Protestant " Sisters of Mercy " the method of 
 training nurses for the sick, and she has written an 
 account of this institution. She next applied her 
 energies to renovating the Hospital for Sick Gov- 
 ernesses in Harley Street, London. She also was 
 greatly interested in the ragged schools springing 
 up at that time. Then came the Crimean war, and 
 the world knows the rest. Over all the gloomy 
 and magnificent memories of that great city of Con- 
 stantinople her Christian acts shine. The smell of 
 fever and corruption is said to have tainted the air 
 all around the Barrack Hospital at Scutari. But 
 fever itself seizing upon her own slender frame, 
 could not drive her from her post. The talent, 
 strength of nerve, and wonderful tact shown in re- 
 
170 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 organizing that mass of ill-regulated hospital ser- 
 vice was as remarkable as her personal devotion to 
 the sick. She made no distinction in creeds in her 
 choice of nurses, and this subjected her to a mean 
 attack upon her religious opinions, and from a sin- 
 gular quarter, — a clergyman of the Established 
 Church. Should the secret chamber in every one's 
 breast, which no other has a right to enter, be 
 opened, it would probably be found that Miss 
 Nightingale's religion was just that which all true 
 Christians should possess, — "a deedful faith." 
 
 "Life is joy, and love is power; 
 Death all fetters doth unbind : 
 Strength and wisdom only flower 
 When we toil for all our kind." 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 MATLOCK TO MANCHESTER. 
 
 I continued on to " Wingfield Manor," a rained 
 castellated house of the powerful Earl of Shrews- 
 bury, whose wife was the famous " Countess Bess." 
 These ruins are in the highest degree picturesque, 
 the more so because they are so utterly neglected, 
 and so different in this respect from other English 
 tenderly nursed and " well-preserved ruins." They 
 stand on an eminence thickly wooded, in the cen- 
 tre of a circle of green and lovely hills which 
 Mary Stuart looked out upon when kept here 
 for nine years captive ; though if we should be- 
 lieve all that the guide-books here and there say, 
 the unfortunate queen must have lingered in cap- 
 tivity some half a century in England before her 
 death. There is some rich carving still left about 
 the windows and doors of the chapel, overgrown 
 as it is with weeds and thistles ; but trees of nearly 
 a century's growth shoot up where Mary's apart- 
 ments once were. Cows and sheep feed around 
 the inclosure of the walls. The house was de- 
 stroyed by the Parliamentary army, or, as they 
 told me, by Cromwell, who, if he did personally all 
 that he is said to have done, must have been not 
 only a hundred-armed, but hundred-legged Eng- 
 lish " Seeva." 
 
172 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 Our way lay led through the village of Crich, 
 where there are extensive lead mines — a bleak 
 place seated on tire very apex of the hills, the 
 old black stone church keeping watch on its lofty 
 height over a vast panorama. I saw in the dis- 
 tance " Hardwick Hall," one of the many do- 
 mains of the Duke of Devonshire. Coming around 
 over the desolate tract of Tansley Moor, we re- 
 turned to the pleasant hotel and old lime-tree at 
 Matlock Bath. 
 
 The little river Wye is said to be a capital trout 
 stream ; I should like to have whipped it a little 
 by way of trial. It has not the volume and flow 
 of its noble namesake in Monmouthshire, but it is 
 a pretty amber-colored stream that stops and plays 
 with every thing on its way, — 
 
 " Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge, 
 He overtaketh on his pilgrimage." 
 
 Our way lay along this lovely little river, through 
 a valley of fertile meadow land with gentle hills on 
 either side, where the cattle were quietly feeding, 
 and though the rest of the world might be con- 
 vulsed by war, here all was peace. 
 
 The first sight of Haddon Hall, standing bold and 
 high across the river, set off by its background of 
 woods — a sudden vision of the past, with nothing 
 but simple Nature around, and nothing to recall 
 those changes that have made it an object of pecul- 
 iar mark — was impressive ; but the impression 
 was not deepened by a near acquaintance. Cross- 
 ing a three-arched bridge, we drove up to the 
 
MATLOCK TO MANCHESTER. 173 
 
 lodge, and were shown into the castle by an elfin, 
 who opened the big oak door of the frowning gate- 
 way tower with a key almost as long as her bare 
 arm. This heavy tower of the time of Edward 
 III., casting a broad shadow, is the most majestic 
 part of the edifice ; and at this portal the scene of 
 Edwin Landseer's picture is laid. The house is 
 now the property of the Duke of Rutland. Before 
 the Manners family possessed it, it was the seat of 
 the Vernon family ; and in the days of Sir George 
 Vernon, styled " King of the Peak," this place 
 was in its greatest magnificence. The courtyard 
 is not large. The chaplain's room is first shown, 
 as well as the chapel, to illustrate the tight corner 
 into which religion was pushed and kept locked up 
 in those times. These apartments, and their very 
 keeping and situation, go to verify Macaulay's pict- 
 ure of that rude and unlettered period. Passing 
 over into the old dining-room, and kitchen with its 
 huge iron spit, one sees plainly enough around 
 what centre the whole house revolved. In the 
 dining-hall there is the rough oak table, raised a 
 step for the lord and his family : but he seems to 
 have eaten with his retainers and people, who 
 only sat " below the salt," with a kind of savage 
 brotherhood even in those haughty days. When 
 any one failed of drinking his share he was fastened 
 up by his hands to an iron staple in the wall, and 
 cold water was poured down his sleeve. Of course 
 they would not think of pouring it down his throat. 
 Haddon Hall is wonderfully preserved in all its 
 
174 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 parts. The faded arras is hanging in the cham- 
 bers. The little lead-soldered windows swing open 
 to let in the spicy air from the cedar and fir trees, 
 as in the old time. From these panneled rooms, 
 and the great hall sprinkled with carved " boars' 
 heads and peacocks," and the state bed-chamber, 
 and the " Peveril Tower," and the terraced garden, 
 and the yew-trees, and the grotesque gothic orna- 
 ments of the outer and inner courts, it would not 
 be difficult to reconstruct a baronial residence of 
 the 15th or 16th century. The long line of crene- 
 lated walls and towers, low but solid, form, even 
 now a perfect mediaeval picture. But though there 
 are some striking points and views, most things are 
 stiff, creaking, and dismal ; and with the gloomy 
 forest hanging around and above on a wild winter 
 night, it must be a rare place for the imagination 
 of a poet like Keats to play freaks in. Poor Keats ! 
 why should we always think of him as one who 
 could have written such great things ! He was a 
 true English poet ; and his Greece was laid in the 
 heart of green England, — in scenery not unlike 
 this softly wild, rocky, verdurous, lonely Derby- 
 shire. 
 
 The Bakewell Church, which illustrates Haddon 
 Hall as St. Mary's Church does Warwick Castle, 
 is worth visiting on its own account. Some parts 
 of it have been thought to be of Saxon origin, but 
 Saxon architecture has, I believe, been pretty 
 much given up by the learned as something that 
 belongs, like " many-towered Camelot," to Tenny- 
 
MATLOCK TO MANCHESTER. 175 
 
 son's poetty and the legendary age of England. It 
 is supposed, however, that a church stood here 
 before the Conquest. There is a very decided 
 look about the present edifice, of a more modern 
 church having been built upon an extremely an- 
 cient one, which was plain and solid, without 
 ornament. It is a quarry of antiquity for the 
 ecclesiologist. There is a Runic cross in the 
 churchyard, as well as at Eyam Church, not far 
 distant. Many fragments of very curious tomb- 
 stones, probably Saxon, have been discovered in 
 digging under the church. But the later monu- 
 ments in the Vernon and Manners chapel are the 
 most singular. They are composed of colored life- 
 size stone or alabaster figures. A mother with 
 her w T hole family of kneeling sons and daughters 
 down to mere babies, in black dresses, and having 
 an intensely strong family likeness, rise pyramid- 
 ically upon one immense monument or tablet. The 
 effigies of John Manners and Dorothy Vernon, his 
 wife, whose romantic history enlivens the stones 
 and shades of Haddon Hall, are upon the opposite 
 monument. An elaborate alabaster recumbent 
 statue of Sir Thomas Wendesley, representing him 
 in full armor, is interesting as illustrating costume. 
 
 Chatsworth is a place so well known, that I 
 cannot attempt to write much about it. Its situa- 
 tion in the queenly valley of the Derwent, framed 
 in on one side with perpendicular hills fading away 
 in the blue distance, and by an ancient park on 
 the other, with broad rich meadows, an unlimited 
 
176 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 sweep of soft green turf dotted by cattle and deer, 
 and a noble river between, giving an opportunity 
 for picturesque stone bridges, — these afford it a 
 majestic setting, and a superiority in this respect to 
 all other such residences in England, or indeed out 
 of England. It is an Italian palace, a modern 
 Hadrian's villa, set in English scenery. Its great 
 idea is amplitude and a kind of imperial breadth 
 and opulence. It looks too rich and magnifi- 
 cent for comfort, and give me "Wilton House" 
 or " Warwick Castle " — (if such a painful choice 
 must be made) — to live in in preference. As it is, 
 a few servants inhabit Chatsworth, look out of its 
 plate-glass windows, smell its roses, and walk its 
 grand avenues along the river, — its lord not choos- 
 ing to live in it but a short time in the year. 
 
 The character of the mansion is entirely modern. 
 This Italian villa style may possibly suit the broad 
 open peaceful site better than a castellated house, 
 or an irregular Elizabethan structure. 
 
 Of all its works of Art, old and new, I was most 
 struck with the little picture of a Benedictine Con- 
 vent, or " Monks at Prayer." Its vigorous light 
 and shade is worthy of Rembrandt. It is one of 
 those modern pictures that we feel sure will be 
 celebrated in future times, when ten thousand more 
 ambitious paintings and their authors shall have 
 gone into oblivion. 
 
 The sculpture gallery again reminds us of Italy 
 in England. Canova, in his " Mother of Napo- 
 leon," Hebe and Endymion, is here in his almost 
 
MATLOCK TO MANCHESTER. 177 
 
 Grecian perfection of power and beanty. His head 
 of Napoleon differs from every other that I have 
 seen. It is a long pointed face, with much more 
 of Italian craft than is common. It was pleasant 
 to see the countenance of our own Everett, hy 
 Hiram Powers, among the busts there. Derby- 
 shire spar and marble are greatly used in the orna- 
 mentation of the whole building. 
 
 In the vast and varied garden the fruit of Sir 
 Joseph Paxton's skill, though all the rules of 
 beauty, surprise, and concealment were observed, 
 there was not a free expression of Nature. Nature 
 will not be forced by the command of wealth, or 
 might of art. The artificial rocks had an obsti- 
 nately exotic look ; they seemed to say, " We are 
 not where our Author placed us, but we are here 
 to serve the Duke of Devonshire." 
 
 Buxton is fourteen miles from Chats worth. The 
 road lies among green vales and hills, well wooded 
 with ash, fir, and oak, but growing wilder and 
 drearier as one went north, and especially in ap- 
 proaching Buxton and passing through the stern 
 mountain gorge under Chee Tor. Here the gray 
 limestone rocks rose in the same wall-like escarped 
 fashion of which we have spoken. We kept along 
 by our new and lovely little friend the river Wye, 
 now become a very child in slenderness and freak- 
 ish babbling wantonness ; for we were approaching 
 its babyhood and cradlehood among the high moor- 
 lands above Buxton. 
 
 This northern Spa among the hills, nearly a 
 12 
 
178 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 thousand feet above the sea, is a strikingly situated 
 place, in a deep hollow or bowl of the mountains, 
 hemmed in by bleak desolate scenery. Words- 
 worth in his " Excursion " speaks of " Buxton's 
 dreary heights." But here in this lonely and dis- 
 mal region rises a very stately and fashionable little 
 metropolis. Its great " Crescent Hotel " is one of 
 the wonders of the land. To 'look down upon it 
 from the top of the opposite hill, in the evening, 
 when fully lighted, it appears like an illuminated 
 Coliseum cut in two. It was built bv the late Duke 
 of Devonshire at the cost of £ 120,000, and in fact 
 comprises several hotels, dwellings, and a multitude 
 of shops. The bathing and pump establishments 
 of Buxton are altogether the most luxurious and 
 superb I have seen. Besides elegant private bath- 
 rooms, there are immense porcelain swimming 
 basins of tepid water beautifully crystalline and 
 transparent, though of a bluish tinge. The water 
 in the pump-rooms comes out of the mouths of 
 white porcelain swans. 
 
 The winding walks, the gardens, the stables, are 
 all on the same scale of opulence. 
 
 At the " table d'hote " of St. Ann's Hotel (which 
 is a singular innovation in English hotels), and in 
 the handsome drawing-room around the card-tables, 
 one sees all descriptions of decrepitude and disease, 
 cripples, paralytics, dyspeptics, rheumatics, and 
 gouty people with their feet in flannels and slippers. 
 Wealth and luxury must take their special share of 
 these ills. But there are other water establishments 
 
MATLOCK TO MANCHESTER. 179 
 
 "intended especially for the poorer class of invalids. 
 That which is called the " Buxton Bath Charity " 
 is supported by the subscription of visitors, a gift of 
 <£10 entitling the donor to have one patient on the 
 list for life. 
 
 The water is a mild saline mineral, not unpleas- 
 ant to the taste, and without odor. Its base is car- 
 bonate of lime and magnesia. At the moment of 
 its issue from the spring it is highly charged with 
 nitrogen. 
 
 Buxton was a bathing-place of the bath-loving 
 Romans, and old Roman roads have been found ra- 
 diating from it as from a centre. Buxton has also 
 its memories of Mary Queen of Scots, who was fre- 
 quently here during her English captivity. 
 
 The famous name of " Peveril of the Peak," 
 which Walter Scott seized upon with the aptitude 
 of genius and turned it to his own account, is the 
 ancient " genius loci" of Derbyshire. All that is 
 historic and legendary in this whole region culmi- 
 nates in this ubiquitous personality throned among 
 the hills ; for he built the old tower of Haddon 
 Hall, he ruled at Chatsworth, and he had for his 
 especial seat the eagle-nest that overhangs the tre- 
 mendous precipices of the " Devil's Cave." Pev- 
 eril was a natural son of William the Conqueror. 
 
 To this same William Peveril all this territory 
 of Derbyshire was given, the northern part gradu- 
 ally rising into lofty heights taking the name of 
 " the Peak." It is a naked rocky region full of 
 mineral riches and marvels, with immense unex- 
 
180 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 plored caves, intermittent springs, "shivering" 
 mountains, and mines of silver, lead, and* "Blue 
 John." 
 
 From Buxton to Castleton is twelve miles. Part 
 of the way we followed the old Roman road that 
 penetrated into this mining district, especially to the 
 Odin lead mine, which is still worked. It lies over 
 sullen and desolate hills, appearing more so perhaps 
 from the coal-black clouds that hung menacingly 
 low upon the scene, but which toward noon broke 
 away, the sun coming out with great heat. Before 
 arriving at Castleton we passed around the foot of 
 Mam Tor, or "the shivering mountain," a shaly 
 crumbling hill 800 feet high, and so called from its 
 continual self-wrought process of disintegration. 
 
 The " Blue John mine," which is the only local- 
 ity where large masses of this beautiful fluor-spar 
 are found, lies just here at the foot of Mam Tor. 
 Its walls have a sparry lustre, and on going a little 
 way in, there comes a profound gulf which one 
 looks down into with respectful awe. But none of 
 these Derbyshire caverns could compare, I thought, 
 with the cave at Adelsburg near Trieste, where 
 Milan Cathedral itself is reproduced, with its myr- 
 iad arches, and clustering columns, and fretted pin- 
 nacles, and snowy images, in the dark bosom of a 
 mountain. 
 
 Descending by a steep road from this point, 
 which commands a broad panorama, we came into 
 a valley, on the southern side of which, cowering in 
 the shade of a high hill, is the little village of Cas- 
 
MATLOCK TO MANCHESTER. 181 
 
 tleton. It is half a mining place and half a curios- 
 ity-shop, with small stone houses and one old 
 church, and abounding in boys and old men, ready 
 to conduct to the " Peak Castle," the " Peak Cav- 
 ern," " Speedwell Mine," or " Cave Dale." 
 
 After the conventional luncheon of the season, 
 mutton-chops and salad crowned by the cavernous 
 u Stilton cheese," I took a guide to the veritable 
 Peveril of the Peak Castle. This guide w x as half an 
 idiot, and though perfectly familiar with the way, 
 left me of course to my own intelligence respecting 
 all other things. He wanted to impress upon me 
 that he, " Johnny Here, was always here, and that 
 Johnny was a good guide." 
 
 The climb to these old blackened ruins on the 
 lofty hill just back of the village, was a steep one, 
 and the grass dry and slippery. But the site of 
 the castle is fine. It commands a wide though 
 desolate view over this upper and rugged portion 
 of Derbyshire. Of the castle itself, little remains 
 but a low broken wall running around the edge of 
 the cliff, two almost totally ruined towers, and a 
 somewhat better preserved portion of the ponderous 
 keep, which probably resisted the efforts of those 
 who would quarry stones from it, for the building 
 of houses below in the village. It is of oldest Nor- 
 man work, with small round arched doorways and 
 windows, and is massive enough to satisfy all the 
 demands of the imagination. On three sides the 
 castle overhung profound abysses, and must have 
 been in its day impregnable. The sheep now ram- 
 
182 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 ble over its empty courtyard and old stones. The 
 mention of this castle in the " Doomsday Book " is 
 said to be in these words : " Terra Castelli William 
 Peverell in Pecke fors." 
 
 The visit to " Peak Cavern " beneath was some- 
 what exciting to those of the party who had never 
 been before so far into the bowels of the earth. It 
 is indeed a formidable earth-throat. The perpen- 
 dicular walls of gray rock rise on either side of it 
 and above it six hundred feet, and it opens with a 
 black arch forty-two feet in height, one hundred 
 and twenty in width, and three hundred in depth. 
 It is such a cave as Pluto's chariot might issue 
 from. A little stream flows from this sombre vault. 
 On one side of this chasm, just under its great cor- 
 nice, stands a hut where a woman is said to have 
 lived to very old age, never sleeping away from it 
 but once in her life. In the dim light we saw tall 
 poles and lines stretched across them, where a num- 
 ber of men and women were at work making twine. 
 Taking a guide, and groping into the cave until the 
 roof sloped down to the inner wall, we went through 
 a little door which opened into a long passage with 
 hardly a ray of light, this leading into a large 
 apartment where we lighted our lamps, and then 
 passed on through passage after passage, hall after 
 hall, till we came to the " Bell House," which was 
 like being under a vast bell, the roof taking a regu- 
 lar pear-shaped dome form. Soon after this we ar- 
 rived at the " First Water," which is sometimes an 
 impassable pond filling up the whole passage, but it 
 
MATLOCK TO MANCHESTER. 183 
 
 was now so low that we could creep along comfort- 
 ably by the side of it. Then we scrambled over wet 
 stones and under low archways, with the solemn 
 sound of this " Cocytus " murmuring below us in 
 the depths of the mountain, until we came to a grand 
 chamber two hundred and ten feet broad, two hun- 
 dred and twenty long, and one hundred and twenty 
 high, with heavy arches like those of a stupendous 
 Norman crypt. Here the old iron-handed Pe per- 
 ils above might have laid their dead in a more aw- 
 ful and magnificent sepulchre than any that their an- 
 cestors possessed. And it seemed a pity that Scott 
 should never have visited this place, for he certainly 
 would have made something out of this cavern. 
 He might have hid his Puritan here, and what a 
 terrible scene might have been wrought out of the 
 sudden rising of the subterranean river, as is fre- 
 quently the case, cutting off the escape of those 
 who were in pursuit. We went on 2250 feet into 
 the mountain, where the end of the cave is reached 
 and the river disappears. This cavern is in some 
 way connected with the " Speedwell mines " a mile 
 distant, for the debris of that mine is occasionally 
 brought down in this direction. The whole region 
 here is hollow and undermined. On returning, the 
 little daughter of the guide, gliding around like a 
 spirit, caused a surprise by placing lamps here and 
 there, imitating the light of day, while we were yet 
 far in the hill. The real light of day, when we 
 came out of the darkness, seemed to be something 
 golden, the beauty of which I had never seen be- 
 
184 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 fore, excepting in a similar emergence from a deep 
 cavern into the sweet sunshine of heaven. 
 
 In the " Cotton Metropolis " I took up my abode 
 at Queen's Hotel, one of the largest hotels in 
 Great Britain, though there was the slightest sus- 
 picion about it of that kind of upholstery splendor, 
 which one sees less rarely in England, but perhaps 
 more frequently in America in our great manu- 
 facturing towns. Dinner served in sumptuous 
 style, was followed by a course of " Times" news- 
 paper, " Chronicle," and " Punch." Indeed a 
 traveler in England soon gets as infatuated after his 
 evening newspaper as an Englishman, and almost 
 like an Englishman does not know what his own 
 opinion is until he has read the " Times." One is 
 drawn to read English newspapers for their good 
 vigorous English. English newspapers deal in 
 facts and ideas more than in rhetoric and personali- 
 ties. They base their articles upon broad princi- 
 ples of political economy, trade, or morals. Even 
 a little blotchy penny-sheet like the " Telegraph," 
 has a daily leader that for pithy English, compre- 
 hensive and penetrating political views and weighty 
 logic, would set up a member of Parliament or of 
 Congress as an accomplished speaker. There is no 
 doubting the fact that England is a free country 
 by him who reads English newspapers. Even to 
 a Republican used to free speech they often sound 
 surprisingly bold. They may be imperious, harsh, 
 unjust, wrong, and bitterly controversial, yet they 
 do speak right out, and as a German writer has 
 
MATLOCK TO MANCHESTER. 185 
 
 said, " A noisv irritable debating; nation does not 
 prove that liberty is crushed, but a quiet and silent 
 nation does." 
 
 A Sunday in England ! There is doubtless 
 great formality and great desecration of the day; 
 but a day for the worship of the Most High, 
 a day on which the shuttle ceases, the shop is 
 closed, the house of God is filled with apparently 
 devout assemblies, — this is above all things char- 
 acteristic of England, in city or country. Other 
 nations laugh at England for this, but the recogni- 
 tion of the Sabbath is a simple and sublime ac- 
 knowledgment by the nation, of God. God must 
 be in the life of a nation as of a man to make it 
 great. The faith of England is a spring of char- 
 acter and a source of strength, that some philoso- 
 phers do not always sufficiently take into account 
 in their ingenious and profound estimates of Eng- 
 lish traits. It is deeper than all. Race, soil, posi- 
 tion, history, are nothing to it. It is that invisible 
 stream of truth, duty, and hope, that runs from the 
 eternal heart. In a great sweating, working city 
 like Manchester, the universal and marked regard 
 of the Sabbath has something touching in it. It 
 is poetry to worship God in the green lanes where 
 there is peace and loveliness, and every thing to 
 draw out the soul to sing praise ; but it is affecting 
 in the presence of want, of squalid poverty, of the 
 ugly barren features of a huge manufacturing town 
 in its joyless life and ofttimes awful despair, to see 
 the myriad hands of toil raised to the Father of all, 
 
186 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 and to hear the sounds of Christian joy and praise. 
 I recall some words of Macaulay on this point: 
 " While industry is suspended, while the plough 
 rests in the furrow, while the exchange is silent, 
 while no smoke ascends from the factory, a process 
 is going on quite as important to the wealth of 
 nations as any that is performed on busier days. 
 Man, the machine of machines, compared with 
 which all the contrivances of the Watts and Ark- 
 wrights are worthless, is repairing and winding up : 
 so that he returns to his labors on Monday with 
 clearer intellect, with livelier spirit, and with re- 
 newed corporeal vigor." 
 
 The streets were thronged with little children 
 going to and from their various schools. It was a 
 sultry day, and the operatives cleanly dressed sat 
 quietly in their door-ways, the men generally in 
 their shirt-sleeves. They looked to me pale and 
 worn. It was good to see them resting for a little 
 time from their bone-wearing and monotonous toil. 
 The poor children of the manufacturing cities are 
 the greatest objects of compassion. The multi- 
 plicity of laborers in England and their consequent 
 low wages, lead parents to put their children very 
 early into factories where the hard work and con- 
 finement are terrible. They have been known to 
 begin labor at the tender age of five, and I have 
 seen it stated that bovs and girls from eight to 
 fifteen are obliged to labor in factories and work- 
 houses eighteen hours a day. But now, at this still 
 hour, there seemed to be, at least to a looker-on, 
 something like repose to the weary. 
 
MATLOCK TO MANCHESTER. 187 
 
 I took a long walk to hear Canon Hugh Stowell 
 preach in Christ Church, Salford. The text was 
 from the Epistle to the Galatians, vi. 15. His 
 sentences were extremely sententious. The first 
 two I remember were these : " A man will mve 
 every thing to God but his heart. God will have 
 nothing from man without his heart." He argued 
 upon the essential falseness of a baptismal, ritual, 
 credal, sentimental, or moral piety. Faith was a 
 new life. It was God dwelling in us as a living 
 principle of pure emotion, right thought, and be- 
 nevolent action. To criticize so good and noble a 
 sermon were hardly fair ; but its style ran often 
 into poetic commonplace, and did not retain the 
 nervous masculine march with which it becan. 
 And one cannot but long in the English pulpit for 
 the free elbow, the bold and graceful sweep of the 
 arm, that is seen in the French pulpit, be it that of 
 Lacordaire or Cocquerel, and also in the most 
 effective American preaching and oratory. There 
 is a trussed look, a gesturing with the hand, instead 
 of the arm. In the afternoon I heard an Inde- 
 pendent minister in a most humble and obscure 
 brick building, with nothing on the exterior to dis- 
 tinguish it from an old black cotton warehouse. A 
 few sheep were gathered in this lowly sheepfold. 
 The preacher was a thin, pale man, who prayed 
 fervently for the crowds of those who had not the 
 bread of life in that swarming city, for the poor, 
 the sinful, and the tempted. He preached an earn- 
 est but sad sermon. Yet perhaps he was one of 
 
188 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 the few who in the eye of God saved the city — 
 whose prayers filled the golden vials before the 
 throne. I could not help fancying that even the 
 sight of one stranger rather cheered the little 
 flock. 
 
 Of course I do not mean to speak of a Man- 
 chester Sabbath as any thing peculiar. If I had 
 penetrated into the back lanes of Ancoats, and the 
 less public parts of the city, I should probably have 
 found the gin palaces in full swing, and profane- 
 ness and gross vice enough. But to the transient 
 stranger the day was apparently kept holy, and the 
 great tired city rested from its labors. 
 
CHAPTER XL 
 
 THE LAKE COUNTRY. 
 
 A lively and pretty scene was that miniature 
 Bowness Bay, on beautiful Lake Windermere, with 
 its fleet of tiny yachts, their pennants flying, and 
 its array of gayly cushioned pleasure-boats. A 
 pleasant-looking boatman touched his hat, and we 
 were soon out of the crowd of small craft and vora- 
 cious swans, the rapid-winged boat cutting its way 
 over the lake, smooth and black as Egyptian mar- 
 ble, toward the " Ferry Inn," some little way 
 down on the opposite side. While we were run- 
 ning over, there were indications of the sultry day 
 ending in a thunder-storm, and two or three rum- 
 bles of thunder broke among the hills. The tall 
 mountains at the head of the lake grew misty, and 
 the son shining through the clouds that piled up 
 swiftly around it, showed like an immense St. An- 
 drew's cross. A considerable swell followed the 
 gusts that began to sweep down the lake, but our 
 boatman thought it would soon pass over, as it did. 
 We neared tho great craggy wall on the opposite 
 side, about a mile across, skirting along its base, 
 until we came to the promontory of Ferry Inn, 
 marked by its conspicuous clump of sycamores. 
 
190 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 Here we could see nearly the whole reach of the 
 lake, which is ten miles long. In shape it is not 
 unlike " Long Lake " in Northern New York, but 
 how unlike the shaggy sides and setting of that 
 rude though beautiful Indian water ! Everywhere 
 the hand of taste has smoothed the shores of this 
 English lake. At every point where there is a 
 foothold, some noble dwelling is placed, its rolled 
 lawn or its majestic park coming down to the very 
 water's edge. But the lakes of the Adirondack 
 region, in point of size and other features, might 
 bear some comparison with these English lakes, 
 especially with the rockier and sterner ones. Per- 
 haps in future times those rough emeralds of the 
 mountains, where now nought is heard but the 
 plaintive cry of the loon, or the plashing of the 
 wild deer among the lilies, will be built upon, and 
 become the homes of poets and the resorts of trav- 
 elers, artists, and health-seekers. But there is 
 something exquisitely soft in Windermere. It has 
 a feminine delicacy, and with its light touches of 
 beauty draws out the fatigue from the weary brain. 
 It does not want in largeness and grandeur toward 
 its upper end. As we came around Curwen 
 Island, on our return, we had a clearer view of the 
 northern extremity of the lake. Fairfield Moun- 
 tain stood out distinct and dark against the sky, and 
 just under it on either side Rydal Head and Nab 
 Scar, with Wansfell Pike and the Kentmere range 
 of hills on the right. But toward the south it 
 faded away in wavy and gentle lines. 
 
THE LAKE COUNTRY. 191 
 
 We landed upon Curwen Island, or Belle Isle, 
 the largest island in the lake, a choice ring of 
 springy turf and ancient trees, of about a mile in 
 circumference. Christopher North has immortal- 
 ized it, for the most beautiful Nature is dead until 
 a human soul starts it to life by its living touch and 
 sympathy. " We see then as we feel," Words- 
 worth said. There is a circular stone mansion 
 upon this island more odd than tasteful. Clear it 
 away and restore it to fresh Nature, and we can- 
 not conceive of a more dreamy or poetic "Aiden " 
 in a small compass, than this island. Other lit- 
 tle " aits " of vivid green are strung along to the 
 south of it ; their leaning branches sweep the 
 water, and upon their shallower sides they are 
 fringed with a white border of water-lilies. 
 
 The next day, though showery, gave glimpses of 
 the lake from higher ground, in and back of Bow- 
 ness, taking in the majestic horns of the two Lang- 
 dale Pikes at the north, and just opposite, the 
 ridge of Furness Fells, crowned by the indented 
 peak of Coniston Old Man, with a dim and distant 
 view of Scawfell Pike, the highest mountain in 
 England. Just beyond this high wall of table-land 
 across the lake, lies the long, parallel lake called 
 Coniston Water, having much the character of 
 Windermere, though smaller. Between the two 
 is the minute lake of Esthwaite, only two miles in 
 length, upon the borders of which Wordsworth 
 went to school, and from which his life-like descrip- 
 tion of skating in the " Prelude " is drawn. 
 
192 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 I drove down into Troutbeck Valley, crossing 
 the bridge that went over Troutbeck stream. It is 
 strange how in hilly countries the very names grow 
 beautiful and suggestive. We have seen this in 
 the Dovedales and Derwentdales of Derbyshire. 
 In the Lothian and Tweed countries we find such 
 sweet, melodious names as Melrose, Yarrow, Lam- 
 mermoor, Gala Water, — 
 
 " To Auchindenny's hazel shade, 
 And moss-crowned Woodhouselee." 
 
 In the lake region also we find names that it seems 
 as if poets must have made expressly for the places, 
 instead of these making the poets. Troutbeck, 
 Patterdale, Windermere, Hartstope, Furness Fells, 
 Leatheswater, Grasmere, Silver How, Helvellyn, 
 Helm Crag, Bleaberry Fell, Glaramara, Ulleswa- 
 ter — in truth, there is no end to them. How 
 could they have sprung or flowed forth, except 
 from the real poetry in the heart of the primitive 
 people ; and as this is a kind of faint Wordsworth- 
 ian idea, so we must be drawing near the home of 
 the poet ! 
 
 This Troutbeck Valley into which we have en- 
 tered is a deep and picturesque hollow, running 
 under the southeast side of Wansfell Pike (Peak), 
 up toward the steep of Woundsdale Head, where 
 there is a path that turns to the left into the Kirk- 
 stone Pass. The secluded village of Troutbeck 
 stands some way down this valley, and a mile and 
 a half above the bridge. 
 
 Wordsworth's own home is a drive of a mile and 
 
THE LAKE COUNTRY. 193 
 
 a quarter from Ambleside. By a still pleasanter 
 and somewhat longer walk nearer in under the 
 heights of Lochrigg Fell, — that we may be sure 
 Wordsworth often took, — we may go past the 
 embowered cottage of Dr. Arnold, — Fox How, — 
 situated just beneath the Fell, and looking directly 
 up the great hollow bosom of Fairfield Mountain. 
 How often does Dr. Arnold refer to this mountain 
 nest ! He says in one place in a characteristic 
 way, " Behind we run up to the top of Lochrigg, 
 and we have a mountain pasture in a basin, on the 
 summit of the ridge, the very image of those ' Sal- 
 thus ' on Citheron, where GEdipus was found by 
 the Corinthian shepherd. The Wordsworths' 
 friendship, for so I may call it, is certainly one of 
 the greatest delights of Fox How, and their kind- 
 ness in arranging every thing in our absence has 
 been very great." 
 
 His delight at getting home from a foreign tour 
 he expresses in a lively way : "Arrived at Bow- 
 ness at 8.20 ; left it at 8.31 ; passing Rayrigg 
 gate 8.37. On the Bowness Terrace 8.45. Over 
 Troutbeck Bridge 8.51. Here is Ecclerigg 8.58. 
 And here Lowood Inn 9.04<^. And here Water- 
 head, and our ducking bench 9.12. The Valley 
 opens, Ambleside and Rydal Park, and the gallery 
 on Loughrigg. Rotha Bridge 9.16. And here is 
 the poor humbled Rotha, and Mr. Brancker's cut, 
 and the new Millar Bridge 9.21 — alas ! for the 
 alders are gone, and succeeded by a stiff wall. 
 Here is the Rotha in his own beauty, and here is 
 
 13 
 
194 OLD ENGLAND. fc 
 
 poor T. Fleming's field, and our own mended gate. 
 Dearest children, may we meet happily ! Entered 
 Fox How and the beech copse at 9.25, and here 
 ends journal. Walter first saw us, and gave no- 
 tice of our approach. We found all our dear chil- 
 dren well, and Fox How in such beauty, that no 
 scene in Italy appeared in my eyes comparable to 
 it." 
 
 What names have we gathered as we go along ! 
 As the mountains rise here above the rest of Eng- 
 land so do the minds that have clustered here. 
 How much they have done to refresh the plains ! 
 
 Rydal village stands in the hollow between 
 Loughrigg Fell and Nab Scar, near the lower end 
 of Rydal Water ; and a little up the side of Nab 
 Scar, which rises bare and majestic, furrowed with 
 the marks of torrents and avalanches — high 
 enough, in fact, to take it out and lift it into a 
 commanding position — is the house where Words- 
 worth lived. Somewhat further on, in the same 
 ascending road, is Rydal Hall, the seat of the De 
 Flemings, surrounded by an antique forest so often 
 mentioned in the poet's verse, and in Wilson's 
 exquisite prose-poems. Rydal Mount was closed 
 when I was there, shortly after the death of Mrs. 
 Wordsworth. I looked at the little yellow plas- 
 tered house, peeping over its thick girdle of larch- 
 trees and laburnum bushes. It seems to have been 
 ingeniously set aside out of the common road, 
 though not completely isolated. It is a kind of 
 bird's-nest upon the rugged bosom of the mountain. 
 
THE LAKE COUNTRY. 195 
 
 Interlaced around it with care are all species of 
 thickly growing shrubs and vines. Its front win- 
 dows have a splendid prospect over the deeply 
 scooped vale of Rydal Water and Grasmere, and 
 the mountains beyond. It is a very plain and 
 almost rough dwelling externally, though with a 
 peerless site. An American friend who had been 
 kindly entertained by Wordsworth told me that it 
 was furnished with every English comfort, but with 
 no luxuries beyond the presence of books and flow- 
 ers. It was the abode of a man who in his own 
 words applied to another, " united plain living with 
 high thinking." My friend said that the poet, he 
 could hardly tell why, reminded him of Henry 
 Clay. I suppose from all accounts he must have 
 looked as much like an old bald eagle in his milder 
 meditative mood as any thing else. Hazlitt, less 
 reverentially, compared his long head and face to 
 that of an old white horse ! He was at that time 
 in a state of irritation about his American bonds, 
 and spoke strongly of the moral wrong of repudia- 
 tion, and expressed his fears lest American nobility 
 and faith might become swamped in materialism. 
 The only thing yet done, I believe, about repudi- 
 ating these Mississippi bonds in which the poet was 
 fettered, has been to talk about it. But in inde- 
 pendence and comparative wealth here he lived 
 with his little familv. and that sister whom he so 
 much loved — the feminine correlative of his own 
 mind, and more than all the other nine to him. 
 How many other great men besides Wordsworth, 
 
196 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 Lamb, and Neander, have had such guardian spirits 
 in their sisters ? Perhaps my reader may remem- 
 ber more. At the bottom of this same steep lane, 
 running up out of the village, is the chapel where 
 Wordsworth was a constant attendant. He had 
 an Englishman's respect for the services of God's 
 house. He was, I believe, a truly religious man. 
 De Quincey has ejected some stains upon his char- 
 acter, making him appear to be a selfish man. But 
 De Quincey, though an eloquent genius, saw his 
 equals and superiors in such an intense light of 
 feeling, that it served to darken them. The mean- 
 ness of some of his remarks upon Wordsworth has 
 been proved by Wordsworth's generous and abso- 
 lute silence. Wordsworth was a reserved man, 
 not always the most amiable, and a supreme egotist. 
 But his egotism was of such a harmless and noble 
 sort, of so pure and high an ideal, that none could 
 be hurt by it. His spirit bent ever reverently 
 before God. He has been accused of pantheism ; 
 yet a student of his writings will find that the God 
 breathing through the natural universe was to him 
 no mere suffused essence, but the Father of all, 
 never for a moment lost in His own works, but 
 who inspires them and uses them as a vast organ- 
 ism to play upon and shine through. Of this ever- 
 present, ever-speaking God, Wordsworth felt him- 
 self called to be a minister. Among these hills in 
 whose sight he was born, he lifted his eyes and 
 cried, — 
 
 " How beautiful this dome of sky, 
 And the vast hills in fluctuation fixed 
 
THE LAKE COUNTRY. 197 
 
 At Thy command how awful ! Shall the soul, 
 
 Human and rational, report of Thee 
 
 Even less than these ? Be mute who will, who can, 
 
 My lips that may forget Thee in the crowd, 
 
 Cannot forget Thee here where Thou hast built, 
 
 For thine own glory in the wilderness ! 
 
 Me didst Thou constitute a priest of Thine." 
 
 The God of Nature whom he joyfully recognized, 
 was no beautiful impersonality of the transcendent- 
 alism, but a being whom he could worship, and 
 with whom he could walk in " amity sublime." 
 The prayer at the end of the " Excursion " is warm 
 with religious feeling. " The serious song " ends 
 in the serener hopes and light of heaven. As we 
 love to quote from him whose words are as melo- 
 dious as the swellings of a wind-harp, we shall do 
 so abundantly. 
 
 Wordsworth was too great a man not to accept 
 the inestimable truth of the Christian faith, and its 
 new and living way to the Divine person and per- 
 fection. But he was one whose special office it 
 was to interpret God as manifested in Nature, the 
 second book. He was to show the fine relations 
 of Nature to the soul, as a voice speaking to the 
 soul of its wants, origin, and aim, even as God 
 talked with Adam in the garden. 
 
 " For I have learned 
 To look on Nature, not as in the hour 
 Of thoughtless youth ; but hearing oftentimes 
 The still, sad music of humanity." 
 
 " For the man, 
 Who, in this spirit, communes with the forms 
 Of Nature ; who, with understanding heart, 
 
198 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 Doth know and love such objects as excite 
 No morbid passions, no disquietude, 
 No vengeance, and no hatred, needs must feel 
 So deeply, that, unsatisfied with aught 
 Less pure and exquisite, he cannot choose 
 But seek for objects of a kindred love 
 In fellow-natures and a kindred joy. 
 Accordingly, he by degrees perceives 
 His feelings of aversion softened down ; 
 A holy tenderness pervade his frame. 
 
 " His sanity of reason not impaired, 
 Say, rather, all his thoughts now flowing clear, 
 From a clear fountain flowing, he looks round 
 And seeks for good ; and finds the good he seeks ; 
 Until abhorrence and contempt are things 
 He only knows by name ; and if he hear 
 From other mouths the language which they speak, 
 He is compassionate ; and has no thought, 
 No feeling, which can overcome his love." 
 
 In his philosophy of Nature he had a deeper view, 
 I verily think, than is generally held, — than is even 
 so vigorously set forth by our own eloquent Bush 
 nell, — which regards Nature as but a mechanical 
 effect or result of certain fixed causes ; but Nature 
 is a more vital and enduring part of God's work 
 than this. It is a more true and intimate manifes- 
 tation of God. It is something which will never 
 cease to be. This Nature in which we are inframed 
 answers to the subjective frame-work of our own 
 mind, is necessary to its life, and growth, and edu- 
 cation, and will be carried with us in its essence in- 
 to another state. We are ourselves a part of this 
 Nature. It is something in ourselves, which is the 
 root of our being to be restored and built upon. 
 And here, in Nature, Wordsworth anchored his 
 
THE LAKE COUNTRY. 199 
 
 moral being ; and he was the great moral poet of the 
 age. He found the law of God written in nature, — 
 in " the fleshly tablets of the heart." As this is an 
 imperishable law, so the nature in which it is en- 
 graved is imperishable. And he drew from hence 
 the great truth upon which he strikes so sweetly 
 and boldly of the moral equality of the race. 
 
 " The primal duties shine aloft — like stars ; 
 The charities that soothe, and heal, and bless, 
 Are scattered at the feet of man like flowers. 
 The generous inclination, the just rule, 
 Kind wishes, and good actions, and free thoughts — 
 No mystery is here ; no special boon 
 For high and not for low ; for proudly graced — 
 And not for meek of heai't. The smoke ascends 
 To heaven as lightly from the cottage hearth 
 As from the haughty palace. He, whose soul 
 Ponders this true equality, may walk 
 The fields of earth with gratitude and hope." 
 
 This led him to respect man wherever he found 
 him, and to study man. His walks among the poor 
 of the mountains form in reality the simple theme 
 of his greatest poem. He brought forth the great- 
 ness and angelic splendors of the human soul in its 
 lowliest estate. He was a Christian poet here. 
 He was never more interested than when studying 
 how to benefit the poor, to educate them, to im- 
 prove and invigorate the " Poor Laws," to raise 
 humanity. He sought his spring of poetry amid 
 the sorrows, joys, and experiences of the most 
 humble of his fellow-beings. This also made him 
 the indomitable poet of freedom. With what pro- 
 found and yet indignant spirit he exclaimed : — 
 
200 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 " If, having walked with Nature threescore years, 
 And offered, far as frailty would allow, 
 My heart a daily sacrifice to Truth, 
 I now affirm of Nature and of Truth, 
 Whom I have served, that their divinity 
 Revolts, offended at the ways of men." 
 
 Here he was pathetic when he had lifted up some 
 bruised flower of humanity. The granite rock 
 which was in his nature, and generally showed 
 itself impenetrably hard, melted at this touch. He 
 has been charged with coldness as a poet. He 
 may have been reserved and unemotional by tem- 
 perament, but there was in him a deep fount of 
 tenderness, to which the descent in his own lan- 
 guage " was by the steps of thought." How feel- 
 ingly he drew the trials of poor Margaret, and how 
 exquisitely delicate was his picture of Ellen, whose 
 
 " Fond maternal heart had built a nest 
 In blindness all too near the river's edge." 
 
 How he loved childhood ! And he became like 
 a little child with Nature. He despised nothing in 
 creation. He laughed and sported with the daffo- 
 dils. In words as familiar now as any that Shak- 
 speare wrote he said : — 
 
 " To me the meanest flower that blows can give 
 Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears." 
 
 And he did not care whether others felt or be ■ 
 lieved this with him or no, as far as his own senti- 
 ment was concerned. Here was the old Scawfell 
 granite. Others would come around to him by 
 and by. So he sang with bold and joyful strain : — 
 
THE LAKE COUNTRY. 201 
 
 " Thou art not beneath the moon 
 But a thing ' beneath our shoon ' ; 
 Let, as old Magellan did, 
 Others roam about the sea; 
 Build who will a pyramid ; 
 Praise it is enough for me 
 If there be but three or four 
 Who will love my little flower." 
 
 And why are these crowds thronging to his valley 
 and his grave, if they have not come round to him? 
 What means the rich subjective element which has 
 been infused into English literature, if his pro- 
 founder ideas have not begun to prevail ? What 
 means the fine analysis of Tennyson, his dwelling 
 upon lowly and simple themes, his drawing out of 
 a deeper soul from inanimate things, if he had not 
 drunk into the spirit of this great master of true 
 modern poetry ? Wordsworth was the poet of 
 progress, — 
 
 "A man of hope and forward-looking mind 
 Even to the last." 
 
 His idea of Nature and creation led to unlimited 
 search, and to ever- widening and deepening 
 thought, because he discerned 
 
 " God in the human soul, and God in all things." 
 
 Rydal Water is a miniature affair, not more than 
 half a mile long, but its mountain guardians of 
 Loughrigg Fell and Nab Scar make it lose its 
 sense of smallness ; and it is not too small for 
 many little gems 
 
 " Of islands that together lie, 
 As quietly as spots of sky 
 Amongst the evening clouds." 
 
202 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 A short way on from Rydal Mere, and strung to it 
 by a silver streamlet, is the heart of all the lakes, 
 Grasmere. As the road creeping around under Nab 
 Scar passes the middle part of the lake, it runs near 
 the " Wishing Gate " sung by Wordsworth in 
 those tripping verses with such solemn ending. 
 Here one looks down upon one of the most lovely 
 and softly peaceful scenes on earth, and yet with a 
 certain sober grandeur about it quite impossible to 
 describe. Why was it named Grasmere ? Be- 
 cause it could not have been named any thing else. 
 There is a grassy margin around the whole shore 
 of the lake, spreading out into dark green mead- 
 ows at its upper end where the village stands, 
 and climbing up almost ,to the summits of the bold 
 cliffs that curl their edges over this vale. Just op- 
 posite rise the steep, overhanging heights of Silver 
 How, and the eye running along its wall follows it 
 up into the shadowy recesses of the lonely glen of 
 Easedale. At the head of the lake beyond the vil- 
 lage, towers the noble cliff called Helm Crag, not 
 unlike a Roman soldier's nodding crest, if that were 
 indeed the origin of its name. Back of it are the 
 higher mountains that lie around Thirlemere Lake, 
 and I do not remember whether one can catch here 
 a glimpse of the shoulder of Helvellyn above Seat 
 Sandal on the far right. 
 
 The waveless expanse of Grasmere, with its one 
 little island, spreads out before one, tranquilly re- 
 flecting all this beauty. 
 
 A little further on we came to Town End, and 
 
THE LAKE COUNTRY. 203 
 
 saw the humble roof, somewhat out of the village, 
 beneath which Wordsworth made his first home. 
 Here he brought his young bride, and gathered 
 his soul-friends — Southey, Coleridge, Scott, Lamb, 
 Lloyd, Wilson — about him. De Quincey also 
 lived here after him. And not far from this his 
 first home, the scene of his first works and studies, 
 standing at the very head of the lake, is the small, 
 square-towered, rude stone church, in the grave- 
 yard of which he sleeps. 
 
 Within the church there is a marble bas-relief 
 of his farmer-like yet thoughtful face, and a just 
 and elaborate inscription placed over the pew 
 which he frequently occupied. I will not stop to 
 transcribe it. 
 
 " Green is the churchyard, beautiful and green, 
 Ridge rising gently by the side of ridge ; 
 A heaving surface, almost wholly free 
 From interruption of sepulchral stones, 
 And mantled o'er with aboriginal turf 
 And everlasting flowers. These dalesmen trust 
 The lingering gleam of their departing lives 
 To oral records and the silent heart." 
 
 Beneath Ms ridge of green, with a simple black 
 slate-stone at its head, inscribed simply with the 
 name of William Wordsworth, among the dales- 
 men and humble people with whom he daily 
 walked, sleeps the poet. His loved sister, and his 
 only daughter Dora, and her husband the scholar 
 Edward Quillinan, are laid by his side. Between 
 these mounds and the church is the monument of 
 poor Hartley Coleridge, covered with a cross-crown 
 
204 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 and thorns, with the inscription — " By thy cross 
 and passion, good Lord, deliver us ! " 
 
 A clear little stream sings past the very edge of 
 these grassy mounds, and slides into the soft and 
 quiet lake which is but a few steps distant. The 
 great mountains stand watching around. The 
 shadows of the clouds pass silently over the spot. 
 The stars shine upon it. 
 
 "As in the eye of Nature he has lived, 
 So in the eye of Nature let him die." 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE LAKE COUNTRY (CONTINUED.) 
 
 I stopped awhile at the " Swan " to take my last 
 near look of Grasmere, and then went slowly up 
 the ascending road to Dunmail Raise, which was a 
 favorite walk of Wordsworth's. For some way it 
 goes almost in the shadow of Helm Crag, whose 
 crest presents odd combinations of rocks, out of 
 which any one has as much right as the poet to 
 form grotesque images. Of a mass of tall hob- 
 nobbing; rocks that stand black and clear against 
 the sky, Wordsworth's fancy painted this little Al- 
 brecht-Diirer picture : — 
 
 " The Astrologer, sage Sidrophel, 
 Where at his desk and book he sits, 
 Puzzling on high his curious wits ; 
 He whose domain is held in common 
 With no one but the Ancient Woman, 
 Cowering beside her rifted cell, 
 As if intent on magic spell ; 
 Dread pair, that spite of wind and weather, 
 Still sit upon Helm Crag together." 
 
 And the whole group of rocks and mountains 
 around was gathered up in a picture in these 
 lines : — 
 
 " The rock like something starting from a sleep, 
 Took up the lady's voice and laughed again ; 
 
-206 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 That Ancient "Woman seated on Helm Crag 
 Was ready with her cavern : Hammer Scar, 
 And the tall steep of Silver How sent forth 
 A noise of laughter, southern Loughrigg heard, 
 And Fairfield answered with a mountain tone : 
 Helvellyn far into the clear blue sky 
 Carried the lady's voice ; old Skiddaw blew 
 His speaking-trumpet ; back out of the clouds 
 Of Glaramara southward came the voice ; 
 And Kirkstone tossed it from his misty head." 
 
 Further to the south of these hills lies the Ober- 
 land Alp region of this whole district, the moun- 
 tainous group standing about desolate and savage 
 Wast Water, and which is said to be very wild 
 and grand. Here are the two Scawfell mountains, 
 one of them the highest peak of England. This is 
 a granite tract ; the rest of these mountains are 
 generally of schistose slate, forming what has been 
 compared to a slate dome, rising to its greatest 
 height in Skiddaw and Helvellyn, and surrounded 
 by a rim of old red sandstone, limestone, and coal, 
 the latter being found in great quantities near the 
 sea, in the neighborhood of Cockermouth and 
 Workington. The summit of the Pass at Dunmail 
 Raise is six miles and a half from Ambleside, and 
 here a new picture is revealed which may be said 
 to belong to the Helvellyn circle. That mountain, 
 with its long furrowed southern sweep, predomi- 
 nates over the scene, and at this moment veils its 
 head in the clouds. At its base sleeps the narrow 
 lake of Thirlemere, or Leatheswater, so narrow as 
 to be bridged over in one place, — a cold and shad- 
 owy sheet of water, overhung at its lower end with 
 
THE LAKE COUNTRY. 207 
 
 perpendicular rocks, especially one called Raven 
 Crag. Yet when the sun flashed out again, even 
 Thirlemere smiled back like a sister to her big" 
 mountain brother as the scowl passed away from 
 his forehead. Some two miles on in the descent is 
 the miniature chapel of Wytheburn, and from Nag's 
 Head Inn on the other side of the road directly at 
 the foot of Helvellyn, the ascent of that mountain 
 is usually made, though this is a steeper path than 
 from the Patterdale side. Looking up here at the 
 broad and rugged slope of the mountain, my youth- 
 ful reader will not forget the story of young 
 Charles Gough, who fell from Striding Edge preci- 
 pice, and his faithful little terrier that kept three 
 months' watch over his dead body. 
 
 Helvellyn rises gradually from a wide-grasping 
 base in great steps or terraces, and is so singularly 
 formed and placed, that it is one of the most diffi- 
 cult of all the great mountains to be seen in its en- 
 tire shape. Being centrally situated, the view 
 from its summit is the finest in the region, extend- 
 ing on the north to the highlands of Scotland. 
 The whole character of the mountain justifies Hart- 
 ley Coleridge's epithet of " drear Helvellyn." 
 
 The road to Keswick led past the cloven gate 
 of the narrow and romantic Vale of St. John, the 
 scene of Scott's " Bridal of Triermain." It runs 
 along under Naddle Fell, and near its head towers 
 the singular architectural rock, that 
 
 " Seemed some primeval giant's hand 
 The castle's massive walls had planned." 
 
208 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 From the hill of Castleriggs we gained a fine 
 afternoon view of the broad resplendent vale of 
 Keswick, with its two lakes and river, the tumult- 
 uous sea of the Derwentwater and Buttermere 
 mountains on the south side robed in purple shad- 
 ows and golden lights, and Skiddaw with its two 
 peaks in lone majesty on the north. For large and 
 beautiful scenery perhaps this is the finest part of 
 the Lake region. At least Southey and Coleridge 
 thought so. It is not a solitary inner mountain 
 shrine, like Wordsworth's home, where his self-sus- 
 tained genius could dwell apart ; but it is a free and 
 open spot, at the same time cheerful and grand. 
 This is the circle of Skiddaw, a noble mountain 
 rising easily out of the plain in gentle undulating 
 lines, and yet from the fact that it stands alone, 
 and shows its whole bulk, it is a finer mountain 
 than Helvellyn, which is larger. 
 
 The afternoon was so beautiful, that although 
 the sun was setting, I determined to see the length 
 of lovely Derwentwater, and come home by the 
 light of the stars. The lake is but half a mile from 
 Keswick, by a broad walk that forms the public 
 promenade of the town. The opposite mountains 
 lying between Derwentwater and Buttermere and 
 Crummock Lakes, of which Causey Pike, Greisdale 
 Pike, and far-off Wythop Fells, are the highest 
 summits, form a broken tumultuous group, a forest 
 of mountains, peak beyond peak, and at the mo- 
 ment were richly tinted and softened by the sunset 
 lights, that grew every moment mistier and dream- 
 
THE LAKE COUNTRY. 209 
 
 ier and deeper in their purples and violets. It 
 does not require the highest mountains like the 
 Alp? to awaken feelings of pure pleasure and sub- 
 limity All mountain regions have more or less of 
 this power. Our American hills will make their 
 own poets ; and have already served to refresh and 
 purify thousands of minds. God doubtless meant 
 them for this as well as for lower uses. Coming 
 out of such a " valley of the shadow of death " as 
 that of the Aar into the sweet vales of Imhof and 
 Meyringen, one gets glimpses of truth that no other 
 Nature can teach. The soul covets great emotions. 
 These the mountains give. They brace the mind 
 to grand purposes. And such delicate atmospheric 
 phenomena, sucli a blue in the sky, such marvelous 
 tints upon the rocks, such ethereal purity if one 
 goes into the heart of the glaciers, — these are next 
 to impressions of things spiritual. 
 
 But I am getting away from a fine English lake, 
 if i£ be not a Swiss one. I called it "lovely" 
 Derwentwater ; it deserves a stronger epithet than 
 that ; for although the mountains about it are not 
 high, yet they are so steep, so broken, forming such 
 shadowy bays, and piling up so boldly toward the 
 eastern Borrowdale end, that the scenery really 
 merits the title of grand. Each lake has its own 
 character. Taking away the associations, I was 
 more impressed with the mingled grandeur and 
 loveliness of Derwentwater than with the beauty 
 of any of the other lakes. 
 
 I set forth on the placid water under the guid- 
 
 14 
 
210 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 ance of a veteran oarsman named William Pear- 
 son, whose tongue ran like that of an old man, 
 and sensibly too. Talking confidentially of some 
 Americans he had taken out but a short time be- 
 fore on the lake, he said he never saw people with 
 so much " bounce." Good ! but we come fairly 
 by it, friend Pearson of the white locks ! 
 
 This western end of the lake appears mountain- 
 locked, and one does not see here the whole extent 
 of the water. We rowed directly over to Yicar's 
 Isle, a wooded island of six acres, containing a 
 gentleman's residence hidden among the trees. 
 Passing this we struck out into the middle of the 
 lake, going by Lord's Island, and St. Herbert's 
 Isle, where was once a little chapel dedicated to 
 Saints Herbert and Cuthbert, who had such love 
 for each other, that 
 
 " Though here the hermit numbered his last day, 
 Far from St. Cuthbert his beloved friend, 
 Those holy men both died in the same hour." 
 
 The margin of the lake is luxuriantly wooded, 
 and on the northern shore there is a strip of 
 meadow-land. Rich vegetation clothes the steep 
 slopes of the mountains. How still the water over 
 which we glided ! Now and then a silver-sided 
 trout would leap above the surface as if to catch 
 the last lingering light. We pushed in among the 
 long weeds off the Inn of Lodore when the twilight 
 was almost gone, and walked fast up to the mouth 
 of the ravine where the " Falls of Lodore " ought 
 to be. Owing to the excessively dry season they 
 
THE LAKE COUNTRY. 211 
 
 were rather a tinkling trumpery affair, and did not 
 come up to the roaring and pouring part of the 
 ode. But a very respectable precipice rose back 
 of the gorge, and the rocks were heaped around 
 in wild confusion. After taking a look at the end 
 of the lake, (not very distant, for we went near- 
 ly its whole length and made out some of the 
 Borrowdale mountains that close around it,) we 
 turned our faces toward Keswick. The row back 
 was by the starlight. A faint tinge of light lin- 
 gered long upon the western slope of Skiddaw in 
 front of us, which here appeared like a rounding 
 range or crown of mountains, rather than a single 
 mountain. Over the highest peak of Skiddaw glit- 
 tered one large bright star ! The mountain shadows 
 lay dark on the edges of the glassy mirror. But in 
 the centre there was a silver expanse, and through 
 this the boat left a path like a string of pearls, and 
 even the old boatman, who looked upon the lake as 
 his farm and fish-pond, was subdued by the calm- 
 ness of the scene. On landing he showed us a 
 large battered boat that he said Mr. Southey used 
 to use for picnics on St. Herbert's Island. He also 
 had pointed out to us a commanding rock, or 
 promontory, which Southey always showed to his 
 friends and visitors as a place where he should like 
 to build a house. 
 
 The home comes before the grave. " Greta 
 Hall," standing aside from the principal street of 
 Keswick on a grassy mound, at the foot of which 
 runs the " carolling " Greta, and having on the 
 
212 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 other side nothing between it and Skiddaw, is now 
 the property of an English bachelor of literary and 
 scientific tastes, who, it is said, holds the memory 
 of its former occupant in enthusiastic veneration. 
 While the place is in fine order, it has been pre- 
 served almost in the exact condition in which 
 Southey left it. It is a plain tall white house, with 
 vines running over the lower part of it. It has an 
 air of comfort without being at all fine. There is 
 a sloping grass-plot in front bordered with thick 
 shrubs and trees, and the gardener pointed out to 
 us the spot where Southey watched for his daughter 
 coming home through the hawthorn walk. One 
 gets a fine view here across the plain of the moun- 
 tains on the other side of Derwentwater. The 
 gardener told me (these were his very words) that 
 "Mr. Southey when he walked always looked up 
 into the element." He said, " Poor man, before 
 he died, he was better pleased with rolling marbles 
 than any thing else ; and he could not tell one book 
 from another, though he handled them through 
 custom." I went into the room which was South- 
 ey's library, that once consisted of more than 
 7000 volumes ; it is now occupied by a scientific 
 collection. I also saw the room where the poet 
 died, a small apartment looking out upon some 
 gloomy fir-trees ; and was then shown Coleridge's 
 part of the house. His wife and Mrs. Southey it is 
 well known were sisters. I afterward went down 
 to the bank of the Greta, a babbling and cheerful 
 stream, and looked up at Skiddaw, which begins to 
 
THE LAKE COUNTRY. 213 
 
 rise from this point in a huge mass directly above. 
 The poet had made a true selection of a home. Yet 
 Southey drew more from his library within, than 
 from Greta or Skiddaw without. He did not, like 
 Wordsworth, repose on the bosom of Nature, and 
 want nothing else for nourishment. He depended 
 upon his books ; and even his poetry was but a 
 kind of glow around the edges of his vast historical 
 lore. But what poetry he did write was noble and 
 pure. Would that his pure unadulterated English 
 were more imitated by the writers of the day. He 
 did not falsify his art, nor strain after a clap-trap 
 effect. He was the scholar of that great trium- 
 virate of which Wordsworth was the poet, and 
 Coleridge the philosopher. I cannot leave this spot 
 without saying a word about Coleridge. This was 
 the home of some of his most creative days. It is 
 the small fashion now among a certain class to dis- 
 parage Coleridge, to lessen his philosophical name, 
 and to follow De Quincey in his charges. These 
 charges are simply absurd. An American scholar 
 of unquestioned integrity told me that in a con- 
 versation not many years since with Schelling, the 
 philosopher referred with approbation to those very 
 passages in the " Literaria Biographia " that De 
 Quincey said were plagiarized, and evidently with 
 no idea that they were taken from him. He spoke 
 of Coleridge as the greatest English philosophical 
 mind. Coleridge had no need to take from Schell- 
 ing or any one else. They had both, it is true, 
 drunk from the same fount of Kantian philosophy ; 
 
214 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 and their samenesses of expression probably arose in 
 the following way : Coleridge's literary habits were 
 careless ; in his youth when in Germany he had 
 made notes from Schelling's lectures, laid them 
 aside and forgotten them ; when renewing the same 
 studies he referred to his German notes, probably 
 supposed they were his own, and freely used them ; 
 but he seems to have had a suspicion that they 
 were not all his own, and he therefore says in 
 so many words, that what things were not his he 
 would wish to lay no claim to and take no credit 
 for, or something to that effect. It is a shame to 
 charge so great and generous a soul as Coleridge 
 with the petty sin of pilfering. As to his opium- 
 eating, brought on by using opium under the advice 
 of a physician, it has been distinctly denied by his 
 own family that he died in this habit. He had 
 become, after an affecting conflict, a penitent and 
 reformed man. His last days were those of a 
 humble, trusting Christian. His mind was taken 
 up with spiritual contemplations. His end was 
 beautifully peaceful and childlike. It will yet be 
 acknowledged how much England and Christianity 
 owe Coleridge. He taught the reasonableness of 
 Christianity. He showed that it met with the 
 highest reason in man. He opposed the devas- 
 tating current of the sensational school with a 
 deeper current. He was almost the only English- 
 man who sought for or apprehended the true and 
 universal, in philosophy as in faith ; and whatever 
 England possesses of philosophy which is more pro- 
 
THE LAKE COUNTRY. 215 
 
 found than the utilitarian system now upheld by an 
 ability and persistency worthy of a better cause, is 
 due to Coleridge. The Reids, Stewarts, and Ham- 
 iltons, could not compare with him in originality and 
 depth of insight, if their mechanical skill in system- 
 making was greater. 
 
 Let the young men of America who wish to try 
 their minds in such high and difficult studies, in- 
 stead of going to Comte, Cousin, and the French 
 school, or even to the profounder school of Ger- 
 many, begin to study Coleridge, who, with the ex- 
 ception of Lord Bacon, was the deepest and richest 
 English philosophical mind. He will aid them to 
 believe, and lead them to a truer and deeper faith 
 instead of shipwrecking their faith. Why in truth 
 do we need to go outside of this little England of 
 our fathers for any thing, when it comprehends 
 such minds as Lord Bacon, Shakspeare, Milton, 
 and Coleridge ! 
 
 I made a pilgrimage to the burial-place of Cole- 
 ridge at Highgate, so long renowned as a rural 
 suburb of London, a kind of northern Richmond 
 Hill. In front of Dr. Gilman's house is a row of 
 elm-trees under which Coleridge used to walk, 
 " and think of eternity." The old man who showed 
 me about the place said : " Mr. Coleridge used to 
 walk as if he was always studyin' and explainin' to 
 himself, which gave him a kind o' curous look." 
 The poet was actually buried beneath the old 
 church which is now removed. The vault is in- 
 scribed with the initials S. T. C. and the date 
 
216 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 1834. His monument, however, erected by Dr. 
 Gilman, is upon the inside wall of the new church, 
 a fine edifice standing at some little distance from 
 the site of the old, and from whose back windows 
 is perhaps the most magnificent prospect of London 
 that can be found, with St. Paul's in the centre. 
 The inscription I give in full as the testimony of 
 one who knew him, and who is an unchallenged 
 witness : — 
 
 " Sacred to the memory of 
 
 SAMUEL TAYLOE COLERIDGE, 
 
 Poet, Philosopher, Theologian. 
 
 This truly great and good man resided for 
 
 the last nineteen years of his life 
 
 in this hamlet : 
 
 He quitted ' the body of this death ' 
 
 July 25th, 1834, 
 
 in the sixty-second year of his age. 
 
 Of his profound learning and discursive genius 
 
 his literary works are an imperishable record. 
 
 To his private worth, 
 
 his social and Christian virtues, 
 
 JAMES AND ANN GILMAN, 
 
 the friends with whom he lived . 
 
 during the above period, dedicate this tablet. 
 
 Under the pressure of a long 
 
 and most painful disease, 
 
 his disposition was unalterably sweet and angelic. 
 
 He was an ever-enduring, ever-loving friend : 
 
 the gentlest and kindest teacher: 
 
 the most engaging home-companion." 
 
 We add the well-known epitaph written by Cole- 
 ridge himself a month or two before his death : — 
 
 " Stop, Christian passer-by ! Stop, child of God ! 
 And read with gentle heart. Beneath this sod 
 A poet lies, or that which once seemed he : 
 Oh lift in thought a prayer for S. T. C, 
 
THE LAKE COUNTRY. 217 
 
 That he, who many a year with toil of breath 
 
 Found death in life, may here rind life in death ! 
 
 Mercy for praise — to be forgiven for fame 
 
 He asked, and hoped, through Christ. Do thou the same." 
 
 We now come back to Greta Hall. Walking 
 clown a side road, past what was once the real front 
 or lawn of Southey's house, and crossing the bridge 
 over the Greta, I came to Crosthwaite Church. It 
 is more of an edifice than the church of Grasmere, 
 and yet it has something of the same rude sim- 
 plicity. These words of Wordsworth, which might 
 also describe many an English rural church, would 
 give a true idea of it : — 
 
 " Not framed to nice proportions was the pile, 
 But large and massy, for duration built; 
 With pillars crowded and the roof upheld 
 By naked rafters intricately crossed, 
 Like leafless under-boughs in some thick grove, 
 All withered by the depth of shade above. 
 Admonitory texts inscribed the walls, 
 Each in its ornamental scroll inclosed; 
 Each also crowned with winged heads — a pair 
 Of rudely painted cherubim The floor 
 Of nave and aisle in unpretending guise 
 Was occupied by oaken benches ranged 
 In seemly rows; the chancel only showed 
 Some inoffensive. marks of earthly state 
 And vain distinction. A capacious pew 
 Of sculptured oak stood here, with drapery lined; 
 And marble monuments were here displayed 
 Upon the walls ; and on the floor beneath 
 Sepulchral stones appeared with emblems graven, 
 And foot-worn epitaphs, and some with small 
 And shining effigies of brass inlaid." 
 
 Set this on a solitary spot, with the circle of 
 mountains around, and you have the place where 
 the scholar and poet Southey has his last rest. 
 
218 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 Within the church there is a monument to him, 
 with a white marble reclining figure, finely done, 
 though there is an uneasy posture of the head. 
 Wordsworth, who knew him best, wrote the lines 
 inscribed upon the monument : — 
 
 " Ye vales and hills whose beauties hither drew 
 The Poet's steps, and fixed them here, on you 
 His eyes have closed ! And ye loved books, no more 
 Shall Southey feed upon your precious lore; 
 To works that ne'er shall forfeit their renown, 
 Adding immortal labors of his own; 
 Whether he traced historic truth with zeal, 
 For the State's guidance, the Church's weal, 
 Or Fancy, disciplined by studious art, 
 Informed his pen, or Wisdom of the heart, 
 Or Judgment, sanctioned in the patriot's mind, 
 By reverence for the rights of all mankind ; 
 Wide were his aims, yet in no human breast 
 Could private feelings find a holier nest. 
 His Joys, his Griefs, have vanished like a cloud 
 From Skiddaw's top; but he to Heaven was vowed 
 Through a long life and pure ; and Christian Faith 
 Calmed in his soul the fear of Change and Death." 
 
 In the churchyard, with a slab of black slate- 
 stone at its head, like that at Wordsworth's grave, 
 is the grave of Southey, with this inscription : 
 " Here lies the body of Robert Southey, LL. D., 
 Poet Laureate. Born August 12, 1774 ; Died 
 March 21, 1843. For forty years a resident in this 
 parish. Also of Edith, his wife. Born May 20, 
 1774 ; Died Nov. 16, 1837." 
 
 It was no fancy at all, but as I stood there a 
 slight cloud of mist was just detaching itself from 
 the top of Skiddaw, as in the figure of Words- 
 worth. 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 TWEEDMOUTH TO HAWORTH. 
 
 We have now come across England to Berwick 
 on the river Tweed, and shall go down to London 
 on the eastern side, — though an Englishman 
 would call coming up from London to Scotland 
 " going down." 
 
 Berwick-upon-Tweed is a venerable sea-stained 
 town, with a long and massive stone pier looking 
 out on the German Ocean. It is surrounded by a 
 wall that has stood the brunt of many a hard con- 
 test between two stubborn and still unmixed na- 
 tions in the Border wars. This is the famous 
 Teviot-dale and Chevy-Chace region. 
 
 We here enter Northumberland, (Northumbrian 
 land,) the scene of innumerable legends, in every 
 vale that runs inland, and upon every sandy hil- 
 lock that stands on the sea-shore ; the home of the 
 Percy, whose name starts armed men from the 
 earth. 
 
 The railway from Berwick to Alnwick, thirty 
 miles, is in sight of the sea nearly all the way. It 
 passes by Belford, and by Bamborough Castle, 
 near which places, off the coast, are the Farn 
 Islands, where Grace Darling did those achieve- 
 
220 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 ments that make bearded men silent when they 
 think of them. 
 
 This was the same Bamborough of the old " Bat- 
 tle of Otterbourne " ballad : — 
 
 " Yf thou hast hanged all Bambarowe shyre, 
 Thou hast done me grete envye ; 
 For the trespasse thou hast me done, 
 The tane of us schall dye." 
 
 Alnwick, a little to the west of the North British 
 Railway, and reached by a short junction line of 
 three miles, is a clean and stately town of seven or 
 eight thousand inhabitants. It has the peculiar air 
 of a " family town," not precisely the dependency, 
 but the historical background, the natural u belong- 
 ing " of an illustrious race. It is overshadowed by 
 one mighty name from which it derives its own 
 light and importance. The flashily painted omni- 
 bus from the Railway station rattles through the 
 narrow and sullen old " Bondgate," said to have 
 been built by " Hotspur " himself. 
 
 Alnwick Castle did not disappoint me, though I 
 had always thought of it as the " Ilium " of Eng- 
 land's historic story. It is a vast accumulation of 
 masonry grouped around tall central towers. It 
 has sixteen of these towers, and its whole mass 
 spreads over five acres. Round and angular bas- 
 tions of different heights give it a noble irregularity 
 of outline, but it is bare of that beautiful " shawl- 
 ing " of ivy and green that covers the old bones 
 'of other English castles. It seems to say : " I am 
 strong and young still. I want no covering for my 
 
TWEEDMOUTH TO HAWORTH. 221 
 
 age. I can defend myself against all storms." It 
 is stone, stone, stone, everywhere, with not a green 
 thing within and without. At least this is my re- 
 membrance of it. Over the barbican, as you enter, 
 stands an armed figure in stone, in the act of hurl- 
 ing a rock on the head of any who dare approach ; 
 and around the battlements are the effigies of other 
 warriors in animated fighting; attitudes. Such a 
 stout, world-defying old pile is it, that a man, if he 
 has never done so before or after, feels himself a 
 hero while under the shadow of its lofty walls. 
 
 I was only permitted to see its three outer courts, 
 not the interior apartments. Some visitor a few 
 years since wrote in a disparaging strain of the 
 Duke's building operations at Alnwick, and since 
 then strangers have not been freely admitted. 
 This was a disappointment, but I gained a good 
 impression nevertheless of the stronghold of the 
 Percies, and of the " great Northumberland." 
 Going through the low-arched gateway, that 
 seemed to echo still with the ring of steel-clad 
 men and horses, one comes upon a noble view of 
 the main body of the castle, rising in rectangular 
 towers partly modern and partly antique. Here is 
 a large outer court, where a small army might as- 
 semble. In the second court, you see the immense 
 preparations for the modern kitchen department 
 not yet finished. You are shown the place in the 
 walls called the " Bloody Gap " through which the 
 Scots forced their way under King Malcolm, who 
 was slain at a short distance from the wall. 
 
222 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 In the smaller inner court, surrounded by dark, 
 high, gloomy towers, the stern heart of this 
 strength, near the Saxon gate, is the prison where 
 William the Lion was confined. Here the porter 
 cracked a harmless and venerable joke. " King 
 Malcolm," said he, " was killed at the Bloody Gap 
 a tryin' to ruin the Duke o' Northoomberlan' ; and 
 this her same Malcolm's gran'daughter, mind you, 
 sir, was glad to get a Duke o' Northoomberlan' for 
 a hoosband." How the worthy seneschal of the 
 Percies giggled and shook at this mouldy bit of 
 family lore in the gloom of that dusky dungeon ! 
 Architectural works of great magnitude are still 
 going on within and without the castle, and the 
 courtyards are encumbered with blocks of stone. 
 
 The whole enormous mass of buildings hangs 
 over the bright little stream of the Alne, beyond 
 which the view is broken and wooded. Half a mile 
 up the river amid the shadows of aged trees, is the 
 romantic Warkworth Hermitage, a chapel and two 
 chambers hewn in the side of a cliff: — 
 
 " There scooped within the solid rock 
 Three sacred vaults he shows." 
 
 The first part of the ride from Alnwick to New- 
 castle, (sixty-three and a half miles,) passes through 
 the beautiful region of the Wansbeck River and 
 the Blyth. The deep gorges, the clear streams 
 dancing to the sea, and the green undulating hills, 
 with here and there a clump of red-roofed farm- 
 houses, with their prim hay-ricks, formed another 
 singular contrast to the barren and smutchy coal 
 
TWEEDMOUTH TO HAWORTH. 223 
 
 region of Newcastle-upon-Tyne. This city may be 
 compared to a big pitch-pot — the black Tyne an- 
 swering for the simmering liquid decoction, and the 
 ships, houses, carts, and men, for the bubbles. The 
 railway stretches directly over the river and city to 
 the height of 120 feet. Dimly seen through the 
 clouds of smoky vapor, rises the grim tower of 
 Robert, son of William the Conqueror, with the 
 crimson flag of England floating from its battle- 
 ments. The bridges, houses, and sails of the ship- 
 ping are also black. Every thing is hung in vest- 
 ments of sable, though it is reported by those who 
 have been able to see them that there are fine 
 streets and magnificent buildings, and all the signs 
 of flourishing opulence in this dark-browed capital 
 of coal. 
 
 On the way to Durham, which is fourteen and a 
 half miles from Newcastle, we passed by " Wash- 
 ington," a place with three chimneys, and the re- 
 mains of an old broken steam-boiler. 
 
 Durham is perhaps the most picturesquely situ- 
 ated town in England. It is placed upon a rocky 
 hill that rises abruptly from the banks of the Wear, 
 its sides covered with thick foliage, and on its high- 
 est summit stands the Cathedral, with its three 
 square towers. The old monks built like emper- 
 ors. They crowned every city, and wrote upon 
 the very heavens, as it were, the insignia of their 
 heaven-delegated power. The house or castle of 
 the king had to take a lower place. When Rich- 
 ard Coeur de Lion left for the Holy Land, he put 
 
224 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 the charge of his realm in the hands of the Bishop 
 of Durham, where it was probably before. As I 
 entered the Cathedral, one of the week-day morn- 
 ing services was progressing. According to my 
 impression, as I have before hinted, the finest 
 church music in Europe is to be heard in the Eng- 
 lish Cathedral service. The music at St. Peter's, 
 or in Catholic churches, does not equal it for purity, 
 fervor, and the exquisite beauty of the chorals of 
 boys' voices. Whether this constant repetition of 
 the Prayer-book, week in and week out, before a 
 few ladies, children, and amateurs of music, bene- 
 fits the common people, and raises the standard of 
 religion and benevolence, is another question. The 
 manner in which the prayers are raced through, 
 and the processions hurried in and out, and the 
 vestments slipped on and off, shows that it becomes 
 wearisome to the most devout. 
 
 The pillars of the nave are massive, and orna- 
 mented with circular and zigzag lines, after the 
 most fantastic description of the Norman architect- 
 ure ; and the church itself is Norman. It dates 
 from the end of the 11th century. Its great fault 
 is the lowness of the nave ; but it has some singu- 
 lar architectural peculiarities and beauties. Among 
 these is what is called the " Galilee," on the west 
 end overhanging the river. It is a structure that 
 mingles the Norman and Early English styles, with 
 ponderous chevron mouldings and arches resting 
 upon slender pillars. It came very near being 
 swept away by that classic barbarian bigot of the 
 
TWEEDMOUTH TO HA WORTH. 225 
 
 last century, Mr. Wyatt, who wanted to make a 
 carriage-drive around this end of the church. Here 
 is the monument of the " venerable Bede," in 
 which all of his bones that were not scattered as 
 relics through the world were deposited- Manu- 
 scripts in his handwriting are to be seen in the li- 
 brary. It is told of him in the old chronicles, that 
 in his later days, when he was blind, he was led by 
 the fraud of his guide to a great heap of stones, and 
 was told that a large assembly of men and women 
 were awaiting him to hear him preach the word of 
 God. He, thinking it to be true, commenced a 
 homily, and when he came to the end, the stones 
 by divine power, like a great multitude of people, 
 said u Amen," or, as the Latin version is, " Deo 
 gracias." It were better to make the stones cry out 
 by preaching like living men, than to petrify living 
 men into stones ! Let then the preacher have the 
 venerable Bede in mind, and resolve, by God's 
 help, to make men's stony hearts say " Amen " to 
 his words. 
 
 But the peculiar genius of this cathedral was St. 
 Cuthbert, whose shrine did an immense " sheep 
 shearing" business in the early centuries ; especially 
 as the Saint was reported to lie in an incorruptible 
 state, " entire, flexible, and succulent." In 1827 
 the coffin of St. Cuthbert was opened and the tricks 
 of the monks exposed. Balls were found in the 
 eyes, gold wire for the hair, and swathings over the 
 bones. 
 
 On the outside of the northern door is a great 
 
 15 
 
226 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 grotesque brass head with staring hollow eyes and 
 a ring in its mouth, and it is said that in the olden 
 time, whenever a criminal fleeing from justice 
 could seize upon this ring he was safe. The floor 
 beneath the western tower was sanctuary ground. 
 This is the account given in a work on the antiqui- 
 ties of the church. " The culprit upon knocking 
 at the ring affixed to the north door was admitted 
 without delay, and after confessing his crime, with 
 every minute circumstance connected with it, the 
 whole of which was committed to writing in the 
 presence of witnesses, a bell on the Galilee tower 
 ringing all the while to give notice to the town that 
 some one had taken refuge in the church, there 
 was put upon him a black gown with a yellow cross 
 upon its left shoulder, as the badge of St. Cuthbert, 
 whose girth or peace he had claimed. When 
 thirty-seven days had elapsed, if no pardon could 
 be obtained, the malefactor, after certain ceremo- 
 nies before the shrine, solemnly abjured his native 
 land forever, and was straightway, by the agency 
 of the intervening parish constables, conveyed to 
 the coast, bearing in his hand a white wooden cross, 
 and w T as sent out of the kingdom by the first ship 
 which sailed after his arrival." There was a time 
 when rough free England was absolutely ruled by 
 the Church. The Church's temporal as well as 
 spiritual power was above that of king or civil 
 judge, even as claimed in the bull of Pope Urban ; 
 and this lasted till Henry VIII. demolished it, and 
 proclaimed himself head of the English Church, 
 the one being about as just a claim as the other. 
 
TWEEDMOUTH TO HA WORTH. 227 
 
 The Bishopric of Durham is still worth some- 
 thing. The recent Bishop is reported to have left 
 a property of 11,000,000. 
 
 Durham Castle, now turned into a peaceful theo- 
 logical seminary, contains nothing remarkable. 
 
 Yorkshire is the Empire State of England. In 
 size, agricultural richness, manufactures, popula- 
 tion, noble estates, rural beauty, and historical an- 
 tiquities, it is the queen of English counties. It is 
 more than six hundred square miles larger than 
 Lincolnshire and Devonshire combined, which are 
 the next largest counties. One section of it alone, 
 West Riding, contains about a million and a half 
 of people, one twelfth of the population of Eng- 
 land. Yorkshiremen are tall and well-fed. They 
 love horses, drive keen bargains, and are more like 
 " Sam Slick's " Yankees, even in their dialect, than 
 these are to their originals. If the ample kitchen 
 fire-place and the old hearty English manners in 
 hall and cottage remain anywhere unchanged in 
 this " fast " age, they may be found in Yorkshire. 
 
 From Durham to York it is sixty-seven miles. 
 The number of gentlemen's residences and noble- 
 men's parks in this part of England is incredible. 
 One naturally asks where is there any land to be 
 obtained by smaller proprietors and farmers ? One 
 cannot wonder that the word " locate," as " to 
 locate a lot of land," should be considered an 
 Americanism, there being no such unappropriated 
 bit of earth left in England. But the wealth of 
 such great landowners flows over their land, and 
 
228 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 makes it indescribably green, smooth, and beautiful. 
 How different now the scene from that described 
 by an old historian, giving an account of the effects 
 of William the Conqueror's rage against the rebel- 
 lious, or rather, as was really the case, patriotic 
 Saxons. " He wasted the land between York and 
 Durham, so that for three score miles there was left 
 in manner no habitation for the people, by reason 
 whereof it laid waste and desert for nine or ten 
 yeares. The goodlie cities, with the towers and 
 steeples set up on a statelie height, and reaching as 
 it were into the air ; the beautiful fields and past- 
 ures watered with the course of sweet and pleasant 
 rivers ; if a stranger should then have beheld, and 
 also knowne what they were before, he would have 
 lamented." No wonder the stern warrior gasped 
 out on his death-bed : " Laden with many and 
 grievous sins, O Christ, I tremble ; and being 
 ready to be taken by Thy will into the terrible 
 presence of God, I am ignorant what I should do, 
 for I have been brought up in feats of arms even 
 from a child. I am greatly polluted with the effect 
 of much blood. A royal diadem that never any 
 of my predecessors did bear I have gotten ; and 
 although manly greediness on my triumph doth 
 rejoice, yet inwardly a careful fear pricketh and 
 biteth me when I consider that in all these cruel 
 rashness hath raged." 
 
 York, where one Roman Emperor was born and 
 another buried, has sunk from an imperial city next 
 to London, to a place of third or fourth rate impor- 
 
TWEEDMOUTH TO HA WORTH. 229 
 
 tance. It mixes drugs and blows glass bubbles 
 where it once ruled a kingdom. On its gates the 
 great " king-maker's " head was set, crowned with 
 a paper cap by the fierce Queen Margaret. But 
 the youngest reader need not be told that York 
 Minster is the grandest building in Great Britain, 
 and among the finest in the world. From the top 
 of its central tower one can see thirty miles. Its 
 west front is a most splendid instance of the Deco- 
 rated style, and as " La Sainte Chapelle " is the 
 " rose " of France, so its little chapter-house is the 
 " rose " of England. Its seven great windows, 
 and especially what are called " The Five Sisters 
 of York " with painted glass of the 13th century, 
 glow as if studded with gems. Charlotte Bronte 
 often looked on these jewelled windows, and walked 
 under these arches, and heard this great organ. 
 
 From York I went to the famous English " Spaw," 
 consisting of two villages about a mile apart, called 
 "High" and " Low Harrowgate." They are situ- 
 ated in the middle of the county, on the highest 
 table-land in England, and are resorted to by 
 dyspeptics and artists. Harrowgate is the " Avon 
 Springs " of England. The sulphurous waters are 
 of considerable strength and efficacy, and these 
 combined with the pure air often effect cures in 
 cases well-nigh desperate. I stopped at the " Gran- 
 by Hotel " in High Harrowgate, termed in the 
 guide-book " the truly aristocratic hotel of the 
 Spa." It stands on the edge of a broad breezy 
 common, over which young ladies in flats are con- 
 
230 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 tinually walking or impelling reluctant donkeys. 
 Old ladies in satins, and ancient gentlemen with 
 the florid manners and costume of the era of 
 George IV., play everlasting games of whist in the 
 crimson-curtained parlor. 
 
 The walk between the two villages is through 
 quiet fields, with now and then an' old-fashioned 
 " stile." In the vicinity of Harrowgate are some 
 of the most picturesque ruins in England, and 
 around it like a rim stretch the Craven and Ham- 
 bleton Hills. But the coal-colored skies were 
 gloomy and showery, though in a scientific book 
 it was stated that " the amount of precipitation is 
 less than that of the neighborhood." The old 
 English word for " glory " was " clerenesse," and 
 we wonder not that the clear shining of the sun in 
 this region of perpetual mist should be thought 
 glorious. 
 
 While at Harrowgate I made an excursion to 
 " Fountains Abbey," fourteen miles distant by the 
 Ripon road. How one speeds along over the smooth 
 turnpikes in a stiff two-wheeled English wagon ! 
 We hardly yet know the luxury of such riding in 
 America, excepting on a few of our best roads out 
 of the large cities. Twenty or thirty miles are 
 something of a distance to drive, but it is reeled 
 off so easily, that neither the driver nor the horses 
 seem to think any thing of it. They are fast drivers 
 in England because both the horses and roads are 
 admirable. At Ripon I strolled into the old church, 
 and saw the lugubrious sight of the charnel-house 
 
TWEEDMOUTH TO HAWORTH. 231 
 
 literally crammed with human bones, piled up with 
 the nicety and geometric regularity of a ware- 
 house. 
 
 It was a pleasant sight to stand on the old stone 
 bridge over the bright Ure, and watch the river 
 rippling underneath as clear as amber, as clear as 
 when St. Wilfred drank it. 
 
 Three miles from Ripon is Studley Royal, be- 
 longing to Earl de Grey, in whose grounds are the 
 ruins of Fountains Abbey. It is difficult to say 
 which is the finest, Fountains, Bolton, or Tintern 
 Abbey ; perhaps the last ; but there is nothing in 
 the world more lovely than one of these English 
 Abbeys, fallen to decay yet still tall, strong, and 
 majestic in what remains ; draped with vines and 
 ivy, silent and unused, and standing in the midst 
 of the most luxuriant Nature. 
 
 Fountains Abbey is indeed " a tale of the times 
 of old." The lofty beautiful arches, the extent and 
 solidity of the whole gray pile, and the perfect re- 
 pose of the narrow vale, completely shut in by 
 rocks and trees, and hushed to listen to the mur- 
 murs of its own little brook, which seems to whis- 
 per, — 
 
 " Men may come and men may go, 
 But I flow on forever," — 
 
 this just meets that mood of mind (certainly not 
 the highest or best), in which, wounded and 
 wearied by the world, one in old times and some- 
 times in these days, would gladly turn Contem- 
 plator, instead of Actor in worldly scenes. 
 
232 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 In this dell, Robin Hood had his famous encoun- 
 ter with the " curtail fryer," in which he appears 
 to have had the worst of it. 
 
 " From ten o'clock that very day, 
 Till four i' th' afternoon ; 
 Then Robin Hood came to his knees 
 Of the fryer to beg a boone; " 
 
 and it ended in this compromise : — 
 
 " If thou wilt forsake fair Fountaine's dale 
 And Fountaine's Abbey free, 
 Every Sunday throwout the yeare 
 A noble shall be thy fee." 
 
 Standing a little to the west of the abbey,, is the 
 oldest yew-tree in England, with the exception 
 perhaps of the one in Iffley churchyard. It is 
 called the "Abbot's Yew." It was known to be 
 aged when the abbey was built, and still so tough 
 and vigorous is it, that two younger trees have 
 forced themselves up through the parent trunk. 
 Sombre and stirless it stands, not revealing what it 
 has seen. 
 
 From Harrowgate I drove over the moors to 
 44 Bolton Priory." It is hardly fair to have two 
 such abbeys come close together, but it cannot be 
 helped ; still as I have resisted the temptation of a 
 description in the one case, so I will in the other. 
 
 Bolton Priory is now the possession of the Duke 
 of Devonshire. May he have capacity to enjoy all 
 he possesses ! To own such a spot as Bolton Pri- 
 ory were enough for one man. I do not envy its 
 owner, but one almost thinks when he sees it, that 
 he should never desire to leave it for a day. Here is 
 
TWEEDMOUTH TO HAWORTH. 233 
 
 every thing one could wish, and trout and " gray - 
 ling " in the river. The vale in which the abbey 
 stands is itself a noble one. The wide, bright 
 meadows, the clear rushing Wharfe, and the tall 
 cliffs that hang over the river, and grow narrower 
 and more broken at the upper end of the valley to- 
 ward Barden Fell, make it the central spot in Eng- 
 land for sweet native loveliness. The first instance 
 of Turner's mountain drawing, it is said, was from 
 these shores of the Wharfe, which was his favorite 
 Yorkshire river that he never could " revisit with- 
 out tears, or speak of without a faltering voice." 
 The only tender spot in his rude heart, the only 
 spring which appeared to open into something rarer 
 and nobler in him, was this exquisite perception, 
 this pure and delicate love of Beauty, which sought 
 its object not in the strange or grand, but in the 
 quiet haunt and inmost shrine of Nature. 
 
 Keighly (pronounced " Keatley ") has been 
 chiefly made known to us from its proximity to 
 Haworth, Charlotte Bronte's home. When did 
 we ever hear or think of it before ? Yet it is one 
 of those important and swarming manufacturing 
 places that make the power and wealth of Eng- 
 land ; and, as I arrived on pay-day afternoon, the 
 streets were thronged with thousands of factory- 
 people, bearing the hard and independent stamp of 
 West Riding weavers, described so vigorously in 
 44 Shirley." In the dull and up-hill ride of four 
 miles to Haworth, shut in most of the way by high 
 stone walls, instead of the usual green hedges, I 
 
234 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 could not but think of those two feeble sisters, 
 struggling along afoot over this dreary road, in the 
 thunder-storm, on their way to Keighly to take the 
 London train, for the purpose of proving to their 
 publisher their actual and separate identity. We 
 passed several great stone mills that might have 
 been very well used for fortresses. 
 
 Haworth was pointed out with its gray tower, 
 near the summit of a very high hill, and at its back 
 swept away north the rolling, dismal moorlands, 
 without the sign of a human habitation. A month 
 later, and these moors would be gorgeous with 
 heather-blossoms. 
 
 After passing a few straggling houses, we began 
 to ascend that long, steep, paved street of Haworth, 
 now become so well known. What a straining, 
 scrambling pull of it ! At the top was the " Black 
 Bull Inn." Its little parlor was well enough, but 
 its sleeping apartments were frowsy and dirty, for 
 probably few people ' overnight ' there, as the Ger- 
 mans say. 
 
 Just at the left of the inn, within a step or so, 
 through a tall iron gate, was the populous cemetery 
 of the church. 
 
 The church itself is a plain stone building, less 
 interesting, architecturally, than English village 
 churches usually are. The tower is evidently of 
 very ancient date, with a modern body pinned upon 
 it. All was hard, weather-worn stone, with noth- 
 ing green or smiling ; there was not a tuft of grass 
 about the churchyard. 
 
TWEEDMOUTH TO HAWORTH. 235 
 
 I could not help glancing at the " Parsonage," 
 looking over the edge of the tabled graveyard ; 
 but I hastened into the church, and was seated in 
 the Squire's pew near the pulpit, hung with faded 
 green baize. 
 
 For an English village choir's artistic perform- 
 ances, I refer my readers to the u Sketch-Book." 
 
 Mr. Nicholls preached from John v. 1. He is a 
 dark-complexioned man, rather thin, with black 
 hair and beard. It was a short, practical sermon, 
 and the tones of his voice, especially in the service, 
 were grave and pleasant, and, as I conceived, with 
 a touch of sadness. The plaintive " litany " seemed 
 never more appropriate. It was a gusty day of 
 rain and shine, but its general complexion was mel- 
 ancholy. 
 
 The old pews within were so dull and brown, the 
 old tombs outside were so still and sad, and the 
 roar and dashing of the storm at times was so dis- 
 mal, that the sins, conflicts, and sorrows of life 
 would have been the sermon preached to one's 
 heart, had the preacher charmed never so sweetly. 
 
 I saw the pew, and the corner of it, where Char- 
 lotte used to sit ; and the new white marble tablet 
 on the wall, erected to her memory, and that of her 
 mother, four sisters, and brother. Its Scriptural 
 motto was from 1 Cor. xv. 56, 57. The victory 
 was soon gained after all, for the authoress of 
 " Jane Eyre " and u Shirley " was only thirty- 
 nine when she died. I was also shown the register 
 of her marriage, and her autograph in the church 
 
236 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 records. And here she was married, and her 
 stern old father was not even present to give her 
 away. 
 
 Without intending or seeking it, I was invited, 
 as a stranger, to call upon Mr. Bronte, for a few 
 moments during the intermission. 
 
 I went through a high-walled yard at the back 
 of the house, around to the front, through a small 
 flower-garden, (rather run to waste now,) and was 
 shown by " Martha " into Mr. Bronte's study. 
 
 I do not think it would be violating good taste to 
 speak of an interview so simple, and that had noth- 
 ing confidential in its character. 
 
 Mr. Bronte met me with real kindness of man- 
 ner, but with something of the stateliness of the 
 old school. His hair, worn short, was white as 
 driven snow ; his ample cambric cravat completely 
 covered his chin ; and his black dress was of the 
 most scrupulous neatness. He has been called 
 handsome, but that he never could have been. He 
 has strong, rugged, even harsh features, with a high, 
 wrinkled forehead, and swarthy complexion ; and 
 his eyes are partially closed, for he is almost blind. 
 He said he was induced to invite me to his house, 
 though he saw very little company, because he 
 learned I was an American, and he thought much 
 of America. 
 
 Our conversation was chiefly upon religious top- 
 ics, and he wished to be informed about the great 
 spiritual movements which from time to time pass 
 over America. He thought that revivals in 
 
TWEEDMOUTH TO HAWORTH. 237 
 
 England and Ireland were accompanied b^y too 
 much animal excitement ; yet he believed in 
 their reality. He spoke of Roman Catholicism, 
 and said that he had seen enough of it, as he was 
 an Irishman. He thought we ought to guard 
 against its machinations on the other side of the 
 water. Roman Catholics could not be consistent 
 Republicans ; and we must not trust too carelessly 
 to the principle that Truth would prevail in an 
 open field. The Catholics made much of that, and 
 took advantage of it. He spoke of education in 
 England — that it was all the fashion just now ; 
 but I could not help thinking that the conservative, 
 granite-minded old " Helstone " looked upon a 
 great deal of it as sentimental and superficial. He 
 struck me as being naturally a very social man, 
 with a mind fond of discussion, and feeding eagerly 
 on new ideas, in spite of his reserve. My call was 
 necessarily quite a short one. I then went into 
 the opposite parlor, where his daughters used to sit 
 and write. There was Charlotte's portrait, with 
 those large dark eyes, square impending brow, and 
 sad, unsmiling mouth. Branwell Bronte's medal- 
 lion likeness hung opposite ; and Thackeray's por- 
 trait, " looking past her," as she said, was on the 
 front wall. Her books still lay on the table. There 
 was a Bible of Emily's, and a much-worn copy of 
 Mrs. Gaskell's " Mary Barton," presented by the 
 authoress to Mrs. Nicholls. This room had rather 
 a pleasant look ; but its furnishing was simple to 
 severity, and its only ornament was a little bunch 
 
238 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 of broom-grass on the table. Martha then showed 
 me into the kitchen for a moment. This had been 
 Tabby's kingdom. Every thing was exquisitely 
 neat, and the copper pans shone like gold. It was 
 a snug, warm, crooning place ; and it was not diffi- 
 cult to see the picture, on a dark winter eve, when 
 the storms howled over the moor and rattled 
 against the windows, of those bright-fancied chil- 
 dren crouching together around the fire, telling their 
 strange stories, and living in a world created by 
 themselves. Here Emily Bronte studied German, 
 with her book propped up before her, while she 
 kneaded dough. Now all are gone ; and the old 
 father, shutting up many things in his own impen- 
 etrable mind, was still living on alone, thinking 
 more perhaps of meeting his children again in a 
 sinless and sorrowless world, than of all their fame 
 in this. 
 
 In the afternoon I heard Mr. Bronte preach 
 from Job iii. 17 : u There the wicked cease from 
 troubling ; and there the weary be at rest." It 
 was the simple extemporaneous talk of an aged 
 pastor to his people, spoken without effort, in short, 
 easy sentences, — and was drawn, it appeared to 
 me, right out of that old graveyard, among whose 
 stones his feet had walked, and his imagination had 
 lived so long. In parts it was pathetic, especially 
 where he alluded to the loss of children. He 
 branched off upon the sorrows, convulsions, and 
 troubles then in the world, and he seemed to long 
 for wings like a dove to fly away from this change- 
 
TWEEDMOUTH TO HAWORTH. 239 
 
 ful scene, and be at rest. The old church clock, 
 as if echoing the venerable preacher's remarks, had 
 written upon it, " Time how short — eternity how 
 long ! " 
 
 On the whole, my Haworth visit was a serious 
 and sobering one. I thought of what Charlotte 
 Bronte said, that " it always made her unhappy to 
 go away from Haworth, for it took her so long to 
 become happy after she got home." Yet that 
 stone house a century old, those bleak moors, that 
 very melancholy crowded graveyard, may have 
 done something to make Charlotte Bronte what 
 she was. They fenced her in, and made her in- 
 ventive. Her fiery Irish imagination was concen- 
 trated here into a vital energetic current, that did 
 not waste itself in endless poetic mazy streams, but 
 cut for itself a deep, practical, and creative channel. 
 As a pearl-oyster will, after a time, coat a gravel- 
 stone introduced into it with its own rich and pure 
 enamel, so the few rough and homely objects that 
 her mind was familiar with, became clad with the 
 lustrous and glorious beauty of her own thought 
 and imagination. The less she saw, the more ac- 
 curately she drew, and the more profoundly she 
 analyzed. Her bodily eye grew microscopic, but 
 her spiritual vision was enlarged, and saw into the 
 elements of things, and the hidden springs of ac- 
 tion. Hence a shy, secluded little woman de- 
 scribes Nature as if she had always been accus- 
 tomed to live in the midst of the most lovely and 
 opulent scenery, and moves our mind with some- 
 
240 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 thing of the mighty power of Shakspeare, when 
 she lays bare the abysses and spiritual forces of 
 moral character. Even in her most vivid and 
 realistic writings there is this intense subjective- 
 ness. 
 
 The best criticism ever made upon her novels, it 
 seems to me, was this — that her characters did not 
 converse like human beings, but that their conver- 
 sation was in fact their thoughts; it was thinking 
 aloud. 
 
 I afterward saw Madame Heger's school in 
 Brussels, where Charlotte and her sister resided for 
 a time. Even that seemed to be a dull, shut-in 
 spot, as it were down in a pit. Intellectually 
 speaking, she was a vine always to be kept pruned 
 close by the husbandman, that she might bring 
 forth more fruit. 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 HOME OF THE PILGRIMS. 
 
 Twelve miles to the south of Doncaster, on the 
 great Northern line of railway, and just at the 
 junction of Yorkshire, Nottinghamshire, and Lin- 
 colnshire, in the county of Nottingham, but border- 
 ing upon the fenny districts of Lincolnshire, whose 
 monotonous scenery reminds one of Holland, lies 
 the village of Scrooby. Surely it is of more in- 
 terest to us than all the Pictish forts and Roman 
 walls that the " Laird of Monkbarns " ever dreamed 
 of. I was dropped out of the rail carriage, which 
 hardly stopped, upon a wide plain at a miniature 
 station-house, with some suspicions of a church and 
 small village across the flat rushy fields in the dis- 
 tance. This was indeed the humble village (though 
 now beginning to be better known) which I had 
 been searching for ; and which nobody of whom I 
 inquired in Doncaster, or on the line of the railway, 
 seemed to know any thing about, or even that such 
 a place existed. I made its discovery by the help 
 of a good map. The station-master said that he 
 came to Scrooby in 1851, and then it numbered 
 three hundred inhabitants ; and since that time 
 there had been but twelve deaths. 
 
 16 
 
242 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 My search for the manor-house where Brewster 
 and Bradford established the first church of the 
 Pilgrims, was, for a time, entirely fruitless. I in- 
 quired of a genuine " Hodge " working in the 
 fields ; but his round red face showed no glimmer 
 of light on a matter so far removed from beans 
 and barley. I next encountered a good Wesleyan 
 minister, trudging his morning circuit of pastoral 
 visitation, but could gain nothing from him, though 
 a chatty, communicative man. At the venerable 
 stone church of Scrooby, very rude and plain in 
 architecture, but by no means devoid of picturesque- 
 ness, I was equally unsuccessful. The verger of 
 the church, who is generally the learned man of the 
 village, was absent ; and his daughter knew nothing 
 outside the church and churchyard. 
 
 I strolled along the grassy country road that ran 
 through the place till I met a white-haired old 
 countryman, who proved to be the most intelligent 
 soul in the neighborhood. He put his cane to his 
 chin, shut and opened his eyes, and at last told me 
 in broad Yorkshire, that he thought the place I was 
 looking for must be what they called " the bishop's 
 house," where Squire Dickinson lived. Set at last 
 upon the right track, I walked across two swampy 
 meadows that bordered the Idle River, — perti- 
 nently named — till I came to a solitary farm- 
 house with a red-tiled roof. Some five or six 
 slender poplar-trees stood at the back of it, and a 
 ditch of water at one end, where there had been 
 evidently an ancient moat — "a moated grange." 
 
HOME OF THE PILGRIMS. 243 
 
 It was a desolate spot, and was rendered more so 
 just then by the coming up of a thunder-storm, 
 whose u avant courier," the wind, made the slender 
 poplars and osiers bend and twist. Squire John 
 Dickinson, the present inhabitant of the house, 
 which is owned by Richard Monckton Milnes, the 
 poet, gave me a hearty farmer's welcome. I think 
 he said there had been one other American there 
 before ; at any rate he had an inkling that he was 
 squatted on soil of some peculiar interest to Amer- 
 icans. He introduced me to his wife and daughters, 
 healthy and rosy-cheeked English women, and made 
 me sit down to a hospitable luncheon. He enter- 
 tained me with a discourse upon the great amount 
 of hard work to be done in farming among these 
 bogs, and wished he had never undertaken it, but 
 had gone to America or Australia. The house he 
 said was rickety enough, but he contrived to make 
 it do. It was, he thought, principally made of 
 what was once a part of the stable of the Manor 
 House. The palace itself has now entirely dis- 
 appeared ; " but," said my host, " dig anywhere 
 around here and you will find the ruins of the 
 old palace." Dickinson said that he himself was 
 reared in Austerfield, a few miles off in Yorkshire ; 
 and that a branch of the Bradford family still lived 
 there. After luncheon I was shown Cardinal 
 Wolsey's mulberry-tree, or what remained of it ; 
 and in one of the barns, some elaborately carved 
 wood-work and ornamental beams, covered with 
 dirt and cobwebs, were pointed out, which undoubt- 
 edly belonged to the archiepiscopal palace. 
 
244 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 This was all that remained of the house where 
 Elder Brewster once lived, and gathered his hum- 
 ble friends about him, in a simple form of worship. 
 Bradford, in his " Life of Brewster," says : " They 
 ordinarily met at his house on the Lord's day, which 
 was a manor of the Bishop's, and with great love 
 he entertained them when they came, making pro- 
 vision for them to his great charge, and continued 
 so to do whilst they could stay in England." And 
 Leland, in 1541, says : " In the meane townlet of 
 Scrooby I marked two things, the parish church not 
 big but very well builded, the second was a great 
 manor place, standing with a moat and longing to 
 the Archbishop of York ; builded in two courts, 
 whereof the first is very ample, and all builded of 
 timber saving the front of the house, that is of 
 brick, to the which ascenditur per gradus lapideos." 
 This manor was assigned to the Archbishop of 
 York in the " Doomsday Book." Cardinal Wolsey, 
 when he held that office, passed some time at this 
 palace. While he lived there, Henry VIII. slept 
 a night in the house. It came into Archbishop 
 Sandys's hands in 1576. He gave it by lease to his 
 son, Samuel Sandys, under whom Brewster held 
 the manor. Brewster, as is now well known, was 
 the Post-Superintendent of Scrooby, an important 
 position in those days, lying as the village did, and 
 does now, upon the great northern line of travel 
 from London to Yorkshire, Northumberland, and 
 Scotland. 
 
 A Cambridge scholar, and clerk of Secretary 
 
HOME OF THE PILGRIMS. 245 
 
 Davison, Brewster had seen much of courts and 
 mingled in public scenes. While engaged upon an 
 important embassy to Holland, he had undoubtedly 
 often met and conversed with that remarkable and 
 far-sighted man, William the Silent. Bradford, a 
 man of good family in the neighboring town of 
 Austerfield, became interested in Brewster's relig- 
 ious views when but eighteen years of age, and at 
 once joined Brewster's little company of independ- 
 ent worshipers, who were composed chiefly of Lin- 
 colnshire farmers and ditchers ; and here on every 
 Lord's day they met to worship until they left in a 
 body for Holland. As the judicial books of the 
 neighborhood still show, many members of this 
 congregation refused to obey, at the cost of fine 
 and imprisonment, the oppressive ecclesiastical laws 
 of Elizabeth and James I., and of a somewhat later 
 time. They were evidently no fanatics. The 
 three simple points upon which Brewster and his 
 co-religionists founded their right of separation from 
 the Established Church at that time were these : 
 
 1. The determination not to support and attend 
 upon many prescribed ecclesiastical forms, not per- 
 haps wicked in themselves, but inwoven with ordi- 
 nances and opinions that they esteemed Popish. 
 
 2. The claim to the right of individual interpreta- 
 tion of the Scriptures. 3. The assertion of the 
 right to exclude immoral persons from their church 
 communion. These points of difference compelled 
 them to be separatists, not only driving them to a 
 separation from the Church of England, but from 
 
246 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 their native soil, and finally compelled them to 
 become " strangers and pilgrims " on a totally new 
 and foreign shore. The calm and enlightened 
 character of Brewster himself forbids us supposing 
 that he would have undertaken any thing unrea- 
 sonable, wild, or visionary. He and his coadjutors 
 were not disorderly persons, and did not go law- 
 lessly to work. They constituted themselves into 
 a- church, " to walk in all his ways made known 
 or to be made known unto them, according to 
 their best endeavors, whatever it should cost them." 
 These last were no empty words, spoken as they 
 were in times of persecution, when the government 
 of the land, stimulated by the State Church, was 
 sternly determined to crush out the life of dissent 
 from the kingdom. The church thus established 
 was the model of all our New England churches to 
 this day, and was organized it is supposed about 
 the year 1602. In 1606 Brewster was chosen an 
 elder, and Clifton the pastor. John Robinson of 
 Newark, Norwich County, then makes his appear- 
 ance as teacher and preacher of this humble church. 
 This little church removed with much difficulty, 
 loss, and peril, during the pastorate of Richard 
 Clifton, as one religious body to Holland, though 
 in two divisions. They went first to Amster- 
 dam : and afterward a portion drew off with John 
 Robinson and settled in Leyden ; and it was 
 this portion of the Scrooby and Brewster, Leyden 
 and Robinson church, which formed the integral 
 part of the one hundred souls who returned to 
 
HOME OF THE PILGRIMS. 247 
 
 England in the Speedwell, and who finally em- 
 barked in the Mayflower from Plymouth. The 
 remainder of the people, and many other English 
 refugees for conscience' sake, crossed over soon 
 after by other vessels to America. But these were, 
 by eminence, the "Pilgrim Fathers;" the separa- 
 tists from the non-conformists ; the purest siftings 
 of the wheat ; the " Puritans of the Puritans." 
 They were, it is true, mostly unknown Lincoln- 
 shire ditchers, and plain Nottinghamshire farmers, 
 with now and then a yeoman, and a man of family 
 and education. They were, however, sound, hon- 
 est, thoughtful Englishmen. They were diligent 
 readers of the Bible, and were really superior in 
 their moral convictions, and their spiritual eleva- 
 tion, to the rest of Englishmen at that time. As 
 Governor Bradford wrote of them, " but they knew 
 they were pilgrims, and looked not so much on 
 those things, but lift up their eyes to the heavens, 
 their dearest country, and quieted their spirits." 
 They formed neither the highest nor the lowest 
 class in the land, but that class of independent agri- 
 culturists, of " free socage tenants," who were the 
 root of English freedom, and the English civil con- 
 stitution. They had besides a small but pure leaven 
 of consecrated learning in their body. Who, in- 
 deed, would ask but for one such capacious mind 
 as that of John Robinson, whom God had made 
 great, wise, and prophetic, to be the founder of a 
 free and mighty people ! " He was," says a con- 
 temporary, speaking of the Puritans, "the most 
 
248 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 learned, polished, and modest spirit, that ever that 
 sect enjoyed." The great words which he spake at 
 the time of parting with his flock at Delft Haven 
 are an inestimable legacy to us for all time : " 4 We 
 are now ere long to part asunder, and the Lord 
 knoweth whether ever he should live to see our 
 faces again. But whether the Lord had appointed 
 it or not, he charged us before God and his blessed 
 angels, to follow him no further than he followed 
 Christ : and if God should reveal any thing to us 
 by any other instrument of his, to be as ready to 
 receive it as ever we were to receive any truth of 
 his ministry ; for he was very confident the Lord 
 had more light and truth yet to break out of his 
 holy Word. He took occasion also to bewail the 
 state and condition of the reformed churches, who 
 were come to a period in religion, and would go no 
 further than the instruments of their reformation. 
 As for example the Lutherans, they could not be 
 drawn to go beyond what Luther saw ; for what- 
 ever part of God's will he had further imparted to 
 Calvin, they will rather die than embrace it. And 
 so also, saith he, you see the Calvinists, they stick 
 where he left them, a misery much to be lamented ; 
 for though they were precious shining lights in 
 their times, yet God had not revealed his whole 
 will to them ; and were they now willing, saith he, 
 they would be as ready to embrace further light as 
 that they had received.' ' While thus a man of 
 far-sighted penetration and progress, he was firm 
 upon the great truths of our Christian faith. He 
 
HOME OF THE PILGRIMS. 249 
 
 had the spirit of Christ, and united courage with 
 mildness. His " New Essays on Things Moral and 
 Divine " contain passages which, for smoothness and 
 vigor of style, compare well with the writings of 
 Hooker, or Hall, or any of his contemporaries. 
 " Faith," he says, " as a welcome passenger must 
 be well carried and convoyed through a sea of 
 temptations, in a vessel of good conscience, that it 
 suffer not shipwreck ; directed by the chart of 
 God's Word and promises rightly understood, that 
 it run not a wrong course ; and having ever in 
 readiness the anchor of hope against a stress ; and 
 continually gathering into the outspread sails of a 
 heart enlarged by prayer and meditation, the sweet 
 and prosperous gusts of God's Holy Spirit to drive 
 it to the desired haven." In the same essay he 
 says : " Lastly, touching love ; as it is the affection 
 of union, so it makes after a sort the loving and 
 loved, one ; such being the force thereof, as that he 
 that loveth suffereth a kind of conversion into that 
 which he loveth, and by frequent meditation of it 
 uniteth it with his understanding and affection. O 
 how happy is the man, who by the sweet feeling of 
 the love of God shed abroad in his heart, is there- 
 by, as by the most strong cords of Heaven, drawn 
 with all the heart to love God who hath loved him, 
 and so becomes one with him, and rests upon him 
 for all good." These are passages taken at ran- 
 dom. It is strange that his writings are not more 
 read by American Christians. 
 
 It is said of Bradford, a worthy disciple of Rob- 
 
250 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 inson in largeness of soul and mental culture, that 
 he mastered the Latin and Greek and studied 
 Hebrew, because " he would see with his own eyes 
 the ancient oracles of God in their native beauty." 
 Brewster himself was a man of no mean acquire- 
 ments. His library, which was the principal part 
 of the estate he left, consisted of two hundred and 
 seventy-five volumes, sixty-four of them being on 
 the learned languages. Other Cambridge scholars 
 followed them shortly after, among whom was that 
 wise and gentle spirit, John Cotton, the founder or 
 father of Boston. 
 
 Such were the men who were gathered together 
 in that small despised religious communion, and 
 who came to the New World as a united Christ- 
 ian church, impelled by a purely spiritual motive, 
 without any admixture — among the original " Pil- 
 grim Fathers " — of the commercial idea ; to plant 
 almost unconsciously, and as the natural results of 
 their religious views, the principles of a free repub- 
 lican state. Let us never doubt that the pure im- 
 pulse which bore them to America, will preserve 
 their principles through all time to come. 
 
 Puritanism always goes, as Macaulay has splen- 
 didly demonstrated, before the establishment of a 
 just, free, and Christian government ; it must ever 
 be, " first pure, then peaceable." 
 
 I do not believe that Puritanism comprehends 
 the whole truth ; for Puritanism is itself partial, 
 though as far as it goes it is sound and true. But 
 a world-church can never be founded on the prin- 
 
HOME OF THE PILGRIMS. 251 
 
 ciple of separation, but only of unity ; and it must 
 have more than purity, it must have faith, hope, 
 and charity. Puritanism makes a good beginning, 
 — the only good beginning ; yet it must rise to a 
 higher, and larger, and diviner idea of truth, before 
 it shall become the Church or the State universal. 
 But to look at this lonely and decayed manor- 
 house, standing in the midst of these flat and deso- 
 late marshes, and at this most obscure village of 
 the land, this Nazareth of England, slumbering in 
 rustic ignorance and stupid apathy, and to think 
 of what has come out of this place, of what vast 
 influences and activities have issued from this quiet 
 and almost listless scene, one has strange feelings. 
 The storied " Alba Longa," from which Rome 
 sprang, is an interesting spot, but the newly dis- 
 covered spiritual birthplace of America may excite 
 deeper emotions. 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 LINCOLN TO ELY. 
 
 I have said that Lincolnshire was Dutch in its 
 scenery ; the resemblance is greatly heightened 
 by the numberless windmills, some of them old, 
 ragged, and picturesque. Broad canals shimmer- 
 ing in the red light of sunset, straight as a bee-line, 
 and stretching as far as the eye could reach, cut 
 through this flat, fat, fenny soil, which has been 
 nearly all reclaimed and brought to a high state 
 of kitchen-garden cultivation, though at vast cost. 
 When will the " Pontine Marshes " be as thorough- 
 ly drained, and fit for something else than the habi- 
 tation of wild hogs and buffaloes ? This whole Fen 
 district is computed to comprehend the immense 
 tract of four hundred thousand acres. 
 
 Lincoln rises abruptly from the plain. Its sum- 
 mit is crowned by the Cathedral, which presides 
 over a vast extent of flat country ; and so com- 
 manding is its position and its height, that it can 
 be seen, it is said, from Buxton hills in Derby- 
 shire. 
 
 It is a tough walk in warm weather up " Steep- 
 hill Street," but the Cathedral amply repays the 
 effort. It is certainly in grandeur next to York 
 
LINCOLN TO ELY. 253 
 
 Minster, of all the English Cathedrals, and as a 
 whole impressed me more. There is more of 
 rugged strength and majesty in its front, while the 
 east end is incomparable for its elegance and flow- 
 ing grace. Its central tower rises to the height 
 of two hundred and sixty-eight feet. In ascending 
 the tower, I arrived at the bell-room just as great 
 " Tom of Lincoln " was striking. The still air 
 was in an instant racked with a mighty uproar, and 
 the solid tower trembled under every humming 
 thunder-stroke. The view from the summit is one 
 of the most peculiar in England ; the ancient city 
 clustering on the slopes of the hill, and then a 
 level plain not strewn very thickly with towns and 
 villages, but rather like a grassy Hungarian steppe 
 stretching far and wide to the hills on one side and 
 the sea on the other. The Cathedral is built in the 
 form of a double cross ; its best parts belong to the 
 most elaborate and mature period of the " Early 
 English " or " Pointed " style. Within and with- 
 out it is rich in carving of the boldest character. 
 One can see in under the leaves. The " Presby- 
 tery " or " Lady Chapel " is full of this exquisite 
 carved work, and is sometimes called the " Angel 
 Choir," from the figures of thirty angels in the 
 spandrels of the triforium arches, carved as if they 
 were flying on high, and playing upon every kind 
 of temple instrument, such as the harp, trumpet, 
 cittern, cymbal. The two great marigold windows 
 in the principal transept, each twenty-two feet in 
 diameter, and filled with deep-colored painted glass, 
 
254 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 give a rich tone to this central portion of the build- 
 ing, supported upon its four heavy piers or clus- 
 tered pillars. The fault of the edifice is the com- 
 mon fault of the lowness of the nave, which gives 
 too weak and steep a pitch to the roof. But it is 
 absurd to criticize these Gothic structures ; they 
 have no rules like mountains, and take such forms 
 as they please ; they delight in the strangest con- 
 trasts and most violent irregularities ; their unity 
 is not in their uniformity of structure, but in their 
 heaven-ascending aim, to which all tends. The 
 " Chapter House " of the Cathedral is an entirely 
 distinct appendage upon the northern side, in the 
 form of a decagon, and is flanked by bold flying 
 buttresses, as if tied to the ground by them like a 
 wide-spreading tent. Its interior, supported by a 
 single-reeded pillar of Purbeck marble, is not un- 
 like a great military tent. 
 
 I was shut up by accident for half an hour in 
 this " Chapter House," so that I had more time to 
 study it. It abounds in those grotesque carvings 
 that are so suggestive but mysterious. The small 
 queer faces on the capitals of pillars and termina- 
 tions of mouldings, look down upon you as if they 
 were alive : sometimes it is the face of a monk and 
 sometimes of a nun, and the monk does not always 
 look pious but roguish ; now it is a beautiful coun- 
 tenance with wonderful serenity and purity of ex- 
 pression, then it is a face in torment with the 
 mouth horribly stretched, and the parched tongue 
 lolling out ; here is a winged angel, and there a 
 
LINCOLN TO ELY. 255 
 
 squat demon ; animal heads, beaks, snouts, claws, 
 images of the sensual passions and bestialities of 
 the mind, mix with the symbols of purer and 
 higher things. 
 
 In going from Lincoln to Nottingham, thirty-five 
 miles, we passed Newark, in whose castle King 
 John died, worn out by his vices and military mis- 
 fortunes. 
 
 The scenery of the Trent valley was very pretty 
 and peaceful, with the stacks of grain standing in 
 the fields, and the cattle feeding in great numbers 
 on the smooth meadows, or cooling themselves in 
 the stream. 
 
 I asked a farmer who sat by me, without mean- 
 ing any disrespect, — « What little stream is that ? " 
 "Wha, that's the Trent!" he answered with a 
 stiff expression, as much as to say, " Your ques- 
 tion, sir, is an insult to one of the most respectable 
 rivers in the kingdom." 
 
 The eastern side of England, which is not as a 
 general thing much visited by American travelers, 
 is hardly less rich and beautiful than the western 
 side, and is equally strewn with historical monu- 
 ments. The climate, however, is said to be some- 
 what less genial. It is nearer the coasts of Hol- 
 land, and was once more open to the spiritual 
 winds and influences of the great German Ref- 
 ormation ; and this last idea increases upon us as 
 we approach Cambridge. 
 
 At Nottingham we are within fifteen miles of 
 Derby, where I was a few weeks since. This is 
 
256 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 the town and county of Robin Hood, Henry Kirke 
 White, and Lord Byron, — an odd juxtaposition of 
 names ; yet there can be little doubt that the fact 
 of Robin Hood's still living and popular ballads 
 being known and sung in Nottingham, had its in- 
 fluence to make Henry Kirke White a poet, and he 
 was not without his influence upon the mind of 
 young Byron. 
 
 The house where Henry Kirke White was born 
 is in what is called the " Old Shambles." The 
 lower part of it is now used as a butcher's shop, as 
 it was, I believe, originally. There is a staring 
 daub of a picture upon it nearly as large as the 
 house, representing the youthful poet sitting among 
 shrubs and trees. The room where he was born 
 forms part of another larger room, which is now 
 used as a dining-room for a small tavern. It is a 
 low-walled and decayed apartment, paved with 
 crumbling cement. What, I was told, was Henry 
 Kirke White's study, is a closet three feet by five ! 
 Two bits of red and yellow glass have been stuck 
 in the little window to give it a shade more of im- 
 portance. His inspiration was not caught here, 
 but out under the trees of Clifton, and along the 
 peaceful banks of the Trent. I walked through 
 the Nottingham market-place, truly a magnificent 
 square, up to the deserted terrace of the old castle, 
 upon which stand the empty, cracked, and tottering 
 walls of a palace that was burned in a Chartist 
 riot. On this rock many kings have lived ; great 
 events have revolved around it ; it was the strong- 
 
LINCOLN TO ELY. 257 
 
 hold of the Danes, when they held the northeastern 
 counties of England, and here their gloomy " raven 
 banner " once waved. Nottinghamshire and Lan- 
 cashire mark indeed the circle of the main Danish 
 conquests in England, and they are full of Danish 
 names. Our old friend, " Peveril of the Peak," 
 had a castle also on this eminence ; Richard Coeur 
 de Lion, after having crushed his brother's rebel- 
 lion, held his first council here ; Owen Glendower 
 was shut up here ; Richard III. made it his favor- 
 ite den; Charles I. proclaimed the civil war by 
 raising a standard on a turret of this castle, and 
 here he was afterward confined as a prisoner. It 
 is truly a lordly rock, and commands a wide and 
 delightful prospect. "The silver Trent" flows 
 through the valley at its foot, and just on the 
 other side of the stream lies Henry Kirke White's 
 favorite haunt, the beautiful village of Wilford, 
 with lovely Clifton Grove. The view from this 
 point extends even to the hills of Derbyshire. 
 Nottingham stands on the edge of the ancient 
 " Merry Sherwood " Forest, and the royal marks 
 going back as far as King John's reign, are some- 
 times found upon the trees of this region when 
 they are felled. There are some parts of the an- 
 cient forest still left intact, whose sylvan beauty, 
 solitude, and majesty, it is said, would find no better 
 description at this day, than the one which is given 
 in the opening chapter of Ivanhoe. On my way 
 back I fell in with an agreeable and chatty old 
 gentleman who invited me into his summer-house, 
 17 
 
258 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 and showed me a chamber cut in the rock, where 
 the ancient archers concealed themselves and their 
 fires in the winter time. He said he had seen 
 Lord Byron, who used to visit Nottingham when 
 his " Hours of Idleness " was being published in 
 that town. He well remembered seeing him riding 
 on a gray horse, dressed in a scarlet hunting-coat 
 and jockey cap. 
 
 Nottingham is a large busy city, numbering per- 
 haps 130,000 inhabitants. It has advanced lately 
 with great rapidity, and has immense factories of 
 cotton-yarn, stockings, and lace. The first cotton- 
 mill in the world was erected here by Sir Richard 
 Arkwright. 
 
 I took the cars for Hucknall Torkard, seven 
 miles to the northwest of Nottingham. It is a dull 
 dirty village ; and here, in one of the poorest and ap- 
 parently most forlorn of all English rural churches, 
 Lord Byron is buried, out of sight, it would appear, 
 and out of mind, of all England. 
 
 The church is a small stone building, with the 
 plaster peeling off the tower ; the porch over the 
 door is made of rough and unpainted beams. The 
 interior is also mean, with a row of rude pillars in 
 the middle, altogether reminding me of Haworth 
 Church. At the upper end a small white marble 
 tablet bears the well-known inscription : — 
 
 " In the vault beneath, 
 
 Where many of his ancestors and his mother are buried, 
 
 Lie the remains of 
 
 GEORGE GORDON NOEL BYRON, 
 
 Lord Baron of Rochdale 
 
LINCOLN TO ELY. 259 
 
 In the County of Lancaster, 
 
 The author of Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. 
 
 He was born in London on the 
 
 22d January, 1788 ; 
 
 He died at Missolonghi, in Modern Greece, on the 
 
 19th of April, 1824, 
 
 Engaged in the glorious attempt to restore that 
 
 Country to her ancient freedom and renown." 
 
 The family shield, with its motto, " Crede Byron," 
 is engraved on the tablet. 
 
 Here the poet's mother and daughter are also 
 buried, but with nothing erected to their memory, 
 if we except two worn and dirty pasteboard sheets, 
 which some stranger had caused to be made and 
 hung up there. The pen-and-ink words commem- 
 orating Byron's daughter are these : — 
 
 " The Eight Honorable 
 
 AUGUSTA ADA, 
 
 wife of 
 
 William, Earl of Lovelace, 
 
 and only daughter of 
 
 George Gordon Noel, 
 
 Lord Byron. 
 
 Born 10 Dec, 1815 ; 
 
 Died 27 Nov., 1852." 
 
 The inscription to the poet's mother declares her 
 to have been a lineal descendant of James I. of 
 Scotland. 
 
 On a yellow faded marble scroll, in a recess 
 formed by the end window, is an ancient monu- 
 ment to others of the Byron family, some of them 
 being illustrious, so the inscription runs, for " great 
 piety and goodness." 
 
 A simple but bitter remark of the poet to one 
 
260 \ OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 of his friends, has always seemed to me a key of 
 many of his deepest faults of character. He said, 
 — "I never was governed when I was young." 
 There was certainly much of latent sweetness in 
 his nature. Reading his " Childe Harold " by the 
 mountain grave of that pure spirit, Alexander 
 Vinet, at Clarens, and looking down on the placid 
 Lake of Geneva, where the poet invoked that 
 
 " Undying Love who here ascends a throne, 
 To which the steps are mountains," — 
 
 I felt that his verse was no desecration of that 
 sublime scenery. I do not, however, blame Eng- 
 land for being slow to readopt the memory of an 
 outcast son, who dishonored the two great lights 
 of her glory, her Virtue and her Home. u But," 
 as Richter says, " have not giants in all nations 
 warred against God ? " 
 
 Newstead Abbey is about three miles from 
 Hucknall Church, and is too familiar a pilgrimage 
 for me to tread over. I had some difficulty in 
 getting to it, being compelled to walk a goodly 
 distance in a hot sun, and then through the assist- 
 ance of a little lame boy who was the only person 
 I could interest in my behalf, was enabled to hear 
 of some sort of wheeled conveyance, and to have 
 the promise of being taken up in an express-wagon 
 " in aboot arf an oor." This was indeed good 
 news, for in my tired and heated state even a 
 donkey-cart would have been hailed with joy. 
 
 The half hour had grown into an hour or more, 
 when a good fellow driving an ample " spring-cart " 
 
LINCOLN TO ELY. . 261 
 
 wheeled up. I tumbled into its capacious depths, 
 and as we jogged on I thought of Mrs. Poyser's 
 ambitious speech, — " If you can catch Adam Bede 
 for a husband, Hetty, you'll ride in your own 
 spring-cart some day." I had attained that sublime 
 position, and was in high spirits, when we met 
 the Lord of ISTewstead Abbey, the late Colonel 
 Wildman, driving out his family, with whom my 
 coachman exchanged bows as if they were old ac- 
 quaintances. 
 
 Let us now pay a brief visit to the Abbey of 
 Peterborough, built originally in the fens where 
 English piety in ancient times found its last refuge. 
 Its inclosure of garden, graveyard, cloisters, and 
 schools, is a most venerable spot. The nave of the 
 Cathedral is Norman Gothic, with three tiers of 
 bow-headed arches forming the sides and the clere- 
 story. The length is four hundred and seventy- 
 nine feet. The masses of shadow, and the bold 
 mingling of different kinds of arches and of their 
 intersecting lines, make the interior effect singu- 
 larly impressive. Its wealth of sepulchral brasses 
 is still remarkable, though greatly despoiled in the 
 civil wars. These brasses, once called " latteen," 
 laid in Purbeck marble, were really the first stereo- 
 types. The exterior needs a lofty tower and spire, 
 but the defect is almost compensated by the beauty 
 of the west front, with its three deep-recessed 
 pointed doors, like a great organ front. The south 
 gateway of the court leading into the Bishop's Pal- 
 ace is a gem of the "Early English" style; its 
 
262 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 graceful groined roof and its turrets adorned with 
 sculptures of saints and kings, struck me as being a 
 sort of ecclesiastical or Gothic " arch of Titus," as 
 indeed well corresponding to the old Roman arch 
 in size and beauty. 
 
 Peterborough was the native place of Dr. Paley. 
 Though a city, it is one without a mayor or corpo- 
 ration. 
 
 I was attracted around by the way of Ely, to see 
 the Cathedral there, instead of taking the Hunting- 
 don route more directly to Cambridge. This was 
 quite a loss, for Oliver Cromwell was born in Hunt- 
 ingdon. Hinchinbroke House, the property of his 
 family, now belongs to the Earl of Sandwich. 
 
 But Ely Cathedral was not to be lost. It is 
 frozen history as well as " frozen music." I value 
 these old structures because such wealth of English 
 history is embodied in them ; their human inter- 
 est after all is greater than their artistic. Ely is 
 said to be derived from " willow," or a kind of 
 willow or ozier island, upon which the abbey and 
 town were built in the midst of the marshes. 
 Among these impenetrable marshes Hereward the 
 Saxon retreated ; and here, too, we have that bit 
 of genuine antique poetry which from its simplicity 
 must have described a true scene ; and we catch a 
 glimpse of that pleasing and soothing picture amid 
 those rude and bloody days, of King Canute and 
 his knights resting for a moment upon their toiling 
 oars to hear the vesper-song of the monks : — 
 
LINCOLN" TO ELY. 263 
 
 " Merrily sung the monks within Ely 
 When Canute the king rowed thereby ; 
 1 Eow me, knights, the shore along, 
 And listen we to these monks' song.' " 
 
 The foundation of the Cathedral was laid in 1083, 
 and it was finished in 1534. In printed lists of its 
 bishops, as in those of other English cathedral 
 churches, I have noticed that they are given in 
 their chronological succession, right on, the bishops 
 of the Reformed Church being linked upon the 
 Roman Catholic bishops. The bishopric of Ely 
 was partially carved out of the bishopric of Lincoln, 
 and comprises Cambridge in its jurisdiction. It 
 has therefore had all the riches, influence, taste 
 and learning of the University to bear upon the 
 restoration of its noble old Cathedral ; and of all 
 the old churches of England this one exhibits indi- 
 cations of the greatest modern care and thought 
 bestowed upon it. It glows with new stained-glass 
 windows, splendid marbles, exquisite sculptures, and 
 bronze-work. Its western tower, 266 feet in 
 height, turreted spires, central octagon tower, fly- 
 ing buttresses, unequalled length of 517 feet, and 
 its vast irregular bulk soaring above the insignifi- 
 cant little town at its foot, make it a most com- 
 manding object seen from the flat plain. 
 
 What is called the octagon, which has taken the 
 place of the central tower that had fallen, is quite 
 an original feature of the church. Eight arches 
 rising from eight ponderous piers form a windowed 
 tower, or lantern, which lets in a flood of light 
 upon the otherwise gloomy interior. Above the 
 
264 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 key-stone of each arch is the carved figure of a 
 saint. The new brasses of the choir are wonder- 
 fully elaborate. The bronze scroll and vine-work 
 of the gates and lamps, for grace and oriental luxu- 
 riance of fancy, for their arabesque and flower de- 
 signs, might fitly have belonged to King Solomon's 
 Temple of old. The modern wood- work of the 
 choir compares also well with the ancient wood- 
 work carving. Gold stars on azure ground, and 
 all vivid coloring and gilding, are freely used. The 
 new " Reredos," or altar-screen, is one marvelous 
 crystallization of sculptures. The ancient Purbeck 
 marble pillars have been scraped and re-polished, 
 and form a fine contrast to the white marbles on 
 which they are set. 
 
 If indeed one wishes to see what modern enthu- 
 siasm, art, and lavish wealth can do for the restora- 
 tion and adorning of one of these old temples, he 
 must go to Ely Cathedral. But he will hear the 
 worthy verger, as usual, hurl anathemas against 
 Cromwell ; and if he go into the " Lady Chapel " 
 and see every head of every statue (and their name 
 is legion) systematically knocked off, he will feel a 
 pious indignation too against the doer of it ; but he 
 will assoil the soul of Cromwell, as being engaged 
 in bigger business of destruction than this. 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 THE UNIVERSITIES. 
 
 The Universities of Oxford and Cambridge are 
 wonderfully well matched in point of historical in- 
 terest, size, and picturesque beauty of buildings and 
 situation. Oxford, as a city, has some superior ad- 
 vantages over Cambridge, and its one magnificent 
 High Street is unrivaled. But there are particular 
 points in Cambridge more striking than any thing 
 in Oxford. Nothing in Oxford is so majestic as 
 King's College Chapel in Cambridge, nor so lovely 
 as the grounds behind Trinity College ; and I was 
 struck with the positive resemblances between Ox- 
 ford and Cambridge. Both are situated on slightly 
 rising ground, with broad green meadows and a flat, 
 fenny country stretching around them. The wind- 
 ing and muddy Cam, holding the city in its arm, 
 might be easily taken for the fond but still more 
 capricious Isis, though both of them are insignificant 
 streams ; and Jesus' College Green and Midsummer 
 Common at Cambridge, correspond to Christ Church 
 Meadows and those bordering the Cherwell at Ox- 
 ford. At a little distance, the profile of Cambridge 
 is almost precisely like that of Oxford, while glori- 
 ous King's College Chapel makes up all deficiencies 
 
266 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 in the architectural features and outline of Cam- 
 bridge. 
 
 Starting from Bull Inn, we will not linger long 
 in the streets, though we might be tempted to 
 do so by the luxurious book-shops, but will make 
 straight for the gateway of Trinity College. This 
 gateway is itself a venerable and imposing struct- 
 ure, although a mass of houses clustered about it 
 destroys its unity with the rest of the college build- 
 ings. Between its two heavy battlemented towers 
 is a statue of Edward III. and his coat-of-arms ; 
 and over the gate Sir Isaac Newton had his ob- 
 servatory. 
 
 This gateway introduces into a noble court, called 
 the Great Court, with a carved stone fountain or 
 canopied well in the centre, and buildings of irregu- 
 lar sizes and different ages inclosing it. The chapel 
 which forms the northern side of this court dates 
 back to 1564. In the ante-chapel, or vestibule, 
 stands the statue of Sir Isaac Newton, by Roubilliac, 
 bearing the inscription, " Qui genus humanum in- 
 genio superavit ! " It is spirited, but, like all the 
 works of this artist, unnaturally attenuated. The 
 head is compact rather than large, and the forehead 
 square rather than high. The face has an expres- 
 sion of abstract contemplation, and is looking up, as 
 if the mind were just fastening upon the beautiful 
 law of light which is suggested by the hand hold- 
 ing a prism. By the door of the screen entering 
 into the chapel proper, are the sitting statues of Sir 
 Francis Bacon and Dr. Isaac Barrow, two more 
 
THE UNIVERSITIES. 267 
 
 giants of this college. The former represents the 
 philosopher in a sitting posture, wearing his high- 
 crowned hat, and leaning thoughtfully upon his 
 hand. Isaac Barrow, who sits beside him, though 
 a wonderfully learned man, was sometimes what 
 old English authors called a " painful preacher." 
 On one occasion, after preaching three full hours, 
 the organ set up to play, and fairly blew him down ; 
 and being afterward asked if he were not fatigued 
 by so great an intellectual effort, he replied, that 
 " indeed he did feel slightly fatigued with standing 
 up that time." 
 
 There is also in this vestibule the effigy of a 
 ruder Trinity Anak still, Dr. Porson. At evening 
 prayers in this chapel I could fully agree with the 
 remark of Mr. Bristed, who was a student of Trin- 
 ity, that a company of smooth-faced youths in white 
 surplices have a certain " innocent look," as if they 
 were a choir of Fra Angelico's angels. 
 
 The hall of Trinity College, which separates the 
 Great Court from the Inner or Neville Court, 
 (courts in Cambridge, quads in Oxford,) is the 
 glory of the college. Its interior is upward of one 
 hundred feet in length, oak-wainscoted, with deep 
 beam-work ceiling, now black with age, and an 
 enormous fireplace, which in winter still blazes 
 with its old hospitable glow. At the upper end 
 where the professors and fellows sit, hang the por- 
 traits of Bacon and Newton. I had the honor of 
 dining in this most glorious of banqueting-halls, at 
 the invitation of a fellow of the college. Before 
 
268 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 meals, the ancient Latin grace, somewhat abbre- 
 viated, is pronounced. 
 
 On the side of the hall, and in the same build- 
 ing, is the college kitchen. A glance at the scien- 
 tific operations of this purely physical department 
 of the University, at the gigantic spits and pans, the 
 vast turtle-shells and pantry-moulds, the hills of 
 potted meats, pickles, and preserves, the cavernous 
 fireplaces, huge cranes and brawny scullions, the 
 blaze, the stir, the hissing activity, would convince 
 one that England dines her scholars bravely every 
 day — those of them, at least, who can pay for it. 
 
 In the centre of the same range of buildings is 
 the Combination Room, an elegantly furnished par- 
 lor, ornamented with portraits, where the fellows 
 of the college retire after dinner to discuss their 
 dessert and university politics. Upon the side- 
 board I noticed a large and elaborate wedding-cake, 
 recently sent in by a fellow to his quondam bach- 
 elor friends, this being the immemorial penalty of 
 his having given up their fellowship, and the selfish 
 luxuries of his former bachelor condition for a much 
 better fellowship. 
 
 We pass through the hall into Neville Court, 
 three sides of which are cloistered, and in the east- 
 ern end of which stands the fine library building, 
 built through the exertions of Dr. Barrow, who 
 was determined that nothing in Oxford should sur- 
 pass his own darling college. The library room is 
 nearly two hundred feet long, with tesselated mar- 
 ble floor, and with the busts of the great men of 
 
THE UNIVERSITIES. 269 
 
 Trinity ranged around the walls. The wood-carv- 
 ings of Grinling Gibbons that adorn this room, of 
 flowers, fruit, wheat, grasshoppers, birds, are of 
 singular beauty, and make the hard oak fairly blos- 
 som and live. This library contains the most com- 
 plete collection of the various editions of Shaks- 
 peare's Works which exists. Thorwaldsen's statue 
 of Byron, who was a student of this college, stands 
 at the south end of the room. It represents him in 
 the bloom of youth, attired as a pilgrim, with pencil 
 in hand and a broken Grecian column at his feet. 
 Take any group of people, old men and children, 
 middle-aged men and beautiful maidens, and how- 
 ever much of power, loveliness, and poetry there 
 may be in the group, yet let a young man in the 
 first glory of his strength and beauty pass by, and 
 he has the homage of all hearts — he is king of all. 
 But add to this genius, like a visible crown on his 
 open brow and clustering locks, as Byron is here 
 represented, and he is irresistible. The poet is set 
 before us as we all wish he might have been, and 
 perhaps could have been, but was not. It is the 
 ideal poet of the "Childe Harold " — he who led cap- 
 tive at his will the old and young, the good and bad, 
 the high and low, of the last generation of men. 
 It is surely a cause of sincere thankfulness that the 
 day of Byron has passed away, especially among 
 the young in our colleges ; and that the day of a 
 far nobler, purer, and profounder poet, Tennyson, 
 has risen like a day-spring from on high. 
 
 One is here shown the cast of Newton's face, 
 
270 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 taken after death ; also his own telescope, and many 
 of his mathematical instruments, extremely rude 
 and simple, showing that it is not the perfection of 
 the instrument or the tool that makes the great as- 
 tronomer or discoverer, but the force of the brain 
 and the spiritual eye that lie behind it. Trinity 
 has some five hundred scholars and about sixty fel- 
 lows ; and it is not too much to say that, with its 
 ancient names and associates, its modern corps of 
 instruction, and the number of its students, it is 
 the first and most illustrious single college in the 
 world. 
 
 As to the numbers in the entire Cambridge Uni- 
 versity, I have seen this statement recently made, 
 and believe it to be correct : There are 517 ma- 
 triculants, and the whole number of residents is 
 2038, of whom 1226 are in the colleges, and 812 
 are lodgers. 
 
 The west end of Trinity borders on the Cam, 
 and we will now take a look at a few of the colleges 
 lying along upon the river bank. 
 
 The next neighbor to Trinity on the north, and 
 the next in point of size and importance in the Uni- 
 versity, is St. John's College. It has four courts, 
 one opening into the other. It also is jealously 
 surrounded by its high walls, and its entrance is by 
 a ponderous old tower, having a statue of St. John 
 the Evangelist over the gateway. Through a cov- 
 ered bridge, not unlike " the Bridge of Sighs," 
 one passes over the stream to a group of modern 
 majestic castellated buildings of yellow stone be- 
 
THE UNIVERSITIES. 271 
 
 longing to this college. The grounds, walks, and 
 thick groves connected with this building form 
 an elegant academic shade, and tempt to a life 
 of exclusive study and scholarly accumulation, of 
 growing fat in learning, without perhaps growing 
 muscular in the effort to use it. The plan of fel- 
 lowships, which is the peculiar feature of the Eng- 
 lish University, and which often is continued in by 
 a scholar for a whole life, is a remnant of monkish 
 days, of the celibacy of the clergy, and must inev- 
 itably lead to this life of literary epicureanism. It 
 has, however, its advantages. A fellow of Oxford 
 told a friend of mine that while thirty-nine good 
 men were spoiled by it, the fortieth man was a grand 
 production — perhaps the topmost perfection of sci- 
 ence and civilization. There is some truth in this. 
 Ample time is given, and every other outward aid, 
 for the slow and symmetric development of a noble 
 intellect. The genial sun shines on it for years, 
 and its roots strike down into the rich soil of ancient 
 learning, of the mould of ages, till its top reaches 
 heaven. But we in America could ill afford to 
 spoil so many good trees in order to make one tall 
 mast. We prefer our own system of college edu- 
 ation, which brings up more minds to an evenly 
 high level of mental cultivation, practical scholar- 
 ship, and general usefulness. Our collegiate sys- 
 tem might perhaps combine something of this Eng- 
 lish system of fellowships in the modified system 
 of scholarships, extending somewhat beyond the 
 term of the college course, and which is already 
 
272 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 the tendency in our colleges. The system of Eng- 
 lish fellowships, it is said, produces the pure love 
 of study ; the desire of human applause dies out ; 
 the popular ends or rewards of scholarship are de- 
 spised : and the love of learning for itself alone be- 
 comes the great incentive. A university man will 
 often bring out, with immense labor and learning, 
 an anonymous edition of a difficult Latin author, or 
 an elegant translation of a Greek dramatist. He 
 shuns public notice. He sticks to his incognito, or 
 goes on noiselessly heaping up lore and producing 
 learned works, that in any other country would 
 make him a distinguished name. 
 
 We give an extract from a curious account of 
 the manners of scholars at St. John's in the reign 
 of Edward VI., commending it to the attention of 
 our American young gentlemen, who sometimes 
 complain of the hardships of college life : — " There 
 be dyverse ther, which ryse dayly betwixt foure 
 and fyve of the clocke in the mornynge, and from 
 fyve untill sixe of the clocke use commen prayer, 
 with an exhortation of God's worde, in a common 
 chappell, and from sixe unto ten of the clocke use 
 eyther private study or commune lectures. At 
 tenne of the clocke they go to dynner, where they 
 be content with a penye pyece of biefe among 
 foure, havynge a few porage made of the brothe 
 of the same biefe wythe salte and otemel, and noth- 
 eng else. After dynner, they go eyther teachynge 
 or learnynge untill fyve of the clocke in the even- 
 ynge, when they have a supper not much better 
 
THE UNIVERSITIES. 273 
 
 than the diner ; immedyately after the whyche, 
 they go eyther to reasonynge in problemes, or into 
 some other studye, untill it be nine or tenne of the 
 clocke, and there beynge without fyre are fayne to 
 walke or runne up and downe halfe an houre to 
 gette a heate on thire feete when they go to bed." 
 
 Among the eminent men of St. John's College 
 are Ben Jonson, Stillingfleet, and Sir Robert Cecil. 
 This was also Henry Kirke White's college ; and 
 a monument has been erected to his memory in 
 the Church of all Saints by an American. A far 
 greater poet, William Wordsworth, was educated 
 here, and it was a college vacation trip to Switz- 
 erland that was the occasion of the poems called 
 " Descriptive Sketches," which were his first pub- 
 lication. 
 
 On the other side of Trinity, to the south, is 
 Trinity Hall, a small college, and almost exclusive- 
 ly devoted to law studies. Its buildings are not 
 remarkable. Frederick Denison Maurice and his 
 brother-in-law, John Sterling, came here from 
 Trinity College. Maurice was then a Dissenter, 
 and for that reason could not take advantage of the 
 fellowship which was offered him. 
 
 Directly to the west of Trinity Hall is Gonville 
 and Caius College, called in Cambridge parlance 
 "Keys." The southern court has three gates — 
 of Humility, Virtue, and Honor. The edifices are 
 of the Italian style, and their appearance is quiet 
 and scholastic. Jeremy Taylor — the golden- 
 mouthed preacher, whose imagination was Oriental 
 
 18 
 
274 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 even under the foggy skies of England — studied 
 in this college. 
 
 Next to the north of Trinity Hall is beautiful 
 Clare Hall. In the civil war this college suffered 
 greatly, and especially its chapel. The following 
 is an item from the report of the Parliamentary 
 commission : — " We destroyed in the presence of 
 Mr. Gunny, fellow, 3 cherubims, the 12 apostles, 
 a cross, and 6 of the fathers, and ordered the steps 
 to be levelled." The long river-front of this col- 
 lege is exceedingly elegant, being built in the Ital- 
 ian style of the 17th century. Seating one's self 
 upon the river-bank, under the great willow-tree at 
 the southern angle of this hall, one may watch the 
 young men darting by in their narrow u shells," 
 and disappearing like noiseless phantoms under 
 the shadowy arches of the old bridge. Beautiful, 
 dreamy college life ! how swiftly it glides into and 
 under the dark shadows of the actual, and its free 
 joyousness vanishes ! 
 
 King's College, founded by Henry VII., from 
 whom it takes its name, comes next in order. Its 
 wealthy founder, who, like his son, loved architect- 
 ural pomp, had great designs in regard to this insti- 
 tution, which were cut off by his death, but the 
 massive unfinished gateway of the old building 
 stands as a regal specimen of what the whole plan 
 would have been had it been carried out. Henry 
 VIII., however, perfected some of his father's de- 
 signs on a scale of true magnificence. King's Col- 
 lege Chapel, the glory of Cambridge and England, 
 
THE UNIVERSITIES. 275 
 
 is in the Perpendicular style of English Gothic. 
 It is three hundred and sixteen feet long, eighty- 
 four feet broad, its sides ninety feet, and its tower 
 one hundred and forty-six feet high. Its lofty inte- 
 rior stone roof in the fan-tracery form of groined 
 ceiling, has the appearance of being composed of 
 immense white scallop-shells, with heavy corbels 
 of rich flowers and bunches of grapes suspended at 
 their points of junction. The ornamental emblem 
 of the Tudor rose and portcullis is carved in every 
 conceivable spot and nook. Twenty-four stately 
 and richly painted windows, divided into the strong 
 vertical lines of the Perpendicular style, and crossed 
 at right angles by lighter transoms and more deli- 
 cate circular mouldings, with the great east and 
 west windows flashing in the most vivid and superb 
 colors, make it a gorgeous vision of light and glory. 
 One could wish that the clumsy wooden screen in 
 the centre of the chapel were away, so that he 
 might at a glance see the whole length and breadth 
 and height of this truly august room. It has been 
 sometimes compared to the Sistine Chapel at 
 Rome ; but with all the advantages of Michael 
 Angelo's adorning hand in the wonderful frescoes 
 of the chapel, that is but a dull and cavernous 
 apartment, something belonging to this earth, com- 
 pared with the soaring majesty and ethereal splen- 
 dors of this gem of Gothic architecture. This is 
 an instance of the last pure English Gothic. 
 
 Queen's College, the next south upon the river, is 
 distinguished as the residence of Erasmus during his 
 
276 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 second visit to England from 1510 to 1516. He 
 suffered much persecution and obloquy in his at- 
 tempt to introduce the study of Greek into Cam- 
 bridge, which study was, curiously enough, still 
 more obstinately opposed at Oxford. Erasmus 
 speaks of the educational condition of Cambridge 
 in his day thus : — " About thirty years ago noth- 
 ing was taught in the University of Cambridge 
 except Alexander, (the middle-age Latin poem of 
 Walter de Castellio) the Parva Logicalia, as they 
 called them, (a scholastic treatise written by Petrus 
 Hispanus,) and three old dictates of Aristotle, and 
 questions of Scotus. In process of time there was 
 an accession of good learning : a knowledge of 
 mathematics was introduced ; then came in a new 
 or at least a regenerate Aristotle ; the knowledge 
 of the Greek literature was added, with so many au- 
 thors whose very names were not formerly known." 
 We do indeed owe the revival of sound learning in 
 England, as well as on the Continent, to the Ref- 
 ormation. This college has two courts. There is 
 a fine terrace-walk on the opposite bank of the 
 river shaded by noble elms. 
 
 Turning now from the river-side, and continuing 
 our stroll along Trumpington Street, we come to 
 St. Peter's College, the oldest foundation in Cam- 
 bridge, having been established in 1257. We 
 sometimes speak of old Yale and old Harvard, but 
 when we look upon a college which dates back to 
 the time of the Crusades, when much of Europe 
 as well as Asia was still lying in heathen darkness, 
 
THE UNIVERSITIES. 277 
 
 we feel that our American colleges are but wild 
 young children of the forest and of yesterday. St. 
 Peter's was originally, as most of the older colleges 
 were, an ecclesiastical " hostel," half-convent, half- 
 hospital ; its buildings are modernized and are not 
 noteworthy. The celebrated Puritan general, 
 Colonel Hutchinson, was educated here. 
 
 On the same street, and nearly opposite St. 
 Peter's, is Pembroke College, a most interesting 
 and venerable pile, with a quaint gable front. Its 
 buildings are small, and it is said, for some greatly 
 needed city improvement, will probably be soon 
 torn down ; on hearing which, I thought, would 
 that some genius like Aladdin's, or some angel who 
 bore through the air the chapel of the " Lady of 
 Loretto," might bear these old buildings bodily to 
 our land and set them down on the Yale grounds, so 
 that we might exchange their picturesque antiquity 
 for the present college buildings, which, though 
 endeared to us by many associations, are like a row 
 of respectable brick factories. 
 
 Edmund Spenser and William Pitt belonged to 
 Pembroke ; and Gray, the poet, driven from St. 
 Peter's by the pranks and persecutions of his 
 fellow-students, spent the remainder of his uni- 
 versity life here. Some of the cruel, practical 
 jokes inflicted upon a timid and delicate nature 
 sound like the modern days of " hazing freshmen." 
 Among his other fancies and fears, Gray was known 
 to be especially afraid of fire, and kept always 
 coiled up in his room a rope-ladder, in case of 
 
278 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 emergency. By a preconcerted signal, on a dark 
 winter night, a tremendous cry of fire was raised 
 in the court below, which caused the young poet 
 to leap out of bed and to hastily descend his rope- 
 ladder into a mighty tub of ice-cold water, set for 
 that purpose. 
 
 St. Katharine's Hall is also situated on Trump- 
 ington Street, immediately to the south of King's 
 College. It is distinguished for the great number 
 of eminent theologians who have been educated 
 within its walls, among whom was Thomas Sher- 
 lock. It is a small college and its buildings are 
 plain. Corpus Christi, just opposite, has a towered 
 and battlemented frontage, and its buildings are of 
 imposing Tudor architecture. 
 
 Following up Trumpington and Trinity Streets 
 to the north, we come into Bridge Street, which is 
 continued along in Magdalene Street, upon which 
 is Magdalene College, standing also partly on the 
 river, which curves in here. Its library contains 
 the valuable antique collection of black letter vol- 
 umes of Samuel Pepys. Charles Kingsley was a 
 student of Magdalene. It is called a plain college ; 
 but what would be called plain in the Old World 
 would be elaborately ornamental with us. 
 
 Coming back to Bridge Street, and turning to 
 the west into Jesus' Lane, we arrive at Jesus' Col- 
 lege, a most delightful and retired spot, the very 
 home and haunt of the Muses. The old saying 
 is, " Pray at King's, eat at Trinity, and study at 
 Jesus." Springing out of an ancient nunnery, it 
 
THE UNIVERSITIES. 279 
 
 still retains its antique cloisters and its grave and 
 almost austere ecclesiastical character. The gar- 
 den and grounds are of dark and rich luxuriance, 
 and will compare with any in Oxford. It has been 
 a college about five hundred years, having been 
 founded four years after the discovery of America. 
 The number of students is now small, averaging 
 some sixty. Archbishop Cranmer was a scholar 
 of this foundation. Coleridge's room is in the 
 oldest and dingiest portion of the edifice, looking 
 out upon the secluded garden. But the outside of 
 these college rooms gives little idea of the comfort 
 and oftentimes luxury of their interior ; and when 
 the rough oak " sporting-door," as it is called, 
 opens upon apartments which unite the privacy 
 of ancient monkish seclusion with the elegant ease 
 of the modern refined and wealthy man of letters, 
 the visitor, if he come from the New World, with 
 its simpler ideas of college life and manners, is 
 filled with astonishment. Returning to Bridge 
 Street, at the corner of Jesus' Lane and Bridge 
 Street, we come upon Sidney Sussex College, with 
 its formal high-stepped gable-ends, founded in 1596 
 by the aunt of Sir Philip Sidney. The buildings 
 are of the later Elizabethan style, with red brick 
 copings. The master's garden connected with this 
 college is a pleasant and shut-in spot, with an 
 abundance of old trees, and is almost as shadowy 
 and solitary as the heart of a forest. These gar- 
 dens and parks are a prime feature of the English 
 University. They are kept in exquisite trim, and 
 
280 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 are rich with beds of bright, rare flowers, and beau- 
 tiful with their smooth-shorn lawns, filled with that 
 soft, mossy-velvet turf — that "living green" — 
 so peculiar to misty England. What could be a 
 more grateful resort for the weary student than to 
 be able to spend a few moments in one of these 
 still and noble gardens ; and what is more purify- 
 ing and vivifying to the mind itself than this daily 
 contact with the most beautiful things and sights of 
 Nature ? It is grievous to think that our Ameri- 
 can colleges were not able to reserve for themselves 
 broader grounds for the free cultivation of Nature 
 about them ; that, instead of being placed in the 
 centre of bustling towns, they could not have been 
 more entirely secluded or shut in from the noisy 
 outside world by a screen of shady trees and quiet 
 meadows, and thus been wholly consecrated to the 
 purposes of study and spiritual improvement. 
 
 Sidney Sussex and Immanuel Colleges were 
 called by Archbishop Laud " the nurseries of Puri- 
 tanism." The college-book of Sidney Sussex con- 
 tains this record : ifc Oliverus Cromwell Hunting- 
 doniensis aclmissus ad commeatum sociorum Aprilis 
 vicesimo sexto, tutore mag. Richardo Howlet 
 [1616]." He had just completed his seventeenth 
 year. Cromwell's father dying the next year, and 
 leaving but a small estate, the young " Protector " 
 was obliged to leave college for more practical pur- 
 suits. " But some Latin," Bishop Burnet said, 
 " stuck to him." An oriel window, looking upon 
 Bridge Street, is pointed out as marking his room ; 
 
THE UNIVERSITIES. . 281 
 
 and in the master's lodge is a likeness of Cromwell 
 in his later years, said to be the best extant. The 
 gray hair is parted in the middle of the forehead, 
 and hangs down long upon the shoulders, like that 
 of Milton. The forehead is high and swelling, 
 with a deep line sunk between the eyes. The 
 eyes are gray. The complexion is florid and mot- 
 tled, and all the features rugged and large. Heavy, 
 corrugated furrows of decision and resolute will are 
 plowed about the mouth, and the lips are shut like 
 a vice. Otherwise, the face has a calm and be- 
 nevolent look, not unlike that of Benjamin Frank- 
 lin. Indeed — although in an aesthetic point of 
 view the comparison might not be considered a 
 flattering one by the distinguished clergyman — 
 the face struck me as bearing a rough likeness to 
 the leading minister of New Haven. In Sidney 
 Sussex, Cromwell's College, and in two or three 
 other colleges of Cambridge University, we find 
 the head-sources of English Puritanism, which, in 
 its best form, was no wild and unenlightened en- 
 thusiasm, but the product of thoughtful and edu- 
 cated mind. We shall come soon upon the name 
 of Milton. John Robinson, our national father, 
 and the Moses of our national exodus, as well as 
 Elder Brewster, John Cotton, and many others of 
 the principal Puritan leaders and divines, were 
 educated at Cambridge. Sir Henry Vane, the 
 younger, whom Macintosh regarded as not inferior 
 to Bacon in depth of intellect, and to whom Milton 
 addressed the sonnet, who was chosen Governor 
 
282 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 of Massachusetts, and who infused much of his 
 own thoughtful and profound spirit into Puritan 
 institutions at home and in America, was a student 
 of Magdalene College, Oxford. 
 
 A little further on to the south of Sidney Sus- 
 sex, upon St. Andrew's Street, is Christ's College. 
 The front and gate are old ; the other buildings 
 are after a design by Inigo Jones. In the garden 
 stands the famous mulberry-tree said to have been 
 planted by Milton. It is still vigorous, though 
 carefully propped up and mounded around, and its 
 aged trunk is sheathed with lead. The martyr 
 Latimer, John Howe, the prince of theological 
 writers, and Archdeacon Paley, belonged to this 
 college • but its most brilliant name is that of John 
 Milton. He entered in 1624 ; took the degree of 
 Bachelor of Arts in 1628, and that of Master of 
 Arts in 1632. This is the entry in the college rec- 
 ord: "Johannes Milton Londinensis, films Johan- 
 nis, institutus fuit in literarum elementis sub magis 
 tro Hill gymnasii Paulini prsefecto, admissus est pen- 
 sionarius minor, Feb. 12, 1624, sub M ro ' Chappell, 
 solvitque pro ingr. 0. 10s. 0$." Milton has indig- 
 nantly defended himself against the slander of his 
 political enemies, that he left college in disgrace, 
 and calls it " a commodious lie." In answer to the 
 scornful question as to u what were his ways while 
 at the University," he says : " Those morning 
 haunts are what they should be at home, not sleep- 
 ing, or concocting the surfeits of an irregular feast, 
 but up and stirring — in winter, often ere the sound 
 
THE UNIVERSITIES. 283 
 
 of any bell awoke men to labor or to devotion ; in 
 summer, as oft with the bird that first rouses, or not 
 much tardier, to read good authors, or cause them 
 to be read, till the attention be weary, or memory 
 have its full fraught ; then with useful and gener- 
 ous labors preserving the body's health and hardi- 
 ness to render lightsome, clear, and not lumpish 
 obedience to the mind, to the cause of religion and 
 our country's liberty, in sound bodies to stand and 
 cover their stations." There are similar words of 
 Milton which ought to be engraved on the heart of 
 every young man and scholar : " He who would 
 not be frustrated of his hope to write well hereafter 
 in laudable things, ought of himself to be a true 
 poem, that is, a composition and pattern of the best 
 and honorablest things ; not presuming to sing the 
 high praises of heroic men and famous cities, unless 
 he has himself the experiences and the practice of 
 all that is praiseworthy." When we reflect that 
 Milton came within a hair's breadth of laying his 
 own gray head on the block, and in fact invited 
 death with unbending will for truth's sake, we may 
 see in him that " true poem " of a heroic life. It 
 is noticeable that Cambridge has produced all the 
 great poets ; Oxford, with her yearnings and striv- 
 ings, none. Milton were glory enough ; but Spen- 
 ser, Gray, Byron, Coleridge, Wordsworth, Tenny- 
 son (a Lincolnshire man), may be thrown in. It 
 might be said of Cambridge, as Dr. Johnson said 
 of Pembroke College, " We are a nest of singing 
 birds here." Milton, from the extreme elegance 
 
284 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 of his person and liis mind, rather than from any 
 effeminateness of character, was called while in the 
 University, " the lady of Christ's College." The 
 young poet could not have been inspired by out- 
 ward Nature in his own room ; for the miniature 
 dormer-windows are too high to look out of at all. 
 It is a small attic chamber, with very steep narrow 
 stairs leading up to it. The name of " Milton " 
 (so it is said to be, though hard to make out) is 
 cut in the old oaken door. 
 
 Upon the same street, further to the south, is 
 Emmanuel College, " a seminary, " as it has been 
 called, " for Puritan divines." Its founder, Sir 
 Walter Mildmay, was the leader of the Puritan 
 party in Queen Elizabeth's day ; and during the im- 
 mediately succeeding reigns the college flourished 
 beyond any other. It sent forth a great number 
 of preachers, who gave a mighty impulse to the 
 spiritual and political struggles of those days. 
 Would it be too much to trace our own religious 
 and political liberties back to this and its sister col- 
 leges ? This college is intimately and peculiarly 
 American in its names and associations. John 
 Robinson, Samuel Stone and Thomas Hooker the 
 founders of Connecticut, together with Thomas 
 Shepard, and Henry Dunster the second president 
 of Harvard College, were graduates of Emmanuel. 
 This college has a long and more modern Ionic 
 front upon the street, though some of its buildings 
 are old, and of the Tudor Gothic style. Ralph 
 Cudworth was a student of Emmanuel. 
 
THE UNIVERSITIES. 285 
 
 Following St. Andrew's Street down into Re- 
 gent Street, we come upon the extensive grounds 
 and classic edifices of Downing College, the young- 
 est of the university brood, founded in 1800 by Sir 
 George Downing, the descendant of a distinguished 
 Puritan statesman of the same name. Downing; 
 College has some peculiarities in the terms of its 
 admissions and fellowships. 
 
 We have now walked around all the colleges ; 
 and even from this glance we can, I think, see that 
 these venerable piles, these names of living power, 
 these portraits of great Englishmen adorning the 
 public halls where the students gather morning and 
 evening, these historic scenes and walks and shades, 
 are in themselves strong inspiring forces to awaken 
 the best ambition of young minds. Why could we 
 not now begin to have in our own colleges more of 
 this sensible appeal to the past, more of the influ- 
 ence of the commemorative arts, to stimulate the 
 forming educated mind of the country and draw it 
 toward lofty aims and ideas ? 
 
 I was so fortunate, or perhaps unfortunate, as to 
 be in Oxford during " Commemoration " week. 
 Its heat, bustle, and confusion remind one vividly 
 of " Commencement " season at Yale or Harvard. 
 The town was so full that I was obliged to find 
 lodgings in Woodstock, eight miles distant. Every 
 vehicle had also been forestalled, though at last an 
 antique chariot was dragged to light, whose bowl- 
 like body, with its perked-up lofty ends, the one 
 precisely like the other, made it resemble a Roman 
 
286 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 galley, such as might have been used in the sea- 
 fight at Actium. Nevertheless, a comfortable voy- 
 age was made to the " Bear Inn," Woodstock. In 
 good season the next morning, of a bright hot July 
 day, I returned to Oxford. Across the flat mead- 
 ows and through the shimmering summer air the 
 elegant spires and domes of Oxford appeared ; and 
 on passing " Martyr's Memorial," the general 
 movement and stir of the great day was already 
 visible in the wide half-rural street. The shovel- 
 crowned Oxford caps and billowy black silk gowns 
 of the collegians, were rapidly sailing to and fro ; 
 multitudes of ladies were astir to secure good 
 places ; and the more ponderous bodies of univer- 
 sity dignitaries were beginning to slowly collect 
 their forces. The point of interest was the build- 
 ing called the " Theatre," on Broad Street, and a 
 crowd of visitors had gathered at the closed iron 
 gate that opened into the yard in front of the 
 " schools." Here stood the proctors, or in Oxford 
 parlance, " pokers," keeping guard with their long 
 sticks. Rolls of thunderous noise came from the 
 impatient students assembled within the building. 
 By the courtesy of a doctor of divinity, in scarlet 
 robe, with sleeves of black velvet, I at length 
 gained admission. There the scene was peculiar. 
 The room is a lofty circular area, and the under- 
 graduates were clustered like a great swarm of 
 bees, tier above tier, in the upper galleries. There 
 was a circle of ladies in the lower gallery ; but it 
 must have been a considerable trial of the nerves 
 
THE UNIVERSITIES. 287 
 
 for them to remain there. Surely, it was a won- 
 derfully noisy time, for English lungs are powerful. 
 There is very fair wit sometimes struck out by the 
 students on Commemoration Day ; but I must say 
 that I did not hear any, perhaps from the fact that 
 it was so difficult to hear any thing at all. For one 
 just from the New World — from the woods as it 
 were — feeling a proper sense of awe in regard to 
 all things connected with a university founded by 
 Alfred the Great, it was rather odd to be suddenly 
 ushered into such a babel and roar of nonsense, 
 proceeding from the throats of the express flower of 
 British youth. 
 
 As the begowned regents, doctors, and officials 
 of high and low degree began to assemble and take 
 their seats on a lower circle of the proscenium, 
 there was now a general groan for some one, called 
 out by name, and then a tremendous hurra for 
 another, but the groans predominated. Brays of 
 donkeys, crowings of cocks, laughings of hyenas, 
 and all the uncommon sounds that a crowd of col- 
 lege boys, totally unrestrained and stimulated by 
 rivalry, can make, gave the only variety to the 
 steady Bull-of-Bashan roar kept up by all. Wit, 
 sharp and saucy, would have been a relief; but, as 
 I say, I did not hear it. The capital hit at Tenny- 
 son, some years ago, made by a collegian, is quite 
 familiar perhaps to my readers, but will bear re- 
 peating. The poet is said to be as negligent in his 
 personal appearance and dress as poets commonly 
 are. That morning as he came into the " Thea- 
 
288 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 tre " and took his seat among the distinguished 
 guests, he was particularly unkempt and uncared 
 for in the outer man. .A cool, drawling voice was 
 heard from the highest student gallery, saying : 
 " Did your mother call you early, Mr. Tennyson?" 
 The pensive author of " May Queen " might have 
 been excused for laughing heartily. 
 
 At length the High Chancellor rose — a fine- 
 looking, dignified man — and putting on his cap, 
 pronounced the usual opening Latin address. For 
 a few moments he was allowed to proceed quietly, 
 and I thought that the famous Oxford saturnalia 
 was ended, and that the regular exercises of the 
 day had begun. But no ! A voice from the stu- 
 dent tiers began to mimic the tone of the speaker ; 
 then as any personal eulogistic allusion occurred, 
 some one would squeak out, " Put it on strong ! " 
 Then there would be a general clamor, and several 
 times in the course of the twenty minutes' address, 
 the Vice-Chancellor was compelled to stop, trying 
 to look composed, but, as it appeared to me, feeling 
 considerably chafed. A Latin essay was then read, 
 interrupted at every sentence by " We 've heard 
 that before," and " The rest to be understood," etc. 
 The speaker struggled gallantly through, like a 
 stanch craft in a hurricane. Any tendency to 
 the Ciceronian was instantly greeted with sarcastic 
 shrieks, and rotund Latin sentences, with plenty of 
 qualificatives and superlatives, helped out the ora- 
 tor's sentences in the same tone in which they were 
 delivered, only " a little more so." So also fared 
 
THE UNIVERSITIES. 289 
 
 the addresses of the Professor of Civil Law and the 
 Public Orator. But the pieces of the undergradu- 
 ates were much less interrupted. They were, 
 however, hurried through in low, monotonous 
 voices, and at railroad speed, as if the speaker 
 either feared the " boys-terous " comment or de- 
 spised the part he was performing. The Newde- 
 gate or Prize Poem — the same for which Reginald 
 Heber wrote his " Palestine " — was well deliv- 
 ered, and had a happily chosen theme, touching 
 successfully now and then the chord of British pat- 
 riotism, and calling forth great applause. There 
 was also a Carmen Latinum, by a student of Balliol 
 College. After the exercises, which were rather 
 bluntly concluded, were ended, I had time to look 
 about the " Theatre." It was designed by Sir 
 Christopher Wren, and was the gift of Archbishop 
 Sheldon, whose plan in its foundation was to remove 
 the secular ceremonies of the University from sa- 
 cred buildings — a hint for our colleges. Here 
 are celebrated " all the public acts of the Univer- 
 sity, the Comitia and Encoenia, and Lord Crewe's 
 annual commemoration of founders and benefac- 
 tors " — the great day at Oxford. This building 
 forms one of that constellation of grand old edifices, 
 made by the schools, the Bodleian Library, the 
 Radcliffe Library, and Christ Church, which are 
 the common heart and centre of the University. 
 
 The stone of which the Oxford College buildings 
 are built is unfortunately a very soft stone, and the 
 present ragged, scarred, and peeled condition of 
 
 19 
 
290 OLD -ENGLAND. 
 
 those beautiful structures can hardly be imagined. 
 Some of them are completely honey-combed. In 
 many instances they are rebuilding, or rather mak- 
 ing over the edifice stone for stone, in exactly the 
 old style and pattern. 
 
 The ivy-mantled walls, green archery lawns, 
 shadowy walks, brown sombre buildings, and ven- 
 erable quadrangles of New College, William of 
 Wykeham's College, especially delighted me. 
 This is fed by the tributary of Winchester school, 
 itself a titular college. 
 
 Old Exeter is undergoing a thorough transforma- 
 tion, and looks astonished at her own youthful 
 magnificence. Her new chapel rivals the ancient 
 glories of the place, especially in its stone and 
 wood carvings, in which delicate passion-flowers, 
 cut in oak, wreathe in with vine-leaves and lilies. 
 Froude the historian studied at Exeter, and there 
 caught the new impulse for historical studies which 
 Dr. Arnold introduced from Germany. The beau- 
 tiful soaring spire of St. Mary's Church, a majestic 
 wedge, so strong and yet so light, and the square 
 and pinnacled tower of Magdalen College, upon 
 which the Latin anthem is sung every New- Year's 
 morn, form the striking landmarks of Oxford, seen 
 far over the flat meadows. 
 
 One is tempted to lay irreverent hand upon the 
 smooth-worn monster brass nose of the gate of 
 Brasenose College. It is said, however, that the 
 name of the college has nothing to do with " Brass," 
 but was derived from " Brasin-hous," the ancient 
 
THE UNIVERSITIES. 291 
 
 name of " Brew-house." Bishop Heber was a stu- 
 dent of this college. 
 
 Most appropriately has this college honored the 
 memory of another of her noblest sons, Frederick 
 W. Robertson, with a memorial window in the 
 chapel, surmounted by the inscription on a scroll 
 " Te Deum laudat prophetarum laudabilis nume- 
 rus." By his splendid powers that burned out 
 with their own energy so quickly, and by his 
 thoughts that seem to enter into the very shekinah 
 of spiritual Truth, he has lighted the dark and 
 struggling way of thousands. The true life which 
 he lived, the great " fight of faith " which he waged, 
 reflect back a purer glory on his college, than if he 
 had fallen (as he sometimes wished to do) in the 
 trenches before Sebastopol, or had won the fame of 
 the first scholar on earth. In these walls he con- 
 secrated his early manhood to Christ ; and it was 
 all his life his constant thought and prayer how he 
 might aid young men, especially educated young 
 men, in their conflicts and doubts to come to the 
 same Master, and find in him a higher light than 
 that of learning — "to begin in youth to say with 
 David, O God, thou art my God, early will I seek 
 thee." 
 
 Oriel, Dr. Arnold's college, is the most battered 
 and worn-looking of all the University buildings, 
 which, taken together, form a kind of monumental 
 history of England, exhibiting all its great historic 
 epochs. The sombre influence even of Spain may 
 be clearly traced in their architecture. 
 
292 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 Queen's College, where the " boar's head " is 
 served up on Christmas in memory of the legend 
 of the student's escape by thrusting a volume of 
 Aristotle down a wild boar's throat, has so fine a 
 front on High Street that its modern style may be 
 pardoned. Henry V. was once a scholar of this 
 college. 
 
 But there is nothing in Oxford which, taken as 
 a whole, quite equals Christ's College, at the termi- 
 nation of High Street, for the number of members 
 upon its foundation, its great names, its " quads," 
 and its famous " Hall," one hundred and fifteen 
 feet by forty. This college, built by Cardinal 
 Wolsey on the scale of his own magnificence, is 
 par eminence the noblemen's college. These tufted 
 gentlemen occupy at meal-time a raised platform 
 by themselves — something which our republican 
 taste could hardly brook, and which I have seen 
 criticized in English papers. To spend a sum- 
 mer's afternoon sauntering along the broad walk 
 of Christ's College, looking out upon the great 
 smooth meadows and shining Cherwell on one side, 
 and beautiful Merton College, with its masses of 
 splendid trees and gardens on the other, with now 
 and then the deep tones of the big bell in " Tom 
 Tower " filling the air with solemn sound, Oxford 
 would seem to be a place in which to forget the 
 present, to- lose the future, and to walk and muse 
 life away in the dim cloisters of the past. Before 
 leaving Christ's College it were well to remember 
 that that great and holy man, William Tyndale, 
 
THE UNIVERSITIES. 293 
 
 was educated at Oxford, and was a poor obscure 
 canon of Christ's College while yet in its infancy. 
 Here he conceived the plan of printing an English 
 translation of the Bible, and in conversation with 
 his fellow-priests who derided the idea, he said : 
 " If God spare me, before many years I will cause 
 a boy that driveth a plow to know more of the 
 Scriptures than you do." And this leads me to 
 speak of a still nobler spot in Oxford, in comparison 
 with which these academic buildings, with their 
 thickly clustering associations of wisdom and learn- 
 ing sink into insignificance — I mean " The Mar- 
 tyrs' Memorial," erected over the spot where the 
 three chief martyrs of the Reformation, Cranmer, 
 Ridley, and Latimer, suffered. This beautiful 
 monument marks, as it were, the spiritual centre 
 of England. It is such spots as these — the 
 " Martyrs' Tree " at Brentwood, the place where 
 Hooper was burned at Gloucester, and Smithfield 
 Market — which make England holy ground. He 
 who can read the account of those martyrdoms, 
 especially in the fresh language of Froude, and not 
 have his faith quickened and his heart filled with 
 high emotion, has no English blood in his veins or 
 Christian feeling in his soul. Through the death- 
 less constancy of these men, we in America enjoy 
 a pure faith and read a free Bible. They but testi- 
 fied to, they sealed with their blood, the faith which 
 already lived and burned in the hearts of the com- 
 mon people of England. They were upheld by 
 the encouraging words and prayers of the common 
 
294 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 people as they went to the stake. They fought 
 the battle of spiritual liberty for the English people, 
 and for us who now live, and for all men. 
 
 My first impression of Oxford still remains, that 
 it is the palace of the scholar — his paradise of 
 literary rest, his final reward — rather than a place 
 to make vigorous scholars and workingmen. Yet 
 somehow or other England's great men have been 
 educated here, and I have been struck by a remark 
 in the " London Quarterly," drawing a comparison 
 between a young man brought up at foreign uni- 
 versities and an English educated youth: " At the 
 moment they have left their respective places of 
 education, the young Englishman has little to show 
 for his time and money, while the foreign young 
 man is full of information and accomplishment. 
 But in ten or twelve years the tables are turned. 
 The foreign university man is still ' a lad in mind, 
 and a babbler on the surface of every subject.' 
 The Englishman has gone into the business of life 
 with a mind so trained that he grasps at will the 
 necessary knowledge of the subject before him." 
 There must be something in English education, 
 with its everlasting drill in Latin and Greek com- 
 position, and its hard metaphysics and logic, which, 
 after all, develops and toughens the mental facul- 
 ties. It may be narrower in range than the Ameri- 
 can course of study, but it nevertheless " educates," 
 draws out the intellectual powers, and gives them 
 manly grip and force. It teaches men to think 
 closely and write well. But it is said that in an 
 
THE UNIVERSITIES. 295 
 
 Oxford education there is a want of definite aim and 
 earnest principle. Beside Greek literature and 
 English metaphysics, and now perhaps, since Dr. 
 Arnold's time, the study of history, in the whole 
 range of liberal studies which makes a man skillful 
 in the business of life — especially the departments 
 of physical science and modern languages — there 
 is still a confessed deficiency at Oxford. Aristotle 
 still rules. The physical sciences and modern 
 languages have obtained no real recognition or 
 solid respectable foothold at Oxford ; and the same, 
 with some modification, might be said of Cam- 
 bridge. Many old-fashioned ideas prevent a more 
 enlarged and practical course of study. The study 
 of divinity, for example, which is above all others 
 a branch fitted for maturer years and for a profes- 
 sional course, is pursued by academical students 
 with no particular religious aim or preparation of 
 spirit, and only to a superficial extent at best. Yet 
 custom compels the reading of so much of Church 
 history and theology, in which there is, after all, 
 very little personal interest evoked. It is a system 
 of getting themselves up for examinations, in which 
 all the ingenuity and efforts of young men are con- 
 centrated to pass a critical goal, and to make the 
 show, if they have not the reality, of thorough 
 scholarship. The real hard study at Oxford, we 
 have the impression, is mostly done by the young 
 men who are striving for scholarships and univer- 
 sity prizes. These are tempting baits. They confer 
 even literary and political distinction ; and some 
 
296 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 of them amount to a substantial life-income, — say 
 from ^£200 to ,£400, — so that it is a university 
 saying that " a high degree man supports himself 
 and his mother and sisters." To obtain these 
 prizes there must be excessive hard study. Men 
 are trained for these mental contests with the pain- 
 ful care and minute attention of physical athletes. 
 They are reduced to a state of pure intellectual 
 working activitv, and then " crammed " with the 
 express juices of the rarest scholarship. As the 
 " lecture " is the vital principle of the German 
 university system, and the " recitation ' : of the 
 American, so, although there are professional lec- 
 tures and recitations, " private tutorage " is the 
 chief characteristic of the English university meth- 
 od of study. This of course adds greatly to the 
 expenses of student life, but has its advantages. It 
 might perhaps be introduced to a certain extent 
 into our American college system, thus aiding the 
 support of worthy scholars, and smoothing real 
 difficulties in the path of the learner himself. For 
 a young student to have the continual assistance 
 of a highly scholarly mind, of a "junior wrangler" 
 for instance, fresh and victorious from the arduous 
 conflict, would be an immense aid in stimulating 
 and directing his energies, although in manv cases 
 it may produce, as it does, intellectual weakness 
 and enervation. But those who do not aim at 
 high degrees in the English university', may escape 
 with comparatively little labor. There is not that 
 uniform and steady purpose brought to bear upon 
 
THE UNIVERSITIES. 297 
 
 the whole body of students that the American sys- 
 tem of daily recitation and " marking " for stand 
 produces. While the tone of scholarship among 
 the best scholars is far higher than with us, the 
 general standard both for entering and continuing 
 in the University is, according to the late " Parlia- 
 mentary Commissioners' Report," very imperfect. 
 This Report says, among other things : " The 
 standard of the matriculation examination varies at 
 different colleges. At Christ Church a candidate 
 is expected to construe a passage (which he has 
 read before) of Virgil and another of Homer, to 
 write a bit of Latin prose, to answer some simple 
 grammatical questions, and show some acquaint- 
 ance with arithmetic." In 1862 one third failed 
 even to pass this simple test. This hardly coincides 
 with Mr. Bristed's estimate of the standard of 
 scholarship at the English schools. He says, " An 
 Eton boy of nineteen is two years in advance of a 
 Yale or Harvard valedictorian in all classical knowl- 
 edge, and in all classical elegances immeasurably 
 ahead of him." But Mr. Bristed, though he has 
 written an admirable book, has, we know, a sort 
 of chronic prejudice against American scholarship 
 and American colleges. Some one has classified 
 the students of Oxford into — 1, the reading men ; 
 2, the idle slow men ; 3, the good kind of fellows ; 
 4, the idle fast or do-nothing men ; 5, the regular 
 fast men. Nevertheless, we can but acknowledge 
 the superior thoroughness of English scholarship, 
 its richer culture, and more permanent and sub- 
 
298 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 stantial depth. What it does do it does well 
 Those who are scholars are genuine ones. They 
 are inspired with a true love of sound learning 
 which never leaves them. 
 
 The moral tone of the English university is not 
 so high as that of our American colleges. Infi- 
 nitely more money is spent in proportion to the 
 number of students for horses, sporting, wine- 
 suppers, and fast living. This is partly accounted 
 for by the fact that as a general thing only the v 
 wealthiest class of young men can be educated at 
 the two great universities, (for it would be useless 
 to deny what they themselves glory in, that they 
 are the highest expressions of the aristocratic prin- 
 ciple in English society,) and partly from the 
 simpler tone of New England and American life. 
 Drinking and other vices have a lamentably free 
 admission into these centres of Old-World civiliza- 
 tion, where London itself is distant but half an 
 hour's ride on the railroad. It were surely to be 
 hoped that the young men of our American col- 
 leges will strive to compete with those of Oxford 
 and Cambridge and of the German Universities, 
 not in their deplorable rowdyism and their ability 
 to drink eighty c schoppen ' of beer apiece, but in 
 their true English manliness and muscle, and their 
 high German ideals of brotherhood and broad in- 
 dependent culture. 
 
 There is one admirable feature that we might 
 learn from the English university — its delightfully 
 genial and social spirit. This is nourished by the 
 
THE UNIVERSITIES. 299 
 
 intimate family life of each particular college, hav- 
 ing its own common table, home customs, and 
 traditions. This sentiment of profound college 
 esprit de corps never wears away, and results in 
 friendships of the most tender, noble, and lasting 
 kind. The Englishman's capacity for friendship, 
 with all his crustaceous pride of temper, is, I have 
 sometimes thought, greater than an American h ; 
 and why greater ? Not from any greater depth of 
 soul, but because the boy is kept fresh in him by 
 the constant cultivation of early associations, and 
 especially by the sympathies and memories of col- 
 lege days. There is far more poetry in English col- 
 lege-life than in ours. It is not so matter-of-fact. 
 The continual association with what is venerable in 
 the past and beautiful in Art and Nature, educates 
 the heart as well as the intellect, and the whole 
 man is rounded into nobler proportions. The 
 " humanistic " element in education, as Mr. Glad- 
 stone calls it, is more thoroughly cultivated than 
 with us. There certainly should be in every en- 
 lightened land those profound and tranquil springs 
 of learning, removed aside from the pathway of 
 traffic and the disturbing influences of a selfish, 
 superficial, and money-making world ; where the 
 most noble and generous susceptibilities of the na- 
 ture are developed ; where youth may have its 
 intellectual and spiritual ideals raised above the 
 standards and successes of ordinary practical life. 
 Then, when youth comes down into the world's 
 agitated current, it will ride upon it strongly and 
 
300 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 safely, for it has an inward strength that is superior 
 to the world. 
 
 I need not spend time in speaking of the out- 
 ward organization and government of the English 
 university. Being almost entirely aristocratic, or 
 more properly, oligarchical, it does not possess the 
 organic unity of an American or even German 
 university. It is a collection of different inde- 
 pendent colleges, each absolute in its own domin- 
 ions, having its own laws, existing by its own funds, 
 and extremely jealous of the least infringement of 
 its rights by the general government. Originally 
 an ecclesiastical school attached to some religious 
 house, each college still retains something of its 
 exclusive monkish spirit, which stands in the way 
 of very great unity of governmental discipline, and 
 perhaps of rapid general improvement. 
 
 The full title of Cambridge College is, " The 
 Chancellor, Masters, and Scholars of the Univer- 
 sity of Cambridge." 1 These form the general 
 government, concentrated in the higher assembly, 
 which is thus composed : " All persons who are 
 masters of arts or doctors in one or other of the 
 three faculties, viz., divinity, civil law, or physic, 
 having their names upon the college boards, hold- 
 ing any university office, or being resident in the 
 town of Cambridge, have votes in this assembly." 
 Besides this general senate, there is a more special 
 council chosen yearly, called " The Caput," which 
 approves of every proposal before it is submitted to 
 
 1 Le Keux's Memorials of Cambridge. 
 
THE UNIVERSITIES. 301 
 
 the senate. " The Caput consists of the vice- 
 chancellor, a doctor in each of the faculties, two 
 masters of arts, and other subordinate members, 
 nominated by the vice-chancellor. " The meeting 
 of the senate is held about once a fortnight, the 
 quorum being forty members at its first session, 
 and twenty-four at its second. If a motion pass 
 the two houses of the senate (called regents and 
 non-regents) it becomes a law. Each degree which 
 is conferred undergoes the scrutiny of the senate. 
 The strictly executive authority consists of a Chan- 
 cellor, who is the representative head of the uni- 
 versity, and who has authority for a mile around 
 the town, excepting in cases of mayhem and fel- 
 ony ; a high steward, who has power to try cases 
 of felony ; a vice-chancellor, elected annually by 
 the senate, who does the Chancellor's duty in his 
 absence, and who is to all intents and purposes the 
 acting head of the university, taking the place of 
 our president ; a commissary ; public orator ; as- 
 sessor ; two proctors ; and other minor administra- 
 tive officers. There are two courts of law to try 
 all cases (excepting those of mayhem and felony) 
 having relation to any member of the university ; 
 which courts are conducted upon the common prin- 
 ciples and forms of civil law. The two members 
 of Parliament from Cambridge are chosen by the 
 senate. The professors' salaries are drawn from 
 varied sources and from very ancient and quaint 
 foundations ; some of them come directly from the 
 revenue of the English government. 
 
302 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 Perhaps the grand distinguishing feature of the 
 English college, which, above all others, makes it 
 differ from the German and American college, is 
 what has been already alluded to, its system of 
 " Fellowships." The college exists, above all, for 
 the benefit of its " Fellows," who enjoy its literary 
 and social advantages to the utmost. From this 
 body, continually replenished by the best scholars 
 of the University, the lecturers, professors, and offi- 
 cers are drawn. They are in fact the permanent 
 nucleus, " the pillar and ground " of the university 
 organization. They represent and control it. The 
 students seem to come in as a secondary and neces- 
 sary class, or as forming the material out of which 
 " Fellows " are made and supported. 
 
 This system, monastic in its origin, and monastic, 
 until very recently, in its condition of celibacy, has 
 its evil as well as its good, even as it relates to the 
 " Fellows " themselves. It brings together, it is 
 true, a body of highly cultivated men, who are 
 constantly increasing their mental cultivation and 
 heaping up erudition. But the tendency is for them 
 to become refined and critical, instead of broad- 
 minded and practical scholars, penetrated with the 
 spirit of the age, and having living sympathy with 
 living men. They are tempted to work for the 
 reputation of their college, instead of the highest 
 good of the multitude of young minds who come 
 under their shaping influence. They do not also, 
 it is averred, actually produce as much in the way 
 of original scholarship as might be expected from 
 
THE UNIVERSITIES. 303 
 
 such splendid opportunities. Besides, the system 
 which sets a premium upon learning, and which 
 makes the noblest studies the means and measure 
 of pecuniary reward, cannot be considered as 
 founded uppn the broadest idea of education. The 
 German idea is in the main superior to this. These 
 Fellowships, since they may be held for a certain 
 time without residence at the University, are, I 
 have seen it stated, sought for with great avidity by 
 those who expect to become lawyers, physicians, 
 and clergymen, and who do not intend to connect 
 their lives permanently with the University; in 
 this way they are afforded support and a certain 
 standing, as it were, in the transition period before 
 they are well able to stand by their own strength 
 and efforts. The temptation in such a case would 
 seem to be, to retain as long as possible that sup- 
 port and stimulus, whether of a moral or pecuniary 
 nature, which is so much needed at the very outset 
 of a professional life. 
 
 Therefore, while we honor and reverence these 
 glorious old universities, the parents of our own 
 colleges, the nurses of English learning and letters, 
 we would not copy them too closely, nor would we 
 hastily pronounce upon the inferiority of our own 
 systems of education for our own peculiar wants 
 and civilization. While the German university is 
 somewhat too advanced, learned, and professional 
 for our present needs, the English university is in 
 some respects too exclusively national, stiff, and 
 impractical for our imitation. We can learn much 
 
304 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 from both ; and so long as we have before us such 
 living representatives of English university educa- 
 tion as Gladstone, Goldwin Smith, Trench, Stan- 
 ley, Froude, Kingsley, Ruskin, Lord Derby, Ten- 
 nyson, we must feel that there is something in it 
 whose depth we have not comprehended, and which 
 draws from sources of life and power that are un- 
 seen. 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 LONDON TO FOLKESTONE. 
 
 The Archbishop of Canterbury, in a playful 
 mood, is said to have sent a message to Miss 
 Marsh, the authoress of "The Life of Headley 
 Vicars," asking her " when and by whom she had 
 taken orders ? " I wished to see this noble Chris- 
 tian woman, and the barn where she preached to 
 the poor. Seven or eight miles to the south of 
 London, leaving Sydenham and the Crystal Palace 
 a little to the west, is Beckenham, a common coun- 
 try English village, pretty enough as that part of 
 Surrey County is, but in no way remarkable. 
 Walking past the inn, and the butcher's shop, and 
 the baker's, and the blacksmith's, I did indeed at 
 last come to the barn standing in the meadows, 
 where Miss Marsh collects her motley audience of 
 delvers and ditchers. Her own residence is at the 
 other end of the village, in a pleasant mansion set 
 back a little from the road, with many fine old 
 trees and a smooth lawn about it. Before I saw 
 Miss Marsh I visited the village church, where 
 there is a monument recently erected to the mem- 
 ory of Captain Vicars. It is neatly designed, with 
 the ornament of a carved sword, sash-knot and 
 
 20 
 
306 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 scroll. This is one expression in the epitaph : 
 " He fell in battle, and ' slept in Jesus ' on the 
 night of the 22d of March, 1855, and was buried 
 before Sebastopol." 
 
 Miss Marsh, as she entered the parlor with a 
 quiet step and a pleasant greeting, impressed me 
 with her dignity and winning feminine kindliness. 
 In personal appearance she is commanding and 
 handsome, and she dresses with exceeding good 
 taste. She does not neglect this means of personal 
 influence with the poor and humble. I can well 
 conceive how the rough " navvies " might be quite 
 carried away with her ; for there is nothing in her 
 looks or conversation that bespeaks the straigbt- 
 laced religionist, but rather the noble and accom- 
 plished Christian lady. 
 
 I do not feel at liberty to trespass further in de- 
 scribing the frank courtesy which took me immedi- 
 ately into the family circle, nor the very pleasant 
 hour I spent, especially in conversation with her 
 father Dr. Marsh, whose venerable face might be 
 truly called " a perpetual benediction." The 
 widow of the hero of " Victory Won " was making 
 a visit in Beckenham at the same time, and she 
 was put under my escort back to London. She 
 told me that Miss Marsh was a true friend, and 
 that " when she once became interested in one's 
 welfare, she never left that person till the good she 
 strove for was accomplished." It was easy enough 
 to see where her power lay. It is in her perfect 
 trust — her great-souled confidence in God and 
 
LONDON TO FOLKESTONE. 307 
 
 man. She believes that sympathy shown to any 
 human being will meet some return, and will afford 
 some standing-place, some opportunity of good. 
 To a masculine will she unites a true woman's 
 heart, and both are consecrated to the work of edu- 
 cating and raising up the forsaken classes of society. 
 She leads this " forlorn hope " with a cheerful 
 courage that should inspire imitation. She is the 
 Florence Nightingale to the religious wants of poor 
 soldiers and seamen. She showed me the method 
 in which she kept the accounts, or acted as Savings 
 Bank, for hundreds of these people. These two 
 noble women were the ensamples of our own 
 American and Christian Commission ladies during 
 the war, and they are only worthy of more honor, 
 not that they have done more, but because they 
 were first in the work. 
 
 I am now going to take my reader a little fur- 
 ther down into the county of Hampshire, or Hants. 
 With a letter of introduction quite unexpectedly 
 put in my hands to the " Rector of Eversley," 
 which offered a temptation I could not resist, I 
 sought out on the map of the county the point 
 called Eversley. To get at it one leaves the 
 railroad at the Winchfield Station, on the South- 
 western Railway. Here I hired a carriage and 
 drove some twelve miles over the sandy moor- 
 lands, skirting around the village of Hartley Wint- 
 ney. The last part of the way was through a wil- 
 derness of blooming heather. It was one sea of 
 purple flowers as far as the eye could reach, and 
 
308 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 the ride through it was exhilarating. It was, if I 
 mistake not, the common " ling " with bell-shaped 
 blossoms, quite fragrant, and the delight of the 
 honey-bee. In the midst of this purple waste, 
 down in a little hollow, was the " Rector of Evers- 
 ley's " house ; and near by, almost in the garden, 
 was his church ; and they formed the only village 
 that I could see. 
 
 Charles Kingsley's home was the very picture of 
 a rural parsonage, or poet's dwelling, away from 
 noise and men. The garden and lawn were orna- 
 mental without being stiff, and the windows and 
 walls were smothered in luxuriant vines and roses. 
 All the apartments and bow-windows stood open, 
 and there seemed to be a free communication with 
 out-door Nature. The birds might sing through 
 and in the house. Unfortunately the master of 
 this pleasant house was away. I was hospitably 
 entertained in Mr. Kingsley's own study, which was 
 indeed next to seeing himself. I could not help 
 glancing around the room — might I say " den " ? 
 Some stalwart old folios of the " Fathers " looked 
 like the rough bark out of which the honey of 
 " Hypatia " and other books of exquisite flavor 
 and spiritual richness had been drawn. There 
 appeared to be a good collection of historical works, 
 and the whole, as far as I could read at a glance, 
 formed an interesting and rare library — just the 
 one that awakened the appetite to look and search 
 further. An oak fragment of one of the ships of 
 the Spanish Armada hung over the fireplace. 
 
LONDON TO FOLKESTONE. 309 
 
 Pipes were not wanting and walking-sticks — but 
 enough of this raiding upon a man's private domin- 
 ions in his absence ! 
 
 Kingsley is still what may be called a young 
 man, as are indeed many of those living authors 
 such as Ruskin and Matthew Arnold, who have 
 breathed new freedom and power into English lit- 
 erature. He was born at Holne Vicarage on the 
 borders of Dartmoor in Devonshire, and was at 
 one time a pupil of Derwent Coleridge. The spirit 
 of freedom has long lived in his family. The 
 Kingsleys of Cheshire were noted for their fidelity 
 to the Parliament in the civil wars, and one branch 
 of the family emigrated to America, from whom 
 the late Professor Kingsley, of Yale College, was a 
 descendant. A relative of Froude the historian, 
 he has perhaps thereby been brought in contact 
 with the new and independent ideas of English 
 History, of which he forms as it were the prophet 
 or poet. And whatever may be thought by some 
 of his theological shortcomings, as the ardent 
 champion of his friend Maurice, he has vigorously 
 striven to carry Christianity into practical life, and 
 to infuse its higher spirit into the very framework 
 of society. He has advocated a religion which 
 has warm blood in it, and can feel, think, run, 
 and work. He considers religion, in the words 
 of an old English divine, as " the seed of a deified 
 nature." Let us hope that he may never be faith- 
 less to his principles, as some of his latest utter- 
 ances awaken the fear of his being. He must 
 
310 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 deny himself in an unscrupulous and bad sense to 
 become a defender of injustice, or of power against 
 the poor. If he do this, notwithstanding a great 
 enthusiasm for him, he may go to the shades where, 
 alas ! many dead heroes have gone before him. 
 This is indeed a small threat as far as myself is 
 concerned, but, if I mistake not, it will also be the 
 united judgment of an American public opinion 
 which has heretofore passionately honored and 
 loved Kingsley, and the entire loss of whose favor, 
 which has been called an English author's verdict 
 of posterity, no man living, be he ever so great, 
 can well afford to suffer. 
 
 I went into the plain, old-fashioned church where 
 Mr. Kingsley then ministered to his humble congre- 
 gation. A young relative of his told me that his 
 congregation was chiefly composed of laboring peo- 
 ple, " clod-hoppers," as he called them. " But," he 
 added, "he manages to interest them wonderfully." 
 He said that young officers from the camp of Al- 
 dershott, a few miles distant, were in the habit of 
 riding over to hear Mr. Kingsley. They probably 
 recognized the true fighter in him — the true " sol- 
 dier-priest." 
 
 To turn to another topic. The people of Europe 
 may be divided into two classes, those who drink 
 wine, and those who drink beer. The Englishman 
 vies with the German in his insatiable love of beer. 
 Its small fountains are spouting night and day in 
 town and country. Our friend Gough thinks that 
 they are fountains of unadulterated evil, but that 
 
LONDON TO FOLKESTONE. 311 
 
 Englishman is poor indeed who cannot have his 
 mug of ale at dinner. Three fine counties, Kent, 
 Sussex, and Surrey, are almost entirely devoted to 
 the raising of hops. In Nottingham hops are also 
 grown, but they are of a weaker flavor. There js 
 no prettier sight than an English hop-garden with 
 its festooned and flowing vines, its narrow lanes, 
 and checkered lights. It is far more beautiful than 
 a cropped vineyard of France or Germany. And 
 the numberless little neat white drying-houses with 
 their red-tiled pointed towers, and crane-like 
 wooden flues or chimneys for carrying off the reek 
 of the hops, are not unpicturesque. The drying 
 process lasts from eight to ten hours. Fuel that is 
 smokeless or nearly so must be used. The pick- 
 ing commences when the flower is of a straw-color 
 turning to brown. During the hop harvest in 
 September there is a merry time throughout the 
 length and breadth of these counties. It is sober 
 England turned stroller and gypsy. Men, women, 
 and children, beggars, strangers, Irishmen, Scotch- 
 men, Welchmen, and poor London people, stream 
 into the hop districts and gather the harvest, sleep- 
 ins mostlv out on the fields in tents. But the hop 
 is the most precarious of crops, and fortunes are 
 annually lost and won in its delicate speculations. 
 The very abundance of the harvest sometimes de- 
 stroys its value ; the duty upon hops is extremely 
 heavy, and as the hop raisers declare, very unjust. 
 It is laid upon the amount produced, instead of by 
 the acre or ad valorem; so that the producer in 
 
312 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 one county may raise more and get less, than one 
 in another county who raises less in quantity but 
 better in quality. The total number of acres under 
 the cultivation of hops is said to be not far from 
 fifty thousand, the region of Rochester raising the 
 largest crop, and that of Canterbury the next 
 largest. The queen of the hop-rearing districts 
 and the royal city of Kent, is Canterbury, fifty-six 
 miles from London and seven from the sea-shore. 
 It is a place now of some 15,000 inhabitants. Its 
 Saxon name was Cantwarabyrig, or " city of the 
 men of Kent." It is said to be older than Rome, 
 and at the time of the Conquest it contained more 
 inhabitants than London. Truly a fair sight it is, 
 lying " compact together " in the vale of the Stour, 
 with a circle of picturesque windmills standing 
 around it on the low hills, and engirt by its hop 
 gardens and trees, its antique buildings, and the 
 cathedral rising from its bosom like a very " city of 
 God." It is an English Damascus for situation. 
 What multitudes of pilgrims once poured into it to 
 visit the shrine of a Becket ! There was the seat 
 of the missionary operations of Augustine, the 
 apostle of England. " Watling Street " of the 
 Romans which traversed England, the English 
 Appian Way, ran through Canterbury, and here 
 still retains its ancient name. But one of the old 
 gates of Canterbury, that called " Westgate," re- 
 mains standing by the puny black stream of the 
 Stour, and forms a narrow arched entrance be- 
 tween two formidable and battlemented round 
 
LONDON TO FOLKESTONE. 313 
 
 towers, reminding one of Hotspur's gate at Aln- 
 wick. In the little lane called " Le Mercerie," 
 leading up to the Cathedral from High Street, was 
 situated the " Tabard Inn," sometimes called 
 " Chequers Inn," where the Canterbury pilgrims 
 rested. 
 
 The Cathedral is a gray pile, with an elegant 
 central tower called " The Angel Tower," two 
 hundred and eighty-five feet high ; the porch is an 
 exquisite specimen of the Perpendicular Style, and 
 over its door was formerly carved the scene of 
 Thomas a Becket's assassination. The spot where 
 this event occurred was in the north cross aisle at 
 the end of the nave, and this part of the church 
 bears the name of " The Martyrdom." The im- 
 perious prelate died with dignity, — 
 
 " darkening with his blood 
 The monument of holy Theobald." * 
 
 The day of his death, the 29th of December, 1170, 
 was long held sacred by the Papal Church in Eng- 
 land. His shrine in Trinity Chapel behind the 
 screen of the high altar, which became from the 
 gifts of innumerable pilgrims one of the richest in 
 the world, has been removed for centuries, but the 
 stone steps which ascended to it, worn deep by the 
 feet of myriad votaries, are still to be seen. One is 
 also shown the spot from which a small square 
 piece of stone stained with Becket's blood was cut 
 out and sent to Rome. The penance and flagella- 
 tion of the haughty Henry II., showing the power 
 
 1 Thomas a BecJcet — a Tragedy by G. H. Hollister. 
 
314 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 of Rome at that age, took place in the " Chapter- 
 house " of the Cathedral. 
 
 From the fact, perhaps, that Edward the Black 
 Prince was buried in this church, it has become 
 an English " Valhalla " or " Temple of Heroes." 
 The tomb of the hero is in an excellent state of 
 preservation. The bronze effigy of the Prince, 
 once highly gilded and of fine workmanship, repre- 
 sents him as a young man of graceful form and 
 regular, even delicate features. The helm, shield, 
 surcoat, and gauntlets that he wore on the field of 
 Cressy, are suspended over the tomb. The helm 
 is surmounted by a bronze lion, with stiff brand- 
 ished tail and open mouth. One of the old chron- 
 iclers of England wrote thus in his quaint way of 
 the death of the Black Prince : "His deth bare 
 awey with it all the sikernes (security) of the 
 land." There are also modern monuments to Eng- 
 lish soldiers slain in Holland, Belgium, Portugal, 
 Spain, India, and the fights at Moodku, Sobraon, 
 and Abwal. The church is hung with torn flags 
 that have passed through the fierce fires of Eng- 
 land's battles. In the undercroft of the Cathedral 
 a small remnant of the ancient church of French 
 Walloons, driven away by persecution from their 
 native land in Elizabeth's reign, still worship. This 
 subterranean chapel was granted to them by Eliza- 
 beth as a place of worship. They continued to be 
 silk weavers, and in the time of Charles II. were 
 the most important silk manufacturers in England. 
 This Cathedral is an exhaustless mine for the 
 
LONDON TO FOLKESTONE. 315 
 
 architectural student, as it was the royal shrine of 
 English faith for so many centuries, and was orna- 
 mented, added to, and enriched by so many kings, 
 whether moved to do so by piety or remorse. King 
 Edward I. and Margaret were married in 1299 at 
 the altar of the "Martyrdom." Edward the Black 
 Prince died in the Archiepiscopal house in Palace 
 Street near by. Fragments of history of every 
 age crop out, from the deep and extensive crypt 
 whose foundations were laid in Saxon times, to the 
 new windows that are the production of the latest 
 modern English Art. The bit of Norman staircase, 
 with four heavy pillars, round-headed arches with 
 the chevron ornament, and an open arcade at the 
 northwest angle of the Priory, is an extremely 
 interesting feature of the past. The armed feet 
 of the warlike Edward III. and of the " Black 
 Prince " might often have trodden it, and it looks 
 now, with its ponderous columns and angles, in 
 perfect keeping with those dark and mail-clad 
 forms. 
 
 A Missionary College has been founded upon the 
 site of the Abbey and the residence of Augustine, 
 and has incorporated within its buildings some parts 
 of the old edifice, especially two gateways, and a 
 fine old arch. The ancient work is mostly of flint 
 rubble, which is a kind of building material now 
 extensively used all along through the chalk dis- 
 tricts. This was the " Augustine " sent by Pope 
 Gregory, of whom the familiar story of seeing the 
 English youth in the slave-market of Rome is 
 told. 
 
316 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 A purer Christianity had been sown in England 
 long before, and had its precarious abode among 
 the mountains of Wales and along the western 
 shores of the island ; but Augustine, partly by 
 persuasion and partly by force, succeeded in bring- 
 ing all under his spiritual sway, and by degrees 
 also won over the warlike Saxon kings and their 
 people to a nominal acceptance of the Christian 
 faith. Ethelbert, King of Kent in 596, was the 
 first to receive the new religion, and upon the site 
 of his palace Canterbury Cathedral stands. The 
 chair in which the ancient Kings of Kent were 
 crowned is preserved in the church. From this 
 spot therefore, even though feebly and mistily, our 
 own faith sprang. As much as we may abhor the 
 errors of the Romish Church, we cannot forget 
 that it was through her hands we ourselves have 
 received the Word of Life. The procession of 
 monks from Rome entered the heathen city where 
 the temples of stormy Thor and wanton Friga 
 stood, bearing a silver cross and chanting the sol- 
 emn old Latin words, " Deprecamur te Domine in 
 omnia miserecordi& ut auferatur furor tuus." 
 
 The list of ancient charities of the city of Can- 
 terbury is a curious one. One of them is a bene- 
 faction producing an annual income of <£37 5s., to 
 provide gowns of russet cloth for poor persons 
 above fifty years of age, residing in certain parishes 
 of the city ; another is a gift of <£100, every £5 
 of the interest of which sum is to be appropriated 
 to setting up some young man in trade who has 
 
LONDON TO FOLKESTONE. 317 
 
 served an apprenticeship of seven years ; another 
 is a yearly rent of but eleven shillings. 
 
 While at the Fountains Inn, the landlord insisted 
 upon my hearing the famous " Canterbury Catch 
 Club," which has been established for about a 
 century. It was an odd scene, rivaling a German 
 student's beer-cellar. A large room handsomely 
 frescoed in blue and gold was arranged with long 
 mahogany tables, at which companies of gentlemen 
 old and young sat, each with a tall mug of ale 
 before him and a long white clay pipe. Through 
 the thick volumes of smoke appeared also a speak- 
 er's desk, and a raised platform at one end of the 
 apartment where the singers and the musicians sat. 
 I was invited to a seat by the side of a ruddy-faced 
 Canterbury burgher, who gave me a minute history 
 of the club and its trials with democratic foes, and 
 furnished me with a good deal of gossip about city 
 matters, hop speculations, beer making, etc. The 
 ladies occupied an adjoining apartment with an 
 open door between, and they must have enjoyed 
 with the music a powerful flavor of smoke during 
 " the ambrosial evening." There were some brass 
 instruments, but the chief entertainment was song- 
 singing, and if ever I heard true melody, such as 
 makes the heart leap and the eye sparkle, it was 
 there. The old historic glee of " Queen Bess " 
 was given in fine round style, and the national 
 piece called " The British Isles," with five parts, 
 touched a chord in every heart. Some sweet Eng- 
 lish airs full of tenderness were sung with manly 
 
318 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 feeling ; but the gem of the evening was Shak- 
 speare's majestic lines sung in six voices : — 
 
 " The cloud-capt towers, the gorgeous palaces, 
 The solemn temples, the great globe itself, 
 Yea all which it inherits shall dissolve, 
 And like this unsubstantial pageant faded, 
 Leave not a rack behind." 
 
 Voice followed voice, solemn and rich, as if they 
 were building up together in harmony these glori- 
 ous fabrics, and then interweaving and dying away 
 in plaintive tones like the wind that sweeps over 
 the ruins of a desert city. The whole evening 
 was so thoroughly racy, hearty, and English, that 
 I could almost forgive the stupefying beer and acrid 
 tobacco smoke. He who says the English have- no 
 music in them should hear one of these national 
 " Catch Clubs." 
 
 It is a dull, long, lonely ride between Canterbury 
 and Dover, sixteen miles over the chalk hills, with 
 now and then a dirty, boozy, drinking inn. The 
 names of English road-side inns, such as the " Bar- 
 ley Mow," the "Red Cow," the "Pack Horse," 
 the " Malt Shovel," etc., have the true smack of 
 rural England. Sitting on the outside of the coach 
 I was amused by the conversation of two young 
 Londoners, with round hats, checked clothes, and 
 eye-glasses, upon the comparative merits of Lon- 
 don theatres. Their pronunciation particularly 
 attracted me as being the broadest type of Punch's 
 utterances of this class of youth. As a general 
 thing I do not altogether dislike the English man- 
 
LONDON TO FOLKESTONE. 319 
 
 ner of speaking, notwithstanding its " stomachic " 
 tones. It has a manliness, richness, and breadth 
 of light and shade, that our sharp flat pronuncia- 
 tion lacks. It does not dwell upon the short vow- 
 els as Americans are apt to do, but touches them 
 lightly. Yet when English pronunciation is pushed 
 to an extreme, now gurgling thick as Devonshire 
 cream, and now running up and down the gamut 
 in extraordinarily high and low tones, it is any 
 thing but harmonious or intelligible. There are, it 
 is true, very decided differences of pronunciation 
 among educated men in England and in America, 
 — who are right? We should think that the older 
 nation would retain the right standard, but it 
 would be difficult for us to say " primer," and " in- 
 spiration," as they say them in Oxford ; or " fer- 
 tile " and " e-vil ; " or " rather " and " Sarah ; " 
 or " Iron Juke " and " Tchudor architecture." 
 Pronunciation is so arbitrary a thing, however, that 
 one need not be alarmed if he sometimes differs 
 from another educated person, especially from one 
 across the water. Americans, I contend, have a 
 superior clearness of articulation, but with our 
 tendency to lay stress on unaccented syllables, 
 and our flat pronunciation of the vowels, we may 
 learn something from the trippingly talking Eng- 
 lishman. 
 
 We are now going over a portion of that great 
 chalk region of England, which extends north 
 through nearly the whole of the counties of Suffolk 
 and Norfolk, and south through large portions of 
 
320 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 Sussex, Hants, Wilts, and Dorset counties, and is 
 seen also in the Isle of Wight. It marks and 
 paints itself in the scenery with its more tranquil 
 and gently undulating hills and vales, rising higher 
 toward the sea-coast, and breaking off in bold cliffs, 
 as at Dover and Folkestone. Patches of snow- 
 white chalk rock gleam out here and there from 
 the summits and sides of the green hills, like the 
 white Southdown sheep that feed upon them ; and 
 they are as different from the black slate shelves 
 of Wales as if it were another world. The in- 
 tensely green and white colors form a fine contrast. 
 Geologists tell us that we are treading here upon 
 the bed of a primitive ocean, formed by the accu- 
 mulation of minute crustaceous and marine ani- 
 mals. This was all life once. When we look up 
 we are lost in the greatness of the celestial uni- 
 verse, whose edges only we have feebly explored, 
 and when we look under our feet we are lost in the 
 infinity of the minute ; and both bear equal evi- 
 dence to the inconceivable extent of the Past, and 
 to the truth that their Author is " from everlasting 
 to everlasting." 
 
 In the calcareous rock are found those colossal 
 mammals and quadrupeds of the British Museum, 
 those mountains of bones, vastly excelling in size 
 the sculptured bulls of Nineveh. 
 
 Here in the neighborhood of Dover began that 
 famous Roman road of which we have alreadv 
 spoken, called " Watling Street," and which the 
 traveler often comes across in his journey ings 
 
LONDON TO FOLKESTONE. 321 
 
 through the midland counties. It ran through 
 Kent over the Thames by London ; on by St. Al- 
 bans and Stratford ; along the Severn by Worces- 
 ter ; and then through the middle of Wales to 
 Caradigan on the Irish Channel. Nothing by 
 halves, was the Roman motto. What a concep- 
 tion one gets of the power of ancient Rome to find 
 her roads, viaducts, bridges, arches, baths, citadels, 
 standing in the midst of totally dissimilar and far- 
 distant regions, like England, Northern Germany, 
 Syria, and the wastes of Africa. Her rule in Brit- 
 ain was on the whole beneficial, and she taught 
 the painted barbarians of " The Little Island " 
 their first grand lesson in civilization — the idea of 
 Law. 
 
 Dover has little to interest with the exception of 
 its castle, which stands upon a high rock to the 
 east of the town, and covers some thirty-five acres 
 with its buildings of Roman, Saxon, Norman, and 
 modern architecture. As the principal of the 
 " Cinque Ports," and as the great outlet to the 
 Continent, and more than all as one of the few 
 places of safety along that sweep of dangerous 
 coast, Dover will always be important. And even 
 this is a precarious . haven. The immense works 
 now going on for the improvement of the harbor, 
 so that fleets may ride in safety in it, are very 
 slowly progressing. Another generation may en- 
 joy their advantages. It is a mighty submarine 
 battle with shifting sands, and an external one with 
 winter storms. When finished, this " harbor of ref- 
 
 21 
 
322 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 uge " will embrace an area of 760 acres, surround- 
 ed by a wall more than two miles in length, and 
 securing a depth of 30 or 40 feet of water at low 
 tide. 
 
 These oreat white cliffs of Dover, covered with 
 fierce barbarians, presented a formidable sight to 
 the galleys of Caesar, as they sailed slowly by to 
 find a difficult landing-place a little farther north at 
 Deal. In those times the water came up to the 
 foot of the cliffs, and the port of Dover was at the 
 mouth of the Dour Valley, on the north of the 
 city, extending as far as Charlton, and which is 
 now filled up. Coming into Dover Harbor in a 
 dark night the lines of lights upon the lofty heights, 
 the bright lights of the Castle, and the brilliant 
 beacons along the towering cliffs, have a singular 
 effect ; they seem as if written on the face of the 
 sky. The town stands chiefly upon a strip of soil 
 formed under the cliffs, and is mostly composed of 
 one long street. It has broken an outlet for itself 
 from its confined prison-house on the ocean, right 
 through the hills that surround it. The double 
 tunnel under Shakspeare's Cliff, for the passage of 
 the South Eastern Railroad, more than three quar- 
 ters of a mile long, is a stupendous work. From 
 the soft and crumbling nature of the chalk rock, its 
 cutting was a perilous and often disastrous opera- 
 tion. And there are seven other tunnels on this 
 line, some of them still more difficult and extended. 
 " Shakspeare's Cliff " is not so high as it was in 
 the poet's time, and its base has receded from the 
 
LONDON TO FOLKESTONE. 323 
 
 water. From its form, sloping inward, and an- 
 swering perfectly to the words of Edgar, — 
 
 " There is a cliff whose high and bending head," &e., 
 
 every fragment that falls from the edge lessens its 
 height. In walking up it I roused a host of little 
 birds, making the air melodious with their morn- 
 ing songs. From the top of the cliff I counted 
 one hundred and twenty sail, and saw the coast of 
 France distinctly, although the day was dusky. It 
 is twenty-one miles across. The time was when 
 this England was thought to be a mere appendage 
 to yonder coast by its Norman kings. The view 
 toward Folkestone has something wild and solemn 
 in it. The white cliffs solitary and stern, gleaming 
 pale under the sombre sky, look like resolute and 
 thoughtful sentinels watching the opposite hostile 
 coast, the giant guardians of freedom. 
 
 Folkestone, six miles from Dover, is soon reached 
 upon the railway. It has been greatly improved, 
 purified, and beautified, since it has become the 
 chief point of communication with Boulogne, a sail 
 of an hour and a half. Here, as at Dover, one 
 sees the genuine English sailor such as France 
 cannot grow. He u smacks of the wild Norwegian 
 still," and has an impudent, independent swagger, 
 but stands on the deck firm as a rock, and carries 
 a calm eye and ruddy cheek. 
 
 The " Pavilion Hotel " at Folkestone is a most 
 comfortable and ample house. The aristocratic 
 town stands above on the heights. The grassy 
 edge of the cliff forms a beautiful promenade. 
 
324 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 Not far from Folkestone to the south are Hythe, 
 Romney, and Hastings, — three other towns of the 
 Cinque Ports, — 
 
 " Sandwich and Komney, Hastings, Hythe and Dover, 
 Were all alert that day." 
 
 Seven miles from Hastings is " Battle Abbey," the 
 remains of that proud structure built by William 
 the Conqueror on the field of Hastings, over the 
 spot where Harold fell. It was also upon these 
 shores that our free-roving ancestors, the rough, 
 big, blue-eyed Saxons, .swarmed in upon Eng- 
 land. At " the Isle of Thanet," near Margate, 
 landed the first Saxon invaders. Craftily obtain- 
 ing possession of but just as much land as a bull's 
 hide would go around, with true Anglo-Saxon 
 acquisitiveness they finally overran and conquered 
 the whole island. The same old viking spirit of 
 the lust of power and possession has manifested it- 
 self in the whole course of English history, in the 
 harrying of Scotland, the oppression of Ireland, and 
 the unprincipled conquest of India ; and it has 
 cropped out in the New "World in the policy of the 
 United States toward the American Indian, and 
 in the system of American Slavery. But let us be 
 thankful that the spark of a nobler spirit was also 
 sown with this inborn piratical instinct — the spark 
 of the love of liberty — which though long tying la- 
 tent finally breaks out and burns up what is base 
 and material. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 TUNBRIDGE WELLS TO ISLE OF WIGHT. 
 
 Tunbridge Junction on the South Eastern 
 Railway is just half way between Folkestone and 
 London ; and by a branch line of five miles one 
 comes to Tunbridge Wells. Seated in the garden 
 of Kent, on the brow of a hill overlooking a broad 
 and gentle vale, is this old and popular watering- 
 place. Its thymy and healthy moors strewn with 
 singular masses of isolated rock, its luxuriant hop- 
 vines, its chalybeate spring, and above all its union 
 of pastoral beauty with the comforts and elegancies 
 of a handsome town, will always make it a Javorite 
 English health resort, to those who can bear the 
 rough breezes of the English Channel. 
 
 The sandstone rocks of Tunbridge Wells form a 
 part of that remarkable geologic feature called 
 " The Wealden Beds." They are a superficial 
 stratum of clay, sandstone, limestone, and ironstone, 
 formed over and around the great chalk-bed of this 
 region. They extend over large portions of Kent 
 and Sussex, and reach even to the coast of France. 
 From petrified forests, and characteristic fossil re- 
 mains found in the " Wealden," it is inferred that 
 these strata were a fresh - water deposit. Here 
 
326 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 was once the vast estuary of a British Amazon two 
 hundred miles wide, flowing from interior moun- 
 tains before the British Channel was scooped out. 
 It is conjectured that on the subsidence of the 
 waters, those odd columnar masses known as the 
 " Harrison," " Eridge," " Rusthall," and " Toad " 
 rocks, were left standing, and being soft stone have 
 been worn into their present grotesque shapes by 
 the action of time and weather. The " Wealden " 
 is said to grow the finest oaks for ship-timber that 
 are to be found in England. 
 
 Brighton, in Sussex County, the queen of all 
 English watering-places, is fifty-one miles by rail 
 from London. I made the journey during a vio- 
 lent October tempest, when at times the stout 
 English locomotive could hardly make head against 
 the fierce blasts of wind, rain, and hail. At the 
 hotel I was put in a room very high up, " be- 
 cause," said the landlady, " it was the height of the 
 season." The windows rattled and the house shook. 
 It was one of those storms that strew the coast 
 of England with wrecks. • I myself counted one 
 hundred and five wrecks from that one storm re- 
 ported in the English papers, — how many more 
 there were I know not. But the next morning 
 the pier at Brighton presented a sublime sight. 
 Although the wind was still so furious that it was 
 difficult to walk or drive, hundreds of bold ladies 
 w T ere gathered on the sea-walk to witness the ef- 
 fects of the storm. No ship was in sight, and as 
 
TUNBRIDGE WELLS TO ISLE OF WIGHT. 327 
 
 far as could be seen there was one wild gray chaos 
 of waters, with now and then a bright light break- 
 ing through the coal-black storm-clouds, and illu- 
 mining a spot far out on the sombre and angry 
 waste. Every billow made a clean sweep over the 
 graceful chain-bridge of the " New Pier," twisting 
 and rending away its supports. What gigantic in- 
 rolling arches and fountains of foam, that, as they 
 leaped on high, were scattered by the wind like a 
 driving snow-blast ! An old fisherman told me 
 that there had not been such a storm since the 
 Pilgrim was wrecked. Opposite Kemp-town men 
 were occupied in securing casks, bales, and boxes, 
 that came ashore from a Mediterranean trading- 
 vessel, which had been thrown on the chalk cliffs a 
 few miles distant. The cliffs stretching north even 
 to Beachy Head looked most formidable, and woe 
 to the craft that was then flung upon their white 
 teeth. 
 
 Yet ladies reclinino; on sofas at the windows of 
 their hotels, while they sipped their coffee at break- 
 fast, might look directly out over this fierce marine 
 view. For three miles there is a noble drive and 
 sea-wall, lined with splendid mansions, hotels, and 
 boarding-houses, adapted for winter residence. 
 Brighton, notwithstanding its sea-exposure, is a 
 comparatively warm and agreeable winter resort. 
 It is, in the summer months, a city of nearly 100,- 
 000 inhabitants. The smooth undulating Downs 
 above the town not only produce delicate mutton, 
 but are fine fields for walking and horseback exer- 
 
328 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 cise. The " Pavilion," with its puerile domes 
 and minarets, recalls the false and flimsy epoch 
 of that semi-Oriental monarch, George IV. His 
 statue by Chantrey stands upon a promenade called 
 the " Old Steine." The house of Mrs. Thrale, 
 where Dr. Johnson visited, is still standing. The 
 atmosphere of Brighton is considered to be verv 
 favorable for invalids in the winter time, as well 
 as the summer. Dr. Kebbell, in a book upon 
 "The Climate of Brighton" says of it: " The mild- 
 ness, and particularly the equableness, of the at- 
 mosphere, and its freedom from all malarious ex- 
 halations, together with the choice it offers in the 
 difference of temperature between its sheltered and 
 exposed situations, all combine in rendering Brigh- 
 ton a very desirable place of residence during the 
 winter months, and suitable in the great majority 
 of diseases for which sea-air is found to be service- 
 able. To define the winter climate of Brighton in 
 a few words I should use the terms mild, equable, 
 dry, and bracing; though in this latter quality it 
 varies considerably in its different situations. I 
 should say that the more sheltered parts of Brigh- 
 ton cannot differ very materially in the general 
 properties of their climate from some of the more 
 elevated portions of Ventnor. The sea-side places 
 on the southwest coast, as Torquay and Penzance, 
 owing to their more westerly position, have both a 
 milder and more equable winter climate than 
 Brighton, or any other place on the south coast ; 
 but they are at the same time more relaxing, ener- 
 
TUNBRIDGE WELLS TO ISLE OF WIGHT. 329 
 
 vating, and humid — qualities of climate which cer- 
 tainly agree better with some constitutions, and are 
 particularly well suited for a large class of pulmo- 
 nary complaints. But the impression is certainly 
 now rapidly gaining ground that the drier and 
 more bracing climates of the south coast are, on the 
 whole, more conducive to health, as well as more 
 suitable to the great majority of invalids, including 
 many chest affections, and even some forms of pul- 
 monary consumption, for which not long since the 
 southwest climates were invariably prescribed." 
 
 How often one spirit seems to take possession of 
 a place, and to pervade it like a divinity, so that 
 every thing else in the place is known or brought 
 into prominence simply by its relations to that spirit. 
 We at a distance know Brighton as the home of 
 P. W. Robertson ; though doubtless thousands in 
 Brighton would be surprised at this, or, it may be, 
 would sneer at it. But, more than any thing else 
 Brighton is interesting to us, because here so great 
 a part of his life-battle was fought. These clay 
 cliffs have light on them, because his feet trod 
 them, and this ocean view is glorious because his 
 wearied mind was so often refreshed by it. In the 
 pulpit of Trinity Chapel he preached those match- 
 less sermons which are almost perfect in form, and 
 are perhaps the best expression of the modern type 
 of finished, pulpit oratory. It is a singular fact 
 that he who would not, as a matter of principle, 
 say any thing that he thought would be popular, 
 was one of the most popular preachers of the times. 
 
830 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 The scene at his funeral, when fifteen hundred 
 working men followed his remains to the grave, and 
 the whole city spontaneously put on mourning, Was 
 a burial that no king could hope for. Yet his 
 power was not altogether inborn or accidental ; it 
 was in part the result of thorough culture. He 
 who, other things being equal, would rival him as 
 a preacher, must go through his training. His ser- 
 mons have a unity, a depth, an individuality of 
 thought, that could come but from the severest dis- 
 cipline. Added to this, his aesthetic sense, his 
 poet's love of Nature, his exquisite mastery of lan- 
 guage, in which " the word is born w T ith the 
 thought," and his intense realization of truth — his 
 self-absorption in it — made a combination of won- 
 drous power. He w r ho makes abstract things sim- 
 ple, and spiritual things plain, will have hearers 
 enough. He will speak to the world. Robertson 
 is another proof that the highest culture, the truest 
 art, instead of unfitting a man to be a preacher 
 to all minds, to the unlettered as well as educated, 
 only fits him the better for it. It is the man who 
 is half trained who never gets to the depths of a 
 subject, nor the depths of a heart. He spoke some 
 things that will not chime with the orthodoxy of 
 the ao-es, and that are too inconsistent to entitle 
 him to be a sure guide in theology, but if he spoke 
 boldly he w T as ready to suffer; and as a man who 
 had drunk into the spirit of self-sacrifice, who 
 seized upon the central truth of Christ as the life 
 of the soul, who followed his Divine Lord through 
 
TUNBRIDGE WELLS TO ISLE OF WIGHT. 331 
 
 life and death, and whose earnest words came out 
 of the white heat of his own soul's strife and agony 
 — for these things, all true men in all Christian 
 lands will love him. Robertson's life is sad to read, 
 though one " with a kingly sorrow crowned." He 
 has found, in his own words, " Rest in God and 
 Love : deep repose in that country where the mys- 
 tery of this strange life is solved, and the most 
 feverish heart lays down its load at last." 
 
 Venerable Winchester, on the way to South- 
 ampton, in the county of Hants, overlooking the 
 beautiful vale of the Itchen, is worthy of a longer 
 description than I can give it. It was Alfred's 
 home, and was an old British city even before his 
 day. It has played a royal part in all the early 
 history of England, especially during the Norman 
 period. In its ancient cathedral, Egbert the first 
 Saxon king, Richard I., and three other English 
 monarchs, were crowned. The dust of Alfred, 
 Egbert, Canute, and William Rufus, sleeps here. 
 Tne remains of many Saxon princes have been 
 gathered into six small chests, or coffers, and placed 
 in the choir. Winchester is the chief seat and 
 home of that great genius, William of Wykeham ; 
 the west front of the Cathedral, with its noble 
 perpendicular window, and also the magnificent 
 nave, are his handiwork. No English Cathedral 
 has a more impressive and beautiful interior than 
 Winchester, though its exterior is low and austere ; 
 the amount of exquisite carved flower-work in this 
 church I have before hinted at. The tomb and 
 
332 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 painted effigy of its greatest builder, William of 
 Wykeham, is quite perfect, and represents him as a 
 fresh-faced benignant looking man. The capped 
 effigy of Cardinal Beaufort is in the presbytery, 
 in which he is represented as having a Norman 
 nose and high proud face. Shakspeare says " He 
 died and made no sign ; " and one cannot help 
 thinking in contrast of the death of the stern but 
 just Scotch reformer, as related by Carlyle : 
 " ' Hast thou hope ? ' they asked of John Knox 
 when he lay a-dying. He spake nothing, but 
 raised his finger and pointed upward, and so he 
 died." 
 
 Gentle Izaak Walton's remains also rest here. 
 He lived in Winchester with his son-in-law until 
 he was ninety years old. Dr. Arnold was a scholar 
 of Winchester School, which is the oldest in the 
 kingdom. 
 
 From Winchester I went to Portsmouth, a 
 wholly different scene, with its dirty crowded 
 streets and busy dockyards. Hiring two old mot- 
 tle-faced " salts," I took a row in the lake-like 
 basin of the harbor, though the waves were still 
 rolling and tossing uncomfortably, so that when we 
 put up sail and plowed across the harbor, we had 
 a plentiful shower-bath of salt water. We passed 
 the old Bellerophon^ now rotting by the wharf. 
 She looks small and stubbed by the side of those 
 vast " three-deckers " that lie around in the harbor 
 like chained sea-lions, and which are in fact like 
 lions with their fangs pulled out. " Yankee cheese- 
 
TUNBRIDGE WELLS TO ISLE OF WIGHT. 338 
 
 boxes on rafts " have drawn the fire from these old 
 thunderers. The Victory also lies here, and is 
 crowded with chubby-cheeked, bright eyed naval 
 apprentices. Though made over almost entirely, 
 something of the ancient vessel still remains, es- 
 pecially in the lower parts. One is shown the spot 
 where Nelson fell, and the " cock-pit " where he 
 died. 
 
 At Spithead, just outside of the harbor, where 
 the Royal Greorge went down, is the chief ren- 
 dezvous of the British Navy. It is protected 
 from violent w r inds by the Isle of Wight and the 
 main land. These great inland channels made by 
 the Isle of Wight, Spithead, the Solent, and South- 
 hampton water, these free yet broad and sheltered 
 anchorages, give to this point of the English coast 
 its naval preeminence. Here is its naval arsenal. 
 Not obtaining admission to the dockyards which 
 form the principal object of interest in Portsmouth, 
 covering some one hundred and twenty acres, and 
 separated from the city by a wall fourteen feet high, 
 I will go on to Southampton. 
 
 The ride of eighteen miles is for the first part 
 of the way along the shore of the inner harbor, and 
 affords one a view of the fine ruins of Porchester 
 Castle. I had here a second specimen of an oscil- 
 lating car, which jolted out many rough sayings 
 from the sea-faring passengers. 
 
 At Southampton the most striking object is a 
 piece of the old feudal wall looking sea-ward, — a 
 grand fragment. Southampton has almost the as- 
 
334 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 pect of a new American town, and seems to have a 
 great deal of unoccupied ground. In the hall of 
 the hotel all sorts of odd-shaped boxes, elaborately 
 corded bundles and "packages, marked " Bom- 
 bay," " Calcutta," &c, remind one that he stands 
 here in the vestibule of the avenue that leads to 
 the great Indian Empire. I was told that when a 
 steamer for Egypt left Southampton, she would 
 often take eight hundred solid boxes of letters, 
 such as one sees marked with large capitals in the 
 yard of the London Post-office. Southampton was 
 the birthplace of Isaac Watts ; and beautiful Netley 
 Abbey, one would think, might make poets now. 
 
 The Isle of Wight is a pocket edition of Eng- 
 land, — an epitome, a compact gem, of all Eng- 
 land's beauties of rolling hills, quiet valleys, em- 
 erald meadows, hedgy lanes, broken cliffs, and 
 shaggy ocean bays. I visited the Isle of Wight in 
 the month of August, so that this visit forms a 
 short episode by itself, and breaks somewhat the 
 regular course of my travel southward. In driv- 
 ing across the island from Cowes to Sandown Bay, 
 we soon lost sight of the tall square campanile of 
 the Italian villa of " Osborne House," and after a 
 ride of five miles along the Medina River, through 
 a bosky wooded country, we came to the old town 
 of Newport, the harbor of Carisbrooke. Caris- 
 brooke Castle lies about a mile to the north, and 
 nearly in the centre of the island. It is perched 
 on the summit of a round green hill, and one enters 
 it under an archway of Elizabeth's time ; and sure- 
 
TUNBRIDGE WELLS TO ISLE OF WIGHT. 335 
 
 ly nothing can be more lovely than the marine view 
 from its battlements over the tranquil bnt busv 
 waters of the Solent. On the left of the gateway 
 are the rooms once occupied by Charles I. ; but 
 the window from which the king's escape was at- 
 tempted is built up. The broken keep still pre- 
 sents outwardly a lofty, rugged, defiant aspect; 
 while within, a poor little scrubby donkey draw- 
 ing up water from the interminable well, was the 
 chief amusement at this stronghold, where a rough 
 nation put its unsafe sovereign under lock and 
 key. 
 
 I went on by the Stan den and St. George's 
 Down road to Arreton. The road was deeply cut, 
 and on either side was a perfect tangle of thorn 
 and bramble ; while riding over some other parts 
 of the island the fragrance of the rose and honey- 
 suckle was delicious. The Downs here looked 
 sere and white, dried up by the heat, although the 
 sheep found pretty good pasturage upon them. At 
 Arreton I paid a visit to the church where " The 
 Dairyman's Daughter " worshiped and was buried. 
 It is a plain stone building not unlike Hucknall 
 Church, with buttresses to the tower on either side 
 of the doorway. Outside in the rude churchyard 
 is the tomb of Elizabeth ; and many little bare- 
 footed children clustered around as I read the sim- 
 ple inscription. The bell on this old tower tolled 
 her funeral. The " rich and fruitful valley," now 
 rich again with a new harvest, lay beneath with a 
 streak of the blue sea in the distance, just as Leigh 
 
386 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 Richmond describes it ; and the summer air was as 
 mild as then. 
 
 We drove on through a region growing greener 
 and more luxuriant to the " Common," as it is 
 called, where stands the cottage in which this pious 
 maiden lived, who thought religion consisted in 
 being " like Christ." Stepping over two bars into 
 the pasture, a few steps through the green meadow 
 brought us to the small oaken wicket gate (doubt- 
 less the same one mentioned in the tract) opening 
 into a yard, where a few common bright flowers, 
 wild thyme, etc., were growing ; two or three 
 tall elms shaded the thatched roof of the cottage, 
 and a roughly carved porch was over the doorway. 
 A decent intelligent woman welcomed me within, 
 where an air of neatness and humble English com- 
 fort prevailed. There was the w T ide kitchen fire- 
 place, at which doubtless the good minister often 
 sat and talked with his young disciple : and I was 
 shown the Bible belonging to " The Dairyman's 
 Daughter," with some of her writing in it. I 
 looked too at the little window of the chamber 
 where she died, and where she said that the dark 
 valley was not dark because the Lord was there to 
 light it. 
 
 In riding on toward Sandown I noticed a copse 
 of oak-trees very curiously bent by the south 
 wind, so as to form a complete green arch over 
 the road. 
 
 The window of the hotel at Sandown looked 
 directly out on that wide spreading bay often 
 
TUNBRIDGE WELLS TO ISLE OF WIGHT. 337 
 
 spoken of by Leigh Richmond, who had something 
 
 of a poet's nature. Shanklin Chine terminated it 
 
 on the south, and white Culver Cliff on the north. 
 
 I gathered fantastic flint pebbles, to fling them into 
 
 the sea again. What sight after all is so fine as a 
 
 great green billow just arching into the sunlight to 
 
 pour itself along the shore ! 
 
 A short distance north of Sandown is Brading ; 
 
 and in the walk from Sandown to Brading one sees 
 
 the scenery through which Leigh Richmond walked, 
 
 in his pastoral labors as Rector of Brading and 
 
 Yaverland. Back of lofty Culver Cliff, which is 
 
 crowned by an awkward and neglected monument 
 
 to Lord Yarborough, lies a broad glistening bay 
 
 almost land-locked, with green hills around, on 
 
 whose steep slopes feed flocks of sheep, and the 
 
 beautiful and rich promontory of Bambridge, where 
 
 Leigh Richmond used to go to teach the people of 
 
 this hamlet, stands at the mouth of this bay. The 
 
 ancient church of Brading, in the valley, is far 
 
 more picturesque than the one at Allerton. It has 
 
 a short spire with a long low body covered with a 
 
 red roof, and terminated by a broader addition or 
 
 ell with three roofs and gable ends, giving the rear 
 
 of the church greater width than the front. A 
 
 conspicuous weather-cock stands upon the low 
 
 spire, as if to remind one of an inscription on one 
 
 of the old tombstones in the yard : " Watch, for 
 
 ye know not when the day of the Lord cometh ; " 
 
 and in this yard is the monument of " The Young 
 
 Cottager," erected by her pastor, which many 
 22 
 
338 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 ladies, and children, and men also, were looking 
 at when I was there. Leigh Richmond made a 
 book of instruction for his people out of this an- 
 cient churchyard among the hills. This may seem 
 strange, but among a rural and primitive people 
 the churchyard, usually a green and tranquil spot, 
 and the place where the congregation on summer 
 Sabbaths spend the interval between the services, 
 is no feeble preacher to conscience and heart ; it 
 is their " wicket gate " into Immortality. Many 
 of the graves were bound over with interlacing 
 rose-vine withes. The parsonage, separated from 
 the churchyard by a high stone-wall, stands at a 
 little distance hid in a wilderness of trees, while 
 Bambridge Hill rose steeply to the south speckled 
 over with sheep. It was the Sabbath " noon- 
 ing." On the old dial in the yard there rested 
 no shadow. Groups of clean-dressed villagers sat 
 conversing together upon the mossy grave-stones. 
 The soft summer wind gently swayed the tops of 
 the trees. The rugged church, of great antiquity, 
 with weeds and flowers growing out of every 
 crevice, stood in strong light and shade ; and on 
 this spot, the tradition is, was the first preaching 
 of the Word of Life in England. I entered by 
 the low west porch into the broad and cool Nor- 
 man interior. The arches between the pillars were 
 rimmed with red color, otherwise every thing was 
 bare and plain. In the high square unpainted 
 oaken pews a few people were gathered. The 
 u Evening Hymn " was first sung, principally by 
 
TUNBRIDGE WELLS TO ISLE OF WIGHT. 339 
 
 fresh young voices ; and from the pulpit where 
 Leigh Richmond preached, I heard a serious and 
 pathetic sermon from the text, " If any man 
 would come after me, let him take up his cross 
 daily and follow me." The thought " daily " was 
 dwelt upon, — the need of self-culture in small 
 things, and in common every-day matters. The 
 doors were wide open, the mild air stole softly in 
 with the sunshine, and one caught glimpses of the 
 flowery churchyard and the high swelling green 
 hills beyond. 
 
 Before leaving Sandown I traversed Culver 
 Cliff, peeping over its fearful perpendicular front, 
 and sliding down its steep rolling grassy sides. 
 
 From Sandown I took a ride along the " Under- 
 cliff" to Shanklin and Bonchurch, and bevond. 
 This " Undercliff," which extends to the " Nee- 
 dles," is a breaking down, or as we would say in 
 America " caving in," of the high chalk and green 
 sand-cliff coast, leaving the sea-line a tumbled in- 
 extricable mass of luxuriantly weeded and wooded 
 rocky chaos, through which the road winds along, 
 sometimes shooting over the high hill-top six or 
 seven hundred feet in elevation, sometimes around 
 the narrow edge of the cliff, and sometimes down 
 on the ocean shore at its base. There is here a 
 narrow strip of country lying directly upon the sea 
 under the hills, of about seven miles in extent, 
 which is another of the great health resorts of Eng- 
 land — for it has a Mediterranean climate — of 
 which Ventnor is the head point of fashion. The 
 
340 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 myrtle and fuschia winter here in the open air. 
 The northerly, easterly, and westerly winds do not 
 blow here, and it is only open to the soft south 
 w T ind blowing over the sea. 
 
 The cottages by the road to and beyond Shank- 
 lin were the merest dots of houses, built of flint 
 paving-stones, and some of them literally smoth- 
 ered in roses. The brass knocker on each front- 
 door looked about as big as the house. The reapers 
 w r ere in the fields ; the blackberries were ripening ; 
 the clover meadows were the richest I have ever 
 seen. The smooth green field ran even to the 
 edge of the cliff, and men were tying up sheaves 
 of wheat on the very rim of the high precipice. 
 Looking thus suddenly off from the cliffs upon an 
 unlimited ocean horizon, the sky and sea being of 
 the same tint, for there was a slight mist in the air, 
 and ocean and sky thus mingling mysteriously to- 
 gether, with patches here and there of soft hazy 
 sunlight on the sea, the effect was strangely beauti- 
 ful, — there seemed to be a mystic indefiniteness 
 and infinitude to the view. There is a transcend- 
 ental passage in Jean Paul Richter's writings 
 which conveys something of a similar impression : 
 " As the sea, when it is quite stilled and trans- 
 parent melts so softly and entirely into the heaven 
 which is mirrored in it, that both become arched 
 into a globe of sky, so that the ship appears not to 
 be borne on the water but hovering in the soft 
 ether of the universe." 
 
 Down in little gray old Bonchurch Cemetery, 
 
TUNBRIDGE WELLS TO ISLE OF WIGHT. 341 
 
 entirely hid from the road, and within sound of the 
 gently rippling sea, sleeps John Sterling, the friend 
 of Archdeacon Hare and Carlyle ; and here also 
 William Adams, the author of " The Shadow of 
 the Cross," is buried. Ventnor itself is getting 
 to be too grand and town-like for such a little 
 " Aiden " as the Isle of Wight ; and the great 
 prim English stone villas accord ill with the wild 
 verdurous chaos of " Undercliff." 
 
 St. Lawrence Church, a little way beyond Vent- 
 nor, is said to be the smallest church edifice in 
 England. It has been lately enlarged, and is now 
 just twenty feet by twelve, and has held, when 
 crammed as full as it could be, one hundred and 
 seven people ! One actually looks down on the 
 eaves when standing upon the outside of the 
 church, which is built on sloping ground. One 
 minute window is twelve by eighteen inches ; two 
 small stone crosses crown either end, and rough 
 beams cross the ceiling which are not even straight, 
 resembling the bent oak ribs of a ship. Lord Yar- 
 boro's large pew took up about one fourth of the 
 interior ; but still it had every thing that belonged 
 to a church, even to a painted window. It was a 
 Lilliput cathedral ; yet from its high antiquity and 
 touching lowliness, it had a certain dignity of its 
 own. The view from it is superb over the darkly 
 fringed cliff and the broad blue serene ocean. I 
 could not carry out my intention to return to the 
 Isle of Wight and visit the southern and western 
 coasts, the Needles and Scratchell's Bay, where the 
 
342 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 scenery is said to be truly magnificent, with the 
 pearly-white sharp-edged cliffs towering in great 
 isolated masses from the ocean, and in a storm 
 looking wan and strangely threatening against the 
 gloomy sky. Things there are not upon such a 
 miniature scale of prettiness as is the rest of the 
 island. 
 
 Near Freshwater Bay, at Farringford, was then 
 the residence of Alfred Tennyson. A good oppor- 
 tunity had been afforded from a high source of an 
 introduction to the poet, which would doubtless 
 have secured for me a pleasant reception, but I did 
 not avail myself of it. In the case of Maurice and 
 Kingsley, and also of Miss Marsh, I had another 
 object than personal curiosity ; and the interview 
 with old Mr. Bronte at Haworth was also entirely 
 unsought by me. It is quite unsatisfactory to 
 present letters of introduction in England, and it 
 is far better to receive the spontaneous invitation 
 of a fellow-traveler, as it was my good fortune to 
 do in two or three instances, thus winning for me 
 delightful visits to pleasant English homes, where 
 every kind of generous hospitality was heaped 
 upon me. An American friend who visited Ten- 
 nyson about this time told me of his pride in the 
 grove of ilex-trees growing near his house, of 
 which he speaks in his poems. In his ordinary 
 conversation he would be taken for a man of 
 science rather than a poet ; for he is an accurate 
 student and keen observer in the natural sciences. 
 
TUNBRIDGE WELLS TO ISLE OF WIGHT. 843 
 
 Although they may be quite familiar, I will repeat 
 his lines to Rev. F. D. Maurice : — 
 
 " Where, far from smoke and noise of town, 
 I watch the twilight falling brown, 
 
 All round a careless oi'dered garden 
 
 Close to the ridge of a noble down. 
 You have no scandal while you dine, 
 But honest talk and wholesome wine, 
 
 And only hear the magpie gossip 
 Garrulous under a roof of pine. 
 
 For groves of pine on either hand, 
 To break the blast of winter, stand ; 
 And further on, the hoary channel 
 Tumbles a breaker on chalk and sand." 
 
CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 SOUTHAMPTON TO SALISBURY. 
 
 In going from Southampton to Salisbury on the 
 Southwestern Railway, I stopped for a few hours 
 at Romsey, Hants, where is " Broadlands," the 
 seat of the late Lord Palmer ston. I wished to 
 hunt up some records in the Abbey Church, for 
 which I was furnished every facility. The fine 
 old church itself is a genuine specimen of the 
 early Norman, and it stands in its primitive sim- 
 plicity. It struck me as having some architect- 
 ural resemblance to Bakewell Church, Derbyshire. 
 The sexton grew pathetic over a long tress of 
 auburn hair which he had himself exhumed, and 
 which he said belonged to Alfred's daughter, or a 
 Roman princess, I have forgotten which. I spent 
 some time in turning over the ponderous vellum 
 church archives ; but it was like looking for the 
 grave of Merlin, to find any particular name in 
 such a vast unsystematized mass of extinct names. 
 
 Three miles from Romsey is c ' Embley Park," 
 the southern home of Florence Nightingale. 
 
 It is a culminating point in one's English travel 
 when he catches his first distant sight of Salisbury 
 Cathedral. If there is any thing graceful it is the 
 
SOUTHAMPTOM TO SALISBURY. 345 
 
 spire of Salisbury Cathedral, and above all when it 
 is seen etherealized through the misty English at- 
 mosphere, which transmutes solid into aerial forms. 
 At this season of the year, when the fashionable 
 travel was nearly over, and only business men, or, 
 as they are termed, " commercial travelers," are 
 abroad with their " mackintoshes " and carpet-bags, 
 I was doomed to interminable conversations in rail- 
 way carriages and coffee-rooms, with hard-brained 
 and plain-spoken men. I met among them often- 
 times exceedingly well-informed individuals, and if 
 one is a little cautious not to arouse national preju- 
 dices, there are few more interesting and graphic 
 conversationalists than this class of persons. They 
 are men who blurt their thoughts out without fear 
 or favor. They are practical men, who despise 
 humbug and pipe-claying. Louis Napoleon, to be 
 sure, was determined to burn and sink England 
 before his reign was over ; and thev did not know 
 but he could do it, though he would find it a tough 
 job ; but, on all other topics, no people are more 
 sensible and clear-headed. I fell in with some of 
 these men at the " White Hart Inn " in Salisbury. 
 They did not spare their national idols, their lead- 
 ing men. Even Gladstone, who was one of the 
 best of them in their estimation, came in for his 
 share ; they called him " a book-man " who knew 
 no more of finance than "Boots" here. They 
 berated the boarding-houses of London, and in fact 
 London trades-people generally, and said that any 
 of these would coin his soul for a guinea. This 
 
346 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 honest talk, if it sound rough, lends an individual- 
 ity and knotty picturesqueness to the commonest 
 Englishman, and makes him stand out from the 
 rest of mankind like a gnarled oak. 
 
 It is beautiful to see the pleasant relationship 
 existing between father and son in England. It is 
 free and unrestrained like that of brothers. The 
 father yields up his stiff authority and paternally 
 critical tone, and descends to meet the son almost 
 on a level ; and the son repays this with unbounded 
 affection and confidence. The conversation be- 
 tween them sounds almost like that between young 
 men ; they laugh and jest, and yet the fine sense 
 of the true relationship is never lost. I noticed 
 this particularly in the case of a young officer and 
 his father whom I met at Salisbury. They came 
 into the hotel from a walk of sixteen miles in a 
 heavy rain, to and from Stonehenge. The father, 
 if any thing, was the more brisk of the two. The 
 son was an elegant fellow who could quote " Juve- 
 nal" about his fish, and who had seen hard service 
 in India. He told his soldier stories and advent- 
 ures in a genial way, that American sons would not 
 do before their father. And I confess I liked it, 
 for there seemed to be true love between the two, 
 without the actual loss of filial respect. 
 
 Salisbury, the principal city of Wilts County, 
 eighty-two miles from London, seated amid its 
 broad open downs, is the centre of a highly inter- 
 esting region for the antiquarian. Salisbury itself 
 has some very old houses, many of them having 
 
SOUTHAMPTON TO SALISBURY. 347 
 
 thatched roofs, which, grown undulating and irreg- 
 ular by age, look like black elephants' backs ; but 
 its chief interest concentrates in its Cathedral. 
 The quiet " Close," occupying an area of half a 
 square mile, surrounded by its high wall and quaint 
 antique gates, its smooth lawn and noble trees, 
 comprehends the church, the Bishop's palace, the 
 deanery, and many other buildings of old founda- 
 tions. These ancient " Closes," more or less de- 
 fined, are found in every ecclesiastical town in 
 England, and indicate the former magnificence 
 of the Church, taking the lion's share of the city, 
 and of every thing good and pleasant in it. They 
 were in fact the hearts of the old civilization, the 
 centres of power, — cities within cities, — and gen- 
 erally ruling all outside of them. 
 
 In this green and tranquil yard sheep roam about 
 unmolested, and lie close up under the walls of the 
 church. Salisbury Cathedral has a noble and open 
 site, and can be seen therefore to peculiar advan- 
 tage. The buildings of the city have not been 
 allowed to encroach upon and crowd it. It is a 
 reverend and awe-inspiring structure, with a moss- 
 grown, scarred, and broken front, but all its lines 
 are elegant and pure. 
 
 The octangular spire is wonderfully beautiful, 
 soaring upward slenderly but to an immense height 
 from the forest of crocheted turrets upon the tower, 
 its shaft intersected at intervals with richly wrought 
 bands. Its height to the top of the cross is within 
 two inches of four hundred feet. I recall my last 
 
348 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 sight of it. It was on the edge of evening, when 
 the sailing mists had left it entirely free and clear, 
 and the calm golden light of setting day rested 
 brightly for a little time upon it, as it pointed to 
 heaven and seemed to show the way. 
 
 The decline of the spire from the perpendicular, 
 of about twenty-four inches, has caused apprehen- 
 sions of its falling ; and it has been bandaged and 
 strengthened, for it is boldly poised on four arches 
 thrown across the angles of the tower, and clamped 
 with iron. The walls of this tower itself are only 
 two feet in thickness. Salisbury Cathedral from 
 foundation stone to spire-point, is perhaps the most 
 perfect specimen that exists of the " Early Eng- 
 lish " style. Its first stone was laid in 1220, and 
 it was hardly finished in the reign of Edward III., 
 somewhere about the middle of the 14th century. 
 It is built of Chilmark stone obtained fifteen miles 
 from Salisburv, and is in the form of a double cross. 
 Its majestic west front is covered with the finest 
 tracery work, and has one hundred and twenty- 
 three niches for statues, most of them now empty. 
 Its interior, compared with Winchester or Ely, is 
 severe and bare, but harmonious. It is not an 
 astonishing irregular Gothic epic, but a pure Eng- 
 lish poem. The columns are clustered and slender; 
 the windows are lancet-shaped and the mouldings 
 plain. The length is four hundred and forty- nine 
 feet ; and stretched along on either side of this 
 grandly extended nave lie the effigies of heroes who 
 fought in the Holy Land, carved with their legs 
 
SOUTHAMPTON TO SALISBURY. 349 
 
 crossed, and with broad shields on their breasts ; 
 and those also who contended in the ancient bloody 
 civil wars, their gorgeous blazonry gone, and some 
 of the figures headless and handless, but brave still 
 in their wide girdles and chain armor. 
 
 The tomb of William Longsword, first Earl of 
 Salisbury, son of Henry II. and Fair Rosamond, 
 has been especially battered by time. The Count- 
 ess of Pembroke, upon whom Ben Jonson wrote 
 the epitaph, is buried in the east choir of the Ca- 
 thedral. The place is not marked by a monument. 
 
 The Chapter House, in the " Octagonal Pointed 
 Style," supported gracefully by one slight spring- 
 ing column of Purbeek marble, as if it were a 
 slender fount in stone, shines richly with modern 
 gilding and colors. It has been carefully restored. 
 The architect supposes that he has authority for 
 this high coloring and gilding, from having detected 
 the traces of ancient colors here and there upon the 
 carved work ; but I agree entirely with the remark 
 of a friend, who said, " I doubt whether the room 
 ever looked half so gorgeous in the olden time as 
 now." 
 
 A series of old sculptures in alto-relievo of Bibli- 
 cal scenes, runs around the apartment below the 
 windows, and is surprisingly ingenious and elabo- 
 rate. The same patience and faithfulness are shown 
 in them that we see in ancient missals, and often 
 the same exquisite purity of expression. Besides 
 these, on the face of the archivolt are a number of 
 allegorical figures representing the " Virtues " and 
 
350 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 " Vices," which for delicacy and power called forth 
 the admiration of Flaxman. Despair presses his 
 hand on his heart like the condemned spirits in 
 Beckford's Hall of Eblis, and Pity throws a cloak 
 over one who is slaying her with a sword. 
 
 On the Cathedral door, as may be everywhere 
 seen on parish church doors in England, were 
 pasted notices in large letters of " Income Tax — 
 Land Tax — Assessed Taxes in this liberty." 
 
 Let us take a walk of three miles or so out to 
 '* Wilton House," through the Fisherton suburb 
 crossing the Avon, and we will stop first at Bemer- 
 ton, about two miles from the city. In this obscure 
 village George Herbert lived and labored, following 
 out his own words, — 
 
 " Be useful where thou livest." 
 
 It was while walking over this very road, Izaak 
 Walton relates, that Herbert stopped to aid a coun- 
 tryman whose cart had been upset, and for this 
 reason arrived late and dirty at a social musical 
 meeting of his friends and brother clergymen in 
 Salisbury ; upon being rallied for such an unseemly 
 operation, he said that, " the thought of what he 
 had done would prove music to him at midnight." 
 
 Turning off the main road down a quiet lane, on 
 one side of which is a thick wood, is the little church 
 of Bemerton, somewhat larger than St. Lawrence 
 Church on the Isle of Wight, but they would match 
 pretty well for smallness and humility. It has one 
 minute window upon a side, four tiny buttresses, a 
 red-tiled roof, and a low flat cupola with a vane ; 
 
SOUTHAMPTON TO SALISBURY. 351 
 
 in the interior are seven pews on each side of the 
 narrow aisle, and a gallery for the choir. 
 
 Almost within sight of the proud mansion of his 
 own illustrious Pembroke family, here the Rector 
 of Bermerton, and the glory of Trinity College, 
 Cambridge, fed his illiterate flock. And he hes- 
 itated long before he assumed even this humble post, 
 so that a tailor happening to be at Wilton House, 
 so says Izaak Walton, made his canonicals in great 
 haste, he putting off his fine silken clothes and his 
 sword to assume them. Yellow tottering grave- 
 stones stand around this diminutive edifice and 
 crowd up under its shadow, and within its lowly 
 walls, under the altar-table, Herbert was buried. 
 He taught us that a man is made no greater nor 
 less by his place. He is what he is in himself. 
 Nothing can lower him if his heart be above. 
 Does his own poor earthly life lie buried here, — 
 
 " Gone 
 Quite underground ; as flowers depart 
 To see their mother-root when they have blown ? " 
 
 Yet that sweet, Christ-like soul, now " past chang- 
 ing," sings : — 
 
 " I bud again." 
 
 The parsonage where Herbert lived stands just 
 across the little lane that runs by the side of the 
 church. His own study is shown. I noticed no 
 other houses immediately around. A larger church 
 is to be erected near by, by the Herbert family, to 
 bear the name of the poet. Sweeter than ever 
 to me since this visit to Bemerton have George 
 
352 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 Herbert's poems with all their odd conceits grown, 
 and, above all, that gem : — 
 
 " Teach me, my Lord and King, 
 In all things Thee to see ; 
 And what I do in any thing 
 To do it as for Thee. 
 
 All may of Thee partake ; 
 
 Nothing can be so mean, 
 But for this tincture (for thy sake) 
 
 "Will not grow bright and clean. 
 
 This is the famous stone 
 
 That turneth all to gold : 
 For that which God doth touch and own 
 
 Cannot for lesse be told ! " 
 
 Somewhat further to the west, at the entrance of 
 Wilton town, in the bosom of a magnificent park, 
 stands Wilton House. It was built from designs of 
 Holbein and Inigo Jones, upon the site of a Bene- 
 dictine Abbey, granted by Henry VIII. to Sir Wil- 
 liam Herbert. It is indeed a palace, but has some- 
 thing grave and sober about it. Its fair stateliness 
 could not be more precisely described than in the 
 lines of Wordsworth : — 
 
 " Like image of solemnity conjoined 
 With feminine allurement soft and fair 
 The mansion's self displayed : a reverend pile 
 "With bold projections and recesses deep; 
 Shadowy yet gay and lightsome as it stood 
 Fronting the noon-tide sun. We paused to admire 
 The pillared porch, elaborately embossed : 
 The low wide Avindows with their mullions old; 
 The cornice richly fretted of gray stone ; 
 And that smooth slope from which the dwelling rose, 
 By beds and banks Arcadian of gay flowers 
 And flowering shrubs, protected and adorned. 
 
SOUTHAMPTON TO SALISBURY. 353 
 
 Profusion bright ! and every flower assuming 
 A more than natural vividness of hue, 
 From unaffected contrast with the gloom 
 Of sober cypress, and the darker foil 
 Of yew, in which survived some traces, here 
 Not unbecoming, of grotesque device 
 And uncouth fancy. From behind the roof 
 Rose the slim ash and massy sycamore, 
 Blending their diverse foliage with the green 
 Of ivy, flourishing and thick, that clasped 
 The huge round chimneys, harbors of delight 
 For wren and redbreast, where they sit and sing 
 Their slender ditties when the trees are bare." 
 
 The trees are of great variety and noble growth. 
 One sweeping ilex has its branches supported by 
 chains. A group of cedars of Lebanon, towering 
 in massy chambers of foliage, gives an almost Ital- 
 ian, or Oriental, shading to the picture. The river 
 Nadder, which flows through the park, is crossed 
 by a bridge in the grounds. In these quiet shades 
 Sir Philip Sydney wrote his "Arcadia," — it is 
 said, for his sister's pleasure and amusement. 
 
 The suite of state apartments, though superb, 
 looked comfortable and as if they were lived in. 
 It was not a show-palace. In the " double cube 
 room," is the noted collection of Vandykes, most 
 of them portraits of the Pembroke family. There 
 was one striking picture of Prince Rupert, as a 
 youth, calm and beautiful, with none of the dash- 
 ing cavalier about it, but a determined look in the 
 large brown eyes. I did not notice any portrait of 
 Sir Philip Sydney, or of George Herbert. They 
 must, however, have been there. A small likeness 
 of Florence Nightingale, of whom Lady Herbert 
 
 23 
 
354 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 is said to be a particular friend and co-laborer, 
 stood upon a side-table. 
 
 It was a luxurious apartment as far as the opu- 
 lence of the furniture was concerned, but that was 
 not the real feature of the room. I do not dwell upon 
 the age-darkened and highly carved furniture, the 
 splendid mirrors, the antique marbles, the princely 
 books, the pictures, and the hundred objects of or- 
 nament and taste about the room, for every thing 
 was so harmoniously placed that nothing arrested 
 attention ; but there was an aesthetic charm in the 
 apartment, which did not allow one to think of 
 material magnificence. It was a room worthy of a 
 noble mind to take its ease in, to make itself at 
 home in. There was no cold splendor to be warmed 
 up twice a year on the eve of a great ball, but a 
 sense of perpetual ease and enjoyment, a spot 
 lighted with tokens of affection and friendship, and 
 with all that is soothing and ennobling. 
 
 From the grounds in front of the house, the glo- 
 rious spire of Salisbury Cathedral is seen through a 
 skillfully made opening in the thick screen of trees. 
 
 The Lombard Gothic church erected by Sir Syd- 
 ney Herbert in Wilton, with its square bell-tower, 
 as a family memorial church, is one of the most 
 gorgeous modern structures in England. It seems 
 as if Italy and the Continent had been rifled of 
 architectural jewels to enrich it. Its brilliant mo- 
 saic pulpit of Caen stone, its white vine-wreathed 
 columns, its gleaming brasses, its blue and gold 
 frescos, its great sparkling rosette windows, and its 
 
SOUTHAMPTON TO SALISBURY. 355 
 
 antique fonts, transport one from the little English 
 carpet manufacturing town, to Siena or Rome. 
 Along the top of the screen are carved the words, 
 " All things come of Thee, and of Thine own we 
 have given Thee." It seemed, however, too rich 
 for the place, and had to me a foreign and un- 
 English look. 
 
 Wilton itself is a very ancient town, once the 
 capital of the West Saxon kingdom ; but it was 
 overshadowed by the growth of Salisbury. It was 
 a favorite town of Charles I. The first carpet ever 
 made in England was here manufactured. Massin- 
 ger is said to have been born at Wilton. 
 
 Twelve miles from Wilton, near Hindon, is 
 " Fonthill Abbey," now owned by the Marquis of 
 Westminster, where Beckford spent twenty years 
 and regal revenues in building his jealously in- 
 walled Kubla-Khan palace, employing a little army 
 of workmen night and day. The gigantic tower 
 of his selfish pleasure and pride crumbled, like the 
 tower of Babel, as if it had been smitten by an in- 
 visible hand. I ascended another Saracenic tower 
 erected by him at Bath, from which one could 
 almost have seen among the green Wiltshire hills, 
 this more Titanic monument of a depraved egotism 
 and prostituted genius. 
 
 I have left little room for the two most inter- 
 esting places, to an antiquarian, in the whole Salis- 
 bury circle, old Sarum and Stonehenge. 
 
 Fortified with a breakfast of hot coffee and muf- 
 fins, for this is wild weather, we will tramp off to 
 
356 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 scramble over the site of that ancient Saxon city, 
 " Old Sarum," the germ of " New Sarum," or 
 Salisbury. 
 
 It lies within sight of Salisbury, about two miles 
 distant, and is simply a hill cut into great steps or 
 terraces, looking like a modern sand-fort, or a huge 
 mound which suggests more than it reveals. Back 
 to the time of the early Britons this hill w r as a for- 
 tified spot ; the Romans made it a great military 
 centre, and six roads radiated from it ; in the time 
 of Alfred it was a strong city ; under the Norman 
 kings it attained great ecclesiastical splendor and im- 
 portance, two bishoprics being blended here in one ; 
 but in the reign of King John, its bishop, Herbert 
 Poore, determined to come down into the plain and 
 establish his ecclesiastical seat there. This was the 
 death-blow to Old Sarum. Gradually all the in- 
 habitants followed him and gathered around the 
 rising walls of the new " House of God " in the 
 plain below. This new house was itself built of 
 the stones of the old cathedal. The circular for- 
 tress which once crowned the hill, whose walls 
 comprised a space of fifteen hundred feet in circum- 
 ference, is now reduced to a ragged mass of flint 
 and rubble, which hangs tottering upon the edge 
 of the height. This broken fragment is all that 
 really remains of this once powerful city of Celt, 
 Roman, and Saxon. The hollow of an ancient 
 ditch runs around what was the line of the cita- 
 del walls. I startled numerous rabbits in running 
 around the hill, and from a gloomy tangle of foliage 
 
SOUTHAMPTON TO SALISBURY. 357 
 
 that filled one part of the ditch, an owl whirred 
 away ; it is a desolate spot, although a little cul- 
 tivation smooths one side of the first terrace. 
 Until the passage of the Reform Bill, the election 
 of the members from Old Sarum — which Wil- 
 liam Pitt so long represented — took place under 
 a " witch-elm " that marked the site of the an- 
 cient Town House. There is a wide view from the 
 top of this discrowned hill, in which Salisbury Ca- 
 thedral spire forms the marked feature. 
 
 Stonehenge ! I am not going to add another to 
 the many learned theories which lie strewed at its 
 base, like rusty tools broken against its granite 
 walls ; for when we know who built " Tadmor in 
 the wilderness," we may know who heaved up this 
 rude circle on Salisbury Plain. 
 
 This mysterious monument lies eight and a half 
 miles to the northwest of Salisbury. In coming 
 to it one passes over a wide, slightly undulating, 
 and thinly grassed chalk marl-down, where now 
 and then a weather-beaten " Shepherd of Salis- 
 bury Plain " may be seen sitting with his dog and 
 staff, and his flock feeding near him. In some 
 directions one may ride twenty miles on the plain 
 without seeing a house or human being. It is not 
 until one strikes into the clearly defined ancient 
 avenue that leads up to Stonehenge, and gets 
 pretty near the monument itself, that its vast skele- 
 ton form can be seen looming over the hillocks. 
 There is said to be a gradual ascent to it from every 
 direction. As one approaches the temple, the plain 
 
358 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 is filled with green circles and round barrows, as 
 if it were the burial-place of a numerous nation. 
 Some of these mounds have been opened, and con- 
 tain the evidences of primitive sepulture. The 
 Celtic " cyrch," or cirque, or circle, the national 
 sacred place of burial, is said to have been the ori- 
 gin of the word " kirk." 
 
 The sky had a threatening look, the heavy clouds 
 drooped low, and the gusty autumn wind swept in 
 melancholy cadences over the plain, as I saw before 
 me this oldest structure now standing in England, 
 — this solemn circle of un wrought stones, out of 
 whose rocky loins have come forth her life, art, and 
 history. 
 
 " Stonehenge " is a Saxon name, meaning " hang- 
 ing stone," descriptive of the blocks of stone im- 
 posed transversely upon perpendicular masses. 
 The Britons and Druids had another name for it. 
 It was probably, like the great temple at Avebury, 
 in Wiltshire, a hypethral temple, even to the inner 
 circle or adytum, where is the sacrificial altar- 
 stone. 
 
 It is a circle within a circle. First comes an 
 outer trench three hundred and sixty-nine yards in 
 circumference. Then a circle of sixty stones, com- 
 posed of thirty perpendiculars and thirty imposts, 
 fastened by rude mortice and tenon, and forming a 
 continuous architrave, the uprights being twenty 
 feet high and four feet apart. Then a second con- 
 centric circle of thirty smaller stones without im- 
 posts ; and then two ovals of huge uprights with 
 
SOUTHAMPTON TO SALISBURY. 359 
 
 imposts, forming perhaps the real body of the tem- 
 ple. In the inner oval is the altar-stone, a block 
 of hard gray Derbyshire marble. The other rock 
 masses are of crumbling siliceous grit. The entire 
 number of stones was originally one hundred and 
 forty. Of course many of these have disappeared, 
 and many have fallen. A gigantic trilithon recently 
 fell with a force that shook the plain. 
 
 The stones taper somewhat to the top, and bear 
 but rude marks of the chisel and hammer. Yet there 
 is a mathematical unity of plan in the structure. 
 It is the thoughtful work of a rough strong people. 
 But where did these great masses come from on that 
 stoneless plain? And how were they transported 
 thither? The character of some of them differs 
 entirely from the rocks of the region. 
 
 I feel much inclined to adopt a theory lately put 
 forth concerning the origin of Stonehenge ; that it 
 was built by the Celts, or native Britons, in the 
 Arthurian period, or the fifth century a. d., as a 
 sepulchral temple, to commemorate the treacherous 
 slaughter of the Celts by Henghist in 461 ; that it 
 means " Stone of Henghist." 
 
 In all ancient nations of Celtic origin on the 
 Continent, and even to the centre of Asia, circles 
 inclose sacred spots. The form of the Buddhist 
 temple is always circular. 
 
 Stonehenge could hardly have been a Druidic 
 temple, because here is, and has been, no grove in 
 which to perform the secret Druidic rites, or to cut 
 the mistletoe with the golden knife. 
 
360 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 And this locality was evidently the ancient national 
 British burial-place, although no signs of sepulture 
 are discovered immediately in or under the temple ; 
 yet an immense number of " barrows " or sepul- 
 chral mounds are found not far from it, and indeed 
 everywhere upon the plain. 
 
 Merlin himself might have built it, for he was 
 evidently^ the poet, artist, and philosopher of that 
 period. 
 
 Harmless sheep feed quietly under this mighty 
 solitary form of barbarian power. A rough shep- 
 herd clad in skins, with hay leggins and a long 
 staff, standing in the shadow of one of the colossal 
 pillars, told me the story of the place as it was told 
 
 to him bv his fathers, and will doubtless be told to 
 
 «/ 
 
 others by his shepherd sons. 
 
CHAPTER XX. 
 
 SOUTH DEVON AND TORQUAY. 
 
 By one route from Southampton to Exeter, 
 which I had previously taken, I passed through a 
 portion of the " New Forest," looking like unset- 
 tled land in America, and stopped a night at the 
 dull old town of Dorchester, in Devonshire. The 
 new line of railway from Dorchester passes through 
 the beautiful Axminster and Honiton Valley, near 
 Ottery St. Mary, where Coleridge was born. /His 
 father was vicar of the Collegiate Church there. 
 From this town of Dorchester the " Dorchester 
 Adventurers Company " was formed, that settled 
 Gloucester, Salem, Charlestown, Dorchester, and 
 other towns in Massachusetts. Dorsetshire, and 
 Devonshire, and all Southern England, in those 
 days, contained a strong element of Puritanism, and 
 formed perhaps the chief source of supply to the 
 Massachusetts colonies, after the settlement of New 
 Plymouth. 
 
 In going to Exeter by the other route, I was 
 obliged to wait an hour or two in the little agricul- 
 tural town of Yeovil. It was a rainy cold day, and 
 in the bit of the tap-room where I dried my wet- 
 clothes, the burly farmers and drovers came in to 
 
362 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 drink their hot mulled wine, and talk over the 
 storm and cattle market, while paddling armies of 
 sheep and frightened cows, and now and then an 
 ugly red-eyed bull, went by the windows. It was 
 " Fair Day." I walked through the cattle-stalls. 
 and saw some noble Devonshire oxen and cows. 
 The beef, with such layers and collops of yellow 
 fat, that one sees hanging up in English butchers' 
 stalls, I saw here in its sleek amiable living state. 
 Devonshire cattle rather take the lead of tine cattle 
 in England. Perhaps the finest specimens of them 
 are found in North Devon on the Bristol side. 
 They are thus described, and the very particularity 
 of the description will show how much is thought 
 of such points : " The Devonshire bull has the 
 head small ; the muzzle fine ; the nostrils ample ; 
 the horns tapering, and of a waxy yellow; the eyes 
 large and clear : the neck thick and arched above 
 with little dewlap ; the chest is broad and deep ; 
 the breast prominent ; the limbs fine boned ; the 
 fore-arm muscular ; the hips are high, and the 
 hind-quarters well filled up ; the thighs are volumi- 
 nous ; the tail long, slender, set on high, and tufted 
 at the extremity. The ox is taller and more light- 
 ly made, with fine withers and a slanting shoulder ; 
 the breast is prominent ; the limbs are fine-boned, 
 muscular, and straight, but rather long ; the neck, 
 too, is thin and rather long, the head small, the 
 muzzle fine ; the horns longer than in the bull, 
 slender and tapering. The whole form indeed in- 
 dicates activity and freedom of action. The skin 
 
SOUTH DEVON AND TORQUAY. 363 
 
 is moderate and covered with mossy or curling 
 hair ; but occasionally it is smooth and glossy. 
 The color is universally red, chestnut, or bay, 
 seldom varied with white ; a paler space surrounds 
 the eye, and the muzzle of yellow." The cow is 
 lighter and full of action and life. Though they 
 do not attain to the elephantine size of some of the 
 larger breeds, they lay on flesh rapidly, and of the 
 finest grain. The cows, grass-fed, weigh from' 
 thirty stone to forty stone. The oxen weigh from 
 fifty stone to upwards of sixty stone. Hundreds 
 of these fine red fellows may be seen along the 
 railroad track, cropping the green meadows, or 
 lying under the broad -armed trees. England is 
 green all the year round ; and no country in the 
 world has such grass-feed as this mistv island has. 
 And in no other land have there been such persist- 
 ent and scientific efforts for the perfection of do- 
 mestic cattle. Breeds have been made over and 
 over till they are as perfect for this or that quality 
 as Nature seems willing to make them. A York- 
 shire cow is as different from a Devonshire cow as 
 are the dialects of the two counties, and a little 
 Kerry ox by the side of a big, coarse Herefordshire 
 ox, is a small rattling Pat, compared with a huge, 
 slow-revolving, slow-motioned Englishman. 
 
 In the ride from Durston, through Wellington, 
 Tiverton and Hele, on the Bristol and Exeter Rail- 
 road, true Devonshire scenery began to make its 
 appearance, and the rich green hill-slopes, narrow 
 valleys, and the red clay, showed that we were in 
 " Dark Devon." 
 
364 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 The long red cliffs rising from the Exe River, on 
 which fair Exeter stands, gave a warm tint to the 
 beautiful scenery around that old ecclesiastical city ; 
 and already the cold raw air and driving rain of 
 the north began to be subdued into a moist drizzlv 
 mildness, as if one had come suddenly into a new 
 zone. 
 
 At the snug old-fashioned " Clarence Hotel," 
 near the cathedral yard, I passed several days. It 
 was now the beginning of the fox-hunting season, 
 and the " Clarence " was the headquarters of a 
 jovial young nobleman with his friends and retain- 
 ers, who sallied forth to the " Grand Meet " in the 
 morning, in great pomp of scarlet coats, white- 
 topped boots, velvet jockey-caps, yellow breeches, 
 and heavy whips, to return well bespattered and 
 hungry for a feasting, roaring night. All England 
 is on horseback at this season. Every one is mad to 
 break his neck, or at least his collar-bone. There 
 seems to be no affectation in this love of hunting. 
 A free-spoken Englishman told me that he had 
 been to California and Australia, had traveled all 
 over the world, had seen all kinds of life, had 
 gambled and fought, and there was but just one 
 thing left now that roused him, and that was fox- 
 hunting ! 
 
 The days of " fox-hunting parsons " have not 
 altogether gone by. I cut out a piece from an 
 English newspaper about this time, describing the 
 presentation of a testimonial to a clergyman in 
 Devonshire, who, for many years, had discharged 
 
SOUTH DEVON AND TORQUAY. 365 
 
 the duties of a master of hounds in his district. 
 In every English town at this season large red 
 hunting horses, with their sides literally flashing 
 from high grooming, with quick-moving ears and 
 springy step, may be seen ridden slowly through 
 the streets by their diminutive grooms. Such 
 gaunt greyhounds of horses, with pinched bellies 
 and straight rail-necks, may have reached the 
 maximum of speed, but they have also attained the 
 minimum of beauty. How different the Arab's 
 estimate of beauty and excellence in a horse, ac- 
 cording to Dr. Barth, in the Oriental description 
 which he translates of the steeds of heaven : — 
 " Sleek swift horses, coursers trained to run, tall 
 piebalds, five-year olds, fleet, wide-stepping, apple- 
 rumped, plump, long-boned, strong in back and 
 neck, Arabian blood horses of El Hodh, that are 
 fed upon cooling milk." 
 
 Exeter is a large and stately city. Devonshire 
 and Cornwall form one Episcopal See, whose seat 
 is at Exeter, and ecclesiastically, socially, and com- 
 mercially, it is the principal city of these two coun- 
 ties, and of Southern England. It has been some- 
 what impoverished by railway speculation, as the 
 road to Plymouth was enormously expensive. By 
 means of " locks," small vessels can come up to 
 Exeter, whose real port is Exmouth, three miles 
 below. High Street, which runs under different 
 names through the whole length of the city, is a 
 broad and in some parts elegant street, containing 
 the most attractive art-shops, and book-shops, and 
 
366 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 hunting-shops, of any street of a smaller sized city 
 in England; it crosses the river Exe by a hand- 
 some stone bridge ; the old " Guildhall," which 
 stands midway upon it, looks like a bit of quaint 
 Flemish architecture, or like an ancient, black, 
 elaborately carved sideboard. 
 
 Exeter is the city of churches. The Cathedral, 
 as usual, crowns all, and presents a noble appear- 
 ance when seen from the other side of the river, 
 standing loftily upon its hill-bank, with its two 
 massive Norman towers. It does not belong to 
 the first class of English cathedrals in point of 
 size, but it has some peculiarly rich features, of 
 which the singular fleur-de-lys ornament of the 
 roof is an instance. Its two Norman towers of 
 which I have spoken were built in the twelfth cen- 
 tury, and the rest of the edifice belongs to a date 
 considerably later than that. The superb stone 
 vaulting of the nave is of the deepest and most 
 harmonious fan-tracery style, branching as if with 
 living stems from lightly clustered columns and 
 drooping in heavy corbels and bosses like verita- 
 ble bunches of fruit. It is like standing under a 
 young grove of low raying palms, compared with 
 whose gorgeous tropical luxuriance, the nave of 
 Salisbury Cathedral in its pure simplicity is quite 
 frozen and arctic. And other parts of the Cathe- 
 dral have the same richness of detail ; the windows 
 especially, of an elaborately geometrical character, 
 are wonderful for the variety of their tracery work, 
 never repeating the same designs. The front is 
 
SOUTH DEVON AND TORQUAY. 367 
 
 renowned for its magnificent stone screen of the 
 finest work, called " The Grandisson screen," which 
 is thrown like a lace veil suspended over the actual 
 dead wall of the edifice ; and this is wrought into 
 columns, porches, niches, and statues of martyrs, 
 saints, and kings ; while above is the great west 
 window, and above that a gigantic statue of St. 
 Peter, from whom the church is named. These 
 statues, though sadly mutilated, are by no means 
 badly carved, and may some of them have been 
 portraits ; one old Wessex king, I remember, had 
 a nose as decisive of fate as the Duke of Welling- 
 ton's. 
 
 There is a boldly carved " Minstrel's Gallery " 
 on the left side of the nave, representing twelve 
 angels, each playing upon a different instrument, 
 and when the music of the organ and the chanting 
 rolls through the vaults of the church, it is not 
 difficult to imagine that it proceeds from this an- 
 gelic minstrelsy. 
 
 In the choir, separated from the nave by a light 
 and elegant organ-screen, is the bishop's huge 
 throne of carved black oak, towering pyramidi- 
 cally nearly to the roof; one could not help think- 
 ing if the Apostle Peter had walked into the 
 church, would he have seated himself in it, or 
 would he have taken the lowest seat in the syna- 
 gogue ? The ancient monkish " miserere seats " 
 around the choir are fanciful and grotesque ; they 
 fold back and show underneath them most extra- 
 ordinary carvings — lions' heads, birds, eh phants ; 
 
368 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 a boat, with an armed knight in it, towed by a 
 swan ; a knight attacking a leopard ; a man stab- 
 bing a bird ; a man with pipe and tabor ; a mer- 
 maid holding a dish ; — and many other designs. 
 What was the idea, I am always asking myself, of 
 introducing these odd shapes and thoughts into 
 what was considered the most sacred part of the 
 edifice ? 
 
 The east window, with some very beautiful frag- 
 ments of ancient painted glass in it, is of later 
 Perpendicular architecture ; the triplicity seen in 
 the arrangement of all its parts, is supposed to be 
 symbolical of the doctrine of the Trinity. 
 
 A curious old astronomical clock in the north 
 transept is inscribed with the solemn words, — 
 u Pereunt et imputantur." 
 
 The Services of Exeter Cathedral, and its whole 
 ecclesiastical furnishing, order, and economy, are 
 perhaps the most full and gorgeous, carrying out 
 the most perfectly and persistently the High 
 Church idea of worship, that are to be found in 
 any Cathedral in England ; and indeed the tone of 
 the city is thoroughly ecclesiastical, or pervaded 
 with the sense of the presiding idea of the Church 
 hierarchy. The curfew-bell tolls from the old 
 towers. The Cathedral Services are as follows : 
 
 " I. Early Morning, Daily. 
 
 "In the Lady Chapel, at 7 a. m. Morning 
 Prayers ; and the Litany on Sundays, Wednesdays, 
 and Fridays. 
 
SOUTH DEVON AND TORQUAY. 369 
 
 "II. Morning, Daily. 
 
 "In the Choir, at 10.30 a. m. Full Services 
 of the day. The Holy Communion celebrated 
 every Sunday and on Christmas day. 
 
 " On the Wednesdays and Fridays in Ember- 
 weeks, a Lecture from the Chancellor of the 
 Cathedral. 
 
 " The Lord Bishop holds his Ordination on the 
 Sundays after the Whitsun and September Ember- 
 weeks. 
 
 " III. Evening, Daily. 
 
 "In the Choir at 3 p. m., except on the Sun- 
 days from Nov. 1st to Feb. 2d, when it is at 2.30 
 p. m. On Sundays the Service is followed by a 
 Lecture." 
 
 The present Cathedral Establishment consists of 
 the Lord Bishop ; the Dean ; the seven Canons ; 
 the twenty-four Prebendaries ; the four Priest 
 Vicars ; the eight Choir-men, who are Lay Vicars ; 
 the six Secondaries ; the ten Choir-boys ; the two 
 Vergers ; and the one Dog-whipper ! 
 
 In spite of this large ecclesiastical force, and the 
 great number of other churches, Exeter is said to 
 be not at all remarkable for its piety, morality, and 
 sober manners. Many of the clergy reside out of 
 the city, and are away from it excepting when their 
 presence is needed in the public ministrations ; in- 
 deed, the missionary idea of active aggressive work 
 among the hearts and lives of the people did not 
 
 24 
 
370 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 appear so much to prevail, as the more poetic one 
 of maintaining a perpetual, dignified, and beautiful 
 Church form, before the eyes of the people — but I 
 will not criticise where any wish to pray. 
 
 On the Sabbath, the Mayor of the city was 
 present at the Cathedral Service in a scarlet dress, 
 and the City Recorder in a big wig; and a great 
 number of begowned clergy, officials, and boys, 
 filled the stalls and a large portion of the choir. 
 The Liturgy and Psalms were chanted and in- 
 toned ; and when the Commandments were read, 
 the reader turned himself toward the east window. 
 The preacher, in an otherwise sensible discourse, 
 dwelt strongly upon the idea that the real ingraft- 
 ing upon Christ was through baptism ; that in this 
 way we were made his children and obtained en- 
 trance into his spiritual kingdom. No allusion at 
 all was made to the terrific storm which had been 
 sweeping over England, desolating thousands of 
 households, though its blasts hardly yet ceased to 
 shake the solid walls of the church — and there 
 seemed to be in fact no place in the Service for a 
 present and vital emergency. 
 
 Quite near the Cathedral, to the south of the 
 choir, is the Episcopal Palace, built of red sand- 
 stone, which has a grave and almost gloomy 
 look. Its doorway consists of an immense re- 
 cessed arch ; the lawn about it is beautifully green 
 and shaven, and ornamented with dark laburnums. 
 English Bishops have commonly more than one 
 paiace — the Bishops of Winchester and London 
 
SOUTH DEVON AND TORQUAY. 371 
 
 can see the smoke of one of their palaces from 
 the top of the other. The Bishop of Exeter has 
 £5000 salary, and holds also a rich living as 
 Canon of Durham, besides other patronages ; but 
 I do not know that he is considered a particu- 
 larly wealthy prelate. Indeed, compared with the 
 Archbishop of Canterbury who has £15,000, the 
 Archbishop of York and the Bishops of London 
 and Winchester who have £10,000, his income is 
 one of the smallest ; for with the exception of the 
 Bishop of Durham who has £8000, and of Ely 
 who has £5500, all the other English Bishops 
 have £5000 each, or nearly that amount. Yet the 
 lowest of these sums sounds very large to Ameri- 
 cans, with whom all that is paid for mere dignity 
 is considered to be money thrown away. But 
 Lord John Russell says that there must be 
 " prizes " in the Church. t 
 
 Henry Phillpots, D. D., Bishop of Exeter, whose 
 jurisdiction extends over Devonshire and Corn- 
 wall, has been a modern St. Bernard, "a dog of the 
 Church," an ecclesiastical champion and athlete, 
 and in his controversy with Lord Brougham on 
 points of English Church History, and in defense 
 of Church rights, he showed himself, as far as force 
 and skill are concerned, worthy of the palmiest 
 days of Catholic Rome. The making of a great 
 lawyer was spoiled in him. He is now I believe 
 incapacitated by his great age from active duty, 
 and is aided by a colleague recently appointed. 
 
 In my frequent walks about Exeter, I fell in 
 
372 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 with more than one grave-looking clerical gentle- 
 man with black frock-coat cut long, black gloves, 
 and black cane, and broad-brimmed hat slightly 
 curled up on one side, walking with dignified slow- 
 ness, doubtless a reverend canon or prebend ; and 
 I must confess, that from some cause or other, 
 Exeter gave me now and then a shadowy Roman 
 Catholic impression, which the broad honest red 
 faces and hearty voices of the common English 
 people just as instantly dispelled. 
 
 The walks about Exeter are lovely. One long 
 steep hill, leading to what is called " Pennsylva- 
 nia or Marypole Head," gives one a charming pano- 
 rama. Trudging up this hill, I met an old woman 
 holding her hand on her heart ; I asked her if she 
 were tired ; " Yes," she said, " very tired ; " this 
 is what they called " Break-heart Hill." 
 
 The view from the top of this hill takes in the 
 city with its long dark Cathedral pile dominating 
 over all ; the vale of the Exe to its mouth, and the 
 waters of the British Channel beyond ; and back, 
 far in among the swelling hills, the river meander- 
 ing past hundreds of peaceful villages and farm- 
 houses ; and. to the southwest the dimly-seen blue 
 mountain walls of Dartmoor. Descending the hill 
 on the other side one gets into the genuine inland 
 Devonshire country, a quiet valley lying amid 
 green hills cleanly cultivated to the top, with deep- 
 sunk, hedged lanes running through it, and a 
 noble Elizabethan country-house half way up its 
 side, and splendid cattle feeding as if in regular 
 military lines on its meadows. 
 
SOUTH DEVON AND TORQUAY. 373 
 
 This was the season of hedge-pruning; and I 
 met men hard at work on the tall luxuriant hedges 
 with their broad pruning-bills. 
 
 I had to wait a day or two longer in Exeter on 
 account of the road being impassable between Exe- 
 ter and Dawlish ; and when I went over it, it was 
 amazing to see how the ocean had spurned man's 
 strongest work. Brunei was warned not to build 
 so near the sea ; and one old man in especial told 
 him that the work might last ten or even twenty- 
 years, and then there would come a storm which 
 would demolish it ; but in the willfulness of his 
 genius he despised the warning, saying that " an 
 obstinate old man was worse than Parliament." 
 Yet he was a great genius ; and this very South 
 Devon road, triumphing as it does over all obsta- 
 cles, spanning arms of the sea, and striding from 
 hill-top to hill-top, is proof of it. 
 
 On the causeway before one gets to Dawlish, 
 under the red-clay cliffs just at its side, enormous 
 masses of granite had been twisted around and 
 tumbled down as if they were cotton-bales ; and 
 still the sea was roaring and churning the shells 
 and gravel of the long beach in menacing unrest, 
 although the sun shone brightly upon the expanse 
 of the broad estuary of the Exe River, and upon 
 the pretty towns of Topsham and Exmouth on its 
 opposite bank. 
 
 Dawlish is a snug little watering-place, cosily 
 set in a narrow bay of green hills, with a stream 
 running through the centre, and with a splendid 
 
374 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 gravelly sea-beach. It was formerly an insignifi- 
 cant fishing place, though long ago visited by 
 health-seekers ; and the readers of " Mrs. Schim- 
 melpenninck's Life " will remember how much she 
 speaks of Dawlish. In one place she says : "In 
 the beginning of June we left Bath and accompa- 
 nied our aunt to Dawlish, where she had just built, 
 on a model of her own, a very pretty little villa 
 called Seagrove Lodge. We had our abode in a 
 small lodging a few hundred yards off. Dawlish 
 was not then what it is now. It was no watering- 
 place, but a small rural village, pastoral indeed, but 
 without pretension either to beauty or picturesque 
 effect. It consisted of a straggling line of small 
 houses, mostly thatched, and many whitewashed 
 cottages, interspersed with little gardens, extending 
 irregularly from the sides of a shallow brook, that 
 wound through a plashy green full of rushes and the 
 yellow-horned poppy, till, crossing through sands, 
 it reached the sea. This little stream was crossed 
 by a crazy wooden foot-bridge, where the children 
 of the village often delighted to angle, while we 
 were occupied in the marshy sward beneath in 
 gathering the water-cresses growing in the brook 
 in great abundance." 
 
 One would hardly recall this " water-color " pict- 
 ure in the substantial yellow-stuccoed houses, prim 
 green, and noble sea-promenade of the present 
 town. 
 
 . The red earth cliffs between Dawlish and Teign- 
 mouth are of the most bold and grotesque forms ; 
 
SOUTH DEVON AND TORQUAY. 375 
 
 • 
 
 they resemble immense Egyptian sculptures in 
 their massive character ; for the sea, rude sculptor 
 as it is, has hollowed, and carved, and shaped them 
 to its own rough fancy. The railway cuts directly 
 through some of these great sandstone masses. The 
 fragments called the " Parson and Clerk " stand 
 out very oddly in the sea, — the red-faced parson 
 preaching to the waves, — while another figure, 
 below the breakwater when the tide is out, presents 
 a still more remarkable appearance, resembling a 
 gigantic Capuchin monk, with his ample cape and 
 gown wildly Hying in the wind. 
 
 In walking about Devonshire one gets well 
 painted with this red clay ; where it has been re- 
 cently plowed and the water stands in the furrows, 
 it is as bright-colored as red ochre. 
 
 At Teignmouth, a very old town, there is the 
 longest bridge in the kingdom ; it has thirty-four 
 arches, and is 1671 feet long. This is another 
 pleasant health-resort. " The average tempera- 
 ture is almost six degrees higher than that of Lon- 
 don from October to May, and five lower from 
 June to September." 
 
 Newton Abbot, where one takes the branch train 
 to Torquay, is a finely situated and wooded place. 
 
 When I looked out of the window the next 
 morning upon the streets, harbor, and bay of Tor- 
 quay, it was truly " a moving sight to behold ; " 
 for every thing was in a state of restless agitation ; 
 the rain was leaping and spouting, the small craft 
 in the inner harbor were rocking and dancing, and 
 
376 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 the big waves outside were tossing their white 
 crests in tremendous glee — - another of those fierce 
 October gales was upon us, though of shorter du- 
 ration. Of course it rained more or less violently 
 during the three clays I was at Torquay. But it 
 is a continual drizzle at all seasons in Devonshire ; 
 for the warm wind from the tropics coming over 
 the Atlantic, and charged heavily with moisture, 
 deposites itself in a thick mist of soft rain on the 
 Devonshire coasts and fields ; and it is this that 
 lends them such a dark rich green. Yet there is 
 more rain at London than at Torquay ! The aver- 
 age number of days on which rain falls in the 
 course of the year in Torquay is said to be one 
 hundred and thirty- two, and at London one hun- 
 dred and seventy-eight. Torquay is looked upon 
 therefore as a dry place, being situated between 
 two rivers and under the Dartmoor highlands, 
 which serve to carry. off the moisture. This, with 
 its sheltered situation and warm equable climate, 
 makes it a rival of Brighton as a health-resort, 
 though for another class of invalids. It is indeed 
 snugly and charmingly situated in one of those 
 deeply indented bays that stud the shores of Dev- 
 onshire — a bay within a bay — nestling itself in a 
 gorge under the steep piny cliffs of Park Hill, 
 Waldon Hill, and the Braddons, themselves cov- 
 ered with noble stone villas. It is a famous up- 
 and-down place, and by climbing a little one can 
 get very soon into a bracing hill atmosphere. Un- 
 able to bear the ennui of an in-door hotel day, I 
 
SOUTH DEVON AND TORQUAY. 377 
 
 walked around the sea-road and the shore of Tor- 
 bay for some distance, though it was, from the 
 force of the wind, rather wrestling than walking. 
 Sometimes I had to run from a cataract of salt 
 water. The sea-road under the cliff had suffered 
 in the same manner that the Exeter and Teign- 
 mouth road had done ; it was torn, and twisted, 
 and knocked all to pieces ; its ponderous stone- 
 wall was plowed through in places as by an iron 
 share ; and the waves had flung themselves over 
 into the garden and roared unceremoniously into 
 the door of a villa, which was placed too ambi- 
 tiously near the borders of their dominion. 
 
 But the splendid semicircle of Torbay, between 
 dimly defined Berry Head on the south, and 
 Hope's Nose on the north, presented a grand spec- 
 tacle under these circumstances — a broad sheet 
 of yellow tumbling yeast, fringed by a wall of 
 white foam. King William's fleet would have 
 stood a poor chance then to have landed its bold 
 invaders. God times the moments and the ele- 
 ments in these turning points of history ; for so 
 thundered the waves on England's cliffs when the 
 Spanish Armada was broken to pieces. " Flavit 
 ei dissipati sunV 
 
 Before I left Torquay, however, the storm had 
 subsided and softened away, leaving a golden hazy 
 atmosphere in which the autumnal sun bathed and 
 diffused itself, and at moments broke through the 
 vapory heavens with all the more brightness. I 
 made excursions to Anstey's Cove and Babbicombe 
 
378 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 Bay. At the head of the former, which is a 
 tangled, ivy-hung, rock-cloven chasm, stands an 
 Italian villa of the Bishop of Exeter, called 
 " Bishopstowe," having a wild seclusion and a 
 noble sea view. Babbicombe Bay has a pretty 
 sweep of silvery beach with red-tinted headlands, 
 and a terraced slope to the edge of the cliffs. At 
 Watcombe Bay the scene was truly Arcadian, 
 green landslips under the cliffs and shepherds with 
 sheep feeding. 
 
 In returning I noticed an ancient " Lich-house," 
 or place for the temporary deposit of the dead, in 
 front of a venerable country church ; these are 
 rare now in England. 
 
 A more interesting excursion was to the little 
 town of Brixham, just at the southern corner of 
 Torbay. It is built in a deep basin between the 
 hills, and is a good specimen of an old-fashioned 
 English fishing town. As it was " dirty weather," 
 the old salts in their flapping hats and Mackin- 
 toshes were hanging about the stone piers, mending 
 their fishing tackle, or tinkering their little crafts. 
 The small harbor was crowded with such craft 
 driven in by the storm. The smell of burning 
 pitch contended with the more ancient " fish-like " 
 odor. The fishing is chiefly done by trawling. A 
 new trawlincr-o-ear costs some <£80, and it is there- 
 fore no light matter to lose it, as is frequently done. 
 An old fisherman said to me, that " it was fine 
 sport fishing in pleasant weather, but no fine when 
 winter came on." Gudewives had baskets of 
 
SOUTH DEVON AND TORQUAY. 379 
 
 haicks and whitings for sale, although Saturdays 
 are the market days. Brixham is also a famous 
 place for turbot, soles, mullet, and cod. At the 
 end of the pier there is an obelisk of stone, set in 
 granite, bearing the following inscription : — 
 
 " On this stone, 
 
 And near this spot, 
 
 WILLIAM, 
 
 Prince of Orange, 
 
 First set foot, 
 
 On his first landing in 
 
 England, 
 
 5th November, 
 
 1688." 
 
 Macaulay, in his " History of England," gives the 
 following picture of this event. " A soft breeze 
 sprung up from the south, the mist disappeared, the 
 sun shone forth, and under the mild lio-ht of an 
 autumnal noon the fleet turned back, passed 
 around the lofty cape of Berry Head, and rode safe 
 into the harbor of Torbay. The disembarkation 
 instantly commenced. Sixty boats conveyed the 
 troops to the coast. The Prince soon followed. 
 He landed where the quay of Brixham now stands ; 
 a fragment of the rock on which the deliverer 
 stepped from his boat has been carefully preserved, 
 and is set up as an object of public veneration in 
 the centre of that busy wharf." 
 
 Although the squall was furious, I scrambled 
 up to the top of huge Berry Head, beside which 
 " Shakspeare's Cliff" dwindles, and had a talk 
 with the old coast-guard there, in his whitewashed 
 
380 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 stone hut, over a little smoking furze fire. The 
 view from the cliff was grand, though the approach 
 to the edge of it, from the violence of the gusts, 
 required some caution. Over the bold detached 
 headland, which forms the northern boundary of 
 Torbay, flew plumes of spray, and the green waves 
 of the British Channel, as far as the eye could 
 reach, were streaked with foam. 
 
 The veteran coast-guard might hang up his bat- 
 tered telescope on its rusty nails and smoke his 
 pipe in peace. His only duty was to make himself 
 comfortable that afternoon. 
 
 In driving back to Torquay we passed the seat 
 of a nobleman, with whose family history the coach- 
 man seemed minutely acquainted, and he helped to 
 while away a rainy ride over a dull bleak region 
 by detailing it to me. Among other things, he 
 said that the son of this nobleman, who was as 
 great a scapegrace, from his account, as the famous 
 " Heir of Linne," had lately lost £ 30,000 in racing 
 spiders over a hot plate ! This story I give en- 
 tirely on the coachman's authority. 
 
 The season had just about commenced at Tor- 
 quay, though the severe weather had prevented as 
 yet much thronging of visitors. It is an elegant 
 and fashionable town, and has some rich modern 
 churches, costly residences, and one of the best 
 hotels to be found in the kingdom. The Devon- 
 shire country people that one sees on the streets 
 here, are generally noble specimens of men, with 
 blooming red faces, and eyes as black as sloes; 
 
SOUTH DEVON AND TORQUAY. 381 
 
 and with their velvet jackets, yellow corduroy 
 breeches, huge brogans, miniature felt hats stuck 
 on one side of the head, and flowers pinned into 
 their coat-collars, they are indeed quite present- 
 able giants. 
 
CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 CORNWALL AND PENZANCE. 
 
 Striking again upon the South Devon road, I 
 went on to Totness. At Totness we crossed the 
 beautiful river Dart, navigable ten miles from Dart- 
 mouth. One sees here in England the meaning 
 of the names Dartmouth, Exmouth, Plymouth, &c, 
 which transferred to our American inland, or sim- 
 ply shore towns, have lost all their original signifi- 
 cance. From Totness to Plymouth the distance is 
 twenty-four and a half miles, and the road passes 
 through much interesting Devonshire scenery, 
 especially about Ivy Bridge, a favorite neighbor- 
 hood for artists. The Dartmoor highlands lie 
 somewhat to the north, which though not of great 
 elevation are exceedingly romantic, forming a wild, 
 solitary, and tempestuous region. 
 
 Plymouth, a name dear to the American, has 
 great beauties and charms of its own. I can never 
 forget the surprise I experienced at the first sight 
 of the harbor of Plymouth from the Hoe prom- 
 enade ; to say that it is an English Bay of Naples, 
 would have little meaning, for there is no resem- 
 blance between the two ; but Plymouth Bay is 
 certainly the most noble, varied, and beautiful, of 
 
CORNWALL AND PENZANCE. 383 
 
 all the English harbors, and there are few in the 
 world to compare with it. And out of it about this 
 time of the year, perhaps upon such a clear, fresh, 
 and golden autumn morning, with the trees of 
 Edgcumbe Park just turning crimson, and the 
 waves in the bay curling merrily to the breeze, 
 the little Mayflower put out to sea, bearing another 
 England within her I 
 
 New Plymouth, so the tradition is, was named 
 from a fancied resemblance to the old Plymouth. 
 The resemblance must be very slight. A Pilgrim 
 College is now established at or near the traditional 
 spot where the embarkation of the Pilgrims for 
 America took place. This event is thus related in 
 the " Journal of the Pilgrims : " " Wednesday, the 
 sixt of September, the Wind comming East North 
 East a fine small gale, we loosed from Plimoth, 
 hailing beene kindly intertained and curteously 
 vsed by diners friends there dweling, and after 
 many difficulties in boysterous stormes, at length by 
 God's prouidence vpon the ninth of Nouember fol- 
 lowing, by breake of the day we espied land." 
 
 And it seems to be England's destiny still to have 
 her population flow away ever from her shores to- 
 ward America. With all the increasing wealth of 
 England, her system- of taxation falling so unequally 
 on the lower classes,* and the tendency of her 
 legislation to concentrate the landed interests in the 
 hands of a few, so that the small landholders are 
 every year diminishing in number and in ability to 
 * Walker's Science of Wealth, p. 3*0. 
 
384 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 support themselves, and with her untold millions of 
 hopeless paupers, great numbers must emigrate or 
 starve ; so that willingly or unwillingly England 
 still continues to nourish America, and America is 
 twice-born of the mother-country. 
 
 The Tamar River widens at its mouth and forms 
 Plymouth Sound, and the splendid inner basin of 
 the Hamoaze, some four miles long, and capable of 
 mooring a hundred sail of the line. The estuary 
 of the Plym, called the Cat-water, is a still larger 
 anchorage for merchant vessels to the east of the 
 city. These are both crowded with vast frigates, 
 and with smaller shipping, the view up the Hamoaze 
 ending with the long and lofty lines of Albert Bridge 
 at Saltash. 
 
 The massive citadel of Plymouth, and the pyra- 
 midal rock of Drake's Island, strongly fortified, 
 give a grave and solid aspect to the scene ; while 
 the lovely banks of the Tamar, and the thickly 
 wooded promontory of Mount Edgcumbe, take it 
 out of the commonplace of harbor views, and lend 
 it a strange picturesqueness. 
 
 Mount Edgcumbe, with its feathery slopes and 
 bold banks girdled by the deep blue sea, peculiarly 
 attracted — so says his biographer — the painter Tur- 
 ner : as did also this whole region about Plymouth 
 Bay, and the sweet scenery of the Tamar River. 
 And indeed there is no one who has so photographed 
 by the sun-flash of genius the varied scenery of all 
 England, as this eccentric but enthusiastic lover of 
 his native land has done. Born in one of the most 
 
CORNWALL AND PENZANCE. 385 
 
 obscure of the dingy courts of London, the son of 
 a barber, and with the prospect of frizzling hair 
 himself all his life, his genius was first fairly awaked 
 by the daily sight of the river Thames, and by the 
 trees and meadows of Twickenham and Bushy 
 Park, in the neighborhood of which he was sent to 
 school. He afterward saw the ocean at Margate 
 in Kent, where he also went to school ; and there 
 he fell in love with the sister of a school-mate, 
 which led to the great sorrow of his life, but which, 
 perhaps, wedded him the more closely to Art. His 
 blue eyes, red face, and stout, short, shabbily dressed 
 form, might have been seen a quarter of a century 
 ago or more in every part of Devonshire, on its 
 southern and northern coasts — he used to say he 
 was a Devonshire man — also in Cornwall where 
 he sketched St. Michael's Mount, in Wiltshire with 
 Beckford, in Kent, in Derbyshire, and above all in 
 Yorkshire, his favorite county. He was preemi- 
 nently an English painter, as Milton was an English 
 poet. Ruskin says that he so caught the trick of 
 the Yorkshire hills, rounding as they do at the sum- 
 mit with a break or precipice at the foot instead of 
 one sheer to the top, that he really made the Alps 
 themselves bend in the same way to do homage to 
 his unconquerable English genius.* Turner, as far 
 as I have gained any conception of his character, 
 seems to me to be a type of the best and worst, the 
 greatest and meanest traits of the English mind, — 
 original, incomprehensible, positive, reticent, acqui- 
 
 * Thornbury's Life of Turner, Vol. I., p. 151. 
 25 
 
386 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 sitive, tender, rough, despising public opinion but 
 eager for a solid and lasting fame. He did not see 
 why Italy, or an Italian artist, should monopolize all 
 God's beauty in Nature, or that dear misty England 
 should be without her Claude — and with tenfold 
 more of power, as when the storm awakes in its 
 might around the coasts of this green and lovely 
 isle. But I have gotten far away from Plymouth 
 Bay and Mount Edgcumbe. This last striking 
 and beautiful spot, was the place that the com- 
 mander of the Spanish Armada set his greedy eyes 
 upon as the seat of his power and pleasure after his 
 speedy conquest of England, and from the harbor 
 near by darted out those nimble little English frig- 
 ates under Howard, Hawkins, and Drake, to spoil 
 his dreams. Drake, it is related, would play out 
 and win his game of bowls, before he stirred a 
 step to go aboard his ship, though all Spain and 
 Philip himself were coming. As to these same little 
 English frigates — we are sometimes apt to regard 
 England as if she had always been the great naval 
 power that she now is ; but before the reign of Eliza- 
 beth she had no navy worth speaking of. Froude 
 says that at the beginning of that reign " the whole 
 naval force in commission amounted to seven coast- 
 guard vessels, the largest of which was but one 
 hundred and twenty tons ; and eight small mer- 
 chant brigs and schooners, altered for fighting." 
 The love of gold and the plunder of rich Spanish 
 galleons, and the wild hopes which the opening of 
 a New World aroused — America, in fact, with her 
 
CORNWALL AND PENZANCE. 387 
 
 mysterious magnetic power drawing west to new 
 fields of wealth and conquest — here was the true 
 originating cause of the maritime greatness of Old 
 England. 
 
 At the mouth of the broad harbor stretches that 
 wonder of patient science, the Plymouth Break- 
 water, a mile long, terminated by a light-house. ' It 
 receives the full force of the stormy Southern At- 
 lantic as it rolls up into the English Channel. And 
 beyond all, fourteen miles out to sea, I could discern, 
 even with the naked eye, the tall tapering white 
 form of " Eddystone Light-house," and with a glass 
 could see the spray dashing in graceful jets at its 
 base, under the northerly wind. Smeaton, Rennie, 
 Brunei, have crowned Plymouth with works of im- 
 perishable honor, — works of peace, humanity, and 
 enduring utility. 
 
 I stayed two days in Plymouth, boating in the 
 harbor, boarding some of the immense men-of-war 
 that lie there so silent and immovable, and tramp- 
 ing over Edgcumbe Park, from which one has a 
 view of Carson Bay, the favorite anchoring ground 
 of Nelson and Vincent ; and here too I had an 
 opportunity of studying some of the finest trees in 
 England, — oaks, laurels, firs, ilexes, and cedars of 
 Lebanon. I also made an excursion up the Tamar 
 to the Royal Albert Bridge, the only work of Bru- 
 nei that combines stupendousness with economy. 
 Generally speaking, his designs have been great, 
 and greatly ruinous to all concerned in them. 
 Here he seems to have studied cheapness as well as 
 
388 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 vastness. It is as plain a structure as could well be 
 conceived, but its simplicity is impressive and al- 
 most sublime. Its span of four hundred and eighty 
 feet and its huge unornamented white iron cylin- 
 ders make a lofty gradual arch over the abyss, and 
 in spite of the immense piers, and other gigantic 
 supports, appear to hold the whole structure sus- 
 pended entirely from them. So perfect were the 
 preparations, that the bridge was raised at last 
 without the sound of a hammer. A man-of-war 
 may pass under it with full sail set. 
 
 Old Saltash tumbling up the steep bank under 
 the colossal shadows of the bridge, with its irregular 
 clustering houses, and boats lying about in confu- 
 sion on the gravelly beach, is a piquant bit of pict- 
 ure in itself. Above Saltash the Tamar assumes 
 a strictly rural, quiet, inland beauty. 
 
 The Royal Hotel at Plymouth was intended to 
 be a comprehensive institution, or to embrace hotel, 
 coffee-house, theatre, and church, all under one roof. 
 It is a ramblinp; old house enough. The sombre 
 coffee-room and its low ceiling, middle arch, red car- 
 pet, oak-pattern paper, game-piece medallions, and 
 polished ponderous mahogany furniture, with the re- 
 spectable old waiters in white cravats and aprons, and 
 naval officers eating coppery oysters, and talking 
 thick over their port wine, are fresh in my memory. 
 Here I partook, not for the first time, however, of the 
 famous Devonshire " clouted cream" — *- a rich and 
 palatable dessert, something like improved " bonny- 
 clabber." The method of making it is fully de- 
 
CORNWALL AND PENZANCE. 389 
 
 scribed in a book on " English cattle " which I 
 picked up ; but the real Devonshire milk is to be 
 first obtained. " The milk is suffered to stand in a 
 vessel for twenty-four hours ; it is then placed over 
 a stove or slow fire, and very gradually heated to 
 an almost simmering state, below the boiling point. 
 When this is accomplished, (the first bubble having 
 appeared,) the milk is removed from the fire, and 
 allowed to stand for twenty-four hours more. And 
 at the end of the time the cream will have arisen 
 to the surface in a thick or clouted state, and is re- 
 moved ; in this state it is eaten as a luxury, but it is 
 often converted into butter, which is done by stir- 
 ring it briskly by the hand or stick." By this it is 
 seen that it is almost as rich as butter. This 
 clouted cream is said to have first come from Corn- 
 wall, where it is still a common luxury ; and, 
 strangely enough it is an Oriental or Syrian dish to 
 this day ; so that some, (by rather a broad leap,) 
 have argued from this fact the authenticity of i:he 
 Phoenician visitation to Cornwall. 
 
 There are no specially handsome streets in Plym- 
 outh, though it is much more of a city than Ports- 
 mouth, and with Devenport and its immense dock- 
 yard of seventy-one acres, its vast military works, 
 and its fine houses and churches, it is a stately and 
 imposing place. In the public library I saw three 
 pictures by Sir Joshua Reynolds, and an ill-spelled 
 letter of his, inviting Boswell to dine. 
 
 We have now to make a rapid tour through the 
 last county in England, Cornwall. There is truth 
 
390 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 in these remarks of an English writer : " Cornwall 
 has been, perhaps, less known and visited by 
 tourists than any other of our counties ; and I 
 might say less than the capitals of the Continent 
 of Europe. You will find in any miscellaneous 
 company, many more Englishmen who have visited 
 Paris than Truro ; many more who have sailed up 
 and down the Rhine than up and down the rivers 
 Tamar and Fowey ; many more who know the 
 outside and inside of St. Peter's at Rome, than the 
 outside or inside, especially the latter, of a Cornish 
 copper mine." How many Englishmen, in Eng- 
 land and on the Continent, have told me that they 
 had never been to Cornwall, and, what is more, 
 never wished to go. They have lost the sight of a 
 wild and singular region, totally unlike the rest of 
 England, and of an interesting people. 
 
 Whirling over the " Royal Albert Bridge " to 
 Saltash, one is in Cornwall. The scenery con- 
 tinues to be beautiful, and like that in Devonshire, 
 until the mining region is reached. The railway 
 crosses a number of narrow valleys or gorges 
 sloping to the sea, and richly wooded and green. 
 The vales of Liskeard and Lostwithiel are charm- 
 ing, containing a dark ferny luxuriant vegetation, 
 with beautiful river scenery, and noble artificial 
 works, broad canals, and stupendous railway via- 
 ducts spanning from hill to hill ; for Brunei put 
 out all his strength on this South Devon and Corn- 
 wall road. At Lostwithiel, on the lovely Fowey 
 River, one first begins to see mining carriages, and 
 
CORNWALL AND PENZANCE. 391 
 
 traces of that immense system of underground 
 operations, that convert this end of England into a 
 solemn, candle-lit, subterranean hive or prison. 
 Before coming to Truro, we passed the famous 
 Carclaze tin-mine, with its white clay cliffs. It is 
 an open excavation of a mile in circuit, and from 
 twenty to thirty fathoms deep. It presents the 
 unique spectacle of an out-of-door mine. It is 
 worked in an earth called " soft growan " (or de- 
 composed granite), and the metal is obtained sim- 
 ply by washing. The mine has been worked four 
 hundred years, and an incredible amount of metal 
 has been taken from it. Now begins to appear the 
 true Cornwall scenery, — low hills without wood, 
 barren moors covered with a short furze, and more 
 commonly still, simple mounds of sand and gravel, 
 and holes and pits everywhere. Now and then 
 there is a small stone hut with a walled-in min- 
 iature kitchen-garden. A wooden shed, some 
 spindling poles and tottering scaffolding with clus- 
 ters of huts and larger piles of sand and detritus^ 
 are the unobtrusive and almost unnoticeable evi- 
 dences of what is perhaps a large and rich mine. 
 Truro, the capital of Cornwall, is finely situated 
 on the confluence of two streams, but beauty is 
 sacrificed to business, and sand-heaps, mounds 
 of " deads," and all the withering concomitants of 
 a mining district, make the environs of this ancient 
 town any thing but attractive. Redruth, some- 
 what further on, is the very centre of the Cornwall 
 copper mines, and of savage scenery. The region 
 
392 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 is indescribably bleak and barren. The black 
 heights of " Carn Brea," strewed with tempest- 
 worn blocks or " tors " of granite, frown over the 
 scene. All around the landscape is like that of the 
 " Cities of the Plain," after the tempest of fire and 
 brimstone had rained on them. There is nothing 
 but a continued series of poisonous-looking heaps 
 of the exuviae of mines, and a dismal and herbless 
 expanse for the eye to rest upon. Out of the town 
 few people or signs of life are seen. The life is 
 under ground. This is the heart of what is called 
 " The Gwennap Mining District." It is chiefly 
 cupriferous, and is the richest in Cornwall. The 
 little that I have room to say about the Cornwall 
 mines, might as well be said here. For a fuller 
 treatment of this theme I refer the reader to a 
 small book called " Cornwall : its Mines and 
 Miners." 
 
 Copper is found in granite and clay-slate, or 
 more definitely in what is technically called killas, 
 or greenish clay-slate, and especially in the line of 
 the junction of this with granite. The vein varies 
 in size from the thickness of a sheet of paper to 
 that of several yards. Sometimes the miner strikes 
 upon a rich " bunch " of metal with smaller veins 
 or strings hanging to it, like the root of a vegeta- 
 ble. This hope of continually coming upon a prize 
 fires him in his hard and solitary toil. According 
 to the richness of his gains so is his pay. In the 
 common method of working mines, the miner re- 
 ceives a certain percentage on the actual value of 
 
CORNWALL AND PENZANCE. 393 
 
 what he digs. It is thus for the interest of the 
 workmen, or " tributers," to make as much for 
 their employers as possible ; and there are no 
 strikes among the Cornish miners. 
 
 The vast expense and skill requisite in mining 
 can hardly be estimated by the uninitiated. It 
 is said that the annual cost of mining operations 
 in Cornwall is about equal to the annual gains, 
 though these are immense. Therefore some must 
 lose heavily, while a few only make money. Min- 
 ing is a gigantic lottery. It takes the place in 
 England of our Western land speculations. To 
 hold a share in a mine is perilous business, because 
 it is a leasehold which may expire any year, and 
 because one's liability is unlimited. Yet almost all 
 Cornish men and women, who have any property, 
 hold shares in mines. A common-looking, chatty 
 woman pointed out to me a mine, called, if I re- 
 member rightly, " Cook's Kitchen," and said she 
 owned a share there. She got off the car, and 
 looked about her with the air of a proprietor. 
 
 The extent and elaborateness of some of the 
 older Cornwall mines will account for their ex- 
 pensiveness. The " Consolidated Mines," which 
 are perhaps the largest, are calculated to extend 
 5500 fathoms, or sixty-three miles under ground. 
 Some twelve miles of perpendicular depth have 
 been sunk in shafts. The old " Dalcoath Mine " 
 is 1920 feet deep. These vast depths and ramifi- 
 cations have to be drained and ventilated. For 
 draining, steam-engines of extraordinary power 
 
894 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 must be employed. They are of peculiar con- 
 struction, economizing power to a wonderful de- 
 gree, and are made in Cornwall. One of them at 
 " Austen's Fowey Consols Mine " is thus de- 
 scribed : " It has an eighty-inch cylinder 10.97 
 load per square inch on the piston, and a length 
 of stroke in the cylinder of 10.31, and in the 
 pump of 9.25, lifting 87,065,000 pounds a foot 
 high, by the consumption of only one bushel of 
 coals. It consumes eighty-four pounds of coal in 
 an hour." It is estimated that at " Huel Abraham 
 Mine 43,500 hogsheads of water have been pumped 
 up in twenty-four hours from a depth of 1441 
 feet." Ventilation is also effected, or at least 
 aided, by the employment of steam, discharging 
 foul air and creating circulation. The air of some 
 mines is oppressively hot. Men have been known 
 to l'ose five or six pounds of weight at a single 
 spell of labor, from profuse perspiration at the bot- 
 tom of a deep mine, where the temperature is often 
 nearer 90° than 80°. 
 
 The hardest work of the poor miner is descend- 
 ing and ascending such enormous depths by ladders. 
 After a wearing, toiling day in dungeon air, then 
 to climb up endless ladders, carrying his tools, full 
 an hour's journey, " to grass," — or what would 
 be like climbing a mountain without having the 
 pure mountain air to breathe, — is almost too much 
 for human strength. Heart disease and consump- 
 tion are the inevitable results of such unnatural 
 toil. The " man-machine," now introduced to 
 
CORNWALL AND PENZANCE. 395 
 
 some extent in the Cornwall mines, has been a 
 great blessing to miners. It is a long rod con- 
 nected with a working beam, with a stroke of 
 twelve feet. Upon this rod are attached shelves, 
 each large enough for two men to stand upon. Up 
 goes the rod, lifting the men with it. They then 
 step from this shelf upon a shelf fixed on the side 
 of the shaft. There they wait until the rod again 
 ascends, when they step upon its rising shelf and 
 are carried up twelve feet. So they gradually 
 come " to grass." An American friend, who ex- 
 plored several Cornwall mines, told me, that not- 
 withstanding the apparent ease of this process, it 
 required nevertheless a quick eye and steady 
 nerves. His coat-skirt once became entangled 
 upon a descending shelf, and had it not been for 
 the quickness of his guide he would have gone 
 down with it. 
 
 The life of the miner is not to be envied. He 
 works in awful silence by dim candle-light at the 
 bottom of a well, and often in the foul air of a 
 sewer. His life is in continual peril. And when 
 he comes to the upper air, it is to expose himself to 
 keen blasts that cut through his frame. He rarely 
 lasts more than sixty years. Yet the Cornish 
 miner is a contented and, generally speaking, re- 
 ligious man. The labors of Whitefield and Wes- 
 ley sow T ed seeds among the rocks here that still 
 bear rich fruit. Near Redruth there is a large 
 hollow, or pit, where John Wesley preached to 
 vast assemblies of miners : it is now sometimes 
 
396 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 used for great religious gatherings and out-door 
 preaching. • 
 
 Tin is usually associated in the same localities 
 with copper, and is found likewise in the granite 
 and metamorphic rock. It is also procured in 
 small quantities from alluvial deposites, like gold. 
 This " stream-tin " was what the ancient Britons 
 of Cornwall probably sold to the Phoenicians, 
 though they may have mined to some little extent. 
 Since visiting Cornwall, I have thought that the 
 parable of the man finding " treasure hid in a 
 field," was not that he found money or jewels, but 
 a vein of silver or copper, for which he sells all to 
 buy ; and to seek truth as hid treasures, was it not, 
 in fact, to mine for it with resolution, skill, and 
 success ? The 28th chapter of Job, especially the 
 3d and 4th verses, literally translated, are a wonder- 
 fully correct description of mining operations even 
 at this day. This chapter certainly goes to prove 
 the exceeding great antiquity of mining. 
 
 Tin is found in other parts of the world, but the 
 grand source of tin is Cornwall. Our New Eng- 
 land bright tin pans, and flashing Connecticut tin- 
 peddler's ware, were all once hundreds of fathoms 
 deep and dark under the Cornish hills. Tin in the 
 ore is any thing but bright and promising. It has 
 to undergo a vast deal of crushing, stamping, roll- 
 ing, puddling, dressing, and smelting, before it 
 comes out a shining metal. Tin ore must be, by 
 law, smelted in Cornwall, where there is no coal. 
 The greatest smelting works are in the neighbor- 
 
CORNWALL AND PENZANCE. 397 
 
 hood of Truro. A beefsteak cooked on a red-hot 
 bar of tin, is the common treat of a visitor after 
 inspecting a mine. 
 
 The same vessels that bring coal from the North, 
 bear back copper to the North. Copper ore is 
 smelted mostly out of Cornwall, at Swansea and 
 Neath, in South Wales. But I am not writing 
 a book on mining, and my reader can find a 
 thoroughly scientific treatment of the subject in the 
 little volume I have recommended. Few subjects 
 are more curiously interesting from the force of 
 mind, the will and courage, the ingenuity of inven- 
 tion, the singular geologic phenomena, and the fresh 
 and novel facts developed by the every- day work- 
 ing of the whole stupendous system. 
 
 From Redruth, the railway passes by and over 
 a portion of sandy-shored St. Ives' Bay, at Hayle. 
 St. Ives is a great point for the " pilchard fishery." 
 This fishery is almost altogether confined to the 
 shores of Cornwall. Once a year these little fish 
 swarm up from the Southern seas to the English 
 coasts. When they approach land in vast shoals, 
 they are eagerly watched and taken in great seines. 
 The net is one hundred and ninety fathoms long, 
 and costs some £170. The author of " Cornwall 
 Mines and Miners " says that at the town of St. 
 Ives, no less than 1000 hogsheads of pilchards were 
 once secured in three casts of the seine. And in 
 the little town of Trereen, 600 hogsheads were 
 taken in a week. As 2400 fish make a hogshead, 
 no less than 1,400,000 pilchards were caught. 
 
398 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 These are salted and sent to the southern coun- 
 tries of Europe, to supply good Catholics with fish 
 in their Lenten season ! The pilchard is somewhat 
 smaller than a herring, and does not compare with 
 it for eating. 
 
 Pilchard fishing is said to be a very picturesque 
 and stirring sight, especially if it take place at night 
 bv torchlight. The nets then look like masses of 
 molten silver. 
 
 St, Ives in Huntingdonshire, and not St. Ives in 
 Cornwall, is probably the famous one of the nursery 
 rhyme. It is strange to think how slender the neck 
 of England is here ; one can almost see across it. 
 We are fast coming to the end of all things. 
 
 The people one meets here in the little one-track 
 junction railway, are of a very plain, frank, sociable 
 cast. London superciliousness and reserve have 
 altogether vanished, and you talk freely with your 
 neighbor. Everybody is acquainted with every- 
 body, and a stranger is looked upon as one to 
 whom all are bound to be polite and entertaining. 
 I gathered a great number of facts about mining 
 and pilchards, which, I am sorry to say, I do not re- 
 tain. The general impression 1 received was, that 
 the zeal for mining was on the decline ; that it 
 was too unhealthy, dangerous, and above all pecu- 
 niarily uncertain business. It was heart-breaking in 
 its crosses and disappointments. One fact I recall. 
 An enterprising " adventurer " — so all are termed 
 who speculate in mines — had spent £ 94,000 upon 
 a mine and died of disappointment ; while his sue- 
 
CORNWALL AND PENZANCE. 399 
 
 cessor a few weeks after began to realize — I hold 
 to this excellent Americanism — an immense for- 
 tune from the same mine. 
 
 A young Episcopal clergyman sat opposite to me, 
 with the most approved pre-raphaelite cut to his coat 
 and visage, with whom I fell into conversation and 
 found him an intelligent and genial man. At 
 parting he gave me a line of introduction to his 
 father-in-law, a distinguished clergyman living at 
 Pendeen, with whom he made me promise that I 
 would pass the next Sabbath. 
 
 The first sight of " St. Michael's Mount " gilded 
 with the fires of a lurid sunset, and of the foam- 
 fringed expanse of " Mount's Bay," had to me a 
 touch of the romantic ; for I had ever associated 
 the " Mount '•' with a certain dreamy undefined 
 antiquity, and with Milton's poetry. 
 
 It was storm and shine during my stay at Pen- 
 zance, though the former predominated. There is 
 a saying that there is a shower every day in Corn- 
 wall, and two on Sunday. But the temperature in 
 this autumn season was much milder and softer 
 than I had experienced further north. The 
 changes are sudden from dark to bright, from rainy 
 to clear. This part of England has a Mediterranean 
 climate. Around Penzance, on its sloping hill-sides, 
 there was a pleasing girdle of green gardens and 
 fields, though almost everywhere else sand and 
 rock, and a scantling of grass, were the monotonous 
 features of the scenery. The myrtle and hy- 
 drangea, and other Southern European plants, grow 
 
400 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 freely in the open air. The winter temperature of 
 Penzance is 42°, while that in the neighborhood of 
 London is 35°. The summer is cooler and the 
 winter warmer. Penzance is also well protected 
 from the tremendous westerly gales which are the 
 most severe of any in England; though in the 
 spring of the year its easterly exposure makes it 
 somewhat uncomfortable. It is becoming quite a 
 health-resort. It were worth a visit to make the 
 evening promenade along the sounding beach, and 
 to see the Atlantic billows roll into " Mount's Bay," 
 and the sun sink behind the stern rocks and barren 
 hills toward Land's End. 
 
 " Mount's Bay " is a singular example of the 
 geologic theory, of the comparatively recent sink- 
 ing of the land to form an ocean floor. Evidences 
 of the submerged forests frequently make their 
 appearance. " St. Michael's Mount " was once, 
 by tradition, a rock in the midst of a great internal 
 forest. 
 
 One should not forget while in Penzance to 
 visit the Serpentine Stone Works. This beautiful 
 igneous stone which takes such an exquisite polish, 
 is procured mostly from the Lizard near by ; it has 
 for its basis the silicate of magnesia, with oxide j 
 of iron, chromium, and manganese. The silicate 
 of aluminum gives it a golden gleam. Few an- 
 tique marbles, such as one picks up amid the ruins 
 of Rome or Baias, may compare with the richness 
 of this dark red and green variegated stone, as if it 
 still held the fires that hardened it. The end of 
 
CORNWALL AND PENZANCE. 401 
 
 England is ever-yiointed. The ocean vainly washes 
 its everlasting hills. 
 
 In the summer time the contrasts of these richly 
 colored rocks of the Lizard, with the pearly white 
 sands of the little coves and bays, and the blue 
 waters of ocean, are said to be exquisitely beautiful 
 and fairy-like. 
 
 There is a good geological museum at Penzance. 
 The town, of about seven thousand inhabitants, is 
 a primitive place enough. My chamber window 
 at the old-fashioned inn looked out on the quiet 
 yards, ancient chimney-pots, and lonely blue sea be- 
 yond. I ate my solitary meal in dignified silence. 
 Walking the streets one feels somewhat like a " pil- 
 chard " on shore, or a bird that has wandered from 
 its place. Yet every one is polite and good-na- 
 tured. Only you are a break, an exception, in the 
 well-soldered community. You belong to another 
 than the Cornwall world of things. When you 
 have seen Penzance and Land's End, go back to 
 London, to Paris, to the world. 
 
 At the evening hour some horrid noises and 
 yells rang through the sober little Methodist town. 
 A squad of beery fishermen, or flush young miners, 
 were making a demonstration in their congenial 
 darkness, — dangerous business one would think so 
 near the jumping-off place. 
 
 I paid a visit to Marazion, or Market Jew, a walk 
 of about three miles on the northern shore ; it is an 
 ancient town, where tin was worked by the Jews in 
 the reign of King John, and even earlier. It is, in 
 
 26 
 
402 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 fact, the oldest town in Cornwall. It stands upon a 
 hill-side which slopes to the north, and contains 
 some very old houses, furnaces, and relics of the prim- 
 itive Jewish town. The " Marazion circle " of tin 
 mines, some twenty-seven in number, have the rep- 
 utation of beino- losing and unfortunate concerns. 
 
 Just opposite Marazion is " St. Michael's Mount." 
 It stands either entirely out of the sea as an island, 
 or as forming the end of a very doubtful and moist 
 peninsula, according to the time of day you visit it. 
 That it was the ancient " Ictis," and that the Isle 
 of Wight was not, in spite of its Latin name, all at 
 least who visit Cornwall are prepared to defend. 
 The famous passage from Deodorus, a writer in the 
 the time of Augustus Cassar, reads thus : " The in- 
 habitants of that extremity of Briton which is called 
 Bolerion " (supposed to be Land's End) " both 
 excel in hospitality, and also, by reason of their in- 
 tercourse with foreign merchants, they are civilized 
 in their mode of life. These prepare the tin, work- 
 ing very skillfully the earth which produces it. 
 The ground is rocky but it has in it earthy veins, 
 the produce of which is brought down and melted 
 and purified. Then, when they have cast it into 
 the form of cubes, they carry it to a certain island 
 adjoining to Britain and called Iktis. During the 
 recess of the tide the intervening space is left dry, 
 and they carry over abundance of tin to this place 
 in their carts ; and it is something peculiar that 
 happens to these islands in those parts lying be- 
 tween Europe and Britain ; for at full tide, the in- 
 
CORNWALL AND PENZANCE. 403 
 
 tervening passages being overflowed, they appear 
 like islands ; but when the sea returns a large space 
 is left dry, and they are seen as peninsulas. From 
 hence, then, the traders purchase the tin of the na- 
 tives, and transport it into Gaul, and finally, travel- 
 ling through Gaul on foot in about thirty days, they 
 bring their burdens on horseback to the mouth of 
 the Rhone." 
 
 Thus the " Mount " is probably the earliest his- 
 toric point in England. It is the link that con- 
 nected Britain with the civilization of Rome and 
 the East. It afterward assumed an ecclesiastical 
 character, and was the place of pilgrimages to the 
 shrine of the angel " Michael," who alighted on 
 the rock in his flight from heaven. Lady Catherine 
 Gordon, ("Rose of Scotland,") wife of Perkin 
 Warbeck, took refuge here. Charles I. visited it 
 during the wars with the Parliament. The Corn- 
 ish men were strong royalists. 
 
 When I saw the " Mount," it rose majestically 
 from the bosom of the sea, and the waves dashed 
 around its base. One could hardly believe that it 
 was not always an island, for it is some distance 
 from the shore. Two strong fellows pulled me out 
 to it, and seemed quite anxious that my visit should 
 be a short one, for the storm was brewing fast. 
 Landing on the old slimy stone pier, I found quite 
 a marine colony there. Fishermen hung about on 
 the sea-wall, smoking their pipes, and watching the 
 veering and menacing clouds. I ran up the broken 
 grassy steep at the foot of the castle, and to my 
 
404 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 surprise was admitted to a beautiful castellated 
 residence, the property of the St. Aubyn family. 
 The room called " Chevy-Chace Hall," and the 
 other apartments, though small, are handsomely 
 furnished, and are lived in during some months of 
 the year. The chapel is the chapel of the old 
 Benedictine Monastery. I went up on the battle- 
 ments, and had a noble view of the whole extent 
 of " Mount's Bay " to the Lizard on the north, and 
 Penzance with its background of green hills and 
 villas, and the bold black headlands toward Land's 
 End on the south. The last storm had shaken the 
 castle to its foundations, and even now the wind 
 was so strong that it was difficult standing. Here 
 is the famous stone chair jutting out from the top- 
 most battlement over the abyss, which secures to 
 one who first sits in it the authority in the domestic 
 circle. 
 
 On our return we did not have quite so success- 
 ful a time. The sea had risen considerably, and in 
 approaching the shore we made two ineffectual 
 attempts to ride in on a big wave, and were well 
 drenched ; but by skillful management we at length 
 shot in on top of a long roller. 
 
 The " Mount "is an impressive object from the 
 shore. It rises pyramidically in bold steps or plat- 
 forms, crowned by the compact though irregular 
 mass of the castle, which seems to grow out of the 
 rock. I tried to discover the " lion " that guards 
 the Mount. A rude mass of granite looking south- 
 ward, by a lively imagination, might be shaped into 
 
CORNWALL AND PENZANCE. 405 
 
 a monstrous lion. While we are (in fancy) look- 
 ing at the " Mount," lifting itself like a vision of 
 majestic power through the scud of the whistling 
 storm, let us hear Milton's lines like a strain of 
 music above the storm : — 
 
 " Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies, 
 The tufted crow-toe, and pale jessamine, 
 The white pink, and the pansy freaked with jet, 
 The glowing violet, 
 
 The musk-rose, and the well-attired woodbine, 
 With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head, 
 And every flower that sad embroidery wears : 
 Bid amaranthus all his beauty shed, 
 And daffodillies fill their cups with tears, 
 To strew the laureate hearse where Lycid lies — 
 For, so to interpose a little ease, 
 Let our frail thoughts dally with false surmise. 
 Aye me ! whilst thee the shores and sounding seas 
 Wash far away, where'er thy bones are hurled, 
 Whether beyond the stormy Hebrides, 
 Where thou perhaps, under the whelming tide, 
 Visitest the bottom of the monstrous world ; 
 Or whether thou, to our moist vows denied, 
 Sleep'st by the fable of Bellerus old, 
 Where the great vision of the guarded Mount 
 Looks toward Namancos and Bayonet's hold ; 
 Look homeward, angel, now, and melt with ruth ; 
 And ye dolphins, waft the hapless youth. 
 Weep no more, woful shepherds, weep no more." 
 
 Since I have quoted so much, I will not omit 
 giving also the fine sonnet of Bowles, (the inspirer 
 of Coleridge's poetic genius,) upon St. Michael's 
 Mount : — 
 
 " Mountain ! no pomp of waving woods hast thou, 
 That deck with varied shade thy hoary brow; 
 No sunny meadows at thy feet are spread, — 
 No streamlets sparkle o'er their pebbly bed; 
 
406 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 But thou canst boast thy beauties, — ample views 
 That catch the rapt eye of the pausing Muse : 
 Headlands around new-lighted ; sails, and seas 
 Now glassy smooth, — now wrinkling to the breeze; 
 And when the drizzly winter, wrapt in sleet, 
 Goes by, and winds and rain thy ramparts beat, — 
 Fancy may see thee standing thus aloof, 
 And frowning, bleak and bare, and tempest-proof, 
 Look, as with awful confidence, and brave 
 The howling hurricane ; — the dashing wave ; 
 More graceful when the storm's dark vapors frown, 
 Than when the summer suns in pomp go down." 
 
CHAPTER XXII. 
 land's end. 
 
 The next morning was a driving storm, but I 
 determined to see Land's End that day, and was 
 rather glad that I could see it in all its grandeur. 
 
 I started early with a silent but well-mannered 
 driver, in an open wagon, and with a powerful fast- 
 trotting bay horse. The wind blew too hard for 
 an umbrella; so, tucking ourselves in as well as we 
 could, we made up our minds for a thorough wet- 
 ting;. The drive to Land's End in a direct line is 
 about eleven miles, though longer by the course we 
 took. We skirted the bay till the road began to 
 ascend toward New Lyn, giving us broad views of 
 Penzance and the harbor. We came at length 
 upon the high table-land, rocky and dismal, with a 
 little sprinkling of grass and Cornish fern. 
 
 As if determined to get to mvself all the dis- 
 agreeabilities possible that day, I alighted in the 
 neighborhood of Lemorna Cove, and ran down to 
 see the rock scenery of that rugged bay, intending 
 to meet my wagon at another point around some- 
 where further on. After a scrambling, lonely walk, 
 over stone and bog, I came out, as I supposed, at 
 the appointed spot, but no carriage was there. It 
 
408 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 was a desolate place and a wild storm. I was puz- 
 zled what to do. I thought it best to walk on in 
 what I conceived to be the direction of Penzance, 
 thinking that I might come upon a house, or meet 
 a traveler. After walking some time in this state 
 of suspense, to my great satisfaction my lone dog- 
 cart hove in sight at a considerable distance off, 
 coining in a totally opposite direction from what 
 I had anticipated, I will not pretend to go into 
 explanations ; but the driver declared that he had 
 been faithful to his part of the engagement, had 
 been to the appointed place, and not finding me 
 there, had come on to seek me. " All 's well that 
 ends well," I thought, especially if it lands me at 
 Land's End. 
 
 We left St. Buryan to the right, with its lofty 
 old church-tower four hundred and sixty-seven feet 
 above the sea level, the most conspicuous object on 
 the moor, and a beacon to ships far out at sea. I 
 stopped to examine the Druidic circle of the 
 " Merry Maidens and Piper," consisting of six- 
 teen moss grown gray stones ranged in a circular 
 form. They were once, it is said, frolicsome Cor- 
 nish maidens, petrified for dancing on Sunday. 
 But how hard and angular they have grown since 
 then ! In the storm-wind that whistled by them 
 the ancient piper might be heard to play again, 
 but their dancing days are over. This circle be- 
 longs doubtless to the same ancient Celtic system 
 of burial, or worship, to which Stonehenge be- 
 longed. 
 
LAND'S END. 409 
 
 Cornwall is full of these old circles and crom- 
 lechs ; it is the land of pagan legend and mystery. 
 It does not look like green, sunny, merry, Christian 
 England. It has a wild, broken, granitic scenery. 
 Its very names have strange old heathen sounds — 
 such as Lemorna, Trengothal, Trereen, Lanyon, 
 Penryn, Madon ! 
 
 We stopped for a moment to see an antique 
 stone cross, — a cross within a circle. It was a 
 remnant of the earliest days of Christianity in 
 England. How it did rain and blow when I 
 tramped down from the streaming thatched-roofed 
 cottages of Trereen, over the rocky meadows to 
 the sea-side, to take a look at the " Logan Stone." 
 It was any thing but a comfortable feat to climb 
 up to it, and still less atop of it, in such a storm. 
 But I was fairly in for it. I shall always contend 
 that it was just the season, and just the day of all 
 days, to see this grand rock-coast scenery. Who 
 would go to Italy in mid-winter for Italian scenery ! 
 Who would see Land's End in summer sunshine ! 
 
 The " Logan Stone " is a detached mass of rock, 
 perched on a lofty promontory jutting out into the 
 sea, and is about seventeen feet high, and weighs 
 sixty-five tons. My guide laid his broad shoulders 
 to it, and made it rock slightly. It was once 
 thrown over by the freak of an English midship- 
 man, and was reinstated with great difficulty and 
 expense. Being originally a cubical mass of 
 granite, bv the action of storm and time its base 
 had become disintegrated, so that it now rests on a 
 
410 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 separate neck or pivot. The perpendicular rocks 
 about it, seamed and scarred, with the hollow 
 scooped out by rain and storm, called " The Giant's 
 Throne," like the chair in which Gothe's ancient 
 king sat, when he cast the golden goblet into the 
 sea, are fully as interesting in themselves as the 
 " Logan Stone/' Treryn Castle, in the days of 
 the Britons, is said to have stood here. I am in- 
 clined to think, however, that the castellated con- 
 formation of the rocks has given rise to this tradi- 
 tion. Here also is a fine point of view of the 
 stern coast scenery, the rocky headlands and deep 
 indented bays, with great caverns dug out by the 
 waves, and " swilled by the wild and wasteful 
 ocean." 
 
 We went on, turning here and there into cross- 
 roads, that would have sorely puzzled a stranger. 
 It seemed as if now that point ahead were Land's 
 End, and then another point, and then another 
 still. The scenery grew more desolate and dismal, 
 this effect being undoubtedly heightened by the 
 black storm. We passed a cheerless stone house 
 facing the ocean, upon one side of which was 
 written " The Last Inn in England," and upon the 
 other side " The First Inn in England." 
 
 When we actually turned down to go out to the 
 promontory termed Land's End, I will not say that 
 the wind blew us bodily off the road, if road it 
 might be called over the moor ; but it seemed at 
 one time doubtful whether we could stem the 
 storm, or make any headway at all. The blasts 
 
LAND'S END. 411 
 
 from the ocean were tremendous. In such a storm 
 sweeping around England's coast, Shakspeare must 
 have written the words that Macbeth spoke to the 
 witches : — 
 
 " Though you untie the winds, and let them fight 
 Against the churches; though the yesty waves 
 Confound and swallow navigation up; 
 Though bladed corn be lodged, and trees blown down; 
 Though castles topple, on their warders' heads j 
 Though palaces and pyramids do slope 
 Their heads to their foundations; though the treasure 
 Of Nature's germins tumble all together, 
 Even till destruction sicken, answer me 
 To what I ask you." 
 
 There is an idea of the all-levelling might of the 
 ocean blast, in these lines, that one can better ap- 
 preciate who is mad enough to attempt to face it, 
 on the barren unprotected slopes that lead out to 
 the extreme end, — or one might say, — the prow 
 of England, where she plunges into the Atlantic. 
 
 When we came at length to actually the last 
 house in England, a lonely low fisherman's hovel, 
 standing slightly on one side of the promontory 
 termed " Land's End," we had to take advantage 
 of a slight lull to run from the shed to the house. 
 There was no seeing it at that moment. A man 
 could not well go upon the rocks at the height of 
 such a tempest. He would have run the risk of 
 being blown off like a cotton ball. The sea just 
 below us was in a state of furious agitation. Through 
 the rain and the flying scud we could just see, with 
 a glass, the tall white pillar of " Long Ships Light- 
 house," a mile from shore, to the top of which the 
 
412 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 foam of the billows flew, though it stands one hun- 
 dred and twelve feet above the level of the sea. 
 
 Some coals were smouldering on the rude hearth, 
 and the old fisherman who inhabits the house 
 roasted a pilchard, and with a cup of tea and hard 
 sea-biscuit, we made a famous meal. It was of 
 little use to attempt to dry our clothes. 
 
 After waiting an hour or so, there seemed to be 
 some abatement of the storm, or there was, at 
 least, a perceptible interval between the blasts. In 
 one of these comparative lulls, the fisherman said 
 we might make a run for it. We had to traverse 
 quite a tract or hollow, and then climb over the 
 crown of a hill. The fisherman and I started at a 
 rapid run. Before we reached the top of the 
 promontory, the gust came on again, and I had to 
 depend upon my guide's strong arm to stagger 
 against the violence of the side-blast, and to get 
 over the hill into a more sheltered spot. Great 
 flakes of blinding foam flew like a snow-storm over 
 and around. When we had struggled over the hill, 
 we crept along its side under the lee of some cliffs, 
 though the bank of slippery turf slopes off here 
 quite abruptly. Proceeding carefully, and clinging 
 to the summit of the cliffs, we picked our way 
 down, shelf after shelf, worming through and over 
 
 7 * jo o 
 
 the crags, till we came to a jutting mass of rock 
 beyond which there was nothing, and holding me 
 in his iron grasp, the guide and I stepped upon this 
 outstanding rock, and looking over its edge into 
 
 O ' o o 
 
 the foaming abyss below, stood upon " Land's 
 End." 
 
LAND'S END. 413 
 
 I stayed long enough to knock off a bit of 
 granite, and then retired a few steps to a more 
 sheltered position, where I might take a deliberate 
 view of the scene. Just above us were the dark 
 and storm-scarred fronts of the granite cliffs, rising 
 in some kind of columnar regularity, as if they 
 were the gigantic advance-guard of England, sta- 
 tioned here to receive the first shock of tempests. 
 
 Off the crest to our left was the long and singu- 
 larly shaped rock, called " The Armed Knight ; " 
 and a few more black and formidable crags stretched 
 from the end of the promontory, though buried at 
 moments amid the boiling waves. 
 
 How grand, beyond description, was the sight of 
 the roused Atlantic hurling its maddened strength 
 upon the rocks, which bore the marks of a thou- 
 sand such conflicts, and were there still, firm and 
 unshaken, where God had placed them, to guard 
 the land ! 
 
 I watched the great billows pouring swiftly in 
 upon the land, unconscious that they had come to 
 the end of their course, and then suddenly, furi- 
 ously, flinging themselves on high, as if in astonish- 
 ment at meeting resistance, covering the tallest 
 cliffs with their rage and foam. 
 
 In creeping back over the crags, I found we had 
 come over a natural arch, which links the ex- 
 tremity of the promontory to the main land. By 
 stretching one's self upon a ledge, and looking 
 around a corner, one sees clean through the vault 
 beneath into which the ocean rushes and roars as 
 if in play. 
 
414 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 We saw a mast with tangled cordage still hang- 
 ing to it, rolling and tumbling about in the foam, 
 which my guide said must have been a part of a 
 very recent wreck. 
 
 Of course I did not see the Scilly Islands in 
 such weather. They may be seen, however, if I 
 mistake not, in clear weather, from this point. 
 The tradition is that they were once connected 
 with the main land ; and fable and mystery still 
 enwrap them, lying as they do in the very eye of 
 the sunset far out on the lonely wastes of the 
 ocean. There are to be found in these islands, 
 it is said, spots of greenery and beauty that are 
 truly delicious. 
 
 Regaining the house, and waiting some time 
 longer for the storm to subside a little, we made a 
 start for Sennen and the Botallack mines ; and 
 amid a driving tempest of rain we went on to the 
 north, over a bleak moorland, passing by very few 
 villages or signs of habitations, leaving the frown- 
 ing headland of Cape Cornwall on our left, and in 
 the latter part of the afternoon reached Botallack. 
 
 There are few things in the works of man more 
 daring or wonderful than the Botallack mines ; for 
 where the veins of copper and tin run off into the 
 ocean, there man has stationed himself to inter- 
 cept them, and has not only followed them to the 
 edge of the land, but has pursued them far under 
 the sea. 
 
 Along the face of a lofty precipice which de- 
 scends sheer into the ocean, and is exposed to all 
 
LAND'S END. 415 
 
 the fury of the Atlantic, mining works, tramways, 
 and ladders, have been constructed, so that they 
 dangle down over the face of the enormous cliff in 
 the most extraordinary and appalling way. Half 
 down the precipice a steam-engine is stationed, 
 which serenely pumps away in spite of wind and 
 storm. Far up above it on the edge of the rock 
 are other works ; for the ore is carried up the face 
 of the cliff to the upper sheds, as if men were lit- 
 erally living and working over the steepest side of 
 Gibraltar. I went to the mouth of the midway 
 shaft with the intention of descending into the 
 mine ; but it was Saturday afternoon, paying-time, 
 and the mines were not in operation. 
 
 This mine, I have said, runs under the ocean ; 
 and it comes up in one place where the miners 
 have pursued a vein to within five or six feet of the 
 floor of the ocean, so that in a storm, the rolling 
 and grinding of the great rocks and pebbles on 
 the bed of the ocean overhead may be distinctly 
 heard ; and always the solemn thunder of the sea 
 is faintly audible. 
 
 The Botallack mines are now chiefly worked 
 for copper, although they have yielded in former 
 times very richly in tin ; and they are said to have 
 afforded a profit at one time of .£300,000. 
 
 On the edge of the evening we reached Pen- 
 deen ; and we drove up in the midst of the still 
 violent tempest to the door of Rev. Mr. A.'s house, 
 the clergyman to whom I had a note of introduc- 
 tion. His house was situated in a large yard, with 
 
416 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 a high wall around it, containing his church and 
 house, — in fact a kind of modern " conventual 
 establishment " on a small scale. A large, com- 
 manding-looking, elderly gentleman, in a long black 
 cassock, or dressing-gown, received me at the door 
 with great cordiality ; and soon I was drying my 
 dripping clothes, and warming my chilled limbs be- 
 fore a glowing grate, in a room which was the 
 very picture of ecclesiastical repose and gravity. 
 
 " The vicar was of bulk and thews, 
 Six feet he stood within his shoes, 
 And every inch of all a man ; 
 Ecclesiast on the ancient plan, 
 Unforced by any party rule 
 His native character to school ; 
 In ancient learning not unread, 
 But had few doctrines in his head; 
 Dissenters truly he abhorred, 
 They never had his gracious word. 
 He ne'er was bitter or unkind, 
 But positively spoke his mind. 
 Their piety he could not bear, 
 A sneaking, snivelling set they were : 
 Their tricks and meanness fired his blood; 
 Up for his Church he stoutly stood. 
 No worldly aim had he in life 
 To set him with himself at strife." 
 
 The description of Arthur Hugh dough's, might 
 in essentials apply to the bulky and dignified man 
 who had thus received me out of the wild storm 
 into his hospitable house. It was indeed a sudden 
 transition. The comfortable though austere par- 
 lor, in which my entertainer and myself sat during 
 the evening, while the tempest raved without, was 
 hung with pictures of old Catholic subjects and 
 
LAND'S END. 417 
 
 saints ; a mediaeval brass-bound coffer stood on the 
 centre-table to hold valuable papers ; bits of painted 
 glass, and plans for church architecture, were upon 
 the mantel-piece and scattered about the room ; 
 and a large case of books filled up one end. Most 
 of these books were the works of the French Jan- 
 senists, and came from the original Port Royal 
 library. They were bequeathed to Mr. A., as I 
 understood him to say, by Mrs. Schimmelpenninck, 
 the biographer of the Port Royalists. Such little 
 marks would at once indicate something of the re- 
 ligious status and character of my excellent host, 
 but they would by no means tell all ; nor do I feel 
 myself permitted to tell all ; and yet I do not think 
 a man like Mr. A. would be annoyed by the men- 
 tion of some of his peculiar ecclesiastical views, 
 which are well known, and which illustrate one 
 phase of the religious condition of England at the 
 present time. 
 
 A man of high culture and powerful mind he had 
 aspired to something more than intellectual emi- 
 nence. He aimed at a life of exclusive devotion to 
 the higher truths of Faith and the Divine life. 
 There was a strong infusion of the mystic, and 
 even ascetic element, coloring and shading his 
 hearty religious sympathies. He believed in widely 
 different and progressive spheres of spiritual attain- 
 ment ; that all men were not capable of the highest 
 spirituality, and that perhaps this distinction would 
 forever exist. There were some who were called 
 to a life of exclusive consecration to, and of purer 
 
 27 
 
418 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 union with the All-Perfect. They were chosen 
 spirits, men who, like Paul, despised their material 
 nature, denied themselves the delights of taste, 
 and whose spirits were continual temples of God ; 
 they were the select priests of God ; they were 
 the peculiar media of His transmitted Spirit. He 
 believed in this true Apostolic succession, ■ and 
 was an earnest supporter of the Tractarian view 
 of the Church, the order of its ministry, the com- 
 prehensiveness of its service, and the vital efficacy 
 of its sacraments. He declared decidedly, that the 
 only hope of the Church of England, and of Eng- 
 land in a religious point of view, lay in the Puseyite 
 wing of the Church; not in the unconverted por- 
 tion of it, who only formed the skeleton and dry 
 bones, but in those whom God's Spirit had renewed. 
 They were fitted, he said, by their legal education, 
 their lives of self-denial and self-mastery, to en^ 
 dure hardness, as good soldiers of Jesus Christ, 
 and were like John the Baptist, coming up out 
 of the wilderness, to proclaim the advent of the 
 true Light. They were men, hardy, single-eyed, 
 and able to do men's work And they held the 
 only true conception of the Church of God. He 
 had learned this truth through much strife and 
 affliction. He had once been an evangelist, going 
 here and there, preaching as he pleased and 
 where he pleased. He had thought that all men 
 shared equally God's Spirit. But he had been 
 drawn to the truth of the visible unity of the 
 Church, — that it must be somewhere. If it were 
 
LAND'S END. 419 
 
 in Rome, he determined to go there. It was, he 
 found by searching and prayer, where one Spirit is 
 given in baptism by the hands of one chosen body 
 of anointed ministers, forming one visible Church of 
 Christ in the world. He then turned to the Eng- 
 lish Church, speaking of it with enthusiasm as a 
 Church of the true order, as in fact the Apostolic 
 Church, having an organic life from^ the earliest 
 times, and possessing the true signs of a primitive 
 foundation of God : — but I will not continue this 
 particular conversation, excepting to say that while 
 abhorring schismatics of all denominations, he held 
 strongly to the Methodist theory of reformations 
 or revivals of religion. He went to the extreme 
 lengths of the most earnest Methodist in this re- 
 spect ; — indeed he seemed to be a mixture of 
 Pusey and Wesley. Yet one word more as to his 
 religious opinions — for the man and his conversa- 
 tion awoke in me an absorbing interest. 
 
 The English Prayer-Book, he considered, pre- 
 supposed conversion, and the Sacraments fed the 
 life begun at conversion. He was a stanch sacra- 
 mentarian, but ever in a high and spiritual sense. 
 He thought it to be his special work to convert the 
 High Church party of England to a more spir- 
 itual view of divine things ; and he had solemnly 
 devoted to this work his two sons, noble young 
 men, with one of whom I became acquainted, the 
 other being in Scotland on a preaching tour, though 
 still an undergraduate at Oxford. These self- 
 denying preachers of righteousness coming up out 
 
420 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 of the desert and grasping the kingdom of Heaven 
 with power, they were the ones who would shake 
 England, and arouse her from her sins to a higher 
 life. 
 
 The next Sabbath morning I was awakened by 
 the stentorian voices of the Cornwall miners, and 
 of the humble people of his congregation, who were 
 assembled in a lower room to pray ; and certainly 
 such prayers I have never heard before or since. 
 It was like the roaring of lions ; it was storming 
 the throne of grace ; it was wrestling, pleading 
 before the hills, agonizing, crying, almost shouting 
 to God, that He might come and help them. — 
 The little church where Divine service was held 
 was built after the model of the one at Iona. Its 
 bare white internal walls were decorated bv draw- 
 ings roughly executed, though with some spirit, by 
 young Puseyite clergymen, as Mr. A. told me, who 
 had from time to time visited him ; — there were 
 copies of Albrecht Diirer's " Christ in the Wil- 
 derness ; " Ary Scheffer's " Christ rescuing the 
 Lamb ; " Bruno's " St. Peter ; " &c. Texts of 
 Scripture, and symbolical scrolls and ornaments, 
 were also added, and the whole aspect of the 
 church, the draped altar, the intoning of the Lit- 
 urgy, the kneeling of the priest at the altar, were 
 almost, if not quite, in the Roman Catholic fashion. 
 Mr. A. preached two powerful sermons, the one 
 in the morning upon t; the Marriage Supper,'' 
 which feast, he said, was Spiritual Joy, of which 
 all should strive to partake, and it was not Justi- 
 
LAND'S END. 421 
 
 fication or Righteousness, which many would make 
 of it. During the preaching in the afternoon, as 
 the storm grew more furious without and the 
 church more gloomy within, and the deep tones 
 of the preacher's voice, rising sometimes into start- 
 ling loudness, mingled with the tremendous blasts 
 of the wind, and with the sobs and groans of 
 the poor miners, who sometimes threw up their 
 arms wildly into the air in the ecstasy of their 
 emotion, — it was assuredly a strange and solemn 
 scene. Mr. A., speaking of the church itself, 
 called it the spiritual birthplace of many noble 
 and distinguished persons ; and he pointed out the 
 very seats they had occupied when their hearts 
 were touched. He appeared to me a kind of Eng- 
 lish Louis Harms, in his rugged individuality and 
 imperious dogmatism, mingled as they were with 
 deep, simple, primitive piety. He ruled his rocky 
 vicarate at Land's End with a monarch's sway. 
 
 The generous hospitality of Mr. A. and his family 
 to myself, a perfect stranger, was something which 
 seemed to me beautiful, and which I can never for- 
 get. He is certainly a man whose earnestness and 
 profound consecration to his Master's work cannot 
 be doubted, if one cannot agree with him in all 
 his views. He repudiates with scorn the idea of 
 being considered to be the leader of a sect in the 
 English Church, as there has been some attempt 
 on the part of his admirers and disciples to make 
 of him. But my good host was, I think, at fault 
 in his confident estimate of the power of the High 
 
422 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 Church movement. Tractarianism has spent its 
 force. At one time, inspired by the genius of New- 
 man, the learning of Pusey, and the sweet music 
 of Keble's song, it was mighty, but it has already 
 had its day, and now lives only in the puerilities of 
 Ritualism. That which was true in it has been 
 dragged down and overwhelmed by that which 
 was false. It has failed to Orientalize the English 
 Church, or to change England into a happy mediaeval 
 land, rejoicing in the sound of the convent bell. 
 We would not say that it has done no good, but 
 it has striven to set up the dead form of the Church, 
 before the living Christ ; it has denied the rights 
 of individual conscience and reason, and it cannot 
 thus hope to control and lead English mind. The 
 reaction of this, in the main untrue, though in some 
 respects learned and refined ecclesiasticism mani- 
 festing many traits of the noblest unselfishness, is 
 rending anew the English Church, and armed 
 powers, strong to contend against the truth, and 
 the very life of the Christian faith, have sprung up 
 from the sowing of the dragon's teeth. I believe, 
 however, in the essential truth of Mr. A.'s idea of 
 the visible unity of the Christian Church. The 
 best minds in Christendom have always pleaded for 
 unity ; but it is not in the form in which Mr. A. 
 puts it. It is not in uniformity of order, government, 
 or worship, but in this, that the true Church is the 
 true brotherhood of man, and all who love Christ, 
 who hold to the Head, shall love one another, and 
 shall know one another, not theoretically and invis- 
 
LAND'S END. 423 
 
 ibly, but visibly and openly ; they shall not oppose 
 and wound each other ; they shall be as in the 
 primitive times one in deed and truth, working to- 
 gether with gladness to recover the world to God. 
 " There is one body and one Spirit." This great 
 truth is superior to Protestantism, or Catholicism, 
 or any other Churchism. There is an ideal unity, 
 toward which all should ever tend and strive, but 
 that this ideal unity will ever be perfectly and 
 concretely realized on earth, we have more doubt 
 about, and can hardly believe. After all we would 
 be chary to condemn the earnest strivings and 
 methods of any who sincerely profess to love and 
 serve Christ on earth ; and I must confess that the 
 few " High Church " clergymen in whose society I 
 have happened to be thrown, though I could not 
 agree with them at all in their views, were person- 
 ally by far the most scholar-like, refined, and inter- 
 esting men of all the English clergymen whom I 
 met. 
 
 Having now reached the " Land's End " of 
 England, both physical and spiritual, let us turn 
 around and retrace our course northward, until in 
 the neighborhood of Bristol we come upon our 
 former steps, and thus will have completed the cir- 
 cuit of this little land, — little in area, but vast 
 in crowded interest and power. 
 
CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 NORTH DEVON AND WELLS. 
 
 From Exeter I crossed over to Barnstaple, on 
 the North Devon coast, going from water to water, 
 or from the river Exe to the Torridge, in about 
 two hours. An old Cornish rebel once threatened 
 to cut England through by a channel here, and to 
 make South Devon and Cornwall an island ; this 
 would have been a u Dutch Gap " with a ven- 
 geance. But forty miles or less of canal, through 
 a country presenting few difficulties, were no such 
 great thing after all. The ride was through a 
 thoroughly pastoral country, with great numbers 
 of sheep and red Devon cattle feeding in the mead- 
 ows. The first sight of the river, bridge, and tall 
 tower of Barnstaple was pleasing ; and I found it 
 to be a lively little town, with the invariable one 
 long street, and the two hotels of the " Golden 
 Lion " and the " Fortescue Amis," side by side, in 
 spirited but harmonious rivalry. 
 
 Bideforcl, eight miles and a half from Barnstaple, 
 looked even now, as Kingsley has so vividly de- 
 scribed it in his " Westward Ho ! " and I really 
 seemed myself to have seen it before, and to have 
 strolled on its long quay. It is one of those old 
 
NORTH DEVON AND WELLS. 425 
 
 gray sea-coast towns that do not essentially change, 
 reminding one somewhat of Ayr in Scotland. The 
 tide comes pouring in magnificently up the wide 
 estuary of the Torridge River, and churning through 
 the many-arched stone bridge, whose builders, ac- 
 cording to the chronicler of Sir Amyas, gained 
 from the good bishop Grandison of Exeter, " par- 
 ticipation in all spiritual blessings forever." This 
 famous bridge is an eighth of a mile long, with 
 twenty-four arches, solid and without ornament. 
 The town clusters in the form of an amphitheatre 
 upon the steep hillside, from the summit of which 
 is a wide river and sea-view ; and "one might easily 
 fancy he saw in some ship melting into the bright 
 sunset light, the good ship Hose, as she was setting 
 forth on her long voyage to the golden regions of 
 the Western Main. The river, the sea, the sun, 
 all here say " Westward Ho ! " 
 
 I rode to Clovellv, around through Yeovale, by 
 " Northam Tower " and " Pebble Ridge," at 
 which last place Ocean has done what Brunei could 
 hardly have done under the same conditions, — 
 built a straight wall of rounded pebble-stones, reg- 
 ularly laid with a flat top, two miles long, which 
 serves as an effectual bar to her encroachments, at 
 the same time immovable and permeable, — " the 
 labor of an age in piled stones." It is strange that 
 this hint which Ocean has given of constructing 
 sea-walls of round pebble or paving stones, simply 
 heaped together in a compact form, has not been 
 copied by man. 
 
426 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 The road to Clovelly was a flowery pathway, 
 fringed with the sweet honeysuckle, and all varie- 
 ties of ferns, the foxglove, the key-flox, the canker 
 bramble, the blossoming furze, the wild straw- 
 berry, and many other wild flowers and shrubs, that 
 continually attract the attention by their beauty 
 and profusion. And what splendid posting roads ! 
 How smoothly we bowled along, up hill and down, 
 passing farmers in their small wagons, driving with 
 the same free rein, with an air of substance and 
 solid independence about their whole establishment. 
 As we rose upon the hills and neared the edge of 
 the coast, fine views of the wide, foam-fringed ex- 
 panse of Bideford Bay opened to us ; and I recall 
 the view especially from " Buck's Cross," where 
 the sight of the bright blue sea beyond the dark 
 cliffs, gives that strong contrast of colors, which is 
 peculiar to Devon. We turned into a private road 
 called u The Hobby," which, as far as it goes, is 
 the most beautiful in England, or indeed in the 
 world. It runs for more than three miles along 
 the edge of the cliffs, and through the oak forests 
 with splendid sea-views, carpeted on either side 
 by crimson heather-bells, crossing deep ravines 
 wooded entirely down to the sea, and abounding 
 in sharp angles and sudden glimpses of won- 
 drous beauty, until the little village of Clovelly is 
 reached, perched like a bird's-nest in the notch of 
 the high sea-wall, to which one descends by a steep 
 path, which is continued through the village to 
 the shore by a flight of irregular, break-neck, 
 
NORTH DEVON AND WELLS. 427 
 
 i 
 
 slippery steps. The woods hang darkly over this 
 curious street, or crevice in the rocks, where these 
 human " hanging-birds " have built their habita- 
 tion. One can hear at night the song of the night- 
 birds out of the dense forest overhead, and the 
 roll of the sea far under one's feet. 
 
 I stopped at the " Heart of Oak " Inn, and had 
 a dinner of fine fresh fish and " clouted cream." 
 I talked with the fishermen drying or mending 
 their nets, along down the narrow rough street or 
 "Jacob's Ladder " to the sea. One old " trawler" 
 said to me, " It will be wet weather soon, sir ; we 
 see the coast of Wales too clear." The view from 
 the village stairs, of the sea, with the long, angular 
 mass of " Lundy Island " blue in the distance, and 
 the British Channel away even to the coast of 
 Wales, is grand ; and the sight is equally fine from 
 the sea-beach below, looking up at the huge wall- 
 like precipices jutting out magnificently into the 
 sea. I then walked to " Clovelly Court," anciently 
 owned by the Cary family, and now in possession 
 of Sir J. H. Williams. One enters it by the 
 " Yellaries Gate " above the village, and the way 
 is on the clean springy turf under the shadow of 
 the oaks, through one of those noble and reposeful 
 English parks from which all that is unsightly has 
 been removed, and all that Nature has to do is, to 
 grow more and more beautiful year by year, or, one 
 might say, century by century. " Clovelly Court " 
 itself is a substantial mansion, but nothing remark- 
 able architecturally. In the old garden I asked 
 
428 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 permission to pluck two red roses, which I did in 
 remembrance of Sir Amyas and of sweet Rose Sal- 
 terne. Indeed it were useless to attempt to de- 
 scribe this place, and the romantic region about, 
 and above all the cliffs, that sweep up by long, 
 green curves to the edge of the coast, and then 
 break off by a sheer perpendicular descent of from 
 five hundred to a thousand feet into the sea, and 
 stand to receive the force of the Atlantic ; screen- 
 ing behind their mighty barriers the loveliest, 
 warmest, greenest vales and nooks ; for Kingsley, 
 in his romance, which palpitates with the life and 
 poetry of the great Elizabethan age, and also in that 
 wonderftd piece of word-painting in " Fraser's " 
 on " North Devon," has done this once for all, and 
 has made this region his own forever, just as truly 
 as Sir Walter Scott has set his signet upon Loch 
 Lomond, and the highlands of Scotland. Others 
 come and view these scenes as it were through 
 them and by their grace. Genius makes all things 
 it loves its own forever. I was shown among the 
 woods, the house where Charles Kingsley lived as 
 a boy, and was brought up to be a rover in these 
 forests, exploring the sombre ravines, — haunts of 
 the red deer, — fishing the streams, and delighting 
 in this turbulent ocean that rolls beyond all. I 
 cannot conceive of a fitter spot to nourish a poet. 
 How different from meagre Haworth, or flat, 
 marshy, uninteresting Olney ! One part of our 
 ride back to Bideford was through a deep lane, 
 where the bank and hedge on either side rose high 
 
NORTH DEVON AND WELLS. 429 
 
 above our heads, and the trees fairly overarched 
 the narrow road. We passed the house of a Mr. 
 Yeo of Appledore, now a successful retired mer- 
 chant, who had once been a poor apprentice boy. 
 Was he of the family of " Salvation Yeo " ? 
 
 Ilfracombe is the North Devon Newport ; but it 
 is more like Marblehead in Massachusetts, in its 
 curious rocks and irregular formation. The moun- 
 tainous rocks, black, twisted, upheaved, and knife- 
 edged, inclose a small, square, completely land- 
 locked harbor, where the masts of tiny craft lie 
 thick together, and into which fumes the sturdy 
 little coasting steamer, which, with the boats dart- 
 ing around, make it a lively scene. 
 
 The frowning hills about are sharply escarped, 
 rugged, and broken. Off the rocks the water is 
 deep sea-green, roaring and breaking with the full 
 force of the open sea. There is one handsome 
 villa across the harbor and a pretty modern stone 
 church ; the houses cluster around wherever they 
 can, dodging the rocks. A picturesque old light- 
 house, which in ancient Catholic days was a shrine 
 of St. Nicholas, is a resort of visitors. The " Cap- 
 stan-road," as it is called, is a noble promenade, 
 cut around the face of a high precipice, command- 
 ing an expansive sea-view, and a bold coast-view 
 of rugged and splintered rocks. Here ladies sit in 
 snug corners, wrapped up in shawls, while young 
 gentlemen, equally enveloped and comfortable, read 
 aloud to them, like a veritable picture of John 
 Leech. One could never tire of these rocks and 
 this sea- view. 
 
430 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 The ride from Ufracombe to Lynton also abounds 
 in fine views of the ocean opening suddenly be- 
 tween the green hills : and never more than on 
 this North Devon coast does one realize the beauty 
 of the old British name of England — "the sea- 
 defended green earth." The sea asserts here its 
 personality — it makes itself felt as an element 
 of Old England's character and history ; and 
 it is everywhere present as a mighty and all- 
 encircling power, holding England in its em- 
 brace, claiming it as a child, and shaping by its 
 ever-present influence the destiny of the English 
 people. 
 
 The road to Lynton is a lonely one, abounding 
 in deep, short valleys, and, as one approaches the 
 town, has a character of romantic wildness and 
 beautv. 
 
 Lynton, which is another much frequented place, 
 is on the top of a huge green cliff, or, it might be 
 called, mountain, while Lynmouth lies immediately 
 below at the entrance of the gorge of the Lyn, 
 where it empties into the sea. I walked down 
 about the time of sunset into this gorge of the Lyn, 
 where the sound of the little torrent mingles with 
 the sea. The scenery here has been called by 
 Southey " alpine." The vast bulk of the Lyn cliff, 
 clad with gloomy firs at the base, caught the bronzed 
 light of the setting sun, which came out at last 
 with intense brightness, painting itself in the most 
 gorgeous colors on the stormy clouds ; in front lay 
 the wildlv tossing sea, softening somewhat as the 
 
NORTH DEVON AND WELLS. 431 
 
 sun went down, and toward the northwest was the 
 opposite Welsh coast, growing fainter and fainter 
 in the distance ; the strip of pebbly beach at the 
 mouth of the river sparkled under the great red 
 rock, and immediately beneath the cliff was moored 
 a small vessel whose sail hanging idly also caught 
 the deep crimson light ; fishing-stakes ran out into 
 the water in a wide semi-circular sweep, and an old 
 square marine tower completed the picture. 
 
 This torrent of the Lyn is made of the streams 
 of the East and West Lyn, which a little further 
 back make a junction, forming the beautiful rapids 
 of" Watersmeet," in the estate belonging to Lady 
 Hemes. The water pouring over innumerable 
 rocks, makes so many separate jets of milk-white 
 foam, which is contrasted with the dark luxuriance 
 of the overhanging trees, and the profusion of rich 
 and delicate ferns ; every leaf is wet and polished ; 
 rustic bridges here and there help you to ascend 
 the wild little stream. I followed up the West 
 Lyn for some way, until the gorge widens, and I 
 came out under the great Lyn cliff, which on the 
 west side of the stream is one dense mass of foliage. 
 Here is a fine clear fall, and gray rocks strewed 
 about, making the very temple of solitude and of 
 natural beauty. On returning, one gets a glimpse 
 of the sea, rimmed in between the sharp slopes of 
 the ravine. 
 
 I will not speak of other excursions which I 
 made out of Lynton, further into the hills lying 
 on the edge of the " Exmoor forest" region, and 
 
432 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 about the desolate rocks of this romantic coast ; but 
 no one knows what English coast-scenery is until 
 he has seen the North Devon shore. It is far bolder 
 and grander than the opposite southern Devonshire 
 coast, which is the usual resort of English tourists. 
 The colors are richer, the cliffs higher and more 
 grandly precipitous, the sea of a deeper ocean 
 green, and all the forms of Nature are on a much 
 larger scale. The hills pile up here in enormous 
 parapets as they break off suddenly seaward, mak- 
 ing a long wall of stupendous precipices. And yet 
 the inland sides of these cliffs, as has been said, are 
 beautifully rounded with steep slopes and vales of 
 the richest green. The village of Lynton hangs 
 suspended on one of these round steep hill-sides, 
 and the view from the grounds of Castle Hotel is 
 charming over the long sweeps of steeply sloping 
 meadows dotted with neat white farm-houses. 
 
 What is called the "North Walk" about the 
 " Lyn-cliff " has been laid out with the boldest skill 
 and taste. The walk winds around the face of the 
 crag so perpendicular in places that if one should 
 fall over he would sink I know not how many 
 fathoms deep in the green ocean depths. The sea- 
 gulls wheel fiercely about you as if you were an 
 intruder in their solitary dominions, and there is 
 nothing beyond or in sight but the lonely sea. 
 
 There are some steep pitches in the road shortly 
 after leaving Lynton up which one wonders how 
 even spirited English coach-horses could ever drag 
 a mail-coach. One passes over the huge slopes of 
 
NORTH DEVON AND WELLS. 433 
 
 the Exmoor hill region, abounding in sombre wooded 
 ravines, with those wonderful glimpses of the sea 
 every now and then at their narrow openings. The 
 scenery about the valley of Porlock, in the neigh- 
 borhood of the wild heathery forest region of 
 " Dunkery Beacon " mountain, is peculiarly strik- 
 ing. Dunster Castle is a picturesque village, with 
 an ancient many-gabled market-house, and the 
 castle embosomed in foliage. As we passed into 
 Somersetshire the region grew broader and less 
 picturesque, but was still very beautiful, with its 
 green meadows and farm-lands. It is a rich agri- 
 cultural region. This is the headquarters of the 
 English gypsies ; we encountered a gypsy wagon 
 and small encampment. We also met a large pack 
 of hounds belonging to some gentleman of the neigh- 
 borhood, on their way to or from the field. There 
 were several " Podgers " and " Todgers " upon the 
 coach in checked clothes and jockey hats, each with 
 a little glass in the corner of his eye, and all very 
 similar, the one to the other, who talked know- 
 ingly of hounds and hunting ; but from something 
 in the outer man, or the skeptical flings of Kingsley 
 and the comical suggestions of Leech, one could 
 not help having his suspicions about the profundity 
 of their experience as bold followers of " St. Hu- 
 bert," on the combes and wilds of Exmoor. 
 
 At Bridgewater we struck the Exeter and Bris- 
 tol Railway. At this town of Bridgewater, the 
 unfortunate Duke of Monmouth was proclaimed 
 king, and met his defeat at Sedgmoor, three miles 
 
 28 
 
434 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 distant. A little higher up I took the branch road 
 off to Glastonbury and Wells. 
 
 The city of Wells, which we now visit, has a ro- 
 mantic situation on the southern slope of Mendip 
 Hills, twenty miles equi-distant from Bath, Bristol, 
 and Bridgewater. It takes its name from the an- 
 cient well dedicated to St. Andrew, which rises 
 within the Episcopal grounds, and runs through 
 the city down the sides of the principal streets in 
 clear sparkling streams. 
 
 There is no place which, taken altogether, pre- 
 serves a more antique air of tranquil seclusion than 
 Wells. In the precincts of Chester Cathedral, and 
 at many other points in England, there broods the 
 same antique calm, but here the whole place is per- 
 vaded by this reposeful spirit of the past ; and this 
 culminates in the neighborhood of St. Andrews' 
 Cathedral, the Bishop's palace, the old moat, the 
 conventual buildings, and the three venerable gates, 
 or " eyes," as they are called, of the Cathedral 
 yard. The moat about the Bishop's palace, over- 
 hung by a thick curtain of aged elms mingled with 
 ivy, growing like a warrior's crest upon the high 
 turreted interior walls, and reflected in deep shadows 
 in the smooth dark mirror of the water, has a thor- 
 oughly feudal look, which is heightened by the 
 drawbridge over the moat, and the frowning castel- 
 lated gateway. How strange the state of society 
 when a Christian bishop lived in such jealously 
 armed seclusion, behind moated walls and embat- 
 tled towers ! What a commentary, this very name 
 
NORTH DEVON AND WELLS. 435 
 
 of "the close!" One of these old bishops was 
 himself a famous fighting character, who, at the 
 age of sixty-four, commanded the king's artillery 
 at the battle of Sedgmoor. Among the bishops of 
 Bath and Wells were Thomas Wolsey, William 
 Laud, Thomas Kerr, and George Hooper. Bishop 
 Beckington seems to have been the great architect- 
 ural benefactor of the city itself. He built the two 
 great gateways, the Bishop's palace, the " Pennyless 
 Porch," which still bears his arms of the beacon and 
 tun, and the market hall, in which the infamous 
 Jeffries sat, and pronounced sentence upon the 
 wretched followers of the defeated Duke of Mon- 
 mouth. Within the quiet area of the " Bishop's 
 close " are the ruined and lordly remains of the 
 " Old Hall." One tall, slender, turreted fragment 
 stands entirely by itself, and is wound tightly around 
 by the clasping arms of the ivy that strive to hide 
 its loneliness and decay. In the garden are shrubs 
 and trees of" curling acacia," " Glastonbury thorn," 
 cypress, and Turkish oak ; while great clumps of 
 lilies perfamed the air. The view from the walls 
 of the broad meadows in front of the "close" 
 on which cattle were feeding, and laborers making 
 hay, and the green wavy Mendip Hills with the 
 Glastonbury Tor and the Dalcot Hill in the distance, 
 was more than prettily English and rural, — it was 
 beautiful, in the rich light of that glowing autumn 
 afternoon. And there, too, near by, were the three 
 great square towers and the ornamented bulk of the 
 Cathedral. 
 
436 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 The Cathedra] of St. Andrew was built upon the 
 site of a still more ancient church founded by Ina, 
 king of the West Saxons in 704. It also goes 
 back to a remote antiquity, for its choir and nave 
 were rebuilt in the middle of the twelfth century. 
 The central tower, which is the noblest and most 
 finished part of the structure, is of the early Eng- 
 lish style to the roof ; the upper part is of the Dec- 
 orated, with a mixture of the early Perpendicular 
 styles. It has an elegant appearance from its rich 
 pinnacles, and is of a softened and gray tint. Be- 
 ginning to show signs of sinking, it was raised in 
 the fourteenth century, and was strengthened by 
 the introduction beneath it of inverted buttressing 
 arches, which give to the interior a strange effect. 
 These arches, architecturally considered, are un- 
 doubtedly blemishes, but they are on such a vast 
 scale, and so bold in their forms, and yet so simple, 
 that they do not take away from the plain gran- 
 deur of the interior. They are quite Oriental or 
 Saracenic. The top of the eastern window is seen 
 bright and glowing over the lower part of the upper 
 arch. The west front, two hundred and thirty- 
 five feet in length, has two square towers, with a 
 central screen terminated by minarets, and is di- 
 vided into distinct compartments of eight project- 
 ing buttresses ; all of these projections and recessed 
 parts are covered with rich sculpture and statu- 
 ary, of which there are one hundred and fifty-three 
 figures of life-size, and more than four hundred 
 and fifty smaller figures. In the nine ascending 
 
NORTH DEVON AND WELLS. 437 
 
 tiers of sculpture pieces, one may trace, it is said, 
 the successive order of subjects in the " Te Deum t 
 of St. Ambrose : " The glorious company of the 
 apostles praise Thee. The goodly army of the 
 prophets praise Thee. The noble army of mar- 
 tyrs praise Thee," &c. The last tiers end with 
 the representation of the Resurrection and Final 
 Judgment. These statues, contemporaneous with 
 the time of Nicholas Pisano, and the early pre- 
 raphaelite artists, have the same purity and eleva- 
 tion of expression, and the same simple unadorned 
 majesty, that belong to that period of sacred art. 
 It was an earnest, childish, but sublime way of 
 praising God, by attempting thus, step by step, 
 with laborious and unw r earied effort, to carve in en- 
 during stone the ascending plan of human redemp- 
 tion. Let us not deride this simple expression of 
 ancient faith which served doubtless for ages to help 
 ignorant minds to spell out Divine truth on this 
 great rough stone primer, while the living Word of 
 God was kept from the people through misplaced 
 awe, or worse, spiritual despotism. The doors of 
 this magnificent west front are universally consid- 
 ered to be too small, and this is the chief fault 
 of the building. The other most striking features 
 of Wells Cathedral are the Chapter House and 
 the Ladye Chapel. The first of these, on the rear 
 of the church, is an octagonal structure with pin- 
 nacled buttresses at each angle. It is approached 
 from the interior by a worn staircase of twenty 
 steps of noble architectural design. Among the 
 
438 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 grotesque carvings that line the staircase, I remem- 
 ber in particular one queer old figure with a staff, 
 or rather crutch, thrust in a dragon's mouth, sup- 
 porting a column. While thus holding up the Ca- 
 thedral with his head and hand above, and choking 
 a writhing dragon beneath, he looks smiling and 
 unconcerned as if it were an e very-day affair with 
 him, as indeed it is. The whole church abounds in 
 these old sculptures, little demoniac figures with big 
 heads, faces with enormous fish mouths, old men 
 with packs on their backs, and angels with huge 
 armfuls of flowers. They seem to let one into the 
 interior chambers of fancy, the imaginative work- 
 ings of the human mind in the dark ages. All these 
 forms and faces, even to the stern " gargoyles " on 
 the roof, have a simple earnestness, as if they were 
 not meant to be frivolous or irreverent, but were the 
 glimpses of natural fancies, protesting doubts, vain 
 fears and poetic hopes, thrusting themselves through 
 the awful rigid system of religious terrorism under 
 which the mind was crushed. I have no doubt the 
 carvers and masons worked on each according to 
 his own mind, without much definite guidance or 
 pattern-drawing from the superior architect, except 
 in the general plan. Here one man has left the 
 record of his remorse, and another of his aspiration, 
 and another of his homely English wit and shrewd 
 common-sense morality. The Chapter House is 
 unexcelled for splendor, lightness, and simple maj- 
 esty. From the central clustered column spring 
 the series of intricate but harmonious traceried lines 
 
NORTH DEVON AND WELLS. 439 
 
 of the ceiling, each meeting in the ball-flower orna- 
 ment overhead. 
 
 From its eight painted windows, this room is 
 flooded with richly colored lights. The Ladye 
 Chapel affords a fine perspective of pillars near its 
 entrance, though it is not so remarkable as the 
 Chapter House for beauty and boldness. The ceil- 
 ing is newly gilded, and the choir, too, has a fresh 
 new look with its modern tiles and brasses. 
 
 Wells Cathedral, on the whole, is distinguished 
 for a dignified but rich simplicity, arising from its 
 plain large surfaces, mingled and edged here and 
 there with fine-cut and elegant ornamentation. 
 The court and buildings of the Wells Theological 
 College have a thoroughly quaint, old-fashioned 
 look, quiet, rigid, and mediaeval ; as if the students 
 reared there could not but be Churchmen of the 
 " brother Ignatius " stamp, gentlemen, scholars, and 
 — priests. I cannot leave Wells without speaking 
 of the two splendid " cedars of Lebanon " stand- 
 ing in the environs of the church. They are not 
 very tall, but they sweep the ground majestically, 
 and grow in a series of broad heavy masses of foli- 
 age, gracefully undulating in their outline. Would 
 that I might carry away from this ancient city and 
 from its noble temple of Praise, something of the 
 high and angelical spirit which is breathed in the 
 good Bishop Ken's familiar " morning hymn : " — 
 
 " Awake, lift up thyself, mj' - heart, 
 And with the angels bear thy part, 
 Who all night long unwearied sing 
 High praises to th' eternal King. 
 
440 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 " Lord, I my vows to Thee renew : 
 Scatter my sins as morning dew ; 
 Guard my first springs of thought and will, 
 And with Thyself my spirit fill. 
 
 " Direct, control, suggest this day, 
 All I design, or do, or say ; 
 That all my powers, with all their might, 
 In Thy sole glory may unite.'' 
 
CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 GLASTONBURY AND THE WYE. 
 
 We come now to the legendary portion of Old 
 England, where it is enveloped in the dim mists 
 of mingled ecclesiastical and heroic fables. The 
 region about Glastonbury is the seat of the earliest 
 traditions of the English Church, going back almost 
 to apostolic days ; and with these, the armed heroic 
 forms of King Arthur and his " Knights of the 
 Round Table," are strangely blended, with half 
 childish and half poetic glory upon the picture. 
 
 Glastonbury meant originally, it is said, " Isle 
 of the Glassy Water ; '' and it was also called 
 "Avalon," or " Avilion," thus alluded to by Ten- 
 nyson in the " Morte d' Arthur : " — 
 
 " To the island-valley of the Avilion ; 
 Where falls not hail, or rain, or any snow. 
 Nor ever wind blows loudly ; but it lies 
 Deep-meadowed, happy, fair with orchard-lawns, 
 And bowery hollows, crowned with summer sea." 
 
 To this peaceful Eden of rest King Arthur was 
 gently borne over the lake, after his grievous 
 wound in fighting with the traitor ; and, lost for 
 ages to the sight of men, he is here at length to 
 reappear among men, for the glory of his native 
 land. 
 
442 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 Here, in all probability, was really the scene of 
 the earliest home of Christianity in England, al- 
 though myth and fable make it difficult to come at 
 the truth of history. 
 
 The story is, that while Glastonbury was still an 
 island, hidden amid the marshes and thickets of a 
 vast morass, a company of pilgrims from the Holy 
 Land, led by " Joseph of Arimathea," landed on 
 the western shore of England, somewhere in North 
 Wales ; and journeying on south, through the wild 
 and rugged land, they at length stopped here, and 
 established themselves as a religious community. 
 Mrs. Jameson thus relates the legend : " Some 
 hold that when Philip, one of the twelve Apostles, 
 came to France, he sent Joseph of Arimathea with 
 Joseph his son, and eleven more of his disciples 
 hither, who with great zeal and undaunted courage 
 preached the true and lively faith of Christ, and 
 when King Arviragus considered the difficulties 
 that attended their long and dangerous journey 
 from the Holy Land, beheld their civil and inno- 
 cent lives, and observed their sanctity and the 
 severities of their religion, he gave them a certain 
 island in the west part of his dominions for their 
 habitation, called Avalon, containing twelve hides 
 of land, where they built a church of wreathen 
 wands, and set a place apart for the burial of their 
 servants. These holy men were devoted to a 
 religious solitude, confined themselves to the num- 
 ber of twelve, lived there after the manner of 
 Christ and his Apostles, and by preaching con- 
 
GLASTONBURY AND THE WYE. 443 
 
 verted a great number of the Britons who became 
 Christians." 
 
 Joseph planted his staff as a sign that they had 
 reached a place of fixed abode after their weary 
 wanderings ; the staff immediately took root, and 
 like Aaron's rod budded and flowered. The vis- 
 itor is still shown stocks descended from the " Holv 
 Thorn " of Joseph of Arimathea, which is said to 
 differ from the common hawthorn but in one re- 
 spect, that it blossoms amid the snows of winter 
 at Christmas time ! 
 
 Succeeding the humble wattled dwellings of the 
 earliest missionaries, and the ruder Saxon struct- 
 ures, at length a great abbey arose, one of the 
 most complete, wealthy, and famous in all Eng- 
 land, as its present ruins amply testify. It was in 
 its prime a religious establishment of magnificent 
 power and riches. It acknowledged no jurisdiction 
 to Home, but looked solely to its own metropolitan 
 bishop of Caerdon-on-Uske, claiming that its au- 
 thority was derived direct from the Holy Land 
 and the Apostles. The remains of its edifices, for 
 solidity and majesty, are assuredly unsurpassed by 
 any of the ruined abbeys of England. Tintern 
 Abbey is more beautiful, and Fountains Abbey 
 has possibly more of its walls still standing, but 
 Glastonbury Abbey is superior to all in massive 
 grandeur. Some of its walls are very high and 
 solid still. The original church, whose outlines 
 are distinctly marked, measured from the end of 
 St. Joseph's Chapel on the west, to the Retro or 
 
444 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 Ladye ChapeL on the east, is five hundred and 
 ninety-four feet in length. Two of the piers which 
 supported the central tower of the nave are stand- 
 ing, with parts of the great arch, towering ragged 
 and weed-fringed against the sky. There is some 
 beautiful carving of oak leaves about one of the 
 side-doors of the choir. The walls of " St. Joseph's 
 Chapel " are almost entire, — strong Norman work 
 of the time of Henry II. at the end of the twelfth 
 century. Two of the small square towers that 
 stood at the angles are still almost perfect. With 
 their vertical lines and pyramidal pinnacles, they 
 have an elegant look. The exterior walls of the 
 chapel, with their simple round mullioned windows, 
 projecting piers, and vertical side lines, ending in 
 bow-kneed intersecting arches, together with the 
 deeply recessed and rich portal adorned with the 
 chevron moulding, have that austere majesty which 
 despises feeble external ornament, and which is so 
 characteristic of the masculine Norman style. 
 
 Many kings were buried here, — the grandfather 
 of Constantine the Great, Edmund the First, Ed- 
 gar and Edmund Ironsides ; and here, if ancient 
 chronicles are true, King Arthur himself was 
 buried. Camden says that Arthur's tomb was dis- 
 covered with a leaden tablet above it in the shape 
 of a cross, with this inscription : — " Hie jacet se- 
 pultus Rex Arthurus in insula Avaloniag." An- 
 other English chronicler (Fabyan's Chronicle, p. 
 81,) gives this account of his death and burial : — 
 " Whenns relacion came to Arthur of all this trea- 
 
GLASTONBURY AND THE WYE. 445 
 
 son wrought by his neuewe Mordred, he in all 
 haste made towarde Brytaine, as it is redde in the 
 Englysshe Crony cle, and landed at Sandwyche, 
 wiiere he was mette of Mordred and his people, 
 which gaue vnto hym stronge batyll in tyme of his 
 landyng, and loste there many of his knyghtes, as 
 the famous knyght Garvain and others ; but yet 
 this notwithstandynge Arthure at length wonne 
 the lande, and chaysed his enemyes, and after the 
 enteryng of his cosyn Gawyn and other of his 
 knyghtes there slayne, he sette forwarde his hoost 
 to pursue his enemyes. Mordred thus beying 
 ouerst of his vncle at the see side, withdrew hym 
 to Wynchester, where he beying furnysshed of 
 newe sowdyours, gaue vnto Arthure, as saith Gau- 
 fride, the second fyght ; wherein also Mordred 
 was put to the worse and constrayned to flee. 
 Thirdly and lastly, the sayd Mordred faught with 
 his vncle Arthure beside Glastynberry, where after 
 a longe and daugerous fyght Mordred was slayne, 
 and the victoryous Arthure wounded vnto the 
 deth, and after buryed in the vale of Aualon, be- 
 side Glastynberry beforesaid." 
 
 This same chronicler thus speaks of his exploits : 
 " Arthure faught xii. notable bataylles agayn the 
 Saxons, and of theym all was victoure. This noble 
 warayour, as wytnesseth holy Gilda, slewe with his 
 owne hande in one daye, by the helpe of oure Lady 
 Seynt Mary, whose Picture he bare peynted on 
 his shelde, c. and. xi. Saxons ; whiche shelde he 
 called Pridwen, his sworde was called Caliboure, 
 
446 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 and his spere was called Rone after the Brettysshe 
 tunge or speche." 
 
 Still another old writer, Geraldus Cambrensis, 
 speaks with great particularity of the opening of 
 Arthur's tomb in the reign of Henry II. ; the cof- 
 fin itself was made of the hollowed trunk of a tree ; 
 the bones were of great size ; and the skull bore 
 marks of the fatal wound. In 1189, the tradition 
 is, that the tomb of Queen Guinever was also 
 opened, and that her yellow hair, nicely braided, 
 was found unchanged. True or false, these tradi- 
 tions are exceedingly interesting, and seem to give 
 some ground of substance to the shadowy legend- 
 ary age of England's British kings. Nowhere are 
 the myths more beautiful, nowhere more simply 
 heroic, nowhere more sweetly tinged with the ro- 
 seate light of a dawning Christianity, before wh\ch 
 the gloom of Drnidic Paganism was beginning to 
 flee away, than those which cluster about Glaston- 
 bury, and this ancient vale of Avalon. In these 
 walls, King Arthur with his " pendragon-crest," 
 often entered, weary and worn from " roving the 
 trackless realms of Lyonesse." Here he was met 
 and entertained with solemn ceremonies, grave 
 courtesy, and learned discourse of holy men, telling 
 him of more glorious wars, and of the way to win 
 a higher crown. So, at least, we will think. Yes, 
 to us, Arthur is "flos regum gloria regni." Other 
 great kings and heroes there have been, but he it 
 was who founded the mighty Table : — 
 
GLASTONBURY AND THE WYE. 447 
 
 " But I was first of all the kings who drew 
 The knighthood- errant of this realm and all 
 The realms together under me, their Head, 
 In that fair order of my Table Round, 
 A glorious company, the flower of men, 
 To serve as model for the mighty world 
 And be the fair beginning of a time. 
 I made them lay their hands in mine and swear 
 To reverence the King, as if he were 
 Their conscience, and their conscience as their King, 
 To break the heathen and uphold the Christ, 
 To ride abroad redressing human wrongs, 
 To speak no slander, no, nor listen to it, 
 To lead sweet lives in purest chastity, 
 To love one maiden only, cleave to her, 
 And worship her by years of noble deeds, 
 Until they won her ; for indeed I knew 
 Of no more subtle master under Heaven 
 Than is the maiden passion for a maid 
 Not only to keep down the base in man, 
 But teach high thought and amiable words, 
 And courtlinesse and the desire of fame, 
 And love of truth, and all that makes a man." 
 
 A figure far more distinct and no less powerful, 
 though of an earthlier and more passionate mould, 
 is the formidable shape of St. Dunstan, who lived 
 in the reign of King Athelstane, grandson of Al- 
 fred, in the tenth century. He was a monk of 
 Glastonbury Abbey. In his lonely cell, his harp, 
 touched by invisible fingers for his solace, breathed 
 the hymn, " Gaudete animi." He also (so goes 
 the ancient chronicle) once heard the angels sing, 
 
 " Peace to the lande of Englysshemen." 
 
 He had moreover at Glastonbury his famous tussle 
 with the arch-fiend, and by a sharp cauterizing pro- 
 cess quickly routed him. He rebuked kings boldly 
 
448 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 for their vices, and brandished before the unsubmis- 
 sive the lightnings of the Church. He was ora- 
 tor, poet, artist, painter, skillful artificer in metals, 
 making great improvements and additions to the 
 organ. He became Primate of the English nation, 
 and died in Canterbury, a. d. 988. 
 
 Glastonbury Abbey was a Benedictine brother- 
 hood. The Benedictines, the best of all the mo- 
 nastic orders, established themselves in England 
 about fifty years after the death of their founder in 
 543. Oddly enough, nothing now survives to tes- 
 tify to their higher virtues or more important 
 achievements, but the Abbot's Kitchen, a singu- 
 lar structure with high octagonal, pyramidal roof, 
 crowned with a double lanthorn, and the Abbot's 
 Stable, with some interesting carvings still clinging 
 to it ; these are the only buildings that now remain 
 entire. In the kitchen are four huge fire-places at 
 the four angles. Pigs and cattle roam unmolested 
 about it, and sometimes go grunting into it, troubled 
 with no sense of alarm, or with ghosts of ancestral 
 martyrdoms. 
 
 I went to the summit of Tor Hill, a remarkable 
 eminence of steep rounded green, surmounted by 
 the tower of ruined St. Michael's Church. Upon 
 this hill the last abbot of Glastonbury, Abbot Whit- 
 ing, was hung for resisting the authority of Henry 
 VIII. ; and the proud Abbey of Glastonbury, with 
 other great religious houses, fell with him. At the 
 foot of this hill is a mineral spring, now almost 
 
GLASTONBURY AND THE WYE. 449 
 
 choked up and deserted, which was celebrated for 
 its healing qualities from the earliest antiquity. To 
 this venerable spring, according to Hollingshed, 
 King Arthur was brought to be healed of his 
 wounds ; and during the greatness of the monas- 
 tery for ages, the sick from all parts of the king- 
 dom resorted hither for cure. 
 
 In this region of Somersetshire, wandering amid 
 its woods and caves, a veritable royal hero, who 
 belongs to authentic history, the English Alfred, 
 spent the days of his darkness and exile when 
 he was driven from his throne by the Danes. 
 Legends also cluster about him. One day in the 
 depths of a forest, while his scanty followers were 
 absent in search of food, as he was engaged in 
 reading a book, a pilgrim met him, and asked alms 
 of him in God's name. The king lifted up his 
 hands toward heaven and said, " I thank God, who 
 of His grace assisteth this poor man this day by an- 
 other poor man." He then called his only remain- 
 ing servant, who had but one loaf and a little sip 
 of wine, and bade him give half to the poor man. 
 This poor man partook of the refreshment and sud- 
 denly vanished. The night following, the same 
 man appeared to him in a vision clad in full bish- 
 op's robes, and said : "I am Cuthbert, the pilgrim 
 to whom yesterday you gave both bread and wine. 
 I am busy for thee. Remember this of me when 
 it shall be well with thee. To-morrow T strong help- 
 ers shall come to thee ; by w T hose help thou shalt 
 subdue thine enemies." This was the same Saint 
 
 29 
 
450 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 Cuthbert, to whom Alfred afterward gave posses- 
 sions in land and money, for the founding of Dur- 
 ham Church, which was dedicated to this saint. 
 Shortly after this event men flocked to Alfred from 
 the regions round about. He himself entered the 
 Danish camp in the garb of a minstrel, discovered 
 the weak points of his enemy, and with his little 
 host of Somersetshire, Wiltshire, and Dorsetshire 
 men, routed the Danes in battle, and began his 
 victorious course to the recovery of his kingdom. 1 
 Alfred's division of time is worthy of our contem- 
 plation at this day. He divided the day and night 
 into three parts, if not interrupted by war or busi- 
 ness. Eight hours he spent in study ; the other 
 eight he spent in prayer and deeds of charity ; and 
 the other eight hours he spent in sleep, nourish- 
 ment of his body, and the affairs of his realm. 
 This order he kept by waxen tapers tended by 
 persons appointed for this purpose. 
 
 Returning to Brido-ewater, I went from thence 
 on to Bristol to spend the Sabbath. I attended 
 divine service the next day, as I had done many 
 months before, at the " Brethren Chapel " of 
 Messrs. Miiller and Craik, in a neat but unpre- 
 tending stone edifice, very plain within, with broad 
 galleries occupied mostly by the children of the 
 
 1 The familiar story of the spoiled cakes belongs also to this place 
 and period. The old Latin verse in which it is embalmed has been 
 translated into genuine Somersetshire dialect : — 
 
 " Cam thee mind the keaks, man, an doosen zee 'em burn, 
 I 'm boun thee 's eat 'em vast enough az soon az tiz the turn." 
 
GLASTONBURY AND THE WYE. 451 
 
 " House of Faith," dressed simply, but not in a 
 manner to make them look so distressingly plain, 
 as does the homely uniform of some English be- 
 nevolent institutions. Mr. Craik the preacher, the 
 " alter ego " of Muller, a man with a fine intellect- 
 ual face, spoke extemporaneously to a devout con- 
 gregation, all following his Scriptural allusions in 
 their Bibles, and all singing fervently together. 
 Mr. Craik's sermon was upon " Joseph, as the 
 type of Christ." No type, he said, was an exact 
 counterpart of what it typified, but presented con- 
 trasts as well as correspondences. He dwelt upon 
 one of these contrasts in particular, that Jacob 
 did not know what would befall his son when he 
 sent him forth on his errand ; nor did Joseph 
 himself know what was in the future when he 
 went to seek his brethren in the wilderness with 
 a message of peace ; but our Almighty Father 
 knew perfectly, and still ordained in love, what 
 would befall his Son, when he went forth from his 
 bosom to suffer for the redemption and peace of 
 men. In the course of his remarks he had occa- 
 sion to speak of each event of life, the most minute, 
 being under the guidance of God. Here his faith 
 broke out in an earnest and elevated strain. He 
 represented all things as bound together in one 
 framework of harmony ; that the smallest part 
 had its place and fitness in a mighty whole of ar- 
 chitectural order and magnificence ; every thing 
 touched upon, balanced, and sustained its neighbor, 
 in this great plan of God which soared far out of 
 
452 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 our feeble sight. In every trial and temptation let 
 us remember this, and the time would come when 
 we should see the order and the perfection of the 
 finished whole. His language was plain and nat- 
 ural, adapted to the understanding of children. I 
 heard no finer single sermon in England, more orig- 
 inal, beautiful, or spiritual. It is pleasant to me to 
 carry away from a foreign land these mementos, 
 these golden fragments. They seem precious be- 
 cause we have gathered them on another soil, and 
 found the same truth at Athens, at Rome, in Eng- 
 land, in America. 
 
 The Communion Service was administered in the 
 simplest way, and was not overstrained but affec- 
 tionate and free, without losing its sacredness. A 
 brother arose after the communion, and recalling 
 two or three of the most affecting parts of the dis- 
 course, gave out a hymn. Mr. Craik then spoke 
 of a woman who had died the previous week, draw- 
 ing with a few happy strokes a fine Christian char- 
 acter, and then asked all to unite in prayer to 
 thank God that he had given his faithful one rest 
 and the crown. There was, as it seemed to me, 
 something of the simplicity of the old apostolic 
 times, in all the services ; no scenic effects, but a 
 true Christian pastor feeding the people with the 
 bread of life, and finding a loving response to every 
 word he spoke in the faces of his flock, especially 
 in those of the children. The Spirit of Christ was 
 surely in that place. 
 
 I have had the privilege of joining in prayer and 
 
GLASTONBURY AND THE WYE. 453 
 
 praise with all kinds of Christians, with High and 
 Low Churchmen, with German Lutherans, with 
 Moravians and " Plymouth Brethren," with Ameri- 
 can Methodists, with Independents and Baptists, 
 with Irvingites and those who look for the second 
 coming of Christ, with Quakers and Roman Cath- 
 olics, with Greek and Armenian Christians, with 
 men of many different languages and races, with 
 Copts and Syrians, with some whom I consider in 
 the main errorists, and I mav sav that with much 
 of human vanity and error in them all, I have 
 found in all that in which I could heartily unite, 
 and more real piety and faith than I was worthy to 
 participate in ; and I will enjoy the thought, that 
 there is more of the Spirit of Christ on earth than 
 many good men think ; more of the truth of the 
 one living Lord sown deep in the sorrowful hearts 
 of men, which shall at some time spring up in im- 
 mortal light from the dark earth. Let us at least 
 so hope. 
 
 Mr. Miiller preached in the afternoon a dis- 
 course upon the 5th chapter of Luke. He gave 
 great life to the explanation of Scripture. He was 
 a rich and thoughtful exegete. " Depart from me, 
 for I am a sinful man," was an expression, he said, 
 not of true faith. The good man, Peter, learned 
 better afterward. The Saviour pushed off in a 
 boat from the shore in order to be better heard. 
 He did not do a miracle when it was unnecessary. 
 The net brake, but it was only to denote the mul- 
 titude of fishes, not to show that any should be lost. 
 
454 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 The disciples caught nothing before, because they 
 did not work under the direction of Jesus ; they 
 did not put down where he commanded. Every 
 occupation, plan, and work of man, to be truly 
 successful, must be done under the direction of 
 Christ, in union with his will, from love to him, 
 depending upon his power. Nothing was too small 
 for this, not even fishing. How much more in 
 trying to do good to the poor, ignorant, and 
 vile, — in trying to be fishers of men. 
 
 The most careless must have been struck with 
 the calm and transparent purity of his thoughts ; 
 they seemed to flow forth from a heart that was 
 in union with God's Spirit and Word. 
 
 Chepstow, in Monmouthshire, near the mouth 
 of the Wye, just across the head of the British 
 Channel from Bristol, is the starting-point for tour- 
 ists who visit Tintern Abbey, and other points 
 of interest in this lovely part of Wales. It is a 
 neat town picturesquely situated on the abrupt 
 bank of the river, with the ruined castle of the 
 famous Clare and Pembroke families still tower- 
 ing above it, though now but a mere shell and 
 shadow of its former strength. Strongbow, Earl 
 of Pembroke, was the real founder of this family, 
 and was the first Englishman who succeeded in 
 making permanent conquest in Ireland. He made 
 himself for a while an independent monarch of a 
 considerable portion of Ireland, and ruled by the 
 right of the stronger. 
 
 The castle wears even now a massive and defi- 
 
GLASTONBURY AND THE WYE. 455 
 
 ant look, somewhat in the Alnwick Castle style, 
 especially its frowning front, flanked by two lofty 
 towers. The chapel, in almost utter ruins, has 
 still some good carving. A little to the west of the 
 castle there is a noble view of the valley of the 
 Wye, and of the curve of the river holding in its 
 arm the beautiful Piercefield estate, with its ro- 
 mantic scenery and walks. In this castle one of 
 the regicide judges, Harry Marten, was confined 
 twenty years ; and Jeremy Taylor was, for a short 
 time, kept here as prisoner of state. One of its 
 lords in the time of the wars of the Rebellion, — a 
 man of thought in those times of action, — was the 
 Earl of Worcester, who w T as the author of " The 
 Century of Scantlings," and whose original and 
 penetrative genius anticipated many of the most 
 important inventions of modern times. 
 
 The scenery of the Wye, though not so bold as 
 some regions, is to my mind as lovely as any to be 
 found in England, and indeed in some respects it is 
 of surpassing loveliness. The rugged grandeur 
 of the Welsh mountain landscape is here quite 
 softened down, but it still forms a high and shad- 
 owy background of the picture. The wooded hills 
 on either side are of lofty rounded forms breaking 
 off in high cliffs upon the stream, though here and 
 there receding and affording space for broad green 
 meadows along the banks of the river, which winds 
 with rapid flow among the hills, solitary and yet 
 not lonely. 
 
 The scenery of England, compared with that of 
 
456 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 Italy, has been rightly called " sober," but it is a 
 soberness in which there are touches and gleams 
 of high ornamental beauty. It is like the soberness 
 of a Doric temple with its decorated frieze and in- 
 tervals of rich exquisite sculpture. This delicious 
 scenery of the Wye, with here and there in every 
 part of the kingdom such little silver-footed streams 
 as the Dove, the Wharfe, the Trent, the Fowey, 
 the Tamar, the waving and gentle outline of the 
 hills, the unparalleled sheen of the grass, the bright 
 northern lakes and the bosky combes of Devon- 
 shire, and everywhere the low cottage and village 
 church hid in foliage and flowers, with the gray 
 ruin clothed in green, and now and then a great 
 park of venerable oaks, some of them a thou- 
 sand years old, with sweeping glades of clean- 
 est and smoothest lawn, and thrown about all a 
 delicate veil of continual mist that softens and 
 heightens each noble feature, — this makes Old 
 England a strong and chaste home of freemen, a 
 beautiful northern temple, which we would ever 
 honor as the home and shrine of our ancestral 
 virtue. 
 
 There are few villages upon the banks of the 
 Wye, but there is everywhere a charming rural 
 sweetness and quietness, with great variety of 
 scenery, — now broad stretches of shining river 
 reflecting the tinted woods, and now narrow vales 
 embosomed in high walls of richest green. The 
 view from Wyndcliff rock is indeed something 
 more than simply beautiful ; and, as an exceptional 
 feature, it merits almost the epithet of sublime. 
 
GLASTONBURY AND THE WYE. 457 
 
 It commands a view of nine counties. Nearly a 
 thousand feet below is the rushing stream, with the 
 rich vale and lovely Piercefield meadows, and at a 
 distance to the south and west clear across the 
 Gloucestershire peninsula the sea-like Severn is 
 seen high on the horizon, as if it were suspended 
 midway in the heavens ; while to the north are 
 rolling hill and thick forest, and the dim mountains 
 of Glamorganshire. The scene has been called 
 tropical, as if it were upon some great African 
 river with its vast stretches of distance. This is 
 partly just. There is certainly something pecul- 
 iarly magnificent both in its land and water pros- 
 pect. It forms a splendid introduction, or natural 
 frontispiece, to the pensive glories of Tintern 
 Abbey. 
 
 This fine ruin stands in a valley, or nearly at 
 the foot of a side hill, at a curve of the river. Its 
 situation is beautiful, and it appears far more per- 
 fect at a distance than it really is, for it is in fact 
 but the vast frame of a building, rather than a 
 building itself. It is now a temple wholly open to 
 the elements, and paved with the greensward. 
 Four of its high sharp-pointed gables remain, over 
 and around which the ivy has gathered in opulent 
 profusion. Indeed, nowhere, with the exception 
 of Kenilworth, have I seen such an enormous 
 growth of ivy, such huge knots and tree-like 
 trunks, resembling the clustered pillars that they 
 climb up, sending out their serpentine arms that 
 wind over the loftiest wall, and hold the whole 
 
458 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 ruin in tight embrace. Especially about the in- 
 terior north window, and the west end on the 
 outside, are great masses of ivy, bulging and pend- 
 ulous, covering entirely with folds of dark drapery 
 the rugged sides of the old masonry. The ivy has 
 left, or been trained to leave, the noble west 
 window clear, so that its delicately traceried lines 
 stand out in relief against the sky. The carving 
 here and there is as sharp as if done yesterday. In 
 the open nave, of two hundred and twenty-eight 
 feet in lenffth. most of the clustered columns are 
 standing, and the two east and west windows, twice 
 as large as the windows of Melrose Abbey, and 
 nearly perfect in their stone-work, make one mourn 
 that so much is left, and yet that all is hopeless 
 ruin. 
 
 But, as I have said before, these old English 
 abbeys could not be more beautiful in their prime 
 than in their decay. Nature has claimed them 
 and tried all her art to possess them entirely. She 
 has wound her mantle about them, and hung her 
 banners over them, as if to say, " Though man has 
 left you I make you mine, and adorn you with 
 my best." The broken shadows of window, sharp 
 peak, and jagged wall, the immense fragments of 
 columns and masonry, the massive drapery of ivy, 
 the long architectural perspectives of nave and cross 
 aisles, the sombre recesses, the gleams of pathetic 
 beauty in this stern decay, the tender blue sky 
 above and the green natural turf beneath, the 
 spirit of repose that breathes through this desolate 
 
GLASTONBURY AND THE WYE. 459 
 
 abode of an older faith, form a poem of subtle 
 power. 
 
 One of the gems of the building is the door of 
 the cloisters on the left of the north aisle, its 
 wonderfully preserved mouldings showing what 
 Tintern Abbey once was. It was a monastery of 
 the Cistercian or White Monks, founded by Walter 
 de Clare, a relation of the Conqueror, in 1132, in 
 expiation, it is said, of great crimes and a wicked 
 life. Probably most, if not all, of the present 
 structure was erected later, by Roger Bigod, Earl 
 of Norfolk, in the last part of the thirteenth 
 century. 
 
 Tintern Abbey is, by the road, five miles from 
 Chepstow, and about the same distance from Mon- 
 mouth. 
 
 In the town-house at Monmouth stands the 
 statue of Henry V., and in the ruined castle near 
 by he was born. This is one of the worst pre- 
 served ruins in the kingdom. When I saw it, it 
 was used as a vegetable store-house, and part of it 
 was a pigsty. There was a pile of dirty straw in 
 the grand fire-place, and heaps of turnips in another 
 recess. But it is still a formidable looking old 
 Norman keep, with a water-gate on the river. 
 
 St. Thomas' Church, while small in size, yet 
 with its recessed doorway, round windows, and 
 curious diamond-tiled bell-tower, impressed me by 
 its picturesque quaintness. GeoffVy of Monmouth's 
 study window is shown, overlooking the church- 
 yard. It is he who gives us the story of King 
 
460 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 Arthur — the English Herodotus, whose simple 
 and confiding genius leads him beyond the bounda- 
 ries of sober history. 
 
 The hills lie around encircling the plain which 
 widens out quite commandingly here, forming the 
 place where two streams meet. On the whole, 
 Monmouth pleased and surprised me, and is fit 
 to be the birthplace of the hero of the " flaming 
 beacon " lighting on to great deeds : though the 
 fact is a surprising one, that his fellow-towns- 
 men seem to prize good turnips better than past 
 renown. 
 
 At the " Beaufort Arms Hotel," I met with two 
 English gentlemen who aided me greatly in my 
 touring investigations, and I must say, that as a 
 tourist I have always obtained from English fellow- 
 travelers the most courteous response, and every 
 aid that could well be given, leading sometimes 
 to considerable personal inconvenience on their 
 part. 
 
 Having sated my reader of late with ruins, I 
 will leave Raglan Castle without wearying them 
 with much additional description. Its heavy mac- 
 chiolated towers and antique gateway, on the beau- 
 tiful morning that I saw it, with the fine and 
 delicate air, answered exquisitely, to my thinking, 
 to the entrance of Macbeth's Castle. The red- 
 breasted birds hopped around almost tame. It was 
 lonely and silent. The dried leaves of autumn 
 dropped noiseless in the moat. "With the exception 
 of the janitor, the only life seemed to be the birds 
 
GLASTONBURY AND THE WYE. 461 
 
 and swans. The walls of the ruined keep are 
 enormous. The view from its top down into the 
 hollow shell of the castle, and the great cavernous 
 spaceSj was worth going far to see ; and he who 
 visits England without seeing Raglan Castle, Tin- 
 tern Abbey, and the river Wye, does not know 
 what beauty there is in Old England. 
 
 From Monmouth I went on by coach ten miles 
 to Ross, the road following the river, which was for 
 the most part shut in by high hills, passing the 
 Leys House estate, charmingly situated on a broad 
 straight stretch of the Wye, and then losing sight 
 of the river for a while until a little beyond Good- 
 rich Castle, we came upon it again at Goodrich 
 Hope Ferry, four miles or so from Ross. 
 ; The farms here were very fine, splendidly culti- 
 vated, and dotted over with great symmetrical hay- 
 ricks. This is said to be the best wheat land in all 
 England. 
 
 Ross is situated on a hill-side overhanging a 
 broad meadow, and so completely intersected by 
 the winding Wye, like a crescent or letter C, that 
 the town could not have possibly stood in the val- 
 ley if it had been desired to place it there. Here, 
 in the principal church, the " Man of Ross " is 
 buried ; and the old market - house which he 
 founded stands just opposite the house, not now 
 existing, where he lived. 
 
 " Behold the market-place, with poor o'erspread, 
 The Man of Boss divides the weekly bread." 
 
 This is a pleasant, comfortable, agricultural town, 
 
462 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 s 
 
 a place where it would seem, if anywhere, plenty 
 and contentment might perpetually dwell ; and 
 with this happy and home-like vision on the banks 
 of the silvery Wye, mingled with the thoughts of 
 charity and peace, I bid my reader a hearty Eng- 
 lish "Good-by." 
 
INDEX. 
 
 A. 
 
 Alfred, and St. Cuthbert, 449 ; his 
 division of time, 450. 
 
 Alnwick, town of, 220; castle of, 
 220_, seq. 
 
 America, and England, 141, seq. 
 
 Arnold, Dr., his home at Rugby, 
 84; as an educator, 88, 91; me- 
 morial window at Rugby school 
 chapel, 91; monument of, at 
 same, 91 ; his home at Fox How, 
 193, 194. 
 
 Arreton, 355. 
 
 Art, in London, 42, seq. 
 
 Arthur, King, burial-place of, 444. 
 
 Augustine, Apostle of England, 
 315. 
 
 B. 
 
 Bakewell church, 174. 
 Bangor, 4, seq. 
 Barnstaple, 424. 
 "Battle Abbey," 224. 
 Battlefield church, 16. 
 Beckenham. 305. 
 Becket, Thomas a, 313. 
 Bemevton church, 350, 351. 
 Berry Head, 379. 
 Berwick-on-Tweed, 219. 
 Berwyn Hills, 14. 
 Bettwys-y-Coed, 13. 
 Bideford, 424; bridge of, 425; 
 
 " pebble-ridge" at, 425. 
 Bilton Hall, 85, 86. 
 Birmingham, entrance to, 17; 
 
 "Punch" in, 19. 
 Blenheim, 111, 112. 
 
 Bolton Priory, 232. 
 
 Bonchurch, cemetery, 340. 
 
 Botallack mines, 414, 415. 
 
 Bowness, 189. 
 
 Bradford, Gov., 249. 
 
 Brading, 337, 338. 
 
 Brewster, Elder, 244, seq. 
 
 Bridgwater, 433. 
 
 Bright, John, 37, 38. 
 
 Brighton, 326, 327; climate of, 328, 
 329. 
 
 Bristol, 118; Sunday at, 450. 
 
 British Museum, 41. 
 
 Britannia Tubular Bridge, 7, 8. 
 
 Brixham, 378, 379. 
 
 Broadmead chapel in Bristol, 120, 
 121. 
 
 Bronte, Charlotte, home of, 237, 
 238 ; genius of, 239. 
 
 Bronte, Rev. Patrick, sermon by, 
 238. 
 
 Brougham, Lord, 39, 40. 
 
 Brunei, his genius, 373. 
 
 Butler, Bishop, tomb of, 119. 
 
 Bushv Park, 77. 
 
 Buxton, 177, 179. 
 
 Byron, Lord, at Matlock, 165; 
 where he wrote " The Corsair," 
 118; recollection of, 258; tomb 
 of, 258; England slow to re- 
 adopt his memory, 260 ; statue of 
 at Trinity college, Cambridge, 
 269. 
 
 c. 
 
 Caernarvon Castle, 8, 9. 
 Cambridge University, its situa- 
 tion compared with "Oxford, 266 ; 
 
464 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Trinity col., 266, seq.; St. John's 
 col., 270, seq.; Trinity Hall col., 
 273; Caius col., 273;* Clare Hall 
 col., 274; King's col., 275; 
 Queen's col., 275, 276; St. 
 Peter's col., 276 ; Pembroke col., 
 277; St. Katharine's col., 278; 
 Corpus Christi col., 278; Mag- 
 dalene col., 278; Jesus col., 278, 
 279; Sidney Sussex col., 279, 
 280 ; Christ's col., 282, seq.; Im~ 
 manuel col., 284; Downing col., 
 285. 
 
 Canterbury, 312 ; cathedral of, 313, 
 seq.; chai-ities of, 316 ; " catch- 
 club" of, 317, 318. 
 
 Canute, at Ely, 262. 
 
 Capel Cerrig, 12. 
 
 Carisbrooke castle, 334. 
 
 Castleton, 180. 
 
 Cathedrals, English, number of, 
 124; lownessof, 160. 
 
 Chad's, St., walk at Shrewsbury, 
 15. 
 
 Chalk, region, 319, 320. 
 
 Chatterton, 119, 120. 
 
 Chaucer, house of at Woodstock, 
 112. 
 
 Cheltenham, 115. 
 
 Chepstow, 454. 
 
 Chester, 1. 
 
 Cinque Ports, 224. 
 
 Clovelly, village of, 426 ; " Hobby 
 road" at, 426; Court, 427. 
 
 Coal, in England, 150 ; probability 
 of its exhaustion, 147, 148. 
 
 Coleridge, his room in Jesus col- 
 lege, 279 ; his home at Keswick, 
 212; his alleged plagiarisms, 
 213, 214; his tomb at Highgate, 
 215, 216. 
 
 Colliers, 145, 150, 151. 
 
 " Commercial travelers," 345. 
 
 Commons, House of, 34, seq. 
 
 Copper mines, 392. 
 
 Cornwall, little visited, 389 ; scen- 
 ery of, 390, 391 ; primitive peo- 
 ple of, 398 ; land of pagan relics 
 and legends, 409; mines, 392, 
 seq.; miners, 394, 395; prayers 
 of Cornwall miners, 420. 
 
 Corwen, 13. 
 
 Cotton, John, 250. 
 
 Coventry, 23, 24. 
 
 Cowper, "William, his house at 01- 
 ney, 94, 95; memories of, 96, 
 97. 
 
 Craik, Rev. Mr., sermon by, 451. 
 
 Crich, 172. 
 
 Cricket, playing, 78. 
 
 Cromwell, Oliver, at Cambridge 
 University, 280; portrait of at 
 Sidney Sussex college, 281. 
 
 Crosthwaite church, 217. 
 
 Cumming, Dr., 66, 67. 
 
 Cumnor Hall, 113. 
 
 Cuthbert, St., shrine of at Dur- 
 ham, 225. 
 
 D. 
 
 Darling, Grace, 219. 
 
 Dawlish, 373, 374. 
 
 " Decorated style " of architecture, 
 158, 160. 
 
 Dee, river, 3, 14. 
 
 De Quincv, charges against Cole- 
 ridge, 213. 
 
 Derby, 162. 
 
 Derbyshire scenery, 161, 163. 
 
 Derwentwater, lake, 208, 211. 
 
 Devonshire cattle, 362, 363. 
 
 D'Israeli, 38, 39. 
 
 Dorchester, 361. 
 
 Dover, 321, 322. 
 
 Dudley Castle, 144. 
 
 Dunmail Raise, 205. 
 
 Dunstan, St., 447, 448. 
 
 Dunster Castle. 433. 
 
 Durham, 223 ;' cathedral of, 224, 
 seq. 
 
 E. 
 
 " Early English," style of archi- 
 tecture, 133, seq. 
 
 Edward, the Black Prince, his 
 tomb at Canterbury, 314. 
 
 " Elegv in a country churchyard," 
 70, 71. 
 
 Ely, cathedral, 262, seq. 
 
 England, scenery of, 455 ; Sunday 
 in, 185, seq.; intemperance in, 
 23, 24; reform in, 140, 141; holy 
 ground, 293; influence of the 
 sea upon, 430. 
 
INDEX. 
 
 465 
 
 English railways, 1, 2; hotels, 4, 
 5; cities, finished character of, 
 19; unsociability, 26; garden, 
 76; muscle, 78; character, 100, 
 seq.; suspicion, 105, 106 ; hedge, 
 110, 111; cemeteries, 113; farms, 
 113 ; piety, cheerful type of, 167 ; 
 preaching, 61, 63, 187; inns, 
 names of, 318; pronunciation, 
 318; fox-hunting, 363; horses, 
 364. 
 
 Established Church, present posi- 
 tion and influence of the, 68, 69 ; 
 worship of the, 69. 
 
 Esthwaite, lake, 191. 
 
 Exeter, 364; High Street of, 365 ; 
 cathedral of, 366, seq.; services 
 in cathedral, 368 ; bishop of, 371 ; 
 scenery about, 372. 
 
 F. 
 
 Earn Islands, 219. 
 Farringford, 342. 
 Folkestone, 323. 
 Fon thill Abbey, 354. 
 Fountains Abbev, 231, 232. 
 Fox How, 193. 
 
 G. 
 
 Glastonbury, its original meaning, 
 441; early home of Christianity, 
 442; "holy thorn" of, 443; ab- 
 bey of, 443, 444, 448; burial- 
 place of Arthur, 444, seq. 
 
 Gloucester, 128, 129 ; cathedral of, 
 124, 126. 
 
 Godiva, Lad}', 24. 
 
 Grasmere, 202. 
 
 Gray, Thomas, at Cambridge, 
 70. 
 
 "Greta Hall," 211, 212. 
 
 H. 
 
 "Haddon Hall," 172, seq. 
 Hall, Rev. Newman, his preach- 
 ing, 66. 
 Hall, Robert, 121, 122. 
 Hampton Court, 72, seq. 
 30 
 
 Harrowgate, 229, 230. 
 
 Haworth, 233, seq. 
 
 Helvellyn, 207. 
 
 Herbert, George, story of, 350; 
 tomb of, at Bemerton, 351. 
 
 High Church, movement, 421, 422. 
 
 Holman Hunt, his picture of 
 " Finding Christ in the Tem- 
 ple," 51. 
 
 Hooper, Bishop, scene of his mar- 
 tyrdom, 129. 
 
 Hop-growing, 310, 311. 
 
 I. 
 
 Ilfracombe, 429. 
 
 Ives, St., in Cornwall, 398. 
 
 J. 
 
 John, King, his tomb at Worces- 
 ter, 136. 
 
 K. 
 
 Keighley, 233. 
 
 Ken, Bp\, his " Morning Hymn," 
 439. 
 
 Kenilworth, 23. 
 
 Keswick, vale of, 208; town of, 
 211, 212. 
 
 Kew Gardens, 81, seq. 
 
 Kingsley, Charles, his home at 
 Eversley, 308; his church at 
 Eversley, 310 ; spirit of his writ- 
 ings, 309; painter of North 
 Devon scenery, 428. 
 
 L. 
 
 Lake country, 189, seq. 
 
 Lamb, Charles, memories of, at 
 East India House, 33, 34. 
 
 Landscape painting, in England, 
 46, 47. 
 
 Landseer, Sir Edwin, 48. 
 
 Land's End, drive to from Pen- 
 zance, 407, seq-; appearance of 
 in a storm, 412 ; scene from, 413; 
 "vicar of," 416, seq. 
 
466 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Lea Hurst, home of Florence 
 Nightingale, 168. 
 
 Leamington, 20. 
 
 Leslie, Charles Robert, qualities as 
 a painter. 48, 49. 
 
 Lichfield, 152; cathedral of, 156, 
 seq. 
 
 Lincoln, 282; cathedral of, 252, 
 seq. 
 
 Lincolnshire, its Dutch scenery, 
 252. 
 
 Liverpool, 1. 
 
 Llangollen, 14. 
 
 Llugwy, vale of, 13. 
 
 Lodore, falls of, 210, 211. 
 
 Logan stone, 409, 410. 
 
 London, overpowering at first 
 sight, 25 ; parks of, 26 ; paradise 
 of literary men, 27 ; view from a 
 London bridge, 28 ; old churches 
 of, 29, 30; points of special in- 
 terest in, 31, seq.; " East India 
 House " in, 33, 34; the best way 
 to see, 40. 
 
 Longfellow, estimation of, in Eng- 
 land, 131, 132. 
 
 Lyn, cliff of, 430 ; " water's meet " 
 of the Lyn torrents, 431. 
 
 Lynton, 430. 
 
 M. 
 
 Malvern hills, 136. 
 
 Marazion, 401. 
 
 Market Drayton, 15. 
 
 Marsh, Miss, home of, 305; her 
 
 appearance, 306; her source of 
 
 influence, 306. 
 " Martvr's memorial," 293. 
 Matlock Bath, 163, 166; prices at 
 
 Matlock Bath Hotels, 164. 
 Maurice, Rev. F. D., his preaching 
 
 and theologv, 64, seq. 
 Melville, Rev^ Henry, 63, 64. 
 Menai Strait, 6, 7. 
 Michael's Mount. St., 399; the 
 
 ancient Ictis, 402, 403; earliest 
 
 historic point in England, 403 ; 
 
 view from, 404; allusion to, in 
 
 "Lycidas," 405; Bowles' sonnet 
 
 upon, 405. 
 Milton, John, at Christ's college, 
 
 Cambridge, 282, seq.; monu- 
 
 ment of, in St. Giles' church ; 
 London, 29. 
 
 Monmouth, 459. 
 
 Mount's Bay, 400. 
 
 Miiller, George, sketch of, at Bris- 
 tol, 122, ]93 ; sermon by, 453. 
 
 N. 
 
 Names, in hill countries, 192. 
 
 Newark, 255. 
 
 Newcastle-upon-Tyne, 223. 
 
 Newman, Dr., his convent at Bir- 
 mingham, 17, seq. 
 
 Newstead Abbey, 260. 
 
 Newton, John, his church at 
 OIney, 96. 
 
 Noblemen's estates, 138. 
 
 Norman architecture, 126, seq. 
 
 North Devon, scenery of, 432. 
 
 Northwick, Lord, his picture-gal- 
 lery at Cheltenham, 115, seq. 
 
 o. 
 
 Olney, 93, seq. 
 
 "OldSarum," 356,357. 
 
 Ouse, river, 94, 95. 
 
 Oxford, 285 ; " Commemoration 
 Day " at, 285, seq.; buildings 
 of, 289:*Newcol., 290; Exeter 
 col., 290; Brasenose col., 290, 
 291; Oriel col., 291; Queen's 
 col., 292; Christ Church col., 
 292 ; education at, 294, 295. 
 
 P. 
 
 Paley, Dr., birthplace of, 26L 
 
 Pendeen, 415. 
 
 Penmaen-bach, 4. 
 
 Penmaen-mawr, 4. 
 
 Penzance, climate of, 399 ; serpen- 
 tine stone works at, 400 ; prim- 
 itive character of, 401. 
 
 " Perpendicular style," of archi- 
 tecture, 275. 
 
 Peterboro', cathedral of, 261. 
 
 "Peveril of the Peak," 179; castle 
 of, 181. 
 
 Pilchard-fishery, 397. 
 
INDEX. 
 
 467 
 
 "Pilgrim Fathers," who they 
 
 were, 247. 
 Plymouth, its harbor, 382; Royal 
 
 Hotel at, 388. 
 Portsmouth, 332, 333. 
 Primogeniture, English law of, 
 
 139, 140. 
 <f Punch," in Birmingham, 19. 
 Puritanism, 250. 
 
 E. 
 
 Raglan Castle, 460. 
 
 Raikes, Robert, 129. 
 
 Railway literature, 132, seq. 
 
 Redruth, 391. 
 
 Ripon, 230. 
 
 Richard III., 128. 
 
 Richmond Hill, 81. 
 
 Richmond, Leigh, at Isle of Wight, 
 
 338. 
 Robertson, Rev. F. W., at Brigh- 
 ton, 329, 330; memoi'ial window 
 
 of at Oxford, 291. 
 Robinson, John, 246, 247 : his words 
 
 at Delft Haven, 248; writings 
 
 of, 249. 
 Rome, ancient, rule of in Britain, 
 
 321. 
 Romsey, 344. 
 Ross, 461, 462. 
 Rugby, town of, 84; school of, 87, 
 
 90. 
 Russel, Lord John, 37. 
 Rydal Mount, 194. 
 Rydal Water, 201. 
 
 S. 
 
 Salisbury, 346 ; cathedral of, 347, 
 
 seq. 
 Saltash, 385. 
 u Sanford and Merton," author of, 
 
 154. 
 Scott, Dr. Thomas, his house, 99, 
 
 100. 
 Scroobv, 241; manor-house of, 
 
 242; "church of, model of N. E. 
 
 churches, 246. 
 Severn, river, 15, 16. 
 Shakspeare, scene in his church, 
 
 20, 21 ; authorship of his plays, 
 
 " Shakspeare's Cliff," 322. 
 
 Sherwood Forest, 257. 
 
 Shrewsbury, 15. 
 
 Singing, congregational, in Eng- 
 lish churches, 69. 
 
 Skiddaw, Mt. 208, 211, 212. 
 
 Snowdon, Mt. 10, 11. 
 
 Somersetshire, land of legends, 
 448. 
 
 Southampton, 333. 
 
 Southey, Robert, his home, 212; 
 his grave, 218. 
 
 Spurgeon, Rev. Charles, his char- 
 acteristics as a preacher, 51, seq. 
 
 Staffordshire, coal-region of, 17. 
 
 Stillingfleet, burial-place of, 136. 
 
 Stoke Pogis, 70, seq. 
 
 Stonehenge, 357, seq. 
 
 Stowell, canon Hugh, 187. 
 
 " Strawberry Hill," 79. 
 
 Sunday-school, festivities, 166, 
 167. 
 
 Swallow, cataract of the, 13. 
 
 Teignmouth, 375. 
 
 Tennyson, his home at Farring- 
 
 ford, 342. 
 Thames, fountain - head of the, 
 
 118. 
 Thirlemere, lake of, 206. 
 Tin-mines, 396. 
 Tintern Abbey, 457, seq. 
 Torbay, 378. 
 Torquay, 375, seq. 
 Trent, valley and river of the, 
 
 255. 
 Troutbeck vale, 192. 
 Tunbridge Wells, 325. 
 Turner, J. M. W., as a painter, 43, 
 
 seq.; first mountain drawing of 
 
 233 ; at Mt. Edgcuinbe, 385. 
 Twickenham, 80. 
 Tyndale, William, canon of Christ 
 
 Church college, Oxford, 293. 
 
 u. 
 
 University, the English, vital 
 principle of, 296 : scholarship at, 
 297 ; moral tone of, 298 ; genial 
 
468 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 spirit of, 298, 299; government 
 of, 300, 301; Fellowships in, 302, 
 303. 
 
 V. 
 
 Vane, Sir Henry, 281. 
 Venerable Bede, 225. 
 
 w. 
 
 Warkworth Hermitage, 222. _ 
 
 "Water- colors," painting in, a 
 peculiarly English art, 49, 50. 
 
 Watlins: street, 311, 319. 
 
 " Wealden Beds," 325. 
 
 "Wells, situation of, 434; tranquil 
 air of, 434 ; bishops of, 435 ; ca- 
 thedral of, 436, seq. 
 
 Welsh, mountain scenery, 10, seq. 
 
 West, Benjamin, 48. 
 
 Weston Underwood, 96, 97. 
 
 Wharfe, river, 232. 
 
 White, Henry Kirke, 256, 257. 
 
 Wichnor Park, 153. 
 
 Wight, Isle of, 334, seq.; Caris- 
 brook castle, 334; Arreton 
 church, 335; home of " Dairy- 
 man's Daughter," 336; San- 
 down, 336; Brading, 337, 338; 
 Underclitf, 339 ; Bonchurch, 
 340; Ventnor, 339; St. Law- 
 
 rence church, 341; Farringford, 
 342. 
 
 William, the Conqueror, his wast- 
 ing of the land in Yorkshire, 228; 
 his remorse, 228. 
 
 Winchester, 331; cathedral of, 
 331. 
 
 Windermere, lake of, 189, 190. 
 
 Wingfield Manor, 171. 
 
 Wilton, 355, church of, 354. 
 
 Wilton House, 352, seq. 
 
 Wolsey, Cardinal, at Hampton 
 court, 73 ; at Scrooby, 242. 
 
 Worcester, cathedral of, 132, 133, 
 136. 
 
 Wordsworth, William, his appear- 
 ance, 195; his indignation at 
 American repudiation, 195: his 
 sister, 195 : his egotism, 196 ; the 
 priest of Nature, 196 ; a Christian 
 man, 197 ; his philosophy of Na- 
 ture, 198; his love of humanity, 
 199, 200; a poet of progress, 
 201 ; his grave, 204. 
 
 Wye, river in Derbyshire, 172; 
 river in Monmouthshire, scenery 
 of the, 455. 
 
 Wyndcliff, view from the, 456. 
 
 Y. 
 
 Yeovil, 361. 
 
 York, 228, 229 ; cathedral of, 229. 
 
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