A


MONTH     IN ENGLAND
BY
HENRY T. TUCKERMAN.


"Still o'er the West shall Albion's sceptre wave,
And what her mighty Lion lost, her mightier Swan shall save."


REDFIELD
110 AND 112 NASSAU STREET, NEW YORK.
1853.





Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1853,
By J. S. REDFIELD,
in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States, in and for the
Southern District of New York.


STEREOTYPED BY C. C. SAVAGE,
13 Chambers Street, N. Y.





PREFACE.


So complete is the system of English railways,
that four weeks judiciously appropriated, during
the intervals of business or social engagements,
will enable the American, in London, to visit and
thoroughly explore a specimen, at least, of what is
peculiar in the country; he may thus become accuainted with a large rural domain, a manufacturing
district, an ancient castle, a watering-place, and a
venerable seat of learning; and these excursions
will alternate profitably with metropolitan life. It
may seem, however, quite superfluous to record the
impressions derived from an experience now become
so familiar; and only when a new point of view is
adopted, can they be supposed to have any interest
for the public. In the present instance, well-known
scenes have been examined chiefly through the medium of the associations we derive from English
authors, and some new details of local and immediate significance added. If many of the subjects
discussed in these pages, are without the charm of
novelty, it is hoped the light in which they are
viewed will give them, to some minds, more distinct and genial tints.
NEW Your, November, 1853.





CONTENTS.
I.
OLD ANDN~ NW........................................ PAGE  1
IL.
LONDON AUTH-ORS............................................ 29
III.
THEB DRUDGE AND THEi DUKE................................... 71
IV.
A TRIP TO WINDSOR................................. 98
V.
LIONS..................................................e11'T
Vie
A D.AY AT OXOD......................141
V\II.
ART............ e......................159
VIII.
CASTLES AND SEARSPERE..............................  189
Ix.
BY-THE-WAY................................221





OLD AND NEW.
Hail, Memory, hail! in thy exhaustless mine,
From age to age, unnumbered treasures shine
Thought and her shadowy brood thy call obey,
And Place and Time are subject to thy sway.
RoGERSaa.










I.


OLD AND NEW.
IT is easy for a voyager familiar with history and
alive to the ideal, when his eye first discovers the
beacon on Cape Clear, Kinsale or Tusker, gleaming
over the sea, to lose himself in the past of England,
and, as he walks the deck alone, summon into the
boundless void around him, shapes of yellow-haired
colossal Britons, Roman soldiers clad in steel,
Druids crowned with oak-leaves, the red-bearded
Danish buccaneer, the venerable Bede, or Dunstan,
Alfred and his harp, the dainty Norman, and proud
Saxon, Father Chaucer, Sir Thomas More, Cromwell,
the merry monarch, and other prominent figures of
English history: and to intersperse the epochs they
symbolize with the eloquent bards and fair ladies
that illustrate each cycle; but when his foot touches
the shore, all such ocean reveries fade away like
the indistinct visions of the night; and the actual
usurps the senses while it breaks the spell of retro




8


A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


spective fancy. The days when Liverpool was not,
and Genoa and Venice filled an equal space in the
world's regard, vanish; and he treads the streets of
that busy haven with no more consciousness of antiquity than New York or Leghorn inspire; and
yet the transatlantic pilgrim naturally craves the
hoary emblems of ages, whose chronicle he has
pondered beside virgin forests; and would calm the
restless spirit born of a new and progressive civilization, in the solemn air exhaled from the monuments of elder times; he needs to verify, by observation, what he only knows as abstract fact; he
yearns for the mellow hue which age flings over the
landscape; and his disappointment is keen when he
sees, instead of hallowed vestiges, the identical
freshness and activity beyond the deep, with which
he has been familiar at home. Here and there he
encounters in the domestic architecture, the ware,
the shape of a vehicle, or the furniture of a room,
traces of colonial objects yet discernible in primitive American towns settled by the English; and a
church, with its cracked tablets and quaint inscriptions, bears testimony to a somewhat more venerable origin than the changeful aspect of his native
place can boast; but, for the most part, a few
local peculiarities in the mode of life, a different
type in the journal, or a less gregarious habit in the
people, are the only artificial features that attest
his distance from the United States. One advan




OLD AND NEW.


9


tage, however, this scenic coincidence yields, it
vastly increases the effect of contrast when he exchanges the modern city which first meets his gaze,
for the ancient one, divided from it by only a few
hours' travel; and seldom is the transit from new
to old, and from the commonplace to the romantic,
so rapid.
The neutral tint of the edifices in Liverpool,
partly the result of cloudy skies, and in a great
measure owing to the absence of red bricks and
new paint, the substantial costume, robust look, and
pedestrian hardihood of the women, and an air of
conservative solidity in warehouse, hotel, and street,
keep alive the idea of England, which the scene on
the quays and in the shops continually dissipate.
The names too, which, with truly British pride, are
attached to dock, highway, and inn, recalling warlike heroes, and mercantile princes, confirm the
vague feeling in the traveller's breast, that he is " a
stranger in the land."  As I caught sight, now and
then, of the pawnbroker's gilt balls-the escutcheon
of the Medici-gratefully rose the noble image of
Lheir historian, who here won and lost a fortune in
business, and yet found both the time and the intel[ectual energy to identify his name with the highest
philanthropic enterprise, and elegant literature. I
sought his grave behind the little chapel where he
worshipped, and, standing by the mural slab which
only records his name and age, I realized how a
1*





O10


A AMNTII IN ENGLAND.


true enthusiasm for letters, art, and humanity, lifts
the memory of their disciple, like a star, far above
the oblivious monotony of trade, into the serene
firmament of posthumous renown.
Near the remains of Roscoe are those of that bold
and conscientious religious inquirer, Blanco White,
who breathed his last at the charming residence of
one of his friends in the vicinity of Liverpool. I
recalled the wide circuit of rites, creeds, and doctrine, which, with the artless wisdom of a child, he
confesses to have experienced, and the profound
sentiment of religion that animated his heart, under
every form of technical belief; I remembered the
beautiful sonnet, in which he compares the unconscious immortality of the soul to the stars hid by
the radiant day, yet shining on for ever, and visible
when the hour of darkness comes; and I felt how
justly we forget the conventional distinctions of
Christianity, in view of a character imbued with its
essential spirit.
It is a singular fact, that the busy scenes, and
palpable results of traffic, and the melancholy quietude of death, are the two points of reflective interest in Liverpool; her docks and her cemeteries,
are the principal attractions. Nothing in her prosperous mart serves to remind us that the inhabitants
petitioned Elizabeth for exemption from taxes on
account of poverty-that Prince Rupert besieged
the city in 1644, or that the monks once had a





OLD AND NEW.


11


monopoly of the Birkenhead ferry; but, looking
through the iron railing down into St. James' cemetery, we see the monument of IHuskisson, a stone
memorial erected by the sea-captains to their shipwrecked brother, surrounded by evergreens-and
recognise the fact, that the wealth which has here
found a nucleus, was derived from maritime and
commercial enterprise. It is a remarkable coincidence, that the basis of Liverpool's importance was
the slave-trade, and that by a natural reaction, her
citizens were among the most efficient advocates of
its legal prohibition.
The city has a pleasant rural vicinage, and a ride
among the hedges and villas, besides cheering the
eye in winter, with many a picturesque lodge embowered in holly and graceful hayricks planted on
the greenest sward, and, in summer, alive with
flowers, and musical with birds-warms the fancy
with the view of Allerton Hall, the tasteful abode
of Roscoe, and Wavertree so long the home of Mrs.
Hemans. Well may a poet, however, despair of
catching even a glimpse of his traveller's castle in
the air, while at Liverpool. He treads the dank pavement of Lord street, and looks around on the panorama of stores, cotton, beer, and coal drays, policemen with glossy hats, flying cabs, sailors arrayed for
a holyday, thrusting out their boots to be polished
with a comical air of reckless self-importance; he
winds his perilous track along the river-side, ivhere





12


A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


a wilderness of rigging is painted on a vast background of fog, a black steam-tug meanders through
a forest of hulls and spars, hordes of poor emigrants
are collecting their household utensils for a voyage,
or gangs of muscular draymen are smoking black
pipes-amid the clatter of wheels, hoofs, oaths,
mariner's songs, and huckster's cries; he dines
with a hospitable merchant, and is environed only
with all the means and appliances of prosaic comfort; he returns to the Adelphi or the Waterloo, to
meet an English sportsman, fresh from the Baltic or
Europa, just landing in the hall a champagne-basket
full of prairie birds; and he enters the coffee-room to
behold the complacent mercantile effigies round the
wall, the same old half-excavated Stilton, and a
fresh New York journal on the table.
What room is there for retrospection, when steam
and electricity thus concentrate the significance of
every passing hour, and the products of sea-divided
countries? How is it possible to attain any sense
of the past when the present is thus omniverous;
and what is there in the life and environment of
Liverpool to divert the mind an instant from the
actual and material to-day? How shall we flit from
the new to the old, from modern, commercial, everyday England, to that which we have learned to love
through Shakspere? Take the railway for Chester.
The green embankments, private and carriagelike cars, low telegraph-wires running parallel with





OLD AND NEW.~


13


the track, and affording means of instant communication through its whole extent; and, finally, the
grand dimensions and crystal roof of the stationhouse, are features of modern science, as applied
to locomotion, which do not suggest an inkling of
the antiquated town we are about to enter. An
excellent preparative, however, is an afternoon excursion to the adjacent estate of the marquis of
Westminster; for there is an almost feudal relation to the eye between it and the little village
through which the traveller passes on his way to
Eaton hall. The low, brick houses, with minute and
angular window-panes, occupied by the tenantry,
seem old dependencies of the pointed Gothic and
extensive structure, with its octagonal turrets, fretwork, and battlements; and between the two, like
the type of a third estate, rises the lodge and monastic gateway. It expands the mood, also, of the
lover of nature, to behold, once more, even a
wintry horizon through a wide belt of sylvan pillars, with groups of deer and flocks of pheasants to
animate the turf below; masses of ivy relieved
against a time-stained buttress, and alternate species
of holly and cypress flecking with verdant sheen
the level grass-plats. From one of the quaint little
dwellings of the old hamlet there emerged a fat
dame with cap, kerchief, and petticoat, exactly like
those which adorn the figure of Mother Hubbard
as it appeared in the specimens of juvenile litera




14


A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


ture, with Newbury's imprint, before Miss Edgeworth had infused good sense and Hans Andersen's
exquisite fancy into children's books. Were it not
for an occasional gas-light, our entrance into Chester from a scene like this, would have afforded no
hint of the age we live in; for, in the early twilight,
the rude pavement, lofty castle, old-fashioned costumes of the venerable citizens gossipping at the
city-gate-two boys astride a gray, shaggy donkey
-- the little shops, dim porticoes, huge exterior wall,
and narrow streets, are more like a small inland
city of Italy than an English market-town. In the
parlor of the inn was a print of the Cheshire chase,
a family bible, and a tea-service like that only beheld at home on the table of one of the historical
New England or southern families; and, at the head
of the stairs, a massive and moon-faced clock, that
looked as if it had beheld generations come and go.
The absence of bustle, the domestic serenity, and
neatly-served meal, partaken of in a room with the
heavy curtains drawn and the bright andirons glistening in the cheerful firelight, attuned the mind for
a contemplative ramble; and when I left the snug
retreat, walked a few rods, ascended a flight of steps,
and found myself under a long, low arcade, high
above the thoroughfare, and lined with little shops,
such as are seen painted on the street-scenes of a
theatre, I felt as if fairly launched into the region
of dreams. Nor was the impression for an instant





OLD AND NEVW.


15


broken during a walk thence to the Water-gate, and
round the walls to the Castle. When beyond the
range of shops, that seemed an indefinite continuation of those which stand on the old Jewellers' bridge
in Florence, the open country was visible-spread
below as far as the eye could reach, and bathed in
moonlight. The hour and the elements seemed to
unite in favor of the romance of effect which then and
there imagination instinctively craved. Slowly, and
with a latent fear that all was an enchantment soon
to vanish, I moved around those time-hallowed walls,
now looking toward Rowton moor, where the parliamentary army defeated the cavaliers; now gazing
at Brewer's hill, where Cromwell encamped; and
again straining my vision still farther to mark the
waving line of the Clwydian range, half-veiled in
pearly mist. On the flagged walk lay the shadows
of bastion and parapet; the swollen mill-sluice
gleamed like silver; and, hanging over the bridge
at that point, to watch the whirling eddies of foam,
as I inhaled the air "made misty by the floating
meal," sweetly rose the image of "The Miller's
Daughter," which the muse of Tennyson had
stamped on my heart. Here and there a broad
fragment of the mossy freestone pavement had sunk,
or a portion of the thick, low bulwark curved;
sometimes, though at long intervals, a single pedestrian approached from a distant angle, passed, and
disappeared; the garlands of ivy pendent from the





16


1A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


tower whence Charles L. beheld the defeat of his
army, rustled in the night-breeze; at one spot a
heavy, covered boat, the counterpart of those seen in
Dutch pictures, floated slowly along the canal, propelled by two women, and, as it shot beneath an
arch, and cast its huge reflection on the moonlit
water, conjured Venice, like a dream of beauty to
the mind. Here I looked down on an old ropewalk,
there on an umbrageous grange; now paused to admire the vast and smooth expanse of the unrivalled
race-course, which struck the imagination as a Roman amphitheatre, or field for knightly tournament,
and then traced the glistening current of the Dee
as it wound through fertile meadows. It required
no effort of the fancy, in the hush and solemn light,
to recognise, by the very outline of the walled town,
a proof of its Roman occupancy -the site and plan
being exactly in accordance with their ancient
camps; or to realize that the twentieth legion here
rested after defeating Boadicea; that King Alfred's
daughter built these walls; that Harold found within them the hermit's cell where he buried himself
after the battle of Hastings; that King Malcolm of
Scotland, upon this very spot, rendered homage to
Henry II.; and that Edward I. and his queen here
attended mass at St. Werburgh's church, after his
successful expedition against the Welsh. Instead
of cold historical traditions, these memories became
present local facts. It seemed as if the clang of





OLD AND NEW.


17


armor might be heard from Henry of Lancaster's
troops mustering on yonder plain against Richard
II.; or the echo of a psalm sung by the puritan
soldiers then floated across the sleeping fields to the
army of Charles, besieged, for so many months, in
Chester. I scanned the huge proportions of the castle, massive and hoary, which was founded by William the Conqueror; and stood long entranced by a
tower, whence a path, thickly bordered with vines
and cypress, leads to a similar structure mantled in
ivy-the very stone mellow and crumbling with
age; and, while absorbed in the illusions thus created, a sudden noise, like the rush of chariots or the
hum of a multitude, came on the rising wind. Had
the shields of Caesar's legions flashed in the moonshine, or the golden sickle of a druidical priestess reflected its yellow beam; a procession of cowled friars wound from the shadow of the wall; a band of
mounted knights come prancing into view; or the
long, fair hair of the wife of Mercia's king streamed
to the breeze -hardly a start of astonishment would
have denoted the marvel, so completely had nature
and antiquity woven their spells. No such test of
imaginative triumph was applied; for, awakened
from my reverie, it was with a feeling of bewilderment that I recognised the locomotive's whistle, and
beheld a freight-train whirl by, loaded with coal
from Wales!
The next day I found, to my renewed delight,





18


A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


that sunshine and the ordinary avocations of life
can not dispel the antiquated charm that, like a
subtle atmosphere, pervades Chester; seen in detail,
and with a broad light playing over its compact
dwellings and old churches, the venerable still predominates. Indeed, by revealing many a quaint
bit of masonry and dusky nook, the effect in this
regard is frequently enhanced. We can then read
the inscription on the projecting front of a house,
dated 1652, and attesting the pious gratitude of the
original inhabitant when saved from the plague;
we can peer into the queerest little windows, and
behold the low-roofed, panelled rooms, in which
no legend of ghost, witch, or true-love that did not
run smooth, would seem incredible. The higher
segments of these domicils so much overlap the
lower, that they look like enormous architectural
eyebrows, gray and rough with age. It is, also, a
romantic experience to penetrate, with lighted
taper, into a subterranean chapel at the rear of a
modern store, and, by its flickering rays, decipher
half-legible inscriptions, or the sculptures on a font
used by the early Christians; and to pause, in wondering conjecture, before an old and blackened fagade, or antique portal. The details of these signatures of the past are no less prolific. Monkbarns
would have revelled in Chester, without the slightest fear of his theories being dissipated by the
practical comments of Eddie Ochiltree, a zealous





OLD AND NEW.


19


antiquarian of his own stamp, having made out a
plausible case in his attempt to prove the old city
of antediluvian origin. It is a common occurrence
for laborers in excavating the soil, or repairing a
wall, to light upon the vestiges of Roman dominion,
in the shape of altar-pieces, vases, mythological effigies, a chalice, stylus, moulding, or lamp, and
coins, that date from the reign of Caesar to the extinction of the empire. It is to be regretted that
these local trophies of the past, have not been collected and preserved in a museum, like that which
illustrates the antiquities of Brescia. The gigantic
skeleton discovered in Pepper street, and the remains of Earl Lupus, the conqueror's nephew, found
in their leather shroud and stone coffin, entombed
in the cathedral for six centuries, with his enormous
sword beside him, would have formed grand central figures in such an archmeological institute.
But the permanent aspect and life of Chester are
quite as delectable to the artist and the philosopher,
as its relics prove to the antiquary. To walk
through the town, as was our fortune, on the bright
morning of a market-day, is a pastime that recalls
Flanders in the prosperous era of the Low Countries,
as depicted by her precious corps of genial limners.
I remember a green-grocer's store in Eastgate street,
beneath the dim little porticoes, which are justly
considered modifications of the Roman vestibule,
that struck me as the very ideal of a shop; its





20


A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


snugly picturesque interior would instantly give
Dickens or Hawthorne a hint for a story, and might
have warmed Sterne into a sentimental episode.
The rosy-faced little proprietor was an epitome of
material well being, and the way he dispensed a
supply of tea and sugar to a pretty housemaid, who
gossipped coquettishly as she leaned on the spotless
little counter, was like an incident in some old
novel, while the arrangement of the savory commodities would furnish an effective subject to a
Flemish painter of still-life. As I stood in the
gallery, upon leaving this dainty niche in the
temple of commerce, the street afforded an equally scenic and primitive view. A coach passed of
the form and dimensions familiar to Richardson or
Fielding, half-wagon and half-carriage, loaded to the
very roof with passengers, representing every class
- the field laborer in his smock and broad hat, the
well-to do country gentleman, the red-faced groom
in white top-boots, the squire's daughter, with her
air of rustic gentility, the military gallant, and poor
vicar, in his rusty sable and white cravat, grouped
amid baggage, pointer-dogs, rifles, and hampers of
edibles, as if the characters in some favorite romance had clubbed to go on a picnic. Then came
along a brewer's cart drawn by one of those gigantic horses that are seen in the vicinity of the London docks; his chest seemed to fill up the narrow
street, as, with the utmost apparent ease, he drew





OLD AND NEW.


21


a towering pile of reeking ale-butts. The costume
of many of the inhabitants of Chester, and even
their manner of walking accord with the natural
language of the place. I never remember to have
seen so many old men thoroughly respectable in
their look, but clad in garments whose cut betokened at least fifty years back on the roll of fashion,
scrupulously neat but somewhat threadbare. They
moved along at a most deliberate pace, leaning on
heavy canes, and gazing about them with a Rip
Van Winkle air. More than once, too, I beheld
some of these primitive figures, that seemed to embody a volume of tradition, emerge from a door,
set in an ivy-clad wall, many feet beneath the fortified esplanade where we stood; and on the quaint
and diminutive portal glistened a brass sign, with
its inscription half obliterated; and it seemed as if
dramatic unity required that this personage should
encounter another, and a dialogue ensue, as if the
whole were but the initiative act of a play, whose
scene was laid at an epoch long before the invention of the steam-engine and the cotton-gin.
Some patriotic citizen of Chester has been at the
pains to compile its chronology; and when imbued
with the spirit of the scene, and gazing on the memorials of its antiquity, it is quite a lesson in the
progress of civilization, to compare the wonderful
events which have there occurred, at successive
eras. The first entry is "A. D. 61--The twenti




22


A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


eth legion garrison Chester;" and the last, " 1848 -Chester and Holyhead railway opened to Bangor:"
between the two events what progress in science,
what triumphs of humanity, and how emphatically
does each symbolize an era! It is only needful to
run your eye over this record to perceive what
marvellous changes have been wrought by time,
the diffusion of knowledge, and the influence of
Christianity. The intervals between such mortal
visitations as pestilence and famine, are greater as
we advance; gradually all mention of burning at
the stake, and of the stocks and pillory, ceases; an
earthquake, conflagration, or freshet, is more usual
at last, than a battle, a siege, or a man hung and
quartered; a bull-baiting gives place to a fieldpreaching by Wesley; instead of Welch freebooters ravaging the surrounding country, we
have noted the visit of Cooke, the tragedian; for
the item of a parson and his friends eating a goose on
the top of St. Peter's steeple, is that of the burning
of Tom Paine in effigy, indicative of the last great
climax of politics and religion; and for a king and
army passing through Chester to quell a rebellion, a
concourse of her own citizens entranced by Paganini.
Approaching the cathedral, we found a neighboring square alive with country-people, and, for the
first time, remembered it was market-day. There
were groups of hearty dames with their white caps,
ladies in humble circumstances dressed in decent





OLD AND NEW.


23


black, and a few epicurean gentlemen standing beside the venders of fish, vegetables, hares, and
poultry; the whole, framed by the antiquated
fronts of peaked houses, and crowned with a venerable church tower, formed a picture which Ostade
and Teniers have made familiar. Worthy to preside, as its architectural genius, over Chester, is its
cathedral, the stone itself being visibly decayed,
and the old Gothic style prevailing in the model.
The bishop's throne, believed to have been the ancient shrine of St. Werburgh, the arms of Wolsey
carved at an angle of one of the old beams, the extensive cloistral quadrangle, the vaulted choir, the
vestry of Norman architecture, and especially the
chapter-house, where the remains of so many earls
and abbots repose, combine and reflect to the mind
all the successive memories in which it has previously revelled. I felt that even the huge bare
walls, like those of the Duomo in Florence, were
a requisite back-ground for the crowded imagination; the pavement sagged, in many places, like
that of San Marco at Venice; the masonry was
fretted by the tooth of time; at every step spread
funereal trophies worn by the feet of generations;
the surplice of the officiating priest, seen through
the distant aisle, appeared like a spiritual vestment;
and the gorgeous hues refracted from the stained
window, fell on shrine and column like the mellow
tints of autumn's dying radiance. When, in the





24


A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


midst of such a temple, I looked on the old banner
of the Cheshire legion, the past of England-military, civic, and ecclesiastical -rose vividly to my
fancy, in all its poetic significance.
There is yet among the inferior clergy of the establishment, an inkling of that heart of courtesy
which originally rendered them the accessible companions of the wayfayer and the kind hosts of the
stranger. Again and again, I met with voluntary
civilities from members of the order incidentally
encountered. An instance occurred at Chester. At-,
tracted by the fine willows in the court of the jail,
we were induced to ask admission, and found the
prisoners just entering the chapel for morning prayers. The service had to my mind a peculiar solemnity, as I listened with earnest sympathy to the
responses of the poor outcasts in whose behalf forgiveness was invoked. While subsequently viewing the prison, which bears testimony to the ameliorating effect of modern philanthropy, I was reminded of the latent barbarism of the English character, by the sight of some instruments of torture
still preserved as relics-especially what the keeper
called a female gag, an iron instrument designed
to lock down the tongue and chain it in silence;
another horrible trophy was a large collection of
ropes with which different criminals had been hung.
They were all labelled with the names of the victims,
their crime, and the date of their execution. Our





OLD AND NEW.


25


cicerone exhibited these grim agents of death, and
also parts of the dress of the sufferers, with all the
complacency of a gallows virtuoso, interspersing the
display with anecdotes of hardihood, repentance,
ingenious escapes, and other prison lore. The courteous chaplain doffed his surplice for a mackintosh,
and invited us to accompany him to the church of
St. Mary's, where he was about to perform a marriage service. It is one of the oldest religious foundations in Chester, and was removed by Randal, the
second earl, to its present site; its position is elevated, near the Dee, between the Bridge-gate and
the Castle, from which it is divided by a fosse. It
is built of the same red stone as the cathedral.
Beautiful old St. Mary's! how sweetly thy venerable nave, aisles, and chancels, appear in the retrospect;-each marble cenotaph decked with holly,
whose crimson berries made even the dusky entablatures of the dead look gay. I recall, with grateful emotion, even the surly old woman who muttered like a beldame as she unlocked the door, and
the sheepish annoyance of the peasant-bridegroom
at the clergyman's detention while showing us the
monuments. Very stark and mysterious looked those
effigies of nobility, grotesquely carved in wood, husband and wife stretched side by side, with the obsolete ruffs, hose, and broadsword; and pensively
the religious twilight and hoary shrines yet linger
in the memory.
2





A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


Another of the churches to which I turned votive
steps is Trinity, which stands on the north side of
Watergate street. It required no little time and
patience to hunt up the old verger; but the trouble
was amply compensated when I entered. No special architectural beauty distinguishes the interior;
indeed, the greater part of the edifice has been restored, and forty years ago the old spire was taken
down on account of its ruinous condition. But I
went thither because it is the burial-place of that
favorite of Swift and Pope, whose preferment was
checked by the death of Queen Anne-the gentle,
convivial, benign Parnell, who never rallied from
bereaved conjugal and parental love, and, after
having been a popular preacher in London, and a
successful poet, died at Chester in 1717. Johnson's
estimate of his genius is expressively characteristic.
In his verses, says the rhetorical critic, "there is
more happiness than pains; he is sprightly without
effort, and always delights though he never ravishes; everything is proper, though everything seems
casual."  In that quiet old church, the opening lines
of " The Hermit," as they rose to the memory, almost spontaneously breathed the elegy of Parnell:
"Far in a wild, unknown to public view,
From youth to age a reverend hermit grew;
The moss his bed, the cave his humble cell,
His food the fruits, his drink the crystal well;
Remote from men, with God he passed his days,
Prayer all his business, all his pleasure praise."





LONDON AUTHORS.
-   whose fame
Lies sepulchred in monumental thought.
SHELLEY.










II.


LONDON A7TIOHS.
WHEN the pert chambermaid had removed the
breakfast-tray, and the clerical-looking waiter poked
the bituminous mass in the grate, until it fairly
blazed, I looked out of the window upon the doleful
line of cabs, with their smoking horses and mackintoshed proprietors, speculating upon the possible
locomotive advantage obtainable therefrom in such
weather. The statue of Charles the Martyr stood
grimly under a perpetual douche, and the top of
Nelson's column was garlanded with fog. Both
seemed to endure the baptism with cynical hardihood; but all thoughts of the hero of the Nile and
the regicides, were dissipated by the names on the
glistening panels of each omnibus that dashed by
the square.  l Hampstead" made me think of poor
Keats and his walks when the daisies bloomed along
the lanes of that suburban retreat, and of Cunningham, Sydney Smith, and Hood, who lie in its church




30


A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


yard; " Kensington" raised the image of good Mrs.
Inchbald in her retirement there; "Turnham Green"
revived Goldsmith's joke; "Highgate" suggested
Coleridge, and " Sydenham"' Campbell; and I caught
myself repeating, with emphasis, " What's hallowed
ground?" As if to answer the question, the bell of
St. Martin's opposite began to chime; and I remembered that in its vault repose, in most incongruous
juxtaposition, Nell Gwynne, John Hunter the anatomist, Boyle the philosopher, and one of the brothers who charmed the town, thirty years ago, with
that most clever jeu d'esprit, "The Rejected Addresses." The organ of locality, warmed by the talisman of these names, suddenly fraternized with imagination and memory, and I resolved upon a pilgrimage to the haunts and homes of London authors.
I began to trace, on a map of the city, the silver
lines, which, as a web of light, intersect and overlay
the crowded streets and dingy buildings of the modern Babel, with the memories of those who thence
sped arrows of thought and dreams of romance over
the world; and bequeathed intellectual dignity and
enchantment to what otherwise is but a vast aggregation of bricks, mortar, traffic, population, magnificence, and want.
Two minutes scarcely elapsed after I rang the
sexton's bell at St. Giles's church, Cripplegate, before that personage ushered me urbanely into the
aisle. The roof of the building is modern, but the





LONDON AUTHORS.


31


dark carvings on pulpit and choir indicate an age
of two centuries. I stood at the altar where Cromwell and Ben Jonson were married; marked the
pavement beneath which Fox, the author of "The
Book of Martyrs," is buried; and read the inscription on the Lucy vault-a family satirized in the
character of Shallow, and which incarnates for everlasting ridicule the sapient justice who would have
proved Shakspere a deer-stealer. I examined the
quaint old tomb of the historian Speede; and, from
a window, looked upon a fragment of the Roman
wall-the greatest antiquity of London, hard by
the venerable Cripplegate. Over against a pew, a
familiar bust marks the spot beneath which are the
mortal remains of Milton; and his epitaph is grand
in its simplicity - "The author of Paradise Lost."
He and his father before him were intendants of
this church. How sublime to the imagination is
this otherwise not remarkable temple where that
beautiful head was bowed in prayer! I recalled
his image as it lay in youthful beauty, one summer
afternoon, on the greensward, under the classic trees
of the college-lawni, when a fair lady hung entranced
above the sleeper, and left a scroll in his nerveless
hand. I saw him in his prime, conversing with
Galileo, and looking forth, with all a poet's rapture,
upon Val d'Arno from the wooded summit of Fiesole. I beheld him when time had silvered his
flowing hair, with sightless orbs uplifted, as his fin




32


A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


gers ran over the organ-keys, and the calm of devotion softened the lines of care and grief in that majestic countenance. The picture he bequeathed of
Eden, fragrant and dewy as creation's morning, the
forlorn glory of Satan, and the solemn cadence of
the verse that embalmed, in perpetual music, the
story of" man's first disobedience," came vividly
back -upon my heart beside his sepulchre. Stern
Cromwell's rugged visage grew mild as his marriage response woke again from the silence of years,
and blithely sounded the footsteps of rare old Ben,
as he walked again with his beloved, in my vision, up that solitary nave. What a changed aspect
bears the world since Roger Williams talked with
Milton of the prospects of religious liberty in America, and the latter plead for the freedom of the press;
and yet, with all the triumphs of science, the revelations of the bard have lost not a ray of their spiritual beauty; his "high argument" remains in all
its original significance; his mighty song wakes the
soul to-day as when first its eternal symphony burst
forth; his intact career, unwavering faith, and sustained elevation, reproach the sordid and win the
brave for ever.
At the little portal under the archway, just beyond Temple Bar, I knocked until an old custode
silently admitted me into an alley, through which I
passed, to find myself, as if by magic, in a scene of
quietude and antiquity that ages and leagues seemed





LONDON AUTHORS.


33


to divide from the crowded and busy thoroughfare
I had just left; and, as it was Sunday evening, the
court resembled an old-fashioned and deserted city
excavated beneath the houses of a modern metropolis, and reminded me of the transition from restless
and gay Naples, to hushed and lonely Herculaneum.
I threaded street after street, narrow, dim, and silent,
paused in diminutive lanes, whose inhabitants, I
could fancy, were turned to stone or annihilated by
pestilence; here a dimly-lighted terrace, there an old
doorway; now a mysterious staircase, and then a labyrinthian recess awoke ghostly speculations, and recalled thoughts of the early Christians, who prayed
in catacombs. The effect was solemn. The peace of
the cloister came over my heart suddenly as a vision
of remorse, or the memory of love. It was as if
the curtain of night had fallen, at noonday, upon
the heaving tide of a populous mart. I wandered
over the site of the churchyard paved with broken
tablets, and worn inscriptions; and round the ancient church once sacred to the templars, then the
property of the earl of Pembroke, from whom it
passed to the knights of St. John, to be leased,
finally, to the students of law; within whose walls
Selden is buried, and outside of whose choir lies
Goldsmith; where Hooker and Usher lectured,
Shakspere laid the scene of a play, and Twelfth
Night was first performed.  But not with these
associations was memory chiefly busy, there, in
2*





34


A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


the twilight stillness; I could not, indeed, forget that
Clarendon, Rowe, Fielding, Burke, Johnson, Cowper, Sir William Jones, and other endeared authors
once had their chambers in the Temple; but I had
come hither, allured by the magnetism of Elia's
genial picture; and although Goldy's plum-colored
coat, as he paced the now desolate court on his way
to Sir Joshua's; and the shuffling figure of the old
lexicographer, in his rusty brown suit, handing
Madame de Boufflers to her coach, through a gaping
crowd, were inevitable reminiscences, I was preoccupied with the gentle boy already given to
quaint musing, who so pensively described this
scene as the place of his "kindly engendure." I
sought, with affectionate solicitude, the fountain he
made to rise and fall, the antique sun-dial he eulogized; and, with the shadows of night brooding
over me as I explored the scene, and the roar of
London life audible from the adjacent street, a feeling akin to the superstitious veneration " with which
the child Elia gazed on the old worthies that solemnized the parade before me," evoked the forms of
those benchers of the Inner Temple, until, like
Banquo's posterity, they glided across the terrace
which they once had all to themselves-one with
a "gait peremptory and path-keeping, his snuff
darkening the air;" another, Samuel Salt by name,
with "pensive gentility"-then Lovel, the creature
of " incorrigible and losing honesty," whom Isaac





LONDON AUTHORS.


35


Walton would have chosen to go a fishing with;
and old Barrington, or Pierson with his " incapacity
for happiness." Their shadowy forms invaded the
dreary solitude, and above them seemed to float a
pale cherub. I was startled, as I moved on, after
this reverie, with the echo of my own footsteps;
and the patter of an old woman's clogs, as she, sole
intruder during that nocturnal visit, died away with
appalling distinctness. By the light of scattered
lamps it was difficult to read the signs; but, at
length, I found " Crown Office Row," where Lamb
was born and passed the first years of childhood.
He calls it " cheerful;" and one can imagine, that
on a fine summer noon, as he roamed about the
court and watched the watery jet, or grave pedestrians he so vividly remembered, that this venerable
and secluded region wore to his imaginative eye a
charmed aspect; "it was associated, too, with the
endearments of home, and the dreams of a solitary
boyhood.   I seemed to catch one secret of his
genius, as I surveyed the monastic character of the
place where his mind first expanded to life and its
mysteries: separated thus from the bustling street,
environed by objects that were eloquent of the past,
breathing the air hallowed by knightly worship, and
juridical lore--Jerusalem and St. John the watchwords of infancy-how natural that he should
grow up unswayed by the rapid current of life, and
unimpressed by the material phases of an existence





36


A MIVONTH IN ENGLAND.


that seemed to belong to another realm. Think of
the effect of daily emerging from the Temple into
the Strand, and retiring thither as to a nest and
domicil.  It was a kind of friar-life- consecrated
by seclusion, and what he calls 1the most elegant
spot in the metropolis," to a meditative and individual experience. This antique quietude moulded his
nature to an observant and reflective habit; and,
therefore, when he was forced into the world, it was
only "'to be dragged along in the procession."  The
transition from Fleet street to the Temple, was, to
my consciousness, like that from ordinary life to his
pages; a serene oddity, a sympathetic charm, a
dallying with the things of the hour, as if they were
given us only as incentives to fancy, or a nucleus
for sentiment, instantly takes the place of the executive mood incident to common life. The fevered
pulse grows cool; the roving eye settles happily;
the unquiet heart is refreshed by the waters that
Sgo softly."  As these quiet precincts stand beside
the crowded highway -a haven for the musing
stranger, attuning his spirit to life's latent significance, Lamb's own words, uttered with such instinctive pathos, or graceful humor,, invade the
coarse and hollow speech that, in the world's daily
jargon, wearies and confounnds. IHere, then, I
thought, his beautiful spirit first awoke, endowed
so early, to taste the sweets of ideal love, to revel
in the intense humanity of the old dramatists, to





LONDON AUTHORS.


37


stammer out memorable witticisms, to recognise and
celebrate the old humanities, and, in the heart of
burly, money-getting, matter-of-fact England, weave
mellow hues of the past, suggest heroic comfort,
and awaken enduring affection for his own gracious
memory, and gentle name.
When in Modena I followed the advice of the
bard of Memory, and went in search of the palace,
"near the Mincio gate," to see Ginevra's portrait;
and here, in London, I could not find it in my
heart to be less observant of Charles Lamb's genial
counsel, who says, in allusion to the " vast assemblage of boys on the London foundation, who freshen, and make alive again with their sports, the else
mouldering cloisters of the old Greyfriars," that
" strangers who have never witnessed, if they pass
through Newgate street, or by Smithfield, would
do well to go a little out of their way to see."
Unmindful of the vapory pall that hung ominous
and thick over the reeking streets, ever and anon
condensing into showers, I left my cabman to his
India rubber envelope, and his horse to the bag of
corn tied over his proboscis, and hurried through
the archway into the vast quadrangle and dusky
corridors of Christ's Hospital. On that winter day
they wore a sombre look; the rain dripped from
every cornice; little pools gleamed darkly in the
hollows of the broad paved area; and I felt as once,
during a storm, in Pisa, when I took shelter under





38


A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


the arcades of the Campo Santo; only here the architecture was of a heavier cast, and there were no
pale frescoes to enliven the time-worn vaults, nor
even a spire of herbage or timid wall-flower, to
whisper of the leafy web that, in softer latitudes,
hides the ravages of time. In one of the schoolrooms, on the ground floor, the light of a coal fire
in the huge chimney, fell on the wan countenance
of a solitary boy who, in the midst of hacked forms,
black boards, and scattered benches, was stooping
dejectedly over his book. I glanced through the
window, as I passed, at the "kept" urchin, and
thought of the "objectless holydays" of the orphans
described by Elia; but the reverse of the picture
was visible a moment after, when a dozen little fellows ran across the vast court, their laughter waking strange echoes through the gloomy pile. Their
costume was a long coat of blue cloth secured by a
leather belt, and surmounted by a white collar
folded neatly over the neck; this attire gave them
so much the look of a juvenile priesthood, and so
elongated and solemnized their slender figures, that
their childish gayety seemed curiously inappropriate.  As I walked beneath the pillared archway, I read the tablets inscribed at intervals along
the walls; one announced that no boy could see
his friends during school-hours; one designated the
wards of the nurses; and another proclaimed the
benefactions of friends, or the merits of stewards.





LONDON AUTtHORS.


39


But that which caused me to linger and muse, was
dedicated to the mnemory of Master Boyer, whose
character has been so vividly yet inconsistently
described by three of his illustrious pupils. I recalled his " passionate wig," his " storms that came
near but never touched," recorded by Lamb; and
Coleridge's testimony to the " inestimable advantage of a very sensible, though, at the same time,
very severe master." I seemed to hear his scornful voice criticising a theme: "Harp? lyre? -pen
and ink, boy, you mean; Pierian spring? oh, aythe cloister pump, I suppose." De Quincey calls
him the greatest villain of the nineteenth century,
declares flogging was his life, and that Coleridge's
admiration of him was a monomania. The truth
doubtless lies between these extremes of judgment;
and their contradiction may be accounted for by
the intensity, both of gratitude and indignation,
with which we revert to those toward whom the
sense of intellectual obligation is balanced by rankling wounds inflicted on our self-love. The name
of the old master was a spell, however, that revived the images of those who profited by his classic discipline, for, with all his eccentric despotism, according to Lamb, he " made scholars."  His
name is at least associated with the freshest reminiscences of genius. Here, I thought, as I looked
round upon the old quadrangle and massive corridors, knots of childish admirers would gather about





40


A MONTH IN ENGLAND


the " inspired charity-boy," and listen reverently
to the musical voice destined, in after-years, to
chant immortal Genevieve, and reason eloquently
of "foreknowledge, will, and fate;" in yonder angle, perhaps, sat the kind soul, Lamb's old relative,
to bestow on her darling "the extraordinary slice
of bread and butter from the hot loaf of the Temple;"
and by her side, stood the grateful boy, inwardly
struggling between hunger and generosity, his pale
features lit up with expectancy, and " contending
passions at the unfolding."
In that chamber, perchance, whose ancient window overlooks this broad arena, the devout Baxter
expired; over these wet stones the youthful Addison  sped to his recitation, meditating, as he
walked, a Latin epigram, lighting with his smile
the gloomy shadow of this vestibule, jovial Steele
threw his arm caressingly over the shoulders of
his comrade, and, in the twilight nook of the opposite porch, Leigh Hunt dreamed many an Arabian tale. Stillingfleet practised his first rhetoric,
Blackstone felt, on  his palm, the majesty of
offended law, and Richardson caught his earliest
dramatic glimpses of life touched by the mellow
hue of sentiment-afterward to expand in " Clarissa
Harlowe"-here, amid the sports, lessons, and monastic seclusion of Christ's Hospital. In historical,
not less than personal association, is the edifice rich
and impressive: the greater part of the victims





LONDON AUTHORS.


41


of the plague were buried there, in the reign of the
third Edward.   Kings, nobles, friars, pensioners,
and charity boys, have had their dwelling-place
here in succession; every variety of human character, from Wesley to Tooke, and from Barrow to
Camden, have here imbibed the milk of knowledge;
and, as I invoked the forms of the departed, a
throng consecrated by genius, piety, or adventure,
gathered to my mind's eye, in every gallery and
over the hollow square, until a vision as glorious
as ever filled the brain of the opium-eater, of whose
school-days also this was the scene, irradiated the
venerable and lonely cloisters. Gazing up at the
enormous roof, I thought of the donkey secretly
tethered there, for whom  the schoolboy-tyrant
(made eternally infamous by "Elia's" record) kept
bread from his younger companions; and, in their
lofty dining-hall, "hung round with pictures by
Yerrio, Lely, and others," I wondered if blue and
tasteless milk porridge was still the order of the
day for Monday, and mutton scrags on Friday; I
could almost taste the smack of ginger and cinnamon which there endeared millet to the then unsophisticated palate of the child, who was indeed
" father of the man," and reverted to his boyhood,
with a moral zest indicative of its perennial quality.
I looked into the faces of the crowd of blue-coated
urchins, then listening to "grace after meat," and
would fain have asked if there were yet among





42


A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


them, a young stork like him immortalized in the
" Recollections," as a martyr to the imputation of
meanness, while starving himself to feed his parents. I longed too to recognise Master Matthew
Field, that rare combination of " gentleman, scholar, and Christian," whom his quaint pupil so loved
to honor; and above all, by slow degrees, yet with
a clear and palpable impression, there stole upon
me, as it were, the very atmosphere wherein was
lapped the boyhood of Charles Lamb. As I felt in
the Temple his infant environment, here came
home to me the spirit of his school experience. I
realized how the traditional mysteries of these old
cloisters aided his dawning imagination; how he felt
a peculiar dignity from the " magnitude of the body"
to which, at so tender an age, he was bound; and
how the sentiment of the past was breathed into his
soul from being thus allied to one of its monuments.
It seemed to me, then, quite natural that, from such
a school, boys should go in search of Quarl's island.
I felt no surprise that a noble sense of relation to the
great world, should grow up among children already
predestined to the navy and the church, nor that the
Grecians and the sea-boys were arrayed to the eyes
of their gentle brother, the poor annuitant to be,
with prophetic interest. I watched the "1young
monks" through the lens of Lamb's sympathy, and
all the effect of "substituted paternity," of "no
bills," of " the civic pleasantries of the dispensing





LONDON AUTHORS.


43


aldermen," and " the prescriptive title of admission
to the lions of the Tower," in lending a sacred importance to the blue-coat boy of Christ's, was thus
fully realized. I thought, too, of the boy Elia lying
awake in some part of this vast building, listening
to the Christmas carol-" transported in fancy to
the fields of Bethlehem;" and of his reverent love
for " that godly and royal child Edward VI., flower
of the Tudor name-the serious and holy child
who walked with Cranmer and Ridley-the young
flower untimely cropt," and whose effigy he wore
on his garments.
From this legendary and sequestered edifice, a
short ride transports the literary pilgrim to the
scene of Elia's long clerkship. To him the mint,
exchange (except that De Foe lived many years at
its east end), corn-market, and bank of England,
trophies as they are of wondrous commercial prosperity, are of secondary interest. Cornhill wins his
eager glance because Gray was born there; because
he tries to discover the shop once tended by the
author of "Robinson Crusoe;" and, in the India
House, the oriental curiosities will not long detain
him from the bust of Warren Hastings, and Clive's
portrait, around which seem to vibrate the prolonged
echoes of Sheridan's eloquence and Macaulay's brilliant rhetoric. An old porter directed me to the
room where Lamb's desk stood. I fancied his diminutive form, arrayed in black, perched on a stool,





44


A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


and his intellectual brow hanging over a ledger.
"My printed works," he says, "were my recreations-my true works may be found on the shelves
in Leadenhall street, filling some hundred folios."
How many years of ungenial toil daily beheld this
noble sentry at his post of duty, sustained only by
the consciousness of fraternal devotion and the anticipation of an evening at hand, when Mary (in the
consoling interval of sanity) would sit affectionately
at his side, as Wordsworth, Coleridge, or Hazlitt,
benignly pour their mental wealth at the feet of her
elated brother; or the gentle pair sit cheerily before
the mysterious green curtain, while his thoughts
wander to that delectable " first play" when the pillars of old Drury shone to his childish fancy, like
"glorified sugar-candy."  But locality is only the
point whence the beams of genius radiate; it is the
prerogative of her sacred light that it touches with
prismatic hues the familiar and adjacent. The mendicant who pertinaciously opens the cab-door and
extends his tattered hat at the crossing, reminds
Lamb's admirer of the " Decline of Beggars in the
Metropolis;" a juvenile chimney-sweep is an ebony
token of his benevolent portraiture; the pallid tailor
sewing by the dingy window, excites him to philosophize on the Elia theory of the craft's melancholic
habitude; and a Jewish physiognomy revives the
doctrine of "imperfect sympathies." If we pass
the South-Sea house, it is to remember his Claude




LONDON AUTHORS.


45


tinted daguerreotype of its monitory decay. His
quaint diagnosis of metropolitan life haunts his disciple in the thoroughfares of London; and every
book-stall hints of treasures in black-letter, and the
zest of a long-meditated purchase, such as he chronicled with the garrulous relish of an economical virtuoso.
It accords with the genius of London life that the
many taverns frequented by Samuel Johnson, in
Fleet street, are situated at the extremity of narrow
lanes, and their proximity only betokened by the
glowing letters painted on a lantern which looms
upon the bewildered stranger, like a convivial lighthouse through the fog. I passed with utter indifference these alluring signals when they proclaimed
the vicinity of the " Old Bell," " The Rainbow," or
"The Peacock;" and found there was more in a
name than the great bard would have us believe,
and that, although a rose might smell as sweet by
any other appellation, such was not the case with
an inn-at least to olfactories eagerly scenting the
haunts of a departed author. But, at the sign of
"The Mitre," I startled the policeman whose burly
figure, like a flesh butt of ale, nearly filled up the
dingy avenue, as I slipped by, and looked through
a window hung with legs of mutton, sausage-festoons, and celery, into the earthly kingdom of the
author of "The Rambler."  The fat landlady eyed
me suspiciously through the glass, little imagining





46


A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


that a less material object than the enormous porker
behind which she was adding her score, occupied
my speculative vision. That was, indeed, absorbed
with a tableau vivant reviving the memorable night
when James Boswell, Esquire, found himself familiarly ensconced with his idol, in this to him, at that
hour, paradisaical retreat. How eloquently he sums
up the items of this triumph of felicity: "The orthodox, high-church sound of 'The Mitre,' the figure and manner of the celebrated Samuel Johnson,
the extraordinary power and precision of his conversation, and the pride arising from finding myself
admitted as his companion, produced a variety of
sensations and a pleasing elevation of mind beyond
what I had ever before experienced."  Disenchanted at the merely chop-house aspect of a resort which
had witnessed those famous colloquies, I hastened
to Bolt court. Here thrift has made capital of tradition, and established a publican's memorial to the
famous dogmatist, in the shape of a coffee-room
which glories in the title of " Dr. Johnson's Tavern."
His cynical squint and heavy wig gleam from the
colored panes; a row of pewter-mugs, and a beerstained copy of " Bell's Life in London," invite the
stranger to repose in one of the snug boxes and talk
Johnsonese, meditate on the vicissitudes of authorship, or give his fancy wing over the Happy Valley
of " Rasselas."  Without this cosy rendezvous, Bolt
court has a forlorn air; two or three brass plates,





LONDON AUTHORS.


47


glistening in the dim lamplight, chiefly evidence
that it is still inhabited. I noted, as a coincidence,
the sign of a printer. How often had brave old
Samuel tottered up this passage, feeling superstitiously for the posts, and Bozzy picked his way in
the rear, with head bent forward to catch droppings
of wisdom from the sage. Here he grew eloquent
over the tea which poor, blind Miss Williams-fit
Ganymede for such a Jove - offered him; and here
the Corsican hero, Baretti, and Thrale, have lingered, many a night, for the pleasure of being contradicted; along the adjacent street he carried on
his back'the famished cyprian; and thence was
borne the corpse of the most heroic of London authors to its last resting-place. That toilsome, diseased, erudite, and devout English philosopher, with
his sonorous rhetoric, arbitrary humor, patient taskwork, hatred of the Scotch, and love of Fleet street,
found here a not inappropriate domicil, far away,
indeed, from green fields and mountain-air, but near
the great stream of human life that he loved to contemplate. The gloom and the individuality of the
man were aptly housed in such a crypt, whence,
after hours of lonely pencraft, he could emerge, and,
in a moment, join the crowd and wend his way to
a neighboring hostel, forgetting, over a joint and
can, and with a knot of genial talkers, all mundane
things, except the pride of opinion and the comfort
of an old London tavern,





48


A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


To renew his presence in a not less characteristic
light, I entered St. Clement's church (where Nat
Lee, the dramatist, is buried), and heard the closing
hymn, in the shadow of the pillar against which he
was accustomed to lean. With the holy strain, as
I looked round upon the worshippers, came the
thought of Johnson's reverence-a quality whence
arose both the weakness and the elevation of his
character, in its blind instinct, leading him grossly
to exaggerate the claims of rank, and yield to superstitious terrors; and, in its religious phase, making him solemnly devout. " I shall never forget,"
says Boswell, speaking of attending service in this
very church, " the tremulous earnestness with which
he pronounced the awful petition in the litany' In the hour of death and in the day of judgment,
good Lord, deliver us!'"
The aquatic birds in St. James' Park, with their
variegated plumage, may well detain loiterers of
maturer years, than the chuckling infants who feed
them with crumbs, oblivious of the policeman's eye,
and the nurse's expostulations; to see an American
wild duck swim to the edge of the lake, and open
its glossy bill with the familiar airs of a pet canary,
is doubtless a most agreeable surprise; nor can an
artistic eye fail to note the diverse and picturesque
forms of the many noble trees, that even when leafless, yield a rural charm to this glorious promenade (the elms are praised by Evelyn); but these





LONDON AUTHORS.


49


woodland amenities, if they cause one often to linger on his way to the duke of Sunderland's and
Buckingham palace; and if the thought, that it was
here, while taking his usual daily walk, that Charles
received the first intimation of the Popish plot, lure
him into an historical reverie, neither will long
withdraw the attention of the literary enthusiast
from the bit of green sward before the window of
Rogers, which, every spring morning, until the
venerable poet's health sent him into suburban
exile, was covered with sparrows expectant of their
banquet from his aged yet kindly hand. The view
of the park from this drawing-room bow-window
instantly disenchants the sight of all town associations. The room where this vista of nature in her
genuine English aspect opens, is the same so
memorable for the breakfasts, for many years, enjoyed by the hospitable bard and his fortunate
guests. An air of sadness pervaded the apartment
in the absence of him, whose taste and urbanity
were yet apparent in every object around. The
wintry sun threw a gleam mellow as the light of
the fond reminiscence he so gracefully sung, upon
the Turkey carpet, and veined mahogany. It fell,
as if in pensive greeting, on the famous Titian, lit
up the cool tints of Watteau, and made the bust
found in the sea near Pozzuoli wear a creamy hue.
When the old housekeeper left the room, and I
glanced from the priceless canvass or classic urn, to
3





50


A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


the twinkling turf, all warmed by the casual sunshine, the sensation of comfort never so completely
realized as in a genuine London breakfast-room,
was touched to finer issues by the atmosphere of
beauty and the memory of genius. The groups of
poets, artists, and wits, whose commune had filled
this room with the electric glow of intellectual life,
with gems of art, glimpses of nature, and the charm
of intelligent hospitality, to evoke all that was most
gifted and cordial, reassembled once more. I could
not but appreciate the suggestive character of every
ornament.   There was a Murillo to inspire the
Spanish traveller with half-forgotten anecdotes, a
fine Reynolds to whisper of the literary dinners
where Garrick and Burke discussed the theatre and
the senate; Milton's agreement for the sale of
" Paradise Lost," emphatic symbol of the uncertainty of fame, a sketch of Stonehedge by Turner,
provocative of endless discussion to artist and antiquary; bronzes, medals, and choice volumes,
whose very names would inspire an affluent talker
in this most charming imaginable nook, for a morning colloquy and a social breakfast. I noticed in a
glass vase over the fireplace, numerous sprigs of
orange blossoms in every grade of decay, some
crumbling to dust, and others but partially faded.
These, it appeared, were all plucked from  bridal
wreaths, the gift of their fair wearers, on the wedding-day, to the good old poet-friend; and he, in





LONDON AUTHORS.


his bacheloric fantasy, thus preserved the withered
trophies. They spoke at once of sentiment and of
solitude.
To concentrate the thick-coming fancies, and hallow the associations of London authors, we must
devote hours, when both mood and circumstances
are propitious, to their consecrated temple. No
wonder that Chateaubriand wandering in his impoverished exile, through Westminster Abbey, became so lost in reverie, that he was locked in for
the night. The sight of Whitechapel and the
Horse-Guards opposite, if you approach from Trafalgar square, by recalling the scene of Charles I.'s
execution, chastens the mind for communion with
the illustrious dead, by luring it from that tyranny
of the immediate, so absorbing in a populous city;
and the white vestments of the priests, and thrilling
strains of the young choristers, at a distant altar,
harmonize with its lonely musing. To the reverent
and sympathetic visiter it is, indeed, a blessing, that
the jargon of vergers invades not, unsought, the
Poet's Corner. Art here does not always keep level
with the demands, of either memory or imagination;
but the very grouping of so many cherished names
and effigies, awes the mind with a blended sense of
the magic of fame, and the transitory conditions of
its achievement.  Gay's expression is accordant
with his epitaph; we feel that he was one to inspire
love. Dryden's bust, like his picture " when young




A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


er," at Oxford, is fine; Prior's monument is too
elaborate, it savors of the pedantry of the college
noted by Johnson; South's mouth and attitude are
equally characteristic; Busby appropriately wears
the look of a pinched student; Southey is undignified perched above Mrs. Pritchard; Congreve looks
Frenchified and artificial as he was; Thomson has
a well-to-do air, softened by intellectuality; Barrow's forehead is singularly low; in Addison's statue
the face has rather the insipidity of over-culture
than the fire of genius, and it is characteristic of
him and his times, that he is buried at the side of
his patron, Montague. But special criticism soon
gives place here to comprehensive sentiment. What
are the rulers whose carved sarcophagi fill the adjacent chapels, to the endeared kings of thought here
gathered to their rest? Ideal creations outvie, in
such a contrast, the lessons of history. We think
of gentle Una and the Canterbury pilgrims with a
deeper, interest than the wars of the Henrys and
Edwards; Cowper's mental anguish wakens keener
sorrow than the heartless espousals of hereditary
sovereigns; and "The Deserted Village" appeals
to our humanity more eloquently than Elizabeth's
armada. The oratory of Chatham, the anthems of
Handel, and the portraits of Kneller, have a vital
relation to our consciousness; their spell is fresh
to-day, while the annals of civic power, typified in
the mausoleums of royalty, own but a formal sig




LONDON AUTHORS.


53


nificance. The very names, household words as
they are, of this intellectual hierarchy, speak from
the cold stone with a pathos and a glory, born only
of gifts which outlast all external decay. Verses
hoarded in the memory from childhood, recur beside the ashes of those who sang of the changeful
seasons, the fallen angels, the delights of fairy-land,
and who added to the noble trophies of that dramatic lore, which embalms manly passion in the
triumphs of our native language; while the venerable arches, gorgeous windows, and swelling organ,
seem to enshrine with kindred forms, hues, and
tones, the grand memories they consecrate. Here,
too (though denied by virtue of his meek, and
therefore, more precious inheritance in the kingdom
of letters, enrolment amid these veteran worthies of
the quill), Lamb, ubiquitous to the day-dreamer in
London, reappeared, asking "Is the being shown
over a place the same as silently detecting the
genius of it?" and again, at Andre's broken monument, I smiled at his Eliaish query to Southey, " Do
you know anything about the relic?" insinuating
that, made a Vandal by toryism, he had mutilated
the figure of Washington; a joke that made the
author of Mladoc cool to his humorous friend, for a
twel vemonth.
Akin to the epoch of modern literature represented in its social phase by this abode of the
banker-poet, the little parlor over Murray's office





A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


in Albermarle street. I felt there, surrounded by
the portraits of those, whose writings this famous
publisher had first sent forth to charm the world,
as if in the very sanctum of prosperous authorship;
and, as I compared the lives of these fortunate
men with the literary annals of an earlier period,
dark with Grub street privation, fancied in each
countenance a smile of complacency; for the spirited face of Byron that here looks down on you,
seems innocent of all misanthropy; Scott appears
too healthy to worry about his estate, and Jeffrey too
good-natured even to provoke a challenge; Crabbe,
one could swear, sat for his picture after the complete edition of his poems was paid for; Moore (Sir
Thomas Lawrence's last effort) looks as if he had
just sung an encored song, and been smiled on by
a countess, while Irving seems lapped in his happiest day-dream; only the travellers, Sir John
Franklin, Parry, and Borrow, have a look of
stoicism, as if they had seen strange things, and
overcome great obstacles. I recalled, as I descended the stairs, that proud day for Murray, when he
saw the belligerent authors of "Waverley" and
" Childe Harold" reconciled by him, in this very
room, go out of it, arm in arm, limping affectionately together.
The sexton had began to extinguish the lights,
after Sunday evening service, at St. Bride's, but
paused long enough to let me see the altar-piece and





LONDON AUTHORS.


55


the aisle beneath which lie the mortal remains of
the novelist Richardson, and the poets Lovelace and
Davenant: three names that revive the fragrant
days of early English fiction and verse. It was when
living in this neighborhood, that Milton espoused
Mary Powell. I examined the architectural plan
of the edifice, one of Wren's early designs, and lingered in the old carpeted vestry, with its venerable
portraits, where a group of respectable old ladies
were gossipping cheerfully. I know of no haunts
in London more pleasing to a meditative pilgrim than
these ancient churches, which, however deficient in
beauty of model and interior decoration, when compared with the religious temples of the continent,
have a deeper spell of age and tranquillity from the
restless sea of multitudinous life around them, and
are usually consecrated to the imagination by sepulchres or registers, which are inscribed with names
precious to memory or dear to the curious. In St.
George's, we think of the fashionable marriages
with which the romances of high life in England,
invariably end beneath that aristocratic dome. St.
Lawrence is attractive because Tillotson used to
preach there; St. Swithin's, because it witnessed
Dryden's marriage; St. Andrew's, Holborn, because Savage was there baptized, and Chatterton
buried. As the last resting-place of the gifted, a
melancholy charm pervades these places of worship, frequented, for so many years, by the inhabi




A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


tants of their respective parishes, but seldom visited
by the stranger in London. Even after leaving
venerable and majestic Westminster, I could not
but gaze with interest upon the more humble proportions of St. Margaret's, for Caxton, Raleigh,
Milton's second wife, and Cromwell's mother, sleep
beneath. In St. Paul's, Covent-Garden, Dr. Armstrong, the medical poet, the author of Hudibras,
whose sarcasms reflect the puritan age, Wycherley, who shows up the levity of the merry monarch's day, and Sir Peter Lely, who has left us its
pictured beauties, repose together. The cupola of
St. Savior's might serve as a monument to England's
dramatic genius, covering, as it does, the tombs of
Massinger and Fletcher; and what an era of speculative heroism is suggested in the churchyard of
St. Pancras, where Godwin, Mary Wolstonecraft,
and Shelley's mother, are buried. Scholarly Akenside, who traced to their source the pleasures of the
imagination, may surely claim a passing tribute
from the worshipper, with an inkling of that faculty,
at St. James's church, where his body was interred
beside Dodsley, dear to bibliopoles, and good Dr.
Arbuthnot, the favorite physician of his cotemporary authors.
To realize the materials which London yields the
author, we must note the contrast ot:ts daily scenes.
In these the dramatists found inspiraticn, the extremes of condition giving entire scope to every





LONDON AUTHORS.


form of passion and element of character.   Nowhere, in the world, do the two poles of fortune
send their magnetic forces so nearly together. The
ordinary exigencies of the stranger often carry him,
in a few hours, into contact with the most opposite
phases of human life--from his banker's in the dusky haunts of the city, to his fashionable visit in the
elegant square, he traverses, by the way, thoroughfares where the lowest form of mendicity is seen
beside the most brilliant equipages of luxury, and
where the struggle for money is displayed in its
most subtle, as well as its most desperate shape,
from the keen-eyed broker and adroit pickpocket,
to the patient huckster and Herculean draymanall huddled in one eager mass of keen-scented
activity.
There are, however, two scenes which represent
so vividly the climaxes of London life, that the
English novelists, from Fielding to Dickens, have
effectively used them -Hyde park on a bright
Sunday afternoon, and Newgate on the morning of
an execution. To the minutest details, these opposite scenes will bear artistic study. As I dwelt on
the features of each, it seemed like reading over
again some chapter in a favorite novel. The dark,
hoary, massive wall of the old Bailey rose before
me like a remembered horror. The dense crowd
in the square, even to the individuals, looked familiar. The polished hat-tops of the policemen
3*





58


A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


gleaming in the mist over the sea of heads, pale
mechanics and brawny coalheavers munching their
loaf or smoking clay-pipes, the cries of piemen, unbonneted and slatternly-dressed women holding
up children begrimmed and tattered-the talk of
Jack Ketch, the veil of fog that wreathed itself
over the prison-roof, the occasional swaying of the
crowd, the expression of curiosity and hardihood in
their eyes-the sudden dispersion and instant recurrence of the usual sound of wheels and voices
-the rush, confusion, laughter, shouts, haggard
faces, and wet pavement-all were as objects seen
in a dream; only when I fixed my eyes on the opposite church of St. Sepulchre (where John Smith,
of Pocahontas memory, is buried) did I feel that I
was standing in veritable Newgate street, and not
reading a chapter in "Jonathan Wild," or " Oliver
Twist." It was the same walking by the Serpentine. A gentleman on a bob-tail horse, a sort of
equestrian incarnation of respectability, I felt authorized to greet as an acquaintance, until I assured
myself he was only a character in a book; I was
sure two ladies, in a landau, talked to their beaux,
who stood by, exactly as the colloquy is set down
by Mrs. Gore and Bulwer. I met, at every step,
the English aristocrat, snob, and cockney, with the
identical costume and air described by Thackeray.
The ugly hats, light full whiskers, and smooth chins
of the men; the thick shawls and neutral colors of





LONDON AUTHORs.


59


the women on foot; the beautiful steeds and sleek
hunting-dogs, the stretches of lawn and clumps of
trees, the smoky mirage through which gleamed
the sun, making a chiaroscuro that half veiled the
line of noble edifices visible beyond the gate;
now and then a dowager's heavy coach and fat
horses, or a rattling dog-cart, with a rosy girl and
her brother, or a snugly-buttoned, middle-aged gentleman, evidently hastening to a club-dinner, the
very canes and grooms, all combined, like the
figures and landscape on the drop-scene of a theatre, and were as the interlude between the overture
and finale of a piece, the background upon which
some dramatic or sentimental interest was soon to
develop-an unexpected meeting of lovers, an insult provocative of a duel, or a lively specimen of
hypocritical talk between two old card-playing
duchesses; some enraged uncle and profligate
ward, yellow nabob or handsome officer, parliamentary lion or mysterious foreigner, it seemed
to me, ought to appear and enact a part. The
stage, and the dramatis personce, I recognised, and
missed only the plot.
The significant local and social divisions of London life also tend to increase its suggestiveness as
a resource of authorship. When the observer can,
in so limited a space, become familiar with such
entirely diverse forms of humanity, and conditions
of existence, as may be seen in the club-houses, each





60


A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


representing a profession, and mark the contrasts
between old Jewry and Grosvenor scquare, Almack's and B]illingsgate, Paternoster row  and
Smithfield, Regent street and "Wapping, it is easy
to imagine that the intelligent literary artist has
characters in every vocation at hand for models.
From a twopenny bed-house to the Clarendon, and
from the crowd round a pnppet-show to a court
assembly at Buckingham palace, the modern author
has a free choice of spheres and subjects; and once
launched on the tide of popularity, the city and the
West-end are alike open to him.
It is comparatively seldom now that dramatic
entertainments, in London, repay the trouble of attendance; but the stranger, who looks with disappointment around the vast interior of Drury Lane
theatre, may console himself with some attractive
recollections; he can invoke from the dim past the
triumphs of Garrick and Siddons, and the social
era they adorned; he can speculate upon the memorable night, an epoch in histrionic art, when the
pit rose, as one man, to Kean's Richard; he may
indulge in graphic reminiscences of the first representation of " The Beggar's Opera," " She Stoops to
Conquer," or the "School for Scandal," all identified with social and literary eras. Mrs. Bracegirdler's charms, associated as they are with the wits
of her day; Mrs. Jordan's comic genius and kindly heart; Liston, Munden, Sheridan, Byron; the





LONDON AUTHORS.


61


once vital relations of actor and author, may, to
the'quickened fancy, lend interest and dignity to
the scene of their past glory.
I found it thus a perpetual resource to light up
the commonplace scene and conventional manners
around, with the unfading hues of intellectual renown. London bridge has been modernized, but
the walls of the bishop of Winchester's house, beyond its southern extremity, yet remain; and within them Dyer, author of "The Fleece," lived and
died, and Sir Kenelm Digby, while a prisoner, wrote.
In Southwark is the site of the very inn whence
Chaucer's pilgrims went forth. I imagined the scent
of new-mown hay in Little Tower street, because
Thomson composed " Summer" there; in Great Portland street, I reflected with sadness that the genius
or literary hero-worship, in the shape of Bozzy, expired. Leicester square was more patrician to my
eye because it had been familiar with the presence,
as residents, of Reynolds, Hogarth, Burke, Newton,
John Hunter, and Kosciusko-representatives of
the whole circle of science, art, humor, statesmanship, and patriotism. Steele used to look out of the
window of "The Garter" in St. James street, and
therefore it seemed more fruitful of humanity; and
the coffeehouse of the same name I would fain have
explored, since Goldsmith's " Retaliation" was therein suggested. Crabbe, Moore, Swift, and Scott, I
called up in Bury street, where they used to lodge.





62


A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


The bookstore of Evans was in Pall-Mall, and left a
charm behind, since it was a favorite haunt of Akenside, Pope, and Walpole. Penn lived at the southwest corner of Norfolk street, which, in the twilight,
methought wore a quaker solemnity; and in Bread
street, where Milton was born, at the same hour, I
could almost hear the song -I"Drink to me only
with thine eyes," for there stood "The Mermaid"
tavern, that rendezvous of its author (Ben Jonson),
Shakspere, Raleigh, and Spenser. I loved to think
of Bacon's essays when passing under the high stone
wall of Gray's Inn, whence many of them were
dated; and, in Bow street, I hailed the traditionary
home of Fielding, Waller, and (according to " The
Spectator") Sir Roger de Coverley; and it was mysteriously delectable to consider, in Lincoln's Inn,
that Cromwell, Sir Thomas More, Sir Matthew Hale,
Mansfield, and Erskine, were once enrolled among
its students.
In the crowded Strand, how pleasant to remember the boy Coleridge thrusting his hand against a
gentleman's pocket while in the fanciful act of swimming the Hellespont-an instance of classical delusion that so won the wrathful man, that he subscribed to a circulating library, in the urchin's name,
for a twelvemonth; how charming to think that inductive Bacon and heroic Harry Vane were born
there, and that against yonder pillar of Temple Bar,
Dr. Johnson leaned one night, going home with





LONDON AUTHORS.


63


Boswell, and indulged in such an unprecedented fit
of laughter as to frighten his puritan satellite.
Walking, after nightfall, by the cheerful shops of
Oxford street, how vividly De Quincey's pallid and
lofty brow rises before us; here he first bought opium, and met poor Ann, a hungry wanderer; and
subsequently apostrophized that busy thoroughfare
as a " stony-hearted stepmother that listens to the
sighs of orphans and drinks the tears of children!"
At the Tower, who, with a heart in his bosom, does
not turn from armor and regalia to the inscriptions
on Sir Walter Raleigh's cell, and to the thought of
Otway dying at a neighboring tavern, choked by
the bread that came too late? In front of Apsley
house, who, with a ray of imagination, does not
glance at Beckford's old residence adjacent? Is
not Cornhill glorified by the memory of Gray who
was born there, at number forty-one? Shall we
cross Westminster bridge, and not think of poor
Crabbe pacing to and fro, with his verses in his
pocket, the night before his fortunate application
to Burke? or enter Bloomsbury square, nor try to
identify Steele's fine house upon which Addison
vainly levied an attachment, to bring his improvident friend to his senses? or pass through Smithfield, unmindful of Bunyan and Wesley? or Green
Arbor court, and not bless the author of " The Vicar
of Wakefield" and "1The Deserted Village," who
there taught poor children to dance? Is it quite





64


A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


grateful to ascend the old stairs at Somerset house,
on our way to the Royal Society, and imagine
Cromwell, grim and stalwart, lying in state, and not
elegant Sir Joshua Reynolds lecturing on art? Let
us ever behold, in fancy, when in Duke street, our
own Franklin a journeyman-printer; in Brooke
street, be haunted by Chatterton's suicide; in the
Poultry, imagine Hood, an infant; in Great Russell,
near Bow street, do homage to Dryden in his oracular seat at Will's; and opposite, to the author of
" Cato," escaped from domestic annoyance, at Button's; let us not return from a party, beneath the
stars, through St. James street, without a pitiful
recollection of Savage wandering there, at the same
hour, for want of shelter; and fail not, by way of
contrast, in Pall-Mall, to moralize on the prosperity
of Sir William Temple, near the site of his noble
mansion. Let the "Elegy," and the law of gravitation, recur to us in Jermyn street, where Gray
and Sir Isaac Newton lived. Let us not despise
Hlartshorn lane, for Ben Jonson was born there;
nor forget to smile once more at Isaac Bickerstaff's
wit, in Salisbury street, where Partridge the almanac-maker dwelt. It is worth while to say to one's
self, in passing Old Bond street, that Sterne died
there, and, in Berkely square, Horace Walpole;
and among the "bachelors of the Albany," as we
enter that shrine of celibate luxury, to recall Byron,
Canning, and Monk Lewis. Thus, at every step,





LONDON AUTHORS,


rise up familiar beings, to solemnize or cheer, and
people the memorable sites of London. The variety of character is as great as that of gifts; and the
mind is bewildered by the number and contrast of
these intellectual almoners, whose bounty is thus
recalled where the place that once knew them, knows
them no more.
There is a culminating point in national life which
is distinctive-an element of the social economy
which is ideal, and forms the characteristic interest
to a stranger. In Greece, it was especially architecture and statuary; in Italy, it is painting; in
Germany, music; in France, military glory; in
America, scenery; and, in London, literature. Climate and necessity have much to do with this form
of human development there. The sensitive and
thoughtful are conscious of an unwonted pleasure
from in-door life, where there is so little sunshine;
and the sense of retirement is quickened in the
midst of so great material activity. The feel of a
carpet, the support of an arm-chair, and the sight
of curtains and a fire, possess charms unknown
where a gay street population, and gardens under
a bright sky, make it a sacrifice to remain in the
house. Within, there must be resources; where
there is isolation, comfort is studied; domesticity
engenders mental occupation; and hence the prolific authorship of the British metropolis. I realized, when housed in London, why it was a city so





66


A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


favorable to brain-work. The exciting transitions
of temperature which keep transatlantic nerves on
the stretch, are seldom experienced in that humid
atmosphere. The prevalence of clouds is favorable
to abstraction. The reserve and individuality of
English life, surrounded but never invaded by the
multitude, gives singular intensity to reflection;
baffled without, we naturally seek excitement within; the electric current of thought and emotion
flashes more readily because it is thus compressed;
the spectacle of concentrated human life, and its
daily panorama, incites the creative powers; we
are not often won to vagrant moods by those alluring breezes that steal in at our casement at Rome,
or tempted to stroll away from book and pen by
the cheerful groups that enliven the sunny Boulevards; and therefore, according to the inevitable
law of compensation, we build castles in the air in
self-defence, and work veins of argument or seek
pearls of expression, with rare patience, beneath the
smoky canopy and amid the ceaseless hubbub of
London.
Accordingly, there is hardly a street that is not
associated with an author; their very names are
redolent of pencraft; and how delightful to wander
through them, unconscious of the heartless throng,
oblivious of the stranger's lot, with the heart filled
by the endeared images of these intellectual benefactors! The disguised califs enjoyed no higher





LONDON ATUTHORS.            67
pastime; Aladdin's lamp transmuted not vulgar objects into a more golden substance. We luxuriate
in the choicest society, without the drawback of etiquette; we revive the dreams of youth while ini the
very bustle of the world; we practically realize
what a kingdom the mind is, without any technical
aid.










THE DRUDGE AND THE DUKE,
Give up this false idolatry of self,
Which makes your brother nothing
SCHILaLER.










III.


THE DRUDGE AND THE DUKE.
LIFE in England is twofold: one side is best represented by a process, the other by an environment.
The former indicates the secret of her internal resources, the chief direction of her productive labor;
and the latter exhibits the most imposing form of
her individual wealth. To realize these two significant phases of human existence in Great Britain,
we must view them in contrast, and this is done by
passing from a manufacturing district to a large
rural estate, from the drudge to the duke. All that
intervenes between these elements of civilization
and extremes of fortune, with the exception of commerce, whose phenomena are best observed at the
seaports, a careful glance at the scenery discernible
even in our rapid transit from one sphere to the
other, will reveal.
To an American eye, the most remarkable trait
of the landscape in England is, the comparative ab




72


A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


sence of picturesque relief; usually a pleasant alternation of meadow, garden, woods, and water,
alone diversify the fertile acres.. At long intervals
only are marked changes visible, and these are rather varied strata or crops than great inequalities
of surface. Here and there an elevated strip of
land, which we should not dignify with the title of
mountain, where rocks and pines give an air of
wildness to a highly-cultivated region, is known for
miles around, as the place to start a fox; but generally, the first evidence of the cessation of a fine
agricultural district, is the sight of the shabby and
scattered buildings which form the suburbs of a
town that owes its rapid growth, if not its existence,
to manufactures; and the canopy of smoke that
hangs over its dense buildings, and salutes the visiter with its odor, long before the car reaches its
destination. The weight of the atmosphere, charged
as it is with vapor, not less than the incessant exhalations from innumerable chimneys, occasions this
familiar sign of the vicinity of coal-fires. I know
not a more comfortless impression than is experienced by the stranger, accustomed to bright skies
and a clear horizon, when he first enters one of
these scenes of murky toil; on a damp winter-day,
especially, there is a forlorn gloom in their aspect,
and the very sensation of the place, which makes
him realize all the temptations to November suicides
proverbial in the land. The idea, also, of human





THE DRUDGE AND THE DUKE.


73


privation, associated in his mind with the locality,
visions of famished and desperate chartists, and subterranean labor, haunt the imagination; and it is
not until he beholds the brilliant results of forge,
loom, and anvil, or finds a social antidote to the atmospheric bane, that his early repugnance is chast.
ened.
The fine shops and nutritive "Albion" of Manchester could not long beguile me; and, as it wanted
two hours of the time to start, I determined to seek.
the dwelling of a poet whose very name was a refreshment to the mind in this sooty hive of prosperous activity. It was with a feeling of infinite relief
that I rode forth from those dusky and crowded
streets, and entered the lane wherein stands the cottage of Charles Swain.  lfany of his songs, wedded
to music by a tasteful composer who once dwelt in
Manchester, had been wafted, by their own aerial
sweetness, across the sea; and his felicitous description of Scott's funeral, attended by a procession of
the romancer's immortal characters, is too graphic
a tribute to genius not to be recalled with delight.
I entered the family circle -thoroughly English in
its geniality -just as they had assembled for lunch.
The house is bounded by a snug garden of trees and
flowers; the rooms are hung with choice engravings; all around and within indicated comfort and
taste; and when I met the dark eye of my friend, I
imagined myself in the villa of a cordial Tuscan.
4





A MONTH IN' ENGLAND.


The books, the pictures, the hospitable gudewife,
the unaffected and blooming girls, the cheerful old
lady by the fireside, and the retirement and quiet
thus suddenly encountered, were all the more charming from the idea of noisy, toilsome, smoke-enveloped Manchester so near in fact, so distant in fancy.
I was conscious of a peculiar satisfaction at the
thought that the poetic instinct could thus isolate a
man of soul, whose lot was cast amid the most utilitarian scenes. It was a cheering reflection that, at
evening, this brave aspirant could leave behind him
the turbid city, and here yield himself to letters,
love, and song. How potent is fancy and affection
to redeem material life; and how independent are
intellectual resources and earnest sentiment of the
work-day world! I could readily believe the poet's
assertion that the mass of his neighbors had no idea
of spirituality except as technically associated with
religion; and I honored all the more, the enlightened will that led him thus to dedicate his leisure
to his family, nature, and the muses. That hour's
talk with Swain was a memorable episode in the
dreary journey; and I parted with him, at the gate,
with my latent enthusiasm carried far above the
degree then indicated by the Manchester thermometer.
The glare of the factories at nightfall, the tall
grim towers rising in the lunar darkness, the throng
of fearless women, the numerous illuminated spirit




THE DRUDGE AND THE DUKE.


75


vaults, and the mellow sound of the old bells, as
they vibrated on the still and humid air, made an
effective closing scene, as we proceeded to the
station; a mystic stillness and desertion seemed to
hang over the moonlit fields as we were hurled by
embankments and bridges, or paused at way depots,
crowded with second-class passengers, among whom
moved the guards with their flashing lanterns.
The hungry eyes of the beggars as they stared
through the windows of the coffee-room at Sheffield,
made us hasten from breakfast to Rodgers' cutlery
show-room, full of steel marvels, whose polished
blades were the only brilliant tints observable in
the town. Here, again, I sought the residence of a
bard. On a hill just without the business portion
of Sheffield, dwells the venerable James MIontgomery, whose hymns are familiar to the lips of so many
worshippers in America. His house is one of a row
of neat stuccoed buildings, with a lawn before them,
ornamented with trees; the holly and other evergreens looking fresh in the moist air on the day of
my visit; from this esplanade the hills appear in
the distance, and the city below. The situation is
such as a contemplative man would desire, elevated
and with both town and country outspread to the
eye, itself secluded, and foliage and turf around. I
found Montgomery in a snug little parlor, the window of which overlooked this scene; on the opposite
side of the fire his wife sat reading prayers; his





A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


black dress, slight figure, bent shoulders, and thin
white hair rendered his appearance at once scholarly
and venerable: with an aquiline nose and mild
eye, he gave me the idea of a gentle enthusiast, and
although he declared himself full of infirmities, his
memory was active and clear, and his interest in all
relating to literature and religion in America, vivid.
The philosophy of labor has never been so thoroughly discussed as now; and the achievements of
science continually modify the original curse, as the
throes of the brain, by yielding inventive resources,
infinitely diminish the sweat of the brow.   One
reason why labor in England appears in its most
grim and forlorn aspect is, that little except direct
benevolent enterprise cheers the pale bondmen.
Vocationi, too, is hereditary, and seldom progressive.
In Italy the climate softens the lot of toil. Where
else can be seen a street-beggar exercising his
calling, for twenty years, in a mood of uninterrupted
jollity, like the cripple on the steps of the Piazza
d'Espagna, or in what other region can the artist
find the sleeping face of childhood bland and winsome as MIurillo's infant Christ, with a cynosure of
filthy rags, instead of a halo, around it? In the
United States, the institutions not only console but
inspire industry. A son of the Emerald isle, who
was my fellow-passenger across the sea, and lunched
daily, in the cabin, on the finest Shrewsbury oysters
from his private stores, was an instance of the pros




THE DRUDGE AND THE DUKE.


77


perous conditions attendant upon honest toil in
America. He had emigrated thither fifteen years
before penniless, and began his career as a warehouse porter in New York. The savings of this
employment enabled him to set up a huckster's
stand in one of the markets, for the sale of cutlery;
and he was now making his twentieth trip, with
unlimited credit on a London banker, to replenish
the stock of his large fancy-goods establishment, in
which his sons were thriving partners. It is the
want of the hope and prospect of advancement, that
weighs on the heart of English labor. The native
sea-captains at Liverpool see an American sailor
arrive in port one day as mate, then as master, and,
finally, as owner, in each stage exhibiting evidence
of improved position and resources, while they have
continued to exist upon the same limited pay, and
effected no opening for their children's welfare. In
this world there is a vast amount of drudgery to be
done, and there will, doubtless, always be drudges
to do it; the sad phase of this inevitable destiny is,
where the encouragement of a future reprieve, the
idea of a progressive experience, is withheld. The
only drudges I saw in England with the least satisfaction, were those elephantine horses, with the
brawniest of limbs, the sleekest of hides, and the
most shaggy of fetlocks, attached to the drays. In
the stables of Barclay and Perkins' brewery, especially, there is an array of these noble animals that





A MONTH IN ENGLAND,


sublimates the idea of muscular labor. To turn
from such to the human drudge, and see a beautiful
girl's finger worn to the bone by the process of making steel pens, or a weaver's eyes fevered with
rebellious speculation, as he bends such hollow and
pallid cheeks over the never-resting loom, startles
the coldest heart into pitiful zeal.
The most comfortable of English drudges are, the
intermediate class, they who act for the producer as
brokers and agents. A certain bluff self-importance,
and shrewd knowledge of the art of getting along,
reveals, at once, the commercial traveller. I remember one entered the car at Derby, just at nightfall, and the guard pitched into his lap a compactly
strapped bundle, which, after seating himself in the
best vacant place, he began to unloose. With the
woollen shawl it contained he thoughtfully swathed
his lower extremities; then hanging his hat above,
he donned a cosy little skull-cap; from the pocket
of his huge overcoat, he then drew out a small lantern, and attached it, by a hook, to the side of his
cushioned seat; having ignited the lamp by means
of a lucifer match, he spent some time in arranging
a little shade affixed to the machine, so as to accommodate the reflection to his eyes; then, with an air
of the most cool satisfaction, he took from another
deep pocket, the "Times"' and " Punch," wet from
the press, and composed himself to read for an hour;
at the expiration of which time, he extinguished the





THE DRUDGE AND THE DUKE.


79


lamp, and, after several preparatory elongations of
arms and legs, laid his red face against the stuffed
leather, and nothing more was heard from the dark
heap, for the rest of the journey, but an occasional
somniferous grunt of animal content.
In Birmingham, where New street and the townhall proved but temporary attractions, I could find
no poet; but, attending service at the little dissenting chapel, where yet worship the religious society
to which Priestley ministered, before he embarked
for America, I gazed, with interest, upon the tablet there inscribed to his memory, and recalled
his scientific triumphs, and undaunted spirit of inquiry. Here, as elsewhere in the manufacturing
districts, the comparative extortion and ill-manners
were obvious. The lofty and far-flashing gaslights
loom through the dingy atmosphere like beacons on
a sterile coast. Many of the private factories are
discovered, after long search, in the upper rooms
of squalid houses, approached by narrow and dirty
courts; the attempt to gain a true direction from
the common people is almost hopeless; they are
either stupid, or wilfully misinform strangers; and
it is scarcely credible, that such a number of uncivilized beings can exist in the heart of a Christian
land. The picturesque costume of the Swiss and
Tuscan peasants, the grace of the French bourgeoise,
and the intelligence of the poorest Yankee, render
the rough, boorish, and sometimes malignant, lower





80


A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


classes of these districts, absolutely repulsive, if not
fearful in the comparison. But this squalor and
savagery becomes a still more impressive feature to
the observer, and a more imperative problem to
the philanthropist, from the fact that it is so essentially local. Our way thither exhibited no prophecy of this human degradation; life in the agricultural, and the ancient towns of the kingdom, is
not thus perverted; the tokens of social amenities,
the memories of national benefactors, and the grace
of rural prosperity, meet the traveller, at every step,
between the drudge and the duke    The journey
proves an entire contrast to the arrival.
Scarcely had we left the Euston station, when
again the vivid green of the sward refreshed the
eye wearied by the carbon vapor that hangs a
brown veil over St. Paul's, and makes dim vistas
of the thronged streets. Only the bare trees, and
the bleak air, announced the season; and every
object wore a freshness of hue and a distinct relievo in the casual sunshine. I gazed, with delight,
over a fine meadow slope, at the houses and spire
of Harrow, and thought of the reminiscences of juvenility narrated, in mature years, by men known
to fame, of which its famous school was the scene;
and I pictured to myself the knightly author of
" Atala," wandering here in illustrious though impoverished exile, and carrying, through after-years,
the vision of Byron's youthful head, of which he





THE DRUDGE AND THE DUKE.


81


caught a glimpse at the window. Along the side
of a canal moved a wagon, attended by a rustic,
exactly like those which landscape-painters of Sir
Joshua's day, introduced into their pictures; the
soil reeked with moisture, the clouds brooded
heavily, but a wide belt of gold kindled the horizon; a pretty boy, with satchel, and white collar,
was put into the car, by a servant in livery, to go
to Dunstable; the shadows of the rooks were distinctly cast on the sward; thatched roofs were
seen at ifntervals; and thus, once more, the most
genial and truly characteristic side of English life
reappeared. Then came Rugby, alive with the
grateful memory of Dr. Arnold; and soon the five
spires and brick-factories of Coventry, with tints
of meadow, hedge, and domicil, as vivid as those
which diversify its own gay ribands; a few vagrants
were passed in the suburb, to perpetuate the sorry
troop with which old Jack Falstaff bluntly refused to
march through the ancient town; and, finally, like
a guardian and faithful sentry, rose the venerable
cathedral, from whose tower seemed yet to ring the
" shameless noon," in honor to Godiva, with her
legend revived into more than pristine beauty, in
the beautiful paraphrase of Tennyson.
A coach-ride through Derbyshire enabled me to
note, with greater precision, the features of the
landscape; and to realize anew the beautiful intervention of rustic toil between the drudgery of manu4*





82


A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


factures and the prosperous freedom of a dukedom.
It is in the rural villages of England, that we see
traces of her humble life as depicted by Goldsmith
and Miss Mitford; and to an American who loves
Nature, and her reflection in books, and on canvass,
perhaps the most pleasing observation is that
whereby he discovers the original sources whence
the authors of his noble vernacular and the artists
have drawn their memorable themes.    Cheerful,
therefore, despite a lowering sky, sometimes venting
itself in showers, was the view, as our carriage
passed swiftly over the broad undulating hills,
divided by hedges and crossed by roads where not
a stone was visible except those massed in neat,
compact walls, or lying broken in heaps to repair
the way. Here and there, in the fields, were sheep
whose enormous size and large wool-flakes tossed,
like the foam of the sea, by every gust of wind,
nay, their very expression of countenance, as they
looked up from the turnips upon which they were
regaling, had a singularly familiar aspect, which I
soon traced to Landseer, whose pencil has made
the domestic animals of his country as well known
as if each stock bad been exported. The sparse inhabitants of this well-tilled country, formed a remarkable contrast to the over-populated towns of
Staffordshire. At intervals were stone cottages,
gray and mossy, mansions of brick, substantial
barns, and patches of woodland; the extent of view,





THE DRUDGE AND THE DUKE.


83


and the graceful though unaspiring line of hills,
gave to the whole an appearance of rural freedom
and prosperity. A wayside inn, where we tarried,
I fancied must have sheltered Morland, or Gainsborough, when caught in the rain, while sketching
in this region. The landlady had grenadier proportions, and red cheeks; a few peasants were
drinking ale beneath a roof whence depended flitches
of bacon, and with the frocks, the yellow hair, and
the full ruddy features, we see in their pictures;
the windows of the best room had little diamondshaped panes in which sprigs of holly were stuck;
there were several ancient engravings in quaintlooking frames, on the wall; the chairs and desk
were of dark-veined wood, that shone with the polish of many a year's friction; a great fire blazed in
the chimney, and the liquor was served in vessels
only seen, on the other side of the water, in venerable prints. It was a hostel where you would not
be surprised to hear the crack of Tony Lumpkin's
whip, or to see the vicar of Wakefield rush in, in
search of Olivia-an alehouse that you knew, at
once, had given many an 1" hour's importance to the
poor man's heart," and where Parson Adams would
have felt himself entirely at home.  Soon after
leaving this suggestive little inn, we came upon a
rocky domain fringed with brushwood, and pronounced a capital hunting-district; then the old
signs of cultivation re-appeared, and one village





84


A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


was in itself a picture, consisting of a large group
of low cottages, every stone of which was enamelled with moss, and, in the midst, a brown
church, with wall and steeple half hid in ivy, and
old grave-stones peering from the green turf which
smiled around its base; then came fields irrigated
by means of red clay-pipes, in which an old man,
with a donkey, was at work, making a bit of landscape such as is often seen in Italy. The gnarled
branches of some of the trees, and the patches of
gleaming moss upon the dark bark, also contributed to give a look of antiquity to the by-way
scenes, not without a pensive charm to the inhabitant of the New World; but this sentiment gave
way to one of a more cheerful nature when we entered the villa-like porch, and were seated in the
spacious and elegant drawing-room of the inn at
Edensor.
The most distinct impression which an exploration
of Chatsworth leaves upon the mind, is that of completeness. If the visiter has travelled on the continent, he has beheld statues and pictures as memorable, halls as richly decorated, jets of water almost
as lofty, and umbrageous alleys made enchanting
by moonlight and breezes such as are rarely known
in England; but nowhere has he witnessed a combination of these and all other resources so entire;
and where this unity has been approached, time and
neglect have, at some point, trenched upon the per




THE DRUDGE AND THE DUKE.


fection of the whole. It is the fresh and thorough
order in which every department of the estate is
kept, and the miracle of isolating a circumference
of eleven miles in the heart of the limited kingdom,
and there concentrating all that the wants and imagination of man crave of physical luxury, art, and
nature, and thus creating a world for the individual,
with the same appointments, graces, and pleasures,
that elsewhere, and, by an almost universal law, are
the product of civic or imperial enterprise. Thefact is still more wonderful to the stranger who enters the magnificent domain fresh from Birmingham
and Sheffield. The heart is appalled at the immense
disparity of fortune; and a whole universe seems to
lie between the drudge and the duke, whose lives
are thus breathed out in such startling proximity.
Perhaps the best way to appreciate Chatsworth
intrinsically, is to revert to the gratifications we
have experienced at wide distances of time and
space, and then estimate their concentration here.
Think of the hours passed amid the sculptured forms
of the Vatican, in the picture-galleries of Florence,
of the sylvan zest known in an American forest
studying trees or watching deer, of the charm of
tropical vegetation, the devout spell of a Gothic
temple, the buoyant delight caught from the sparkling waters of Yersailles, the charm of exploring a
library " rich with the spoils of time," the scenic
wonders of cliff, lake, and meadow; and then be




86


A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


hold these gems of statuary, painting, woodland and
floral beauty, architecture, lore, and scenery, all
brought together in the most felicitous arrangement
of neighborhood and perspective, available to the
senses and the mind, with the least imaginable expense of movement and attention, and what a magical experiment it is! The Italian villa, the English
park, the poetry of animal life, the trophies of art,
and the treasures of literature, thus garnered into
a single domain, and that the property of one man,
is a spectacle to arouse the enthusiasm of the poet,
to inspire the mind of the philosopher, and to absorb the causality of the political economist. We
examine the marvellous truth and nicety of an
elaborate carving of Gibbons, or bask in the mellow tints of a Claude, or grow reverent before the
majestic figure of a Grecian divinity, and then
look through an enormous plate of transparent crystal, upon verdant slopes, marble terraces, a hollyclump whose emerald sheen glistens, or an Irish
yew whose foliated green is massed in solid proportions, a grove of elms whence an antlered herd
emerge with the confident step of domestic kine, or a
knoll, surmounted with a basin of porphyry, sending
up a column of spray hung round with iris-hues.
The sight of familiar faces gives us a certain home
feeling, even in the midst of this novel grandeur.
We recognise, with a smile of welcome, figures, expressions, dramatic scenes long known through the





THE DRUDGE AND THE DUKE.


87


choicest works of the burin or the subtle pen of
genius. Thus I greeted, in these magnificent halls,
Carlo Dolce's boy, Sasso Ferrato's Madonna, Newton's Gil Bias, Landseer's Bolton Abbey, the Capuchin Chapel; Joseph at his carpenter's toil, turning
to Mary, whose needlework is beside her as she lifts
the covering from the Divine child; Bellini's bust;
Aristides, as he stands, holding up his robe, the
ideal of self-respect, in the fMuseo Borbonico; Canova's Endymion, Lions, and Hebe; Tenerani's Cupid, and Bartolini's Bacchante. I beheld, in the
ferns of the noble conservatory, the well-known carpet of my native woods; in the evergreens, fresh
trophies of Oregon and California; the innumerable
aloes typified Sicily; the countless variety of palms
revived the East; the bananas and canes proclaimed
the West Indies; and the " hair of Venus" seemed
to reek with the damp of Roman catacombs. Reigns,
cycles, courts, were resummoned by the portraiture
of their heroes; stalactites of Derbyshire spar indicated the geological treasures of the soil; the staircase echoed with princely feet; Pauline's graceful
attitude breathed of the palmy days of Napoleon;
while the hall of 1662, and the old hunting tower
on the crest of the eastern hill, were eloquent memorials of the primitive life of Old England's nobles, and the bust of Everett symbolized the New
England scholar.
It was impossible not to conjecture the receptive





88


A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


ability of the soul in whose mortal name these treasures are vested. If the portraits of the successive
dukes of Devonshire are reliable interpreters of
character, it would appear that the first had more
fire, the last more benignity; with the gentlemanly
air they all boast, is mingled no little complacency,
and, in some instances, superciliousness of expression. One would imagine that a look of moral sensibility, born of the responsibility incident to such
a heritage, in such a world, would pervade their
faces. In one point of view, the public spirit essential to character in a position like this, has been
nobly manifested by the present duke. His name
is best known in America as identified with improved breeds of cattle, and the triumphs of rural
landscape. He is a great botanical purveyor; and
it was an auspicious sign that a peasant's buxom
wife I afterward met in the neighborhood, was earnest in her laudation of the family, whose tenant
her father had been for eighty years. The duke of
Devonshire is unmarried; he travels much, and,
when at home, is courteous, hospitable, and the efficient supporter of the agricultural interest.
If the temptation to linger is the best evidence
of the attractiveness of a region, Chatsworth is second to no spot in the kingdom. The inn to which
we returned for dinner, presented such a contrast,
both in itself and its vicinage, to the recent places
of our sojourn, that it was abandoned with painful





THE DRUDGE AND THE DUKE.          b
reluctance. The bright Turkey carpet and snowwhite stairs, the airy rooms, rich old mahogany, unexceptionable sirloin, and affable host, with the opportunity of exploring at leisure the noble park,
imparted a sense of in-door comfort and rural pleasure without, that it " argued an insensibility" to
quit for locomotive restlessness and the spectacle of
toil, folly, and crowds; and yet, against this natural
instinct for repose in the lap of beauty, there was
a protest equally imperative in the prophetic heart,
which intuitively feels that only in love and duty
is there abiding joy: this compensatory law it is
that harmonizes the vast apparent inequality between the duke and the drudge.










A TRIP TO WINDSOR.
Thy forests, Windsor, and thy green retreats,
At once the monarchs' and the muses' seats.
PoPE.










IV.


A TRIP TO WINDSOR.
FROM Waterloo bridge, the aerial perspective
would have inspired Turner. The sunshine glimmered athwart a haze of coal-smoke and vapor,
which made the bright tints saffron, and the dark
umber; and through this veil, magnified and colored according to the refraction, were visible the
drooping sails of the river-craft, the massive arches
of the bridges, piles of buildings on either side;
here the bright lines of the new houses of Parliament, and there the sombre walls of Lambeth palace. Quite scenic and picturesque, at that moment,
appeared these objects as seen during our rapid
transit to the station; it was one of those glimpses
which coin the landscape more vividly than a long
and meditative gaze, for Nature, the great and everworking artist, had momently created a memorable
effect of light and shade. I could not but deem the





94


A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


view propitious, for it harmonized my thoughts for
the day's excursion, and seemed to drop an emblematic curtain between noisy London and the meadow-land we approached; and unlock, by an appeal
to the imagination, the fetters of routine, and thus
dispose the mind to expatiate in the sphere of the
past. This mood, however, was interrupted by the
engine-whistle, shrieking echo of a locomotive age,
and those charts of English instincts-"Punch,"
" Bell's Life," and " The Times." The humor, combativeness, and dogmatism, of these prints, however,
had a sedative effect upon the company; and left
me at liberty to gaze from the car-window, and invoke the associations of the landscape. I looked
down, Asmodeus-like, upon the tiled roofs of Vauxhall, and the trees of its once-famous gardens, and
thought of the gayeties identified with the name.
A dense mist brooded over the housetops, above
which theroad is constructed; but when we emerged
into the open country, a range of fields met the eye,
some vividly green, others inundated; here dark
with new furrows, and there laid out in vegetablegardens, where the cabbages and turnips flourished
luxuriantly even in January.
This downward glimpse of a scene where Horace
Walpole gossipped, Johnson moralized, and "little
Burney" gleaned the material of her once-famous
novels, revived the idea of that anecdotical and
therefore best-remembered era of London life and





A TRIP TO WINDSOR.


literature, which preceded the age of steam. It was
refreshing, with the whirling sensation of a rail-car
upon me, and the proofs at once of the fecundity
and superficial character of the press before my
eyes, to think of a time when people read with avidity the lay-sermons of Steele, and had leisure to hold
long discussions about old authors and the manners
of the day; when men of taste and fortune, like
Walpole, took delight in jotting down the social
events of the hour, in a style that insured their
reaching posterity; and when the authors, statesmen, actors, and artists of the time, fraternized in
frank and jovial cliques, with such men as Reynolds,
Goldsmith, Burke, and Garrick, for central figures.
I could readily imagine that these suburban resorts
breathed a more genial inspiration to such brainworkers of feverish London, when approached by
barge, and the transition from busy streets to rural
avenues was more gradual. The comparatively quiet
background of life then gave more relief to the individuals who thus represent it to our imaginations.
They were neither so widely scattered, nor so lost
in the mass, as the thinkers and votaries of art of
to-day. There was space enough around each to
secure a free recognition; and their pursuits so isolated them from the crowd as to make them a galaxy in the social firmament. In the retrospect of
our times, the canvass will be too crowded to bring
out, in just proportions, the leaders in art and letters;





96


A MONTH IN NGLAND.


culture has become more diffused, genius less individual.
Here and there, along the road, my gaze rested
on the unequivocal signs of a manufacturing district
-a row of untidy brick cottages, and fen-like lands;
but, at intervals, came the true features of rural lifegreen turf, a sportsman and his dog, oaks, poplars,
and elms, which, although leafless, gave rich promise of vernal beauty; and, in one field, some mowers were cutting the barley; while an occasional
clump of pines, cypresses, or cedars, added to the
latent freshness of the landscape. Then came Putney; and again, as at almost every step around
London, the human began to blend with the local,
and yield to tame scenery the moral picturesqueness
derived from the idea of original character. What
varied phases of historical men does the name revive: here stern Cromwell kept his headquarters,
elegant Gibbon was born, and noble Pitt expired.
How impressively does the recollection of English
civic and literary life thus identify itself with the
view of her rural prosperity!
Here a venerable tree gnarled and mossed, there
a tawny hay-rick of symmetrical proportions; now
a lane with a footpath bordered by the most vivid
grass, then a hedge impervious to the eye; and
sometimes a meadow of cool emerald expands, like
the plains of Lombardy, in early summer. The landscape was smooth, well-defined, and fresh, and re




A TRIP TO WINDSOR.


97


minded me of Pope's muse, to whom it was so familiar- a vital monotony. Near Staines there rose
an old, gray villa, surrounded by poplars, with walls
green from damp, and the adjacent fields partially
inundated, the prototype of Tennyson's " Moated
Grange;" and beyond, we hailed the plains of Runnymede. From a pasture uprose a flock of rooks,
and then alighted, to demean themselves exactly as
Irving described them. A thistle-heath, now and
then, appeared-undisturbed, because it serves for
rabbit-covers - a significant evidence of that instinct
for game which is a national propensity in Great
Britain; and sometimes a gray church-tower, halfcovered with ivy, completed the group of objects
which constitute an English landscape. Whirled
once more in sight of the Thames, it at length wore
a poetical aspect, clear and broad, with sedgy banks,
a fine specimen of villa architecture rising from the
smooth lawn on its shores; and I thus caught, with
the first glimpse of Richmond, the very spirit of
Thomson, where he used to lean from his window
to listen to the nightingales, and where Collins bids
us " oft suspend the dripping oar, and bid his gentle
spirit rest." Turning aside from the direct route,
two other scenes, dear to poetical memory, allure
us-Twickenham and Strawberry hill. I mused
of the bard of society and the virtuoso letter-writer,
who came thither to describe what they saw and
felt in the metropolis; and to gratify ambition by
5





98


A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


a masterly though very diverse use of our expressive vernacular: the airy epistle overflowing with
details so carefully gleaned and agreeably uttered,
that the historian and novelist of our own day find
in Walpole the most available facts of costume and
manners; and the musical, emphatic heroics, that,
like well-attuned cymbals, resound with so many
truths of description and character in the couplets
of Pope. Such are the familiar memories that enliven even a winter's day on the road to Windsor.
We look upon a scene remarkably analogous to the
authors who so often beheld it; pleasing and fertile,
but without grandeur; breathing of plenty and elegance, like the prosperous career of its gifted admirers, with features smooth and fair, only varied
by the alternation of the seasons, with a look of
cheerful repose, few lines of ruggedness, and no
trace of sublimity; a scene that, on a warm autumnal day, might inspire such a vision as the
" Castle of Indolence," lure a sated citizen to indite
a chit-chat epistle to a friend abroad, and induce
the mood of patience and elaborate care in which
such a high finish of versification is attained as in
the "Essay on Man."
A few moments before the speed of the train was
checked at Windsor, ominous wreaths of mist that
had impended all day, were suddenly dispelled by
a light breeze, and the sunshine made every grassblade and moss-grown bough twinkle. The first





A TRIP TO WINDSOR.


view of the castle was thus auspicious; a beautiful
lawn studded with noble elms, across which cloudshadows fitfully played, expanded to the base of a
verdant elevation, and, some distance beyond, rose
the gray, compact, turreted edifice, its bold outline
projecting from sky and turf, its hoary battlements
festooned with ivy, and the banner of England fluttering on the loftiest tower; it realized all I had
imagined, and was one of those objects in which
nature harmonizes with art to produce a complete
effect. This was enhanced, also, by the casual view
obtained; and when lost to sight, as the cars shot
beneath high embankments, the image left upon
the mind, so venerable, massive, and familiar, con
jured from the past a line of sovereigns, around
whose titles, clustered events, traditions, and characters, that seemed to group, as it were, in one living picture, the infamy, and the glory of the British
isles. Upon entering the outer court, however, on
that bright morning, historical associations gave
way to the immediate; a little pony-wagon moved
across the lawn, in which were two of the royal
children, attended by a groom; on the adjacent
terrace, her majesty was walking with a younger
scion; the wet ivy on both sides of the window of
her chamber, gleamed in the sun; an air of domestic and rural peace was visible, singularly at variance with the fortified building, and the military
guard; and the impression was confirmed as our





100


A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


phaton coursed down the three-mile avenue, by
Prince Albert's farm, where flocks of sheep were
browsing, and little brindled cows stretched, with
dreamy eyes, on the thick grass. The herds of
deer, seen down vistas made by aged elms, the
squadrons of rooks wheeling in mid air, and the cry
of starlings, so filled the senses with a feeling of
rural comfort and beauty, that it was not until I
looked back from the statue of George II., and
recognised the towers of York and Lancaster, that
the idea of motherly and conjugal Victoria, and her
agricultural lord, gave place to the stern vision of
Elizabeth and the Henrys. If a ride in the park,
on such a day, enshrines Windsor castle in the
memory, as the tranquil and rural home of royalty,
a visit to St. George's chapel, during the afternoon
service, not less attunes the mind to feel the light
and shade which plays over the historical picture.
Under the pleasant sky dark memories would not
linger; but, seated in one of the antique stalls of
the Knights of the Garter, ushered thither by a
verger, with a head bleached by nearly a hundred
winters, the tarnished armorial bearings, faded
banners, rust-covered swords, even the little brass
plates on the old carved oak against which I leaned,
inscribed with the genealogy of each knight, whose
escutcheon bangs above, and the date of his instalment, some bearing names of historical interest,
others known only to modern fashion, some mouldy





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101


with time, and others yet bright from the graver,
all stir the imagination by the spell of ancient heraldry.
The white-robed canons with their rich voices, a
base and tenor that wake a thrill, especially when
followed by the sweet innocent tones of the boy
choristers, chanting an anthem  from RIevelation,
with the deep vibration of the full-toned organ,
combine, in the twilight of the chapel, to win the
thoughts far away from the passing hour. On that
wintry afternoon, the breath of the reader congealed
as it exhaled, and brought to mind Keats' image of
the censer, and the old man's prayer, in the "Eve
of St. Agnes."  The responses echoed through the
chill atmosphere. Besides the officiating priests,
there were not a dozen auditors; the trophies and
elaborate sculptures on the dark wood, were only
visible by the light of scattered candles; and, at the
high window of the queen's chapel, I could imagine
a fair head bowed in supplication, rendered more
meek and earnest by the consciousness of irresponsible power, and the approaching trials of maternity.
One by one, in that solemn air, came out to fancy
the kings who were born, revelled, and died in this
castle; the hero of Oressy, John of Gaunt's son, first
of the house of Lancaster; the sixth Henry, who
founded Eton, married Margaret of Anjonu, and who
drew his first breath here, and his last in the Tower;
his successor, under whose arbitrary yet beneficent





A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


reign, Cabot discovered that country whence we
make pilgrimages to look on the ancient landmarks
of fatherland, even as I then gazed upon this abode
of hereditary power; then the burly, amorous,
figure, around whose memory cluster so many fair
martyrs, and learned men, whose story is embalmed
in immortal dramas, and identified with the beauty
of Anne Boleyn, the sacrifice of Sir Thomas More,
and Thomas a Becket, and the rise and fall of Wolsey; he who broke the ancient chain that linked
the kingdom to the papacy, and united Wales and
Ireland to the crown; the glorious reign of his
daughter, with her galaxy of poets, and warriors,
Shakspere, Bacon, Raleigh, Drake, Sidney, and
Spenser; the beheaded monarch whose remains are
inhumed beneath the floor of this chapel, where I
thus mused; his gay and popular son; bloody
Mary who here passed her honey-moon; Anne,
with her Marlborough victories and Addisonian
wits; the Georges and their statesmen, one flushed
and sensual, another hoary and lunatic; William
the sailor-king; good Adelaide; and now the loved
Victoria: here, in the scene of their counsels, banquets and sepulture, their domestic life and rural
seclusion, like shadows, yet seemed to hover in the
temple consecrated to their devotions and their
ashes.
It is the social environment of English royalty,
that gives it distinctive interest in the retrospect.





A TRIP TO WINDSOR.


103


When Henry VIII. is mentioned, we instantly think
of Luther and the Reformation; the reign of Elizabeth means the age of Shakspere; of Anne, that of
Pope and Swift; Charles I. is the prominent figure
of a great transition era in politics and religion, to
which he was the victim; George III. is best recalled through Pitt's statesmanship, as his son, when
prince of Wales, is identified with Beau Brummel,
intrigue, and excess, shamefully contrasted with the
triumphs of modern science and letters, that signalized his own reign.
We perceive why, during the civil wars, this
castle was the most effective military station, and
witnessed the bloody feuds which resulted in Magna
Charta. Richard II. here listened to the charge of
high-treason, preferred by the duke of Lancaster
against Mowbray. It was the last of Charles I.'s
prisons; Cromwell moodily perambulated its walls;
and James of Scotland passed within them, his long
captivity. These are but a few of the memories
that crowd upon the mind, lost in the reveries of
St. George's chapel; but there were two places
where the varied associations of Windsor castle
concentrated, as it were, into a more definite sentiment; where the vague annals of royalty assumed
a certain individuality; and the scene breathed
names that came nearer personal sympathies than
those of a long line of sovereigns, who only claimed
a thought, as the agents of transmitted power,





104


A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


which they used or abused in turn; and, at these
places, I chiefly lingered; they were the terrace
near Elizabeth's tower, and the tomb of the princess
Charlotte; from the one was discernible a landscape,
that, from the heart of its intrinsic beauty, shed
abroad fragrant memories, and the other won regard
by the image of a woman who was a sweet exception to the usual career of royalty.
The inconsistencies which attend kingcraft are
the best evidences of its want of foundation in nature. Supremacy derived from genius or character
is accompanied by the harmonies and unity that
proclaim legitimate sway; but assumed greatness
based on will, physical resources, or tradition, becomes more and more irrational as humanity develops. Thus St. George's chapel is dedicated to
Christian worship, but the prayers for the queen,
her mother, oldest son, and the Knights of the Garter, by recognising before God, in whose presence all
are equal, an invidious distinction even between
members of one family, strikes at the root of the religions sentiment, as embodied in the example of
Jesus. Not less incongruous is the special petition
that the Lord will keep her majesty "in health and
wealth," the former blessing, which is a natural
want, being profaned by association with the latter, which is artificial, and expressly denounced as
an end by the founder of Christianity. A more
affecting illustration, of the same kind, is realized





A TRIP TO WINDSOR.


105


when we look upon the expressive mourning figure
recumbent over the tomb of Charlotte. Why do
all turn, with indifference or disgust, from the
mausoleums of the Georges, to breathe a sigh at
this sculptured memorial? Is it not because she
asserted her womanhood--that, rising above the
thraldom of station, she lived and loved as her own
nature dictated? Not to the princess, but to the
maiden and the wife, in whom regal title could not
absorb these more sacred names, is this voluntary
oblation paid; therefore, the eloquent Robert Hall
pronounced her panegyric amid tears; and the impassioned bard, in his misanthropic exile, broke
abruptly from his pilgrimage of song, to mourn the
"fair-haired daughter of the isles," who was "good
without effort, great without a foe."  Her acquirements and charities, her generous and independent
sentiments, her love of art and gracious manners,
doubtless gained for her a certain popularity; but
the rare achievement of domestic happiness in the
shadow of a throne, the moral courage that insisted
on. a marriage of affection, and the beautiful union
and simple tastes consequent thereon, combined
with her early death, to sanctify her name to the
common heart, which always rejoices to behold
the human triumph over conventionalism and outward splendor.
A few moments transport us from the tomb of
Charlotte to the rampart that overlooks the broad
5*





106


A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


meadows, and glancing river, where the haughty
Elizabeth often paced to and fro, chafing, perhaps,
at the infidelity of Leicester, or struggling with remorse for the persecution of Mary. There is not a
feature of the scene, except the stone-bulwarks, to
indicate the fierce passions that once darkened that
lovely prospect. Indeed, we can not gaze long before the vision of crowns gives place to laurels, and
the poetical associations of the landscape veil all
remembrance of court intrigue.
Over this parapet Surrey may have leaned. All
accounts agree in placing him at the head of the
accomplished men of his day. He was educated at
Oxford, and travelled in Europe; he early distinguished himself at a tournament in Italy, and at
Westminster; a contemporary describes him as
" the gallantest man, politest lover, and most perfect gentleman of his time." He married a daughter of the Earl of Oxford. Although the companion
of the king's son at Windsor, he lost the monarch's
favor because suspected of having designs on the
princess Mary, and because he is said to have added some of the royal arms to his own; although
justified by the heralds, he was impeached and beheaded. One of his effusions written in the dungeons of Windsor, quaintly alludes to this contrast
of his youthful days and latter fate:"When I in joy dyd passe,
Wythe a king's son, my chyldish yeres,





A TRIP TO WINDSOR.


107


In greater feast than Priam's sonnes of Troye,
Where each sweete place returns a tastfull sower,
The large green where we were wont to rove,
With eyes cast up into the mayden's tower,
And easy sighs such as folks draw in love."
His manly grace, when on his travels, captivated
the nobles of Florence; and I could easily imagine
the rapture that filled his breast, when looking
from this terrace upon the far-stretching fields,
then covered with luxuriant groves, he was lost in
dreams of the fair Geraldine, whom he made "famous by his pen, and glorious by his sword." She
was, by universal consent, "the fair;" and was descended from the Geraldi of Tuscany, though born
and educated in Ireland; her family were unfortunate, and her mother being akin to the blood royal,
she was made the companion of the young princesses. When the earl of Surrey visited them, in
company with the young duke of Richmond, he
became enchanted with her beauty. It would appear that this passion was excited when its object
was too young to realize its claims; for her lover
says, " She wanted years to understand the grief
that he did feel."  Fair Geraldine must have had a
spice of coquetry in her disposition; but this does
not obscure the brightness and depth of her knight's
attachment, which was chivalric, sincere, and poetical. When abroad, a famous necromancer revealed
her to him, in a magic glass, lying on a couch, with
dishevelled hair, reading one of his sonnets. She





108


A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


has been identified as Lady Fitzgerald; and her
praise as sung by Henry Howard, earl of Surrey,
is associated with the earliest specimens of English
verse. The victim   of a suspicious tyrant, this
castle, where he had moved with the proudest of
the land, became his prison. " Windsor," he wrote,
" alas, doth chase me from her sight."  Quaint as
are the terms of his amorous strain, and obsolete
as are many of his words, there is genuine sentiment and beautiful expression in Surrey's poems.
Barry Cornwall says he was the first writer of narrative blank verse in the language. He gained
high reputation at the battle of Flodden Field.
There was a pensive sweetness in the memory of
this hero, lover, and poet, who once haunted the
park and battlements around me, and, when shut
out from these, mused fondly of her who consecrated them to his imagination. I recalled his
image in the flush of youth, as here, in the embrace
of Nature, he gave scope to a love-kindled fancy;
and, then, beholding the noble survivors of the
forest, whose shadows were broadcast on the level
turf, I reverted to the great poet who succeeded,
and left the traces of his rich humor upon this very
lawn; and the feeble but gifted boy who, at a later
period, celebrated, with his precocious muse, these
noble elms; I thought of Shakspere and Pope.
Hither was Falstaff fetched in the basket, and
Herne's oak was his trysting-place; while the ju




A TRIP TO WINDSOR.


109


venile bard's verification, allegory, and mythological allusions, the laudation of Queen Anne, the
praise of Denham, the dedication to Lord Landsdowne, and the prophecy of British greatness, render Pope's "Windsor Forest," although the work
of a mere youth, entirely characteristic of both the
age and the author. It was pleasant to repeat the
opening lines on the spot they describe:"Thy forests, Windsor, and thy green retreats,
At once the monarch's and the muses' seats,"
and then to compare the still graphic picture:"Here waving groves a chequered scene display,
And part admit and part exclude the day;
As some coy nymph her lover's warm address
Not quite indulges nor can quite repress;
There interspersed in lawns and opening glade,
Here trees arise that shun each other's shade;
Here in full light the russet plains extend,
There, wrapped in clouds, the bluish hills ascend."
A more thoughtful and not less finished minstrel
was recalled by the spire of the church at Stoke,
rising in the distance, beside the churchyard which
inspired Gray's " Elegy;" and his ode on a " Prospect of Eton College" was re-echoed by the sight of
its antique towers, " that crown the watery glade,"
a phrase I fully appreciated as the half-inundated
fields glistened with pools:"Ye distant spires, ye antique towers,
That crown the watery glade,
Where grateful Science still adores
Her Henry's holy shade;





110


A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


And ye that from the stately brow
Of Windsor's height, the expanse below
Of grove, of lawn, of mead survey,
Whose turf, whose shade, whose flowers among,
Wanders the hoary Thames along
His silver winding way.
Ah, happy hills! ah, pleasing shade
Ah, fields beloved in vain,
Where once my careless childhood strayed
A stranger yet to pain
I feel the gales that from ye blow
A momentary bliss bestow,
As waving fresh their gladsome wing,
My weary soul they seem to soothe,
To breathe a second spring 1"
I know of no sensation or rather mood, that so lifts
the soul into a region of elevated sympathies as
thus reproducing the experience of a gifted mind,
in view of the very objects that awakened it. I
now felt these gales, and looked from     Windsor's
heights upon the fertile expanse below, and saw the
church beside which those " rude forefathers of the
hamlet sleep," whose elegy the gallant Wolfe repeated on the night he was rowed beneath the batteries of Quebec, on whose heights at dawn he was
to lay down his life; and whose solemn music
cheered the last moments of our own Webster;and it seemed to me like an actualized dream.
An adept in history and architecture, I thought,
in looking back upon the castle, can read in this
pile the traces of each reign. The very names of
the towers suggest an epoch. Imagine the park
in the leafy splendor of June, and then let those





A TRIP TO WINDSOR.


111


whose fate is identified with the scene, pass before
the fancy. Through yonder glade, on a beautiful
white palfrey, moves Anne Boleyn, with a falcon
on her wrist, and the yet enamored monarch beside
her, a vision of grace exultant at its brief triumph;
as she turns to smile on the capricious king, with
what a shudder we foresee that ivory neck girdled
by the axe! From this moat looks up the poet-king
of Scotland, watching Jane Beaufort as she waves
her hand from the battlements, oblivious of his captivity, with love and the muse for companions.
The sleek and wily face of Wolsey is bent complacently toward the workmen engaged upon his more
than royal tomb-house. As he checks his mule to
give some directions, how little he imagines that
the rich sarcophagus designed to contain his body,
will, at last, cover that of the hero of the Nile, in
St. Paul's cathedral. With what bitter impatience
Prince John spurs his charger through this gateway, at the thought of his concessions to the barons,
who defy him fiom the adjacent plains of Runneymede; and how melancholy is the air of Sir Thomas
Wyatt, as he sits under that beech-tree, and thinks
of his beloved in the arms of his sovereign. Behold Father Chaucer walking in the grove below,
and rhyming to himself, quite unmindful of his
duties, as " clerk of the works," going on in St.
George's chapel. The walls in which so many intrigues, festivals, councils, so many kingly guests,





112


A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


noble prisoners, and lovely women, have dwelt,
rise to view, in new and picturesque beauty, from
every part of the domain; an artificial mere, with
miniature frigates and temples, occupies the site of
the ancient lake; and, except the absence of a few
sylvan monarchs, the natural features of the park are
the same, as when, at Elizabeth's command, Shakspere made it vocal with the gay laugh of the
" Merry Wives."
When nature and art thus combine to symbolize
the past, it is genius that interprets history; and the
sleeping echoes of Windsor castle stole forth as syllabled in the memorable verse of Shakspere; the
calm but earnest protest of Catherine of Aragon,
and the dying charge of Wolsey, to "fling away
ambition," seemed alone worthy to express, in
words, the moral significance of the closing scenes
transferred, in immortal characters, to the poet's
record. Nor were the mere facts of departed time
thus impressively rendered; dark superstitions and
radiant fancies by him gifted with a "local habitation," on this spot, were again repeated to the
quickened ear of imagination:"About, about I
Search Windsor castle, elves, within, without."
"There is an old tale goes that Herne the hunter,
Some time a keeper here in Windsor forest,
Doth all the winter time, at still midnight,
Walk round about an oak, with great ragged horns,
And then he blasts the tree."





A TRIP TO WINDSOR.


113


The old town of Windsor seems to nestle beneath
the majestic castle in feudal content. As we rattled
by the shops, and through an avenue occasionally
enlivened by the figure of a life-guardsman, my
dream of the past was rudely broken, to be renewed
awhile as I stood within the old quadrangle of Eton
college, walked round the ancient cloisters, looked
on the statue of the seventh Henry in the centre,
and read the names cut in the walls of the corridor.
I breathed with incredulous delight the conservative air of a place where so many known to fame
were educated. It is not long that the mind, in
these locomotive days, can be absorbed in the twilight of eld; the immediate recalls it with an emphasis not to' be resisted; and ret, as 1 wandered
back to the inn, a new and more fanciful series of
ideas were excited. "A street in Windsor" brought
to mind comic individualities. I instinctively looked
around, expecting every moment to catch a glimpse
of Bardolph's nose. I was tempted to inquire for
Anne Page's house; and hoped I should meet Evans
the Welsh parson, or Dr. Caius the French physician, going their rounds. I fancied that Sir John's
chuckling voice reached my ear, as he cried, "I How
now, Master Brook! Be you in the park about midnight, and you shall see wonders." As I passed a
field where enormous turnips were heaped, I felt
how natural were the terms in which poor Slender
was rejected: "I would rather be planted quick in





114


A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


earth, and bowled to death with turnips;" and when
the smiling landlady ushered me into the best parlor of her neat little hostel, I was on the point of
calling her Mrs. Quickly, and asking, with Ford,
" Does he lie at the Garter?" for it seemed a thing
of course that I should find old Jack with Nym and
Pistol, quaffing ale by the fire. Methought the gentleman who was calling after the waiter from the
apartment below, would bawl, in lusty tones, when
he appeared, " Go fetch me a quart of sack: put a
toast in't." The table, chairs, and tankard, might
have dated from Shakspere's day, so rich with time
was the hue of the wood, and so antique the patterns; but the engravings on the wall, of Victoria
and Albert, and the puffing of the engine at the station opposite, too obviously announced the nineteenth century; and the last fragment of my castle
in the air disappeared, with the maid of the inn, a
kind of faded Anne Page, as she gave a roguish
toss of her head, in pocketing the sixpence, and
tripped away.





LIONS.
Pardonable are human theatricalities, nay perhaps touching, like the passionate
utterance of a tongue that, with sincerity, stammers.
CARLYLE.










V.


LIONS.
IT is a necessity of human civilization that the
floating capital of inquisitiveness, public spirit, and
gossip, should be provided with a nucleus. The social, like the individual heart, requires an object.
The magnetism not exhausted by private demand,
is caught up by the common interest of the hour.
In the intervals of personal occupation, the restless
mind seeks a popular theme, and delights to expatiate in the vast world of opinion and sympathy.
In the social economy this demand is essential also
to financial success; the caterers to the appetite for
excitement need a subject as much as the anatomist,
either to dissect or to embalm. How could the trade
of playwrights, caricaturists, and editors, flourish
without lions? The amphitheatres of Rome, in the
palmiest of her circus days, were not more imperative in their requisition. The eagerness of the crowds
round a shop-window, the absorption of the news




118


A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


paper-reader, the hushed attention of the pit, and
the vociferous disputations heard in rail cars and
coffee-rooms, are but the daily proofs of the need
of a lion to give zest and impulse to civic life; and
I know of no method which affords a more direct
and reliable insight of national character than the
analysis of this phenomenon; for its development
varies according to latitude. In Paris, the accidental prism made by the crack of a shop-window,
the striking resemblance of an actor to Bonaparte,
or some other fanciful object, answers for the ninedays' wonder of an easily-amused capital; in America, a personage who furnishes occasion for a grand
dinner or military parade, and can be brought into
relation to the idea of progress and republicanism,
is most available; while, in England, the organs of
combativeness and self-esteem, which predominate
in John Bull, must be excited in order to realize a
genuine lion. During my visit, there were two
lions - one an imaginary character, and the other a
dead hero-Uncle Tom, and the Iron Duke; and
nothing could be more characteristic than the philosophy of their advent.
Perhaps it is the hunting propensity, so largely
developed in the English character, which leads
them to run their lions to death; in other words, to
multiply the forms of the same idea, and reassert
the same dogma, until, by a natural reaction, they
are consigned to total oblivion, or reduced to a vul




LIOwS.


119


gar standard. Few of the minor inflictions are more
irritating to a sensitive mind than this unceasing
repetition. The senses fairly ache with the monotonous refrain. It is like the infernal punishment of
the tyrant who destroyed his victim by single drops
of water falling on his head at regular intervals.
In vain we try to escape; whichever direction we
take, " there is a lion in the way," and, unfortunately, always the same beast. At first he may excite
curiosity, perhaps interest, which, if left to work its
legitimate course, may not be without practical result; but thrust in our faces at every step, dinged
in our ears each hour, and intruded under all possible disguises, we at length feel as if possessed by
a demon, haunted by a familiar, and remember,
with unwonted sympathy, the fate of Sinbad and
Monsieur Tonson.
A few months before my embarkation, a story
had appeared, illustrative of slave-life in the southern states of America. The incidents were frequently exciting, some of the scenes cleverly drawn, and
a very judicious mingling of humor and pathos introduced; some of the characters, too, were effectively modelled, and the narrative interest was well
sustained.  Such were the literary merits of the
tale, and they are the same which have secured for
many fictions decided popularity; but an additional
eclat attended this novel, if such it may be called.
To elevate negroes and negresses into heroes and





120


A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


heroines was a new experiment; and to expose to the
world, as this book professed to do, a monstrous social
evil, awakened the ardent sympathy of philanthropists and reformers. These effects were not diminished by the gross exaggeration and caricature displayed in the story, regarded as a picture of actual
life. Indeed, the basis of truth was not examined
among the partisans who adopted the work as an
exposition of American slavery. The appeal it made
to the pity and moral indignation of the public, by
high-wrought and exceptional scenes of cruelty and
degradation, found an immediate response; the intelligent minority alone compared its revelations
with facts, or applied to them the test of reason and
charity.
The hero of this African romance is a pious negro
called "Uncle Tom" -on the same principle that
Goldsmith was called "Goldy"-the epithet being
indicative of the confidence and affection he inspired. The idea of showing up a social evil by
means of an affecting tale, is not new. Two of the
most successful instances occurred in this very country where Uncle Tom became an idol: the eloquent
invective of the corn law rhymer has seldom been
equalled; and the cruelty of English law has found
dramatic expositors; the dreadful abuse of the workhouse system was exhibited, in a way that brought
tears and protests from thousands, in " Oliver Twist;"
while the author of " Mary Barton" drew a picture





LIONS.


121


of the misery of the English operative more tragic
than the imagination of the uninitiated ever conceived; the inhumanities incident to the two English customs of flogging and fagging have been
painfully illustrated in the same way: yet neither
Oliver Twist nor Mary Barton became lions. Why
was this honor reserved for Uncle Tom? Because
he was the type of an evil which England has had
the good fortune to cast off, and because he is the
symbol of reproach to America. Thus the national
pride was doubly gratified by this canonization; and
what rendered the apotheosis more delectable was,
that its ostensible, and in part doubtless its real motive, was philanthropy. Thus, during my brief visit,
Uncle Tom was the lion.
After passing Holyhead, it was useless to gaze
from the wet deck, as we approached the Mersey,
a mist concealing every object from view, except
the beacons, and, therefore, there was a general
rendezvous about the fortunate passenger who had
obtained the one journal brought by the pilot.
Forming a circle around him in the cabin, we listened with the avidity incident to a fortnight's abstinence from that vital commodity-news; and
the first item read was, an account of a meeting of
ladies, to present a memorial to the authoress of
" Uncle Tom." Thus the initiative breath of English air was prophetic of this tenacious companion.
In a few hours I had landed, and after a hasty toilet,
6





122


A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


descended to the coffee-room, with the somewhat
vivid anticipation of realizing Falstaff's relishing
hint of "ease in mine inn;" but lo! upon the teatable, appeared a polished wooden box, with an
engraved metallic plate, upon which was inscribed
the announcement, that it was a savings bank for
Uncle Tom; or, more literally, a place of deposite
for contributions to aid the originator of that ubiquitous.personage, " to abolish slavery in the United
States."  Having succeeded, by dint of supper and
the "Times," in banishing, for a while, the idea of
this eleemosynary token, I was attracted by a strain
of vocal music, and approaching the open door,
whence the sounds emanated, listened long enough
to ascertain that the melody was Uncle Tom's song,
"Massa, I can tell you Nothing."  The subject now
assumed an ominous phase. It began, in the casual
absence of society and occupation, to work upon the
fancy. The idea suggested itself, that this sable
incarnation of virtue and suffering was not to be
shaken off. I began to long for daylight, in order
to find in the novelty of the scene around me, a
respite from  Uncle Tom. At length a resource
occurred to me whereby his darkness might be exorcised until bed-time; and I rang for the waiter, and
bade him go round the corner and purchase me a
new book, something fresh and clever. As he unfolded quite complacently the volume, descanting
on its surpassing interest, and immense popularity,





LIONS.


123


I felt confident I should soon lose all consciousness
of my ebony tormentor in a volume of the Caxtons,
or a new number of the "Bleak House," when, to
my horror, I saw the familiar effigy of Uncle Tom
himself, on the cover of his "author's edition."
Snatching the candle from the astonished boots, I
fled to my apartment; a cake of Uncle Tom soap
was lying on the washstand. I retired into the
large, four-post, tent-like bed, and resigned myself to sleep; but the nervous excitement into which
I had been thrown by these vain attempts to escape
the saintly African, of whom I had experienced a
surfeit before crossing the Atlantic, kept me awake.
The smoke of the coal-fire, as I watched it through
the open curtains, at the foot of the bed, assumed
grotesque shapes, always to my excited fancy, having an African type -enormous flat noses, elongated
heels, craniunms fledged with wool, and colossal lips
puffed into absurd dimensions; then from the crevice
of a lump, the flame would dance and turn about
like Jim Crow, or contort itself after the style of
Topsy, or leap across a fissure, like Eliza jumping
over the ice-cakes of the Ohio, or splutter like
Sambo in his fun with the slave-hunter, or moan
like Uncle Tom in his agony; and, when bverpowered by fatigue, I fell asleep, it was to dream
of these scenes, amid the sultry calm of a dog-day
on the Mississippi, on the hot sands of Africa, or
surrounded by pestilence in New Orleans. At





124:


A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


length from this haunted and unrefreshing slumber,
I was roused by the gray dawn which stole in at the
casement,- and banished the fevered visions of the
night.
While breakfast was preparing I stepped over to
the hairdresser's, and under his tonsorial operation,
was, perforce obliged to gaze directly forward; the
shop had been newly papered, and, with consternation, I discovered that the entire wall exhibited
innumerable tableaux, of Uncle Tom and little Eva,
identical in design with the frontispiece of that
once popular tract of Mrs. Sherwood's, called " Little Henry and his Bearer," which an intelligent
critic has proved, as far as analogous extracts can
do so, suggested the idea of this religious slave.
Almost frantic with the reappearance of this lion, I
determined, immediately after breakfast, to change
the scene; but had scarcely taken my seat in the
car, when a farmer and a commercial traveller began an animated discussion as to the probability of
a servile war in America, as the consequence of
Uncle Tom's advent; while a quaker lady opposite,
lamented, with ejaculations of pious horror, the
wickedness of Carolinians in keeping their negroes
heathens. Presently the subject was taken up by
an elderly gentleman, in a sportsman's garb, and
before we were half-way to London, the book was
thoroughly discussed. I then, as on several other
occasions, was astonished at the ignorance displayed





LIONS.


125


even by the middle class of English; they were,
evidently, unaware of the geography of American
slavery, and imagined the question to be within the
habitual scope of national legislation; it was declared, that whipping blacks to death was a common
sight in the streets of Boston, and intimated that a
vote of Congress, like that of the British parliament
which emancipated the slaves of the West Indies,
was the simple process requisite to annihilate the
institution, with perfect safety to the nation and
comfort to the negroes. I tried to divert myself, at
the stations, by watching the guard and passengers,
or examining the lofty glass domes which form so
elegant a roof to the car-houses, but hucksters continually offered the railway edition of " Uncle Tom"
for a shilling, and its title and effigy appeared, on
enormous placards, over the book-stalls at every
dep3t.
As luck, or rather fate, would have it, the night
of my arrival, I was induced to join a party for
the theatre. We entered the box of Drury-Lane
just as the curtain was rising; the scene represented
the quay at New Orleans; on a cotton-bale was
extended a figure clad in nankeen, and a palm-leaf
hat, with a whip in one hand and a lighted cigar in
the other; he was the image of languor and indifference, hardly capable, it seemed, of lifting the
long, smoking coil of tobacco to his lips; suddenly
he rose to his feet, moving to and fro with prodi




126


A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


gious alacrity, and bellowing forth a rigmarole of
Yankee phrases, evidently borrowed fromI Hill or
Hackett, while he flourished the lash over thirty or
forty begrimmed supernumeraries of all sizes, arrayed
in tow-cloth and stripped cotton, who hopped about
the stage, yelling at each blow, like so many imps
of darkness. At the entrance of Uncle Tom, a very
fat actor, with a smutty face, whose accent and pronunciation were those of a London cabman or shopkeeper in the Strand, there was a terrific burst of applause; then came the sound of the aspirated vowels
and words, such as might have been gleaned from
"Law's Serious Call," to which the screams of the
grotesque crowd, the twirling of Topsy (a very tall,
thin girl, with two breadths of crash pendent from
a neck streaked with burnt cork), and the cracking of
the Yankee planter's whip, were unceasing accompaniments; two females, in the next box, began to
weep hysterically, while our risibles and disgust,
excited in equal proportions, obliged us to beat a
precipitate retreat. Not willing to lose our evening's amusement, we drove to a minor theatre;
there Uncle Tom appeared as the hero of a melodrama, with the novelty of tropical vegetation
introduced in Canadian scenery, and Celeste, as
agile as ever, doing Cassy in the most intense style
of French pantomime; a single act was all we could
endure, and, hastening to Astley's, we saw Uncle
Tom hunted by horsemen, until he sank down ex




LIONS.


127


hausted at the foot-lights, and died to slow music,
just as his companions brandished their knives, in
triumph, over the corpses of a score of whites, amid
the bravos of the audience.
It was then proposed to visit a moot court, held
in an inn off Fleet street, known by the suspicious
name of the " Coal-Hole."  Although, with these
dark experiences yet casting their shadows over me,
I did not relish the black title of this judicial resort,
yet willing to see a diversion peculiar to London,
and at the same time, escape, as I fondly imagined,
the dark lion who had dogged me so inveterately, I
acquiesced in the proposal, and we soon found ourselves beside a table in the retired chamber of Nicholson's tavern; several parties were enjoying their
supper quietly in the long and rather dusky room;
and here and there reclined a solitary individual,
with his mug of ale before him, or two fast boys consulting a newspaper as they sipped their toddy.
Presently the chief-justice and lawyers entered in
their robes and huge wigs, with bundles of papers
tied with red tape, and all the formal dignity and
salutations usual upon the opening of a court. One
of the pseudo-advocates was the image of Lord
Brougham; the natural language of his nose, and
the working of his facial muscles, increased the
resemblance, which was further confirmed by a
studied imitation of the chancellor's style of address
and manner of speaking. The case was opened,





128


A MONTH IN ENGLAND,


after a little skirmishing of wit between the rival
lawyers, by the counsel for the plantiff; and the
merry twinkle of his eye, as well as the humorous
intonation of his voice, prepared me to expect no
little amusement, and the hydra-headed lion was
forgotten. Imagine, then, my despair at the exordium: "Gentlemen of the jury, the case which
will be presented to your notice, this evening, is no
less important as a precedent than original in the
annals of English jurisprudence. You are aware
that an individual is now the honored guest of this
kingdom, idolized in the highest circles, followed
by enthusiastic multitudes, the object of absorbing
interest to the gifted, and the benevolent, the confidant even of our titled countrywomen, some of
whom, I regret to say, in their blind enthusiasm,
forgetful of the native modesty which has heretofore distinguished their sex in this realm, have
admitted him to their bondoirs, clasped him to their
chaste bosoms, shed tears over his past history, and
sworn to console his future life; stately dowagers,
and blushing virgins, bishops and peers, rich merchants and professional leaders, all classes and ranks
have united to do him honor. What, then, gentlemen, will you think of the temerity of the man who
has ventured to insult and persecute this endeared
stranger? I need not anticipate the firmness with
which you will visit upon the defendant, in such a
case as this, the penalty of the law. Gentlemen,





LIONS.


129


this action is brought by Uncle Tom against Mr.
Smith of the Adelphi theatre, for misrepresenting
him on the stage, and thereby ruining his matrimonial prospects with Miss Coutts, his lately affianced bride."  I will not attempt to describe the
arguments on either side, the examination of the
heiress, or her discarded lover, both of whom appeared in the witness box, the eloquent harangues,
the funny dialogue, or the solemn rebukes from the
bench. Suffice it to say, that another phase comic
enough to upset the gravity of an ascetic, of this
protean theme, was exhibited. We hastened away,
and entered the Divan to sup, but had scarcely taken
our places at a side-table, when in swaggered three
cockneys, vociferously discussing the speeches they
had just heard at Exeter-hall, opposite, in which all
the illustrations of rhetorical philanthropy, had been
drawn from Uncle Tom; and I resigned myself to
this finale of the evening's adventures, with an absolute conviction of the impossibility of escaping a
London lion.
Impressed with the availability of social evils as
subjects for "lions," by this success of Uncle Tom,
I could not but think how easily they were to be
found here. A spicy farce suggested itself as I
thought of the innumerable traps to catch a sixpence which, at every step in England, reduce the
stranger's vision of her past greatness, and his
relish of her presnt comfort, to a mood of thoroughly
6*





130


A AIMONTH IN ENGLAND.


commonplace annoyance. Before the regalia of
her kings, beside the ancient sarcophagi of her
buried royalty, in the magnificent temple of her
faith, above the sacred dust of her heroes, in the
splendid domains of her nobility, upon entering a
cab, pew, opera-box, or bath, always and everywhere, a hat is touched, a hand outstretched, and
the sentiment of the place, and the rights of the
man, made to dwindle into a miserable consciousness,
that "to poke about for pence" is the normal life
of Great Britain. It may be artistically objected,
that a sixpence, not being personal and incarnated,
lacks the essential quality of a lion, which is individuality. But, we have only to look at the fine
display of rabbits and pheasants at the marketwindow, or go from a dissenting chapel to a cathedral service, to find a living substitute for the metallic beast. With all the facts and figures before
us relative to the monopoly of game, and the luxurious selfishness of the potentates of the establishment, how little genius is needed to make a nucleus
for popular sympathy and indignation, out of a
poacher and a dean! The extreme view of the
social abuse each typifies, with a careful ignoring
of their practical modification and complex relations,
is all that is requisite. An American, habituated
to the sight of prosperous labor, has only to see a
spectral child emerge from the shaft of a coal mine,
look at the pinched features of a female operative





LIONS.


131


in one of the manufacturing towns, or try to understand a barbarian Welsh peasant raving for work,
in order to have his imagination excited to a degree
of philanthropic intensity, adequate to the conception of a " moving tale."  The first walk I took on
English ground, was upon Christmas day, and, in a
quiet street, I was startled by a shout evidently
from a host of children, but the pathos of the sound
was inexpressible; it breathed a kind of smothered
gladness; there was a latent despair in it strangely
blent with infantile weakness. I inquired its meaning, and was answered; "It is the cheer of the
workhouse children at the sight of meat."  In the
first coach-office I entered, two men, with lowering
brows, were consulting about the pursuit of a fugitive, who had set fire to a hay-rick belonging to -the
vicar, in revenge for having paid away his last shilling for parish-rates. On landing, I encountered the
anomaly of a customhouse officer acting as sentinel,
who, not being able to read, could not recognise the
permit I offered for transferring baggage to the
shore; and this was not an isolated fact, but a significant proof of the want of popular education in
Great Britain.
The slow perception of the common people, and
their utter want of interest in anything beyond
their vocation, is one of the most striking contrasts
to an American. Thousands are fated to a hopeless
routine, from which there is no escape, nor any ad




132


132A MU ItIJ'TNP EN LANDR


vancement in prospect for their children, except
through emigration; stultified with beer and tobacco, it is difficult to obtain an intelligent response
from any of the lower orders, to the most ordinary
question. One sees in their stolid looks and incurious minds a fatal hopelessness, the natural
consequence of a fixed and limited destiny; and
taking the press as a chart whereby the degree and
quality of national culture may be estimated, do we
not daily find in the ferocious personalities and ungenerous comments on other governments, and in the
revolting details of crime, painful traces of barbaric
tastes? From the iron rule of a mercantile company in London over millions of Hindus, on the
other side of the globe, to the savage delight exhibited by the mob in the bloody scenes of the
ring, there is evident a gross love of brute force inconsistent with high civilization. The state-trials
of Great Britain involve tragedies deeper and more
appalling than her literature embalms. A history
of taxation in the kingdom would prove the keenest
satire on its civilization. The most effective characters for pathetic novels to be found, are discoverable among the ushers and governesses of England.
Lambeth palace is a monument of ecclesiastical
persecution. The most touching imaginable evidence of woman's appreciation of rare sympathy,
is to be recognised in the small and united contributions of London sempstresses to Hood's monument.





LIONS.


133


The most revolting instance of vulgar cupidity anywhere visible, occurs daily in the wretched little
cabins of the English steamers that cross the Channel, where two burly sailors go round soliciting a
gratuity from passengers prostrated by sea-sickness.
A  fat church dignitary, his skin rubicund with
years of vinous circulation, reading a moiety of the
service, which is completed by a poor, laborious
canon, is the greatest conceivable satire upon
Christianity. The hollow cough from unventilated
rooms in smoky Staffordshire, pleads to the humane
with keener emphasis, as the baying of the hounds
vibrates over the green fields adjacent, proclaiming
that a score of surfeited squires are enjoying the
pure air after a sumptuous breakfast. In these,
and a hundred other incidental experiences of the
traveller in Great Britain, there are revelations of
immense injustice to humanity; but the rational
mind is ever aware that the possible evils of all
systems are alleviated by individual conscience,
good sense, and kindness; and that it would be as
unphilosophical as unchristian to accept the exaggerated pictures of social abuses drawn by fanatical
invention, as expositions of national character; only
those whose nature's plague it is " to pry into
abuses," or those who studiously magnify the blots
on the escutcheon of a people, can find delight in
such a perversion of melancholy truth.
Although several weeks had elapsed since the





134


A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


duke of Wellington's funeral, that event was still
the prevalent idea. It seemed as if the demise of
the most permanent and legitimate lion ever known
to the metropolis, was destined only to prolong his
reign. Besides the fixed memorials of his place in
the nation's heart, the statues and the princely
abode, at every window was visible his "counterfeit presentment," in all the phases of his existence:
at church, before the troops, in a morning walk,
writing, reading, praying, asleep, and on horseback;
in his castle, and his apartment at the Horse-Guards,
at club and church, and, finally, on his couch of
death, and as he lay in state. In the latter representation at Madame Tussaud's, the illusion was so
complete as to be shocking; it was difficult to realize that the livid wax was not the honored chieftain's clay. To the citizens so long habituated to
regard the duke as the greatest man in England,
perhaps there was nothing incongruous in the popular oblation to his memory; but to the stranger in
London, in whose imagination he is an historical and
not a local character, the attempt to draw the line
between the sublime and the ridiculous, between
familiar notoriety and universal respect, in these
demonstrations, was by no means easy. In spite of
the wish "to do him    reverence," the question
would suggest itself-what substitute for his nose
can Punch discover?
When I saw the misty banners hanging about





LIONS.


135


the chalky promontory of Dover, as the wind lashed
the channel into foam, I thought of the hoary warden as a noble epitome of English honor and courage; the space he filled in the public eye seemed
proportioned to the extent of his services, and the
dignity of his office and name; and I felt a thrill
at the grandeur of the vigil he seemed yet to keep
on the natural ramparts of the sea-girded isle; but
these associations were sadly invaded by the transition from hero-worship to cockneyism, from the
idea of the conqueror at Waterloo to that of the
lion of London.
The truth is that noble enthusiasm has no greater
foe than the snob. Sycophancy trenches sadly upon
the function of reverence. The deference to mere
rank and title accuses the integrity of the tribute
offered to genius and worth. A party of English
and Americans arrived together at the bridge of
Menai, and their respective behavior was characteristic; the Americans puzzled the guide with inquiries as to the mechanism and philosophy of the
wonderful structure, while the first question of the
English party was, " Where did her majesty stand?"
A manly-looking yeoman we encountered at Chatsworth, was so eager to show us what we imagined
would prove a novel specimen of the vegetable
world, that we turned aside and followed a devious
path, only to be amused at the look of solemn admiration with which he pointed to a couple of sap




136


A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


lings, and informed.us they were planted by the
Queen and Prince Albert. It is this subserviency
to artificial distinction which vulgarizes even true
fame.
When I had satisfied the ardent curiosity, which,
for the first hour of my visit to Apsley house, riveted attention to the specimens of modern art which
decorated its walls; and my mind was free to revert
to those associations which identify it, as a whole,
with the career of the great English soldier, I found
that the duke's simple and unadorned chamber
most perfectly realized the idea of the chieftain as
he lives in the imagination. The absence of ornament, the camp-bed, and meagre furniture, were in
harmony with that self-denial and independence of
the conventional, worthy of a hero. That the residence of a wealthy English gentleman should be
crowded with the best productions of artists, was a
fact merely indicative of good taste and prosperity
not unpleasing to contemplate. It was gratifying
to the heart and conscience to think of a just reward for years of self-sacrifice and fidelity thus
achieved.  No more appropriate temple to enshrine the works of Landseer and Wilkie, the portraits of the brave and the gifted, and the luxurious
appendages of domestic enjoyment, can be imagined, than the house of a devoted public servant
and victorious officer. But the same feeling was
not excited by a view of the trophies and emblems





LIONS.


137


of his success. It seemed at once contrary to good
taste, and discordant with the magnanimous spirit
of true greatness, to place at the foot of the staircase,
like a captive bound for ever to the wheels of his
triumphant chariot, the colossal image of Napoleon,
and to spread before his eyes the picture of his own
successful battlefield. These may well be garnered,
with the banners and regalia of the conquered foe,
in the national halls, but to make them the familiar
adornments of the soldier's house, appeared rather
the dictate of self-complacency than self-respect.
When I surveyed this apotheosis of self-esteem,
while the cockneys were absorbed in criticising
Grant's " Melton Hunt," or looking through their
eye-glasses, with many a chuckle, upon the marble
brow of the devastating genius whose power was
crushed under the supervision of their victorious
duke, I recognised in his abode the epitome and
ideal of an Englishman. The paramount good
sense, the stern loyalty, the thorough conservatism,
the systematic habits, vital integrity, practical but
calm zeal, and native moderation, of the duke, were
a sublimation and concentration of those qualities
which insure the material well-being, and the respectability of the nation. There was more pride
than poetry, however, in the scene, more of the
prestige of success than the romance of genius;
and it was difficult for the mind of the spectator to
combine, in one person, the indefatigable young





138          A MONTH IN ENGLAND.
soldier of the East, the man who stemmed the torrent of war in the peninsula, and who stood firm,
patient, judicious, and resolved, at Waterloo, with
the venerable object of daily observation and record for such a long series of years, in London. It
was still the lion versus the hero.





A D~AY AT OXFOIRDS
Oxford, ancient mother!I hoary with ancestral honors, and haply, it may be,
tlmae-shattered power.
Div QJiNCimy.










SI.


A DAY AT OXFORD.
IT was new-year's morning when I awoke in
Oxford, but the anniversary so hilarious in my native land, there had what Byron calls an " old feel."
The fashion of the upholstery seen from the canopied observatory of the stately bed, the profound
stillness, a certain musty odor peculiar to venerable
chambers, and the very design of the grate in which
the remains of a huge coal-fire smouldered, betokened a conservative locality. A glance from the
window confirmed the impression.    The plaster
had fallen, in many places, from the front of the
opposite house, and the gray slates on the quaint
gable-roofs were broken; the shops of stationer,
tobacconist, and chemist, displayed their wares
meagrely, as if too well known to require advertisment; and near by rose the wide court walls,
gray pillars, statues, and cornices, of Queen's college. A gownsman, with square, silk cap, passed





142


A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


rapidly, in the twilight of that winter morning; and,
beyond the long range of buildings, masses of glazed
twigs were printed on the leaden sky. Nor was the
sensation of age lessened, when I descended the
dark staircase to the large, dim coffee-room, with its
tall columns, and shadowy paintings. The waiters
moved slower, and were more deferential than elsewhere; their years, too, accorded with the place;
all was "grand, gloomy, and peculiar;" and, as I
sat at my lonely breakfast, in an angle of the spacious room, it seemed as if many a scholastic reverie and dream of literary fame, born of solitary
enthusiasm, yet lingered in the silent air; and
when, at evening, the white-haired host and hostess
of "The Angel" bowed us out to the very coachdoor, the day's experience closed with the sanction
of an old and almost obsolete custom.
Each of the twenty-four colleges has an individual
charm, such as habit would naturally endear; and
this accounts for the sti'ong local attachment they
inspire. In one a beautiful walk, in another the
Gothic splendor of the chapel; here an organ of
thrilling harmony, and there a hall with some
favorite portrait; the mellow hues of a painted
window, the exquisite workmanship of a shrine,
and even, to epicurean imaginations, the delectable
association of the refectory, are spells to win and
hold the sympathies; a library, a choir, or a tree,
such as here exist, may easily become the nucleus





A DAY AT OXFORD.


143


of youthful sentiment. In truth, Oxford typifies
the luxury of knowledge; it is the scholar's paradise. To the visiter from the New World, where
our acquisitions are no sooner made than used,
where we study to teach, and the active employment of learning is the very condition of its attainment, these ancient receptacles of science and letters, crowned with the graces of art, embo'omed
in the charms of nature, and hallowed by the memories of so many sages and bards, strike the imagination like an eastern romance. To sleep in these
dormitories, wander under these noble trees, pray
in these beautiful chapels, explore unmolested, and,
at leisure, for years, these records of the mind in all
tongues, and of all ages, is to actualize a grand intellectual dream, and to grow calm in an atmosphere
of wisdom. The noiseless doors, carpeted galleries,
towers fretted by time, and made aerial in mrnoonlight, features of the great departed beaming from
the silent walls, green arcades to wander through
in June, and dark-veined festal-boards around which
to cluster on winter nights, forms of saints and martyrs, tomes in which are garnered the choicest pearls
of knowledge, hushed rooms opening on corridors
dim with time, and vast quadrangles through which
the spring-bird's trill wakes the echoes of ages, form
an environment to a contemplative nature, which
unites the tranquillity of seclusion to the delights of
taste. It is not surprising that, to minds thus cra




144:


A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


died, in their most susceptible era, the mere names
of Oriel, All-Souls', or Christ's, should become watchwords, in after-life, of endearment and inspiration.
The poetry of academic life is here concentrated;
study is idealized and consecrated, and the scholar's
life enshrined.  I roamed through the churches,
halls, museums, and libraries of Oxford, with a new
consciousness of the dignity of human nature. The
old cassia-tree by the president's door at Magdalen,
planted on the day of his inauguration, sixty-five
years ago, symbolized, in the slow gradations of its
vegetable life, the mechanical existence of the unenlightened and unprogressive intellect, compared
with the life here realized. I seemed to behold
anew "the countenance of Truth in the still air of
delightful studies."
Even a stranger recognises these distinctive features, with special interest; and they serve to impress each college on the memory. Thus the groves
and ivy-clad arches of Magdalen, the high trees of
Christ's, the statue in the court of Brazennose, the
sundial designed by Wren in the quadrangle of AllSouls', individualize them in the retrospect. It was
in the hollow square, enclosed by Queen's, that
Webster made an agricultural speech, the eloquence
of which is still lauded by the old porter; its libra
ry is exquisitely ornamented with Gibbons' carving.
In the park of New college are yet traceable the
fortifications of Cromwell's time; there is an oaken





A DAY AT OXFOiRD.


145


door in St. Mary's church, which once communicated with the Bocardo prison, where Cranmer was
in durance. Were it not for these and similar tokens, the visiter would retain but a confused idea
of humid cloisters, dark chapels, pale escutcheons,
inscribed entablatures, mellow pictures, and long
ranges of crowded bookshelves. The most characteristic and delightful indication of the different colleges, however, is to be found in the memorials of
founders, benefactors, and graduates. One is hallowed by the grave but affable countenance of Jeremy Taylor, another by the monument to old Burton;
here, as in life, may be seen the face of the author
of the " Night Thoughts," and there that of the poet
whose " Missionary Hymn" keeps his sacred zeal
fresh in our thoughts. For the lawyer, there is the
statue of Blackstone; for the painter, Mary and Jesus after the Resurrection, by Mengs; for the geologist, crystal from Madagascar; now we are arrested by an altar-piece sculptured by Westmacott, and
anon charmed with the glow of a Nativity-window
designed by Reynolds. The corridor reminds us of
the Campo Santo of Pisa in its silent and arched
solitude; and an elm-avenue with deer is like Chatsworth or Windsor; the black and moss-grown architecture of one nook is contrasted with the fresh
wood and airy style of a modernized angle; one
moment we enter an alcove, where a loving reader
would be oblivous of time for hours, and the next
7





146


A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


behold an effigy whose grim quaintness transports
us to the infancy of art; now we see an arrangement of candles and reading-desk, in the chapel, so
like mother-church, as at once to announce the
headquarters of Puseyism; and again look round
the dining-room of the Fellows, upon the old silver,
the easy-chairs, thick carpet, and dark mahogany,
that invariably prophesy fine sirloins and old wine.
Indeed, a most savory odor from antique butteries
often testified, during the survey, to that union of
good viands and monastic shelter which song and
legend attribute to the jolly friars.
The bowers of wisdom are not exempt from human weakness, and rank asserts its privileges here
with the same emphasis as in the great world. Not
only are there grades of scholastic title from servitor
to dean, but there are those who drink beer and
those whose beverage is port and sherry; there are
dark, angular caps for the student, and a gay sash
for the doctor of music; the greetings of the menial
are graduated in the shades of the academy as in
the halls of fashion, by these badges of distinction;
the chancellor, regent, proctor, and steward, may
bandy the " insolence of office;" the oldest Fellow
awaits impatiently the death of him he trusts to
succeed in dignity and emolument; the young aristocrat lords it over the yeoman's son, although such
was the lineage of the martyr who here lighted up
a fire " that has never gone out."  Men of rare en




A DAY IN OXFORD.


14-7


dowments indolently waste their energies in these
pleasant halls, following out some idiosyncracy of
their own, utterly valueless in its results; and men
of vast erudition rust away that honor which a useful life can alone keep bright. The days of the isolated and monastic scholar have passed; a railway
connects the university and the metropolis; public
sentiment, national enterprise, and the spirit of the
age, invade the retreats of learning, and demand,
with a voice whose mandate can not be neglected
with impunity, that the scholar now should act with
and serve his race.
In these cloistral and umbrageous haunts, how
many of our favorite authors passed their youth!
By this gate of Pembroke, Johnson improvised daily
to a group of his fellow-students; somewhat of Addison's classic dignity was imbibed from the antique
grandeur and verdant beauty of Magdalen, where he
dwelt; and the walk that bears his name must have
yielded him many a graceful image; for, as I followed its paths, even at that inclement season, the
meadow it encloses was green, the elms and beeches
hung their fantastic tracery in picturesque confusion overhead, and the notes of thrushes and robins
rose cheerily from the hedge. That omniverous
bibliopole, De Quincey, here laid up stores of reflective wisdom, afterward bountifully dispensed
through "The London Magazine;" and Chaucer
here found the divining-rod that opened the "fount





148


A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


of English undefiled."   No American can pass
Berkeley's monument, in Christ's church, without
being gratefully mindful of his bequest to the poor
college of New England; or remember without emotion that here Roger Williams was educated. Jeffrey, the Edinburgh critic, here passed " a few uncomfortable years;" Sir Thomas More, Sir Walter
Raleigh, Chillingsworth, Clarendon, Locke, Gibbon,
and Fox, here studied. Is it not a suggestive practical comment on university life, that the only names
with which an ancient seat of learning is associated
are those of a few authors? It is the light which
radiates, not that which is enclosed, that vindicates
scholarship. It is those men who, by the force of
circumstances or the impulse of genius, dispensed
the knowledge here acquired, that makes Oxford
precious to the world. There is an intellectual aristocracy as selfishly exclusive as any based on wealth
or title. " Small have continual plodders ever won,"
says Shakspere, "save base authority from others'
books." The conservatism of learning is often as
great an obstacle to humanity as that of ignorance.
Oxford itself presents the anomaly of a monument
to designate the spot where three of the most pious
and brave of English churchmen were burned at the
stake for anti-catholic opinions- the professors and
students cheering with fiendish joy; and this in the
very centre of national enlightenment. In our own
time, a most pure, lofty, and disinterested youth of





A DAY IN OXFORD.


149


genius was ignominiously cast from her bosom;
and Shelley, the atheistic boy, made to feel the ban
of unchristian bigotry, when he most needed the
light of wisdom and the shelter of charity.
The system of buying themselves out of the prescribed routine, is an abuse which reduces the privileges of Oxford students to a merely technical form.
Tutorships and lectures, nay, books and cabinets,
are obviously but so many external resources, the
use and abuse of which are entirely dependent on
the will of the recipient; and such is the perversity
of human nature and the caprice of fortune, that intellectual achievement is often in the inverse ratio
of outward advantage. Experience of life and means
only realized through great exertion and sacrifice,
have been and are the most efficient sources of mental growth; properly speaking, all men that are
really educated, are self-educated; and it is the
judgment, the labor, and the love of the scholar
alone, that enable him, from the most complete
armament, to gain, temper, and skilfully use, the
weapons of learning.
It has been said that we are to the modern English author a kind of living posterity; and it may,
with equal truth, be declared that the old authors
of England are our intellectual ancestry: and I know
not of a more interesting experience to the American traveller, than his first acquaintance with the
authentic portraits of those whom he has long re




150


A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


garded as intimate literary benefactors. This enjoyment is realized in perfection in the picture-gallery of the Bodleian library at Oxford. Guy Fawkes'
lantern, and the letter that betrayed him; the theatre where the allied sovereigns received degrees
after the battle of Waterloo; the antique orrery,
the twisted arch, Cardinal Wolsey's chair, the carved
roof, a large bell, and Dr. Pusey's lodgings, awaken
and gratify his curiosity: but the lineaments of
those he delights to honor, and whose productions
have contributed to his own development, attract a
higher sympathetic regard. Ranged as they are
beside historical characters, the imagination is kept
on the wing, as it expatiates in the different eras of
English history, and revives the memories of genius
that illustrated, adorned, or was sacrificed to them.
To wander, for hours, through this silent multitude,
comparing the expression of each with our previous
conception, and with their characters as revealed
in their books, is one of the most absorbing and delightful of the pleasures of Oxford.
There is Shirley, the dramatist, whose penseroso
look accords entirely with the melancholy passion
to which he gave such vivid utterance; Dryden, by
Kneller, shows keen intelligence in his eye, which
is full as the organ of language; at a later period
his likeness gains in dignity by the altitude of the
brow; his mouth, in both pictures, indicates a sensuous aptitude and a flexible will. Clarendon is





A DAY IN OXFORD.


151


the prototype of talent, superciliousness, and luxury. Sir Godfrey understood Addison perfectly:
how coldly elegant and refined is his whole air;
there is no ardor but much clearness in the eye;
the cut of the lips is decidedly handsome, and the
coat and wig are those of a gentleman. Compare
him with Swift, who hangs near by: what a fiery
eye, combative, wilful, arrogant, quick-tempered,
and yet latently-genial look -too belligerent and
egotistic, however, for the gown and bands. In
striking contrast is the kindly, timid, and yet tasteful physiognomy of Prior. Now comes another of
Vandyke's Charles I.; and the more we study the
familiar cotntenance, the more inclined we shall be
to agree with the superstitious Italian, who read
therein a tragic fate. The corkscrew ringlets of
Henrietta, and her blond cheeks, suggest, however,
no fit companion for such a destiny. Charles II.,
by Lely, adjacent, has a debauched air and a scornful play of features; his manners must have been
indeed attractive, to neutralize the repulsive mould
of the lower part of his face. How fat and coarse
appears Queen Anne, by Kneller, beside the pale,
ruffed, and hooded Mary of Scotland, with her delicately-chiselled features. James II. looks exactly
as conceited, narrow, and amorous, as history paints
him. Duns Scotus has the aspect of an intellectual
gladiator. Paracelsus, with his aquiline nose and
muscular neck, his refined mouth and large crani




152


A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


urn, unites the signs of mental vigor and acuteness.
How keen is Locke's thin face; and how quaint Lord
Burleigh going to parliament on his mule. The
next picture is a curiosity as well as a memorial;
it is a " poker-drawing"- the head of Sir Philip
Sidney burnt into wood by Dr. Griffith. The forehead is beautiful, the temples ideal, and the hair
full of grace, with unusual space between the eyes.
What a strong, clear, out-looking expression has
Luther, as depicted by Holbein; a kind of bulldog
tenacity joined to a tempered sweetness and frank
courage-the whole Teutonic. Handel's brow is
fine, but the upper lip is too long, and the expression is that of self-esteem. Scaliger's head is wonderful, a noble forehead over a mean lower face.
Lord Stafford, as painted by Vandyke, while full of
intelligence, has a vindictive look that baffles confidence. Sir Kenelm Digby is very handsome and
expressive, the mouth loving, the eye wise, the
beard picturesque, the chicaro 'scuro finely managed,
and the whole effect generous and noble. Bishop
Sprat's portrait incarnates clerical prosperity; there
is something very sweet in Sir Thomas Browne's
mouth, while his knowing eye, high and fair brow,
dark mustache and wig, fresh complexion, and long
visage, are quite worthy of a benign philosopher;
his expression, when attentively sought, is that of
subdued eagerness. Under him is Montaigne, with
a full brow, a reddish mustache, and good nose; he





A DAY IN OXFORD.


153


wears a peaked beard and a sparse collar; the lips
are full, especially the lower; it is a face of decided
character, in which the prevailing expression is contemplative, more abstracted than observant. Dr.
South has a vigorous look, accordant with his tone
of mind; the lower jaw is of a sensuous mould, the
eye is dreamy; and, altogether, there is something
very fresh, strong, and acute, in the union of ruddy
cheeks and dark, visionary eyes, while a sardonic
gleam modifies their expression. Butler looks sneering; Pope bright and handsome; Cowley odd and
discontented; Ben Jonson hale and bluff; Lord
Eldon bullyish; and a portrait of Dr. Aldrich, by
Reynolds, with open shirt-collar and fur-cap, is singularly lifelike. As I recognised the hard and firm
purpose and the wily insight of Wolsey in Holbein's
picture, I could not but compare it with Shakspere's:
"Though from an humble stock, undoubtedly
Was fashioned to much honor. From his cradle
He was a scholar, and a ripe and good one;
Exceeding wise, fair spoken, and persuading:
Lofty and sour to them who loved him not;
But to those men that sought him, sweet as summer."
Dr. Clarke's face is fine; that of Grotius angular,
with a square and by no means lofty forehead;
Erasmus looks study-worn and misanthropic; Marlborough, in his bust, full of confidence, and the
effect of his brilliant air is diminished by an arrogant expression.
7*





154:


A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


The combination of town, rural attraction, and
venerable university buildings, enhances the effect
of Oxford, when viewed from the roof of the Ratcliffe library, or beheld in detail while passing
through the streets. The towers rise at intervals
from the midst of houses like hoary sentinels-the
intellectual beacons of a kingdom whose prevailing
features are material prosperity and need. Thick
and lofty masses of foliage give a refreshing tone to
the otherwise neutral hues of the picture. The meadows, so broad and green, through which flows the
Isis, and the long vistas of leafy walks and shadowy
turf, are the more pleasing, encountered, as they are,
in the immediate vicinity of busy streets. The twilight of courts, halls, and chapels, is more impressive to the eye dazzled with the glare and variegated
tints of shop-windows; and the meditative air of
the galleries and chapter-house becomes thrice pleasing because the sights and sounds of ordinary life
are audible without their quiet precincts. It is a
great impulse to high association, to look up from
one's daily meals to the noble array of renowned
characters whose early studies are identified with
this asylum of knowledge. The celebrated Morales
representing Christ bearing his cross; the magnificent antique head of Alexander, with lips parted in
expressive power; the stained-glass window-trophy of an obsolete art; and the picturesque sylvan
glories of the place, unite in an harmonious inspira




A DAY AT OXFORD.


155


tion in the ideal mood that so many relics excite.
The sentiment of reverence hallows thus perpetually the scene of education, and gives an habitual
sense of dignity to the pursuits which here engage
the mind. Incalculable is the advantage thus gained
to character. No one, however, with the least moral
sensibility, contemplates the rich variety of means,
examples, and illustrations of human culture, thus
garnered and centralized, without a painful consciousness of the inadequacy of his own singleness
of aim and opportunites for intellectual development. So vast a field of inquiry, such an ample
page of science, is revealed, even by a casual view,
that we are oppressed at the wealth of ideas placed
within the mental grasp, and humiliated at our own
limited capacity. On the other hand, we recognise,
with fresh perception, that law by which the mind
can only assimilate what is kindred to itself; we remember that to each soul is given special endowments; that, to a great extent, the mathematician,
the philologist, and the reasoner, are born such as
truly as the poet; and that only by strictly following the native tendency of his own instinctive gift,
can the individual essentially improve. The difference between a Parr and a Bacon is felt at Oxford,
where the annals of the university so clearly indicate the immense disparity between mere acquisition and original thought; the ability to furnish
the mind, and to exercise it; the genius and the





156          A MONTH IN ENGLAND.
will to discover and promulgate new truth, and
the ignoble narrowness that reposes, without an aspiration, within the formal entrenchments of the
past.





ART.
In the fine arts mere imitation is always fruitless; what we borrow from others
must be again, as it were, born in us, to produce a poetical effect.
SCHLEGEL.










VII.


ART.
COMFORT and utility are too exclusively the national ideal, for art to be other than an exotic plant
in England; where it is an indigenous product, the
result, though often exquisite, is limited. A few
deservedly celebrated native artists illustrate this
department of human culture; but they are comparatively isolated. In no broad sense can art be
said to have attained the dignity of a national language, an expression and representation of the universal mind, as in ancient Greece, modern Italy, and
Germany. The sense of beauty and devotion to the
ideal, are rare exceptions, not normal phases of
English character. As a general truth, it may be
declared, that art flourishes in Great Britain socially
as an aristocratic element; popularly, under a humorous guise; and professionally, in the lives of a
small number of men of decided genius. The absence of taste is manifest, at once, in the dwellings,





160


A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


the costume, and the ordinary arrangements of life;
and when a shape or a scene arrests the eye by its artistic merit, they are usually related to convenience
and economy. In the landscape gardening, railway
dep6ts, cutlery, fireplaces, bridges, pottery, and
hay-ricks, we often see the most striking grace,
appropriateness, and skill; but seldom do the same
characteristics assert themselves in domestic architecture or statuary. A tunnel, brewery, or chintz
pattern, are more significant of the national mind
than exclusive forms of art. Beauty is chiefly allied
to the service of trade and wealth. In vehicles and
ship-building the Americans excel their brother
utilitarians. As a use art is prolific in England, as
an aspiration sterile. The superb private collections
are made up almost entirely of foreign pictures;
and these, from the fact of their being an individual
luxury, instead of a popular blessing, as on the
continent, testify, like the conservatories filled with
tropical flowers, to a rare and costly gratification.
Look at the history of national development in
literature, and on the stage, and how exuberant is
the product, and general the appreciation, compared
with that which attends the fine arts.
We have been reproached with our absurd imitation of classic models in public buildings, designed
for purposes of mere convenience or traffic; but
there are more anomalies in stone in London than
of wood in the cities of America; no specimens of





ART.


161


incongruous architecture can outvie many of the
churches of the British metropolis. Club-houses
boast there the most expensive embellishment;
Cruikshank is the most popular limner; the engraver often grows rich, while the historical painter is
driven to suicidal despair. And, in the case of
successful men of genius, in the higher branches of
art, what is the process of their triumph over financial
difficulties? that of noble patronage or academic
favor. The most lucrative sphere of painting in
England is portraiture; and to render it such, great
ability must coincide with the endorsement of a
clique, and the prestige of fashion. Reynolds and
Lawrence were the oracles of the Royal Academy,
and the pets of the aristocracy. Flaxman, Barry,
and Gainsborough, were unappreciated while they
lived. St. Paul's and Westminster Abbey are grand
and memorable exceptions to the general dearth of
architectural grandeur in a city of unequalled magnitude.
There are, too, special causes which limit the
enjoyment of such art as does exist. To view pictures is a contemplative act, one which demands
time and self-possession; and he who has once
acquired the habit of musing, by the hour, in the
tribune of the Florence gallery, or passing days in
the halls of the Vatican, will scarcely endure twice
the martyrdom of being led around by a gabbling
cicerone, with a flock of other victims, to catch





162


A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


glimpses of the pictures in an English mansion.
The very aspect of resorts intended to gratify taste,
shows, to the practised eye; that art is not native
here, nor " to the manner born." Compare a London arcade with the Palais Royal, the arrangement
of goods in a shop in Regent street, and the manners of the attendant, with those encountered in the
Rue Vivienne, or the Piazza San Marco; or a visit
to the National Academy and the Louvre; how
mean the surroundings, and commonplace the rooms
of the one, and what magnificent saloons, and admirable order enchant you in the other. In Paris and
Rome we seem to inhale an atmosphere of art; it is
a portion of existence, a familiar necessity; in London it must be painfully sought, and when found,
often affects us like the sight of an eastern prince,
with silken robe and pearly coronet, dragged along
in a triumphal procession of northern invaders.
The acquisition of the Cartoons of Raphael, and
the Elgin marbles, is no. more an evidence of national art, than the temporary deposite of the spoils
of the Vatican in the Louvre. The best decorative
art in the kingdom is of foreign origin; Verrio was
born in Naples, Gibbons in Holland. It is to the
achievements and dominant taste of a country that
we must look for proofs of her artistic genius; and it
is remarkable what a large number of painters in
England have excelled in special qualities, and risen
to a certain point, without ever attaining the com




ART.


163


pleteness of power, and fertility of result, which
distinguish the Italian, Spanish, and Flemish masters. In the portraits of Jackson, Ramsey, Hoppner, Owen, Copley, Harlow, Opie, and others, there
are distinctive excellences, but, in few instances
are they unaccompanied by serious defects; and all
these painters are so inferior to Vandyke and Titian,
as to have failed in establishing a world-renowned
school of portraiture. In Allan, Romney, Northcote, Mortimer, Burnet, Raeburn, and others, who
tried their skill in a broader sphere, is it not acknowledged that the executive faculty was too limited and unreliable, to do justice to their respective
genius? The vague and sublime effects of Martin
are among the few specimens of modern English
art, that seem born of original inspiration. Haydon
succeeded only in two or three instances, after countless experiments, as a disciple of high art. Indeed,
it would seem, that the less ambitious the more
successful, is the rule of art in England, as evinced
in the depth of tone and aerial distances of the
water-color painters, in such humble subjects as
the "Corn-Field," and "Old Mill," of Constable,
and the sweet pastoral views of Wilson and Collins.
In miniature, also, there are unrivalled painters;
and innumerable amateurs, like Sir George Beaumont, who manifest the practical fruit of cultivated
artistic taste. Etty's flesh-tints, Cooper's kine, and
Cattermole's water-colored pieces that bring six





164


A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


hundred guineas, are significant achievements of
the English school.
The memorable phase of art in England is her
Gothic architecture; and the cathedral towns, by
the spell of their solemnly beautiful and ancient
temples, and the holy charm of their old church
music, exalt the imagination and awe the heart;
but the minster is the sublime trophy of primitive
religious zeal, and the wealth of a splendid hierarchy; it sprang, like painting in Italy and Spain,
from the inspiration of faith sustained by regal
power; and can not be deemed an exponent of the
present national life or an evidence of existent artistic culture; a palace of crystal filled with the
products of all nations, far better typifies the spirit
of the age; temples erected to the genius of locomotion, framed of iron and roofed with glass, a
choice specimen of Wedgewood ware, a highlyfinished and expressive cabinet-picture, or an elaborate and graceful portrait, that shows high lineage in its whole air, and wealth in the costume
and frame, are far more emblematic of the modern
art of the kingdom; and these, however excellent,
have a limited and individual scope, at once indicative of utility and individual taste, rather than of
grand national tendencies in the direction of independent art. The best features of the latter, as
manifested in the present century, is its commemorative design. However insensible to the beauti




ART.


165


ful, England never fails to obey the dictate of pride.
It is no less an instinct of national honor than of
wise policy, to glorify in bronze and marble her
heroes and men of science; and to a lover of his
race, it is a high gratification to behold in St. Paul's,
the statues of Watt, Dr. Baillie, and Sir Astley
Cooper, side by side with the effigies of Nelson,
Sir John Moore, and Cornwallis. But even in the
monumental tributes to her great men, we often
see the most striking want of artistic intelligence.
No better site for an equestrian statue can be imagined than that of the triumphal arch of Wellington, but how spiritless and awkward is the horse and
how stiff the figure of the duke. What an absurdity to elaborate an allegory in marble, to illustrate
the deeds of a naval hero, as is the case with the
monument to Nelson in the Liverpool exchange.
Contrast Drury Lane with La Scala, one of Chantrey's funereal designs with Michael Angelo's Lorenzo or Canova's lions, and we see, at once, the instinctive impulse toward grandeur and comprehensive
truth in the one case, and its comparative absence
in the other. The genius of Wren has chiefly redeemed London from the reproach of barbaric
taste; Somerset house is palatial, and has a noble
facade, and St. Paul's dome is pregnant with architectural sublimity; and yet how much the effect of
these grand buildings is diminished by their position and crowded vicinage. Imagine the one with





166


A MONTI- IN ENGLAND.


an open and ascending esplanade and background
of verdure, such as environ the Pitti palace; and
the other approached by a fine colonnade and
broad square, with fountains such as front St. Peter's. The modified Gothic piles erected for the
houses of parliament, as viewed from   Lambeth
palace, certainly have an effective appearance;
but the results aimed at, even at the enormous expense incurred, seem not to have been realized,
either ideally, if we may trust the criticisms of
artists, nor practically, if we justify the complaints
of those for whose comfort and use the imposing
structure was reared.  In order to be recognised
as characteristic of a nation, art must prevail and
declare itself in the general aspect and the minute
detail of dwellings, streets, and households. We
must behold it in the exquisite cornice, the noble
portico, in the ornaments of the drawing-room, in
the dress and equipage. When it is exhibited in a
few memorable instances alone, their very singularity and perfection mark the absence of general taste;
their merit, however transcendent, is exceptional.
It may be objected to the estimate of English
art by a traveller, whose time and opportunities
are limited, that its main treasures are enshrined
in private abodes, and only a superficial idea can
be formed of them by the stranger. But this very
seclusion accuses the prevalence and nationality of
art; it does not apply to Italy, France, and Ger




ART.


167


many, where he who runs may read the genius of
the people in its artistic efflorescence.  Average
specimens also of each English master are to be
seen in the galleries open to visiters; and the higher
class of periodicals devoted to the subject, as well
as many biographies and criticisms, have rendered
its essential qualities familiar to every intelligent
American.
The most impressive of his experiences in London, is when he reads Wren's epitaph in St.
Paul's, and in obedience to its counsel, looks around
and especially upward, to behold the great architect's monument. In original enterprise the watercolor exhibition will prove an agreeable surprise;
the English have here achieved wonders. As an
accomplishment drawing is widely cultivated; and
in almost every dwelling, from the middle class to
the high nobility, a taste for art is evident in some
gem by an old master, the heir-loom of generations,
or the recent and dearly-purchased acquisition from
a modern pencil; and often in a most creditable
specimen of domestic skill. These amenities have not
lessened the coarseness of the lower orders. The
rude fac-similes preserved by Mayhew, indicate
that what he calls street-art, has not advanced since
the Restoration. In London, an elegant edition of
Sir Joshua's "Discourses" graces the nobleman's
library; in Florence, the mutilation of a statue
excites the common people almost to revolutionary





168


A. MONTH IN ENGLAND.


frenzy; in the one place art is thus a luxury of the
educated, in the other a popular interest.
It is from the neighboring scenery of Scotland
and Wales, from the beautiful skies of Italy, and
the poetic imagery of the East, that the English
painter derives picturesque ideas. There are, indeed, craggy uplands, romantic lakes, and desolate
moors, that afford impressive scenic materials, but
the prevalence of level and highly-cultivated land,
obliges the artist, who affects home subjects, to
make up for the deficiency of grand features in the
landscape, by a skilful use of the casual effects of
nature, as in the living tints and almost moving
clouds of Constable, and the breezy seacoasts of
Stanfield, and to resort to the minute language of
common life, or its idealized personation. It is a
notable instance of the law of compensation, that
the comparative absence of remarkable scenery in
England, has thus given rise to the characteristic
excellences of her school of painting, as the flatness of the Low Countries induced superiority of
still-life in Flemish pictures. The vicissitudes of the
climate, also, by concentrating enjoyment within
doors, has led to a passion for collection and verNt,
and thus indirectly promoted a taste for art. The
literature of England is rich also in the eloquent
exposition of the subject; and few works are so
redolent of intelligent enthusiasm, in this regard,
as those of Walpole, Reynolds, Beckford, North




ART.


169


cote, lHazlitt, Eastlake, Mrs. Jameson, Ruskin, and
others.
There is far less taste for music, however, among
the masses in England than those of America.
" Chaque musicien," says a French writer, speaking of an English orchestra, " selon lusage joua
son air favori, avec cette noble independence qui
caracterise Partiste Anglais."  A piano is to be
found even in dwellings on the outskirts of civilization in this country; but some of the best English
writers ridicule the Italian opera; and a London
audience, except when composed mainly of the
aristocracy, prefer one of Dibdin's songs to the
sweetest cavatinas of Bellini; their sympathies do
not rise above the national anthem; " All's Well,"
and "The Bay o' Biscay," bring down the house,
when " Yi ravisso," or ' Non piu mesta," would
only provoke a yawn. The ballad to the common
heart is more attractive than the lyrical drama.
It is otherwise in church music; Handel's popularity was remarkable, and, of elaborate composition, the oratorio is the favorite.
One of the most desirable of recent artistic institutions is the school of practical art, the rooms of
which are above the Vernon gallery. It is a palpable evidence of the consciousness of deficient
national taste; and is intended as a corrective of
the incongruous and ugly style of dress and furniture which deform the persons and homes of the
8





170


A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


English.  Specimens are here exhibited of good
and bad patterns, in articles of domestic economy,
ornaments, and fabrics; and a catalogue raisson6
explains the principle both of objection and preference; so that, even without any great sense of
beauty, the visiter, when thus enlightened, may be
horrified at the sight of his own pantaloons and
drawing-room carpet, and take an initiative practical lesson in the appropriate, that may lead finally
to the appreciation of high art.
Nature herself has abridged the artistic development of England; her climate is unfavorable to
ideal achievement, and to that elemental harmony
between atmosphere, light, and temperature, and
the purposes and effects of the artist, which render
Italy and Greece a paradise in comparison. A
dome or a column should print itself against a
densely blue sky to be truly effective; a cadenza
should ring through such a crystal air as hangs
over Naples or Mexico, to reveal its sweetest melody; and color to be transparent and vivid, must be
studied where the purple evening mantles with radiant hues the Adriatic sea. Marble grows black
and bronze corrodes in England, when exposed to
air; how like a fossil coal looks Canning's form,
and what a sooty hue invests Nelson, as the metal
and the stone have become superficially decomposed by moisture. Half the time we must shiver
instead of being cheered at the sight and sound of





ART.


171


a fountain; and walking round St. Paul's, the walls
look as if snow and soot had alternately drifted
against them- especially the latter.  The chicaro
'scro made by smoke, gas, and drizzle, do not promote a desirable relievo in objects architectural or
statuesque; the absence of the sun keeps invisible
the more delicate touches of Leonardo and the finer
tints of Claude on the noble's wall; and even the
daguerreotypist must watch, like the fog-shrouded
navigator on the Banks, for days before he can
"get the sun."  In such a climate great thinkers
and indefatigable artisans prosper; but art must be
aided by pilgrimages to clearer horizons, and to
latitudes where the firmament is oftener visible,
and at home it will inevitably require the hot-bed
of munificent patronage.
Of the national depositories of art, there is none
that charms the stranger like Hampton Court, and
this primarily for other reasons than the ostensible
one of its beautiful array of pictures. The rural attractions, the historical memories, and, not least, the
weekly freedom of the palace and grounds, enjoyed
by all classes and ranks, combine to make it one of
the most delightful resorts in the vicinity of London. The moment you enter the old park, the stone
archway, venerable trees, and groups of deer, attest
the luxurious abode of the ambitious churchman,
which, in a mood between fear and policy, he tendered as a gift to Henry VIII. Even in winter, the





172


A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


bay, myrtles, and holly, that line the smooth gravelwalks and level turf, give the approach to the vast
old mansion a cheerful look; and when, as on the
day of our visit, birds and sunshine enliven the
place, it quite fulfils the idea of magnificence and
scenic beauty attached to the reign of the, uxorious
and extravagant monarch whose ecclesiastical vicegerent adorned and enriched it. The old brick
quadrangle, the mixed style of architecture, umbrageons alleys, terraced lawns, and dense clumps of
shrubbery, unite to give an impression of grace,
verdure, and antiquity, such as we derive from the
Poggio Imnperiale on the Villa Borghese; but the
people who throng the grounds, and cluster round
the flower-beds, are too northern in their physiognomies and costume to be mistaken for Romans or
Tuscans: and it is delightful to witness the glow of
pleasure on the honest face of some pallid artisan,
and even the complacent strut of a bedizened London apprentice, as they taste the unwonted joy of a
day of freedom amid the charms of nature and the
loveliness of art. Within, Hampton Court is a domain of picturesque history; and nowhere in the
kingdom is art more genially presented to the eye
and mind: the ample light, the quiet, the leafy gardens visible, through the capacious windows, the
consciousness of a privilege to which all are admitted, and the liberty to roam, gaze, and comment, as
we list, renders the scene, however familiar in some





ART.o


173


of its aspects, a memorable and grateful one to the
traveller. Through the apparently endless succession of rooms he moves, for hours, scarcely conscious
of himself or of time, as he meets the eyes of men
and women heretofore only known in histories, memoirs, plays, and novels. It is a kind of imaginative court presentation, which infinitely excels in
interest the actual ceremony; for it is not to strangers that he is introduced: he knows their origin,
their triumphs, and their peccadilloes;. but here, for
the first time, their forms and faces are revealed.
In the midst of the pictured beauties of Charles the
Second's court, there is brought to a focus the spirit,
the pageantry, and the tone of manners, that mark
the era of the Restoration. The dress, and the want
of it, in this brilliant throng of fair and frail ladies;
the very complacency of Nell Gwynne's lips; the
contour, expression, and tints of the portraits, reflect more vividly than the historic page, the rebound
from puritan rigor to the levity and abandon of a
profligate court. Sir Peter Lely becomes a more
graphic chronicler than Grammont or Hume, for
natural exceeds written language in moral significance. The sinister face of Buckingham, and the
brazen charms of the duchess of Portsmouth, more
impressively than print, announce the lapse of England's civic glory. Many of the male portraits are
familiar, not only from  their constant repetition
through the burin, but from the copies or duplicates





174


A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


to be seen in all the large English and many of the
foreign collections- evidences of the efficient pencils of HIolbein and Vandyke.
Interspersed with these, however, are numerous
gems of Italian and Dutch art, which rivet attention. I noted especially Titian's Uncle, and Loyola
by the same artist; a Virgin and Child, by Andrea
del Sarto; the family of Pordenone, by himself; and
a Venetian Senator, also from his pencil; a Knight
of Malta, by Tintoretto; a Magdalen's Head, by
Sasso Ferrato; Still-Life, by Kalf; a Jewish Rabbi,
and also a Dutch Lady, by Rembrandt; and a Magdalen, by young Palma. How suggestive to the
fancy are admirably-executed portraits, with these
generic and anonymous titles. Whole episodes of
history and chapters of romance are mysteriously
linked with the very names; anecdotes of the painters occur to the mind, and tragic legends, in which
exactly such looking rabbis, knights, senators, and
ladies, have figured.
Undoubtedly a valuable lesson acquired at Hampton Court, is to appreciate the art and the science,
too, of portrait-painting. In the hands of Vandyke,
and Titian, how it is sublimated into historical dignity; in those of Kneller and Lely, what an entire
phase of fashion and meretricious female beauty it
elaborates; with Reynolds how much characterization it unfolds. To the American visiter the pictures of West here preserved have a special interest;





ART.


175


they are monuments of industry, and, within certain
limits, of genius, but the ability to create expression
in this virtuous artist, does not attain a standard to
justify his more ambitious, and especially his religious limning.
It was before the old tapestry, and in the great
hall of Hampton Court, that I chiefly reverted to its
local associations; on the lawn, rural beauty keeps
the eye, and in the presence chambers and drawingrooms, we are absorbed in the pictures; but under
the gothic carving of this roof, we recall the singular
fact, that the fall of Wolsey, as dramatized by Shakspere, was represented here upon the very scene
where he ruled in splendor; and that Hampton
Court itself, now, to the glory of civilization, made
a shrine of art to which the poor multitude may
turn for refreshment, was, for centuries, the luxurious home of royalty, where the powerful of the
realm resorted to celebrate a feast, hold an ecclesiastical counsel, or a chapter of the order of the
garter, perform the nuptial ceremony, usher a royal
scion into life, take refuge from pestilence, or enjoy
a honeymoon.
I had anticipated no little pleasure from the English school of painting; to one acquainted with the
galleries of Italy, but a moiety of the collections of
Dulwich and Blenheim have the attraction of novelty, and it is a delightful experiment for the American to verify, from actual inspection, his fragmentary





176


A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


knowledge of the artists who, during the present
century, have given reputation to Great Britain as
the nursery of an unique department of art. The
best public exhibition to gratify this natural desire,
is the Yernon gallery, so called from its chief benefactor, although many pictures are there to be seen
which formerly adorned the walls of the National
Gallery. At Marlborough house I enjoyed a first
view of many originals, already established favorites
through excellent engravings. The epithet clever is
often on the lips of Englishmen; it is a term which
rightly designates the quality of their modern painting; truth to a special phase of nature, rare felicity
of execution, wonderful tact and precision, and a
genial development of character quite Shaksperian,
in its details, render these works at once peculiar
and satisfactory; they charm without transporting,
realize completely a limited ideal, and afford precisely such results as please, win, and enlighten,
without awakening any profound emotion. They
are usually gems rather than miracles of art, perfect
achievements within the bounds of natural observation, evidences of inimitable skill, but seldom of
lofty inspiration.  Here I recognised the dewy
freshness, and almost sensible wind of Constable,
the marvellous expression caught from real life by
Wilkie, Etty's vivid coloring, the vital glow of Collins, the fine play scenes of Maclise, and the significant compositions of Mulready. It is a rare study





177


of the elements of character, as revealed in faces
and attitudes, to peruse intently the "Blind Fiddler"
and " The Peep o' Day;" Lee's " Coast of Linconshire," Danby's "Fisherman's House," Calcott's
"Returning   from  Market," and Gainsborough's
"Drinking-Place," abound in local integrity of
treatment. That graceful branch of the rainbowart, which seems to reflect in colors the most refined
episodes of the comic muse, here displays its select
triumphs in Newton's "Yorick and Grisette," and
Leslie's "Sancho" and " Uncle Toby."   For entire
completeness of scope, a thorough success that baffles criticism, and, like Nature herself, simply demands recognition, Landseer's works seem to me
unrivalled. If we apply to them Goethe's test, and
judge each by its own law, however we may speculate about the rank of the branch of art itself, there
can be but one opinion of their intrinsic excellence.
There are spaniels on his canvass here, that you long
to pat, and expect to frisk, and the canine illustration
of high and low life is so expressively true, that the
genealogy of curs seems newly demonstrated, as an
emphatic law of natural history. The pictures of
Landseer accuse our unappreciative observation
most eloquently; animal life, its diversity of expression, its organized significance, and its subtle language, seems now made truly evident to the mind
for the first time; and the senses attest its reality.
From the breathing lions of Apsley house, to the
8*





178


A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


dead game at Chatsworth, from the fleeces of the
sheep in " Peace," to the head of the dying horse in
" War," that excite our sympathetic admiration here,
with what an exquisite refinement of perception, and
miraculous touch of the pencil, is every hair made
to glint, each nostril to dilate, and the eyes to gleam
with ruminating pathos, or carnivorous zest. Landseer has idealized the animal sympathies of his
countrymen; that instinct whose coarse manifestation appears in the zeal of the sportsman, in the
relish of the beef-eater, in the sports of the ring and
the cock-pit, refined to an artistic taste, gratifies, the
practised view of hunter, and jockey, and, in a higher
sense, the love of noble and graceful animals as
objects of study and affection. But this painter
has won a greater name than that of an inimitablyskilful limner of animals; he has found the art of
rendering them subsidiary to the grandest moral
aim, as in the allegorical pictures we have named.
Another painter who emphatically asserts the
individuality of English art, and whose best works
give peculiar interest to this collection, is Hogarth.
Here again are we impressed with the intensity
and special bounds of the national genius in this
department. The irony of these creations, the palpable way in which human nature is exhibited in
the most barren aspects of social life, the grim
humor, and bitter knowledge of the world visible in
the "Marriage 'a la Mode," the "Dissipated Hus




AIT.


119


band," the "Toilet of the Fine Lady," etc, while
they gain instant applause foy subtle characterization, acnd leave a profound moral impression, are, at
the same time, most skilful elaborations of the
prosaic and conventional extremes of life.   Hogarth's lessons are stern, his observation authentic,
and his execution severely true; but these essential
qualities of the artist are made to illustrate painful
and artificial traits, and local manners; we admire
the consummate talent, while we grow sad before
the misanthropic spirit of the artist. Probably no
series of pictures are more widely or satisfactorily
known through engraved copies; still it is a great
pleasure to examine the famous originals, and to
behold, for ourselves, the actual source of those
pictured moralities, and acts in the drama of modern
life, which have never been artistically embodied
by any other limner with like power.
Miulr'eady, Webster, Redgrave, Ward, and Heming, excel in pictures of humble life, as the "' Dame
school," in satirical hits, and in the by-way comicalities of ordinary life. The whole range of artists
thus endowed, may be considered as humorous;
their forte is analogous to the sphere in literature
made delightful by a class of writers scarcely known
in any other country. The water views of Stanfield have singular merit. His harbors and lake
scenes are wonderfully pellucid and picturesque,
and whether it is the Zuyder Zee or Lake Como,





180


10A TONTh1 IN ENGCLAND.


there is a memorable freshness and vigor in his
landscapes.
Several pictures of Turner's arrest the steps of the
visiter, and win him to a mood of deeper attention,
as he glances with a smile of amusement, or a start
of eagerness, from one to the other gem  of this
charming collection. These specimens of the great
landscape artist, and those at the National Gallery,
were to me the most interesting of all the pictures
seen in England; my curiosity had been roused to
the highest pitch by the brilliant rhetoric of Ruskin,
and the apparently irreconcilable extremes of praise
and censure of which Turner had so long been the
subject; I found the enthusiasm of his eloquent
admirer fully justified, and the diverse estimates of
other critics satisfactorily explained. It is obvious,
even from the few but characteristic pictures in the
two galleries, that, like all men of original genius,
Turner arrived at the most splendid triumphs
through experiment. He seems to have thrown the
whole force of artistic intelligence, and manful endeavor into the world of light and color, by living
therein, sometimes extravagantly dallying with tints,
at others seizing on the law of perspective, now
patiently observant, and again boldly adventurous, until he wrested the secret aid caught the
manner of nature. Accordingly the word " daubs"
like the blended patches on a smirched pallete, do
not unjustly describe some of his earlier pictures;





ART.


181


while the highest eulogiums of his gifted advocate,
inadequately represent the perfect and unequalled
effects apparent in his subsequent and more felicitous works. Certain it is, that the " Misty Morning," and the " Ruins of Carthage," are the greatest
conceivable triumphs in aerial perspective; architecture and atmosphere were never before made to
figure on canvass as they do in nature, from the
most grand to the most detailed truth of effect;
before no other landscape is it possible so to launch
the vision into the crystal vistas of tremulous mist
and limitless horizons. The very idea of distance
and imitation is lost in the consciousness of reality.
I imagine that the very defects of his own climate,
as a school for color, promoted this extraordinary
success by the force of contrast; he seems actually
to revel in the reproduction of the skies and atmosphere of the orient and the south; his eye takes in
with greater zest and precision, and his hand delineates with keener zeal, their clearness, brilliancy, and
golden vapors, from the gusto born of deprivation.
The Cuyps and Canalettos around, pale to a commonplace and partial truthfulness, before these
magnificent productions; but the Claudes ranged
by their side, do not warrant the disparagement of
Ruskin; making allowance for the inferior still-life
and figures of Lorraine, and the effect of time in
obscuring his tints, the sunsets of this exquisite
artist glow also through a tremulous mist, and





182


A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


reveal a mellow depth, evidently derived from the
same principle, and as much the result of genuine
artistic inspiration as those of Turner. In his ardor
for his idol, Ruskin occasionally becomes a special pleader, and is grossly unjust to the old masters. The obscurity that shrouds the life of Turner
and his eccentric habits, are well-known. That
he was a barber's son, and changed his lodgings, and concealed his name, to enjoy the privacy
so difficult for the man of acknowledged talent in
England, are familiar anecdotes; but I was unaware
of the extent to which his fame is, so to speak, impersonal, until I happened to be present when the
publisher of the " Liber Fluvorum," received the messenger he had despatched to consult parish records
and old acquaintances of Turner's, in order to learn
some important dates to enter in the memoir attached to the new edition of the work; after the
most patient investigation, it was found impossible
to learn, with certainty, even the year of his birth.
A striking proof of the cleverness of the existent
school of English painters, is manifest in the impromptu drawings of the Sketch club. The members
meet successively at each other's houses, once a
month; a subject is given out, and precisely two
hours occupied in its illustration. The theme of
the sketches I examined, was "Night;" and it was
truly marvellous to witness, not only the completeness attained in so short a time, but the great vari




ARLT


183


ety of treatment. Stanfield had made a capital
design for a landscape representing a midnight
gale at sea; the drifting clouds, black waters, and
heaving ship, were done to the life; another gave
the moonlight scene from "The Merchant of Ven-.
ice," with magical grace; and a third, whose turn
was for comedy rather than sentiment, most graphically sketched the interior of a London court-yard,
at midnight, with its deep shadows, adjacent roofs,
and dark pavements, where two of the feline race,
with upheaved backs, were caterwauling, to the
immense discomfiture of an old gentleman, who
looked down threateningly, in his night-cap, from
a high window, while a couple of jovial strollers,
primed for a lark, were quizzing him from below.
A thorough mastery of detail in the use of the
crayon, great knowledge of expressi6n, as well as
executive facility, were evident in all these impromptu drawings.
An American or Italian artist can scarcely realize the exclusive life of a skilful British painter of
the present day. He works almost under the eye
of his noble patron, with a quiet and gradual approximation toward the end they mutually seek.
A picture is considered well before it is undertaken; the desire to please an individual gives
unity of purpose, the certainty of adequate remuneration quells restless anxiety, and often a most
intelligent sympathy and generous friendship en




184


A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


courages and cheers the artist. We have only to
revert to the correspondence between Sir George
Beaumont and Wilkie, to perceive the beauty and
interest of the relation thus established between the
man of genius and the liberal and tasteful man of
wealth.  The system has its advantages and its
objections; while the stimulus of personal motive
is abundant, the existence and labor of the painter
are often isolated; he is in danger of subserviency,
and the guineas and seat at an aristocratic table,
may trench upon that independence of mind so
essential to great artistic achievement. Yet, as a
general rule, the wise and discriminating as well
as munificent patronage, under which the works
of the English school have so often been created, is
honorable, in the highest degree, to both artist and
amateur.
The interest with which the pursuit of art has
always been invested, to my mind, became unusually vivid, as I passed rapidly, one April-like morning, along the Edgeware road, toward the domicil
of our countryman, Leslie, for whom I had been
intrusted with a missive from one of his dearest
relatives at home. As the cab rattled by many an
old dwelling with ivy twined about its base, and
through lines of teams and butchers' carts, I could
not but acknowledge once more the force of that
instinct which, in the midst of so much bustle, and
in the heart of such material life, can bind a man





ART.


185


to his easel, and concentrate his mind upon the
worship of beauty, while all around him swells the
vast tide of conventional affairs. We drew up, at
length, in the region called St. John's park, before
a modern house with a villa-like entrance, and, in
a few moments, I was cordially welcomed to the
studio of Leslie. He was engaged upon a picture
that struck me as remarkably adapted to his
genius; the subject is the festive scene so minutely described in the 1" Rape of the Lock."  I wondered so fertile a theme had never before seized
upon the fancy of a painter, and felt, as I gazed,
that it was fortunately reserved for the graceful delineator of "Slender and Anne Page," "Victoria's
Coronation," and so many other gems of the same
description.  The consummate tact with which
such an array of figures were grouped on the canvass-all of cabinet size - the variety of expression
and costume, and the compact significance and authenticity of the whole, not only as an illustration
of Pope's conception, but of the age it embodies,
assured me that it would prove a felicitous masterpiece. I have never seen a picture of Leslie's so
radiant and, at the same time, well toned; as a
study of color, as well as social life, it was exquisite; and the figure and face of Belinda were all
imagination could desire; not a trait was overlooked, not a charm neglected; and I saw, with
delight, that




186


A TMONTH IN ENGLAND.


"On her white breast a sparkling cross she wore,
That Jews might kiss and infidels adore."
Leslie threw open the window just as a gleam of
sunshine fell on the distant hills, lightly veiled
with pearly mist, over which it is his custom to
wander on summer mornings, and designated the
church-spire in whose shadow Constable is buried.
The landscape was thforoughly English. I had
lately perused the beautiful letters and not less
beautiful life of Constable written by Leslie, and
now listened with peculiar satisfaction to his glowing description and his tender regrets as he spoke
of his friend. No other painter so truly caught
the vernal life and living clouds such as, at this
moment, expanded to our vision; and I blessed the
poetic justice which thus located his sepulchre
amid the scenes he loved to depict, and within the
habitual ken of his brother-artist. I have often
traced the analogy that exists between the individual phases of genius as exhibited in literature
and art; and now     again realized the intimagte
relation between the English humorists and such
painters as Newton and Leslie; the sympathy the
latter manifested in his inquiries about Irving confirmed the idea. Their artistic spheres are essentially alike; they both have charmed the world
with the most genial and effective cabinet pictures,
drawn from the more refined aspects of life, and
finished to the highest point of grace and harmony.





CASTLES AND SHAKSPERE.
This castle hath a pleasant seat; the air
Nimbly and sweetly recommends itself
Unto our gentle senses.
MACBETH, Act I., Sc. 6.
There, Shakspere I on whose forehead climb
The crowns o' the world I Oh, eyes sublime
With tears and laughter for all time.
ELIZABETH BROWNINO.










VIII.


CASTLES AND SHAKSPERE.
THE locomotive facilities of our day, if, on the
one hand, they abridge poetic experience by rapidity and unadventurous order, on the other, enhance
it by concentrating space and associations. Nowhere is this benefit more apparent than in England; and in no region of the kingdom has the traveller more reason to bless the miracles of modern
conveyance, than where the iron network of the
railway brings into such neighborhood Stratford,
Warwick, and Kenilworth. The local genius of
each of these old towns is nearly related to the
other, at least in the imagination; for they are alike
hallowed by the spells of bard and baron: if in one
we become absorbed in the feudal past, with all its
valor, superstition, and intrigue, they most effectively reappear as described by the poet whose birthplace is adjacent; and if, in another, fancy delights





190


A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


to picture the early days of the minstrel, it is to
link his mature triumphs with the historical relics
and the natural beauty that make up the rest of the
memorable picture. It is true that the details of
chronology, and the heir-looms of power, at first,
rivet attention in the castles; but, ere long, the portrait of an historical character, the trophy of a dramatic event, a glimpse of the Avon through an armorial window, or the sight of a sylvan patriarch
asserting the departed glory of the forest of Arden,
bring us again to the feet of Shakspere.
I have suggested that the most vivid impression
of rural magnificence, as exhibited in the ancient domains of the nobility, is obtained by viewing them
when fresh from a manufacturing district; and this
is the case because the luxury and the wretchedness
thus contrasted are the result of modern times; high
present cultivation.in one case, and incessant labor
in the other. But when we seek to become familiar with the baronial grandeur of England, to revive
the epoch when earls confronted kings in battlearray, and the warlike and noble subject vied with
royalty in the strength as well as the splendor of
his abode, it is advisable to seek another contrast, -
that between the highly-civilized life of to-day, as
represented in a town built up by fashion and
wealth, and the venerable castellated edifice that
symbolizes the feudal and culminating era of British
power. The elegant comfort and unfortified homes





CASTLES AND SHAKSPERE.


191


of our own times, their domestic privacy and gentle
manners, are thus made to illustrate more picturesquely the massive towers, and huge gray battlements, wherein once the ambitious and titled of the
land could only make sure their privileges.
The cawing of rooks from the inn-garden at Leamington, greets the ear of the awakening traveller as
a sound consonant with ancient rural domesticity;
and when he walks forth into the broad, cleanlypaved street, how fresh, eligible, and refined, is the
aspect of all around, compared with the murky and
toilsome look of a manufacturing town. Instead of
a pale operative or surly carman, he encounters a
well-varnished bath-chair, in which is seated an invalid dowager, with dark-silk pelisse, elaborate bonnet, and an air of dignified prosperity, drawn by a
groom in livery; or he notes a gentleman in hunting-coat and gaiters, mounted on a sleek trotter; or
he passes a handsome mansion, its front yard umbrageous with flowering shrubs, turns to mark the
cheerful faces of two rosy young ladies in a snug
pony-chaise, or enters a library on whose tables lie
the journals of the day, the last novel, and the new
poem, in convenient array. No sign of trade is visible, except in the attractive windows of a fancyshop. The beautiful domicil of a renowned physician; an evergreen-oak by the wayside, crowned
with the traditions of ages; well-dressed people conversing at an angle, or taking their morning stroll,





192


A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


are the familiar objects; and the very breeze that
plays over the scene has an unwonted freshness.
From this delightful sojourn-an epitome of English comfort in the nineteenth century-a visit to
the neighboring castle is like shifting the locality
in a melodrama, from the epoch of Victoria to that
of Elizabeth. There are about the town of Warwick
striking continental features, especially as it is revealed by the half lateral rays of a declining sun.
The range of flourishing vegetable-gardens that line
the road by which it is approached, are, indeed,
thoroughly English; but the heavy, antique gateway under which the coach soon rumbles, the stone
buildings, and steep, rough thoroughfare, recall many
a provincial city of southern Europe; and this idea
is confirmed by the unexpected appearance of St.
John's school, its large gray front, and avenue of
tall pines, the mossy effigies of two goats rampant
over the postern columns, its venerable and lonely
court, and quaint windows. Before this olden spell
is broken, a ramble to Guy's cliff, while it elaborates the impression, links with it a cheerfulness
such as nature ever throws around the trophies of
art. The hedges of camelia and sweetbrier gladden
the eye; the ancient box-trees, the weedy fountains,
labyrinthine myrtle walks, and dripping grottoes,
awaken vivid memories of the Boboli and Borghese
gardens; while the holly and ivy declare that the
beautiful domain is in England. It requires not





CASTLES AND SHAKSPERE.


193


Dugdale's testimony to convince us that this picturesque and verdant scene was, in remote ages, a
place of religious seclusion; nor could imagination
invent a more romantic hermitage for the adventurous and stalwart Guy to conclude devoutly his life
of active heroism. If no monument, like that of
Piers Gaveston, "the object of a monarch's love
and victim of a subject's hate," was to be found, the
spirit of romance, inevitably kindled by the cascades, rocks, glades, limitless meadow-sweeps, and
distant, nestling churches, would conjure from tradition or fancy a tale of devotion and of sacrifice.
The chapel, cave, and gigantic statue of the famous
earl, however effective in themselves, do not excite
the mind to credulous aspiration like the view of
the cliff itself from the old mill-fit scene of the
vigil and sepulchre of one of those heroes whose
prowess and fortunes, equally chronicled by nursery
legend and grave history, have just enough foundation in truth to justify the enthusiast at such a locality in yielding to a kind of visionary credence which
boasts a charm to the poetic sense, it would be an
ungracious task to destroy. His personal relics,
exhibited by the ancient portress of the lodge at
Warwick castle, derive a new authenticity from the
sentiment in regard to him we thus acquire at the
cliff. Her monotonous and pedantic recitative, as
she wakes the echoes of the herculean porridge-pot,
and displays the items of enormous armor, is listened
9





194


A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


to with less impatience, for the respect we have
learned for Guy the recluse enables us to accept,
with diminished misgiving, the tangible proofs thus
adduced of the capacity of his stomach and the
power of his arm. Once within the spacious courtyard, beneath those lofty towers and ivy-clad battlements, and in the shade of the glorious old oaks,
firs, and cedars of Lebanon, the special memory of
the wonderful earl is lost in those broad associations
which identify Warwick castle with the prime of
England's baronial history. Here the past of Britain
is embodied. This massive and wonderfully-conserved structure was the home of the greatest subject
of the realm. The concentrated relics of nine centuries are around us. We are in the midst of England, and also in the midst of her annals. This magnificent chestnut tree, those shining arbutus-leaves,
that wide-spreading and fresh-tinted vine-drapery,
are triumphs of vegetable life which attest the vital
phenomena of the hour; but the carved wainscoat
of the dead wood, against which hang the pictured
faces of so many departed men and women, whose
names are stamped on an immortal page, assure us,
the instant we cross the threshold, that this living
garniture decorates a mighty home of the past. Not
in tedious genealogies, or barren royal successions,
can we waste this hour of precious communion; as we
look back and around, only what poetry has redeemed
blends with the fair landscape and suggestive relics.





CASTLES AND SHAIKSPERE.


195


The proverb which declares an Englishman's home
to be his castle, here gains an impressive significance.
The road that conducts us from the lodge to the court,
is excavated firom a solid rock, and canopied with
verdure; while the towering line of fortified wall,
roof, and bulwark, convey at once a sense of the
impregnable, the complete, and the time-hallowed.
It needs not the absent portcullis and overgrown
moat, nor the arch which now takes the place of the
drawbridge, to indicate a haunt of power capable
of the most prolonged defiance. Coesar's tower,
alone, which dates from the Roman conquest, in its
irregular outline and venerable strength, fills the
imagination, like an invulnerable beacon on the
shores of elder time, casting its huge shadow on the
bright, green turf, as when it fell on the grim old
earls or knightly barons eight hundred years ago.
The massive stonework, aged and lofty trees, and
highly-cultivated vicinage of the English castle, render it, independent of local history, the most characteristic object in the landscape. What the basilica is in Italy, the ramparts of Vauban in France,
and the pyramid in Egypt, is the castle in England
-an architectural type and illustration of the primitive national life. Warwick castle is the place to
hear Shakspere's historical plays read by a fine elocutionist. Every allusion they contain finds a response in the scene. We feel there the old inspiration of chivalric days; Percy, Mortimer, Talbot,





196


A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


and Blount, become actualized in a spot so adapted
to give scope to ambition, ferocity, and magnanimous valor; the use, abuse, origin, transition, maintenance, and bequest of power, are not only written
in the annals, but inscribed on each mossy stone of
the hoary pile; and reappear, blended with the artifices and expression of human nature, in her everidentical instincts, as depicted by the great poet
who translated the chronicles of his native land into
vital dramas. We might infer his English origin
by the term " cloud-capt" applied to towers, for it
is a phenomenon almost peculiar to this climate;
and as the cupola of St. Peter's gains new relief to
the eye from the stainless azure against which it is
so frequently seen, the less graceful but more warlike forms that rear themselves so proudly under
Britain's lowering sky, borrow a more imposing
grandeur from the detached masses of vapor that
seem to cling around their dizzy summits.
Within the castle, amid so many suggestive relics
and memorable effigies, although curiosity, at the
time, is largely gratified, upon a few salient points
of the whole array, does fancy linger in the retrospect; to me these were the chamber-furniture of
Queen Anne, which, with her portrait by Sir Godfrey Kneller, over the mantlepiece, gives a singular
unity of impression; the bust of Edward, the Black
Prince, Elizabeth's dagger, and the mask of Cromwell. The domestic appliances of the sovereign





CASTLES AND SHAKSPERE.


197


whose memory Marlborough and Addison linked
with victory and verse, revived an epoch so diverse
from that which lowered in the rugged and stern
features of the dead Oliver, and was typified in the
princely warrior of a knightly age, and the handsome weapon of the virgin queen, that each of these
symbolic trophies recurred as talismans, evoking
whole reigns from   the buried past.   Vandyke,
Rubens, and other masters speak from the old walls
in the precision of linear expression, or mellow
richness of hue; and, at every step, we are tempted
to linger and peruse the features of those who have
suffered and triumphed in a manner that has made
their names and fortunes household words in two
hemispheres. What a story is associated with the
earl of Strafford; what a web of intrigue, extending
over the world, with the astute, glowing, dignified,
prayerful face of Ignatius Loyola; what pitiful
interest environs the fair countenance of Charles I.'s
queen; and how familiar appears Holbein's Henry
VIII., the origin of his countless portraits. But
earls and kings do not so harmoniously eambody the
ideal of history as the landscape, as fresh, though
less wooded to-day, as when "the blue-eyed minstrel" strayed amid its oaks and elms. It was during a walk through the castle grounds, that the
poetry of the scene came home to my heart. Weary
with historical details, and warlike legends, it was
refreshing to tread the elastic and twinkling grass,





198


A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


and see the old branches of noble trees wave in the
gusty breeze.   The symmetrical pines cast broad
shadows; the few brown leaves that yet clung to
the leafless oaks, were detached by the wind; birds
were chirping; a banner fluttered from the tower;
far away spread the clustered roofs of Warwick,
and over them rose the old church pinnacles; looking upon these objects, as I strolled in the meadow,
through which winds the Avon, two beautiful swans
floated gracefully down the stream; and then I felt
myself in a haunt of Shakspere.     The castle, the
town, the river, the queenly birds, each tree and
grass-blade, were rife with his gracious memory;
and the murmurs of his harp seemed to vibrate in
the wind, fragmentary snatches of historic and natural description. I looked at the old gray towers,
and"Saw young Henry with his.beaver on,
His cuisses on his thighs, gallantly armed,
Rise from the ground like feathered Mercury."
I gazed at the sky, as the vapory rack consolidated
in shifting and grotesque forms, and thought" Sometimes we see a cloud that's dragonish,
A towered citadel, a pendent rock,
A forked mountain, or blue promontory."
I paused beneath " the shade of melancholy boughs'
and looked on the rough trunks for the name of
Rosalind, and down the vistas, for Jacques prone
on the sward in reverie; and, with the legendary





CASTLES AND SHAKSPERE.


199


structure just visible through a leafy screen, asked
myself is not-   "this life more sweet
"Than that of painted pomp  Are not these woods
More free from peril than the envious court?"
A venerable keeper passed, and reminded me of
good old Adam, and the " constant service of the
antique world," and a tanned loon, in a field, munching a turnip, had a Touchstone air. The famous
vase named from this its grand depository, and the
view from the highest tower, were also rife with
interest. After winding through narrow passages,
lofty saloons, and over oak floors all mellowed and
worn by time, after tracing the antique carving
round an enormous fireplace, that had consumed
yule logs by thousands, gazed on ancient armor,
reverend portraits, and, every now and then, through
the vast window, upon the picturesque landscape,
it was startling to my American sense of change, to
see the gloves, hats, and overcoats, of the present
occupants of Warwick castle, lying on the hall-table.
So completely had the manners and habiliments of
a distant age occupied the mind, that this indication
of hereditary proprietorship, of the absolute relation
of living men to the old earls, came upon the
senses as a miracle. To one who has lived in a
country where it is rare to find the second generation beneath the same roof-tree, or to recognise a





200


A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


landmark after the lapse of twenty years, a land
where change is the universal law, and vicissitude
of fortune, locality and employment almost the
prevalent order of life, there is a positive sublimity
in the spectacle of a home nine hundred years old;
and I did not wonder at the spell of conservatism
in a nation, where the family can gather at Christmas, in halls alive with traditions of ancestral barons,
knights, and princes, sheltered from the winter air
by tapestry woven, centuries ago, into the pictured
exploits of warlike progenitors, and kneel to pray
in a chapel, before whose altar have bowed a line
of kindred extending from the origin of the kingdom
to the present hour. To complete the expressive
alternation of relics, in the lodge was a spider-legged
table, at which Friar Tuck might have quaffed ale,
and in the dining-room, an elaborately-carved buffet, that had graced the World's Fair.
This bewildering combination of the past and
present, so vivid at Warwick, vanishes at Kenilworth; there, instead of a complete and uninjured
castle, we behold one in ruins; and, in felicity of
position, in the grandeur of the fragments, and the
whole environment of the scene, it is impossible to
conceive architectural remains more poetically impressive. In these respects they are only equalled
by the temples at Pfestum, and the noble vestiges
that stand in isolated majesty on the sea-washed
cliff of Girgenti. But the character of this ruin is





CASTLES AND SHAKSPERE.


201


essentially dissimilar, as thoroughly feudal as the
others are Greek; and it is an extraordinary advantage, in a picturesque and meditative view, thus to
behold a perfect structure, and one of the same
species, in absolute ruins, within a few miles of each
other. The leafy avenue you enter by a wicket,
seems like a romantic passage from the immediate to
antiquity; and the oak panelling and sculptured
fireplace of the old farmhouse where you rest, memorials of the original edifice, whose foundation rise
near, bring home the idea of the gorgeous interior
of which no other trace remains.
It was with a thrill of awe and delight that, on a
breezy morning, I stood amid the detached remnants of towers, walls, gateways, and windows
grand in their proportions even in decay, and beheld the enormous root-branches of ivy whence
clambered high and wide such a wilderness of
foliage; and then, from the highest stand-point,
gazed over a vast rural landscape, with meadows
of intense green, dotted with large trees, and intersected by hedge-rows, here dark with new-ploughed
fields, and there alive with grazing kine; and
then turned again to clamber over broken steps of
rock, into a massive dungeon, through some fissure
in a battlement, up to a crumbling parapet, tracing,
the while, by means of a ground-plan, the site and
relics of the gatehouse and banqueting-room, the
buildings of Leicester and Lancaster, the presence
9*





202


A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


chamber, the towers of Coesar, Mortimer, and Lun,
King Harry's lodgings, Sir Robert's lobby, and
all the other localities, ever and anon saying to myself, " This is what time and rapine have spared of
Kenilworth castle!"  Near the beautiful stone
frame-work of the lofty window hung so picturesquely with foliated garlands, I paused long and
thoughtfully, to rebuild in fancy the broken walls,
and repeople them with the great departed. I
thought of Kenilworth in its prime, when beleaguered by the hosts of Plantagenet, the witness
of Edward II.'s captivity, and the triumph of
Mortimer, the scene of John of Gaunt's revels, and
Henry VIIs.' favorite abode. I recalled the era
when it was the haunt of marauding followers of a
rebellious earl, and when devastated by Cromwell's
soldiers; but gradually these vague reminiscences
settled into an animated picture of the festival
which Leicester here dedicated to his queen. Not
only have musty chroniclers, in the most quaint
terms, recorded this memorable fete, but their details have been made to glow with life and unity
of effect, in the pages of modern romance. Again
the country round seemed filled with purveyors,
courtiers, and minstrels, on their way to the
revels; again the sound of bugles echoed from the
chase; morris-dancers were grouped on the lawn,
knights in the tilt-yard, and fair ladies in the hall;
before the "' vestal throned in the west" plebeians





CASTLES AND SHAKSPERE.


203


knelt to rise up nobles, and scrofulous wretches
quivered with delight beneath her healing touch;
again the scutcheon of Geoffrey de Clinton glistened in the torch-light; Sussex scowled in rivalry
on Leicester; plumes waved amid the trees, archers
twanged their bows, an Italian tumbler leaped in
the air, lovers whispered in a recess of the ballroom, an astrologer cast horoscopes in the tower,
yeomen drank ale from huge flagons, and a pyrothenic glare revealed velvet doublets, flashing
swords, and jewelled bosoms. We who have so
freshly in mind the creations of Scott, can not avoid
thinking chiefly, at Kenilworth, of Leicester and
Elizabeth. At Warwick castle I contemplated his
portrait with interest; there was manly beauty and
the dignity of high lineage in that face, but also a
latent sternness of purpose in the mouth, and a
sinister expression in the fine dark eye; it is the
countenance of a handsome, proud, ambitious, and
cruel man, and yet one capable of soft and high
emotions. At his tomb in St. Mary's church, I also
paused to gaze on the outstretched effigy, the same
lineaments and costume as in the portrait, but less
defined and more relieved; and now I stood amid
the ruins of that princely abode, where royalty was
his favored guest, and mused upon his aspirations
for the crown, of the queen's attachment, of his
intrigues, and especially of the long struggle of his
heart between love and ambition. Here in the





204


20  A MONTII IN ENGLANli


twilight, when the woman asserted herself in spite
of the queen, Elizabeth fondly whispered, "Dudley!" and there, in the presence-chamber, when suspicion triumphed over confidence, she petulantly
threatened, with an oath, to send him to the Tower.
I thought of him driving the blood from Amy Robsart's delicate cheek, with the declaration: 6 The
bear brooks no one to cross his awful path;" and
wreathing the harsh features of Elizabeth into complacent smiles, by adroit flattery or glances of admiration. This, according to tradition, was the
window of the queen's dressing-room: what reveries then may she not have indulged, in the rare
intervals of self-communion permitted on that festal visit; how imperious will must have wrestled
with passionate desire, and bitter jealousy poisoned
her cup of luxury; she may have gazed hence upon
the gallant form of her lover, as he sped forth on
his steed, at dawn, to the hunt, and sighed as he
disappeared in the forest, at her misgivings of his
faith, or her sense of queenly prerogative that
barred the realization of her tenderness. With a
lingering step and reverted gaze, after exploring
the adjacent orchard, pleasaunce, and meadows,
I left the ruins. The modern town of Kenilworth,
and the ancient priory, a religious dependency of
the castle in earlier times, were bathed in the mellow light of noon; thrushes sang in the hedge,
sheep were clustered in the fields, and, as we fol




CASTLES AND SHIIAKSPERE.2


205


lowed a pleasant lane to the station, I asked myself,
with the peerless bard:"Gives not the hawthorne bush a sweeter shade
To shepherds, looking on their silly sheep,
Than doth a rich embroidered canopy
To kings, that fear their subjects' treachery.?"
Shakspere was born at the epoch when these domestic and noble fortresses, with their dungeons and
ramparts, were giving way to the handsome mansion reared in a peaceful meadow, with open porch,
and only a rustic gate to separate it from the highroad. Thus the safety and amenities of later civilization were enjoyed by the bard, with those formidable structures of feudalism still undiminished, to
make vivid the warlike, baronial past, and contrast
its grim features with the serene cheerfulness of
rural life. No period can be conceived more favorable to a free, bold, and creative imagination. A
perverse steed, imposed on us at Warwick, by his
capricious pauses on the road to Stratford, gave
frequent opportunities for a survey of the country.
Its aspect was fertile and agreeable, without being
highly picturesque, and, by its very lack of prominent charms, led me to speculate upon the external
resources of the poet. That subtle and pervasive
element, which we familiarly call the spirit of the
age, had more to do with his development than any
rare scenery or local peculiarities; these he observed
with wonderful accuracy; they yielded him details





206


20  A MOINTIi IN IENGLANID


of still-life and shades of characterization; but, as
far as the outward world influenced his creative faculty, the events and personages of his day, it may
be justly inferred, were a prime incentive to that
scope of argument and vital energy of perception
which distinguish his genius. To these scenes of
quiet beauty and rural comfort he owes undoubtedly much of the tranquil grace of his muse, much
of the gentle patience of his tone, and not a little
of the humane philosophy that so sweetly links the
frailties and the pleasures of his race with the imagery of the natural world. Here he " with an eye
of leisure looked on all;" and bright are the traces
in his plays, of that thoughtful communion with his
native landscape: amid its sequestered loveliness,
the tide of his soul moved calmly, reflecting every
star in the heavens;- but when it burst forth with
the grand throes of the cataract, it was through contact with the stern events that thrilled his age, and
under the iris-hued splendor of intellectual glory
that spanned, like a prismatic bow, connecting earth
and heaven, the valorous, experimental, prolific era
of Elizabeth. The meager facts of his individual
culture furnish a most inadequate explanation of
the mental phenomena included in his brief existence. When we have ascribed his classical knowledge, in part, to intimacy with Ben Jonson, traced
his acquaintance with the old Italian romances, admitted the evidence that he owned a copy of Mon




CASTLES AND SHAKSPERE.


207


taigne, and that the first English translation of
" Plutarch's Lives" was coincident with his youth,
there remains a vast body of special intelligence
and a wide horizon of experience, which even his
peerless endowments fail to explain.. The mystery,
however, lessens when we take into view contemporary men and occurrences, and consider how full
of significance they must have been to the thinker
of that day. That most affecting historical episode,
the life and martyrdom of Mary queen of Scots;
the almost Arabian tales of maritime discovery
which resulted in the settlement of America; the
spiritual war, so long carried on with material weapons, that led to protestantism in England; the glorious victories of Sir Francis Drake, and the heroic
death of Sidney-were a few of the characteristic
events of Shakspere's time. And, in purely intellectual experience, it was no less prolific: then the
puritan advent occurred; Bacon philosophized; the
Tower claimed some of its noblest victims; Titian
painted; Spenser ushered forth the " Fairy Queen;"
Hooker preached; Galileo read the stars; Cervantes
laughed Spain's chivalry away; Tasso raved and
sang; Inigo Jones built; Raleigh's friends were
taught to smoke the Virginia weed; the Flemish
exiles introduced manufactures into England; the
earliest printing-presses were put in motion; a wonderful galaxy of playwrights wheeled, like a new
milky way, into the firmament of northern song,





208


A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


and substituted for the quaint old moralities an
intensely human drama, which, in spite of its barbarisms, yet holds captive the Saxon heart. On
such a flood of enterprise, thought, and incident, the
matchless soul of WILLIAM SHAKSPERE was lifted into
the empyrean; upon such a theatre was his wondrous insight expended; amid such glowing elements did his immortal genius expand and gradually mature into perfect achievement.
At Stratford-on Avon, however, we are too much
absorbed in the childhood, youth, and last days of
Shakspere the man, to reflect long upon his age.
It is the hazel eyes, the bald and lofty head, the
auburn beard, the human figure that once moved
through these streets, which haunt our fancy there;
it is the stripling given " to poetry and acting," the
glowing youth wooing, not a girl, but a woman parallel with his own thorough manliness, and therefore his senior, and " in the lusty stealth of nature"
taking the fair Anne Hathaway for his bride; it is
the spirited youth relishing a midnight shot in
the forest, and lampooning a complacent old squire
-the rich autocrat of the neighborhood-whom he
was too independent to toady, and yet not able
wholly to defy; it is the romantic moonlight stroller, upon whose fine sense not an odor, hue, or
tone, was lost - unconsciously garnering up, in
this humble village, the material elements of poetic
creations destined " for all time;" and, finally, it is





CASTLES AND SHAKSPERE.


209


the crowned minstrel, his eternal triumph achieved,
his glorious legacy to mankind enrolled, returning
hither, in the prime of life and fame, to celebrate
his daughter's nuptials, make his will, write his epitaph, dwell a while in grateful and meek content,
with kindred and neighbors, amid his sweet native
landscape, and then lay his body under the altar
where in life he prayed; -thenceforth to become a
shrine of humanity, to which his spirit, diffusive as
the winds of heaven, and yet concentrated as the
heart's blood, shall draw the votive steps of reverent
and loving generations for ever!
Of all the claims upon faith to which the modern
traveller is liable, one of the most difficult not to
admit, but to realize, is that advanced by the sign
projecting from the little cottage in Henley street, at
Stratford. We tread the sagging floor, we gaze
round the low-roofed and diminutive chamber, we
vainly seek an unappropriated inch on wall and
ceiling to inscribe our name, we seat ourselves in
the arm-chair, let the garrulous old woman chatter
away unheeded, and, all the time, there is a strife
between the senses and the mind, from the eagerness of the latter to realize the identity of the scene
with Shakspere's nativity. But this troubled mood
changes to one of happy conviction, as we become
familiar with the town itself and adjacent country.
It is easy to associate a poet with nature, and very
near seems he who first drew breath in yonder low




2j10


A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


ly domicil, when streams, woods, insect, sky, and
man himself, are beheld where he first knew them.
I could easily imagine here the zest with which, glad
to escape the more exciting lessons of London life,
he wrote:"Often to our comfort, shall we find
The sharded beetle in a safer hold
Than is the full-winged eagle. O this life
Is nobler than attending for a check,
Prouder than rustling in unpaid-for silk."
At every step, his familiar phrase illustrated the
scene. When we sat down to lunch at "The Red
Horse," what better greeting could be imagined
than"May good digestion wait on appetite,
And health on both!"
I looked out of the window, and there stood a
venerable figure bent over his stick, his loose woollen hose betraying "the lean and slippered pantaloon;" there were no less than two infants " puling
in their nurses' arms;" an urchin, playing ball, exhibited " the shining morning face" of the schoolboy; a blacksmith and currier were greedily swallowing news which a farmer ostentatiously broached;
they were the "mechanic slaves with greasy aprons"
of the play; under the window, stood an old toper,
who methought sat for this picture: " There is a fellow somewhat near the door, for o' my conscience
twenty dog-days now reign in's nose; all that stand
about him are under the line;" a strutting groom





CASTLES AND SHAKSPERE.


211


was one of those inventoried by the same hand, as
"highly fed and lowly taught;" a plethoric dame
was arranging her newly-purchased stores in a cart,
with the very expression of an "1unlettered, smallknowing soul;" a bluff country-gentleman reined
up his tall horse, as if to exhibit to the group his
" fair, round belly, with good capon lined;" a lady's
chariot outshone the whole array, and a carrier's
wagon was an instant nucleus for gossips. It was
essentially such a " walking shadow" of life as used
to greet the eyes of the young poet. Indeed, I recognised, in an hour's walk about Stratford, a vast
number of old acquaintances, especially Dogberry,
Shallow, Snug, Bottom, and Launce's dog. But the
most genial traces of his muse are discoverable in
natural objects. From Stratford to Shoteley, his
wife's maiden home, and thence to Charlecote, the
seat of the deer-loving justice, how many silent testimonies to the graphic pencil of the dramatic artist,
strike the thoughtful eye!
The evidence of universal sympathy, so apparent
in the pilgrimage of multitudes to a common shrine,
attested the truth he so emphatically announced,
that "one touch of nature makes the whole world
kin;" his own marvellous destiny makes us feel that
" there's a divinity that shapes our ends;" the headstones in the churchyard announce that " undiscovered country from whose bourne no traveller returns;" and thus each object and idea which the





212


A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


place suggested, whether by a detail of nature or a
general truth, found its most apt expression in one
of his memorable phrases.
The shrewd eye and obsequious bearing of an
innkeeper made us exclaim, "E How like a fawning
publican he looks;" a discussion growing out of
Queen Elizabeth's portraits, and the tales of her
frailty, induced the charitable second thought to
utter itself in his considerate line, "The greatest
scandal waits on greatest state;" the complacent
air of sanctity in a young and spruce vicar we met,
suggested one of that class who believe there shall
be "no more cakes and ale" because they are virtuous; and, hastening at sunset along the road to
Warwick, we could say"The west yet glimmers with some streaks of day,
Now spurs the lated traveller apace
To gain the timely inn."
Here, I thought, when love " lent a precious seeing to the eye," Shakspere beheld the landscape
now present to my vision; speeding with full heart
to his tryst at eve, "the sweet odor of the newmown hay" breathed its fragrance around him;
" violets dim" met his downward glance; " the poor
beetle that we tread upon," crossed his path; the
willow that "shows its hoar leaves in the glassy
stream" became a pensive image in his memory;
" the barky fingers of the elm" touched his flushed
brow; the umbrageous fence that skirted his way,





CASTLES AND SHAKSPEEE.


213


years after, led him to write, " Such a divinity doth
1hedge a king;" he saw the cheerful rustic coming
home from toil, and knew, when in the great world,
how blest it is " to range with humble livers in content;" the decrepit villager that hobbled by, taught
him that " Care keeps his watch in every old man's
eye;" the echo of the funeral-bell impressed upon
his thought that "' we can not hold mortality's strong
hand;;" and though convivially inclined when " fancy free," he left the alehouse early where there was
" like to be a great presence of worthies," breaking
away from the bore "' full of wise saws and modern
instances;" and, as these casual experiences took
their place in the background of the temple of his
mind, he thus inwardly ejaculated:" 0, that I thought it could be in a woman
To feed for aye her lamp and flames of love;
To keep her constancy in plight and youth,
Outliving beauty's outward, with a mind
That doth renew swifter than blood decays l
Or, that persuasion could but thus convince me,
That my integrity and truth to you
Might be affronted with the watch and weight
Of such a winnowed purity in love;
How were I then uplifted!"
IHe heard, as he walked, the "brook make music
with the enamelled stones," and saw the river " giving a gentle kiss to every sedge," even as they do
now; and, at the same time, speculating on his own
consciousness, he thought




214


A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


"O, how this spring of love resembleth
The uncertain glory of an April day,
Which now shows all the beauty of the sun,
And by-and-by a cloud takes all away I"
After the limitless flight of a sympathetic imagination through the natural, historical, ideal, and
human world created by Shakspere, what an appeal
to our humanity is his tomb! As, beneath a wintry sky, I walked up the avenue of old trees to the
church where he is buried, the fitful blast rose and
died away in the mossy boughs like a perpetual requiem. The dark evergreen and the dry limbs, the
head-stones and turf, the cloud-shadows alternating
over the broken pavement, joint emblems of nature's
constant renewal and of death's oblivious mystery,
familiar as they were, had, then and there, an utterance of awe and beauty. The quiet, venerable
church, thus isolated from the thickly-settled part
of the town, and embowered in foliage, with its truly
English aspect and religious seclusion, wa' quite in
accordance with the mood awakened by the presence of its consecrated dust. iHow noble in its simplicity was the image of the great bard, in his domestic character, kneeling there in prayer beside
wife, daughter, and grandchild; holding meekly, in
his Creator's presence, the sublime faculties which,
with all their heritage of power and of fame, could
not exempt him from a single infirmity " that flesh
is heir to." The improvidence and vagrant habits
of genius are proverbial; self respect and loyalty to





CASTLES AND SHAKSPERE.


215


social duty, are rare in the career of the gifted; and
to my mind there was something inexpressibly affecting in the evidence here given of Shakspere's carefil regard for his own and his family's sepulture. To
come back in the zenith of his dramatic success and
the vigor of his years, to the village whence he wandered in youth, to arrange his affairs, regulate the
disposition of his property, and provide a last restingplace for his dust, guarding it, by a benediction and
a curse, from profanation, was a phase of forethought
and consideration, in contrast with his unequalled intellectual triumphs, that seemed to me full of moral
significance. The gentleman of Stratford-on-Avon
was not allowed to disappear in the glory of the poet
of all time. When the good clerk of the parish rolled
off a long strip of matting from before the altar-railing, and disclosed the inscribed slabs which cover his
bones and those of his wife and daughters, I thrilled
with reverence at the possible destiny of a man:
here was the ocular proof of his mortality, of his
experience of the common lot; but the hushed expanse of that country-church, " in my mind's eye,"
was thronged with the brave, the fair, and the gifted,
who sprang into ever-fresh and cherished being at
his call. Think of our inward life, bereft of these!
Could we not muse with Hamlet, drink the honey
vows of Romeo, find majesty in wo with Lear, realize the omnipresence of conscience in the visions of
Macbeth and Richard, and quicken faith in woman





216


A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


in the society of Miranda, Cordelia, Juliet, and Hermione-how faint would be the recorded types of
humanity, how vague our ideals of the race! And
these passions that rend our hearts, the dark annals
that men call history, the scenes of nature, and the
philosophy of life-imagine them without the key
of this master-spirit, the consolations, beauty, tenderness, and truth, with which he has reconciled
" the show of things to the desires of the mind."
The church was dressed with spruce and holly, and
round the bust of Shakspere, above his epitaph,
sprigs of bay were twined. The cheerful hue of
those polished leaves seemed to proclaim the eternal freshness of his memory. The authenticity of
this bust is undeniable, and its expression is a blended intelligence and kindliness; intellect-high, selfpossessed, and clear--and habitual benignity, were
the characteristics of his face. A more serene and
noble countenance, grand in its outline, and gentle
in its spirit, can not be imagined. The subdued
light and holy calm of the temple breathed of peace.
The desolation of mortality vanished in thoughts of
the undying love and honor which consecrate his
fame. He has told us, with a humility and affection unparalleled in the personal utterance of genius, how he would have one that loved him feel
beside his tomb: -


"No longer mourn for me when I am dead,
Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell





CASTLES AND SHANSPEBE.                 21T
Give warning to the world that I am fled
From this vile world with vilest worms to dwell:
Nay, if you read this line, remember not
The hand that writ it; for I love you so,
That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot
If thinking on me then should make you wo.
0 if, I say, you look upon this verse
When I perhaps compounded am with clay,
Do not so much as my poor name rehearse,
But let your love with my poor life decay;
Lest the wise world should look into your moan,
And mock you with me after I am gone."
10










lBY.T IIE WAY.
-to know
That which before us lies in daily life,
Is the. primne wisdom,
MILTON.










IX.


BY-THE-WAY.
DE QUINCEY tells us that his first childish impression of the magnitude of London, was derived from
the sight of the immense droves of cattle in the
suburban roads, all tending to one point, and destined to supply the metropolitan markets; and Dr.
Johnson perambulated the streets forty years before
he encountered an old Derbyshire friend, whose
diurnal walks embraced the same circle; but the
stranger now gains the most vivid idea of this vastness, after a day passed amid the luxurious dwellings of the West-End, by a nocturnal pilgrimage
through the most crowded throughfares of the city;
on Saturday evening they swarm with shopkeepers,
clerks, porters, dandies, errand-boys, women, and
mechanics, and as one adroitly threads the long
procession, the strong artificial light falls on wan
or burly faces, and helps to increase the panoramic
effect; the blue and orange reflection of the chem




222


A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


ist's bottles, alternate with red quarters of beef and
enormous cabbages; we pass in rapid succession,
the Chinese effigies of a tea-shop, the gloomy materials of the undertaker; here a surgeon's name
emblazoned on metal, and there piles of clothing or
rows of shoes, pyramids of candy, folds of gay silk,
masses of dried fruit, a book-stall covered with faded
volumes, miserable little exhibitions, "dissolving
views," " exhilarating gas," and "concerts," allurements to resorts for drinking; all revealed in the
blaze of innumerable gaslights, and presided over
by stiff policemen, with dreadnaught coats and
glazed hats. The scene calls to mind the observation of a French traveller who says England is
"un pays rempli de gens qui ne demandant pas
mieux que d'echanger un schilling contre une 6motion de deux minutes."
Mayhew has given us the diagnosis of London
street-life, with an analytical precision quite scientific.  By means of statistics carefully gleaned,
daguerreotype portraits of each species of huckster,
and descriptions authentic and detailed, a body of
the most curious information is brought together,
which reveals a world of facts appalling to the sensibilities, and wonderfully suggestive to the political economist. After reading "London Labor and
London Poor," it is impossible to note the costermongers, and recognise the by-way tableaux, without emotion.





BY-THE-WAY.


223


Having been charged, before leaving home, with
a missive to a celebrated political refugee, I sought
his obscure domicil, through more than a league of
crowded streets, and, during the transit from Trafalgar square to King's road, the situation of a foreigner, and especially that of a poor exile from southern
Europe, in this wilderness of human beings, presented itself in tragic relief. I thought of the melancholy charm we all learned to associate with it,
before the vein opened by " Thaddeus of Warsaw,"
had been exhausted by later novelists. In a gloomy
court, on the edge of one of those highways always
thronged with beeves and coal drays, and illuminated at night, by the flashing and fatal gin-palaces,
I found, after many inquiries, the mean abode where
dwelt one, who, but a few months previous, had
swayed a popular conclave, and represented an
awakened and exultant nation.    The slatternly
hostess scrutinized and hesitated before she admitted me to the patriot's chamber. The remains
of a meager breakfast lay on the deal table, which
was heaped with the tobacco-stained files of a liberal
journal in a foreign tongue; lithographs of republican leaders hung awry on the wall; everything
betokened impoverished seclusion, uncheered save
by memory and hope. Isolated in a vast metropolis, the mercurial child of the south thus lived, safe,
indeed, from gens d'arnes, but deprived of all that
endears life, except the mere privilege of living;





224:


A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


his only excitement obtainable from journals and
letters, those charts of action and love to the banished; incapable of adaptation to the people and
habits around, with hearts embittered by ceaseless
regret, and forlorn though unshared aspirations,
these victims of despotism experience hourly alternate pangs and desires, whose conflict might melt
a stoic with pity. What a contrast is the scene on
which their fevered eyes open to that of home! The
blue sky, the radiant sunshine, the music, statues,
ruins, and flowers, which endear their native land
for ever, even to the passing stranger, here only
mock the imagination with a vanished dream. The
traffic, fog, and hubbub of pitiless London whirl
around their hearts like a vision of despair. How
many noble spirits have tasted this bitter cup,
whose names are identified with intellectual triumphs, or social virtues worthy a happier destiny.
I thought of Kosciusko and the days of enthusiasm
for Poland, yet alive in the spirited verse of Campbell; of the gentle lexicographer Baretti, and the
Corsican hero, Paoli, companioned by Johnson; of
romanesque Chateaubriand teaching French, and
writing in a garret for bread, of Foscolo with his
sybarite tastes, and elegiac muse, of Mazzini and
Kossuth; the spasmodic outbreaks of popular sympathy, and the reaction into indifference and ridicule; and I felt how utterly vain was the attempt
to harmonize southern instincts with English pride,





BY-THE-WAY.


225


the enthusiasm of a vivacious, with the rationality
of a phlegmatic race. The foreigner is ever apart
in London; if he is seen a night or two in a fashionable assembly, or is made to figure in a political
ovation, his very complexion, eye, and bearing,
emphatically declare him alien to the scene. His
rhetorical speech, visionary tone of mind, childlike
sensitiveness, and extravagant manner, have a grotesque prominence amid the systematic respectability, and cold self-possession of the people who give
him refuge. The Teutonic exiles alone reconcile
themselves patiently to English life; Freylingrath,
the beautiful lyrist of freedom, is bravely content to
support his family by keeping the books of a London merchant; but Mazzini roams, with fiery eyes,
amid the uncongenial throng, or shuts himself up,
for weeks, in an obscure lodging, to indite constitutional formulas, or sententious appeals. An Englishman can not imagine the desolation which a child
of the south feels from the absence of the sun, and
the presence of an exclusively utilitarian life; even
the comfortable proprieties of an English home fail
to solace their eager spirits; Corinne's picture,
however melo-dramatic in design, is essentially true
in spirit. England nobly gives an asylum to the life,
but not to the soul of the refugee; she is, with casual
exceptions, true to national hospitality; but it is the
aegis of her laws, and not the embrace of her sympathy, which she casts around the hunted stranger.
10*





226


A MONTH IN ENGLA&ND.


In fact, the chivalric element, in its legitimate
influence, is not native to English blood; animal
courage, loyalty, and frank kindness to those who
have a claim on their protection, are, indeed, characteristic and noble traits; but the sympathetic,
trustful, voluntary heart of courtesy, is a different
and a rare virtue. Women, for instance, as such,
feel sensibly the inferiority of their position; the
voluntary aid and habitual deference they receive,
merely on the score of their sex, in America, is not
vouchsafed in England. The discontent manifested
by women in this country, who advocate special
rights, would be diminished, if they could realize
the comparative absence of respect and sympathy
experienced abroad.
It is far more common than with us, among the
professional and mercantile class in England, to retire at middle age upon a competency; and nothing can be more pleasing to a wise and generous
nature than to behold the peaceful evening which
thus succeeds to the busy noon of life. To an
American especially it is delightful to see contented and well-earned leisure embellished by useful
taste and hallowed by domestic virtue. I sought,
one afternoon, the house of a retired physician, the
only surviving London contemporary of a medical
friend at home, whom I had promised to report to
his old fellow-student. To this kindly and intelligent gentleman I should not personally refer, but a





BY-THE-WAY.


227


literary enterprise that has beguiled several years
of his retirement, is about to benefit transatlantic
readers; and this circumstance is an adequate reason for infringing upon the grateful silence, in regard to private intercourse, which should chasten
every honorable traveller's record. I accompanied
Dr. Roget to a meeting of the Royal Society. A
paper, abounding in curious facts, was read on
" The transmission of heat;" but while I mechanically listened to the scientific thesis, my eye wandered reverentially to the portraits of Evelyn, Sir Joseph Banks, John Hunter, Dr. Baillie, Franklin, and
others, that adorned the walls, to the bust of Carlo
II., fondator, to the golden mace, and the faces of
the members; and, upon adjourning to the library,
there were relics that carried me yet farther from
the immediate discussion-the telescope constructed by Sir Isaac Newton, his likeness, mask taken
after death, a lock of his hair, and a striking bust of
Mrs. Somerville. Dr. Roget was, for twenty years,
secretary of the Royal Society; his work to which
I have referred, is a kind of verbal anatomy, a collection of English synonyms arranged with reference to their shades of meaning, and the needs of
the student. It may be called a philosophical vocabulary. All who have a vivid sense of language,
who aim at exactness of speech, and to whom writing is a high art, are familiar with the difficulty
of seizing on the precise word to express the de




228


A ARONTHI IN ENGLAND.


sired sentiment or idea. Our ideal in this regard
is often sacrificed to the caprice of memory. For
this and many other wants of the mind, in its relation to language, " Roget's Thesaurus" will prove
an invaluable manual. He has made an analytical
study of our vernacular, traced the origin and ramification of words, afrayed their elemental forms in
rational order, and thus furnished a kind of verbal scale, by which we can harmonize and emphasize our language to the utmost nicety and greatest
significance.
The conservative habit of the English is very obvious to an American eye, in the physique, the
costume, and even in the mechanic arts and trades
around him. It is not surprising that an Englishman, newly arrived in Boston, thought himself
among a nation of invalids; the pedestrian activity
of the women, and their apparent indifference to
the elements, and the number of robust, old men
on the promenades, in London, are novelties to us.
I found a celebrated watchmaker playing cribbage,
one evening, with his wife, in a plain, old-fashioned
house of Clerkenwell, where not an indication appeared of his auriferous vocation, or the fame and
activity whereby he and his fathers before him, had
so long there prospered.
An industrial nation, like England, naturally
makes greater provision for science than art; and
the list of public benefactors in this department,





BY-THE- WAY.


with the immortal Newton at its head, and such
men as Banks for purveyor, and Watt, Davy, HtIerschel, Priestley, Brewster, and other discoverers, so
admirably delineated by Lord Brougham, to illustrate the annals of the Royal Society, is unique,
while the British Museum, Zoological Gardens,
Museum of Geology, and kindred institutions, afford
the most abundant means for its permanent increase.  Thle magnificent halls, completeness of
each branch, and excellent arrangement of the
former institution, the well-behaved crowd of visiters, gratified poor, busy artists, and absorbed students, rendered this, to my mind, the most obviously
efficient of the London resorts, as well as the noblest
temple of knowledge. Nor is the superiority of the
Zoological Gardens over similar establishments less
apparent. I was struck with the number of small
Iative birds, that frequent the place; are they attracted by the foreign individuals of their kind, or
the chance of obtaining food? It is pleasing to
note how comfortably the exiles from desert, sea,
and woods, are here domiciled; to watch the irishued waterfowl, brilliantly-scaled reptiles, gaudy
parrots, flexible monkeys, and fierce hyenas; the
opportunity to observe every species of animal
tribes and feathered races, is so commodious, that
it alone induces a taste for natural history; the authenticity of the comparison, " fat as a seal," was
demonstrated here, as I watched a sleek and tame





230


A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


one, whose skin appeared filled to its utmost dimensions, run and dive, like a dog, for the silvery fish
thrown by the keeper. The great rarity, however,
was the hippopotamus, who had figured so often in
The Illustrated News8 that he looked like an old
acquaintance; and brought to mind the reedy margin of the White Nile, where he was captured when
a few days old, by a huntsman, the scar of whose
spear is still visible.
A note of introduction from Sir Charles Lyell,
obtained an item of practical information of which
I was in quest, from the secretary of the Museum
of Geology. The exquisitely-veined marbles and
rare specimens of mineralogy there, might usefully
occupy hours even to the unscientific; and the
newly-appreciated resources of Australia, were
made evident by some large diamonds, and a lump
of gold embedded in quartz, that rivalled the finest
California specimens.
An opportunity was afforded me of thoroughly
observing an old-school merchant.   He was an
epitome of John Bull in the average phase-a
well-knit frame, a ruddy and clean-shaved chin,
every article of his dress adapted to the existent
weather, and indicative of entire comfort, but
in neither cut nor hue giving the slightest hint of
taste; neat, reserved, and civil; his opinions based
on extreme rationality, without impulse, systematic
in exercise and diet, self-reliant, scrupulous in as




BY-THE-WAY.


231


serting his nationality, in his salutations, his promenade, his reading, his conservative dogmas in
politics, and his audible responses to the church
service; frank and kind in his hospitality, complacent, wedded to decorum, balanced accounts, the
liturgy, and The Times; his port, sirloin, Cheshire, muffins, tea, servants, door-plate, finger-nails,
creed, and wife, quite unexceptionable;-he was a
human machine well-oiled, in the highest working
condition, a model of punctuality, good faith, health,
and self-esteem--the creature of habit, and the incarnation of respectability.
The vast difference in the number of readers in
America and England, may be inferred from the
high price and limited editions of British journals,
and the suggestive fact that out of London, not a
single daily newspaper is issued, while the penny
press is almost unknown. The new works forwarded to the nobility, may be seen, months after their
publication, with uncut leaves on the library tables.
Poetry is fa-r less read; Tennyson and the Brownings have a hundred American to one English admirer; and until Dickens established Household
Words, but few periodicals reached the masses, in
1which reliable information was diffused at a price
and with the graces of style requisite for its general usefulness.  The essays of Carlyle, Macaulay, De Quincey, and other valuable contributors





232


A MIONTH IN ENGLAND.


to iBritish periodical literature, were first collected
on this side of the water.
I was desirous to compare the successors of Curl,
Evans, 'and Dodsley, with their famous predecessors
in the trade. To us, accustomed to think of an English publisher's imprint as the sign manual prophetic
of intellectual luxury, the establishments whence our
favorite books have emanated, are quite different
from the idea formed of them. Instead of the gay
shelves and large, frequented, and well-stocked
warehouse, familiar to the bibliopole in American
cities, we usually find a dusky office with a meager array of specimen copies; the autocrat of the
famous press occupies a back or upper parlor, and
looks more like an author than a bookseller; the
Longmans, adepts in publishing enterprise; Murray,
with his celebrated portraits, and heritage of famous literary correspondence; Moxon in his retired
sanctum, the author of a volume of sonnets; Bohn, a
German scholar, surrounded by a multifarious and
rare library; Bentley, by his cosy fireside, an acknowledged judge of style, originality, and the
wants of the literary public; Pickering, in his suit
of black, a lover of meditative genius, and a connoisseur in editions --all, by their environment and aspect, give one the idea of men of letters instead of
traders; and so, to a greater or less extent, they
are. Comparatively speaking books in England
are a luxury; and those who publish standard





BY-THE-WAY.


233


works, abound in literary anecdote, cultivate special
tastes, and minister, with no little social eclat, or
dilletanie instinct, at the altar of knowledge and
mental enjoyment. There is little or no display in
their places of business, which usually have a conservative and domestic, and seldom a busy look.
Some devote their attention exclusively to the distribution of a few valuable works; others are idenfled with a single class of publications, and all, who
have an established reputation, obviously depend
upon the fame of their respective issues, and the
certainty of demand, and not upon the allurements
of conventional devices. I found these gentlemen,
from their intimate relations with endeared authors,
and practical knowledge of public taste, worthy
purveyors in the field of literature; scarcely one
but could relate a curious illustration of pencraft
or character, that would have been seized upon by
D'Israeli the elder; and in the way of success,
failure, rival editions, and the latent facts of the
book-trade, their experience furnished abundant
material equally interesting to the amateur and
the economist. Cheap literature is yet a novelty
in England; it properly began with the railway
libraries: and one disadvantage under which our
authors, of the higher class, labor, in the absence
of an international copyright, is that of having
their books printed in so shabby and imperfect a
style, that they rarely come under the eye of the





234


A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


cultivated readers for whom they were intended.
A signal advantage which the English author enjoys, is that, when once his ability is recognised, his
publishers foster his genius. The successful career
of many popular writers of the day is traceable, in
no small degree, to the loyal and permanent encouragement they receive from the individual of
the trade who becomes their medium with the public; a foothold once deservedly gained, may thus
be permanently lucrative; and what originated in
a casual impulse or urgent necessity, lead to long
and brilliant triumphs. The days seem to have
gone by when a new poem created afurore, and a
fresh review a panic; but the dinner, that great
central point of demonstration in all branches of
social interest, literary, dramatic, and artistic, according to the very genius of English life, has the
same hospitable significance as when Moore enlivened it with his songs, Hook with unique imitations, and Sydney Smith with humorous sallies.
Diverse as are the forms of government in England from our own, there is one feature of politics
in which they agree; the emphasis of the gazettes
is entirely disproportioned to the public sympathy
in questions of the day; even a change of ministry
is far more prominent in the journals than as a
matter of fact; and the reason of this comparative
indifference is identical in both nations;-faith in
constitutional safeguards, and the essential health




BY-THE-WAY.


235


fulness of popular sentiment. With all the benefits
of the acoustic principle, and other modern improvements in the new house of commons, we miss the
associations of old St. Stephen's, as the scene of that
grand intellectual gladiatorship between Pitt and
Fox, the traditionary eloquence of Sheridan, and the
philosophic rhetoric of Burke. The scene where
revolutions of opinion have been achieved, such as
affect the destiny of nations, is hallowed to the
mind; and the very walls that echoed the proud
contempt of Pitt, and the vital argument of Fox, in
that era when reckless dissipation alternated with
momentous exhibitions of party tactics and oratory,
have no little interest to an American, as witnesses
of the councils that stimulated his country into an
independent political existence; and as the arena
where the talent most universal there, displayed its
standard exemplars.
The Dutch painters excel' in what we technically
call interiors, their aptitude finding a scope therein,
which the unpicturesque landscape of their country
denies; and, on the same principle, whoever would
estimate life in England, must seek its domestic
manifestations. I had the curiosity to note what
struck me as characteristic, during my visits of
business and friendship in London; and, in every
instance, recognised abundant material for philosophic inference. In no modern city is the diversity
and permanence of the forms of social existence,





236


A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


more obvious. The sources whence the old dramatists, the modern essayists, and the writers of fiction
of our own day, derive both their still-life, and their
characters are at once apparent; and the influences
that mould the English mind, are seen to be of that
reserved kind, which are born of household, vocation,
and caste. It is interesting also to trace the effect
of science in modifying the conditions of life, and
the amelioration which progressive elements have
wrought in the social economy. These are more
evident in the ratio of the intellectual quality of
each occupation; trade favors the monotony born
of systematic routine; the bankers and artificers
work in the same dens as they did a century ago;
but professional men, and especially authors, have
risen in the scale of civil life. Instead of Otway
choking from the bread too late and too fiercely
seized, we have Dickens substantially housed, and,
with business-like method, sending forth his monthly
number, which coins as reliable a pile of guineas,
as any won by artisan or trader. Instead of the
court versifier anxious for his pittance, we have
Barry Cornwall inditing a song, as he rides to attend
a commission of lunacy; livelihood being quite
independent of the muse.
The contradictions of the English character are
proverbial, and it is absurd to refer them to a single
cause. Madame de Stael says, that when we are
much attached to our ideas, we endeavor to connect





BY-THE-WAY


2387


everything to them; and the government, climate,
and insular position of England, fail to explain any
but general traits; it would be as irrational to
ascribe the utilitarianism of the people, for instance,
to a limited monarchy, as it was in De Tocqueville to derive so many American characteristics
exclusively from the democratic principle. That
labor is peculiarly requisite to health and enjoyment, in a land affording so few natural resources
in the way of luxury, is, indeed, obvious; and, not
many years ago, the number of retired country
gentlemen who died of apoplexy, was an alarming
evidence of the danger of idleness, combined with a
diet of beef, port, and ale. The last winter was wet
and gloomy, beyond all precedent, and more railway accidents then occurred than ever before in the
same period; yet it struck me as a bold speculation
to attribute these to an indifference to life, induced
by the spleen consequent on so many weeks of rain.
The complication of agencies that here bear upon,
and modify human life, as well as the limited arena,
and fixed destiny of humanity, render England,
however, a far less favorable country for the study
of social science than our own; insular communities
are essentially peculiar; and the heritage of laws,
customs, and ranks, that weigh on the old nations,
pervert, as well as narrow the development of each
successive generation. There are facts in the history of English civilization, which are reliable





238


A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


exponents of national character. The vital necessity
of self reliance, and of working out the problem of
life to its most intense degree, which is the natural
consequence of limited space, few external resources,
and a northern atmosphere and organization, doubtless, in a great measure, account for the vast foreign
empire, and concentrated industrial energy of the
nation. These circumstances, too, generate a love
of power, which habit renders a normal function of
character; and hence it is, that Will is the predomi'nant element, and that the English, like a tree,
strike deep roots in the soil, and spread forth large
branches to inhale their vitality from abroad, in order
to grow strong by intense and gradual absorption,
rather than bloom, like the flower, in evanescent
grace, as the nations of the south and east. This
vital energy, this perverse individuality, whether
exhibited in reserve of manner, patience in action,
or habitual arrogance, is the one prevailing and
self-preserving instinct of the race; it is evident in
the firm purpose of Wellington, the dogged industry
of Johnson, the scornful defiance of Pitt, the bullyism of Thurlow, the assumption of Warren Hastings, the unflinching hardihood of English sailors,
merchants, warriors, and authors. It is a personification of the voluntary principle, and the basis of
the favorite character of obstinate old gentlemen,
wilful youths, courageous soldiers, martyrs to opinion, and perverse women, so familiar to the reader





BY-THE-7WAY.


239


of English literature.  It is the instinctive cause
of the national appellative; a bull is the animal
type of strength, ferocity, and self-will.  In the
American character these traits are modified by superior flexibility, and greater aptness and variety. On
the continent, while an Englishman remains intact,
an American yields himself somewhat to the life he
encounters; and the diversity is obvious in the
national career of each. John Bull is content with
the old, as long as his personal comfort is not invaded; Jonathan is never so pleased but he is willing to do better; the one, therefore, is habitually
conservative, the other experimental; and, as a
consequence, the English excel in permanent resources, and the Americans in casual expedients;
the one is better entrenched, the other commands a
wider outlook; the one relies more steadily, the
other invents with greater facility; and hence, in
cases of mutual interest, they often work into each
other's hands with effective skill, and to desirable results; but the idiosyncrasy of each is wholly diverse,
tending, in the one case, to concentrate and individualize resources and aims, and, in the other, to
diffuse and vary them.
The two poles of English life are unsociability
and domesticity, -representing the positive and
negative elements; the spirit of trade quells the
zest for amusement, and, by attaching a price to
everything, induces an over-estimate of wealth, and





240


A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


makes poverty almost a crime; common sense and
habits of industry are the useful but unaspiring
standard of action; and when free of this normal
condition, the English mind becomes splenetic, and
exhibits the symptoms so eloquently displayed in
Byron's verse. Then John Bull wishes a cause to
die for-if neither the exchange, the admiralty, the
war-office, nor the club,.bring solace to the misanthropy of leisure, and there is no home upon which
to fall back in sullen dignity.
" Punch" has discovered a burlesque emblem for
all nationalities. The most appropriate for England,
at least under her winter aspect, would be a teakettle and an umbrella - one being the universal
in-door cordial, and the other the great external
necessity of the climate. The traces of "merry
England" it is difficult to find; her cottage-homes
exist mainly in poetry; races and elections now
comprise her festivals, and this is doubtless the result of the steady encroachment of trade and manufactures upon agricultural life.
With a foreigner for his companion, when travelling in England, an American soon becomes aware of
the greater intimacy of relation which he enjoys with
the past and present of the country. No infantile reminiscence, musical with nursery-rhymes, startles the
Frenchman beside you, when the guard bawls at the
car-window, " Banbury Cross;" the German friend, on
whose arm you lean, walking through Holborn, does





BY-THE-WAY.


241


not pause instinctively, as if his boot-nails were
glued to the pavement by a magnet, at the sight of
Day & Martin's sign; and the Italian, full of patriotic memories of Canova, wonders at you in St.
Paul's, for standing so long before Abercrombie's
monument, ignorant as he is, that the position of the
dying general taught Kean how to fall naturally in
his tragic death-scenes. An hour by " Shrewsbury
clock" is no more significant to a continental than
that noted by any other dial; he will scarcely think
at Bath of Frances Burney, Jane Austen, or Smollett; or of Coleridge, Southey, and Wordsworth, at
Bristol. The cliff at Dover to his eyes is only an
abrupt elevation of jagged chalk; no blind Gloster
stands on the ledge, nor samphire gleaner, midway
down, follows his " dreadful trade."
It is from our sympathy with the mind of the
country that her landscape often wears an occult
charm. We have an a priori attachment to London because the soul of Shakspere encamped so long
in its midst. To us, England is the land where
Wordsworth, with heroic love and patience, waited
at the pure altar he had built to Nature and the
muses; where Carlyle, with his logical hammer,
knocked away the flimsy incrustations with which
hypocrisy and conventionalism shroud reality, and
vindicated the essential and true in life and man;
where Mrs. Hemans sung of home; Miss Edgeworth
applied the test of sense and prudence to social life;
11





242


A MONTH IN ENGLAND.


Shelley kindled into aerial fantasy the dreams of
classicism and reform; Bentham benignly advocated
the greatest good of the greatest number; Macaulay
made brilliant rhetorical digests; and Hood sent
forth lyrics and puns alike provocative to tears of
mirth and pity. When vexed by her arrogance,
therefore, or restless under the vast shadow of her
civic power, we find, in the thought of intellectual
obligation and kindred, a constant antidote for the
bane.
The national characteristics of the English prove,
ipon personal experience, to be derived from extremes; and hence the apparent inconsistency of
prejudice and praise bestowed on them by foreign
writers. iHospitality, for instance, is a proverbial
trait; but be who imagines that this virtue springs
from a rare facility of intercourse, and a voluntary
extension of kindness, will be greatly disappointed.
The French and Italians far excel their insular neighbors in outward and ready couitesy. It is the quality, and not the universality of this noble trait, that
has given England her fame as its legitimate exponent. The access to her domestic sanctuaries is
jealously guarded; but once opened, the confidence,
freedom, and heartiness, are entire. Nowhere do
the arrangements of private life so aptly fit the needs
of the stranger; in no dwellings is he sooner made
unconscious of that name; and the consequence is,
that two quite distinct impressions are borne away





BY-THE-WAY.


243


from the country; one critical, and relating to England as a whole, to the idea of the nation in the abstract; and the other a sentiment of grateful attachment and of high respect toward individuals, families, and friends; than which no reminiscence of
travel can be more permanent and earnest.


THE END.










J. S. REDFIELD,
110 AND 112 NASSAU STREET, NEW YORK,
HAS JUST PUBLISHED:
EPISODES OF INSECT LIFE.
By ACHETA DOMESTICA.           In Three Series: I. Insects of Spring.II. Insects of Summer.-III. Insects of Autumn.               Beautifufly
illustrated.   Crown 8vo., cloth, gilt, price $2.00 each.       The same
beautifully colored after nature, extra gilt, $4.00 each.
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through all, suggestive of the Creator's goodness and wisdom."-N. Y. Evangelist.
" Moths, glow-worms, lady-birds, May-flies, bees, and a variety of other inhabitants of
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with romance, in a manner peculiarly attractive."-Commercial Advertiser.
" The book includes solid instruction as well as genial and captivating mirth. The
scientific knowledge of the writer is thoroughly reliable."-Examiner
MEN AND WOMEN OF THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY.
By ARSENE HOUSSAYE, with beautifully Engraved Portraits of
Louis XV., and Madame de Pompadour.                Two volume 12mo.
450 pages each, extra superfine paper, price $2.50.
CONTENTS.-Dufresny, Fontenelle, Marivaux, Piron, The Abbe Prevost, Gentil-Bernard,
Florian, Boufflers, Diderot, Gr6try, Riverol, Louis XV., Greuze, Boucher, The Van.
loos, Lantara, Watteau, La Motte, Dehle, Abb6 Trublet, Buffon, Dorat, Cardinal de
Bernis, Crebillon the Gay, Marie Antoinette, Made. de Pompadour, Vadd, Mile. Camargo, Mile. Clairon, Mad. de la Popelinibre, Sophie Arnould, Crebillon the Tragic,
Mile. Guimard, Three Pages in the Life of Dancourt, A Promenade in the Palais-Riyal,
the Chevalier de la Clos.
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castle-building of the most gorgeous and bewitching description."-Courier fl Enquirer.
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memoirs, comments, and anecdotes. It has the style of light literature, with the usefulness -f the gravest. It should be in every library, and the hands of every reader."
Boston Commovowealth.
" A BOOK OF BOOKs.-Two deliciously spic r volumes, that are a perfect bonne beuch
for sn epicure in reading."'-Home Journal.





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PHILOSOPHERS AND ACTRESSES
By   ARSENE HOUSSAYE.         With beautifully-engraved Portraits of
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"Two brilliant and fascinating-we had almost said, bewitching-volumes, comb!.
ning information and amusement, the lightest gossip, with solid and serviceable wia
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Indeed, the vividness of the book is extraordinary. The scenes and descriptions are
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ANCIENT EGYPT UNDER THE PHARAOHS.
By JOHN KENDRICK, M. A.           In 2 vols., 12mo, price $2.50.
"No work has heretofore appeared suited to the wants of the historical student,
which combined the labors of artists, travellers, interpreters and critics, during the
periods from the earliest records of the monarchy to its final absorption in the empire
of Alexander. This work supplies this deficiency."-Olive Branch.
" Not only the geography and political history of Egypt under the Pharaohs are
given, but we are furnished with a minute account of the domestic manners and customs of the inhabitants, their language, laws, science, religion, agriculture, navigation
and commerce."--Commercial Advertiser.
"These voblmes present a comprehensive view of the results of the combined labors
of travellers, artists, and scientific explorers, which have effected so much during the
present century toward the development of Egyptian archaeology and history."-Jour.
nal of Commerce.
" The descriptions are very vivid and one wanders, delighted with the author, through
the land of Egypt, gathering at every step, new phases of her wondrous history, and
ends with a more intelligent knowledge than he ever before had, of the land of the
Pharaohs."-American Spectator.
COMPARATIVE PHYSIOGNOMY;
Or Resemblances between Men and Animals. By J. W. REDFIELD,
M. D.       In one vol., 8vo, with several hundred illustrations.
price, $2.00.
" Dr. Redfield has produced a very curious, amusing, and instructive book, curious
in its originality and illustrations, amusing in the comparisons and analyses, and in.
structive because it contains very much useful information on a too much neglected
subject. It will be eagerly read and quickly appreciated."-National AEgis.
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and ingenuity."-Daily Union.
" Iighly entertaining even to those who have little time to study the science."Detroit Daily Advertiser.
'' This is a remarkable volume and will be read by two classes, those who study for
information, and those who read for amusement. For its originality and entertaining
character, we commend it to our readers."-Albany Express.
"It is overflowing with wit, humor, and originality, and profusely illustrated. The
whole work is distinguished by vast research and knowledge."-Knickerbocker.
" The plan is a novel one; the proofs striking, and must challenge the attention of the
curious."-Daily Adveritser





REDFIELD ' NEW AND POPULAR PUBLICATIONS.


NOTES AND EMENDATIONS OF SHTAKESPEARE.
Notes and Emendations to the Text of Shakespeare's Plays, from
the Early Manuscript Corrections in a copy of the folio of 1632,
in the possession of JOHN PAYNE COLLIER, Esq., F.S.A.             Third
edition, with a fac-simile of the Manuscript Corrections. 1 vol.
12mo, cloth, $1 50.
<' It is not for a moment to be doubted, we think, that in this volume a contribution
has been made to the clearness and accuracy of Shakespeare's text, by far the most important of any offered or attempted since Shakespeare lived and wrote."-Lond. Exam.
" The corrections which Mr. Collier has here given to the world are, we venture to
think, of more value than the labors of nearly all the critics on Shakespeare's text put
together."-London Literary Gazette.
" It is a rare gem in the history of literature, and can not fail to command the attention of all the amateurs of the writings of the immortal dramatic poet."-Ch'ston Cour.
i It is a book absolutely indispensable to every admirer of Shakespeare who wishes
to read him understandingly."-Louisville Courier.
" It is clear from internal evidence, that for the most part they are genuine restorations of the original plays. They carry conviction with them."-Home Journal.
"This volume is an almost indispensable companion to any of the editions of
Shakespeare, so numerous and often important are many of the corrections."- Register,
Philadelphia.
THE HIS TORY OF THE CRUSADES.
By JOSEPHti FRANCOIS MICIIAUD.        Translated by W. Robson, 3 vols.
12mo., maps,,3 75.
"It is comprehensive and accurate in the detail of facts, methodical and lucid in arrangement, with a lively and flowing narrative."-.Tournal of Commerce.
" We need not say that the work of Michaud has superseded all other histories
of the Crusades. This history has long been the standard work with all who could
read it in its original language. Another work on the same subject is as improbable
as a new history of the ' Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire.' "-Salem Freeman.
" The most faithful and masterly history ever written of the wild wars for the Holy
Land."-Philadelphia American Courier.
"The ability, diligence, and faithfulness, with which Michaud has executed his
great task, are undisputed; and it is to his well-filled volumes that the historical student must now resort for copious and authentic facts, and luminous views respecting
this most romantic and wonderful period in the annals of the Old World."-Boston
Daily Courier.
MARMAD UKE WYVIL.
An Historical Romance of 1651, by HE RY W. HERBERT, author
of the "4 Cavaliers of England," &c., &c.         Fourteenth Edition.
Revised and Corrected.
" This is one of the best works of the kind we have ever read-full of thrilling incidents and adventures in the stirring times of Cromwell, and in that style which has
made the works of Mr. Herbert so popular."-Christian Freeman, Boston.
" The work is distinguished by the same historical knowledge, thrilling incident, and
pictorial beauty of style, which have characterized all Mr. Herbert's fictions and imparted
to them such a bewitching interest."-Yankee Blade.
" The author out of a simple plot and very few characters, has constructed a novel
of deep interest and of considerable historical value It will be found well worth
reading."-National tagis, Worcester.





REDFIELD 8 1JEW       AND   POPULAR      PUBLICATIONS.
DISCOVER Y AND EXPLORATION
Of the Mississippi Valley.       With the Original Narratives of Marquette, Allouez, Membre, Hennepin, and Anastase Douay.                 By
JOHN GILMARY SHEA.          With a fac-simile of the Original Map
of Marquette.     1 vol., 8vo,; Cloth.      Antique.    $2.00.
" A volume of great and curious interest to all concerned to know the early history
if this great Western land."- Cincinnati Christian Herald.
"' We believe that this is altogether the most thorough work that has appeared on the
iubject to which it relates. It is the result'bf long-continued and diligent research, and
to legitimate source of information has been left unexplored. The work combines the
nterest of romance with the authenticity of history."'-Puritan Recorder.
"Mr. Shea has rendered a service to the cause of historical literature worthy of all
araise by the excellent manner in which he has prepared this important publication for
the press."-Boston Traveller.
NEWMAN'S REGAL ROME.
An Introduction to Roman History.            By FRANCIS W. NEWMAN,
Professor of Latin in the University College, London.               12mo,
Cloth. 63 cents.
"The book, though small in compass, is evidently the work of great research and
*eflection, and is a valuable acquisition to historical literature."-Courier and Enquirer.
" A work of great erudition and power, vividly reproducing the wonderful era of Ro.
nan history under the kings. We greet it as a work.f profound scholarship, genial
trt, and eminent interest-a work that will attract the scholar and please the general
"eader."-N. Y. Evangelist.
" Nearly all the histories in the schools should be banished, and such as this should
ake their places."-Boston Journal.
" Professor Newman's work will be found full of interest, from the light it throws on;he formation of the language, the races, and the history, of ancient Rome."-Wallitreet Journal.
THE CHEVALIERS OF FRANCE,
From the Crusaders to the Mareschals of Louis XIV.              By HENRi
W. HERBERT, author of " The Cavaliers of England," " Crom
well," " The Brothers," &c., &c.         1 vol. 12mo.     $1.25.
" Mr. Herbert is one of the best writers of historical tales and legends in this or an.
Other country."- Christian Freeman.
"' This is a work of great power of thought and vividness of picturing. Tt is a movinj
)anorama of the inner life of the French empire in the days of chivalry."-Albany Spec
" The series of works by this author, illustrative of the romance of history, is deserv
idly popular. They serve, indeed, to impart and impress on the mind a great deal of
raluable information; for the facts of history are impartially exhibited, and the fictioL
)resents a vivid picture of the manners and sentiments of the times."-Journal of Corn
*erce.
"The work contains four historical tales or novelettes, marked by that vigor of style
nd beauty of description which have found so many admirers among the readers of
ae author's numerous romanaes."-Lowell Journal.





REDFIELD'      NEW   AND POPULAR       PUBLICATIONS.
A STRAY YANKEE IN TEXAS.
A Stray Yankee in Texas.         By   PHILIP PAXTON.       With Illustra.
tions by Darley.     Second Edition, 12mo., cloth.     $1 25.
" The work is a chef d'euvre in a style of literature in which our country has nc
rival, and we commend it to all who are afllicted with the blues or ennui, as an effec.
tual means of tickling their diaphragms, and giving their cheeks a holyday."-Boston
Yankee Blade.
" We find, on a perusal of it, that Mr. Paxton has not only produced a readable, but
a valuable book, as regards reliable information on Texan affairs.-Hartford Christian
Secretary.
1 The book is strange, wild, humorous, and yet truthful. It will be found admirably
descriptive of a state of society which is fast losing its distinctive peculiarities in the
rapid increase of population."-Arthur's Home Gazette.
" One of the richest, most entertaining, and, at the same time, instructive works one
could well desire."-Syracuse Daily Journal.
" The book is a perfect picture of western manners and Texan adventures, and will
occasion many a hearty laugh in the reader."-Albany Daily State Register.
NICK OF THE WOODS.
Nick of the Woods, or the Jibbenainosay; a Tale of Kentucky. By
ROBERT iM. BIRD, M. D., Author of "Calavar," "The Infidel,"
&c.    New and Revised Edition, with Illustrations by Darley.          1
volume, 12mo., cloth, $1 25.
" One of those singular tales which impress themselves in ineradicable characters
upon the memory of every imaginative reader."-Arthur's Home Gazette.
"Notwithstanding it takes the form of a novel, it is understood to be substantial truth
in the dress of fiction; and nothing is related but which has its prototype in actual
reality."-Albany Argus.
*' It is a tal, of frontier life and Indian warfare, written by a masterly pen, with its
scenes so graphically depicted that they amount to a well-executed painting, at once
striking and thrilling."-Buffalo Express.
WHITE, RED, AND BLACK.
Sketches of American Society, during the Visits of their Guests, by
FRANCIS and THERESA PULSZKY.            Two vols., 12mo., cloth, $2.
*' Mr. Pulszky and his accomplished wife have produced an eminently candid and
judicious book, which will be read with pleasure and profit on both sides of the Atlan.
tic."-NIcw York Daily Times.
" The authors have here furnished a narrative of decided interest and value. They
have given us a view of the Hungarian war, a description of the Hungarian passage to
this country, and a sketch of Hungarian travels over the country."-Philad. Christian
Chronicle.
" Of all the recent books on America by foreign travellers, this is at once the most
fair and the most correct."--Philad. Saturday Gazette.
" Unlike most foreign tourists in the United States, they speak of our institutions,
manners, customs, &c,, with marked candor, and at the same time evince a pretty thor,
ough knowledge of our history."-Hartford Christian Secretary.
"This is a valuable book, when we consider the amount and variety of the informs
tion it contains, and when we estimate the accuracy with which the facts are detailed.
- Worcester Spy





REWDFIELDS NEW        AND   POPULAR      PUBLICATIONS
PO ETICAL WORKS OF FITZ-GREENE HIALLE CI.
New and only Complete Edition, containing            several New Poems,
together with many now        first collected.   One vol., 12mo., price
one dollar.
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Eke a household word wherever the English language is spoken."-Albany Express.
"There are few poems to be found, in any language, that surpass, in beauty of
thought and structure, some of these."-Boston Commonwealth.
" To the numerous admirers of Mr. Halleck, this will be a welcome book; for it is a
characteristic desire in human nature to have the productions of our favorite authors
in an elegant and substantial form."-Christian Freeman.
"Mr. Halleck never appeared in a better dress, and few poets ever deserved a better
one."-Christian Intelligencer.
THE STUDY OF WORDS.
By   Archdeacon R. C. TRENCH.           One vol., 12mo., price 75 cts
" He discourses in a truly learned and lively manner upon the original unity of laa
guage, and the origin, derivation, and history of words, with their morality and sep
arate spheres of meaning. '-Evening P-,st
" This is a noble tribute to the divinf faculty of speech. Popularly written, for use
as lectures, exact in its learning, and toetic in its vision, it is a book at once for the
scholar and the general reader."-New 'ork Evangelist.
" It is one of the most striking and original publications of the day, with nothing of
hardness, dullness, or dryness about it, but altogether fresh, lively, and entertaining."
-Boston Evening Traveller.
BRONCHITIS, AND KINDRED DISEASES.
In language adapted to common readers.           By W. W. HALL, M. D.
One vol., 12 mo, price $1.00.
" It is written in a plain, direct, common-sense style, and is free from the quackery
which marks many of the popular medical books of the day. It will prove useful to
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" Those who are clergymen, or who are preparing for the sacred calling, and publia
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"This work gives some valuable instruction in regard to food an:1 hygienic inflhu
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KNIGHTS OF ENGLAND, FRANCE, AND SCOTLAND.
By HENRY WILLIAM          HERBERT.       One vol., 12mo., price $1.25.
SThey are partly the romance of history and partly fiction, forming, when blended,
portraitures, valuable from the correct drawing of the times they illustrate, and interest.
ing from their romance."-Albany Knfickerbocker.
" They are spirit-stirring productions, which will be read and admired by all who
are pleased with historical tales written in a vigorous, bold, and dashing style."-Boston
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" These legends of love and chivalry contain some of the finest tales which the
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-Detroit Free Press.





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MOORE'S LIFE OF SHERIDAN.
Memoirs of the Life of the Rt. Hon. Richard Brinsley Sheridan,
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Two vols., 12mo, cloth, $2.00.
" One of the most brilliant biographies in English literature. It is the life of a wit
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" This is at once a most valuable biography of the most celebrated wit of the times,
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" The Life of Sheridan, the wit, contains as much food for serious thought as the
best sermon that was ever penned."-Arthur's Home Gazette.
"The sketch of such a character and career as Sheridan's by such a hand as Moore's,
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BARRINGTON'S SKETCHES.
Personal Sketches of his own Time, by SIR JONAH BARRINGTON,
Judge of the High Court of Admiralty in Ireland, with Illustrations by Darley. Third Edition, 12mo, cloth, $1 25.
"t A more entertaining book than this is not often thrown in our way. His sketches
of character are inimitable; and many of the prominent men of his time are hit off in
the most striking and graceful outline."-Albany Argus.
" He was a very shrewd observer and eccentric writer, and his narrative of his own
life, and sketches of society in Ireland during his times, are exceedingly humorous and
interesting."-N. Y. Commercial Advertiser.
" It is one of those works which are conceived and written in so hearty a view, and
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ment and information are equally balanced."- Boston Transcript.
" This is one of the most entertaining books of the season."-N. Y. Recorder.
"It portrays in life-like colors the characters and daily habits of nearly all the Eng.
lish and Irish celebrities of that period."--N. Y Courier and Eiquirer.
JOMINI'S CAMPAIGN OF WATERLOO.
The Political and Military History of the Campaign of Waterloo,
from   the French of Gen. Baron Jomini, by Lieut. S. V. BENET,
U. S. Ordnance, with a Map, 12mo, cloth, 75 cents.
"Of great value, both for its historical merit and its acknowledged impartiality."Christian Freeman, Boston.
" It has long been regarded in Europe as a work of more than ordinary merit, while
to military men his review of the tactics and manceuvres of the French Emperor during the few days which preceded his final and most disastrous defeat, is considered as
instructive, as it is interesting."-Arthur's Home Gazette.
"It is a standard authority and illustrates a subject of permanent interest. With
military students, and historical inquirers, it will be a favorite reference, and for the
general reader it possesses great value and interest."-Boston Transcript.
"It throws much light on often mooted points respecting Napoleon's military and
political genius. The translation is one of much vigor."-Boston Commonwealth.
" It supplies an important chapter in the most interesting and eventful period of Na.
poleon's military career."-Savannah Daily News.
"It is ably written and skilfully translated."-Yankee Blade.





REDFIELD'S NEW        AND POPULAR       PUBLICATIONS.
MACAULAY'S SPEECHES.
Speeches by the Right Hon. T. B. MACAULAY, M. P., Author of
" The History of England," " Lays of Ancient Rome," &c., &c.
Two vols., 12mo, price $2.00.
" It is hard to say whether his poetry, his speeches in parliament, or his brilliant
essays, are the most charming; each has raised him to very great eminence, and would
be sufficient to constitute the reputation of any ordinary man."-Sir Archibald Alison.
" It may be said that Great Britain has produced no statesman since Burke, who has
united in so eminent a degree as Macaulay the lofty and cultivated genius, the eloquent
oratcr, and the sagacious and far-reaching politician."-Albany Argus.
" We do not know of any living English orator, whose eloquence comes so near the
ancient ideal-close, rapid, powerful, practical reasoning, animated by an intense earnestness of feeling."- Courier s4 Enquirer.
" Mr. Macaulay has lately acquired as great a reputation as an orator, as he had for.
merly won as an essayist and historian. He takes in his speeches the same wide and
comprehensive grasp of his subject that he does in his essays, and treats it in the same
elegant style."-Philadelphia Evening Bulletin.
" The same elaborate finish, sparkling antithesis, full sweep and copious flow of
thought, and transparency of style, which made his essays so attractive, are found in
his speeches. They are so perspicuous, so brilliantly studded with ornament and illustration, and so resistless in their current, that they appear at the time to be the wisest
and greatest of human compositions,"-NewYork Evangelist.
TRENCH ON PROVERBS.
On the Lessons in Proverbs, by RICHARD CHENEVIX TRENCH, B. D.,
Professor of Divinity in King's College, London, Author of the
" Study of Words."       12mo, cloth, 50 cents.
"Another'charming book by the author of the " Study of Words," on a subject which
is so ingeniously treated, that we wonder no one has treated it before."-Yankee Blade.
' It is a book at once profoundly instructive, and at the same time deprived of all
approach to dryness, by the charming manner in which the subject is treated."-Ar.
thur's Home Gazette.
" It is a wide field, and one which the author has well cultivated, adding not only to
his own reputation, but a valuable work to our literature."-Albany Evening Transcript.
" The work shows an acute perception, a genial appreciation of wit, and great research. It is a very rare and agreeable production, which may be read with profit and
delight."-New York Evangelist.
" The style of the author is terse and vigorous-almost a model in its kind."-Portland Eclectic.
THE LION SKIN
And the Lover Hunt; by CHARLES DE BERNARD.                 12mo, $1.00.
" It is not often the novel-reader can find on his bookseller's shelf a publication so full
of incidents and good humor, and at the same time so provocative of honest thought."
-National (Worcester, Mass.) JEgis.
" It is full of incidents; and the reader becomes so interested in the principal personages in the work, that he is unwilling to lay the book down until he has learned their
Whole history."-Boston Olive Branch.
" It is refreshing to meet occasionally with a well-published story which is written for
a story, and for nothing else-which is not tipped with the snapper of a moral, or
loaded in the handle with a pound of philanthropy, or an equal quantity of leaden phi.
losophy."-Springfield Republican.





REDFIELD S NEW        AND POPULAR       PUBLICATIONS.
ISA, A PILGRIMAGE.
By CAROLINE CHESEBRO'.           One vol., 12mo., cloth, price $1.00.
" The Pilgrimage is fraught throughout with scenes of thrilling interest-romantic,
yet possessing a naturalness that seems to stamp them as real; the style is flowing and
easy, chaste and beautiful."-Troy Daily Times.
'- Miss Chesebro' is evidently a thinker-she skims not the mere surface of life, but
plunges boldly into the hidden mysteries of the spirit, by which she is warranted in
making her startling revelations of human passion."-Christian Freeman.
"There comes out in this book the evidence of an inventive mind, a cultivated taste,
an exquisite sensibility, and a deep knowledge of human nature."-Albany Argus.
SIt is a charming book, pervaded by a vein of pure ennobling thought."-Troy lhig.
"There is no one who will doubt that this is a courageous and able work, displaying
genius and depth of feeling, and striking at a high and noble aim."-N. Y. Evangelist.
" There is a fine vein of tenderness running through the story, which is peculiarly
one of passion and sentiment."-Arthur's Home Gazette.
LECTURES AND MISCELLANIES.
BY HENRY JAMES.          One vol., 12mo., cloth, price $1.25.
"A series of essays by one of the most generous thinkers and sincere lovers of truth
in the country. He looks at society from an independent point of view, and with the
noblest and most intelligent sympathy."-Home Journal.
"This is the production of a mind richly endowed of a very peculiar mould. All
will concede to him the merit of a vigorous and brilliant intellect."-Albany Argus.
"A perusal of the essays leads us to think, not merely because of the ideas which
they contain, but more because the ideas are earnestly put forth, and the subjects discussed are interesting and important to every one."- Worcester National Zgis.
" They have attracted much attention both here and in Europe, where the author is
considered as holding a distinctive and prominent position in the school of moderh
philosophy."-Albany Atlas.
" The writer wields a masterly and accurate pen, and his style is good."-Boston
Olive Branch.
"It will have many readers, and almost as many admirers."-N. Y. Times
NAPIER'S PENINSULAR WAR.
History of the War in the Peninsula, and in the South of France,
from the Year 1807 to 1814. BY W. F. P. NAPIER, C. B., Col.
43d Reg., &c. Complete in one vol., 8vo., price $3.00.
"We believe the Literature of War has not received a more valuable augmentation
chis century than Col. Napier's justly celebrated work. Though a gallant combatant in
the field, he is an impartial historian."-Tribune.
" NAPIER'S History, in addition to its superior literary merits and truthful fidelity,
presents strong claims upon the attention of all American citizens; because the author
is a large-soulcd philanthropist, and an inflexible enemy to ecclesiastical tyranny and
secular despots."-Post.
" The excellency of Napier's History results from the writer's happy talent for impetuous, straight-forward, soul-stirring narrative and picturing forth of characters
The military manoeuvre, march, and fiery onset, the whole whirlwind vicissitudes of
the desperats fight, he describes with dramatic force '-Merchants' Mlagazine.





REDFIELD'S NEW        AND   POPULAR      PUBLICATIONS.
CHARACTERS IN THE GOSPEL,
Illustrating Phases of Character at the Present Day.           By Rev. &,
H. CHAPIN.       One vol., 12mo., price 50 cents.      (Second edition.)
"As we read his pages, the reformer, the sensualist, the skeptic, the man of the
world, the seeker, tile sister of charity and of faith, stand out from the Scriptures, and
join themselves with our own living world."-Christian Enquirer.
"Mr. Chapin ihas an easy, graceful style, neatly touching the outlines of his pictures,
and giving great consistency and beauty to the whole. The reader will find admirable
descriptions, some most wholesome lessons, and a fine spirit."-N. Y. Evangelist.
"Its brilliant vivacity of style forms an admirable combination with its soundness of
thought and depth of feeling."-Tribune.
LADIES OF THE COVENANT:
Memoirs of Distinguished Scottish Females, embracing the Period
of the Covenant and the Persecution.          By Rev. JAMES ANDERSON.    One vol., 12mo., price $1.25.
"It is a record which, while it confers honor on the sex, will elevate the heart, and
screngthen it to the better performance of every duty."-Religious Herald. (Va.)
"It is a book of great attractiveness, having not only the freshness of novelty, but
every element of historical interest."-Courier and Enquirer.
" It is written with great spirit and a hearty sympathy, and abounds in incidents of
more than a romantic interest, while the type of piety it discloses is the noblest and
most elevated."-N. Y. Evangelist.
TALES AND TRADITIONS OF HUNGARY.
By THERESA PULSZKY, with a Portrait of the Author.                 One vol.,
price $1.25.
THE above contains, in addition to the English publication, a NEW PREFACE, and
TALES, now first printed from the manuscript of the Author, who has a direct interest
in the publication.
" This work claims more attention than is ordinarily given to books of its class. Such
is the fluency and correctness-nay, even the nicety and felicity of style-with which
Madame Pulszky writes the English language, that merely in this respect the tales here
collected form a curious study. But they contain also highly suggestive illustrations of
national literature and character."-London Examiner.
"Freshness of subject is invaluable in literature-Hfungary is still fresh ground. It
has been trodden, but it is not yet a common highway. The tales and legends are very
various, from the mere traditional anecdote to the regular legend, and they have the
sort of interest which all national traditions excite."-London Leader.
SORCERY AND MAGICC.
Narratives of Sorcery and Magic, from the most Authentic Sources.
By THOMAS WRIGHT, A. M., &c.              One vol. 12mo., price $1.25.
" We have no hesitation in pronouncing this one of the most interesting works whica
las for a long time issued from the press."-Albany Express.
" The narratives are intensely interesting, and the more so, as they are evidently writ
ten by a man whose object is simply to tell the truth, and who is not himself bewitched
by any favorite theory "  lV Y. Recorder





REDFIELD S NEW        AND    POPULAR     PUBLICATIONO
LYRA, AND OTHER POEMS.
By ALICE CAREY.         In one volume, 12mo, cloth, price 75 cts.
" Whether poetry be defined as the rhythmical creation of beauty, as passion or elo,
quence in marmonious numbers, or as thought and feeling manifested by processes of
the imagination, Alice Carey is incontestably and incomparably the first living American
poetess-fresh, indigenous, national-rich beyond precedent in suitable and sensuous imagery-of the finest and highest qualities of feeling, and such powers of creation as the
Almighty has seen fit to bestow but rarely or in far-separated countries."-Bost. Trans,
"The genuine inspiration of poetic feeling,... replete with tenderness and beauty,
earnestness and truthful simplicity, and all the attributes of a powerful imagination and
vivid fancy. We know of no superior to Miss Carey among the female authors of this
country."-New York Journal of Commerce.
"Alice Carey's book is full of beautiful thoughts; there is draught after draught of,
pure pleasure for the lover of sweet, tender fancies, and imagery which captivates
while it enforces truth."-New York Courier and Inquirer.
" 'Lyra and other Poems,' just published by Redfield, attracts everywhere, a remar,able degree of attention. A dozen of the leading journals, and many eminent critt,
have pronounced the authoress the greatest poetess living."-Nero York Mirror.
LILLIAN, AND OTHER POEMS.
By WINTHROP MACKWORTH PRAED.                   Now    first Collected.    One
Volume t2mo.         Price One Dollar.
SA timely publication is this volume. A more charming companion (in the shape of
a book) can scarcely be found for the summer holydays."-Ne~ York Tribune.
" They are amusing sketches, gay and sprightly in their character, exhibiting great
facility of composition, and considerable powers of satire."-Hartford Courant.
" There is a brilliant play of fancy in 'Lillian,' and a moving tenderness in ' Josephine,'
for which it would be hard to find equals. We welcome, therefore, this first collected
edition of his works."-Albany Ezpress.
" As a writer of vers de societe he is pronounced to be without an equal among English authors."-Syracuse Daily Journal.
" The author of this volume was one of the most fluent and versatile English poets that
have shone in theliterary world within the last century. His versification is astonishingly easy and airy, and his imagery not less wonderfully graceful and aerial."-Albany
State Register.
THE CAVALIERS OF ENGLAND;
Or, the Times of the Revolutions of 1642 and 1688.               By HENRY
WILLIAM HERBERT.           One vol., 12mo., price $1.25.
" They are graphic stories, and.in the highest degree attractive to the imagination as
well as instructive, and can not fail to be popular."-Commercial.
" These tales are written in the popular author's best style, and give us a vivid and
thrilling idea of the customs and influences of the chivalrous age."-Christian Freeman.
" His narrative is always full of great interest; his descriptive powers are of an uncommon order; the romance of history loses nothing at his hands; he paints with the,
power, vigor, and effect of a master."-The Times.
" They bring the past days of old England vividly before the reader, and impress upon
the mind with indelible force, the living images of the puritans as well as the cavaliers
whose earnest character and noble deeds lend such a lively interest to the legends of
the times in which they.ived and fought, loved and hated, prayed and revelled."--Ne-~
ark Daily.





REDFIELD'S NEW        AND    POPUI iR    PUBLICATIONS.
CLO VERNOOK;
Or, Recollections of our Neighborhood in the West.                By ALICE
CAREY.     Illustrated by DARLEY.        One vol., 12mo., price $1.00.
(Fourth edition.)
"In this volume there is a freshness which perpetually charms the reader. You seem
to be made free of western homes at once."-Old Colony Memorial.
" They bear the true stamp of genius-simple, natural, truthful-and evince a keen
sense of the humor and pathos, of the comedy and tragedy, of life in the country."-J
G Whittier.
DREAM-LAND BY DAY-LIGHT:
A Panorama of Romance.          By CAROLINE CHESEBRO'.           Illustrated
by DARLEY.       One vol., 12mo., price $1.25.       (Second edition.)
"These simple and beautiful stories are all highly endued with an exquisite percep,
tion of natural beauty, with which is combined an appreciative sense of its relation to
the highest moral emotions."-Albany State Register.
" Gladly do we greet this floweret in the field of our literature, for it is fragrant with
sweet and bright with hues that mark it to be of Heaven's own planting."-Courier and
Enquirer.
" There is a depth of sentiment and feeling not ordinarily met with, and some of the
noblest faculties and affections of man's nature are depicted and illustrated by the skilful pen of the authoress."-Churchman.
LAYS OF THE SCOTTISH CAVALIERS.
By WILLIAM E. AYTOUN, Professor of Literature and Belles-Lettres in the University of Edinburgh and Editor of Blackwood's
Magazine.     One vol., 12mo. cloth, price $1.00.
" Since Lockhart and Macaulay's ballads, we have had no metrical work to be compared in spirit, vigor, and rhythm with this. These ballads imbody and embalm the
chief historical incidents of Scottish history-literally in 'thoughts that breathe and
words that burn.' They are full of lyric energy, graphic description, and genuine feel
ina."-Home Journal.
( The fine ballad of ' Montrose' in this collection is alone worth the price of the book.'
Bost9't Transcript.
THE BOOK OF BALLADS.
By BON GAULTIER.         One volume, 12mo., cloth, price 75 cents.
"Here is a book for everybody who loves classic fun. It is made up of ballads of
all sorts, each a capital parody upon the style of some one of the best lyric writers of
bhe time, from the thundering versification of Lockhart and Macaulay to the sweetest
and simplest strains of Wordsworth and Tennyson. The author is one of the first
scholars, and one of the most finished writers of the day, and this production is but the
frolic of his genius in play-time'"- Courier and Enquirer.
" We do not know to whom belongs this nom de plume, but he is certainly a humwrle
of no common power."-Providence Journal.





REDFIELD'S NEW       AND POPULAR       PUBLICATIONS.
THE MASTER BUILDER
Or, Life at a Trade.      By DAY KELLOGG LEE, author of " Sunm
merfield, or Life on the Farm."      One vol., 12mo, price $1.00.
"He is a powerful and graphic writer, and from what we have seen of the pages o,
the ' Master Builder,' it is a romance of excellent aim and success."-State Register.
" The ' Master Builder' is the master production. It is romance into which is instilled
the reality of life: and incentives are put forth to noble exertion and virtue. The story
is pleasing-almost fascinating; the moral is pure and undefiled."-Daily Times.
"Its descriptions are, many of them, strikingly beautiful; commingling in good proportions, the witty, the grotesque, the pathetic, and the heroic. It may be read with
profit as well as pleasure."-Argus.
"The work before us will commend itself to the masses, depicting as it does most
graphically the struggles and privations which await the unknown and uncared-for
Mechanic in his journey through life. It is what might be called a romance, but not of
love, jealousy and revenge order."-Lockport Courier.
" The whole scheme of the story is well worked up and very instructive."-Albany
Express.
GRISCOM ON VENTILATION.
The Uses and Abuses of Air: showing its Influence in Sustaining
Life, and Producing Disease, with Remarks on the Ventilation
of Houses, and the best Methods of Securing a Pure and Wholesome Atmosphere inside of Dwellings, Churches, Workshops, &c.
By JOHN H. GRuscoM, M. D. One vol. 12mo, $1.00.
"This comprehensive treatise should be read by all who wish to secure health,
and especially by those constructing churches, lecture-rooms, school-houses, &c.-It
is undoubted, that many diseases are created and spread in consequence of the little
attention paid to proper ventilation. Dr. G. writes knowingly and plainly upon this allimportant topic."-Newark Advertiser.
"The whole book is a complete manual of the subject of which it treats; and we
venture to say that the builder or contriver of a dwelling, school-house, church, thea.
tre, ship, or steamboat, who neglects to inform himself of the momentous truths it
asserts, commits virtually a crime against society."-N. Y. Metropolis.
" When shall we learn to estimate at their proper value, pure water and pure air,
which God provided for man before he made man, and a very long time before he
permitted the existence of a doctor? We commend the Uses and Abuses of Air to our
readers, assuring them that they will find it to contain directions for the ventilation of
dwellings, which every one who values health and comfort should put in practice."N. Y. Dispatch.
HAGAR, A STORY OF TO-DAY.
By ALICE CAREY, author of 4 Clovernook," 4 Lyra, and Other
Poems," &c. One vol., 12mo, price $1.00.
"A story of rural and domestic life, abounding in humor, pathos, and that natural.
ness in character and conduct which made 'Clovernook' so great a favorite last season.
Passages in ' Hagar' are written with extraordinary power, its moral is striking and
just, and the book will inevitably be one of the most popular productions of the season."
" She has a fine, rich, and purely original genius. Her country stories are almost
unequaled."-Knickerbocker Magazine.
" The Times speaks of Alice Carey as standing at the head of the living female writers of America. We go even farther in our favorable judgment, and express the opin.
ion that among those living or dead, she has had no equal in this country; and we know
of few in the annals of English literature who have exhibited superior gifts of real po,
etio genius."- T  (Poraand, Me.) dolecti





R~EDIELD *     NEW   AND POPULAR       PUBLICATIONS.
NAPOLEON IN EXILE;
Or, a Voice from St. Helena.      Being the opinions and r~flections of
Napoleon, on the most important events in his Life and Government, in his own words.      By BARRY E. O'MEARA, his late Surgeon, with a Portrait of Napoleon, after the celebrated picture of
Delaroche, and a view     of St. Helena, both beautifully engraved
on steel.   2 vols. 12mo, cloth, $2.
" Nothing can exceed the graphic truthfulness with which these volumes record the
words and habits of Napoleon at St. Helena, and its pages are endowed with a charm
far transcending that of romance."-Albany State Register.
"Every one who desires to obtain a thorough knowledge of the character of Napoleon,
should possess himself of this book of O'Meara's."-Arthur's Home Gazette.
" It is something indeed to know Napoleon's opinion of the men and events of the
thirty years preceding his fall, and his comments throw more light upon history than
anything we have read."-Albany Expness.
" The two volumes before us are worthy supplements to any history of France."I ston Evening Gazette.
MEAGHER' S SPEE CHES.
Speeches on the Legislative Independence of Ireland, with Introductory Notes.     By FRANCIS TIIOMAS MEAGIIER.          1 vol. 12mo,
Cloth.   Portrait.   $1.
" The volume before us embodies some of the noblest specimens of Irish eloquence;
not florid, bombastic, nor acrimonious, but direct. manly, and convincing."--Neio York
Tribune.
' There is a glowing, a burning eloquence, in these speeches, which prove the author
a man of extraordinary intellect."-Boston Olive Branch.
" As a brilliant and effective orator, Meagher stands unrivalled."-Portland Eclectic.
" All desiring to obtain a good idea of the political history of Ireland and the movements of her people, will be greatly assisted by reading thesa speeches."-Syracuse
Daily Star.
"It is copiously illustrated by explanatory notes, so that the reader will have no difficulty in understanding the exact state of affairs when each speech was delivered."Boseon Traveller.
THE PRETTY PLATE,
A new and beautiful juvenile.      By JoHN VINCENT.        Illustrated by
DARLEY. 1 vol. 16mo, Cloth, gilt, 63 cts. Extra gilt edges, 88 cts.
"We venture to say that no reader, great or small, who takes up this book, will lay is
down unfinished."- Courier and Enquirer.
" This is an elegant little volume for a juvenile gift-book. The storyis one of peculiar
instruction and interest to the young, and is illustrated with beautiful esigravings."Boston Christian Freeman.
" One of the very best told and sweetest juvenile stories that has been issued from the
press this season. It has a most excellent moral."--Detroit Daily Advertiser.
" A nice little book for a holyday present. Our little girl has read it through, and pro.
nounces it first rate."-Hartford Christian Secretary.
"It is a pleasant child's book, well told, handsomely published, and illustrated iu
Darley's best style."-Albany Express.





REDFIELD S NEW        AND   POPULAR     PUBLICATIONS.
THE CHILDREN OF LIGHT.
By CAROLINE CHESEBRO', Author of " Isa, a Pilgrimage,"." Dream.
Land by Daylight," &c., &c.         12mo., Cloth.    $1.00.
"It is truly an attractive gallery of portraits, vivid pictures of human beings wrought
by human hands. The work is admirably conceived, and in every page bears the clear
impress of Miss CHESEBRO'S keen perceptions, her powerful and original intellect, and
a depth of sentiment and feeling that are only developed and made useful by the highly
gifted and the pure in heart."-Albany State Register.
" To those of our readers who desire a good book-one for the most part not filled
with the common trash of the times, and which is the production of ' a perfect woman
nobly planned'-we would recommend the ' Children of Light.' "-N. Y. Truth-Teller.
" The work is characterized by great boldness of thought, elegant diction, and vigorous tone."-Greene County Whig.
THE FOREST.
By W. HUNTINGTON, author of "Lady Alice," "Alban," &c., &c.
1 vol. 12mo, Cloth. $1.25.
"The author gives us an exceedingly vivid description of forest-life, and has worked
up the incidents of his story so happily, that the interest of the reader is sustained unflagging to the close."-Portland Eclectic.
" The author is a passionate lover of Nature, and is distinguished for the philosophis
beauty and accuracy of his descriptions. The tone of thought pervading the book is
quite elevated and healthy."-Cincinnati Journal and Messenger.
" For dramatic effect the plot and incidents are well managed, the narrative is sustained with spirit, and several of the characters are sketched with a vigorous hand."Protestant Churchman.
"The work abounds in graphic portraitures of our glorious forest scenery, and in
sharp delineations of character."-N Y. Evangelist.
"The style of the work throughout is one which can not fail to claim the attention
of the reader, and win for him an unreserved approval."-Syracuse Daily Journal.
CAP-SHEAF,
A Fresh Bundle.      By LEWIS MYRTLE.         1 vol. 12mo, cloth.    $1.00.
'*If one wants a book to read when he goes home and sits down by his fireside at
night, wearied and careworn with the toils and buffetings of life, this is just the one for
him."-Syracuse Daily Journal.
"It is a book for a minute, an hour, or a day. Throughout its pages are distributed
chaste and tender thoughts, glowing imagery, and high moral influences."-Philade'
phia City Item.
"There is a rich vein of simplicity, and naturalness, and true feeling, running throuygh
this volume. The author evidently carries a well-practised pen, and speaks from 8
gifted and well-furnished mind and a full heart."--Albany Argus.
" In fact, it is a delightful book-hearty in tone and healthy in morality, and we be
speak for it the favor which its merits wherever it goes will be sure to command.d"Temperance Courier.
" This is a collection of light stories and graceful sketches, which must have pro.
ceeded from a warm and affectionate heart. The volume is earnestly commended to
the perusal of the reader."- Lowell Journal and Courier'.





REDFIELD'S NEW        AND   POPULAR      PUBLICATIONS.
THE NIGHT-SIDE ON NATURE;
Or, Ghosts and Ghost-Seers.         By CATHARINE CROWE.            One vo.,(
12mo., price $1.25.
"In this remarkable work, Miss Crowe, who writes with the vigor aid grace of a
woman of strong sense and high cultivation, collects the most remarkable and best authenticated accounts, traditional and recorded, of preternatural visitations and appearances."-Boston Transcript.
"An almost unlimited fund of interesting illustrations and anecdotes touching the
spiritual world."-New Orleans Bee.
THE WORKS OF EDGAR ALLAN POE;
Complete in Three Volumes, with a Portrait, a Memoir by James
Russell Lowell, and an Introductory Essay by N. P. Willis; edited by Rufus W. Griswold.         12mo., price $4.00.
' We need not say that these volumes will be. found rich in intellectual excitements,
and abounding in remarkable specimens of vigorous, beautiful, and hiehly suggestive
composition; they are all that remain to us of a man whose uncommon genius it would
be folly to deny."-N. Y. Tribune.
"Mr. Poe's intellectual character-his genius-is stamped upon all his productions,
and we shall place these his works in the library among those books not to be parted
with."-N. Y. Commercial Advertiser.
"These productions will live. They bear the stamp of true genius; and if their reputation begins with a 'fit audience though few,' the circle will be constantly widening,
and they will retain a prominent place in our literature."-Rev. Dr. Kip.
CHAPMAN'S AMERICAN DRA WING-BOOK.
The American Drawing-Book, intended for Schools, Academies, and
Self-Instruction.    By JOHN     G. CHAPMAN, N. A.          Three Parts
now published, price 50 cents each.
THIS Work will be issued in Parts; and will contain Primary Instruction and Rudiments of Drawing: Drawing from Nature-Materials and Methods: Perspective -
Composition- Landscape- Figures, etc.: Drawing, as applicable to the Mechanic Arts:
Painting in Oil and Water Colors: The Principles of Light and Shade: External Anatomy of the Human Form, and Comparative Anatomy: The Various Methods of Etching,
Engraving, Modelling, &c.
' Ithas received the sanction of many of our most eminent artists, and can scarcely
be commended too highly."-N. Y. Tribune.
*' But so clearly are its principles developed in the beautiful letter-press, and so exquis.
itely are they illustrated by the engravings, that the pupil's way is opened most invitingly to a thorough knowledge of both the elements and application."-Home Journal.
"The engravings are superb, and the typography unsurpassed by any book with
which we are acquainted. It is an honor to the author and publisher, and a credit to
our common country."-Scientific American.
"This work is so distinct and progressive in its instructions that we can not well se3
how it could fail to impart a full and complete knowledge of the art. Nothing can vie
with it in artistic and mechanical execution." -Kniekerbocker Magazine.





REDFIELD S NEW        AND   POPULAR     PUBLICATIONS.
Life     iAnder aia Italian Despotism
LORENZO BENONI,
OR
PASSAGES IN THE LIFE OF AN ITALIAN
One Vol., 12mo, Clot--Przce $1.00.
OPINIONS OF THE PRESS.
' THE author of ' Lorenzo Benoni' is GIOVANNI RUFFINI, a native of Genoa, who effect d
his escape from his native country after the attempt at revolution in 1833. His book is,
in substauce, an authentic account of real persons and incidents, though the writer has
chosen to adopt tictitious and fantastic designations for himself and his associates. Since
1833, Ruffini has resided chiefly (if not wholly) in England and France, where his qualities, we understand, have secured him respect and regard. In 1848, he was selected by
Charles Albert to fill the responsible situation of embassador to Paris, in which city he
had long been domesticated as a refugee. He ere long, however, relinquished that office,
and again withdrew into private life. He appears to have employed the time of his exile
in this country to such advantage as to have acquired a most uncommon mastery over
the English language. The present volume (we are informed on good authority) is exclusively his own-and, if so, on the score of style alone it is a remarkable curiosity.
But its matter also is curious."-London Quarterly Review for July.
" A tale of sorrow that has lain long in a rich mind, like a ruin in a fertile country, and
is not the less gravely impressive for the grace and beauty of its coverings... at the
same time tho most determined novel-reader could desire no work more fascinating over
which to forget the flight of time.... No sketch of foreign oppression has ever, we believe, been submitted to the English public by a foreigner, equal or nearly equal to this
volume in literary merit. It is not unworthy to be ranked among contemporary works
whose season is the century in which their authors live."-London Examiner.
"The book should be as extensively read as 'Uncle Tom's Cabin,' inasmuch as it
develops the existence of a state of slavery and degradation, worse even than that which
Mrs. Beecher Stowe has elucidated with so much pathos and feeling."-Bell's Weekly
Messenger.
" Few works of the season will be read with greater pleasure than this; there is a
great charm in the quiet, natural way in which the story is told."-London Atlas.
"The author's great forte is character-painting. This portraiture is accomplished
with remarkable skill, the traits both individual and national being marked with great
nicety without obtrusiveness."-London Spectator.
" Under the modest guise of the biography of an imaginary ' Lorenzo Benoni,' we have
here, in fact, the memoir of a man whose name could not be pronounced in certain parts
of northern Italy without calling up tragic yet noble historical recollections...  Its
merits, simply as a work of literary art, are of a very high order. The style is really
beautiful-einsy, sprightly, graceful, and full of the happiest and most ingenious turns of
phrase and fancy."-North British Review.
" This has been not unjustly compared to ' Gil Blas,' to wlich it is scarcely inferior in
spirited delineations of human character, and in the variety of events which it relates,
But as a description of actual occurrences illustrating the domestic and political condition of Italy, at a period fraught with interest to all classes of readers, it far transcends
in importance any work of mere fiction."-Dublin Evening Mail.





REDFIELD'S NEW         AND   POPULAR     PUBLICATIONS.
"The work discloses the existence of such an amount of papal intolerance and priestly
tyranny in Italy as few even of our well-inlbrmed readers will anticipate... It only requires to be generally read to rouse one universal feeling in favor of Italian liberty, and we
trust that it will find its way into every public library; for, to use the words of a contemporary reviewer, 'it develops the existence of a state of slavery and degradation,
worse even than that which Mrs. Beecher Stowe has elucidated with so much pathos
and feeling.' "-York Herald.
"The revelations which the volume contains relate to the inner recesses of Italian
life and character-to life ever saddened by the shade of secular and ecclesiastical despotism-and to characte hich the oppression of ages has failed to divest of much that
is vigorous and excellent... The accomplished Italian, its author, writes English more
purely and sweetly than most Englishmen. The style of his autobiography reminds us
of that of the classical writers of a former day-such as our Addison's and Goldsmith's,
or that of another well-known autobiographer, Franklin...This deeply-interesting
volume is better suited to give the necessary insight into the real state and prospects of
not only the country to which it specially refers, but also into the continent of Europe
generally, than almost any other we ever saw."--Witness.
"As lively in its tone as ' Gil Blas,' and full of those descripfions of contemporary
manners among foreigners-those narratives of foreign contemporary events and
sketches of foreign contemporary character that must always command the highest interest."-London Standard.
" The merits of the book, even regarded in the simple light as a work of literary art,
are of the highest order, and can not fail to command the attention of the world of letters."-Liverpool Albion.
" We have read this book with an ever-increasing wonder at its literary excellence,
and with an ever-new delight in the singular beauty of the natural character of Lorenzo
Benoni himself, and of his associates."-Edinburgh Advertiser.
" This is one of the most remarkable volumes that has of late come to our hands..
This lively autobiography which bears the seal of fidelity in every sentence."-London
Morning Advertiser.
" In dramatic incident, graphic delineations of persons and occurrences, and artless
beauty of style, it is equal to some of our best classics. With a few master-touches, original and distinctive features are drawn, and by slender outlines exquisitely traced,
scenes are produced, which the mind realizes in a moment, dwells upon with pleasure,
and recalls with facility."-North British Daily Mail.
" One of the most instructive and interesting volumes which has for some time issued
from the press.... It is rarely we meet with a book which so strikingly unites both
the advantages of an interesting subject, and the attractions of a fascinating mode of
treatment."-Caledonian Mercury.
" This work portrays the state of the social system of modern Italy in all its varied
ramifications, as they appeared to a native and an eye-witness, of a cultivated mind and
a calmly-philosophical spirit.... The work will certainly rank as a valuable addition
to a highly-attractive department of our literature."-Oxford Chronicle.
"A peep such as we seldom gain into the heart of Italian society, a revelation of its
hidden life, domestic, social, and political, which none can peruse without deep and increasing interest."-Glasgow Constitutional.
" We can speak in high terms of the interesting nature of this volume.. The reader
will find quite enough to carry him with.pleasure to the last page, and we should add
that in fluency and purity of style the volume is a remarkable specimen of English, written by a foreigner."-Bristol Mercury.
"Lorenzo Benoni is a pleasant book, with the broad stamp of real life about it-interesting and intelligent."-Manchester Examiner and Times.
"A book valuable both as the autobiography of a distinguished Italian patriot, and as
giving a vivid picture of popuelar habits and manners under the despotic government of
his native land."-Leeds Mercury.
"Is this book really written by an Italian in the English of which it consists? for a
translation we can hardly suppose it to be; it reads to us as though the writer had
thought at first-hand in our language. If he be a foreigner, no such mastery of the idiom
or display of style can be found in any English production not written by an English
person, since the time of De Lolme."-Illustrated London News.





CONTiEPORARY BIOGRAPHY
MEN OF THE TIME,
OR SKETCHES OF LIVING NOTABLES,
AUTHORS          ENGINEERS           PHILANTHROPISTS
ARCHITECTS        JOURNALISTS        PREACHERS
ARTISTS           MINISTERS          SAVANS
COMPOSERS         MONARCHS           STATESMEN
DEMAGOGUES        NOVELISTS          TRAVELLERS
DIVINES           POLITICIANS        VOYAGERS
DRAMATISTS        POETS              WARRIORS
in One Vol., 12mo, containzng        nearly Nine Hundred Biograph
ical Sketches-PRICE $1.50.
"I am glad to learn that you are publishing this work. It is precisely that kind of
information that every public and intelligent man desires to see, especially in reference
to the distinguished men of Europe, but which I have found it extremely difficult to
obtain."-Extract from a Letter of the President of the United States to the publisher.
"In its practical usefulness this work will supply a most important desideratum."Courier c. Eniquirer.
" It forms a valuable manual for reference, especially in the American department,
which we can not well do without; we commend it to the attention of our ' reading
public.' "- Tribune.
" Just the book we have desired a hundred times, brief, statistical and biographical
sketches of men now living, in Europe and America."-New York Observer.
" It is a book of reference which every newspaper reader should have at his elbowas indicpensable as a map or a dictionary-and from which the best-informed will derive instruction and pleasure."-Evangelist.
" This book therefore fills a place in literature; and once published, we do not see
how any one could do without it."-Albany Express.
"It is evidently compiled with great care and labor, and every possible means seems
to have been used to secure the highest degree of correctness. It contains a great deal
of valuable information, and is admirable as a book of reference."-Albany Argus.
"It is, to our notion, the most valuable collection of contemporary biographies yet
made in this or any other country. The author acknowledges that its compilation was
a 'labor of care and responsibility.' We believe him, and we give him credit for hav
ing executed that labor after a fashion that will command general and lasting approval."--Sunday Times, and Noah's Weekly Messenger.
" This is one of the most valuable works lately issued-valuable not only for general
reading and study, but as a book of reference. It is certainly the fullest collection of
contemporary Biographies yet made in this country."-Troy Daily Times.
"This is emphatically a book worthy of the name, and will secure an extended popularity."-Detroit Daily Advertiser.
"A book of reference unequalled in either value or interest. It is indeed a grand supplement and appendix to the modern histories, to the reviews, to the daily newspapers
-a book which a man anxious to be regarded as intelligent and well-informed, can no
more do without than a churchman can do without his prayer book, a sailor his navigator, or a Wall street man his almanac and interest tables."--New York Day Book.
"The volume once known will be found indispenpable, and will prove a constant
source of information to readers at large."-N. Y Reveille.
"For a book of reference, this volume will recommend itself as an invaluable companion in the library, office, and studio."-Northern Budget.
" It is a living breathine epitome of the day, a directory to that wide phantasmagoria
we call the world."- Wall Street Journal.
"We know of no more valuable book to authors, editors, statemen, and all who
would be 'up with the time,' than this."--Spirit of the Times.
" Men of all naeions, creeds and parties, appear to be treated in a kindly spirit. The
work will be found a useful supplement to the ordinary biographical dictionaries."Commercial Advertiser.
" The value of such a work can scarcely be over-estimated. To the statesman and
philanthropist, as well as the scholar and business man, it will be found of great con.
venience as a reference book, and must soon be considered as indispensable to a libraq
sa Webster's Dictionary."-Lockport Courir.





REDFIELD'S NEW       AND    POPULA    I'PUBLICATIONS.
" SHAKESPEARE AS HE VRIOTE IT."
THE WORKS OF SHAKESPEARE,
Reprinted from the newly-dzscoveered copy of the Folio of 1632
in the possession of J. Payne Collier, containing nearly
Twenty Thousand MIanuscript Corrections,
With a History of the Stage to the Time, an             Introduction to
each Play, a Life of the Poet, etc.
Br J. PAYNE COLLIER, F.S.A.
To which are added, Glossarial and other Notes, the Readings of Former
Editions, a PORTRAIT after that by IMartin.Droeshout, a VIGNETTE TITLE
on Steel, and a FACSIMILE OF THE OLD FOLIO, with the Manuscript (orrections.  1 vol, Imperial 8vo. Cloth $4 00.
The WORKS OF S HAiESPEARE the same as the above.
Uniform in Size with the celebrated Chiswick Edition, 8 vols.
16mo, cloth $6 00.      Half calf or moroc. extra
These are American Copyright Editions, the Notes being expressly prepared
for the work. The English edition contains simply the text, without a single
note or indication of the changes made in the text. In the present, the variations from old copies are noted by reference of all changes to former editions
(abbreviated f e.), and every indication and explanation is given essential to a
clear understanding of the author. The prefatory matter, Life, &c., will be fuller
than in any American edition now published.
tTHIs is the only correct edition of the works of the 'Bard of Avon' ever issued,
and no lover or student of Shakespeare should be without it."-Philadelphia Argus.
" Altogether the most correct and therefore the most valuable edition extant."-Albany Express.
" This edition of Shakespeare will ultimately supersede all others. It must certainly
be deemed an essential acquisition by every lover of the great dramatist."-N. Y. Commercial Advertiser.
"This great work commends itself in the highest terms to every Shakespearian scholar and student."-Philadelphia Oity Item.
" This edition embraces all that is necessary to make a copy of Shakespeare desirable
and correct."-Niagara Democrat.
"It. must sooner or later drive all others from the market."-N. Y Evening Post.
" Beyond all question, the very best edition of the great bard hitherto published."--
New England Religious Herald.
* It must hereafter be the standard edition of Shakespeare's plays."-National Argus.
" It is clear from internal evidence that they are genuine restorations of the origi
nal plays."-Detroit Daily Times.
"This must we think supersede all other editions of Shakespeare hitherto published.
Collier's corrections make it really a different work from its predecessors. Compared
with it we consider them hardly worth possessing."-Daily Georgian, Savannah.
" One who will probably hereafter be considered as the only true authority. No one
we think, will wish to purchase an edition of Shakespeare, except it shall be conform.
able to the amended text by Collier."-Nezoark Daily Advertiser.
" A great outcry has been made in England against this edition of the hard, by Singer and others interested in other editions; but the emendations commend themselves
too strongly to the good sense of every reader to be dropped by the public-the old
editions must become obsolete."- Yankee Blade, Boston.