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All other original copies are filmed beginning on the first page with a printed or illustrated impres- sion, and ending on the last page with a printed or illustrated impression. The last recorded frame on each microfiche shall contain the symbol -^-(meaning "CON- TINUED"), or the symbol V (meaning "END"), whichever applies. Maps, plates, charts, etc.. may be filmed at different reduction ratios. Those too large to be entirely included in one exposure are filmed beginning in the upper left hand corner, left to right and top to bottom, as many frames as required. The following diagrams illustrate the method: Les exempiaires originaux dont la couverture en papier est imprim6e sont filmis en commencant par le premier plat et en ter signifie "A SUIVRE ", le symbols V signifie "FIN ". Les cartes, planches, tableaux, etc., peuvent 6tre fiimds d des taux de reduction diffdrents. Lorsque le document est trop grand pour dtre reproduit en un seul ciichd, il est fiimd d partir de Tangle supdrieur gauche, de gauche A droite, et de haut en bas, en prenant le nombre d'images ndcessaire. Les diagrammes suivants iilustrent la mdthode. 1 2 3 1 6 1 >!-■. OVER THE SEA t A Summer Trip to Britain BY J. E. WETHERELL. STRATHROY, ONT. : Published by Evans Brothers. 1892. ■.*^ ■'J^f <% «<,«^>'* i &*i ;^ f^4-9 '^ r* 1 . f \i: % i 1 1 PREFACE. The twelve sketches in this little book were written over a year ago in serial form for a periodical. They are now republished in tnis volume without alteration. The reader will see that the point of view in these sketches is mainly that of a traveller guided by literary and historical attractions. Commerce and politics, the farm and the shop, science and statistics, receive no attention whatever. The writer's journey to the east was a journey to scenes associated with the charms of history and poetry. The writer is encouraged to believe that this record of his rambles will revive happy memories of the old land in many readers who were born over the sea, and that it will whet the literary appetite of others and ex- cite in them desires to visit the interesting scenes to which his feeble pen has done scanty justice. Stbathroy, Feb. 27th, 1892. i»-. CONTENTS. !< PAOB I. — The Ocean Voyage 5 II. — Glasgow and the Land of Burns 15 III. -The Highland Lakes 22 IV.— Edinc*.rgh 30 V. —Melrose and Abbotsford 41 VI.— London — St. Pauk's Cathedral and Westminster Abbey 60 Vtl. — London — The Zoological Gardens, Madame Tus- sand's, The Crystal Palace, The National Gal- lery, The British Museum, South Kensington Museum 61 Vitl,— London Life 74 IX. — Strat^ord-on-Avon 84 X. — Oxford and Cambridge 92 XI. — Tennyson Land — Lincoln, Louth, Mablethorpe. . . . 102 XII. — Tennyson Land — Horncastle and Somersby. Con- clusion Ill A ■' / Over the Sea. PAOI 5 15 22 90 41 50 61 74 84 92 102 111 I. THE VOYAGE. " I never was on the dull, tame shore, But I loved the great sea more and more. The sea ! the sea ! the open sea ! The blue, the fresh, the ever free ! " — Bauky Cornwall. It is eight o'clock on the morning of July 10th. The Brooklyn pier of the State-Line Steamship Com- pany is crowded with an excited throng. The good ship " Nevada " is taking on her passengers and their luggage. All is bustle and confusion. The published lists of saloon passengers that are being distributed contain the names of only one hundred and nine persons, but at least two or three hundred otliers have come down to see the steamer off. Some of these are mere idlers attracted hither by the curiosity of the moment. Some have come to sell their wares to the departing voyagers. But many of them are relatives and friends of those about to launch on the uncertain sea. Eager handshakings and affectionate embraces are soon over. The gangway is hastily taken up. Off. moves the ship from terra firma. A dialogue of waving handkerchiefs from pier and deck accompanied by oft-shouted " good- ■ *'-■ ^ 6 0\'h'/£ THE SEA. hypH " leiids nniniation to tlie scene of departure, and helps to keep up the fhi;4j,niig spirits of many whose moist eyes tell of emotion repressed. Everyone feels that the die is now cast and that the hazards of the sea must be culndy met. Even the sad faces soon light up rt'ith interest and the fainting hearts recover their accustomed resolution. As we steam out of New York harbor we obtain a fine view of the metropolis of America. As we move away from shore the panorauia of the coast is very pleasing and restful to the eye on this clear summer day. Sandy Hook is passed at eleven o'clock. Soon the shore appears only as a blue line fading slowly away from the distant horizon. A strange sensation of solitariness takes possession of the traveller who leaves his native land for the first time to cross the broad ocean alone, and who, as lie paces the deck while the distant hills are just receding from sight, sees no familiar face amid the groups that congregate here and there to take the last peering look at the vanishing continent that contains all that is dearest in life to them and to him. The words of the " Ancient Mariner " start up in the memory with thrilling vividness : " Alone, alone, all, all alone, Alone on a M'ide, wide sea ! " When the exhilarating excitements incident to leaving port are once over, the solitary traveller is at the mercy of all the latent forces of his being that tend to pro- duce depression of spirits. The only safe resource in w - nv:': -# OVE/i THE SEA. < ..t'. such straits is the fellowship of an excitinfij hook, or still better, the cheering coinpiiitionship of living men and women. From the latter the stranger is by no means cut oflf on board ship. The ocean has a social code of its own. With the last sight of land all the supernumerary conventionalities of town and city, often as stiff and formal as frowning peaks and rugged mountains, are thrown overboard ; and with the ease with which one dons a change of raiment is assumed a style of life and address as free as roving breeze and flowing wave. In twenty-four hours after the lifting of the anchor every passenger who is not rigidly exclu- sive will have a score of acquaintances, and two or three new friendships will hi\ already in the bud. There are travellers — and travellers. An ocean voyage is sure to bring one into contact with many amiable and interesting people, but what odd specimens of humanity one also meets ! There is the Chicago merchant who, after the toil and moil of many busy years which have won him a substantial fortune, is going to Europe with his big and clever (?) son, to visit places of which he knows as little as he does of the constellations in the heavens above him. There is the dandy from the same western city whose assiduous eflbrts at subdu- ing feminine hearts are as ludicrous as they are vain. There is the glum and taciturn preacher from New York who frowns at harmless hilarity and grinds his teeth with flre-and-brimstone vigor at the sight of a game of cards. There is the frisky middle-aged gentle- OVER THE SEA. IHr. man from UochoHter whose constant antics are very diverting and who is tlio more interesting on account of the accomplishments and attractions of his lovely wife. There is the dyspeptic from the west who, instead of keeping his incurable ailment under cover, is constantly craving and asking for the sympathy of indiflerent and disgusted fellow-voyagers. There is the chronic grumbler from New England who hardly opens his lips except to cavil and censure, who finds fault with captain and crtw, with food and berth, with wind and weather, and whose only saving quality is an occasional kindly reference to an absent wife and family. There is the old Scotch lady who is crossing the sea with her dog " Bobby," and whose solicitude for the wee (juadruped's welfare is as keen as that of any mother on board for the comfort of her helpless child. There, too, is the jolly fat bachelor from Toronto whose genial countenance, affable manners and delightful talk make him the most striking figure on board. He is mentioned in this category not because of his oddity but because he more than anyone else is the " observed of all observers." Had w(» a storm at sea ? Not a veritable storm, but for two days we had very rough water. On Fri- day, July 11th, a stiff breeze sprang up as we entered the Gulf Stream. The deck, which had been a scene of joy and life, soon became a scene of discomfort and distress. Before evening nearly all the passengers had , been subdued by Neptune. All that night the ship rolled and pitched incessantly and undisturbed sleep\\ OVER THE SEA. was impossible. A few passengers who at five o'clock next morning fled from the stifling atmosphere of the state-rooms to breathe the fresh air above were driven in by the lashing waves that in their angry fury -wept the decks with increasing volume and frequency. Kven the hurricane-deck atturded but a precarious refuge to those who were determined to 1m» out in the fiesh air. The ship rollei from side to side, reaching at times an incline of nearly forty five degrees, and as she stagger- ed and plunged it seemed almost miraculous that she recovered her balance. Noon came and still the wind abated not. Nearly all the passengers went without their meals that day. Clattering and breaking dishes and all the attendant discomforts of the saloon were not very appetizing. Rock, rock, rock, went the ship through the long, weary hours. Saturday night was quite as trying as Friday night. The port-holes had not been open for two days and the air was very foul. With Sunday came a blessed change. During the rest of the voyage we had ideal sea weather and everyone's enjoyment was far greater than if we had had a mono- tony of calm and comfort. On shipboard the occupations of the passengers are not numerous. When the weather in. fine the games of shio-quoits and shuffle-board always have their votar- ies. The smoking-room is at all hours a centre of at- traction for those who like the weed. The antithesis of this is the music-room, — a resort as distinctively femin- ine as the other is niasculine. The deck, in fair weath- er, is crowded with the great bulk of the passengers, — 10 OVER THE SEA. some wrapped up and stretched at full length on their sea-chairs, — some lolling over the quarter- railing, — some lying flat in slumber, even at midday, on the clean oak- en planks, — some reading light literature by fits and starts, — many promenading the quarter-deck, especially Viefore and after meal time. All these amusements and diversions, however, are of an unst^ttled and desultory nature. Sufticient unto the hour is the employment thereof. " A life on the ocean wave " has no plan, no method, no care, no anxiety, no pressing claims, no en- grossing duties. To the majority of sea-travellers each day is filled with vacant nothings, and a vacuous ex- pression soon settles on many faces. There is indeed one sight that rouses the active interest of the most le- thargic, — the sight of a distant sail or of the smoke from a passing steamer. There is one sound, — one wel- come lound that arrests the attention and controls the movements of everyone, what«'ver the occupation of the passing moment, — the sound of the bell that invites the hungry passengers to the dining-table below. The only thing that detracts from the romance of a sea-voyage is — the passengers. The capricious sea will not yield all her secrets and her charms to collective scrutiny. Life on a sailing-ship, alone with the officers and crew and a few kindred spirits, seems to be the ideal sea-life. So much of one's environment on a crowded ocean-steamer is of the earth earthy. There is a suggestion of rushing cars and clashing machinery in the very throb and tremor of the great monster that is hurrying us over the waters : y^^ # i ;f OVER THE SEA. 11 ."•1 '^ It- •' For the throb of the pulse never stops In the heart of the ship, As her measures of water and fire She drinks down at a sip." One must get away to some seclud^^d part of the deck, far from the engines, and far too from all distracting human influences, if he would put himself in touch with the spirits of wav{» and wind and sky. What countless creatures teem in the fathomless depths of ocean or sweep over its boundless expanse. There goes the huge whale, heaving his broad back above the tumbling billows. There grins the ravenous shark, darting through the blue waters with a death- menacing motion. There shoals of porpoises leap and sport, trying to equal the speed of the vessel. Yonder fly the beautiful sea-gulls with their weird and plain- tive cries. The dullest imagination can pass beyond the presence of the visible and peer into the gulfs be- low and view the innumerable swarms of monsters that roam the watery valleys. Many reflections press upon a thoughtful mind in mid- Atlantic. The floor of the abysses below isstrew^ with fearful wrecks, and whitening bones of mariners whose cries have sounded on this very air. Over this highway of the nations, bound on missions of peace or destined for deeds of war, countless ships have sailed for many centuries. Even now the keel of our vessel may be cutting the track of the ship that changed the course of American history, or that carried our ances- tors to the New World. 12 OVER THE SEA. What an ominous aspect have those life-boats that hang at the sides of the deck ! How suggestive they are of the awful possibility that before the voyage is over w may be floating in them over this solitary waste of waters at the mercy of the fickle elements ! More sternly suggestive still of possil^e peril are the many life-preservers to be seen in every part of the ship. The winds and waves may be cruel to a strug- gling boat, but what awful terrors must be those of the unfortunate that is obliged to have final recourse to one of these inflated life belts. There is a strange magic and mystery about the sea. Ever since the genesis of our world when " the gather- ing together of the waters called he seas" man has been at the same time terrified by and fascinated by the mighty main. Poets of all ages, who above all men are capable of receiving deep impressions, have sung of the majesty and the beauty of the sea. Among modern poets Byron and Swinburne have felt most powerfully the ocean's, charms. Readers of Byron know well with what exultation he always seizes this favorite theme, the culmination of his ardor being reached in the famous stanzas of Childo Harold begin- ning ** Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean — roll !" Readers of Swinburne know well that it is the beauty rather than the strenjyth of the sea that has engaged his affections. The soft music of summer waves can be heard in those stanzas beginning : -i?.; OVER THE SEA. 13 ' Dawn is dim on the dark soft water, Soft and passionate, dark and sweet." A volume might be written about the ocean, yes many volumes, but the length of this chapter is a warn- ing that it is time to get to shore. After a week of perfect weather a day of fog followed as our ship ap- proached the coast of Ireland. The incessant blowing of the dreary fog horn and other attendant discomforts of the fog made us quite eager to see the land. What a delightful throng of new sensations, rush upon a Canadian who for the first time comes in sight of Europe ! What memories and associations crowd up at the mention of that ancient name, — a name con- nected with the legends of childhood, the tasks of school days, and the more agreeable studies of maturer years. We sight Innistrahull on the Donegal coast on Monday morning at daylight after eleven days' sailing. After touching at Moville, the port of Londonderry, the ship speeds towards Glasgow. Many pleasant glimpses of gretn fields and rugged cliffs are obtained as we skirt the north coast of Ireland. The ruins of " Green Castle " give to us travellers from the New World a thrilling introduction to the Old. The sail through the North Channel past the Mull of Cantire, and up the Firth of Clyde past Arran and Bute pre- pare us by degrees for the *' Land of brown heath and shaggy wood, Land of the mountain and the flood." The ship reaches Greenock just in time to run up u OVER THE SEA. .' J^ ^/ th« river before the ebb of the tide. The principal object of interest to be seen as wo move slowly up the river is Dumbarton Castle, — a ruin as old as the Scoto" Saxon monarchy, if not dating back to Roman times. The scenery of the Clyde is very pleasing. On one side of the river are the highlands and lochs and crags crowned with ancient castles, and on the other parks and farms and manor halls. Presently the river becomes little more than a large canal enclosed between the banks of pastoral meadows. As we approach the city we see forests of tall masts and the skeletons of innumerable ships and are not surprised to learn that this Glasgow is perhaps the most famous city in the world for the building of sea-going vessels. We have now reached our port and the birth-place of the sturdy vessel that has carried us safely over three thousand miles of sea. I OVER THE SEA. n II. (JLASOOW AND TIIK LAND OF BUUN'S. Glasgow is not only the largest city in Scotland, but it is also the chief seat of manufactures and coma erce. It is a city of smoke pnd turmoil, furnishing but few attractions to the tourist. There are, however, a few places of interest to which at least a flying visit should be paid. George Square is an extensive open space in the very heart of the great city. It is a place of public monu- ments, the largest being Sir Walter Scott's column, surmounted by a colossal statue of the great poet and novelist. Other monuments of special interest are those erected in memory of Sir John Moore, Dr. Livingstone, James Watt, and the poets Burns and Campbell. George Square is a much frequented promenade, especially in the evening after the closing of the public buildings of all kinds that face the quad- rangle on every side. Glasgow Cathedral, at the top of High Street, is a very ancient building, dating back exactly three hundred years before the discovery of America. Its modern boast is a display of stained glass more brilliant and more abundant than that of any other edifice in Great Britain. The crypt of the cathedral, long used » s : 16 OVER THE SEA. as a parish church, figures prominently in Scott's " Hob Hoy." A visitor to Glasgow t'rom across the sea whose advent occurs in Exhibition Week will see Old World life in some of its most sinister aspects. If he take a walk up Argyle Street at half- past nine in the e^'ening — the twiligh. hour in July — he must be prepared to have his sensibilitifs continually shocked by horrible street brawls and harrowing scenes of poverty and sin. Throngs of drunken men, hundreds of half-clad women hurrying over the stones with bare and bleeding feet, scores of little children even at this late hour of the evening wandering aimlessly or crying in anxious quest,- these are the pitiable creatures that our boasted civi- lization has failed to civilize, — and that too in a land where religion and education and philanthropy have reached high-water mark. O these claaiant social dis- orders of this nineteenth century ! What beneficent angel from the merciful skies will bring the perfect panacea ? Must patience have her perfect work in the slow evolution of better things, or is the great world soon to "spin down the ringing grooves of change?" THE LAND OF BURNS. July 22nd, 1890, will always be to me a memorable day. Up to that time my knowledge of the homes and haunts of the poets had been obtained entirely from the printed page. On that day I saw face to face many scenes of poetic renown and breathed the very atmo- sphere that had stirred the strings of Burns's lyre. \ '%, i'f 1" r • OVER THE SEA.' 17 A journey by railway to the town of Ayr carriea you through the famous manufacturing town of Paisley and the burgh of Irvine, the birth-place of the poet Montgomery. The rural scenery, when the train has carried you well away from Glasgow, is richly attrac- tive. You see from the window of the railway carriage many fine landscapes diversified by hills and mountains, glens and vales, rushing streams and gently-flowing rivulets. The town of Ayr stands at the mouth of the river of the same name. Although occupying low ground it commands delightful views of Arran over the Firth of Clyde and of Cunningham up the coast. In the town itself there are many objects of literary interest. The tourist will not neglect the " Twa Brigs " made famous in Burns' humorous dialogue between the " Sprites that owre the Brigs of Ayr preside " : " Ane on the Auld Brig his airy shape uprears, The ither flutters o'er the rising piers." The Wallace Tower on High Street will also claim attention. This structure now contains the " drowsy dungeon clock " mentioned by Burns in the poem just named. Only a few rods distant is '' Tarn O'Shanter Inn," where Tam and Souter Johnny sitting by the brightly blazing ingle drank too deeply of the gracious landlady's ale. The old inn has an ancient appearance with its roof of primitive thatch and its lower windows protected by antique shutters. Ayr is a rich and busy town, but it would scarcely be known beyond the limits of Britain were it not for 18 OVER THE SEA. ■ti i ii i it8 association with the name of Burns and for the aterling credential which he has given it • *' AuUl Ayr, whum ne'er u town aurpassen For honest men and bonnie lasses." A drive of two miles south from Ayr over a perfect road (all Scotch roads are in excellent condition) brings the tourist to the central point of interest, — the " Burns's Cottage," the birthplace of the poet and the very scene of the "Cottar's Saturday Night." It is a long low white building. The older portion, thatch- covered and battered by time, remains nearly as it was in 1759 when Burns first saw the dim light of day through the small windows of this " lowly shed." To inspect the cottage one pays a fee of six pence. On the Saturday preceding my visit eleven hundred persons entered the cottage door. Fortunate would the poor bard have thought himself a hundred years ago if he could have had a small fraction of the interest which the present owners of the cottage are reaping from the principal of his splendid fame. An indescribable sensation seizes the visitor as he enters the room where Robert Burns was bom, and, walking over the cool, broken stone slabs towards the farthest corner, sees in a nook of the wall the very bed where the poet's mother stilled his infant cries. In the same room are the old tall family clock, the dining ta- ble and some ancient chairs. There too are the " wee bit ingle " and the " clean hearthstane." There is the door at which the " neibor lad " rapped — a heavy oak door fastened securely by a bolt encrusted by a cen- \ l\ OVER THE SEA. 19 tury's rust and by a crooked iron hook pushed well down into its bulky staple. Many curiosities connect ed with the poet's career are deposited in an adjoining room. Various pictures of Burns adorn the walls and many of his manuscripts and letters are there exhibit- ed in cases. O lowly cottage of Scotland's peasant bard I What is it about thet> that draws curious travellers from dis- tant continents and the remotest isles of the sea ? Day by day through countless years foreign feet will cross thy humble threshold, and noisy voices will be hushed to a whisper, and reverent heads >^ill be uncovered, and careful hands will touch thy sacred contents, and beating hearts will feel thy subtle influence, and soar- ing spirits will fly away beyond thy narrow bounds to commune with the spirit of him who has given us so many breathing thoughts and burning words. O low- ly cottage, may wind and weather spare thee long. The glory of thy ploughboy's genius has touched thy simpli- city and turned it into splendor, has touched thy pov- erty and made it grandly rich. About half a mile south of Burns's cottage is " Al- loway's auld haunted Kirk," the scene of the revel of the fiends in " Tam O' Shanter," the place " Whare ghaists and houlets nightly cry." The Kirk is a small, plain, roofless structure. Cut into the mouldy stone is the date 1513, which is presumably the date of erection. The old ruined church is a fit haunt for eighteenth century ghosts. Surrounding the I > 20 OVER THE SEA. \- Kirk is an ancient cemetery where lies the dust of Burns's father and mother. Near Alloway Kirk is the Burnt}' monument, built in 1820 at a cost of $15000. The interior of the monument contains many interest- ing relics, among them the very Bible that the poet presented to " Highland Mary " when he plighted his troth to her. In the vicinity of the monument is the river Doon spanned by the " Auld Brig " which figures so prominently in the narrative of Tam O' Shanter's flight from the pursuing witches. From the middle of the bridge one gets a fine view of the luxuriant scenery of the ** Banks and Braes O' Bonny Doon." One feels as he looks out over the gorgeous prospect from the vantage-point of this old stone bridge that it would have been a wonder if the fruitful years had not pro- duced a poet in such a rich environment. Only one who has seen this pastoral paradise and has quaffed this mellow air can appreciate the sad, sweet dirge of the lovely lady over the dead affection of her betrayer : '* Ye banks and braes o' bonny Doon, How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair ; How can ye chant, ye little nrds. And I sae weary, fu' o' care !" ^ There are many other places of interest in the "Land of Burns" than those which I have here nam- ed, but I mention only those which I had the pleasure of seeing on that peaceful summer day which can never be forgotten. As I returned to Ayr on my way back to Glasgow I recalled the time when poor Burns, op- pressed with many cares, meditated a voyage to Jamai- i- I //. 1 ^ . OVER THE SEA. 21 ca to try his fortunes in the New World. Well for literature that the steerage-passenger who had paid his nine guineas never embarked. All readers of Burns are familiar with his farewell to Ayr and to Scotland. As I took my far well of Ayr the last stanza of Burns's well-known song assumed a new impressiveness : " Farewell old Coila's hills &nu dales, Her heathy moors and winding vales ; The scenes where wretched fancy roves, Pursuing past unhappy loves ! Farewell, my friends ! farewell, my foes ! My peace with these, my love with those — The bursting tears my heart declare : Farewell the bonny banks of Ayr ! '* t. !} Ill 00 OVKU THE SEA. \\i \\\. TIIK lIKillLAM) LAKKH. A moif deli(;htful tour for a July day can scarcely b«^ imagined than a journey from Glasgow to Loch Lomond, up the Loch to Fnversnaid, through the re- gion of " The Lady of the Lake," and thence, by way of Sterling, to Edinburgh. This trip can be made in one day and for one gold sovereign. The tourist leaves Glasgow at eight o'clock in the morning, taking the train for Balloch, a town at the foot of Loch Lomond. The railroad runs along the Clyde for fourteen miles, and then, opposite the castled hill of Dumbarton, turns sharply northward and tra- verses the valley of the river Leven for six miles. On the banks of this river are the villages of Alexandria, Bonhill, and Renton, near the last of which was born in 1721, Tobias Smollett, one of the three great British novelists of the last century. At Balloch a pretty lit- tle steamer is waiting to convey up the lake a hundred excursionists, mostly sons and daughters of the soil. Loch Lomond, " The Queen of the Scottish Lakes," " The Loch of a Hundred Isles," is the largest lake in Great Britain. It is twenty miles long, its width vary- ing from five miles to half-a-mile. Nowhere In the world, surely, can be found scenery more picturesque OVER THE SEA. 23 and romantic. Ah we Htf^ained nwny from Haliooli pii»r a vision of majesty and loveli[i(>sH was gradually un- folded that could not be exa^ji|jerated by painter or by poet. We threaded our way amongst innumerable is- lands crowned with verdure of matchless variety and beauty. As I heard " the accents of the mountain tongue " in the speech of those al)out me, and saw tho.se blooming northern faces, as I glanced to the ancient hills and mountains that mulled us in on every side, to the myriads of rills that leaped and gushed down grassy slopes and rugged stesops, to the exquisite con- tour of the coast as satisfying as the plump roundness of childish cheeks, to the limpid waters that rippled to the gentle breeze, to the wreaths of mist that would swoop down upon us as if by magic and then silently and suddenly steal away, as I viewed the gorgeous coloring of the scene around me, the blue of sky and water, the green of tree and plant, the white of mist and cloud, the purple heather, the gray cliff, the brown or sha- dowy gorge, the azure of the distant hills, and all these continually varying their hues with the ever-changing light, — I felt that I had drifted clean away from the common-place work-a-day world, and had entered an ideal realm haunted by spirits of beauty and touched with the witchery of an immortal hand. The enthusi- asm with which I speak of this mountain-circled lake and these " summer isles of Eden " may appear over- charged to many of my readers, but to such I must say that my poor words limp far behind the actual glories of this Highland loch. This masterpiece of the hea I 1^' I i' (I ' I 24 OVBJi THE SEA. ^ ' m m lii ''' w vei.ly Artist is not to be described by the tame voca- bles of our human speech. Its place of record is the receptive tablets of the memory of the beholder. "In spots like these it is we prize Our memory, feel that she hath eyes ; I feel this place whs made for her ; To give new pleasure like the past, Continued long as life shall last." I cannot attempt a full description of our voyage over the lake. The first point of call for the steamer is the pretty village of Luss on the western shore. Thence we strike north-east across the lake to Rowar- dennan, situated at the base of Ben Lomond. The western face of this imposing mountain rises almost im- mediately from the water's edge. It is said that the view from the summit of the mountain (over 3000 feet high) is wide and rich. One third of Scotland can be seen stretching out below, including Glasgow and Edin- burgh ; and beyond Bute and Arran can be descried the distant Atlantic and the coast of Ireland. As the steamer moves northward along the east shore we pass close to " Rob Roy's Prison," a wall of rock about thirty feet high. This and many other points along the loch have been described by Scott in his fascinating romance of " Rob Roy." From this point we make for Tarbet, situated in a sheltered cove on the west coast. From Tarbet we pursue our zig-zag course towards the eastern shore. Soon we reach Inversnaid, our port of debarkation, a place of special interest to Canadians on account of its association with a name that they revere, — a place, ! r OVER THE SEA. 25 too, hallowed by the genius of a great modern poet. At Inversnaid, in the reign of George IT., Major (af- terwards General) Wolfe, the victor on the heights of Abraham, was for a time in command of the barracks erected to overawe the re.stless Macgregors. At Inver- snaid, too, Wordsworth saw the " Sweet Highland Girl " whom he has made immortal in one of his most beautiful poems : — •' Sweet Highland girl, a very shower Of beauty is thy earthly dower I Twice seven consenting years have shed Their utmost bounty on thy head : And these gray rocks ; that household lawn ; Those trees, a veil just half withdrawn ; This fall of water, that doth make A murmur near the silent lake ; This little bay ; a quiet road That holds in shelter thy abode — In truth, together do ye seem Like something fashioned in a dream ; Such forms as from their covert peep When earthly cares are laid asleep ! But, fair creature, in the light Of common day so heavenly bright, I bless thee, vision as thou art, I bless thee with a human heart. " From Inversnaid we drive — six coach-loads of tour- ists — eastward through the mountains. About two miles out we pass Rob Roy's cave, — a gloomy hollow amid rugged cliffs. Here Rob Roy and his followers used to make preparations for their southern forays, and here, it is said, Robert Bruce once found a safe asylum. The road from Inversnaid to Stronachlacher on Loch Katrine skirts the edge of a deep and circuitous ravine. i fj IK M 26 OVER TUB SEA. The scenery on the road is wildly picturesque. Our journey was made exactly at mid-day, but the air was cool and fresh and a heavy mist mantled us about a great part of the way. Reaching the western shore of LfOch Katrine w;; again embark on a little steamer that is to carry us through a region which more than any other has been immortalized by the wonderful genius of Scott. Who has not read " The Lady of the Lake " ? Who does not rememl)er the gra(;eful description of Katrine in Canto III. ? — • *' Tlie summer dawn's reflected hue To purple changed l^och Katrine blue" — As the steamer moves eastward you think of Roder- ick Dhu's course over the little lake as he bears down- wards from Glengyle and steers full upon the lonely isle. As you pass the point of Brianchoil you see the spears and pikes and axes of the lawless chief, — the tartans and the bonnets and the plumage of the war- riors, — you hear the martial music of the highland pi- broch, and catch snatches of the thrilling "Boat Song" : '* Row, vassals, row, for the pride of the Highlands ! Stretch to your oars, for the ever-green Pine !" The scenery at the western extremity of the lake is not so beautiful and varied as at the east. All nature among the titanic hills is bare and bleak and desolate. Splintered rocks and massive boulders cover the slopes of the mountains. The shores of the lake are rugged and steep. A fit region this for the exploits of Rob Roy and the Macgregors, for every fastness of these OVER THE SEA. 27 barren shores could tell its terrible tale of sutfering and of bloodshed. As you move eastward the landscape soon takes on fairer and more varied features. Otf to tlie .south rises the colossal form of Ben- Venue (2800 feet high). A narrow sheet of water stretches far before you. The coast-lines show many pleasant coves and stretches of pebbled beach. Rustling reeds and waving ferns answer the music of the rippling waves. And yonder is '• Ellen's Isle," — the central point of all, associated with the sweet and cherished memories of " The Lady of the Lake." Yes, this the very retreat to which Ellen Douglas conveyed the Knight of Snowdon, and this is the very refuge of the women and children of the Clan Alpine. Away to the south, at the base of Ben-Venue, can now be seen the " Goblin's Cave " : — *' It was a wild and strange retreat, As e'er was trod by outlaw's feet. The dell, upon the mountain's crest. Yawned like a gash on warrior's breast ; Its trench had stayed full niany a rock, Hurled by primeval earthquake shock '' From Ben-Venue's gray summit wild." As I left the little steamer at the narrow eastern inlet of Katrine, and bade good-bye to bold Ben A'an and towering Ben-Venue, to *' Ellen's Isle," and the sweet sequestered lake, I snatched some heather, ferns, and flowers from the wayside as souvenirs of these fairy scenes ; but the stores of beautiful images that T treasure in my memory will outlast the fading colors and the withering leaves. I - •j .r-ar ■ir-Tairna- y -0^--* 1 m !> in 'II \ '■ ^^ 28 Or^^jf THE SEA. And now we take a coach again for a drive through the haunted region of the Trosachs. As the afternoon sun shines in full splendor through the pass, Scott's famous description of this narrow, rugged glen seenas wonderfully faithful. At the risk of being tedious I venture to quote a part of the well-known word-picture : *• The western waves of ebbing day Rolled o'er the glen their level way ; Kach purple peak, each flinty spire, VVas bathed in floods of living fire. But not a setting beam could glow Within the dark ravine l>elow. Where twined the path in shadow hid, Round many a rocky pyramid, Shooting abruptly from the dell Its thunder-splintered pinnacle ; Round many an insulated mass, . The native bulwarks of the pass. Huge as the tower which builders vain Presumptuous piled on Shinar's plain. The rocky summits, split and rent, Formed turret, dome, and battlement, Or seemed fantastically set With cupola or minaret. Wild crests as pagod ever decked. Or mosque of Eastern architect. Nor were these earth-born castles bare. Nor lacked they many a banner fair ; For, from their shivered brows displayed, Far o'er the unfathomable glade. All twinkling with the dew-drop sheen. The brier-rose fell in streamers green. And creeping shrubs of thousand dyes Waved in the west wind's summer sighs." No other spot in the wide world has been honored with such a description, and as long as the English language lives a never-ending procession of curious travellers will explore this *' dark and narrow dell." The intrinsic attractions of the Pass are such as to OVER THE SEA. 29 oppress the beholder with a sense of awe and majesty, and the glamour of poetic glory that the " magician of the north " has cast about it makes its charms more potent still. The powerful influence of a poet's song has caused a palatial hotel to rise at the eastern limit of the Trosachs. It is a beautiful editice, stately and turreted, not out of harmony with the sublime srmery within view of it. After a short stay at this Trosachs Hotel our company of tourists proceed by coach along the southern shore of Loch Achray to tne western limit of Loch Vennachar. Here the road turns south, and we follow a very circuitous route through a land of hills, covered with purple heather and dotted with gorse and wild rose bushes. At Aberfoyle we take train for Bucklyvie and thence for Sterling, seeing from the car window the famous castle of Sterling, the ancient seat of Scotland's kings, and passing within sight of the two famous battle-fields of Sterling and Bannockburn. After an hour's delay at Sterling on we rush to Alloa and Dunfermline. Passing over the new bridge over the Frith of Forth — the largest bridge in the world — we steam into Edinburgh at eight o'clock after twelve full and ever-memorable hours. \ '^ 30 otavj? tjje ska. P m Bi 11:1 It !fr I i ' I IV. EDINBURCJII. " I view yon pjinpress of the north Sit on her hilly throne : Her palace's imperial bowers, Her castle, proof to hostile powers, Her stately halls, and holy towers — " Thus, nearly four centuries ago, on the summit of Blackford Hill, the Lindesay is represented by Scott as having spoken of Edinburgh to Lord Marmion. To-day, though without her frowning ramparts and embattled walls and all her panoply of war Dun-Edin is as fair as ever. Nay, the old streets and ruined palaces enhance her beauty with the pathos of ancient days. Those old-world travellers who have stood upon one of her hills of prospect and have viewed the panorama of her varied charms declare that Edinburgh is the most beautiful city in the world ; — more beautiful even than Naples or Florence or Venice or Rome, — yes, even than brilliant Paris. The traveller who finds himself in Edinburgh and who is obliged to limit his stay there to a single day, is much perplexed to know how to spend his time to the best advantage, especially if, as was the case with my- self, he has neither friend nor acquaintance to ac-om- OVER THE SEA. 'M i pany him on his rambles to strange scenes and through foreign streets. At nine o'clock on the morning of July 24th I set out alone to explore " >fodern Athens," not knowing exactly which way my st(»ps were to turn, but determined to ste before n" ;htfall many of the chief places of interest which hitherto 1 had known only by name. Passing the Post Office T first proceed to the sun»- mit of Calton Hill in the north east of the city. The view from that lofty eminence is very impres.sive. Far below are the spires and doujes and magnificent structures of the Scottish capital. Wide expanses of rich rural scenery spread far away to the dim hills. In another direction the fine estuary of the Forth broadens out towards the German Ocean. Crowning the rugged brow of Calton Hill are many public monuments, notably Nelson's Monument over one hundred feet high. The National monument, intended to be a copy of the Parthenon at Athens, but for want of funds never completed, is very imposing with its twelve colunms. Descending the hill I pass the High School and the Burns Monument on ray way to Arthur's Seat, the highest point in Edinburgh, 822 feet above the sea- level. I take the road so often travelled by Sir Walter Scott past St. Anthony's Chapel, — a fragmentary ruin of a church erected in 1435. Near the ruined chapel is a cool and limpid spring — St. Anthony's Well — whose waters must be tasted by every true tourist. From this point starts the winding path that leads to the distant top of the cliff. After a toilsome ascent T I' ') I iH; \f 32 OVER riJE SEA. reach the summit of Arthur's seat exactly at noon. On the windy mountain top 1 sat for a full hour and could have remained there the rest of the day had not the swiftly passing moments warned me that sight-seeing, and not reflections, was njy business. A noble passage from the " Chronicles of the Canongate " gives voice to my feelinrj as I sat musing at mid-day on that lofty crag: " A nobler contrast there can hardly exist than that of the huge city, dark with the smoke of ages, and groan- ing with the various sounds of active industry or idle revel, and the lofty and craggy hill, silent and solitary as the grave; one exhibiting the full tide of existence pressing and precipitating itself forward with the force of an inundation ; the other resembling some time worn anchorite, whose life passes as silent and unobserved as the slender rill which escapes unheard from the fountain of his patron saint. The city resembles the busy temple, where the modern Comus and Mammon hold their court, and thousands sacrifice ease, independence and virtue itself, at their shrine ; the misty and lonely mountain seems as a throne to the majestic but terrible genius of feudal times, where the same divinities dis- pensed coronets and domains to those who had heads to devise and arms to execute bold enterprises." With what a feeling of keen regret one leaves this romantic mountain ! A last look at the glorious panorama stretched out below — a glance towards the east at the little village containing the inn where tradition says Prince Charles Edward slept before the battle of Prestonpans — another sight of Leith asd OVER TI/E SEA. 3S Portobfllo and the blue waU'is of th*^ Frith, iiiul I descend the steep and barren slopes of Arthur's Seat. Before leaving the base of the mountain 1 walk along the road that skirts the Salisbury crags, — a favorite walk of Scott and Hume in their daily cogitations. Between Arthur's seat and Calton Hill are the famous Palace and Abbey of Holyrood. Of the old abbey only some portions of the nave now remaiti, and an eastern wall built soon after the Reformation. A beautiful ruin is the royal chapel with its Gothic arches, its decorated gateway, its richly sculptured arcade. In the south aisle are deposited the bones of many of the Scottish kings. These well-worn tablets over kings long dead and the crumbling ruins of this ancient abbey carry the mind of the visitor far back into the hoary past, and revive a pathetic interest in struggles and victories and defeats, in rivalries and jealousies, in loves and hates, that once commanded the attention of listening courts and startled realms, but which are now as voiceless and unheeded as the dry dust within this royal vault. Turning from the Abbey to the Palace adjoining, the visitor is conducted first to the picture gallery con- taining a series of old Flemish portraits of the Scottish kings. This room was used by Prince Charles Edward in 1745 for his numerous receptions and balls. Read- ers of " Waverley " will remember the chapter descrip- tive of " The Ball " and of the brilliant company that met in this room. After the revelry was over, and the musicians had played the signal for parting,- -the old i 34 OVEfi THE SEA. rtir of "(Jood niglit, and joy bo wi'you a' I", the Prince rose and said : " (tood night, and joy b«' with you I — (Jood night, fair ladies, who liave ho highly lionored a proscribed ar»d banislied Prince -Goofl night, my brave friends ; may the happiness we have experienced this evening be an omen of our return to these our j)aternal halls, speedily and in triumph, and of many and many future meetings of mirth and pleasure in the palace of Holyrood I" Poor, deluded prince 1 Culloden Moor was destined next year to blight his hopes forever. But it is not of Prince Charles that the visitor thinks most when he is within the precincts of the Pal- ace. Mary Queen of Scots must always be the central figure in all the descriptions of Holyrood. Her apart- ments on the second floor are, it is said, in nearly the same condition as when she inhabited them. Here is the vestibule with the dark stains on the floor, fabled to have been made by the blood of Rizzio, the unfor- tunate secretary of Mary who was here done to death by the cruel daggers of Darnley and Ruthv^n. Here is the audience chamber hung with ancient and decay- ing tapestry, and containing some old chairs adorned with rich embroidery wrought by the hands of Mary and her maids of honor. Here is the spacious and beautiful bed-chamber of the Queen with its gorgeous but faded upholstery. Often did the poor Queen lying on this rich and downy couch feel the full force of King Henry's soliloquy : — " Why rather, sleep, Heat thou in smoky cribs, . Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee, : i OVEn rilK SKA 35 Thiiii ill the |>tMfiini(Mt ihauihurH of \\w gruut, Unvas fired by an emissary of Henry VIII., still the present roofless ruins are mainly those of the old monastery built nearly six cen- turies ago. The abbey is now in the possession of the noble house of Buccleuch and great care is being taken to preserve the venerable ruins from further decay. Melrose Abbey is cruciform in shape like so many of the Gothic abbeys and cathedrals of Europe. The visitor is admitted by the custodian at the abbey gate situated at the west end of the south aisle. The first six of the chapels in the south aisle hav<; been used ever since the Reformation as burial-places by noted families in the vicinity. The visitor as he enters sees, in the very first chapel on the right, high up on the wall, the following impressive inscription which must serve as » specimen of the many to be found in every part of the ruined church : OVER THE SEA. 4n I } '; THE Dl'ST OF MANY WKN KRATKiNS OF THK BOSTONS OF <;ATT0NSII)K is DF.roSITKI) IN THIS I'LACK. WE OIVE OVK IIOIUKS To THIS HOLY AHBEY TO KEEP. Melrose Abbey contains some very tine specimens of Gothic sculpture. The south transept in particular is distinguished for the beauty of its foliage tracery and of its quaintly carved figures. The wasting ele- ments have dealt roughly with the marble leaves and flowers, but enough remains to attest the exquisite taste and skill of the sculptors whose cunning hands, in centuries long past, fashioned these magnificent de- signs. At the east end of the south transept, and separat- ed from it by three pillars, is St. Bridget's Chapel, which here receives mention on account of a curious relic that it contains. When in 1649 the fiat of Crom- well demolished the images in so many churches, Mel- rose Abbey did not escape. In St. Bridget's Chapel, however, may still be seen a statue of that saint stand ing on a pedestal in a niche near one of the windows. The wanton myrmidons of the Protector failed to no- tice and to destroy this insignificant image of one of the minor saints. The little statue, grimy and mutilated, stands staring stonily from its sheltered recess and with dumb eloquence telling of the glorious days when every niche in these crumbling walls had its image of saint or martyr. Between St. Bridget's Chapel and the chancel at the east is a short aisle which was probably used as a sep- arate chapel. This corner of the abbey is the focus of j' I' ri 44 OVEIi THE SFA. i I' ■ '■* ! attraction for all visitors to Melrose. Here, according to tlie " Lay of the Last Minstrel," is the grave of the famous wizard, Michael Scott, whose magic words cleft into three the Eildon Hills, which, on the south of the abbey, rise majestically from a common base to three tall summits. Readers of the " Lay " will remember the impressive scene in the second canto where Delor- aine stands over the open grave of Michael Scott and a supernatural Mght streams up from the vault to the chancel roof : "No earthly flame blazed e'er so bright ; It Bhone like heaven's own blessed light." William of Deloraine had been sent hither by the Ladye of Branksome to secure the wizard's " Mighty Book " of spells and enchantments ; but, as he saw the dead magician with a silver cross in his right hand, " his Book of Might " in his left, and a ghostly lamp placed by his knees, the steady-hearted and stout-hand- ed warrior stood bewildered and unnerved. Standing near the fabled grave of Michael Scott you have in full view the famous eastern window of Melrose Abbey, which has received a splendid tribute in the " Lay of the Last Minstrel " : '* The moon on the east oriel shone Through slender shafts of shapely stone, By foliage tracery combined ; Thou would'st have thought some fairy's hand 'Twixt poplars straight the osier wand, In many a treakish knot, had twined ; Then framed a spell when the work was done, And changed the willow wreaths to stone." Under the floor of the chancel, just below the beau- tiful window, repose the ashes of many illustrious per- }i\ OVER THE SEA, 45 sonages. Alexander TT. was buried here. Here were interred the bodies of William Douglas, " the dark Knight of Liddesdale," and of James Douglas, slain by Hotspur at the battle of Otterburn in 1388. Here, too, tradition say is deposited the heart of King Robert Bruce, brought back from Spain after Douglas had at* tempteii unsuccessfully to carry it to the Holy Land. After passing through the north transept and view- ing the sacristy you proceed to the north aisle, conspic- uous for the beauty of its pointed roof and massive pillars. In this aisle, just beyond the cloister door, there is an ancient inscription on the wall, remarkable for its touching simplicity and for the admiration be- stowed on it by Washington Irving. Tt reads as fol- lows : HEfR LVrS THK RA(!K OF VE HOVS OF ZAIR. Right opposite this inscription are seen the tombs of the ancient family of Karr, or Kerr. At this point you may pass into the cl(^sters through the exquisitely (Jarved door mentioned in the " Lay " : *' By a steel-clenched postern door. They entered now the chancel tall. " As the visitor passes from the cloisters towards tlie grand south entrance on his way out he will get the most imposing view of the interior of the ruined mon- astery. Now, too, will come on him in full flood a current of associations and influences that will make him linger long on the bright green turf that forms I" 46 OVER THE SEA. the summer floor of the western portion of the nave. Wliat scenes of holy rapture and of unholy ravage have been enacted within these sacred walls ! What tears of moaning penitents and blood of slaught^^'ed priests have consecrated yon cold grey stones ! What holy hymns of virgins and wanton shouts of pitiless soldiers have been re echoed through these ancient aisles ! What a multitude of venerable abbots and cowled monks, of mailed warriors and gallant knights and high-born dames, worshipped here in the olden days before the pillared arches and the fretted roof had fallen in ruins ! And beneath these hard, rough slabs and this well-packed clay and even this daisied turf lie the mortal remains of how many royal and historic figures ! As I left Melrose Abbey and bade good-bye to the intelligent and courteous custodian I could not but reflect that nearly all of the great procession of tourists who come here by the hundred every day have been attracted to the sp jt not by the intrinsic beauties of the ruined church however great they are, but by the genius of the poet and novelist who used frequently to visit the old abbey, to gaze upon yon eastern window, or to take his favorite seat on yonder stone by the grave of the old wizard who bore the same surname, — Scott. ABBOTSFORD. In 1811 Walter Scott purchased a tract of land on the bank of the Tweed about three miles west of Mel- rose. He was led to the purchase by several consider- OVER THE SEA. r ations. The Twerd at this point is a l>eautiful rivpr, flowing broach and bright ovor a pebbly bed. Another feature of interest at the time was an old Roman road leading from the Eildon Hills to the ford over the river adjoining the estate. Besides, the picturesfjue ruins of Melrose Abbey are visible from many points in the immediate neighborhood. At one time the land had belonged to the Abbey of Melrose, as might be inferred from the name of Ahhotxford. The small house which was on the estate at the time of purchase Scott gradu- ally enlarged and improved, but some years later the old structure v'as torn down and the present palatial mansion was erected on its site. After leaving Melrose Abbey T started r,t noon to walk to Abbotsford by a picturesque road tliat runs not far from the high banks of the Tweed. This was my first country walk in Britain, and many things con- tributed to make it delightful. The highway, like nearly all British roads, runs between two lines of hawthorn hedges. Peeping out fiom the hedgerows were pretty wild roses and blue-bells. The foot-path by the roadside was hrrd and clean. The air was balmy and exhilarating. The prospect was everywhere beautiful. Off to the left, rising 1200 feet high, were the three peaks of the Eildon Hills. To the right flowed the romantic Tweed. The only distraction on the road was the frequent passage of coachloads of tourists bound for Abbotsford or returning therefrom. After I had walked two miles I began to peer ahead for the world-famed mansion of Sir Walter, but not a P 4.S OVKH THE SEA. V i .11^ glimpse of it was to be seen until the gateway was reached. I had expected to Hnd Abbotsford on some connnanding slope,- a place to Ije seen for miles around. I found it snugly situat(>d on meadowland very close to the river. Abbotsford is now the property of Lady Hope- Scott, the great-grand-daughter of the founder of the house. Lady Scott occupies part of the house during the summer months, but all the rooms of public interest are open to visitors every lawful day. Abbotsford has l)een styled "n romance in stone and lime," as it exhibits combinations of architecture after Sir Walter's original and antiquarian tastes. It is said to embody in its structure copies of portions of Melrose Abbey, Roslin Chapel, Holy rood Palace, Linlithgow Palace, and other admired buildings. It is now practically a grand public museum of antiquities, arts, and literature, and it contains many relics of Sir Walter's dress, habits, and pursuits. The cicerone who conducts the visitor through Sir Walter's rooms has been happily chosen. She has sad eyes and a very plaintive voice, both conducive to a suitable spirit of repose and reverence in those whom she guides and instructs. A bold, harsh tone and flip- pant manner would be a desecration in these hallowed rooms. Visitors are rapidly conducted in companies of about twenty through the various rooms, the guide pointing out all objects of special interest as you pro- ceed. In turn we pass through the gorgeous library OVER THE SEA. 49 with its thirty-thousand volumrs ; thr unit drawing- room with its rich upholst<*ry and Iwautiful pictun's ; the armory with its marvellous collection of guns, swords, daggers, and countless relics of antitfuarian interest; the entrance hall, sumptuously furnished with a museum-like collection of curiosities and an- tiquities ; and lastly the study, containing the desk and chair used by Sir Walter during the years of the pro duction of many of the Waverley Novels. How pathetic were Scott's last days in this splendid mansion ! By the failure of his publishers saddled with a debt of a hundred and seventeen thousand pounds he set himself proudly and bravely to pay it off. He worked day by day at his Hercules' task cheerfully and unweariedly. " While his life strings were crack- ing, he grappled with it, and wrestled with it, years long, in death grips, strength to strength ; — and it proved the stronger ; and his life and heart did crack and break ; the cordage of a most strong heart." Let me conclude this chapter with another sentence from Carlyle : — " When he departed he took a Man's life along with him. No sounder piece of British manhood was put together in that eight LONDON -HT. PAUL's CATHKOKAL AM) V,'K8TMIN8TER AUBKV. When in the early morning of July 2Gth, after an all ni;^ht journey from Scotland, T drew near to the metropolis of the world, T had none of the eagerness of the Vjoy in " Locksley Hall " who travelling by night along th(? dusky highway and drawing nearer and near- er to the world's capital at last " sees in heaven the light of London flaring like a dreary dawn," and who joyfully leaps forward in spirit to mingle among the throngs of men. Among the four millions of people T knew not one, nor had I the vaguest conception of the topography of the place. When the guard at the rail- way station shouted out the most familiar name in the vocabulaiy of cities, all the friendliness and melody of the word vanislied and it sounded like a knell. Life was fully astir in the great city and clamorous labor was stretching out his hundred hands. Weary and depressed T longed to be away in some dense forest or on some trackless mountain, " But midst the crowd, the hum, the shock of men, To hear, to see, to feel, and to possess, With none who bless us, none whom we can bless, — This is to lie alone ; this, this is solituile. '' OVER THE SEA. 51 Taking a liaiisoni I Huon found a plaoc of shelter — but by no means a (juiet refuge -at the Norfolk Hotel, near the busy and noisy Strand, in the very heart of the throbbing, roaring, feverish life of London. Sleep and rest soon restored my normal buoyancy of spirits, and short excursions in diflerent directions soon familiarized me with my novel environment. The Strand and Fleet Street, Blackfriars' Bridge and The Thames, Charing Cross, and Pall Mall, soon threw aside their frown and assumed a friendly aspect. Everything of public interest which I have to record in connection with my first four days in London will be reserved for a subsequent chapter on London life. The present chapter is to be devoted to a brief descrip- tion of two of London's most interesting churches, — interesting not mainly as churches, but as repositories of the bones of England's mighty dead. ST. Paul's cathedral. The history of St. Paul's dates back to the seventh century and the times of Ethelbert, King of Kent. The church was destroyed by fire in the tenth century and again in the eleventh century. The third edifice, a magnificent structure, was destroyed by the great fire of 1666. The present cathedral is a monument to the architectural genius of Sir Christopher Wren. He spent 35 years of his life in overseeing the erection of the building, the first stone being laid in 1675 and the last in 1710. u 52 OVEI^ 77/ E SEA. '( !E I r. il St. Paul's Cathedral is 500 fe(;t long from east to west and 250 foet broad at tlie transept. The height of the building is 352 feet from the floor to the top of the cross. The Cathedral covers more than two acres of ground. Its aggregate cost was nearly four million dollars. In the various aisli^s and transepts of Hi. Paul's are to be seen the monuments of many illustrious men. The visitor, as he scans the monumental inscriptions, cannot fail to be impre^^sed with a strange and start- ling contrast. Here we read of deans and bishops who have been consecrated to declare the glad evangel of peace on earth and good will toward men ; there, in close proximity, are marble tablets that announce the glorious triumphs of generals and of admirals whose hands have been stained with the blood of hundreds of their slaughtered countrymen and thousands of their hated foes. " My house shall be called the house of prayer, but ye have made it " — -a temple for the deifi- cation of the cannon ball and the reeking sword. Some of these national heroes, it is true, have sacrificed their lives to save Britain from the heel of the oppressor, but alas ! too many have gone down to death in unholy cru- sades and wanton wars. A very interesting part of the great cathedral is the Crypt. In the south aisle is the Painters' Corner where lie the remains of many of those great artists whose easels have adorned the drawing-rooms and pic- ture galleries of an appreciative kingdpm. Sir Joshua OVER THE SEA. 63 Reynolds and West and Lawrence and Turner and Landseer have all been honored with burial here. In the very centre of the Crypt is the sarcophagus of black marble containing the remains of Lord Nel- son. Near at hand is another huge sarcophagus of por- phyry bearing the inscription : ARTHl'R, Ul'KK OF WELLISCTitN, Born May l8t, 1769, died September 14th, 18.V2. However one may deplore the hideous horrors of war and may yearn for an era of universal peace and human brotherhood, it is impossible to view these two mauso- leums of the heroes of Trafalgar and Waterloo without a throb of national pride. What a noble ode is that of Tennyson's on the Death of Wellington, — an ode that shines as well with the lustre of Nelson's fame : " Thine island loves thee well, thou famous man, The greatest sailor since our world began. Now, to the roll of muffled drums. To thee the greatest soldier comes ; For this is he Was great by land as thou by sea." ♦ « ♦ « *' Where shall we lay the man whom we deplore ? Here, in streaming London's central roar. Let the sound of those he wrought for, And the feet of those he fought for. Echo round his bones for evermore." — *' Under the cross of gold That shines over city and river. There he shall rest forever Among the wise and the bold." After leaving the Crypt the visitor ascends to the Whispering Gallery by a stair of 260 steps. This gal- I >i 54 OVER THE SEA. 'I i. • \ IF! I ff ! in i .i »!?, lery, circular in form, is 420 feet in circumference, yet it is so constructed that the least whisper is heard from one side to the other as if it were a loud voice close to your ear. The next place of interest is the Stone Gallery sur- rounding the dome. From this great height one has a tine view of the vast metropolis far below. The guide conducts you around the dome, over 200 feet above the street level, and points out the chief objects of interest in the impressive panorama that stretches beyond the vision on every side. What a huge, mighty, tremend- ous city this wonderful London is ? The visitor must not come away from St. Paul's without seeing the Library with its 12,000 volumes, many of them very old. Nor should he forget the Great Bell which is said to weigh 12,000 lbs. The gor- geous Reredos in the cathedral should also be seen : the sculptured work is of white Parian marble, the fig- ures representing incidents in the life of Christ. During my ten days' stay in London I passed St. Paul's Cathedral many times, but never without some emotion, and never without gazing at that marvellous dome which gives to liliputian mortals a greater idea of height than the azure dome of the familiar sky. WESTMINSTER ABBEY. To the student of history and literature no spot in all London is so attractive as Westminster Abbey. I had read graphic descriptions of the old abbey written by the hands of such masters as Goldsmith and Addi- y\ OVER THE SEA. ;).> son and Washington Irving. T was thus fittingly pre- pared for my visit to the ancient building. With rev erence and awe T entered its portals. The lofty roof and the noble range of pillars and all the beauties of architectural design are almost unnoticed by one who reflects that he is here surrounded " by the congregated bones of the great men of p.'ist times, who have filled history with their deeds, and the earth witli their re- nown." Roaming about through the aisles and chapels I saw on pavements and on walls countless memorials of de- parted greatness. Familiar names of every rank and profession and opinion are crowded and packed togeth- er. Here are monuments to the memory of Fox and the two Pitts, of Newton and Herschel, of Wilberforce and Livingstone, of Darwin and Kingsley and Words- worth, of Keble and Watts and the Wesleys, and of hosts of others who have performed great deeds or have recorded such deeds in imperishable words. I must not allow myself to attempt a description of the famous chapel of Henry VII. I must call to my assistance the glowing periods of Washington Irving : " Great gates of brass, richly and delicately wrought, turn heavily upon their hinges, as if proudly reluctant to admit the feet of common mortals into this most gorgeous of sepulchres. On entering, the eye is aston- ished by the pomp of architecture, and the elaborate beauty of sculptured detail. The very walls are wrought into universal ornament, incrusted with trac- ery, and scooped into niche.s, crowded with the statues .,,^'1 ;. f ii 56 OVER THE SEA, ^' } of saints and martyrs. Stone seems, by the cunning labor of the chisel, to have been robbed of its weight and density, suspended aloft as if by magic, and the fretted roof achieved with the wonderful minuteness and airy security of a cobweb. Along the sides of the chapel are the lofty stalls of the Knights of the Bath, richly carved of oak, though with the grotesque decor- ations of Gothic architecture. On the pinnacles of the stalls are atiixed the helmets and crests of the knights, with their scarfs and swords ; and above them are sus- pended their banners, emblazoned with armoria.1 bear- ings, and contrasting the splendor of gold and purple and crimson with the cold gray fretwork of the roof. In the midst of this grand mausoleum stands the sep- ulchre of its founder, — his effigy, with that of his queen, extended on a sumptuous tomb, and the whole surrounded by a superbly wrought brazen railing." " Two small aisles on each side of this chapel pre- sent a touching instance of the equality of the grave, which brings down the oppressor, and mingles the dust of the bitterest enemies together. In one is the sepul- chre of the haughty Elizabeth ; in the other is that of her victim, the lovely and unfortunate Mary. A pecu- liar melancholy reigns over the aisle where Mary lies buried. The light struggles dimly through windows darkened by dust. The greater part of the place is in deep shadow, and the walls are stained and tinted by time and weather. A marble figure of Mary is stretched upon the tomb, round which is an iron rail- '*, OVER THE SEA. r>7 ing, much corroded, bearing her national I'nibhni- the thistle." In one of the aisles of the chapel of Heniy VTI. is ■jk curious little tomb which must not escape mention. Tt is a marble child in a stone cradle, erected to the memory of Sophia, the infant princess of James 1., who died when three days old : *' A little rutlely sculptured bed, With shadowing folds of marble lace, And quilt of marble primly spread And folded round a baby's face. But dust upon the cradle lies, And those who prized the baby so. And laid her down to rest with sighs. Were turned to dust long years ago. Above the peaceful pillowed head Three centuries brood, and strangers peep And wonder at the carven bed, — But not unwept the baby's sleep." The chapel of Edward the Confessor carries the mind back to very ancient days. A mere catalogue of the kings and queens who lie buried here would bewilder or fatigue my patient readers. One object of interest in this part of the abbey must, however, not be over- looked. Here is to be seen the Coronation Chair, rudely carved of oak and enclosing the stone that was brought with the regalia from Scotland by Edward I. and offered to St. Edward's shrine in the year 1297. In this chair all the reigning sovereigns of England have been crowned since that remote period. In the Chapel of St. John is an impressive tomb which has excited the comments of visitors to the abbey ■ Ml i* ' ■ i V fi 58 OVER THE SEA, i \ W \l *M^i for a hundred and fifty years. The tomb was made by that eminent statuary, Uoubiliac, in memory of Lady Kli/abeth Nightingal'^ who died at the early age of twenty-seven, "The bottom of the monument [T quote from the Sketch Book] is represented as throwing open its marble doors, and a sheeted skeleton is starting forth. The shroud is falling from his fleshless form as he launches his dart at his victim. She is sinking into her affrighted husband's arms, who strives with vain and frantic effort to avert the blow. The whole is ex- ecuted with terrible truth and spirit ; we almost fancy we hear the gibbering yell of triumph bursting from the distended jaws of the spectre. But why should we thus seek to clothe death with unnecessary terrors, and to spread horrors round the tomb of those we love ? The grave should be surrounded by everything that might inspire tenderness and veneration for the dead, or that might win the living to virtue. It is the place, not of disgust and dismay, but of sorrow and meditation." The corner of the abbey for which T shall retain the tenderest memories I now notice last of all. Some recent verses of Aldrich on The Poets' Corner are so sweetly appreciative that I cannot forbear to quote them : '* Tread softly here ; the sacrerlest of tombs Are those that hold your poets. Kings and queens Are facile accidents of Time and Chance ; Chance sets them on the heights, they climb not there ! But he who from the darkling mass of men Is on the wing of heavenly thought upbore To finer ether, and becomes a voice ^ For all the voiceless, God anointed him I His name shall be a star, his grave a shrine. OVER 77//; SEA. r>9 Tread softly here, in silent i"t;verenov trta«l. Beneath tliose marble cenotaphs and urnH Lies richer ctationH of a waxwork show arr natural- ly not very lofty. DcHigiiiiig in wax is a form of art not to Ikj coinpand to the art of the sculptor. A visit, however, to Mtidanie Tuss.iud's will (|uickly change de- preciation to admiration. I cannot go (|uite the length of a recent traveller to Britain who asserts that this exhibition is the most impressive thing in London. Still T am ready to admit that I was surprised and astonished at the wonderful collection of lifelike statues that fill every corner of the large building. Nearly every famous personage, living and dead, is here represented in wax. The figures are so true to life that it is often difficult to distinguish the statues from the gazing spectators. The effect is somewhat startling when you are here confronted by the image of one whom you may have seen in the flesh but a few days before. There is one part of this exhibition which I advise those of fine sensibility to avoid, — the " Chamber of Horrors." Here in the dim light of the basement you pass the hideous figures of uany bloody criminals whose terrible deeds have gained for them a brief no- toriety. Tn the dungeon-like darkness of these dusty chambers your flesh creeps and your pulse throbs and you carry away with you as you hastily depart many mental pictures which may disturb your waking hours and haunt your midnight dreams for many a day to come. To me one of the most interesting features of Madame Tussaud's is the section called the " Napoleon OVER THE SEA 65 RooiUH." Horo are collected a ;»n'at iiuinl)rr of invalu- able French relics, moat of tln»in associattMl witli the name of the great Emperor. Here is the huge militiiry carriage used by Napoh'on in his Uussian campaign, and captured by the British on the evening of Water- loo. Here is the camp bedstead of Napoleon used for six years at St. Helena, — with the mattresses and the pillow on which he died. Here is the sword carried by the great soldier in his Egyptian campaign. The num- erous articles of historic bric-a-brac contained in the "Napoleon Rooms" are alone sufficient to draw readers of history to the Tussaud Museum. THE CRYSTAL PALACE. A journey of about eight miles from Ludgate Hill brings you to that famous museum and pleasure resort, — The Crystal Palace, designed and laid out about forty years ago by Sir Joseph Paxton. The various courts, houses, veetibules and galleries of this wonderful exhibition are filled with interesting objects connected with every science and every art. My visit to the Palace on the evening of July 31st gave me time for only a cursory view of the permanent parts of the exhibition. That evening was a special occasion called " Children's Night." Over ten thousand people, half of them boys and girls, had come out from the crowded city to see the fireworks and the ballet. The display of pyrotechnics that fascinated the great crowd for about an hour was gorgeous indeed. Illuminated balloons, ascending clouds of gold, aerial festoons, II f h' GO OVEH THE SEA. ID V whistling rockets, beautiful designs in fiery colors shifting and gleaming in kaleidoscopic splendor, made the extensive gardens a fairyland of beauty. 1 shall never forget the scene when at the close the whole place was lighted up for an instant by the discharge of a great magnesium shell and ten thousand bright and eager faces looked up into the illuminated sky. Immediately after the fireworks came the ballet which held the attention of the great throng for another hour, T quote from a London paper of Aug. 2nd an appreciative description of the magnificent spectacle : " A prettier sight cannot be seen than an open-air ballet at the Crystal Palace, and, now that summer has come, and the pastoral players can venture forth with- out fear of rheumatic fever, ' The Witches' Haunt should draw thousands to Sydenham. Nothing quite so enchanting as this ballet have the managers succeed- ed in producing on their al -fresco stage. * Rip Van Winkle ' and ' A Midsummer Night's Dream ' have had some share in inspiring this exquisite fancy, but no theatre could rival the beauties of its natural setting. Miniature cascades, mountains and dells, the very home of weird and ghostly elves, lie in the hollow, a sylvan scene of indescribably loveliness ; and haunting effects, grotesque and beautiiul and fantastic, are passed before us with bewildering rapidity, by the aid of the electrician and the dainty art of the costumier. The story of the ballet is simplicity itself, merely the sleep of an adventurous young forester and his introduction to the inhabitants of the wood, but it serves as a peg OYER THE SEA. 67 upon which to hang original dances, the most ingenious groupings, and hundreds of ravishing tints. Madame Lanner's children are now quite an institution, and their grace and charm and obvious love for their work on Wednesday night called forth the customary confes- sions of admiration and delight." THE NATIONAL GALLERY. A distinguished authority, Mr. Kuskin, says that the National Gallery is, for the purposes of the general student, the most important collection of paintings in Europe. The Gallery was instituted in 1824 and has been steadily growing ever since. Most of the pictures have been purchased out of the public funds, some of them at very great expense, a single picture of Raphael's — the "Ansidei Madonna" — having cost $350,000. It is said that the collection now contains 1,050 pictures. I had only three hours to spend in the National Gallery and I occupied nearly the whole time in the apartments devoted to the British School. Turner's pictures alone, filling a large room, cannot be examined in less than an hour. No two visitors to the National Gallery would select the same pictures for special mention. The fol- lowing are those that held my attention longest : — " The Graces decorating a Statue of Hymen " by Joshua Reynolds — the Graces being represented by three beautiful daughters of an English nobleman of the day. — m i 68 OVER THE SEA. ■\\ i I ,v "The Earl of Chatham's Last Specich " by Copley, representing a scene that took place in the House of Lords in 1778, when Chatham after a great speech sank down in an apoplectic tit. — " Youth on the Prow and Pleasure at the Helm " by Etty, depicting in glowing colors a word-picture in Gray's Bard. — " Doctor Johnson in Lord Chesterfield's Ante-Room" by Ward. — " Childe Harold's Pilgrimage " by Turner, repre- senting a composite Italian scene, — a very paradise of loveliness. — " The Maid and the Magpie " by Landseer, of deli- cate design and flaming color. — " The Preaching of John Knox " by Wilkie — a scene in the parish church at St. Andrew's before the angry prelates and nobles of Scotland. — " An Equestrian Portrait of Charles I." by Van Dyck, one of the most striking of the Flentish pictures. " Heads of A.ngels " by Reynolds, the printed copies of which give no suggestion of the richness of the original. — ** The Rape of the Sabines " by Rubens, one of the boldest of the classical pictures, having a touch of grossness about it. — f " The Judgment of Paris " also by Rubens, display- ing much of 'his sensuous rea,lism. — '* Lord Byron's Dream " by Eastlake, illustrating -^ Byron's wonderful poem, "The Dream." — \ ^^. VER THE SEA. 69 " A Distinguished Member of the Humane Society " by Landseer, — a large Newfoundland dog with human pathos in his eyes. But my list is long -enough. A descriptive cata- logue of great pictures by great artists must be very uninviting in the absence of the glow of colors, the mysteries of light and shade, and the magical .symmetry of beautiful forms. THE BRITISH MUSEUM. Oliver Wendell Holmes gives some sage advice in regard to inspecting the British Museum. If you wish not to see it, he says, drop into the building when you have a spare hour at your disposal, and wander among its books and its various collections : you will then know as much about it as the fly that buzzes in at one window and out at another. If you wish to see the British Musuem, he says, take lodgings next door to it and pass all your days at the museum during the whole period of your natural life : at threescore and ten you will have some faint conception of the contents, signifi- cance, and value of this great British institution. The same writer says " There is one lesson to be got from" a short visit to the British Museum, — namely, the fathomable abyss of our own ignorance : one is crushed by the vastness of the treasures in the library and the collection of this universe of knowledge." I am not going to take my readers through the Egyptian, Assyrian, or Etruscan rooms of this wonder- ful place, nor must I ask them to follow me through ut "- f* •ih %i \i i ii 70 OVEB THE SEA. the Greek and Homan Rooms, where I wandered for two hours. The King's Library, with its 65,000 vol- umes donated by George IV., must prove interesting to all visitors. The Manuscript Saloon is to me the most interesting quarter of the Museum. It contains autograph letters of all the English sovereigns from Richard II. to Victoria and of nearly all the great lit- erary men of England and France. It brings one very near to these magnates of royalty and literature to see the very words that their pens have formed and the very paper over which their warm hands of fle^h have moved. A ftw characteristic touches from some of these letters, which I copied down in my pocket note-book, I here transcribe. I have seen none of these extracts in printed books, and so they will be new to most of my readers. A letter from Cromwell to his wife begins : " My Deerest, I praise the Lord I am encreased in strength in my outward Man." Shelley to Miss Curran : " My dear Miss Curran — I ought to have written to you some time ago, but my ill spirits and ill health has forever furnished me with an excuse for delaying till to-morrow. I fear that you still continue too capable of justly estimating my apol- ogy." ' f Dickens to a friend the day before his own death, on being invited to a feast, writes : " These violent de- lights often have violent ends." . ' ■ . Browning to a friend (Nov. 1868) : " I can have little doubt but that my writing has been, in the main, OVER THE SEA. 71 too hard for many, but T never designedly tried to puz- zle people. I never pretended to offer a substitute for a cigar or a game of dominoes to an idle man." Wordsworth to : " I deferred answering your very obliging letter till my visit to this place should give me an opportunity of a Frank " (! !). Lamb to a Friend : " Since I saw you T have been in France and have eaten frogs — the nicest little rab- bity things I ever tasted." Pope : " This letter, Dear Sir, will be extremely la- conic." Voltaire, (written at Geneva in good English by him- self) — " Had I not fixed the seat of my retreat in the free corner of Geneva, I would certainly live in the free Kingdom of England." Nelson to Lady Hamilton (his last letter on the eve of Trafalgar) : at the end of the letter are these words in Lady Hamilton's handwriting — " Oh, miserable, wretched Emma — Oh, glorious and happy Nelson." SOUTH KENSINGTON MUSEUM. The wealth of interest that this museum contains is quite as great for the general visitor as that of the British Museum. Such a collection of works of art and wonders of all kinds can be found nowhere out of London. I can here only indicate very briefly a few of the objects that impressed me mort. The Raphael Gallery contains the celebrated Ra- phael cartoons, drawn in chalk on strong paper. These cartoons, twelve feet in height, were originally drawn >!!'' m I is hi 72 OVER THE SEA. as copies for tapestries to be worked in wool, silk and gold, and to adorn the Sistine Chapel at Rome. The Sheepshanks collection of pictures contains many important works by Turner, Landseer, Wilkie, Leslie, Constable, Mulready, and other great artists. Fully twenty of Landseer's finest works are in this col- lection. The Jones collection is the richest room in the mu- seum. It contains paintings, furniture, sculpture, bronzes, enamelled miniatures, and many curiosities of historical interest, all bequeathed to the museum by Mr. Jones, of Piccadilly, eight years ago. The Dyce collection consists of oil paintings, minia- tures, engravings, valuable manuscripts, and a costly library, all bequeathed to the museum by the eminent Shakespeare scholar whose name the room bears. The Forster collection is the gift of Forster, the bi~ ographer of Dickens. It contains the original MSS. of nearly all of the novels of Dickens. This room is very rich in valuable autographs and manuscripts. An an- tique chair and desk, once the property of Oliver Gold- smith, are deposited here. I have in my note-book, many interesting quotations from manuscript letters exposed to view in the Forster Room, but I fear that I should weary my readers if I were to prolong this chapter. On leaving this famous Museum, I felt that I had attempted to see altogether too much in a few hours. If it is little short of mockery to try to see so much in K OVEB THE SEA. 73 so short a time, how futile it is to ti7 to convey to others an adequate conception of the contents of this vast repository of human art. rr> I t: * ■\. 74 OVER THE SEA. '/ VIII. LONDON LIFE. " Dim miles cf smoke behind— I look l^efore, Throiigli looming curtains of November rain, Till eyes and ears are weary with the strain ; Amid the glare and gloom, I hear the roar Of life's sea, beating on a barren shore. Terrible arbiter of joy and pain ! A thousand hopes are wrecks of thy disdain ; A thousand hearts have learnt to love no more. Over thy gleaming bridges on the street , That ebbs and flows beneath the silent dome, Life's pulse is throbbing at a fever heat. City of cities — ^battle-field and home Of Kngland's greatest, greatly wear their spoils, Thou front and emblem of an Empire's toils. " London i& a microcosm, — a little world of itself, and that not only on account of its size but also be- cause everything is in it. Representatives of every nationality are congregated here. Here thrive all the varied extremes of human existence. Here flourish all arts and sciences a'ad industries and professions. Here stand side by side gorgeous palaces and lofty temples, filthy hovels and sinks of iniquity. . { No man knows London. Many who have lived in it all their lives know least of it. Behind many a counter and in many a workshop are " hands " whose fathers and grandfathers have paced the same oaken Wi OYER THE SEA. '5 floors and worked at the same t^isks as thes<' toilei-s who will soon make way for a nt'W generation. Tlu'se hereditary slaves of lalh)r know less of London than the visitor of a week. But how little knows th< flit- ting vi&itor who has time to see only a few of the pul>- lic places of interest and to run over a dozen of the principal streets. Not even the cabmen of the great city know it all, although their business every day takes them on a tour of exploration. To describe, therefore, the various phases *of life in this interminable and la- byrinthine London would be a task of a lifetime ; nay rather, to use a hyperbole from scripture, " if they should be written every one, I suppose that even the world itself could not contain the books that should be written." All that can be done, then, by one who has been able to take but a hasty and partial view of Lon- don life is to refer to a few salient features. If, e- y He .11 •e n a e 1 RICH AND POOR. The very first thins^ that strikes the stranger as he takes his first stroll along the Strand and Fleet Street is the appalling fact that hundreds of his fellow crea- tures are in desperate ifteed of a penny ! The ragged raiment and the pinched faces and the imploring looks and voices tell of the life-and-death struggle in progress here in the very centre of the world's civilization. When this revelation of degradation and woe has been fully realized, you impatiently exclaim, " How in the name of humanity can such social disorders prevail in this city of light and leading V The problem presses •- (I! I- i, :', '■•.■J ..I IS 76 OVER THE SEA. 'W on you for solution and political economy closes your mouth with this grim reply : As the laws of progres- sive civilization find their highest expression in Lon- don, so do the laws of political science which necessar- ily throw into the hands of the rich the power of mak- ing customs and laws, and thus the rich must grow richer and the poor poorer and we must here expect to find men divided into the widest extremes of social con- dition — fabulous wealth and incredible penury : — in economics as in ethics to him that hath shall be given, and from him that hath not shall be taken even that which he hath. Whether this is true political econo- my or the inexorable logic of human selfishness will soon be determined, it is hoped. But if there is fault on the side of the rich, there is folly on the side of the poor. With moth-like fatuity the poor of England, — yes, of all Britain — fly from every side to the gk re and glamour of the great city, — fly to scorching and to death. Those without friends and help in every quar- ter of the Kingdom are drawn by a strange and irre- sistible fascination to where humanity is gathered and packed in crowds, and once in the company of misery they have not the will to tear themselves away. And so it happens that grinding oppression and deluded sub- serviency join hand in hand to perpetuate a social con- dition which is deplorable and disgraceful. Can no human prevision lift the poor of London to a higher plane 1 Are the blackamoors of Africa and the wild savages o*' southern seas to receive more sym- OVEP THE SEA. 77 pathy and attention than the weary workers and the wandering waifs of London 7 •' Day by day thev rise and journey forth and wander To the work -yard and the docks, Slouching Ba f>\ (,■ t ' m H riT" 90 OVEIt THE SEA. ■It tage where the poet courted and won his beautiful wif»^ and where he lived with her until he went up to London. Peaceful is Stratford, but serenely <|uiet is this beautiful rural spot. The cottager is very old and remains almost as it must have appeared in the days of Shake- speare. Tjikc^ so many llritisli cottages it is (juite long and roofed with thatch. Pretty vines and blossoms cover the walls. Elm and walnut trees stand behind the cottage. At one side is an old-fashioned flower- garden from which T was privileged to bring away, by the grace of the lady in charge, a sprig of sweet jessa- mine and another of lavender whose faded yellow and blue-gray blooms lie before me as I write. • The room of chief interest in the cottage is the old parlour. Tt is a wonderful place with its old floor, old walls, old windows, old furniture, old everything. Not a modern touch interferes with the snug antiquity of the old room which breathes from every corner a placid breath from the sixteenth century. By yonder chim- ney-place, without a doubt, and on yonder settle of de- caying oak, sat in the dear old days the most notable sweethearts of English literary history. Is there, in fact, any other building in the world around which hov- er from the distant past so many fragrant odors of love and courtship ? This antique thatch-covered country cottage has been an enduring love-lyric to twelve gen- erations of English youths and maidens. Making my way back to the town I passed the Guild Chapel, built in the reign of Henry VII. by the same Sir Hugh Clopton who erected the old bridge over A, OVER THE SEA. 01 the river. TIm- Ih'11 of the old chapel still rin^s the curfew in summer at ten o'cloek. Opposite to th^ Chapel is Xew Place, the house to which Shakespeare returned from London in 1507, and wlwre he «lied in IGK). Passing down Church Street and throu<^h Old Town I visited last of all t\\(* beautiful church of the Holy Trinity. T inspected the parish register and saw the entry recording t\w baptism of Shakespeare on the 26th of April, 1504, presumably three days after his birth. T must not attempt a description of the many interesting things in this old (rothic church, — as old in many parts as the fourteenth century. To visitors the chancel, of course, is the most interesting part of the church. Here are the grave and monumental bust of Shakespeare. The bust, which is life-size, is painted in natural colors, the hair and beard auburn and the eyes hazel. The doublet, or coat, is scarlet, and is covered with a loose, seamless black gown. This bust was placed here within seven years after the poet's death and for over two hundred and fifty years this face of stone has gazed day by day on curious pilgrims — an in- numerable train from every land. The following is the inscription V>eneath the bust : IvDicio Pylivm oexio Socratem arte Maronem Terra te(;it poi'vlvs maeret Olvmfvs ha met. (A free translation of this Latin couplet would be : " In judgment a Nestor ; in genius a Socrates ; in po- etic art a Virgil. The earth covers him ; the people mourn him ; Heaven possesses him.") tn k1\ t' I .•it h' ir' IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 l^|28 |2.5 — E^ia !.l t-^BiS 1.6 1.25 1.4 Photographic Sciences Corporation <^4^ 23 WIST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. USEO (716) 879-4503 1% ;; 1 i '■ i *■ • I 92 OK^i? THE SEA. Then comes the well-known stanza which may be thus modernized : *' Stay, passenger, why goest thou by so fast ? Read if thou oanst, whom envious death hath placed Within this monument, Shakespeare with whom Quick nature died : whose name doth deck his tomb Far more than cost : since all that he hath writ, Leaves living art but page to serve his wit/' At a few feet from the wall, just below the monu- ment, is the flat slab beaHng the well-known maledic- tion : — OOOD FRKND FOR lESVS SAKE FORBEABE TO DIOO THE DVST ENOLOASED HBARE ; BLESE BE ^ MAN ^ SPARES THES STONES, AND CVRST BE HE ^ MOVES MY BONES. But for this imprecation the remains of the world's greatest poet would probably long ago have been removed from these quiet vaulti to a corner of honor in Westminster Abbey. Thanks for once to the super- stitions and prejudices of human nature that have religiously guarded these sacred ashes as a precious treasure and have retained them in the beautiful lone- liness of this reverend church in this fine old English town. \ Y A OVER THE SEA. 93 be ed ab X. dic- Id's een rin )er- ave DUS ne- ish '^ OXFORD AND CAMBRIDGE. *' Ye sacred Naraeries of bloominff Youth ! In whose collegiate shelter En^^Tand's Flowers Expand, enjoying through their vernal hours The air of liberty, the light of truth ; Much have ye suffered from Time's gnawing tooth ; Yet, O ye spires of Oxford ! domes and towers ! Gardens and groves I your presence overpowers The soberness of reason, till, in sooth, Transformed, and rushing on a bold exchange, I slight ray own beloved Cam, to range Where silver Isis leads my stripling feet ; Pace the long avenue, or glide adown The stream-nke winding of that glorious street — An eager Novice robed m fluttering gown I " — W0RD8WORTH, My visits to the <* sacred Nurseries " of England's "blooming youth" were very brief, — scarcely long enough to justify me in attempting a description of these collegiate towns or in comparing their natural and architectural beauties and their educational advan- tages. The impressions that I did receive made me in- cline to Cambridge, notwithstanding the apostate preference of Wordsworth for the city on the " silver IsU." OXFORD. Oxford is one of the oldest cities in the world. So high an authority as Rawlinson attributes its founda- 94 OVER THE SEA, tion to a British king who lived a thousand years before the Christian era. At the time of Arthur there cer- tainly existed here a flourishing Druidical school, and the place has been a famous seat of learning for over a thousand years. e^ f ; More than once in English history har« Oxford been a place of national importance. The city was besieged and taken by William the Conqueror. Here was signed the compact that gave the crown of England to the House of Plantagenet. Here met at various crises in the nation's history the Parliament of the realm, be- ginning with the " Mad Parliament " of Henry III. and ending with the Parliament summoned in 1631 by Charles IT. — destined to be his last. Here were burned at the stake Cranmer, Ridley and Latimer. This is the city that during the great civil war loyally afforded a shelter to Charles I. and was the very centre and stronghold of monarchical principles. This is the city, too, that, goaded by the tyranny of James, welcomed the Prince of Orange with flying banners and blaring trumpets and gene ral acclamations. My visit to Oxford on August 7th was a veritable "flying visit." I had only a few hours to see some of the principal streets and to visit two of the colleges. The finest street in Oxford is High Street. One m^y go ^v^en further and say that it is the finest street in England, and one of the most beautiful thorough- fares in Europe. This magnificent street has thus been described by an appreciative writer : " High Street is Oxford's pride, — a place which never fails to surprise OVER THE SEA. 96 the stranger with its beauty, and for which no amount of intimacy ever lessens our ostimation. Had it been designed merely with a view to the general effect the result could not have been better. The great and rich variety of buildings — colleges and churches mingling with modem shops and old-fashioned dwellings — and the diversity of the styles in which they are constknict- ed, are brought, by the gentle curvature of the street, into combination and contrast in the most pleasing manner. Nothing can well surpass the way in which the splendid architectural array opens gradually upon the passenger who descends it from Magdalen Bridge. Well may the poet celebrate * The sti'eam-like windings .of that glorious street.' It is a noble street, and its general proportions arc such as most favorably exhibit the magnificence of its edifices. It is of sufficient breadth to preserve an air of dignity, without being so wide as to cause the stately structures on either side to appear dwarfed ; while the easy curvature brings the varied architectural forms f^nd styles into opposition, and prevents anything like formality." Oxford is a city of colleges. There are twenty-one colleges in all, scattered over the city, but no one of them a mile away from any other. Many of these col- leges are known, at least by name, to every reader of English history and English literature, for out of these halls of learning have come many of the greatest men in English polities and English letters. Who has not heard of Baliol and Merton and Magdalen and Brase- nose and St. John's and Pembroke ? 'M 96 OVER THE SEA. 51!: I ] .: |i ./ Visitors to the colleges will soon discover that they have free access to all the college Quadrangles, and that they may enter the precincts of the buildings without any fear that they are trespassing. Entrance to the chapels and dining halls may also be obtained on appli- cation to the porter and the payment of a small gra- tuity. ; . ^^ The first college that I visited was Christ Church, very near the Town Hall and Post Office. This college was founded by Cardinal Wolsey in 1525. I shall make no attempt to describe the massive grandeur of this ancient building. My recollections of Christ Church Colltjge are almost entirely connected with a half-hour's visit to its spacious and imposing dining-, hall. The most interesting feature of this hall is the noble collection of paintings of college vroi ^^^les that adorn the walls. All the distinguished graduates and students of this college, from its foundation to the pre- sent, gaze down from colored canvas upon you. There is the portrait of John Locke, — the most illustrious graduate of the olden times ; and there is the picture of one of whom this college is justly proud, — the most famous, perhaps, of modern orators and statesmen, — William Ewart Gladstone. On inquiring for the oldest college in Oxford I was directed to University College on High Street wiiich is said to have been founded by King Alfred in 872. When the porter found that I was a traveller from Canada he made inquiries about Goldwin Smith who, he said, had lectured in this College. He pointed out II OVER TUB SEA. 87 to me the two windows of the room occupied by the poet Shelley, who was expelled from the college at the age of seventeen for publishing a small treatise, " The Necessity of Atheism." ; . ^ On entering the little chapel of University College I was startled by seeing on a marble tablet my own surname, to which was prefixed the unfamiliar praeno- men, — Nathan. When I discovered that the letters (S. T. P.) appended to the name meant, — Professor of Sacred Theology, and learned from the Latin inscription on the stone slab that the departed had been niagxtter vigilantisnmtu (a most zealous teacher) in the college for more than forty-three years, I could see no urgent reasons for claiming relationship with one who was probably no nearer of kin than thousands of the sons and daughters of Adam who possess such familiar names as Jones and Brown and Smith. . - j CAMBRIDGE. Late in the afternoon of August 8th I found myself in Cambridge at ** The Bull," a well equipped hot3l right among the colleges. The hotel was almost empty and the city was very quiet. In term time 3,000 un- dergraduates throng the colleges and streets, but in the month of August the place goes to sleep and dk^eams. Very few gownsmen are to be seen, and the trades-folk, in the absence of their usual customers, are not strik- ingly dtctive. Cambridge has a population about equal to that of Oxford (40,000). The history of Cambridge, like that 98 OVJSR THE SEA. I hi: I! of Oxford, is lost in an obscure past ; but as a famous place of study the town was not known abroad before the thirteenth century. What has been said about the number and location of the colleges of Oxford will ap- pl)' almost without any change to those of Cambridgo ; they are about twenty in number and are clustered to- gether within the limits of a square mile. The names of the principal colleges of Cambridge an) familiar to all scholars. The foremost college, of course, of the two University towns is Trinity College, Cambridge, with its 700 undergraduates, its brilliant record of achievements, and its commanding influence. It boasts of more celebrities of one kind and another than any other college in the world, a few of, its illus^ trious names being Bacon, Herbert, Cowley, Dryden, Newton, Byron, Macaulay and Tennyson. My recollections of Cambridge are mainly associat- ed with a solitary evening ramble and a morning walk. T set out about seven o'clock in the evening to thread the labyrinths of the line of colleges near my hotel. I found it extremely difficult to keep my bearings, as many of the streets wind with the curves of the river Cam that flows through the city. Passing down the beautiful street called ** King's Parade," I entered the great gate of King's College, and going through the court reached the rear of the noble cluster of buildings. The college courts and grounds in Cambridge are open to the public every day till dusk, and a visitor may pass in and out unchallenged provided he does not smoke, nor walk on the grass, nor take a dog for company. at :/ OVER THE SEA. 99 of Crossing the pretty bridge over the Cam behind King's College you enter a s|>aciou8 and very beautiful park called '* The Backs," because it runs behind the five col- leges, Queen's, King's, Clare, Trinity, and St. John's, whose gigantic piles of ancient stone extend along the eastern bank of the river for nearly a mile. Running through this lovely park are many green, cool promen- ades, and everywhere through the stately trees and the verdant shrubs you catch glimpses of the tine old build- ings and the placid nver with its antique bridges. As I sat on a rustic seat beneath one of the ancient trees on that calm summer evening and thought of the many generations of men of might and light that had strolled through these scenes of matchless beauty and had drunk deep draughts of inspiration as they rested and meditated here, I felt that in a very real sense the spirits of departed intellect and genius haunt still these favored spots and confer on every succeedinflf gen- eration of English youths the glorious birthright of their undying influence. My morning walk of August 9th 'led me to the old- est and to the newest college in Cambridge. Peter- house is Che most ancient among the collegiate foundations of Cambridge, and indeed some parts of the present structure date back 600 years. No visitor should fail to see the beautiful chapel of Peterhouse with its richly carved interior and its very remarkable windows. It was to this college that the poet Gray belonged and from here, it will bo remembered, he wai >4 M 100 OVBR THE SB A. driven by the pranks of hU fellow-collegians and a sen- sitive disposition. The newest college in Cambridge is Newnham, — the college for women. This college consists of three blocks of buildings in the south-west comer of the city, — Old Hall opened under the care of Miss Olough, a sister of the poet, in 1875, — Sidgwiok Hall, named after Professor Sidgwick, the first promoter of the Cam- bridge Lectures for women, — and Clough Hall, named after the late Principal of Newnham. Miss Clough was connected with the College from its inception, and even before the opening ol Old Hall she took charge of a house ir Cambridge, having originally under her care only five students. To her the girls of England owe a deep debt of thanks for having first dared " To leap the rotten pales of prejudice, Disyoke their necks from custom, and assert None lordlier than themselves." The vision of the Poet Laureate in *' The Princess," stripped of its fine fancies, \h being realized in these halls of Newnham; and in Oirton, another college for women just out of Cambridge. The strict statutes of the visionary college of the poet — ** Not for three years to correspond with home, Not for three years to cross the liberties, Not for three years to speak with any men " — have no place, it is true, in the arrangements of Newn- ham and Girton. Not only do the fair students speak with the men on proper occasions, but since the Uni- versity of Cambridge in 1881 opened its Tripos atid i' OVrn THE SEA. 101 len- tiree 5ity, b, a med lam- med •ugh /ion, irge her land Previous Examinations to them, they have met the men on equal terms in the examinations of the University and have opened the eyes of England to the fact that Heaven has not put one sex under the ban of mental disabilities. When on the 7th of June, 1890, in the Senate House of Cambridge University the name of Philippa Gar^^tt Fawcett, of Newnham College, was read out in the Class List of the mathematical Tripos, prefaced by the words " above the Senior Wrangler," the death-blow was finally givtm to the long-lived notion that intellectual limitations make woman the lesser man. .(, n )S8, [lese for 3 of ..); ■■• :^ '\'i' .■•>:!,■:, ^■. wn- eak inl- and m • 102 OVER THE SEA. >r \ XI. 11 TENNYSON LAND. ^ ,. . My last few days in England wer devoted mainly to a single object. I had visited the homes and haunts of three departed poets, — of Burns, of Scott, and of Shakespeare. To a living bard, the greatest of the present century, if not the sweetest singer of all times, T directed ray attention for three short days, as a fitting conclusion of my happy summer rambles. My visit to the land of Tennyson was in many respects my most delightful experience in Britain. It was a sort of exploration. Of this region the guide- books tell you not a word, and hither the great army of tourists have not yet begun to march. In visiting the other three centres of literary interest my enjoyment had often been lessened and my refiections hud often been deadened by blatant voices and vulgar comments* On this three days' jaunt through Tennyson Land not one tourist crossed my path, and only twice did I hear the great name uttered. This interesting district, through all its woods atid hills r .nd streams and fields, its lonely roftds and rustic hamlets, its windy beaches ^nd prospects of blue sea^ will be invaded, before the century ends^ by pilgrims from many lands. I owe it to ir: OrEH THE SEA, 103 the interesting book of Mr. Valtri's that I liave enjoyed the rare privilege of viewing these poetic haunts in the lifetime of the poet, and before the traces of the poet's footsteps have been profaned by the noisy multitude. It was this volume on the Land of Tennyson that kindled my interest in Lincolnshire scenes and turned my ga/( in that direction. This book was my vade-mecum during my three days' excursion, and to it T shall have recourse more than once in the writing of these closing chapters. LINCOLN. Leaving Cambridge on Saturday, the 9th of August, I proceeded by way of Ely to Lincoln. As the train drew near the ancient city the triple-t/owered cathedral , loomed up in massive boldness. This cathedral, one of the very finest in England, crowns the summit of a steep hill and overlooks the straggling, narrow streets. My wearisome ascent of the long, crooked street that leads to the cathedral was rewarded by an architectural view more impressive than any I had ever before seen. If the exterior of the magnificent church is grand beyond description, what shall T say of the wonders and mysteries of the awful interior? Neither pen sketch nor picture can produce a tithe of the reverence and awe that seize the beholder on entering this majes- tic temple. Lincoln cathedral was probably the first church of note that Tennyson ever saw, and thus did the sight fire his poetic impulses : I *' Give me to wander at midniffht alone, Through some august cathedral, where, from high, i I ■ * 't, Ii 104 OVER THE SEA. lis.r The cold ciear moon on the niosaic stone Comes glancing in gay colors gloriously, Through windows rich with glorious blazonry, Gilding the niches dim, where, side by side. Stand i lUtique mitred prelates, whose bones lie Beneath the pavement, where their deeds of pride Were graven, but long since are worn away By constant feet of ages day by day." T have been asked to compare the Lincoln cathedral with the famons York Minster which I stopped to see on my homeward journey through York. A compari- son of the two churches is almost impossible as they differ so widely in the style of architecture, — that of Lincoln being composite with a leaning towards Early English, — that of York being one of the finest speci- mens in the world of pure Gothic. There is nothing in Lincoln cathedral, however, quite equal to the gorgeous eastern window in York Minster. This window is 75 feet higV 32 feet broad, and contains over 200 com- partments, each a yard square, on which are depicted in exquisite and flami'ig designs as many scriptural subjects. My visit to these two splendid churches of York and Lincoln greatly increased ray respect and admiration for the artistic genius and consummate taste of our English forefathers. There were indeed giant^ in the days when these massive structures were erected. And what sublime faith and patience were exhibited in the slow construction of these mountains of polished stone ! And how honest and substantial the work of those ancient toilers ! The sculptured flowers and the em- blajsoned windows three-score feet above the pavement .\ iff !■»-■> OVER THE SEA. 105 <:;, are as finely finished as if on a level with the eye of the beholder. The stones of the gigantic walls are every- where fitted so nicely together that the eye can with difficulty discern the line of junction. Lincoln has many other attractions besides its tine cathedral, but I neglected them all to prosecute my special pursuit. I have now brought my readers to the outskirts of Tennyson land. Let us enter the interest- ing region. LOUTH. Louth is a small town between Lincoln and the sea. "When Tennyson was a boy the Grammar School at Louth was the principal educational institution in the county, and at this school in turn seven sons of Dr. Tennyson, Rector of Somersby, were pupils, — Frederick, Charles, Alfred, Edward, Horatio, Arthur, and Sep- timus. Alfred entered the school at Christmas, 1816, and remained for four years. The precocity of the young poet was remarkable, as he had completed the Grammar School course at the early age of eleven; The old Grammar School was torn down in 1869, and nothing remains about the new building to remind you of the past except a battered relic placed in the porch, '—a begrimed old statue of King Edward VI., who id said to have founded the school. Little is known of Tennyson's life in Louth. Only one of his school-fellows survives, and he reports that Alfred and Charles were inseparable companions but decidedly, exclusive with respect to the other pupils. n J. ': s ! ' 1 ]ii;l l-\ >l\t n ji*l 106 OVER THE SEA. The boys were grave beyond their years, but not other- wise remarkable. The visitor to Louth cannot fail to admire the beautiful church where the Rev. Stephen Fytche, the father of Tennyson's mother, was vicar for many yeai\i. He died in 1799, and he and his wife are buried in the churchyard. Another place I visited in Louth besides the Gram- mar School and the church. Opposite School House Lane is situated Westgate Place, a neat old house which will always be noted as one of the early homes of Tennyson. Here he lived four years with his aunt while attending school near by. Here later on he often spent weeks and perhaps months visiting his younger brothers. Here without a doubt his poetic emotion first took shape in juvenile verse. As I walked down the narrow stone- paved alley adjoining Westgate Place, and stood on the bridge crossing the tiny river Lud, and looked to the church just over the way, I thought of the noble- featured lad who had many a time and oft stood on that, very spot, his young heart throbbing with glorious dreams of literary fame. MABLETHORPE. l*^^%\' Where is Mablethorpe ? And what gives it fame ? It is a seaside hamlet east of Louth, but as regards fame its star has not yet risen. It is a place scarcely known out of Lincolnshire, and even the inhabitants of the little village, with a few exceptions, do not dream that within fifty years pilgrimages will be made to this ■te OVER THE SEA. 107 •ft sequestered spot by students of literature from every land. It was at Mablethorpe that young Tennyson ob- tained his first view of the sea. Here are " the sandy tracts, and the hollow ocean-ridgee roaring into catar- acts " that we read of in " Locksley Hall." Here about the beach the poet wandered " nourishing a youth sub- lime with the fairy tales of science, and the long result of Time." In Mablethorpe sixty 3'ears ago the Tenny- son family were accustomed to spend the summer months, and all the sea-pictures that abound in the early poems of Tennyson take their form and color from this Lincolnshire coast. I reached Mablethorpe, by train from Louth, at seven o'clock on Saturday night, and found quarters for the Sunday at an inn bearing the odd name of " Book- in-Hand." Perhaps the name was given in anticipa- tion of my visit, for whenever I left the hotel I carried in my hand the white-and-gilt manual already mentioned. After supper I roamed on the beautiful and spa- cious beach for over two hours. As far as the eye could see in both directions stretched the wide belt of sand. The tide was going out and a few children were toying with the receding waters and picking up the pale pink shells and rushing in glad abandon hither and thither, the evening breezes playing ^ith their dis- hevelled hair. How Tennyson loved to wander along this free strand in the rare days of youth's sweet dreams ! How many varying aspects of these Korland waters, in calm and in storm, under the bright flash of day or beneath the shimmering moonlight, has he seen :\ if ill l\ 1 /C"N 108 OVER THE SEA. with the clear eyes of the rapt worshipper of Nature and drawn with the delicate pencil of unrivalled genius. Sunday, August 10th, was a day of cloud and wind and rain, but I was glad to have it so, as there had been a monotony of fair weather for three full weeks. Although the sky lowered ominously I set out after breakfast to walk along the beach to Sutton-on-the- Sea, — a summer resort about three miles south of Ma- blethorpe. An hour brought me to my destination, but as the tide had turned and a thick mist was sweep, ing up, I thought it prudent to retrace my steps. My prudence proved to be imprudence. I had not gone a mile before the situation became alarmingly interest- ing. The North-easter roared among the sea-caves. The sea-foam flew far landward over dune and wold. The tide plunged and roared in its shoreward march. I was driven for shelter behind *- the heaped hills that mound the sea." The thick ^rey mist turned imper- ceptibly to rain. My umbrella was of no service in the fierce wind. I fled for refuge into one of Nature's inns until the sudden tempest had spent its fury. Shortly after noon I reached my hotel, not much the worse for my exhilarating adventure. I shall hereaftr er appreciate Tennyson's numerous references to such storms, " When to land Bluster the winds and tides the self-same way^ Crisp foam-flakes scud along the level sand, Torn from the fringe of spray. " On Sunday afterroon from the window of my room I saw in the distance a pretty white house which se^^med •s» OVER THE SEA. 100 .» Air" ©r- in e's •> ry. ii*^ > iwsi^ ch » >I]Q ed .s , V ■• ■» '^l.' to be the very one that shone in gilt on the cover of my Tennyson manual. After making my way to the quaint old cottage and questioning a ruddy Lincoln- shire lass who stood at the door, I found that my iden- tification was correct. I saw before me the ** lowly cottage " referred to by the poet in his " Ode to Mem- ory "— *' Whence we see Stretched wide and wild the waste enormous marHh, Where from the frequent bridge, Like emblems of infinity, The trenched waters run from sky to sky." Leaving the curious, long, low-roofed house where were composed many of the Poet Laureate's finest verses of sea and shore, and crossing "the trenched waters " by a tiny bridge, I wandered over the moist beach and the rugged dunes till again driven in by mist and rain. All readers of Tennyson know that many of his later poems are tinged with gloomy hues. The glories and the wonders of the world in which he spent his youth and early manhood have taken to themselves wings, and nature now is bleak and bare. No longer does he see bright v sions and hear wondrous voices, but what he sees and hears is as it is. This difference is nowhere more clearly marked than in these lines de- scriptive of two contrasted views of the old beach at Mablethorpe : '' Here ofien when a child, I lay reclined, I took delight in this locality, i! 1 i !! i| \i. -4 t iff ;■■..'■-. y no OVEB THE SEA. ,/ Here stood the infant Ilion of the mind, And here the Grecian ships did seem to be. And here again I come, and only find The drain-cut levels of the marshy lea — (iray sandbanks and pale sunsets, — dreary wind, Dim shores, dense rain^, >>.nd heavy-cloucfed sea ! m- -S I ' w_ ;/\' VER THE SEA. Ill XII. TENNYSON LAND — CONCLUSION. • In this concluding chapter I shall give a brief ac- count of my visit to the birthplace of the Poet Laure- ate. I need not recount iny difficulties in discovering the whereabouts of Somersby and the mode of access to it. I need not tell how near I came to visiting by mistake a place called Somerby, a village some leagues away from the one I was seeking. As quickly as may be I shall take my readers to the little parish among the wolds which Tennyson has made immortal, — ** The well-beloved place 36 i Where first he gazed upon the sky. HORNCASTLE. ^ From Mablethorpe I returned to Lincoln on Au- gust 11th, and thence took train for Horncastle, a mar- ket town " in the circle of the hills " about 20 miles east. On my arrival in Horncastle I found the place crowded with visitors, and I was greeted with stares and smiles when I acknowledged that I had never heard of the famous Horncastle horse-fair, the largest in Lincolnshire, and at one time the largest in Britain. I soon found, to my cost, that the fair had drawn many 112 OVER THE SEA. dealers from loiiji^ distances, for the accommodation of every hotel in the town was taxed to the utmost limit, and I was obliged to ask the genial proprietor of " The Bull " to secure me lodgings in a private house. Hornca^tle is only two leagues distant from Tenny- son's early home, and it was the market town to which some mtuibers of the Tennyson family frequently came to replenish the domestic larder. Many a time, in the early years of the century, did young Tennyson walk from his home to Horncastle, and it would be impossi- ble even for himself to tell how largely these walks, solitary or not, have affected the thought and tinged the complexion of his poetic description of natural scenery. . .,> In another very real way Horncastle has touched the lil'e of Tennyson. After he had become the most noted poet in Britain, — in the very year, in fact, in which he was appointed as Poet Laureate, — at the age of forty-one, he married Emily Sellwood, the daughter of a Horncastle lawyer, and the niece of Sir John Franklin (born at the neighboring village of Spilsby). Emily Sellwood, now Lady Tennyson, has had her memory embalmed in more than one of her husbands's poems. She is the " Edith " of " Locksley Hall Sixty Yfjars After." To her he wrote from Edinburgh the poem, "The Daisy," beginning j|:« " O Lore, what hours were thine and mine, In lands of palm and southern pine." She is also honored in that sweeC dedication -l;*.:,:- * % rh ■*.■ ■ v»: ■vft;fc' OVER THE SEA. 113 rsf-;"^., ^.i!i£. m *• DcKf, near, and true — no truer Time himself Can prove you, tho' he make you evermore Dearer and nearer. " SOMRRSBY. Tuesday, August 1 2th, was to me a day of exquis- ite enjoyment. I set out alone in the morning from Homcastle to make my way on foot to Somersby, Ten- nyson's birthplace, six miles north-east. In the early part of my walk I met many farmers bringing in their fine-looking horses to be sold to foreign buyers and car- ried to all parts of England and the continent. I caught many a phrase from the passers-by that remind- ed me of the quaint dialect of " The Northern Farmer." These farmers were all, I take it, animated by the spirit of the farmer of the poem : " Dosn't thou 'ear my 'erse's legs, as they canters awaay ? Proputty, proputty, proputty-that's what I 'ears 'cm saay." Of all the passengers on the Homcastle road that day I alone was intent, not on the value of horses, but on the charms of poetry and of poetic associations. The road to Somersby is extremely rural ; rural in a thoroughly English sense. It winds and turns and twists between the bordering hawthorn hedges, — some trim and neat, some wild and shaggy. At every bend of the road the landscape varies. Here a cosy cottage ; there a picturesque "windmill : here a wide stretch of pasture covered with thick-fleeced sheep ; there a dis- tant hill wrapt in blue-grey mist : here a group of la- borers cutting the jipe corn ; there a quiet woodland^ y? ■ii'Av'. % 114 OVER THE SEA. slope where grow the poet's trees in rich variety, the bsh, the elm, the lime, the oak. The many curves and turns in the road make it very difficult for the stranger to keep the right course. The tinger-posts to be seen at every corner and cross- way are indispensable. I was forcibly struck with the fact that Somersby is a very insignificant place when at one cross-way I found the finger-boards filled with names, but could find no Somersby there. In my per- plexity I sat down and copied out the curious names on the boards which pointed in four directions : 1 • • > Tointon Salmonby Horn castle Tetford ■ 1 CO • i i fir ■')>/• I decided to follow the Tetford road which after a lit- tle distance bent almost backward towards Horncastle, OVER THE SEA. 115 but which ultimately proved to be the right route for Somersby. What a silent land T found as T approached the end of my journey ! In the last three miles I saw only two persons. The only creatures in sight were hun- dreds OP hundreds of sheep and cattle. Now Somersby is near a^, hand. The road turns down a steep incline and passes through a shad}^ arbor. The branches of the trees that skirt the narrow way meet overhead and cast their tremulous shadows at your feet. All is quiet but the faint rustling of the leaves, or the distant clamor of the daws and rooks. You feel that you have reached an actual lotus-land, — • an enchanted realm. No longer does it seem strange that Tennyson composed while walking along this Lincolnshire road the loveliest of his sea-lyrics, "Break, break, break." But it is no surge of the sea that is now heard in the distance. There is no mistaking that musical tinkling. Yonder is the bridge under which flows the brook with its haunting sound of rippling waters that " come from haunts of coot and hern." The witchery of the brook's refrain, I hear it still : *■ I chatter over stony ways, In little sharps and trebles, I bubble into eddying bays, I babble on the pebbles. I steal by lawns and gn ssy plots, I slide by hazel covers ; I move the swept forget-me-nots That grow for happy lovers. ■,, V OyJCJi THE SEA. ' linger br mv . 'I'"**" = I cljattor. chatter, a, I /.„„ «"' I «nrfr:ver ■-■"''" •"'•^ 8". poetry of .ords its inVi rL^T""' "^ '^"^ '"'^ '"" tje attention of the travels b?:? """"-^ ««" ar..«t the poet's *ords have h,.nl' . ^ ""*«'" "^'ody of '-^••tened its attraoTiv „ ts"':? .'^--t bee/jj ««"»« and „en „ay g,, the ZL ^°"«'' "«" ""'y for ever singing though 2 ""' ''"'""^ '^'" «o on P-''«-ng. 1 1 afX J„;7* -»do.s of th «"«sy bank listening to t^e 7 '""^^ ^ *' o" the ^'eeful rivulet. Nof ^ "oj";''"''^"' "--e of the -f hrir^t1::e^'-^-- --et Of • P-Pie. And yonder on'^the Th" T"'" «'<'-'d house Where the Laureate :art" ''^ '"'^"^ *hite OVER THE SEA. " 117 vorld as into the I arrest 'lody of 'ck and 5n may go on of the on the of the that stible et of vorld I'^hite 'ious ron- is a the holly hedge planted by old Dr. Tennyson when the poet was a child. The house was the Rectory of the parish for nearly a hundred years, but the present rector, Rev. John Soper, has deserted the historic house and dwells in the neighboring parish. And this is the house where Tennyson spent his youthful prime and where he composed many of his chiiftf works. As ** In Memoriam " is the record of a soul struggle fought out on this very ground, we may expect to find in that poem many local references. To this place often came Arthur Hallam ** from brawling courts and dusty purlieus of the law " to drink the cooler air and mark " the landscape winking through the heat." Here often he joined the rector's happy family " in dance and song and game and jest." To this place was brought the cruel news of Hallam 's death which felled the poet's sister in a swoon and turned her orange- flowers to cypress. Here for many gloomy years the broken-hearted poet plied the " sad mechanic exercise " of writing verse to soothe his restless heart and brain. The only other structure of interest in Somersby i the little church of which Tennyson's father was rector for many years. It is very small and very old. To the right of the porch is an ancient cross of the four- teenth century, bearing figures of the Virgin and the Crucifixion. Over the porch is a dial with the motto, " Time passeth," and the date 1751. The interior of the church is uninviting. The rough pews would seat about forty worshippers ; the pulpit in the comer is small and mean ; the windows that pierce the walls at 118 OVER THE SEA. irregular distances have been made at various times and are of different shapes and sizes. The " cold bap- tismal font " in the rear calls up such dismal memories of the past that the visitor is glad to escape from the clammy, sickly air. In a conspicuous place in front of the church is seen the tombstone erected over the grave of Dr. Ten- nyson. The epitaph runs as follows : TO THE MEMORY OF THE REV. GEO. CLAYTON TENNYSON, LL. D., ELDEST SON OF OEOKGE TENNYSON, ESQ., RECTOR OF THIS PARISH, WHO DEPARTED THIS LIFE ON THE 16th day of MARCH, 1831. AGED 52 YEARS. When, a few years after the father's death, the Tennysons departed from Somersby " to live within the stranger's land " we hear a minor chord in the great memorial elegy sounding thus : '' Our father's dust is left alone And silent under other snows : There in due time the woodbine blows. The violet comes, but we are gone.'* About a furlong beyond Somersby Church is one of the prettiest spots this dull old earth can show, — " Holywell Glen " : f^ \ OVER THE SEA. 119 38 P- BS le is ti- ^r e e t ijm?. \ " Here are cool mosses deep, And through the moss the ivies creep, And in the stream the long-leaved flowers vreep, And from the craggy ledge the poppy hangs in sleep. '* It is a wild, romantic spot, — the favorite haunt, we may be sure, of the poet's boyhood. Trees of many kinds — larch and spruce and ash and beech and syca- more — clothe the steep sides of a natural terrace that slopes down to the bottom of a gorge through which flows a limpid stream. This beautiful glen takes its name from a natural well over which the stream courses. Long years ago, it is said, visitors came from far and nea> to taste of this " holy well " and to enjoy its healing virtues. If the water of this well has no supernatural merits, I can at least attest its superior quality, taking a draught of it, as I did, in my extrem- ity of thirst on a warm August afternoon. I had always clung to the ancient saying that poets are born, not made. My views are somewhat altered Since I have seen the glories of Holywell Glen and all the enchantments of rustic Somersby. Here, if any- where. Nature could inspire the most sluggish spirit and put some music into the tamest heart. But I must leave this rustic nook and this quiet hamlet. As I leave Somersby behind and climb the hill on the road to Horncastle I recall those sad stanzas of " In Memoriam " in which Tennyson gives voice to his regret at leaving forever the home and the haunts of his young days : " I climb the hil' ; from end to end Of all the landscape underneath, 120 OVER THE SEA. I find no place that, does not breathe Some gracious memory ot my friend. No gray old grange, nor lonely fold, Or low morass and whispering reed, Or simple stile from iiiead to mead. Or sheepwalk np tho windy wold ; Nor heavy knoll of ash and haw That hears the latest linnet trill. Nor quarry trench'd along the hill, And haunted by the wrangling daw ; Nor runlet tric?iling from the rock ; Nor pastoral rivulet that swerves To left and right thro' meadowy curves. That feed the motners of the flock ; But each has pleased a kindred eye, And each reflects a kindlier day ; And, leaving these, to pass away, 1 think once more he seems to die. " -%1 K^ 1^ 4- i: 1 1 \ 'i^-