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Tous les autres exemplaires originaux sont filmte en commen9ant par la premiere page qui comporte une empreinte d'impreswion ou d'illustration et en terminant par la derniAre page qui comporte une telle empreinte. rrata :o pelure. □ 32X 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: 1 2 3 Un des symboles suivants apparaftra sur la dernidre image de cheque microfiche, selon le cas: le symbols — ► signifie "A SUIVRE ', le symbols V signifie "FIN". Les cartes, planches, tableaux, etc., pouvent Atre filmAs d des taux de rMuction diffirents. Lorsque le document est trop grand pour Atre reproduit en un seul clichi, il est film* A partir de i'angle supirieur gauche, de gauche A droite, et de haut en bas, en prenant le nombre d'images lAcessaire. Les diagrammes suivants illustrent la mithode. 1 2 3 4 5 6 ■■ ■P >. Over tl^e Sea. A SUMMER TRIP TO BRITAIN. A Rentes of Papers publisbed in \\)e "^tratbroy Ape Sept.-Bec, 1890. BY J. E. WETHERELL. STRATHROY, ONT.: Published by Evans Brothers. 1890. c^/^ c OVER THE SEA. INTRODUCTION. "Of making many books there is no end." Endless, too, are the narratives of travel and sight-seeing that crowd the columns of our magazines and journals. When I left Strathroy on the 7th of July last, turning my face towards the Old World, nothing was farther from my thoughts than the possibility of being expected to write for public perusal on my return a record of my wanderings, and of thus becoming one of the great crowd of newspp.per correspondents. The solicitations of kind friends and the urgent interest of many of my pupils are, how- ever, irresistible. The publishers of The Age must also bear a large share of the responsibility for having prevailed upon me to expose to the public gaze some pages of the experiences and memories of my recent tour. In the issue of Sept. 25th of The Age I purpose beginning a aeries of essays de- scriptive of my fifty days abroad. As far as may be each paper will be complete in itself. The series will take the following order and will run on to the length indi- cated, it no unexpected impediment comes, and if my audience does not begin to yawn before the projected limit is reached : — First paper — The Ocean Voyage. Second paper — Glasgow and the Land of Burns. Third paper — The Highland Lakes. Fourth paper — Edinburgh. Fifth paper — Abbotsford and Melrose. Sixth paper — London — St. Paul's (Jathed- ral and Westminster Abbey. Seventh paper— London — The Zoological Gardens, Madame Tussaud's, The Crys- stal Palace, Tho National Gallery, The British Museum, South Kensington Mu- seum. Eighth paper — London Life. Ninth paper — Stratford-on-Avon. Tenth paper — Oxford and Cambridge. Eleventh paper — Tennyson Land — Lin- coln, Louth, Mablethorpe. Twelfth paper — Tennyson Land — Horn- castle and Somersby. Conclusion. I begin this literary venture with the keen delight of one who is about to tell a story in which he has been tne principal actor ; may 1 ^nd it on the verge of next Christmas-tide with the satisfaction of knowi:.2 that I have interested a few of my kind readers who have been patient enough to accompany me through so lengthened a narrative. It is hardly necessary to say that my point of view in these papers will be mainly that of a traveller guided by liter- ary and historical attractions. Commerce and politics, the farm und the shop, science and statistics, must be treated by another hand. My journey to the east was a journey to scenes associated with the charms of history and poetry. I Over the Sea. First Paper. THK VOYAdK. "1 never was on the dull, tanir shore, Hut I loved the !,'reftt sea more and more. The Hea ! the sea ! the open sea I The blue, the fresh, the ever free ! — BARRY OORNWAIjIi. It is eij^lit o'clock on the morning of July 10th. The lirooklyn pier of the State- Line Steamship Company is cpjwcled 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 Dairies of oidy 109 persons, but at least ttvo or tlrree hundred others have come d')\vn to see tire steamer off. Soirre of these are mere idlers attracted hither by the curiosity of the moment. Some have CO ne to .'jell their wares to the departing voyagers. But many of them are rela- tivtis and frieirds of those about to launch on vhe uncertairr sea. Eager hand shak- ings' and affectionate embraces are soon «iver. Tlie gangway is hastily taken np. Off moves the ship from terra firrna. A dialogue of vvavinj^ handker- chiefs from pier and deck accompanied by oft-shouted "good-byes" len(l8 animatiorr to the scene of departure, arrd helps to keep up tlie Baggirrg spirits of many whose moist eyes tell of emotioir repress ed. Every(uie feels that the die is now cast arrd that the hazards of the sea must be calmly nret. Even the sad faces soon light up with interest and the fainting hearts recover their accustomed resolutiorr. As we steam out of New York harbor we obtain a tine view of the metropolis of America. As we move away from shore the panorama of the coast is very pleasing and restful to the eye on this clear sum- mer 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 he paces the deck while the distant hills are JHst receding from sight, sees no familiar face amid the groups that congregate here and there to take the last peering look at the vanishing corrtinent that contatuF. all that is dearest in life to them and to him. The words of the "Ancient Marirrer" start up in the memory with thrillirrg vividness : "Alone, alone ^ll, all alone, Alone on a wide wide sea !" When the exhilaratirrg excitornerrts inci- dent to leaving port are onje over the solitary traveller is at the rrrercy of all the laterrt forces of his being that lend to produce depression of spirits. The only safe resource iir such straits is tl.j fellow- ship of an excitirrg book, or still better the cheering corrrpanionship of livirrg men arrd women. From the latter the stranger is by no nreans cut off on board ship. The ocean has a social code of its owrr. With the last sight of land all the super numerary converrtiorralit'es of town and city, often as stiff and formal as frowniirg peaks and rugged mountains, are throwir overboard ; and with the ease with which one dons a change of raiment is assumed a style of life and address as free as rovirrg breeze arrd fiowirrg wave. In twenty -four hours after the lifting- of the anchor every passerrger who is not rigidly exclusive will have a score of acquaintances, and two or three new friend.>i)taiii& all 1(1 to him. Mariner" thrilling,' neiits iiici- over till! ley of all at tend to The only J fellow- till better iving men e stranger ard ship, f itH own. ilie super town and frowning re thrown ease with i raiment id address id flowing after the nger who e a sfjore three new le bud. travellers, g one into a interest iciniens of ere is the e toil and have won going to '!) sou, to >8 little as ) in the the dandy lOse asaid- ue hearts n. There :;her from nless hil- fire-and- game of d'Jle aged i constant 10 is the f the ac- of his ptic from iping his Over thr Sen. r, i ^ ■ i incurablo ailment un lor cover, is con- stantly craving and asking for the Hyinpatliy of indid'erent and disgusted fellow-voyagers. There is the chronic grumbler from New Kngland who hardly opens his lips except to cavil and to censure, who finds /ault with captain and (ircw, with food and berth, with wind anil weather, and whose only saving (pial- ity 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 "Hobby," and whoso solicitude for the wee (piadruped'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 Toron- to './hose gonial 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 ho more than anyone else is the "observed of all observers." Had we a storm at sea ? Not a veri- table storm, but lor two days we had very rough water. On Friday, July lltli, a stifl' l)reeze sprang up as we entered the (iulf Stream. The deck, which had been a scene of joy and life, 8oon became a scene of discomfort and distress, liefore ovfcning nearly all the passengers had been subdued by Neptune. All that night the ship rolled and pitched incess- antly and undisturbed sleep was impiis sible. A few passengers who at five o'clock next morning fled from the stifling atmosphere of the staterooms to breathe the fresh air above were driven in by the lashing waves that in their angry fury swept the decks with increasing vo'ume and freiiuency. Even the hurricane-deck afforded but a precarious refuge to those who were determined to be out in the fresh air. The ship rolled from side to side, reaching at times an incline of near- ly forty- five degrees, and as she staggered and plunged it seemed almost miraculous tliat 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 opt n for two days and the air was very foul. With Sunday eamo a blessed change. During the rest of the voyage we had ideal sea weather and everyone's eiijiiyment was far greater than if wo had had a nu>notony of calm and comfort. On shipboard the occupations of the parisengera are not numerous. When the woather is fine the games of ship-quoits and slintlle board always have; their V'jtaries. The smoking room is at all hours a centre of attraction for those who like the weed. The antithesis of this is the music room,- -a resort as distinctively feminine as the other is masculine. The deck, in fair weather, is crowded with the great bulk of tiie passengers, — some wrapped up and stretched at full length on their sea-chairs, — some lolling over the ([uarter railing, — some lying flat in slumber, even at midday, on the clean oaken planks, — some reading light literature by tits and starts, — many promenading the (luart^er deck, especially before and after meal-time. All these amusements and diversions, however, are of an unsettled and desultory nature. Sufiicient unto the hour is the employ- ment 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- I travellers each day is tilled with vacant I nothings, and a vacuous expression soon I settles on many faces. There is indeed one sight that rouses the active interest of the most lethargic, — the sight of a distant sail or of the smoke from a pass- ing steamer. There is one sound, — one welcome sound that arrests the attention and controls the movements of everyone, whatever the occupation of the passing moment, — the sound of the bell that in- vites the hungry passengers to the dining- table below. The only thing that detracts from the romance of a sea voyage is — the passen- gers. The capricious sea will not yield all her secret.- 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. Thore is a suggestion of rushing cai3 and clashing machinery in the very m It i 6 Ovfir f/ifi Sea. I throb twid tremor of the i,'rcat inonatcr that Ih hurrying us over cho waters : "For the throlt of tin- jmlm- never sto|>« III the heart of theHhip, Ah h«'r rncaHiirfH of water and tire She ilrliikH down at u Nip." One must gut away to some Hecluded part of the (lock, far from the engines, and far too from all distracting human intliienocH, if he would put himself in touch with the HpiritH of wave and wind and siiy. What countless creatures teem in the fathoiiiU'Hs deptliH of <;cean or sweep over its houiidleas expanse. There goes the huge whale, heaving his hroiid hack ahove the tnmliling billows. TlKire grins the ravenous shark, darting thmu^li the blue waters with a death menacing motion. There shoals of iiorpoises leap and sjwirt, tiying to eijual the speed of the vessel. Yonder ily the iieantiful sea- gulls with their weird and [ilaintivi! cries. The dullest imagination can pass beyond the presence of the visible and peer into the gulfs below and view the innunuirablo swarms of monsters that roam the watery valleys. Many reUectious press upon a t'lought- ful mind in mid Atlantic. The iloor of the abysses below is strewn with fearful wrecks, and whitening Ixnies of mariners whose dying cries have sounded on this very air. Over this liighw:iy of the nations, bmind on missions of peace or destined for deeds of war, ountless 8lii[)3 have 8aile and da;k lihie o<'eaii- roil !" Readers of Swiid)nrne know well that it is the beauty rather than the strength of the sea that has engaged his affection. The soft music of summer waves can be hoartl in those stanzas beginning : " Dawn is dim on the darit Hoft water, Soft and passionate, darit and sweet." A volume might be written about the ocean, yes many volumes, but the length of this paper is a warning that it is time to get to shore. After a week of perfect weather a day of fog followcil as our ship approached the (ioast of Ireland. The incessant blowing of the dreary fog horn and other attendant discomforts of the fog made us «juite eager to see the land. What a delightful throng of new sen sations rush upoii a Canadian who for the first time comes in sight of hjiirope ! What memories and associations crowd up at the mention of that ancient name, — a name connected 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 green 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 tl»e North Channel past the Mull of Cantire, and u}) the Firth of Clyde past Arran and Bute prepare us by degrees for the "Land of lirown heath and shajjiarv wood, Land of the mountain and the flood." I 11 L, .;::..-=- Om' thi' Sen. niaii h;iH •1 l»y 1111(1 n. I'ootN |ro c'apiil>lu liavi) Hiiih' f tho 81)11. il Swill fully tli(> rnii know iilwavH iltiiiiiiitiDii |l>0 flllllOllH I'lm- roll '" 1 that it ren<,'tli of afl'uctioii. H can Im> \i ■ atcr, ahoiit tlic H' longtii t is tiino of perfect sour sliip i>ii(i. Tin, ^ foij liorn rtH of the he land. now sen ho for the Kurope ! ins crowd Mit name, egends of lays', and niaturer Donegal dayliglit tonciiing erry, the Many Ms and skirt the ruins of lers from oduction e North , and up ul Hute 30d. The sliip reaches (Jreenock juHt in time to run up tlm river Ixjffiro the ehh of the tide. The principal object of interest to he seen aM we move slowly up tho river io Dumbarton Castle, — ^a ruin as old as the Scoto Saxon monarchy, if not dating buck to Konian times. 'I'he scenery of tho (/'lyde is very ])leafling. On one side of tho rlvt.- are tho iiigr lands and lochs and crags crowned with ancient castles, on tho other parks and farms and manor halls. Presently tho river Oecomcs little nioro than a large canal enclosed ))e twocn tiio banks of pastoral meadows. As we appro.ich tho city we see forests of tall masts and the skeletons of innumer- able ships and arc not surprised to learn that this (ilasgow is perhaps the most famous city in tho world for the building of sea-going vessels. Wo have now reached our port and tho birth place of the sturdy vessel that has carried us hafely over three thousand miles of sou. Second Paper. (II.ASCOW AND TIIK LAND OF lUTIlNH. tilasgow is not only tho largest city in Scotland, but it is also the chief seat of mannfactuies and commerce. It is a city of smoke and turmoil, furnishing but few attractions to the tourist. There arc, however, a few places of interest to wiiich at least a flying visit should be paid. (Jeorgo Scjuare is an extensive open space in the very heart of the great city. It 18 a place of public monuments, tlie largest being Sir Walter Scott's Column, surmounted by a colossal statue of the great poet and novelist. Other monu- ments of special interest are those erected in memory of Sir John Moore, Dr. Living- stone, James Watt, and the poets Burns an^rn^• lirat aaw the dim ligl>t of day tlirough the small window of thia "lowly bhed." To inap^ct the cottaue one l)ayK a feu of six pence. On the Satunlay preceding my visit eleven hundred jiersons tntered the cottage door. Fortunate would the poor bard have thought himself a hundred yeara ago if he could have had a aniall fraction of ilie interest which the preaent owners of the cottago arc reaping froin the principal of his splendid fame. An indescribable aensation seizes the visitor aa he enters the room where Robert hiMiiH was born, and, walking over the cool, broken stone slabs towards the far- theat corner, aeea 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 table and some ancient chairs. There too am the "wco bit inglo" and the "clean heartliHtane." T'tere is the door at whi( h the "neibor lad" rappttd, a heavy oak door fantened Hccnrcly by a bolt encruHtcd by a century's mat and by a crooked iron hook pushed well down into its bulky staple. Many curiosities connected with th(! poet's career are deposited in an ad joiiing room. Various pictures of |{uriiH adorn the walls and many of his maun scripts and letters are there exhibited in cases. () lowly cottage of Scotland's peasant bard ! What ia it ab(>ut thee that draws curious tra\(!llers from distant con»in«!ntH and the reuK test isUfs of the sea? Day by day through eouiitlcaa years foreign feet will (;rosH thy humble threshold, and noisy voiced will be hushed to a whisper, and reverent beads will be uncovered, and carttful hands will touch thy sacred contents, and beating hearts will f«!el thy subtle intluenee, and soaiing spirits will lly away laiyond thy narrow bounds to commune with the s])irit ( f him who has given us so many breathing thoughts and burning wonls. lowly cottage, may wind and weather sjiare thee long. The glory of thy jiloughboy's genius has touched thy simplicity and turned it into splendor, has touched thy poverty and made it grandly rich. About half a nule south of Hiirna's cottage is "AUoway's auld haunted Kirk," tlio scene of the revel of the liends in '■Tam O' Sh. inter," the place "whare giiaists and houlets inghtly cry." The Kirk is a smull, plain, roofless structure. Cut into the mouldy atone is the date lolH, which is presumal)ly the date of erei:tioii. The old ruined church is a tit haunt for eighteenth century ghosts. Surrounding the Kirk is an ancient cemetery where lies the dust (if Hurns's father and mother. Near Alloway Kirk is the Burns' monu ment, built in lS20ata cost of iJiriOOO. The interior ( lilnniii niii' frcHh iinf Heeing on that peu;".'ful Hummer tlay which can never be forgotten. A« I returne.l to Ayr on my way Lack to frieiiils I farewell, my foes ! My iieiHc with these, my love with thoHu— The liurstinjf tears my heart iltdare : Farewell the honiiy han'its of Ayr ! " Third Paper. THE IIIOULAND LAKES. A more delightful tour for a July day can scarcely be imagined than a journey from Glabgow to Loch Lomond, up the Loch to Inversiiaid, through the region of "The Lady of the Lake," and thence, by way of Sterling, to H^dinburgh. This trip can be made in one day and for one golil 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 mns along the Clytle for fourteen milea, and then, op- posite the castled hill of Dumbarton, turiiH shar|ily northward ami traverReii the valley of the river lievon fornix mileH. On the banki of thin river are cho villagoH of Alexandria, Itonhill, anil Kenton, near the last of which was born in 17'il Tobias Smollet'., one of the three great British novelistH of the last century. At Hailoch a pretty little nteamer is waiting to con- vty up the lake a hundred cxcumioniNtH, iTMistly sons and daughters of the soil. Loch Lunontl, "The Queen of the Scottish Lakes," "The Lojh ot alfuiidred Isles," is tilt! largest lake in (Jreat Britain. It is twenty miles long, its width varying from live miles to halfa mile. Nowhere in the world, surely, can bo found scenery more picturesque and ronian*ic. As wo steaiiietl away from Balloch pier a vision of . ajesty and loveliness was grulually unfolded that coiilil not he exaggerate*! by painter or by poet. We threaded our way annmgst innumerable islanils crownetl with verdure of matchless variety anil beauty. As I heard "the accents of the mountain tongue" in the speech of those about me, and saw those blooming north- ern faces, as I glanced to the ancient hills and mountains that cratlled us in on every side, to the myriads of rills that leaped and gushed ilown grassy slopes ami rugged stci'|.s, to the exijuisite con- tour of tlie coast as satisfying aa the plump roundness of childish cheeks, to the li'.npitl waters that rippled to the gentle ))recze. to the wreaths of mist that woidd swoop ilown upon 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 anil water, *\\c green of tree and plant, the white of mist anil cloud, the purple heather, t'le gray cliff, the brown or shadowy gorge, the azure of the distant hills, and all these continually varying their hues with the ever changing light, — I felt that I had Jriited clean away from the commonplace v,ork-a-day world, and had entered an ideal realm haunted by spirits of beauty and touched with the witchery of an immortal hand. The en- thusiasm 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 10 Over the Sea. 0\ il 1 i I behind the actual glories of this Highlfi^itl loch. This mast, rpieoe of the heavenly Artist is not to be described by the tame vocables of our human speech. Its place of record is the receptive tablets of the memory of the beholder. "Ill HpotB like these it is we prize Our ineniory, feel tliat she hath eyes ■ I feel this plnce wa» iMaiie for her ; To (five new pleiisure like the past, Continued long as life shi " 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 eaat across the lake to Eow- (udennan, situated at the biise of Ben Lomond. The western face of this ini- pofing mo ain rises almost immediately from the -er's edge. It is said that the view from the; summit of the mountain (over 30()() feet high) is wide aid rich. Oiie third of Scot' md can be seen stretch- ed out below, including Glasgow and Edinburgh ; and beyond IJute and Arran can be descried the distant Atlantic and the coast of Ireland. As the steamer moves northward along the east shoie we pass close to "Rob Roy's Prison, ' a wall of rock about thirty feet high. This and many otlier points along the loch have been described by Scott ill his fascinating romance of "Rnb Roy." From this point wo make for Tarbet situated in a sheltered cove on the west coast. From Tarbet we pursue our zig zau course towards the eastern shore. Soon Me reach Iiiversnaid, our port of debarkation, a place of special interest to Canadians on account of its association with a name that they revere, — a place, too, hallowed by the genius 1 a great modern poet. At Invsrsnaid, in the reign of George II., Major (afterwards General) Wolfe, the victor on th3 Heights of Abraham, was for a tiuie in command of the barracks erected to overawe the restless Macgregors. At InversnaiC, too, Wordsworth saw the "Sweet Highland Girl" whom he has made imirortal in one of his most beautiful poem, : — "Sweet H'"rhland girl, a very shower Of beauty is thy earthly dower ! 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 abor Venice or Rome, — yes, even than biilliaiit Paris. The traveller who tinda himself in Kdinlnirgh and who is obliged to limit his stay there to a sinyle day, is much perploxt'd to know how to spend his time to tlie best iidvaiitage, especially if, as wiis the case with myself, he has neither friend nf>r acC|uaintance to accompany him on his randiles tostrangescenesand through foreign streets. At nine o'clock on the nioining of Julv 24th I set out alone to explore "Modem Athens,"' not knowing exactly which way my steps were to turn, l)ut determined to see before nightfall many of the chief places of interest which hitherto I had known only by name. Passincj the Post Office i fir.«t proceed to the summit of Calton Hill in tlie north- east of the city. The view from that lofty eminence is very impressive. Far below are the ppires and domes 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 Cilton Hill are manypublic monuments, notably Nelson's Monument over 100 ft. high. The National monument, 'ntended to be a copy of the Parthenon at Athens, bui for want r<{ funds never completed, is very imposing with its twelve columns. Descending i,he hill I pass the High School and the Burns Monument on my way to Arthur's Seat, tli;' 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 iu 1435. Near the ruined chapel is a cool and limpid spring — St. Antiiony's Well whose waters must be tasted hy every true tourist. From this poiiit starts the v/inding path that leads to tlie distant top of the cliff. After a toilsome ascent I reach the summit of Artour's Seat exactly at noon. On the windy mountain top I 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 my business. A noble passage from the "Chronicles of the Canongate" gives voice to my feelings 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 cMggy hill, silent and solitary as the grave : one exhibiting the full tids of ex- istence pressing and precipitating itself forward with the force of an inundation ; the other resembling son\e time worn anchorite, whose life passes as silent and unobserved as the slender rill which escapes uidieard fiom 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 thrane to the m.ijestic but terrible genius of feudal times, where the same divinities dispensed coronets and domains to those who had heads to devise and arms to execute bold enterprises." WMth 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 and Portobello and the blue waters of the Frith, and I de- scend the steep and barren slopes of Arthur's Seat. Befo.e leaving the base of the mountain I walk along the road that skirts the Salisbury crags, — a favor- ite M'alk of Scott and Hume in their daily cogitations. Between Arthur's Seat and Calton Hill are the famous Palace and Abbey of Holy- rood. Of the old abbey only some portion* I'' -.a. i..i... Over the Sea. IS of the nave now remain, and an eastern wall built soon after the Reformation. A beautiful ruin is the royal chapel A^ith its (jlothic arches, its decorated gateway, its richly sculptured arcade. In the south aisle are deposited the bones of many of the Scottish kinga. These well-worn tablets over kings long dead and the crumbling ruins of thiu 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 containing a series of old Flemish portraits of the Scottish kings. This room was used by Prince Charles Kdward in 1745 for his numerous receptions and balls. Readers of "VVaverlcy" will remember the chapter destriptivs 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 air of "Good night, and joy be wi' you a' !", the Prince rose and said : "'Good night, and joy be v/:Kh you ! — Good night, fair ladies, who have so highly honored a proscribed and banished Prince. — Good night, my brave friends ; may the happiness we ha^e experienced this evening be an omen of our return to these our paternal halU, speedily and in triumph, and of many and many future meetings of'mirth and pleasure in the palace of Holyrood !" Poor, deluded prince ! Culloden Moci* was destined next year to blight his hopes forever. But it is not of Prince Charles that the visitor ttiiuks most when he is within the precincts of tlie Palace. Mary Queen of Scots must always be the central figure in all the descriptions of Holyrood. Her apartments 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 unfortunate secretary of Mary who was here done to death by the cruel daggers of Darnley and Ruthven. Here is the audience chamber hung with ancient and decaying tapestry, and con- taining 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 cf King Henry's soliloquy : "Why rather, sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs, Upon uneasy pallets stretchinjf thee, Than In the perfumed chambers of the (freat, Under the canopies of costly state, And lulled with sounds of sweetest melody ?— Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown." On leaving Holyrood I made my way through the Oid Town by way of the Canongaie and High Street. The Canon- gate is a street to bewilder the thoughtful traveller who knows its strange history That history a modern Scotch writer has thus forcibly given : "The Canongate ia Scottish history fossilized. What ghosts of kings and queens walk there ! What strifes of steel-clad nobles ! What hurry- ing of burgesses to man the city walls at the approach of the Southron ! What lamentations over disastrous battle days ! James rode up this street on his way to Flodden. Montrose was dragged up hither on a hurdle, and smote, with disdainful glance, his foes gathered to- gether on the balcony. Jenny Geddea flung her stool at the priest in the church yonder. John Knox came up here to his house after his interview with Mary at Holyrood — grim and stern and unmelted by the tears of a queon. In later days the Pretender rode down the Canongate, his eyes dazzled by the glitter of his father's crown ; while bagpipes skirled around, and Jacobite ladies, with white knots in their bosoms, looked down from lofty windows, ad-^iiring the beauty of the Prince. Down here of an even'ng rode Dr. Johnson and Boswell, awd turned into the W^hite Horse. David Hume had his dwelling in this street, and trod its pavements. One day a burly ploughman from Ayrshire, with swarthy features and wonderful black eyes, came down here and turned into yonder churchyard to stand with cloudy lids and forehead reverently bared, beside the grL.ve of poor Fergusson. Down this street, too, often limped a little boy, Walter Scott by name, destined in after years to write its H Over the Sea. I ! ! I :( 'Chronicles.' The Canongatc once seen is never to be forgotten." Never to be forgotten ! No, — not for its glorious past, nor for its wretched present ! This is the putrefying sore that mars the wonderful beauty and saps the vigorous vitality of this fair city. Once the abode of the rank, the fasliion, the wit, the wealth, the learning, and the beauty of the Scottish capital, the Canon- gate now teems and swarms with the lowest life of Edinburgh. As I walked up the malodorous street at two o'clock on that bright afternoon of last July, the tlioroughfare was thronged with innumer- able cliildren, dirty and half-naked, while their scjualid mothers lolled on door- steps, or talked in eager groups of the savage pommelling one of their sister- iiood had just received at the hands of a drunken termagant. The brutal counten- ances and the foul tongues of many of these low women dry up in the beholder the fountains of sympathy, but oh, the children ! "They look up with their pale and Biinken faces, And their looks are sad to see, For the ninn's hoary anguish draws and presses Down the cheeks of infancy." And this in Edinburgh ! And this in the very centre of Scottish culture and philanthropy ! Are tlie hands of civili- zation crippled and palsied that they hang thus limp and idle ? Are the tongues of statesmen but "as sounding brass or a tinkling cymbal" ? Is sociology to become a living, breathing, throbbing science, keen eyed and busy-handed, moving amid the haunts of human care and misery, or is she to be merely an idle de- claimer, cursing the tyrannies of the past, lamenting the woes of the present, and calmly folding her empty hands as she reveals to weary souls glorious visions of the far-off future ? Just where the Canongatc runs into High Street is situated John Knox's house, now over four hundred years old. After viewing the squalor and depravity of the Canongate this peaceful lefuge was (juieting to the spirit. I was conducted by a guide through the tiny rocims of the old house ; I sat in the ancient study- chair of the stern old Reformer ; I looked out of the little window from which he used to preach to the Canongate crowds when he was too feeble to walk to the church of St. fiiles near at hand. Uefore passing on up High Street I spent a few minutes in Canongate churcli- yard where Burns came to weep over tlie grave of the brilliant young Ferrusson, his forerunner in Scottish song, who had been cut off at the early age of twenty- three. Burns always called P'ergU8.snn "his elder brother in the Muses " and i, erected to his memory the memorial- stone still to be seen over his grave and composed the elegy engraved thereon : "No sculptured marble here, no pompous Iry, No otoried urn, no animated bust. This simple stone directs pale Scotia's way To pour her sorrows o'er her poet's dust." St. Giles' ('athedral is the next place of interest on tlie way west. This is tho oldest church in Kdinburgh, dating baek to the fourteenth century. Here was the scene of the spirited ministry of Joiiii Knox. Here Jenny Geddes, in a burst of righteous wrath, hurled her stool at the head of the minister who was enforcing the use of the English liturgy. Here the Solemn League and Covenant was sworn in 1643. After taking Iv.nch in a plain old-fasli- ioned inn adjoining (ireyfriars' Church I passed into the old churchyard of Greyfriars'. Here rests the dust of many old Scottish worthies. A large number of the tombstone.« have their inscriptions in Latin, a certain indication of their great age. Many of the i-ecords have been almost defaced by time. Here are buried Allan Ramsay and Henry Macken- zie, two of Scotland's poets. On the flat monuments in this kirkyard, amid the tears and prayers of the assembled multi- tude, the Covenant of 1638 was signed. The preacher of the covenanting sermon and the Covenant's enemy. Sir (ieorge McKenzie, lie here at rest now side by side. Here, too, near the back of the churchyard are the graves of the coven- anting martyrs. I hastily copied a few lines from the old tablet : "Halt passenger, take heed what you do see, This tomb doth shew for what some men did die. Here lies interr'd the dust of those who stood 'Gainst perjury, resisting unto blood." The inscription goes on to give the names of some of the principal martyrs, aind con- cludes with the statement that over a hundred of the citizens of Edinburgh were killed by the Government and bur- ied here. Passing up the Lawnmarket and Ciis- lU Over the Sea. 15 'j was sworn :et and Ciis- tlehill I next visit the Castle of Edin- ))urgh. From whatever point you view the city, its castled rock is the most prominent figure. Scores of cannon frown from the batteries in every direction. The fort is believed to have l)een a strongiiold even in days anterior to the Christian era. All down through the ages the history of Edinburgh has been closely connected with the history of the Castle. The names of Bruce and IJaliol and Douglas, of Queen Mary and Cromwell and Prince Charles Edward, of all the Scottish kings through many centuries, are called up by the sight of this hoary citadel. After leaving the Castle I search out tlie Edinburgh residence of Siv Walter Scott from 1800 to 1826, the date of his removal to Abbotsford. Tha house is a stately building — 39 Castle Street— now used as an office by the English and Scot- tish Investment Co. The only indication tliat the author of the Waverley Novels ever lived here is a simple marble bust of Sir Walter over the door. As I passed the historic r/iansion I reflected on the laborious years that the "Magician" spent within these walls, — years (many of them) of dismal debt, but of ever-grow- ing glory. Scott's Monument on Princes street is the last place I have time to see. It is a fine structure with four large basement arches sustaining a crucial (jothic spire. It is adorned by thirty-two statuettes of characters in Scott's works. The visitor on entering mounts by a circular stair to a room containing many interesting relics, — among them some autograph letters of Scott. Princes street, the main thoroughfare of the new city, is the finest street 1 have ever seen. On one side it is lined by hand- some shops, and on the other, for a long distance, by beautiful public gardens. An English traveller has thus written of it : "Here I observed the fairest and goodliest street that ever mine eyes beheld ; for I did never see or hear of a street of the length, the buildings on each side of the way being all of squared stone, five, six, and seven stories high ; and the walls are ex- ceedingly strong, not built for a day, a week, a month, a year, but from antiqui- ty to posterity, for many ages. " Thus I close the account of my solitary excursion tarough this Intensely interest- ing city,— interesting for its natural and architectural l)eauty, and for the stirring and touching mcniories of its sublime an»l patlietic past. Fifth Paper. MF.LKOSE AND ABnOTSKOHD "If thod would'st view fair Melrose luiifht, Go viwit it by the piile inoonlijfht ; For the jrav heiuiis of li),'htKoine day, Gild, but to flout, tlie ruins trrey. When the broken arches Jire lilack in niKht, And each shafteil oriel Kliiuiners white ; When the cold li^fht's uncertain Hhower Streams on the luiiied centrul tower; When buttress and buttress, alternately, Seem framed of ebon und i\orv ; When silver edjjes the ininjrery, And the scrolls that t^ach thee to live and die ; When distant Tweed is heaid to rave, And the owlet to ln.ot o'er the dead man's ^rrave Then ffo— but go alone the while- Then view St. David's ruin'd pile ; And, home returninj,'', soothly swear, Was never scene so sad an(i fair." Thus in the "Lay of the Last Minstrel'" Scott instincts tlie visitor to Melrose. However desirous of viewing the abbey aright I was not able to arrange for a Uioonlight visit ; but necessity drove me to "go alone tlie while. ' Although 1 saw the grey ruin.x under " the gay beams of lightsome day," I um prepared to ac- knowledge, if not soothly to swear, that the scene is indeed " sad and fair." At nine o'clock in the morning, July 25th, I left Edinbnrgh, laking train by the Waverley line of the North liritish JRail- way. A journey of 37 miles in a south- easterly direction past Portobello ani Galashiels brought me to the little town of Melrose, and to a region «hich was the scene of much fierce fighting in the old Border days, and which has been gilded with a halo of ronifuUic glory by the author of "The Monastery" and "The Lay." Melrose Abbey, adjacent to the little town of Melrose, was founded in 1136 by King David the First When P^dward II. retreated from Sjotland in 1322 the English despoiled the abbey. It was re- stored by King Robert Bruce in 1326. Although in 1384 the chancel of the church was burned by Richard II. of England, and in 1544 the whole abbey was fired by an emissary of Henry VIII., I I \l\\ i I I I I I ! I 16 Over the Sea. atill the present roofless ruins are mainly those of the old monastery built nearly six centuries ago. The abbey is now in the possession of the noble house of Buc- cleuch 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 (iothic abbeys and cathedrals of Europe. The visitor is ad- mitted by the custodian at the abbey >?ate situated at the west end of the south aisle. The first six of the chapels in the south aisle have 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 a specimen of the many to be found in every part of the ruined church : THK DUST OF MANY FENERATIONS OF THE BOSTONS Of OATTONSIIJK 19 DEPOSITED IN THIS PLACE. WE CJIVE OUK BoDIES TO THIS HOLY ABBEY TO KEEP. Melrose Abbey contains some very fine 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 elements 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 ceutuiies long past, fashioned these magnificent designs. At the east end of the south transept, and separated from it by three pillars, is St. Bridget's Chapel, which here receives mention on account of j curious relic that it contains. When in 1649 the fiat of Cromwell demolished the images in so many churches, Melrose Abbey did not escape. In St. Bridget's Chapel, however, may still be seen a statue of that saint standing on a pedestal in a niche near one of the windows. The wanton myrmidons of the Protector failed to notice 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 dunr.b eloquence telling of the gloHous 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 separate chapel. This corner of the abbey is the focus of attraction for all visitors to Melrose. Here, according to the "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 majesti- cally from a conimon base to three tall summics. Readers of the "Lay" will remember the impressive scene in the second canto where Deli>raine stands over the open grave of Michael Scott and a supernatural light streams up from the vault to the chancel roof : "No earthly tiame blazed e'er so bright; It shone like heaven's own blesseii liKht." William of Deloraine had beeui^etit hither by the Ladye of Branksome to secure tlio wizard's "Mighty Book" of spells and en- chantments ; 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- handeti warrior stood bewildered and unnerved. Standing near the fabltd grave of Michael Scott you have in full view the famous eastern window of Melrose Abbey, which has received such a splendid tribute in the " Lay of the Last Minstrel " : "The moon on the east oriel shone Through slender shafts of shapel> stone, By foliage tracery combined ; Thou would'st have thought some fairy's hand 'Twixt poplars straight the osier wand, In many a freakish knot, had twined ; Then framed a spell when the work was done. And changed the willow wreaths to stone." Under the fl.or of the chancel, just below the beautiful window, repose the ashes of many illustrious personages. Alexander II. 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 says is deposited the heart of King Robert Bruce, brought back from Spain after Dou^das had attempted un- successfully to cairy it to the Holy Land. After passing through the north tran- sept and viewing the sacristy you proceed to the north aisle, conspicuous for the beamy of its pointed roof and massive pillars. In this aisle, just beyond the cloister door, there is an ancient inscrip- Over the. Sea. 17 tioD on the wall, remarkable for ita touch- iog airr.j^licity and for the admiration bestowed on it by Washington Irving, reads as follows : It HKIR LYI8 THE RACE OF YE HOVS OF ZAIR. Right opposite this inbcription are seen the tombs of the ancient tamily of Karr, or Kerr. At this point you may pass into the cloisters through the exquisitely carved 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 the grand south entrance on his way out he will get the moat imposing \iew of the interior of the ruined monas- tery. Now, too, will come on him in full flood a current of associations and influen- ces that will make him linger long on the bright green turf that forms the summer floor of the western portion of the nave. What scenes of holy rapture and of un- holy lavage have been enacted within these sacred walls ! What tears of moan- ing penitents and blood of slaughtered priests have consecrated yon cold grey stones ! What holj' 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 cus- todian I could not but reflect that nearly all of the great procession of tourists who come here by the hundicd every day have been attracted to the spot not by cbe in- trinsic beauties of the ruined church however great they are, but by the genius of the poet and novelist «^ho used fre- quently to visit the old abbey, to gaze upon yonder eastern window, or to take his favorite seat on yonder stone by the grave of the old wizard who bore the same surname, — Scott. AIIHOTSFORD. In 1811 Walter Scott purchased a tract of land on the bank of the Tweed about three miles west of Melrose. He was led to the purchase by several con- siderations. The Tweed at this point is a beautiful river, flowing broad and bright over a pebbly bed. Another feature of interest at the time was an old Roman road leading from the Kildon Hills to the ford over the river adjoining the estate. Besides, the picturesque ruins of Melrose Abbey pre visible from many points in the immediate neighborhood. At one time the land had belonged to the Abbey of Melrose, as n»ii{ht be inferred from the name of AbbotHj'ord. The small house which was on the estate at the time of purchase 8cott gradually enlarged and improved, but some years later the old structure was torn down and the present palatial mansion was erected ou its site. After leaving Melrose Abbey I started at noon to walk to Abbotsford by a picturesque road that runs not far from the high banks of the Tweed. This was my flrst country walk in Britain, and many things contributed to make it delightful. The highway, like nearly all British roads, runs betwean two lines of hawthorn hedges. Peeping out from the hedgerows were pretty wild roses and bluebelib. The foot-path by the road- side was hard and clean. The air was balmy and exhilarating. The prospect was everywhere beautiful. Off to the lett, rising 1200 ft. high, were the three peaks of the Eildon Hills. To the right flowed the romantic Tweed. The only dibtraction ou the way was the frequent passing of coachloads of tourists bound iov 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 glimpse of it was to be seen until the gateway was reached. I had expected to find Abbotsford on some commanding slope, — a place to be seen for miles around. 1 found it snugly situated on meadowland very close to the rivei. 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 pub- lic interest are open to visitors every law- TW 18 Over the Sea. I i ful day. Abbotsford has been styled "A romance in stone and lime," as it exliibits combinations of architecture after Sir Walter's original and antitiuariun tastes. It is said to embody in its structure copies of portions of Melrose Abbey, Roalin Chapel, Holyrood PaUce, Linlithgow Palace, and other admired buildings. It is now practically a grand public museum of anti(|uitie8, 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 hap- pily chosen. She has sad eyes and a sery plaintive voice, both cfuiducive to a suit- able spirit of repose and reverence iu tliose whom she guides and iustructa. A 1) )ld, harsh t')ne and flippant niaiiniT would be a desecration in these hallowed rooms. Visitors are rapidly conducted in com- panies of about twenty through the vari ous rooms, the guide pointing out all objects of special interest as you proceed. In turn we pass through the gorgeous library witli its thirty thou8anind is another huge Harcophatrua of por- phyry bearing the inscription : AHTin'K, Dl'KK OK NVKI,1.IN(1T(»N, Born May Ist, 1761), died Septemlier 14th, 1852. However one m»y 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- leuniH of the iieroes of Trafalgar and Waterloo without a throb of national pride. What a noble ode is that of Ten- nyson's on the Death of Wellington, — an ode that shines as well with the lustre of Nelnon's fame : "Thine i§laii(l loveH thee well, thou fainoiiH man, The i^reatext Huilor 8iiic« our world hej^an. Now, to the roll of inuttled druniH, To thee the ^reateHt Holdier coniea ; VoT this in he WuH KTeat by land at) thou by sea."—' • "Where shall we lay the man whom we deplore? Here, in streaminK London's central roar. Let the hoiukI of those he wrou(irht for, And the feet of those he foiiiifht for, Echo round his bones tor everinore."- "Uiider the cross of gold That shines o»er city and river, There lie shall rest torever Amioii^' the \«ibe and the bold." After leaving the Crypt the visitor ascends to tiie Whispering Gallery by a stair of 260 steps. This gallery, circular in form, is 420 ft. in circumference, yet it is s<.> constructed that the least whisper is heat d 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 Caliery surrounding the dome. From this gteat height one has a fine view of the vast metropolis far below. The guide conducts you around the dome, over two hundred feet above the street level, and points out the chief objects of interest in the impiessive panorama that stretches beyond tho vision on every side. What a huge, mighty, tremendous city this wonderful London is ! The visitor must not come away from St. Paul's without seeing the Library with its 12,003 volumes, many of them very old. Nor should he forget the Great Bell which is said to weigh 12,000 lbs. The gor- t 1 4 fi Jl 'I : H 1. ■ '1 , m Over the Sea. ([uouK Reredoa in the cathedral hIioiiIiIuIho HiHeeii: thu sc-ulpturud wurk in of whitu I'liriua marble, tno tigureH ruproHentiiig iiicidentB in the life of Christ. During my ten dayu' Htuy in Ijondon I [)uH8ed St. I'uul's Cathedral niiiny tiniuH, nit never without Home emotion, an(! never without giusing ut that marvellouH dome which gives to liliputian mortala a greater idea of height than the u/ure dome of the familiar HJiy. WKHTMINHTKK AltHKY. To the student of luHtory and literature noHpotinall London is ho attractive au VVestndnster Abbey. I luul read graphic (lescriptionH of the old ubbey written by the liandH of Huch mastcrn aa (>old8mitli and AddiHon and WiiHhington Irving. I was thus fittingly prepared for my visit to the ancient building. With reverpni.e and awe I entered its portals. The lufty roof and the noble range of pillars and all the beauties of architectural design aie almost unnoticed by one who reflects that he is heresnrrounded "by the congregated bones of the great men of past times, who have filled history with their deeds, and the earth with their renown." Roandng about through the aisles and chapels 1 saw on pavements and on walls countless memorials of departed great- ness. Familiar names of every rank and profession and opinion are crowded and packed together. Here arc monuments to the memory of Fox and the two Pitts, of Newton and Herschel, of Wilberforce and Livingstone, of Darwin and Kingsley and Wordsworth, of Keble and Watts and the Wesli ys, and of hosts of others who have performed great deeds or have re- corded such deeds in imperishable words. I must not allow myself to attempt a description of the famous chapel of Henry VIL 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 feec of common ii.."r*tli into this most gor- geous of sepulchres. On entering, the eye is astonished by the pomp of archi- tecture, and the elaborate beauty of sculptured detail. The very walls are wrought into universal ornament, incrust- ed with tracery, and scooped into niches, crowded with the statues of saints and martyrs. Stone seems, by the cunning labor of the ohisel, to have been robbed nf its weight and density, suspended aloft as if by magic, and the fretted roof achiev^ed with the wonderful minuteneiu and airy security of a cobweb. Along the sides of the chapel are the lofty stalls of the Knightsof the Bath, richly carved of oak, though with the groteHcjuo decora- tions of (iothic architecture. On the pinnacles of the stalls are affixed the helmets and crestci of the knights, with their scarfs and swords ; and above them are suspended their banneis, emblazoned with armorial bearings, 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 sepulchre 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 present a touching instance of the equality of the grave, which brings down the oppressor to a level with the oppres- sed, and mingles the dust of the bitterest enemies together. In one is the sepulchre of the haughty Elizabeth ; in the other is that of her victim, the lovely and un- fortunate Mary. A peculiar 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 ami tinted by time and weather. A marble figure of Mary is stretched upon the tomb, round which is an iron railing, much corroded, bearing her national emblem— the thistle." In one of the aisles of the chapel of Henry VII. is a curious little tomb which nmst not escape mention. It is a marble child in a stone cradle, erected to the memory of Sophia, the infant princess of James I., who died when three days old : "A little rudely sculptured bed, With shadowinjr 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 turn^d 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." B^ Orrr the Sfit. ^t The ciiri'iuH chapel of Edward the Oonfessor tliu iniiul Imuk to vury aiiuieiit iliiVH. A iu«!ru cutaloguo of thu kin^H and (iiuioiiB who lie buried here would bowild- ur or fatiguo my patiunt ruudura. Ouo ()l)j«!Ct of iutoreBt in this part of the abbey niiiHt, however, not be overlooked. Hero JH to be Heen the Coronation Chair, rudely carved of oak and encloaing thentone that waH brought with the rcg.dia from Scot- iiuiil by Kdward I. and offered to St. Kdwiinl'H Hhrine in the year 1297. In this chair all the reigning Hovereigna of Kn^latid have been crowned since that remote period. In the Chapel of St. John is an iniprcs- HJvo tond) which has excited the comments of visitors to the abliey for a hundred an>* fifty years. The tomb w>48 made by that cmineMt statuary, Koubiliac, in memory of Lady Kli/abeth Nightingale who died at the early age of twenty seven. '•The bot- tom of the monument [I quote from the Sketch Hook] is represenfed as throwing oi)en its niiirble doors, and asheeted skeleton is starting forth. The shroud is falling front hib fleshless frame as he launches hia daitat his victim. She is sinking into her atlrighted husband's arms, who strives with vain and frantic eflort to avert the blow. The whole is executed with terrible truth and spirit ; we almost fancy we hear the gibbering yell of triumph bursting fron) the distended jaws of the spectre. Hut why should we thus seek to clothe (leiith with unneceHsary terrors, and to spread horrors round the tomb of those we love? The grave should be surrounded by everything that might inspire tender nesM and veneration for the dead, or that might win the living to virtue. It is the place, not of diagusc and dismay, but of sorrow and meditation." The corner of the obey for which 1 shall retain the tenderest memories 1 now notice last of all. Some recent verses of Aldrich on the The Poets' Corner are so sv/eetly appreciative that I cannot forbear to quote them : "Tread softly here ; the sncredest of tomba Are those that holotof Krigllsh earth I If the unleashed and huppy sitirit of man Have option to revisit our ilnll globe, Whot august shades at midnight here convene In the miraculous sessions of the moon, When the great puis*' of London faintly throbs, And one by one the stars In heaven pale ! " I pasaed two pensive hours In Foot«' Corner. I lingered long beside the tomba of my favorite poets. I felt that hero even in a strange land I was among friends and companions, whoso frail Iwdies, it ia true, had long bcion dust, but whose spir- its having flown over sea and continent and having graciously communed with mine in many a silent hour of exquisite delight now seemed to fill this holy air with the mysterious magnetism of their unseen but friendly presence. The poets have welcomed to their corner of the abbey many whose genius has I ot been mainly that of song. The claims of the actor, the musician, the historian, and the novelist, to a kinship with the illustrious poets have been recog- nized and honored in liie persons of (iar- rick, and Handtl, and Macaulay, and Dickens, whose perishing remains lie at rest forever beneath these marble slabs. The Poets' Corner— may it last with this glorious abbey from age to age, to rendnd us of those who have made us heirs of so many noble truths and pure delights, — to soften natures growing hard with the dull routine of care, — to inspire many generations of youthful singers to the highest exertion of their native powers. But as I sat in Westminster Abbey in the waning hours of the final day of last July, facing the marble tigure of the gentle Shakespeare, I was not allowed to forget that the gigantic pile that towered above me would one day share the fate of the mighty temples of ancient days, and would perhaps "with the process of the suns" perish from record and from recol- lection. On the scroll that adorns the monument of the immortal dramatist are \ I i no Ovf.r the Sftn. wohIh from cliiMlIed thene prophotic •• rho Tom pout": "T»«'«'loiirlcttp|>'(l towoni, thr (rnrtroouH jialwpn, 'Pii' woli'iim teinplrit, tin- i;rvi\l iflolif Itwlf, Y<-n, all which it liiliurit, Nhitll iliiuuihu, AikI, liku tlu< Imiw'Iiim fultric of ii viNion, l.<>avi> not u wrtM-k liohliiii." Seventh Paper. UlNnON. A Oaiiiulian visitor in London vrhi hiin only tihoiit a week to nponil in tho motro- iH>liH haH a i>uri>luxin({ probltMu continiinl ly on hand. Iiuro is a city whoMo luHtory ur- pose. I njay nay, however, th.it thoro in one house through which I hurried with Hwift stops, -tho house containing hiih- dreds of those crooping monstors tlmt wore doomed by the original curse to out dust forever and to be forever bruised and hatoti by man. There is another section of the (iardens which attracted me as much as the snakes repelled me ; — tho Aviary with its hundreds of birds of benii- tiful plumage and melodious song. Hero I was much pleased to see two of my Canadian friends, — the cunning robin and the pretty bluebird. These appear to bo the only two songsters that represent tho abundant avifauna of Canada in this vast ornithological collection. MADAME TITSSAITI) S Who was Madame Tussaud ? In her day she was a very remarkable woman. Whde yet a girl, at her uncle's table in Paris she used to meet many men after- wards famous in French life and history, — Voltaire, Rousseau, Robespierre and Mirabeau. After the Reign of Terror she married, but her union was an unfortunate one. Friendless and deserted she left France and landed in London alone with- out a penny. The happy thought struck her that she might make use of the art of modelling in wax which she had learned in her girlhood. 8he soon formed a muspum of wax casts of contemporary celebrities. The enterprise was success- ful from the start and her exhibition of waxworks and French relics became one of the most popular attractions of the English capital. For nearly a hundred years this place of entertainment and in- III Ife i 'Ovfr thf S^n. 9S ntructinii Imv Iwcn ^rnwing in (limonnion* iinii littriu^tivunnNii. Madame TuMaiid wan Hiic('«t«ilu«l ill thfl nmnai^^oni'jnt by hor hodh, niiil tho nxhil)itioii now iMjIon^a to hor jeiiignin)< in M'lix is a form of art not to ho compared to th') art of tho Bculptor. A visit, how- ovur, In Madame TiisHaud'a will quickly chanuo depreciation to admiration. I ciuiiiot go (luite tho length r,f a re:!ent traveller to Uritain who aHHortn that thia cvhihition ia the most improaaive thing in London. Still I am ready to a>riof notoriety. In the dun- geon-like (larkneRH of these duaty chambera your flesh creepa and your pulse throba and yuu carry away with you aa you hastily depart many men^^l pictures which miiy disturb your waking hours and haunt your midnight dreams fur many a day to come. To me one of the most interesting fea- tures of Madame Tussaud's is tho section called the "Napoleon Rooms." Here are collected a great number of invaluable French relics, most of them associated with the name of the great Emperor. Here is the huge military carriage used by Napoleon in his Russian campaign, and captured by the British on the evening of Waterloo. Here is the camp bedstead of Napoleon used tor 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 bumerous articles of historic brio-a-brao contained in the "Napoleon Rooms" are alone sutfi- (dcnt to draw roadora of history to tho 1'uHaaud Muaoum. TIIK CUVHTAI, rAI.AOR. A journey of about eight rnileii from Ludgate Hill bringa you to that famous muiwium and pleasure resort, 'F'he Crystal l'ala(!e, designed and laid out about forty years ago by Sir Joaoph I'axton. Tho various courta, houaoa, ventibulea and gallerion of thia wonderful oxhil)ition aro tilled with iritereating objects connootod with every acieuco and every art. My viait to the I'alace on tho nvoning of July .'Ust gave mo time for only a cursory view of tho permanent parts of tho exhibition. That evening was a special occasion called "Children's Night." Over ton thousand people, half of them Imys and girls, had come out fiom the cr.^wded city to soo tho fireworks and the ballet. Tho display of pyrotechnics that fancinatod tho great crowd for about an hour was gorgeous indeed. Hluminatcd balloons, as(.c)iding clouds of gold, aerial festoons, whistling rockets, beautiful designs in I'iery colors shifting and gleaming in kaleidoscopic splendor, made the extensive gardens a fairylai.d of beauty. I shall never forget tho scene when at the close tho whole place was lighted u;) for an instant by tho discharge oi a great magnesium shell and ten thousand bright and eager faces looked up into the illuminated (''! i ill s' ID 34 Over the. Sea. before ua with bewildering rapidiiy, by the aid of the electrician and the dainty II rt of the costumier. The story of tho ballet is simplicity i elf, merely the bleep of nn adventurous young forester and his introduction to the inhabitants of the wood, but it serves at a peg upon which to hang original dancf .\ the most ingenious groupings, and hundreds of ravishing tints. Madame Lanner's children are now quite an institution, and their grace and cnarm and obvious love for their work on Wednesday night called forth the customary confessions of admiration and delight." TIIK NATIONAL (JALLKRY. A distinguished authority, Mr. Ruskin, says that the National (iallery is, for the purposes of the general student, the most important collection of paintings in Kurope. The tJullery was instituted in 1824 and has been steadily growing ever ftince. 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 Mad- onna" — having cost 1^350,000. 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. Tui-ner's pictures alone, liiling a large room, cannot be ex- amined in less than an hour. No two visitors to the National Galle._,' would select the same pictures for speci il mention. The following are those that held my attention longest : — "The Graces decorating a Statue of Hymen" by Joshua Reynolds — theCiraces being represented by three beautiful daughters of an English nobleman of the day. — " The Earl of Chatham's Last Speeen " by Copley, representing a scene that took place in the House of Lords in 1778, when Chatnam after a great speech sank down in an apoplectic fit. — " 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. — "C;hilde Ha.cld'8 Pilgrimairfi " by Turner, representing a composite Italian scene, —a very paradise of loveliness. — " Tl J Maid and the Magpie " by Land- seer, of delicatij design and flandng color. " The Preaching of John Knox " by Wilkie — a 8cen*» in the parish church at St. Andrew's before the angry preliUts and nobles of Scotland. — •' An Ecjuestrian Portrait of Charles 1 " by Van Uyck, one of the most btriking of the F'lenjish "^ictures. — " Heads of Angels " by Reynolds, the printed copies of which give no sugges- tion of the richness of the original. — "The Rape of tlieSabiiiee'' by Rubena, one of the boldest of the clar.aical pictures, having a touch of grosaness about it. — " The Judgment of Paris," also by Rubens, displaying much of his sensuous realism. — " Lord Byron's Dream" by Esstlake, illustrating Byron's wonderful poem, "The Dream."— " A Distinguished Member of tlse Humane Society " by Landseer, — a large Newfoundland dog with human pathos in his eyes. But my list is longenougb. A descrip- tive catalogue of gj eat pictures by gro'it artists must be very uninviting in the absence ot the glow of colors, the mys- teries of light and shade, and the magiciil 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 yon have a spare hour at your disposal, and wander among its booka and its various ollections : 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 seethe British Museum, he says, take lodgings next door to it and pass all your days at the museum during the whole periul of your natural life : at threescore and ten you will have some faint concep- tion of the contents, significance, and value of thisgreat British institution. The same writer says : " There is one lesson to be got from a short visit to the British Museum, — namely, the fathondess abyss of our own ignorance : one is crushed by the vastnessof the treasures in the library and the collections of this univeree of knowledge." I am not going to take my readers through the Egyptian, Assyrian, or Etrus- Over the Sea. 25 can rooms of this wonderful place, nor must I ask them to follow me throuj^h the (J reek and Roman Rooms, where I wan dered for two hours. The Kind's Library, with its 65,()00 volumes donated by George IV, must prove very interesting to all viuitors. The Manuscript Saloon is to nie the most interesting quarter of the Mus- erim. It contains aat')graph letters of all the English sovereigns from Richard 11. to Victoria and of nearly all the great literary men of England and I'rance. 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 flesh have moved. A few 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 extiacta in printed books, and so they will he new to most of my readers. A letter from Cromwell to his wife be- gins : "My Deerest, I praise the Lord I am encreasud in strength in my outward Man." Shelley to MissCurran : "My dear Miss (/urran— I ought to have written to you some time ago, but my ill spirits and ill health has forever furnished me with aii excuse for delaying till to-morrow. I fear that you still continue too capable of just- ly estimating my apology." Dickens to a Friend the day before his own death, on being invited to a feast, writes : "These violent delights often have violent ends." Browning to a Friend (Nov. 1868) : "I can have little doubt but that my writing has been, in the main, too hard for many, but I never designedly tried to puzzle people. I never pretended to offer a sub- stitute 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 op- portunity of a Frank" (! !). Lamb to a Friend : "Since I saw you I have been in France and have paten frogs —the nicest little rabbity things I ever tasted. " Pope : " This letter, Dear Sir, will be extremely laconic." Voltaire, (written at Geneva in good English by himself)— "Had I notfixed the seat of my retreat in the free corner of (ieneva, I vould certainly live in the free Kingdom oj England." Nelson t j Lady Hamilton (his last letter on the eve of Trafalgar) : at the end of the letter are these words in Lady Hamil- ton's handwriting — " Oh, miserable, wretched Emma— Oh, glorious and happy Nelson." SOUTH KENFINdTON MlTSKtlM. 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 won- ders of all kinds can be found nowhere out of London. I can here only indicate very briefly a few ot the objects that im- pressed me most. The Raphael Gallery contains the cele- brated Raphael cartoons, drawn in chalk on strong paper. These cartoons, twelve feet in height, were originally drawn 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 worksby Turner, Landseer, Wilkie, Leslie, Constable, Mul- ready, and other great artists. Fully twenty of Landseer's tinest works are in this coUec^^iou. The Jones collection is the richest room in the museum. It contains paintings, furniture, sculpture, bronzes, enamelled miniatures, and many curiosities of histori- cal interest, all bequeathed to the museuui by Mr. Jones, of Piccadilly, eight years ago. The Dyce collection consists of oil paint- ings, miniatures, engravings, valuable manuscripts, and a costly library, all be- queathed to the museum by the eminent Shakespeare scholar whose name the room bears. The Forster collection is the gifu of Forster, the biographer of Dickens. It contains the original MSS. of nearly all of the novels of uickens. This room is very rich in valuable autographs and manu- scripts. An antique chair and desk, oi;ce the property of Oliver Goldsmith, are de- posited here. I have in my note-book, i.tany interesting quotation^ from manu- script letters exposed to view in the For- ster Room, but I fear that I should weary my readers if I were to prolong this paper. On leaving this famous Museum, I felt that I had attenipted to see altogether too ^ I \ It 26 Over the Sea. nil li'i ;ll?^ much iu a tew honrn. If it is little short of mockery to try to see so much in so short a time, how futile it is to try to con- vey to others an adequate con*^ T)tion of the contents of this vast repoi,itory of human art. Bighth Paper. LONDON LIFK, "Dim miles of smoke behind— l look before, Throuji^M looming curtains of November rain, Till eyes and ears are weary with the strain ; Amid the K^ate 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 wreoks of thy disdain ; A thousand hearts have learnt to love no more. Over thy gleaming bridges, on the street That ebbs and flows l)eneath the silent dome. Life's puNe is throbbing at a fever heut. City of cities— battle-field and home Of England's greatest, greatly wear their spoils, Thou front and emblem of an Empirt's toils." London is a microcosm, — a little W4>rld in itself, and that not only on account of its size but also becavise 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 and in- dustries and professions. Here stHn(i side by side gorgeous palaces and lofty teinples, filthy hovels and sinks of iniquity. No man knows London. Many who ha\^ 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 floors and worked at the same tasks as these toilers who will soon make way for a new generation. Theso hereditary slaves of labv-'i" know less of London than the visitor of a week. But how little knows the flitting visitor who has time only to see a few of the public 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, Hie various phases of life in this interminable and labyrin- thine London would be a tasK of a lifetime ; nay rather, to us" a hyperbole from serip- turo, "if they should be written every one, I suppose that even the world itself could not contain the books that should be writ- ten." All that can be done, then, by one who has been able to take but a hasty and partial view of London life is to re- fer to a few salient features. RICH AND VOOR. The very first thing that strikes the stranger as he takes his first atroU along the Strand and Fleet Street is the appal- ling lict that hundreds of his fellow creatures are in desperate need of u penny ! The ragged raiment and the pinched faces and tne 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 revelii- tion of degradation and woe has been fully realized, you impatiently exclaim, "How in the name of humanity can such 8(,cial disorders prevail in this city of light and leading ?" The problem presses on you for solution and political economy closed your mouth with this grim reply : As the laws of prrgressivc civilization tind their highest exprestiion in London, so do the laws of political science which uecepsarily throw into the hands of the rich the power of making customs and laws, and thus the rich must grow richer and the poor poorer and we must here expect to dnd men divided into the widest extremes of social condition — fal)ulous wealth and incredible penury : — in economics as in ethics to him tliat liatii shall be given, and from him that hath not shall be taken even that which he bath. Whether this «8 true political economy or the ihaxorable logic of human selHsliness will soon be determined, it is hoped. But if there is fault^on the side of the rich, there isfolly on the s'de of the poor. With nioth-lik'" fatuity the poor of iij cinders crooninjf. See the father in despair, Seethp dautfhterin consumption— she is swooning From the foulness of the air. Hear the coughing and the crying and the groan- ing, With the hare boards for a bed. Get tiie iieartache with their miserable moaning, ' Give us liread ! oh, give us brea J !'" And cannot the wisdom and wealth of humanity answer that reasonable cry ? In a thousand garners there is food in abundance and to spare. What bold spirit will open the doors and let the poor fliick in, and the mouths of the (iying be HI led? Even now a clear strong voice rings out on the English air and is reverberating around the world. A startling manifesto is the new book jupt issued by General Hooth, — "In Darkest England, and the Way Out." The passionate earnestness of the aged philanthropist has already ar- rested the attention of bishops and prijces and statesmen, and it is now pretty certain that the times are ripe for chis new gospel of hope and healing. May the sanguine utterance of one of our re- views be realized : "This will be the most tipochmaking book that the world has seen i'or many a lon^ day. Our children and our children's children will not see the end of the chain of tranpforming influ ences that will be set in motion this No- vember. " STREET LIFE. What inexhaustible food for meditation do London streets afford ! What count- less roads and alleys and lanes and courts, and every one with its distinctive charac- teristics ! The narrow limits of this paper will allow me to refer only to two types of streets,— such a crowded thor- oughfare as the Strand, and such alleys as those that lead into Urury Lane. If you take a position on the West Strand just where it enters Charing Cross at about five o'clock of a July afternoon you will see in half an- hour enough tor a week's reflections. Westward the main stream of traffic now flows. There rushes the well dressed merchant to catch the 'bus that is to carry him homeward. Past you file a dozen men with placards on their backs announcing the attractions of some play or the bill of-fare of some popular restaurant. The newsboy shouts in musical cadence the names of the papers on his arm. The match-seller torments you till you give him a penny to have him march on. The flower-girl with her wilt- ing bouquets approaches you in a tone dreadfully pathetic and her ragged shawl and bonnetless head appeal successfully for twopence. On flows the never ending stream of pedestrians. All conditions and varieties of humanity surge along, every individual member of the jostling throng careful for himself but ignorant of and careless of all others. But it is time to move on yourself when the policemen begin to regard you with suspicion because you stand and gaze. By way o* contrast suppose you look into such ((uarters of poverty as abound ia the swarming alleys off Drury Lane. "Shoals of children of all ages (I quote from a recent magazine article) encumber- ing the road-way, careless of carriage wheels, for no vehiclb ever enters here except the huckster's cart or the parish hearse ; frowsy, sodden, beer-souked faces of women thrust out at the windows, cursing their brats who cry out in the dirt below ; sauntering men who look at you, if you are decently dressed, as if your personal safety were a wrong and injustice to them ; young girls, filthy, slatternly, leering, ieering, and ogling, imagination can readily conceive what for. Men do not grow to manhood in such slu mn and sunless ways, or women to virtue or dig- nity. All is squalor and filth and utter degradation of the divine image." The most pitiable sight under God's stars may be seen any night on almost ^ ! ii 28 Over the Sen. ii n«! any crowded thoroughfa»'e of London. Look at that wretched woman with the infant on hei' anna. Her meagre form is closely wrapped in her tattered shawl. She begs a lew pence from you as you hastily pass. You turn and see the scalding tears fall thick and fast down her pale face. The child, cold and hungry, adds its half-stifled wails to the moans of the wretched mother as she sinks down with her living burden on a chill, damp, cheerless dorrstep. What a fearful tale of want and neglect and abuse she could tell ! Disease and hunger and cold will soon do their cruel work, and mother or child or both will know these scenes no more forever. If one wishes :o get pietuiesque views of London streets and street life let him mount the spiral staircase at the back of an omnibus and take a seat on the top of the vehicle. How fresh the air np there and how exhilarating the prospect ! You are lifted up above the pressing claims of beggars and hucksters and out of the pushing crowd and the risks of pedestrians. You are free to gazt without interruption, and the rattling pace of the horses raises your spirits to a sense of actual pleasure. At first you are rather nervous at the apparent recklessness with which your driver whisks you past the vehicles he meets, an interval of only an inch or two saving you from collision. But you soon put full confidence in the wonderful skill of these London drivers. Perhaps the most enjoyable ride one can have in an omnibus is from the centre of London to one of the suburbs and back again after nightfall when the streets are brilliantly lighted and the pavements are crov.^ed. The perspective of Oxford Street or Pic- cadilly is very impressive. The two rows of shining lumps "Stretch on and on before the ai^jht, Till the long vista endlesd seems." THE PARKS. The Parks have been called " The Lnngs of London." Hyde Park, Regent's Park, Victoria Park, Battersea Park, St. James' Park, Green Park, together cover over 1600 acres right in the midst of the great city. To these parks flock every day thousands and thousands of women, children, and old men, to enjoy an hour in the fresh air away from the din and dust and smoke. Regent's Park, the largest of the metropolitan parks, will serve as a type of all. Its artiticial lake, its extciisive flower-gardens, its green shrubberies, its natural undulations, make it a resort of unsurpassed beauty. Visiting it at ten o'clock on the morning of Aug. Ist last, I saw an animated scene. Rowers were moving over the lake in their light boats, snow-white swans cwimmingaway from them as they passed. Crowds of joyous beys we^e playing cricket or chrowing bail on every side. Well-dressed little girls were trundling hoops under the eyes of their nurses. Promenaders with easy gait went up and down the broad walk. Loiterers innumerable reclined on grassy slopes or sat on chairs and bene' es drinking in with keen gusto the sweet, pure air. Amid all this satisfying liveliness and beauty, however, were some distracting elements to which I could not close my eyes. The prevailing animation had its disagreeable contrast in snoring debauchees and wretched women fron> whose haggard faces had long since vanished the bloom of health and the happy glow of innocence. THE CHURCHES. I have already spoken of the two most famous of London churches, St. Paul's Cathedral and Westminster Abbey, but not as places of public worship. To them I was drawn not by preacher's voice, nor holy hymns, nor pealing organ. I wish now to speak of two London cluirches from a different point of view, — that of a listener to an earnest pulpit message. On Sunday morning, July 27th, I made my way to Newington Butts to hear Spu-geon. I was ushered to a good seat in full view of the famous preacher. Six thousand weary sculs followed the reading of the chapter and were thrilled by the waves of multitudinous song. When the speaker arose and announced his theme, —"Will a man rob God?"— I knew by the sternness of his face and the rasping fierceness of his voice that I had come to the wrong place in my loneliness for the gospel of hope and good cheer. For nearly an hour the doctrine of Hre-and- brimstone vengeance was thundered forth in stentorian tones with all the vividness and V- -or of eighteenth- century bigotry. The listening thousands were awed into a sort of acquiescence, as crowds usually are. ■ ''■'^ II W j ^p Over thfi Sen. 29 |)y the very boldneas and brilliancy of the orator. I t>aw the secret of the man's wonderful power, but I lamented the ,.piM»rtiinity he had lost. What words of comfort in that hour he could have spoken ! To how many wounded hearts he could have applieu a blessed balm ! With what an inspiration ^or toil and effort ho could have sent away that vast congregation ! As it was, they came for nourishing bread and he gave them a cold, hard stone. I visited a week later another church, called, 1 think, " Bloomsbury Chapel." Theie 1 heard a Rernion of a very differ- ent character. The preacher was a man whom I had learned to respect and admire or. account of his ripe acliolarship : hence- forth I shall love him on account of his hiirniiinty. Stopford Brooke cannot draw as many hundreds as Spurgeon does tlious.mds, for his discourses are in advance of the age and breathe the mellow spirit of the twentieth century. The H'.Tnion of that happy Sabbath I shall ever renieinher with grateful satisfaction. It was based on the passage describing the triumph of Moses over Pharaoh. With full, rich voice, in prophetic tones of iiiiirvellous power, he foretold in happy confidence the certain ovei throw of all the Phfiniohs of these modern days,- -the political Pharaohs, the social Pharaohs, tl)t' ecclesiastical Pharaohs, the Pharaohs of false and tyrannical ideas in every sphere of human thought. As I listened to the splendid peroration of that earnest unibassador of Uod and saw his handsome face lit up with supernal j{lory, I wished that the oppressed myriads of groaning London could have heard that hopeful gospel, and I paw with clearer vision the slowly approciching millenium of our race. HOME LIFE. I had intended in this paper to intro- duce my readers to several varieties of London homes, but I have already taxed their attention to the v^i-q^ of weariness. I cannot, however, dismiss thi.-» subject without adverting to one happy home in the northwest of London into which I gained entrartce by being provided with the "open sesame" of a friend's kind letter of introduction. The evening of Sunday, August 3rd, will not soon fade from my memories of old London, Those three hours of home in a foreign land had a fragrance and an unction not here to be described. 1 see the happy faces gathered about the supper table which has been placed on the green lawn in the rear of the houde. I hear the prayers and hymns of praise which later in the evening ascend to heaven from the family worshipping in the cosy parlor. I cherish the last ex- pressions on the faces of six interesting children as they one by one go off to their Sabbath-night rest. I had seen so much woe and misery in the week preced- ing and had been so worn with the din and clatter ol the roaring streets that the (juiet of suburban "Woodstock" was a solace and nepenthe. I had bee-i long enough away from my own weste.o home far over the sea to value keenly the warm hospitality of this snug English home. Ninth Paper. STR.\TKOKr>-ON-AVON. After ten days of sighc-seeing in London I began to long for a sight of fresh fields and for a whiff of country air. I knew of one country town in England whose rural charms are enhanced by the traditions that cluster about an illustrious name, — a ti)wn to which for nearly three centuries have flocked pilgrims from evtry quarter of the globe. With much buoyancy of spirits, therefore, I stepped into the rail- way-coach at Paddington Station, in the afternoon of Aug. flth, for a three hours' ride to the birth-place of the immortal Shakespeare. A succession of happy circumstances conspired to make my visit to Stratford one of unalloyed pleasure. I was glad to exchanke the monotonous and intermin- able din of London for Arcadian peace, and the distressing sights of the city's want and woe for theabundance and com- fort of a pastoral retreat. The day I had chosen for my visit to the licerary Mecca of the world was an ideal English day, with mellow sunlight and balmy air. All the glories of midsummer were at their height, and more and more beautiful grew the landscapes as the train sped past old Oxford towards the central county of "This sceptred isle, This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, This other Eden, deini-fradise." 30 Over ty Sea. and neat Au- Tho very pasaenccrs in the railway- coach after we left VVarwick seemed under the influence of some subtle Hpell and were as silent as mummies. My fancy that they were thinking of Shakespeare was soon dispelled by their leaving the coach, one by one, before the train reached Stratford, and I was left to wonder whether any of them had ever read a play of Shakespeare. To tell the truth, I was glad to be left alone to my reflections as I approached the birth-place of the "Bard of Avon." Alone I rode in the 'bus to the " Shakespeare" and was ushered to a room over whose portal I read the word "Cymbeline," every room in the hotel having a Shakespearean name. Alone, after a delicious supper in the home-like hostelry, I took a stroll into the country. It was "a beauteous evening, calm and free." What a place for dreamers lotus-eaters are the environs of ^his Warwickshire town at eventide in gust ! These tidy footpaths and clean highways, — these trim hawthorn hedges, — these ancient elms and drooping chest- nuts,— these lazy kiiie and silent sheep, — these meadows yellow with ripening corn or richly green with lush inviting grass, — this sleeping and noiseless river with its hallowed associations, — yon distant town with its gray old church, — the overarch- ing sky with a brilliancy and depth of hue suggestive of what one reads of Italy, — the broad sun setting in celestial tran- quillity, — all combine to form a natural picture of such transcendent loveliness that one can appreciate the swan-song of the dying (^aunt he styles England a "demi paradise As I returned from an hour's saunter Into the country and wandered through the meadows on the bank of the Avon opposite the ancient church where lie the mortal remains of "gentle Skakespeare," I was overcome by a mood quite unlike anything which any other spot on earth had ever engendered. I was affected by a novel combination of strange influ- ences, — by the golden glow of the sum- nier gloaming, by the magic of poetry that lighted up the landscape with the hues of the rainbow, — by the overmaster- ing personality of thegreatestmind that the fertile soil of Britain has produced. As I strolled alone by 'Avon's pensive stream,' looking again and again toward the little church where the poet lies buried, I felt rapturous in which full force of those written by yoaiig Shake. with exultation the appreciative lines Milton only fourteen yer.iA aftf speare's de.ith : "What needH my Shnkcapcare for hia honored boiieH The labr)r of an ane in piled HtoneH 1 Or that hiH hallowed reli(|uet« Hliould he hid Under ii starjpointinjf pyniniidV Deni- Hon of Memory ! ^reat heir of Fame ! Wimtneed'st thou Buch weak virtues of thy name V Thou ill our wonder and astonishment, Host built thyself a live-lonff monument." As I returned from the meadows to the town I could not fail to hear the piping of birds with r ifamiliur noten, to see the graceful sw^^ns idly floating down tiie stream, to notice the picturesque reflec- tions of grassy banks and ivied wjUIs on the still surface of the lucid river. Cross- ing the fine old stone bridge of fourteen arches built in the time of Henry VII. I passed the ancient hostelry of the Red Hr)rse which Washington Irving has made for ever famous. My even;. jg walk I now felt had put me in touch with the spirit of the place, and I was fittingly pre- pared to visit on the morrow the many centres of interest in the town and viisin- ity. Stratford is a small town of only 8000 inhabitants. It has nothing in it of im- portance but the places that are associa- ted with the name of the great dramati-st. Stratford is Shakespeare and Shakespeare is Stratford. Here the great poet was born and educatnd : here he passed much of his early life and his later years : here he died audwas buried. Everywhere here, then, one sees and hears and feels Shake- speare. Tliere is no distraction as in Lou don with its thousand points of interest. Here every street has some tradition to tell of Shakespeare, — every ancient build- ing recalls some epoch or incident in his chequeied career. As you visit one place of note after another, beginning with his birthp'ace and ending with the church where he lies in dust, you feel more and more a unity of interest and impression quice dramatic. Shakespeare's birthplace stands on Henley St. not far from the market. The old building has been restored more than once and so has not a very antique ap- pearance, on the outside at least. After you enter the house, however, your thoughts are quickly carried back to re- Over the Sea. SI Mi ', your to re- mote days by the quaintness of everything you see. The phiin old kitchen with ita heavily timbered ceiling, its brolcen stone tioor, and its wide open fire-place, soon surrounds you with the associations of three centuries ago. Over this rough floor the infant poet has toddled and romped. Here first " Imperfect words, ■f/\i\\ childish trips, Half unpronounced, slid throu|;h his infant lips." By this desolate hearth, once warm with blazing logs and encircled by happy faces, Mary Arden used to sing to her open- eyed boy soft snatches of Warwickshire ballads or tell him ghostly tales of fascin- ating tolk-lore. The visitor is next conducted to the room upstairs where Shakespeare was born. As you enter the room you notice the low ceiling, kept at one end from fall- ing by iron supports, — the massive timber framework at the sides grown smooth and lustrous with time, — the long low window opposite the door,— the open fire-place, — the rough old floor of oak. You cannot fail to see, too, over the fire-place and on every inch of plaster the names, in pencil, of all sorts and conditions of men ; but the old lady who guides you through the rooms will allow no more in- discriminate scribbling. In a room across the hall— you need to bend your head to enter the low doorway — is kept in a fire-proof case the celebrat- ed "Stratford portrait" of Shakespeare. From six o'clock in the evening until nine o'clock in the morning the heavy iron doors of the little room are closed secure- ly to save from all chance of destruction this invaluable picture. Before leaving the building you are directed to a room that serves as a Museum and Library where are collected many odds and ends of antiquarian in- terest. There is the hacked and dilapi- dated desk from the Grammar School over which the future dramatist acquired his "lictle Latin and less (rreek." There is the signboard of the old Falcon Inn. There are many portraits of the poet, and many early editions of his works. One cannot leave the old birthplace and walk down Henley Street and thence down High Street towards the old Gram- mar School without recalling the poet's own description of "The whininjf sfhool-boy, with bin satchel And Hhininx inorninif face crecpintr like snail Unwillingly to sfhool." liut perhaps the boy-poet wa« never of this type. Another English bard has pictured the youthful Shakespeare stretching forth his little arms to the mighty mother of poesy as she hands him the symbols of his art ; "This pencil take (she said), whose colors clear Hi(!hly paint the vernal vear : Thine too these Kolden Keys, immortal Uoy ! This can unlock the (^ates of .loy ; Of Horror that, and thrillini; Fears, Or ope the sacred source of sympathetic tears." One of my pleasantest memories of Stratford will ever be my forenoon walk across the fields, a mile or so through a characteristic bitof English rustic scenery, to the hamlet of Shottery and Anne Hath- ttway's cottage where the poet courted and won his beautiful wife and where he lived with her till he went up to London. Peaceful is Stratford, but serenely quiet is this beautiful rural spoc. The cottage is very old and remains almost as it must have appeared in the daysof Shakespeare. Like so many British cottages it is quite long and roofed with thatch. Pretty vine'-: and blossoms cover the walls. Elm and walnut trees stand behind the cot- tage. At one side is an old-fashioned flower-garden from which I was priv- ileged to bring away, by the grace of the lady in charge, a sprig of sweet jessamine and another of lavender whose faded yellow and blue-gray blooms lie before me as 1 write. The room of chief interest in the cottage is the old parlour. It 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 decaying 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 hover from the distant past so many fragrant odors of love and court- ship? This antique thatch -covered coun- try cottage has been an enduring love- lyric to twelve generations of English youths and maidens. i U i\ '■ I 32 Over the. Sen, f ^ii (i;i! Making my wny back to tho town I piiHHcd the (iiiild Chapel, Imilt in tlie rei^n of Henry VII by the Hume Sir Hugh Clopton who erected the old bridge over tlie river. Tiie boll of the old chupel : still ringB the curfew in aumnuT nt ten i o'clock. Opposite to the (Jhivpel in New j Place, the houae to which HhakeHpenre i returned from London in 1597, and where | he died in UilU. j Pausing down Church Street and through Old Town I visited lust of all the beautiful church of the Holy Trinity. I inspected the parish register and saw the entry recording the baptism of Shaku- npeare on the 26th of April, 15(14, presum- ably three d^iys after his birth. I must not attempt a description of the many interesting things in this o'd (iothic churcih,— as old in many parts as the fourteenth century. 'Po visitors the chuncel, of course, is the most interesting part of the church. Here are the grave and the monumental bust of Shakespeare, The bust, which is life-size, is painted in natural colors, the hair and beard auburn ai.d 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 hun- dred and fifty years this face of stone has gazed day by day on curious pilgrims — an innumerable train from every land. The following is the inscription beneath the bust : IvniClO PVLIV.M (?.\M11RI1)<1K. "Yo sacred Nurseries of blooming Youth ! Id wliose eoliegiutJ! .shelter Kngland s Flowers I'lxpaiid, enjoying through their vernal hours The uirof liberty, the light of truth ; .Much hove ye H\iffered from Tirr.e's gnawing tooth : Yet, () ye spires of Oxford ! domes and towers I (Jardens and groves I your presence nveipowers The soberness of reason, till, in jooth, Trunsfornie-hrnbs you catch glimpses of the fine old buildings and the placiid river with its antiijue bridtres. As I sat on a rustic seat beneath iMie of the ancient tiees on that calm summer evening and thoiiglii of the many generations of men of nii^;lit and light that had strolled through these scenes of mati;hles8 beauty aiul had diiink deep draughts of inspiration as they rest- ed and meditateil here, I felt that in a very real sense the spirits of departed in- tellect and genius haunt still these favoied spots and confer on every succeeding gcnciation of English youths the glorious birthright of their undying influence My morning walk of August 9th led me lo the oldest and to the newest cfdlege in Cambridge. Peterhouse is the most; an- cient among the collegiate foumlations of Cambridge, and indeed some parts of the present structure date back HOO years. No visitor should fail to see the beautiful chapel ot Peterhouse with its richly carved interior and its very remarkable windows. It was to this college that the poet (iray belonged and from here, it will be remem- bered, he was driven by the pranks of his mm ■■ppn i U-nm imn imuvia Ovrr tin* Sen. .Ui felldWcollc^iiinH liiid a Bt'Dnitivo diapoHit- i(iri. Tlu! newest L*nlle^o in C'dnil>riil^» jh Nt'wnlniiii, — the folU'j{«' for woinrii. TIiIh cwlN'go (lotiHifita of thi'Uf l)l(i(:kH of biiild- itijjM in lh«* soutH west corniT ofthocity, — Old Fliill opened under the ciire of Nliua Cliiii^li, a MJHter of the poet, in lH7r>,- - Siilgwiclt Hull, named after l*rofenHor Sid^'wick, the Hrat jironioter of the C-'ani- iiridge lA'ctiireH for wonit'ii, and (Jlon^h Had, named after the I'rineipal of Newn ham. MiMM (.lon^h haH been connected with the (/'oUe^e from its inception, und cv.'ii h( fore the opeiiinj^ of Old Hall she ti)'>k liaige of a houae in ('aird)ridge, hav- hiK originally under her care only five HtiidentH. To hei' the girlH if Kngland owe i deep debt (»f thi.inUi for having first d.ired "T" leap the rotten |>i\les of prejiulice, l»is>oke their neckw from ciiMtoin, and aHHert None lordlier ihiiii thenmelveH." Th^- virion of the I'oet Laureate in "The l*r jess", stripped of its fine fancies, i-lit ing realized in thcHe halls of Newidiam, and in (iirton, another college for women just out of (/'ar hridge. The strict statutes of the visionary college of the poet — "Not for three yeara to eorrespond with home, iN>)t for three yearn to cross the lilx'rtieM, Not for thre'' yvi\.v> to speal< witii any men" — liiiv'c no place, it is true, in the arrange- ments of Newnham and (Jirton. Not only (1(1 the fair Htndents speak with the men on pro|)er occasions, but since the Uinversity of Cambridge in 1881 opened its Tripos and Previous Examinations to them, they ha>emet the men on ecjual terms in the examinations of the Univer- sity and have opened the eyes of Eng- land to the fact that Heaven has not put one Hex under the ban of mental dis- aiiilitiea. When on the 7th of lat-t June in the Senate House of Cambrid|." University the iianie of Philippa (iarreit Fawcett, of Newnham College, was read out in the Class List of the mathematical Tripos, prefaced by the words "above the Senior VV rangier," the death-blow was tinally given to the long-lived notion that intellectual limitations make woman the lesser man. Bleverth Paper. TKNNYHON LAND. My last few days in Kngland v;ere (L<- voted mainly to a single object. I had visited the homes and haunts of three de- parted poets, of Hums, of Scott, und of Shakespeare. To a living bard, the great- est of the present century, if not the sweetest singer of all times, I tlireeted my attention for three short days, as a fitting (■on.lnsion of my haf)py summer ramblea. My visit to the land of Tennyson was in many respects my mo«t delightful experi- ence in Britain. It was a fort of explora- tion. Of this region the guide-books tell you not a word, and hither the great army of tourists bus not yet begun to march. In visiting the other three centres of literary interest my enjoyment had often been less-ned and my redectiona had often been deadened by blatant voicea and /ulgar commenta. On thia three daye, jaunt tliiough Tennyson f^and not oni; tourist crossc^d my path, and only twice did I hear the great name uttered. Th's interesting district, through all its woods and hilts and streams and fields, its lonely roads and rustic hamlets, its windy l)eache8 and prospects of blue se.v, will be invaded, before this century ends, Ity pilgrims from many lands. I owe it to the interes'ting book of Mr. Walters, published at the begininng of the present year, that 1 have enjoyed the rare privil- ege of viewing these poetic haunts in the lifetime of the poet, and before the traces of the poet'is footsteps have been profaned by tho noisy multitude. It was this volume on the Land of Ter.nyson that kindled my interest in Lincolnshire scenes and turned my gnze in that direction. 'I'hia book was my I'a-.li'-mi'cum during my three days' excursion, and to it I shall have recourse more than ..(uce in the writing of these closing papers. LINCOLN. Leaving ("ambridge on Saturday, the 9th of August, I proceeded by way of Ely to Lincoln. As the train drew near the ancient city the triple-towered cathedral loomed up in massive boldness. This cathedral, one of the very finest in Eng- land, crowns the summit of a steep hill and overlooks the straggling, narrow streets. My wearisome ascent of the il ' yi I (I TL f«r-^swww:r li );,!i se Oyer tlif SfAi. long, crooked utrcot that IoucIh to tlienitli- tfdrul WiiH rewarded by an anhitecturnl ' view more iiitprfHHive than any I had ever j lieforu Hcen. If the exterior of the ni.i^ j niticvnt church in grand beyond den \ criiition, what nhall I aay of the wontlem i and the inyhterleH of the awful Interior ? Neither pen Hketch nor picture can pro- duce a tithe of the reverence and awe that Heize the beholder on enterinu thiu niajeatic temple. Lincoln cathedral waH probably the HrHt church of note that Tennyaon ever t and flaming de signs as nniny scriptural «>ul)jects. My visit to these two splendid churches of York and Lincoln greatly increased my respect and admiration for the artistic fenius and consummate taste of our iUglish forefathers. There were indeed ^(iants in the days when those massive structures were erected. And what sublime faith and patience were exhibited iu 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 emblazoned windows three-score feet above the pavement are as finely finished as if on a level with the eye of the beholder, The »i,..iies of the gigantic walls are every- where tittetl H) nil el V together that the eye can with ditliculty diHcern the lino of junctiiin. Lincoln has many other attiatttioim besideH itii tine cathedral, but 1 neglericd them all to pioaecute my special piirHnit. I have nov\ lirought my readers to tlic outskirtf of Tennyhon Land. Let uh enter the interesting region. LOI'TII. Louth is a small town between Lincoln and the sex. W'hi-n Tennyfim was a boy the (iiammar School at Louth wuh the principal educational instituiion in tlie county, and at this schoid in turn seven aouMof Dr. Teiinysiiii, Kector of .SomeiKJiy, weie pupils, — Frederick, (/"harles, Aifnd, Kihvaro<)ti(; erMotioiiH firnt took Mhanu ill jiivvnilu vera«. Ah I wulktxl down tnu imrrow Htonu paxed ullvv tuljoiiiing VVvhI- ^itto IMaco, and HtooJ on th» hri()>{0 croiiMin({ the tiny river Lur of Na- ture and drawn with the ear, in fact, n which he was appointed as Poet Laureate, — at the age of forty-one, he married Emily Sellwood, the daughter of a Horn- castle lawyer, and the niece of Sir John Ftanklin (born at the neighbouring village of Spilsby). Emily Sellwood, now Lady Tennyson, has had her memory embalmed in more than one of her husband's poems. She is the "Edith'' of "Locksley Hall Sixty Years After." To her he wrote from Edinburgh the poem, "The Dai.sy," beginning "O Love, what hours were thine and mine, In lands of palui and southern pine." She is also honored in that swcjt dedication : "Dear, near, and true,— no truer Time himself Can prove you, tho' he make you evermore Dearer and nearer." SOMKJISBY. Tuesday, August 12th, was to me a day of exquisite enjoyment. I set out alone in the morning from Horncastle to make my way on foot to Somersby, Tennyson's birthplace, six miles north-east. In the early part of my walk I met many farmers bringing in their fine-looking ho«-ses to be sold to foreign buyers an:l carried to all parts of England and the continent. I caught many a phrase from the passers by that rendnded me of the quaint dialect of "The Northern Farmer. ' These farmers MH ^K^^" ****^ffwp^r^ffli 'THP^^Sff^'^^flPT^Jf r7"»-vrwL^^**TT'T^,i"'^'"!^ ■^r'^'if^vf ^Wf'iT-J »>T"TrwTi.-«;".«iT-'^.fTT ■. ■ f=T. T ■ -— PT^i^ V ,. ^yjjj^-j-r^^ Over the Sea. 39 the largest ' the largest >'>y ';08t, »y dealers cconitnoda- was taxed ' ol)lii,'e(i to 'he Hull" to ! house, lies distant iiid it Was e member Butly ''anie er. Many e century, his home iiiipossihle •gely these HV'jled the Over the. Sfi(t. !!f and men may go the melodious brook will go on for ever singing through the sweet meadows of the poet's song. I am ufrHul to tell how long 1 sat on tlie grassy bank listening to the wonderful music of the gleeful rivulet. Nor will I own bow oiten since that August day I have come ngaiii under the irresistible spell of the brook. Almost within sound of the brook is the hamlet of Someraby, inhabited by two- score simple old-world pe< pie. '"id yonder on the right is the p .'t^ •. mte house where the Laureate was born. It is a curious tile-covered house cosily situ- ated in an ideal environment. It nestles among the trees, and before it is a beauti- ful lawn separated fron) the public road by the holly hedge planted by old Dr Tennyson A'hen tiie poet was a child. The house was the Rectory ot the parish for nearly a hundred years, but the pres ent 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 chief 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 Hallani "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 Hallvim'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 popt plied th-j "sad mechanic exercise" of writing verse to soothe his restless heart and brain. Adjoining the birthplace of the poet, and partiti(jned from it by a row of trees is "The Moated Grange," with which all readers of Tennyson have become familiar in the sad lyric of "Mariana." It is a de- solate looking place and a fit abode for the forlorn maiden who cried ; her despair : "I am aweary, awciv.y, I would that I were dead." The Grange is interesting because of its connection with another of Tennyson's poems. The old house is the reputed resi- dence of John Bauml^r, the Northern iRBMBa Farmer. In the churchyard opposite I read the names of many Raumbeis, that being the conmuinest name on the tomb stones. The only other structure of interest in Somersby is the little chnrch 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 I4lh 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 inlerim of the church is uninviting. The rough pews would seat about forty worshipperM ; the pulpit in the corner is small and mean : the windows that pierce the walls at irregular distances have been made at vaiious times and are of different shapes and sizes. The "cold baptismal font" in the rear calls up such dismal memories ,.r the past that the visitor is glad to escape from the clammy, sickly air. ! In a conspicuous place in front of tlie ! church is seen the tombstone erected ovtM the grave of Dr. Tennyson, Theepitapli i r''ns as follows : i TO THE MEMORY t OK ' r (. KN^ GEO. CLAYTON TENNYSON, LI.. 1)., I'^r STSON OK OKOROK TKNNYSOS, KSg., KECrOR OF THIS PARISH, WHO DEPARTED THIS LIKE ON TIIK ICtii day of march, 1831, AHRO f)'2 YKARS. ] When, a few years after the father's \ dpa<,n, the Tennysons departed from Som- ersby "to live within the stranger's land" we hear a minor chord in the great me- morial elegy sounding thus : "Our father's dust is left alone I And silent under other snows : ' There in due time the woodl)ine blows, The violet comes, hut we are ffone." ! About a furlong beyond Somersby Church is one of the prettiest spots this dull old earth can show, — "Holywell Glen :" "Here are cool mosses deep, And throujfh ihe moss the ivies creep, And in tht, «tream the lorijj-leaved flowers weep, And from tiie ragfjr.v ledj^e the poppy lian^fs in sleep." It is a wild, romantic spot, — the favor- ite 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 mam Ovpr the Sea. 41 terest in whicl, "r niiiny old. To 3nt oro88 es of the ^v'er the "Time liter lor le rough lipperM ; I'lll iliul e walls riiide at '■ shapes out" in iioritis ,,r esoape terrace that Hlopes down to the bottom of a tforge 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 near 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 leasD attest its superior quality, taking a draught of it, as I did, in my extremity of thirst on a warm August afternoon. I had always clung to the ancient say infi! that poets are brrn, not made. My views are somewhat altered since I have seen the glories of Holywell Cilen and all the enchantments of rustic Somersby. Here, if anywh«^re, 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 elhnb the hill; from end to end Of all the landscape underneath, I And no place that does not breathe Some Kracious memory of my friend. No Hfray old {franjfe, or lonely fold, Or low morass and whispering reed, Or simple stile from mead to mead, Or sheepwalk np the windy wol;l ; Nor heavy knoll of ash and haw That hears the latest linnet trill. Nor <|uarry trenth'd alony the hill, And hiuiiited by the wran^fhii;; daw ; Nor runlet trieklinj; from the rotk ; Nor pastoral rivulet that swerves To left and rit'ht thro' inea