THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 SKETCH 
 
 OF 
 
 OLD ENGLAND, 
 
 BY A NEW ENGLAND MAN. 
 
 " Republicanism, as it < 'ists beyond the Atlantic, in all the glories of bundling 
 goggiug, negro- driving, a 'ram-drinking; such poems as the Columbiad ; suci 
 speeches as Mr. Adams mijces at convivial meetings ; and young Indies, who, whei 
 asked to dance, reply, "I guess I have no occasion." QUARTERLY REVIEW. 
 
 " Often while waiting at table, and listening to their disgusting opinions, I have 
 been called forward by one of the guests, and struck in the face merely for some trivial 
 mistake I had committed in serving him with food. In South Carolina the guests do 
 not hesitate to chastise their entertainers' servants whenever they feel disposed ; and a 
 party of white people there, often make cursing and beating their slaves in attendance, 
 their chief employment during dinner." BLACKWOOD'S MAGAZINE. 
 
 " Any American will gratify a stranger by giving an account of himself ; and if the 
 truth is unfavourable to him, he will invent falsehoods, rather than not play the egotist." 
 " The Americans are more detestable than any other people under the influence of 
 ardent spirits. Liquor only serves to draw forth their natural coarseness, insolence, 
 and rankness of feelings." HOWISON'S TRAVELS. 
 
 ** These scourgers and murderers of slaves." EDINBUBGH REVIEW. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 PUBLISHED BY CHARLES WILEY, No. 3, WALL-STREET. 
 
 LONDON: 
 RE-PUBLISHED BY SIR RICHARD PHILLIPS & Co. 
 
 BRIDE-COURT, BRIDGE STREET. 
 
 1822. 
 [Price 3*. 6d. sewed, or 4s. in boards.]
 
 LONDON: 
 
 iM \CKKI. I. A*I> ARROWSM1TH, .1 oil X o\ '-< ol it T
 
 DfY 
 
 SKETCH OF OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 LETTER I. 
 
 DEAR BROTHER, 
 
 London. 
 
 I AM now comfortably and quietly settled in lodgings, 
 with an elderly lady, who has good blood in her veins ; that is 
 to say, if blood be an hereditary commodity, which some 
 people doubt, but which I do not, for there are diseases bodily 
 and mental in most of the old families here that have descended 
 through half-a-score of wealthy generations. She claims descent 
 from Tudors and Plantagenets to boot, and combines the con- 
 flicting claims of both York and Lancaster. Though too well 
 bred to boast, she sometimes used to mention these matters, 
 until one day I advised her, in jest, to procure a champion to 
 tilt against young parson Dymoke for the broom at the ensuing 
 coronation. The good old soul took the joke ill, and I was 
 sorry for it. What right had I to ridicule that which, to her, 
 was an innocent source of happiness? I despise the cant of 
 sentiment, but I promise never to do so again. 
 
 She has a number of noble relatives among the respectable, 
 old-fashioned nobility, who still possess some of that sturdy, 
 antique morality and honesty, now so scarce among this class 
 throughout all Christendom. Their occasional visits in the 
 dusk of the evening, and the contemplation of her own august 
 descent, seem to constitute her little fund of worldly enjoy- 
 ment. It is so blameless, that I humour her by often enquiring 
 the names of her visitors ; which gives occasion to a variety of 
 family details and claims of kindred, distant enough to be sure, 
 but still sufficient to support the little edifice of vanity, erected 
 in her heart upon the tombs of her ancestors. The old matron
 
 8 A Sketch of Old England, 
 
 is excessively methodical, and particularly neat in her dress- 
 hates Napoleon Buonaparte with a zeal past all human under- 
 standing, and has brought to war against him most exclusively 
 several passages of the Old and New Testaments. 
 
 Comfort, neatness, and economy distinguish her household, 
 from the cellar to the garret. Nothing is wasted, nothing is 
 wanting. Such, indeed, is her economy, that I verily believe 
 she never throws away a pin for want of a head, or a needle 
 for being without' an eye. This economy is neither the 
 offspring of meanness nor avarice, but the rational result of a 
 determination to preserve her independence. Her means are 
 just sufficient, with this rigid economy, to enable her to appear 
 with that sober sort of gentility, which it is her pride and de- 
 light ever to exhibit. Were she to relax in any one respect the 
 nice system would lose its balance and fall to the ground. To 
 sum up all, she is so perfectly upright in all her dealings, that, 
 I am satisfied, no prospect of impunity, no certainty of es- 
 caping discovery or suspicion, would tempt her to defraud the 
 living or the dead, or receive more than her due. It is amusing 
 to see her uneasiness at incurring the slightest obligation, or being 
 subjected to the smallest debt. I happened to pay the postage 
 of a letter one day for her in her absence, and she was quite 
 unhappy because I could not make change, and release her 
 from the obligation. She and I are great friends after the cold 
 English fashion. If I be sick, every attention is scrupulously 
 paid, but paid as if from a sense of propriety, not from the 
 heart. Our occasional conversations are friendly, but formal ; 
 rather genealogical I confess, but let that pass the old lady 
 comes from Wales. Still I cannot help respecting her most 
 sincerely, and I feel more at home in her house than any place 
 where I have sojourned since I left my own home. I have 
 been the more particular in my sketch, because she belongs to 
 a class of females which once gave a character to England, 
 and to English domestic life, of which the country yet feels the 
 benefit, in the enjoyment of a reputation for integrity, founded 
 on the past, rather than the present. It was this homely ho- 
 nesty, this inflexible regard to principle, which made amends 
 for the absence of those easy and sprightly manners, which at- 
 tach a stranger, who is generally more in want of courtesies 
 than benefits, and consequently forms his estimate of a people 
 from their general deportment, rather than from any particular 
 act of kindness. This class is, however, I regret to say, daily 
 mouldering away amidst the speculating extravagance and 
 splendid pauperism of the times. They cannot keep pace 
 with the more numerous class of the nobility and gentry, be- 
 cause their pride will not stoop to an alliance with vulgar
 
 by a New England Man. 9 
 
 wealth, nor their principles bend to earn the rewards of the 
 government by the sacrifice of their integrity. 
 
 Our house is situated in one of the old streets, running into 
 * * * * * * } which, though rather narrow, was considered quite 
 genteel until lately, but a corrector of enormities in beards 
 made a lodgment directly over the way, and poked his pole at 
 an angle of some forty degrees, almost into the old lady's win- 
 dow. This awful invasion put to flight two persons of quality, 
 who lodged in the house. " 'Tis an ill wind that blows nobody 
 good," and I was wafted by this breeze into lodgings that suit 
 me exactly. Adieu. 
 
 LETTER II. 
 DEAR BROTHER, 
 
 London. 
 
 I invaded London under cover of a great fog, somewhat 
 similar to that recorded on new year's eve in 1730, when, it is 
 stated, that many persons fell into Fleet-ditch, and several 
 prominent noses sustained serious damage by coming in contact 
 with each other. Among the few objects I could see, was a 
 person with a lantern, who, I suppose, like ^Esop, was looking 
 about for an honest man. You may think, my dear brother, 
 how scarce honest men must be in London. Alighting from 
 the stage, there was a great contest for the privilege of carrying 
 my trunks, like that of the Greeks and Trojans for the body of 
 Patroclus. In conclusion, the Greek carried the day, as I 
 found, for a good-natured person apprised me, that if I per- 
 mitted their attendance, I should probably never see my trunks 
 again. I was not aware of the necessity of this caution, as 
 you know in our own dear honest country, no man hesitates a 
 moment to trust his baggage with the first porter that offers, be 
 he black or white. This is not one of those solitary instances 
 from which no general conclusions can be drawn. It furnishes 
 decisive proof, that at least one class of people of this country 
 is not as honest as the same class in ours. 
 
 To escape the hacks I called a hack, and by that means fell 
 " out of the frying-pan into the fire ;" that is, if rushing upon a 
 positive evil to escape a probable one, will justify the old pro- 
 verb. He charged me three times the amount of his fare, and 
 gave me a few bad shillings in change. These bad shillings 
 are, in truth, as common as counterfeit notes in our country, 
 and strangers should be equally aware of them. Well, he 
 drove me to the ****** coffee-house, the name of which, 
 being derived from my own country, attracted the yearnings 
 of my inclination. Here the master of the house very soon. 
 
 VOYAGES and TRAVEL?, A'o. XLV. VoL VITI. r
 
 10 A Sketch of Old England, 
 
 satisfied me I had been cheated. But as hackney-coachmen 
 are for the most part rogues in grain, all over the world, new 
 and old, 1 determined, in my own mind, to let John Bull off 
 that time, and not denounce him on the score of this universal 
 characteristic of a particular species of men. 
 
 The master of thehouse advised me to buy a " Pictureof Lon- 
 don," which I did, (not the bastard vork yclept the new Pic- 
 ture, but the genuine standard work) and much consolation did 
 it afford me. Among the first choice passages I fell upon, were 
 the following : "Any man who saunters about London, with 
 pockets on the outside of his coat, or who mixes in crowds 
 without especial care of his pockets, deserves no pity on ac- 
 count of the losses he may sustain." Again : " Persons should 
 be very particular as soon as they have called a hackney- 
 coach, to observe the number, before they get into it. This 
 precaution guards against imposition, or unforeseen accidents. 
 There is no other method of punishing coachmen who misbe- 
 have, nor chance of recovering property carelessly left in the 
 coach, but by the recollection of the number."" Now, brother, 
 I could not come within a thousand of the number of my coach, 
 for I had no idea of being cheated by a hackney-coachman in 
 this honest country. 
 
 For the benefit of any of your honest neighbours, who may 
 chance to visit this city, and be cheated before they can get a 
 " Picture of London," I will extract one or two more passages 
 from that valuable work : 
 
 " One of the most dangerous classes of swindlers are those 
 pretended porters or clerks, who attend about the doors of inns 
 at the time the coaches are unloading ; or who watch the ar- 
 rival of post-chaises at the doors of the coffee-houses. These 
 fellows, by various artifices, frequently obtain possession of the 
 luggage of a traveller, who has occasion to lament the want 
 of suspicion, in the loss of his clothes and other effects." 
 
 " Mock auctions, in which plated goods are sold for silver, 
 and a variety of incredible frauds practised upon the unwary, 
 ought to be cautiously avoided. They may be in general 
 known by a person being placed at the door to invite in the 
 passing stranger." 
 
 "Strangers having business at Doctors' Commons, should 
 previously know the address of a proctor, as all the avenues 
 are beset by inferior clerks or porters, who watch and accost 
 strangers, whom they take into some office, where they are 
 paid in proportion to the nature of the business, which is con- 
 ducted not in the most respectable way, and never without 
 extra charges unwarranted by the profession." 
 
 " In asking questions, or enquiring the way, it is necessary 
 always to apply at a shop, or a public-house, and never to
 
 by a New England Man. 11 
 
 upon the information which may be given by persons in 
 the streets." 
 
 Such, brother^ are a few of the dangers which beset the 
 traveller, in his adventurous pilgrimage through this wilderness 
 of two-legged beasts of prey. 
 
 My experience at Liverpool and elsewhere having taught me 
 somewhat, I began to smell a rat, almost ihe first moment I 
 entered the coffee-house. The waiters were excessively offi- 
 cious, and so anxious to put themselves in my way, when there 
 was no occasion, that I was quite out of patience. The mas- 
 ter of the house too, a most important little busy body, made 
 me bow upon bow : all which being contrary to the very nature' 
 of an Englishman, I took it for granted that he meant to cheat 
 me. Accordingly, the first day at dinner, he gave me a bottle 
 of half-guinea wine, of the most pestiferous quality, which he 
 pronounced such as Lord Somebody always called for at his 
 house. The next day he gave me still worse, finding I put up 
 with the first, and charged me still higher, on the score of its 
 being a favourite wine of some noble Earl. The third day it 
 
 was still worse and still dearer, because his Grace of 
 
 always drank it in preference to any other. Thinking it best 
 to get out of the way, before mine host came to the king's fa- 
 vourite wine, which, according to the preceding steps of the 
 climax, must have been execrable, I got a friend to recom- 
 mend me to another lodging, who accordingly negotiated the 
 terms, and stood security for my character with the excellent 
 lady, with whom I still remain. On leaving the coffee-house, 
 I was beset by the whole clan of domestics, from the head- 
 waiter in broad-cloth to boots in dirt. The landlord made me 
 a sort of half bow, and I complimented him on his Grace's 
 favourite wine, and thus we parted, never, never, never, to 
 meet again, as your sentimental letter-writers say. 
 
 The physiognomy of London is by no means inviting, espe- 
 cially that part which was laid out, and built, before the no- 
 bility and the rich took it into their wise heads to spend their 
 incomes in town, rather than among their tenants in the coun- 
 try. In some of the new and fashionable squares the buildings 
 are sufficiently aristocratic ; but with here and there an excep- 
 tion, the houses bear the stamp of something like republicanism 
 or equality. In general, they are quite comfortable in appear- 
 ance, but nothing more. The greater proportion of fine build- 
 ings is the offspring of public spirit, which certainly, at times, 
 has produced as great wonders in England as in any other part 
 of the world. The merchants, the companies of artizans, in- 
 deed almost all classes of people, except the nobility, have 
 vied with each other in public works; either of splendor or
 
 utility, or generally both combined. The nobility have con* 
 tented themselves with building palaces for their own private 
 use. It may be said, perhaps, that vanity must have its gra- 
 tification in some way or other, and that those who cannot 
 build a palace individually, must compound by doing it in 
 company with others; thus making a general rather than an in- 
 dividual property. It may be so, but still the public is a gainer 
 by the latter plan, since we can go into some of these for no- 
 thing, whereas the palaces are only shown for money. 
 
 One thing that has disgusted me most in this city, is the 
 incredible quantity o-f wretched arid profligate beggars who 
 infest many parts, whose ragged, filthy, and debauched ap- 
 pearance turns pity into absolute disgust. I was, the other 
 day, admiring the magnificence of a new palace in one of the 
 fine squares, with my head full of the splendors of this peo- 
 ple, when, all at once, my visions of glory were put to flight 
 by the irruption of a family of most wretched beings of all ages, 
 from the gray-headed parent to the little infant holding by the 
 mother's hand. Their story was that of thousands, nay, hun- 
 dreds of thousands, in this government-ridden nation : want of 
 employment and want of food. If true, it proved how much 
 they were to be pitied ; if false, how yet much more they were 
 to be pitied. If necessity drove them to this wretched mode 
 of life, they might still derive some consolation from within ; 
 if choice, then were they wretched indeed. The splendors of 
 the palace vanished like those of the wicked enchanters of old, 
 and little else remained on my mind but the impression that its 
 walls were reared upon the miseries of thousands of such as 
 were now begging at the door. 
 
 Another bad feature in the physiognomy of London, is the 
 number and the profligacy of certain ladies, anciently called 
 the Bishop o/ Winchester's Geese. Their effrontery, their 
 shocking depravity, disgusting indecency, and total destitu- 
 tion of every female characteristic, are horrible. Indeed, bro- 
 ther, every species of vice is displayed here in its naked de- 
 formity, and with a broad and vulgar grossness, that renders 
 London a complete contrast to Paris, at least, in outward ap- 
 pearance. 
 
 LETTER III. 
 DEAR BROTHER,* 
 
 London. 
 
 ALMOST the first thing that strikes an American, used to the 
 clear skies and glowing sunshine of his own country, is the hu- 
 midity of the atmosphere, and the frequent absence of the god
 
 ly a New England Man. 13 
 
 t>F day. St. Simon and Jude's day is almost every other day 
 here. It rains or snows about one hundred and fifty days in 
 the year ; and of the remainder, between fifty and sixty are 
 cloudy. The result is, that the verdure of the country is ex- 
 cessively luxuriant, although, to my mind, the landscapes ra- 
 ther weep than laugh. The grass and the foliage are so deadly 
 green, that they almost look blue, and resemble the effect of 
 distance, which, you know, communicates a bluish tint to the 
 landscape. But the grass grows and the cattle get fat, and the 
 roast beef of Old England is the better for it, undoubtedly. 
 To me, however, who you know love the sunshine like a ter- 
 rapin, there is something chilly and ungenial in the English 
 summer, and it offends me hugely to hear a fat, puffing, beer- 
 drinking fellow, bawling out to his neighbour, " A fine day," 
 when the sun looks as if it might verify the theory of one of the 
 old Greeks, that it was nothing more than a great round ball 
 of copper. Whether this melancholy character in the climate, 
 or the practice of drinking beer in such enormous quantities, or 
 both combined, have given that peculiar cast of bluff and gruff 
 stupidity, observable in the common people of England, I 
 cannot say ; but certainly, if *' a man who drinks beer thinks 
 beer, 1 " the question is decided at once. 
 
 To describe, or even to name, all the villages and seats which 
 I passed, in going out of London at different times, is a task I 
 shall not undertake, and which indeed can only be done by a 
 person with more time on his hands than he knows what to do 
 with, and more patience than time. 
 
 Richmond Hill and village, with Twickenham on the oppo- 
 site side of the Thames, about ten or twelve miles from Lon- 
 don, is all classic ground, and worthy to be so. It is, to my 
 mind, the most charming scenery in the old world. What 
 makes it the more agreeable to my eye is, that there is plenty 
 of wood, which is wanting in most of the English landscapes, 
 except about the great forests. What with their smooth lawns 
 and trim edges, the landscapes put one in mind of a well 
 shaven beard. But what gives the charm to these scenes is, 
 that they are connected with the shades of Pope and Thomson. 
 The latter lies buried in Richmond church; and thither I went 
 on a pilgrimage, the least a man can do in gratitude for the 
 many hours his genius has embellished and consecrated to pure 
 and innocent enjoyment. 
 
 Until the year 1792, there was no inscription over his grave, 
 which is in the north-easterly corner of the church. The 
 Earl of Buchan, Washington's old correspondent, at that time 
 placed over it, against the wall, a brass plate with this in- 
 scription :
 
 1 4 A Skeick of Old England, 
 
 " In the earth, beneath this tablet, are the remains of James 
 Thomson, author of the beautiful poems of the Seasons, the 
 Castle of Indolence, &c. &c., who died at Richmond on the 
 27th day of August, and was buried on the 29th, O. S. 1748. 
 The Earl of Buchan, unwilling so good a man, and so admi- 
 rable a poet, should be without a memorial, has denoted the 
 place of his interment, for the satisfaction of bis admirers, in 
 the year of our Lord 1792." 
 
 But such memorials are rather benefits bestowed upon the 
 giver, than the receiver. No one will ever want a memorial 
 of Thomson, whose Seasons will continue w v hile those he has 
 painted shall roll on their course, and men can read and relish 
 nature and truth. But for this memorial, it might, however, 
 have been speedily forgotten that such a man as my Lord of 
 Buchan ever existed. 
 
 I afterwards visited a house called Rossdale, where the poet 
 resided, and wrote the Seasons, and where many reliques are 
 still preserved. I was particularly struck with a little, round, 
 old-fashioned table, on which he was accustomed to write, and 
 which excited my reverence infinitely more than Arthur's 
 Round Table, which I afterwards saw at Winchester. There 
 are also two brass hooks, where he always hung his hat and 
 cane, for he was a man of habits, and seldom deviated from 
 them. In the garden was his favourite haunt, a summer- 
 house, overshadowed with luxuriant vines. Solitude and 
 solitary rambling constituted the pleasures of Thomson ; and 
 it was doubtless from these habits of walking alone, observing 
 all the latent, and inherent, and even accidental charms of 
 nature, and reflecting upon them as he rambled along, that he 
 was enabled to combine natural and moral beauties so delight- 
 fully in his pictures. I w-ish he had been buried somewhere in 
 the fields, where the grass and the flowers might have sprung 
 on his grave, and realized the inimitable beauty of the verses 
 of Collins to his memory 
 
 " In yonder grave a druid lies, 
 
 Where slowly winds the stealing wave, 
 The year's best fruit shall duteous rise 
 
 To deck theft Poet's sylvan grave." 
 
 Twickenham, wheire Pope's villa once was, is a village oppo- 
 site Richmond, to which you pass by a bridge. The house 
 which the poet inhabited is pulled down, btit the famous grotto 
 remains, a pretty and fantastic monument of expensive folly. 
 Pope had better have held his tongue about " Timon's villa," 
 and its fripperies ; for, to my taste, this grotto is totally unwor- 
 thy of any reputable nymphs of either wood or water. It is
 
 neither splendid by art, nor magnificent, nor solemn by nature, 
 and is, in truth, an excellent place for keeping milk and butter 
 cool. I felt no reverence whatever for it, and heartily wished 
 the grotto, rather than the house, had been destroyed. 
 
 Perhaps I am singular ; but though I am one of Pope's 
 greatest admirers, and think him in many, very many respects, 
 unequalled, as well as inimitable, his name, somehow or other, 
 does not carry with it those warm and affecting feelings of 
 admiration, as well as regret, which are conjured up by the 
 recollection of many other bards. It is true, he was rich, 
 was cherished by the great, and lived all his days in sunshine. 
 He reaped, during his life, that fame, as well as fortune, the 
 one of which few poets receive till after death, and the other 
 most want while alive. There was nothing in his whole life 
 either romantic or affecting, nothing to call forth sympathy. 
 But these circumstances, of themselves, are not sufficient to 
 account for my want of enthusiasm at visiting the spot where 
 he lived, wrote, and died. 
 
 It is for these reasons, probably, combined with the causes 
 before mentioned, that Twickenham and Pope's grotto does not 
 elevate the heart with those affecting, yet lofty emotions, that 
 arise from contemplating the little round table, and the vine- 
 covered summer-house, of the author of Liberty, the Seasons, 
 and the Castle of Indolence. Pope is the poet of those who 
 reason rather than feel ; the poet of the understanding, and of 
 men past the age of romantic delusions : Thomson is the poet 
 of youth, nature, and an .uncorrupted heart. The one is a, 
 man of the world, the other a druid of the woods and melan- 
 choly streams, the beautiful and sublime of nature. 
 
 I do not know any thing more affecting than a passage in 
 Fielding's Tom Jones, which is recalled to my mind by these 
 speculations. He was always poor, and in his latter days a 
 martyr to disease, slow, yet sure in its progress. It was, 
 perhaps, while tasting in advance the immortality he has 
 since attained that he broke out into the following invoca- 
 tion: 
 
 "Come, bright love of fame, inspire my glowing breast ! 
 Not thee I call, who over swelling tides of blood and tears 
 dost bear the hero on to glory, while sighs of millions waft his 
 swelling sails ; but thee, fair, gentle maid, whom Mnesis, happy 
 nymph, first on the banks of Hebrus did produce; thee, whom 
 Maeonia educated, whom Mantua charmed, and who, on that 
 fair hill, which overlooks the proud metropolis of Britain, 
 satest with thy Milton tuning the heroic lyre fill my ravished 
 fancy with the hope of charming ages yet to come. Foretell 
 me that some tender maid, whose grandmother is yet unborn, 
 
 .
 
 16 A Sketch of Old England, 
 
 hereafter, when, under the fictitious name of -Sophia, she read* 
 the real worth that once existed in my Charlotte, shall from 
 her sympathetic breast send forth the heaving sigh ! Do thou 
 teach me not only to foresee, but feed on future praise! Com- 
 fort me by a solemn assurance, that when the little parlour, in 
 which I sit at this instant, shall be reduced to a worse-fur- 
 nished box, I shall be read with honour, by those who never 
 knew or saw me, and whom I shall never see or know" 
 
 The man who could dream, and dream truly too, could not 
 be miserable, even amid the neglect of fortune and the scorn of 
 fools. This secret consciousness is the staff which supports 
 and rewards genius in its weary pilgrimage. 
 
 LETTER IV. 
 DEAR BROTHER, 
 
 London. 
 
 IN the neighbourhood of Richmond, I was attracted by the 
 appearance of a grand house, which, upon inquiry, I learned 
 was built by a noted brewer of that village. This monument 
 of the inveterate beer-drinking propensity of the nation, is one 
 of the largest private dwellings I have seen in this country. 
 The story went, that it was finally devised to an Oxfordshire 
 baronet, who, not dealing in beer, could not afford to keep up 
 the establishment. He accordingly sold every thing about it 
 but the walls, and here it stands ready for the next portly 
 brewer, who shall be smitten with the desire of building up a 
 name in stone and mortar. The labours and the parsimony of 
 years are very often employed in this manner, by the rich 
 tradesmen of London, whose estates, not being in general 
 entailed, like those of the nobility and gentry, are for the most 
 part divided in such a manner, that not one of the heirs can 
 afford to live in the great house. It is therefore either sold 
 out of the family, or its deserted walls remain as a monument 
 of ostentatious folly. 
 
 I also reconnoitred Osterley house, which attracted my 
 notice, not so much for its magnificence, as its history. Every 
 schoolboy has heard of Sir Thomas Gresham, the great mer- 
 chant, who built the Royal Exchange, and gave such grand 
 entertainments to Queen Elizabeth, who loved nothing better 
 than feasting at the expence of other people. There is an old 
 story, that Elizabeth, being at a great entertainment at Osterley, 
 found fault with the court, as being too large, and gave her 
 opinion, that it would look better divided in two parts. Sir 
 Thomas, like another Aladdin, but by means of an agent more 
 powerful even than the genius of the lamp, that very night
 
 by a New England Man. 17 
 
 caused the alteration to be made, so that next morning the 
 queen, looking out, saw the court divided according to her 
 taste. Her majesty, it is said, was exceedingly gratified with 
 this proof of his gallantry ; but passed what was considered 
 rather a sore joke upon Sir Thomas, saying, " That a house 
 was much easier divided than united." Lady Gresh'atn and 
 Sir Thomas, it seems, were at issue on the point of domestic 
 supremacy; and Elizabeth, who hated all married women, 
 was supposed to allude to this matrimonial schism. 
 
 In going towards Uxbridge, which is twelve or fifteen miles 
 from this city, on the road to Oxford, there is a fine old place 
 called Harefield, where once resided the famous Countess of 
 Derby, the friend and admirer of that illustrious republican 
 poet, John Milton. It was here that Milton's Arcades were 
 represented, and in this neighbourhood the poet resided some 
 years with his father. It was for the son of this lady he wrote 
 the richest, the most poetical of all human productions, the 
 Masque of Comus. Nobility becomes really illustrious when 
 connected by friendship and benefits with the immortality of 
 genius. Milton was an inflexible Republican in his political 
 principles, and sided with the Parliament in its attempts to 
 resist the tyrannical encroachments of Charles the First. In 
 this situation he had an opportunity of saving the life of Sir 
 William Davenant, who was taken up on a charge of being 
 an emissary of Charles the Second, then in exile. On the 
 Restoration Milton was excepted from the general amnesty, 
 but was finally pardoned, as it is said, by the intercession of 
 Sir William Davenant, who thus repaid his former good offices. 
 His politics prevented his being a fashionable poet. His 
 Paradise Lost was sold to the bookseller for one-tenth of the 
 sum since paid for a dainty song by Tom Moore, set to music ; 
 and the bad taste or servility of the critics suffered it to be 
 forgotten, till Addison at length did ample justice to its beau- 
 ties. Milton is rather in the back-ground at present, being 
 quite eclipsed by the superior merits of Mr. Croly, Mr.Southey, 
 Lord Byron, and the " Great Unknown." The Quarterly 
 Review will certainly, ere long, convict him either of a want 
 of genius, or a lack of religion, if it be only on account of 
 his having been a Republican. 
 
 I dined at Uxbridge; and as no experienced English tra- 
 veller ever omits making honourable or dishonourable mention 
 of the inns, 1 must inform you, for your particular satisfaction, 
 that those of Uxbridge, although specially noted by Camden, 
 are none of the best. 
 
 Pursuing my route towards Oxford, I again got upon classic 
 ground, about Stolce Pogeis, in the neighbourhood of which 
 
 VOYAGES and TRAVELS, No. XLV. Vol. VIII. D
 
 W A Sketch, vf OU England, 
 
 the poet Gray resided with his mother. He was a frequent 
 visitor to the noble family there, and wrote his " Long Story'" 1 
 at the request of the ladies. To me it appears the very worst 
 thing he ever did write ; a very dull and doggrel ditty, with 
 only one line in it worth preserving. Gray was ashamed of it, 
 and tried to destroy all the copies ; but the industry o-f editors, 
 and the cupidity of booksellers, unhappily preserved it for pos- 
 terity to wonder at. The Muses used to keep a little court at 
 different times hereabouts. Milton lived not far off at Horton ; 
 Waller at Beaconsfield ; and Pope occasionally in Windsor 
 Forest. Edmund Burke also once occupied Waller's mansion 
 at Beaconsfield ; and if being under the dominion of imagi- 
 nation constitutes a poet, may certainly be classed with the 
 trio. In the neighbourhood of Beaconsfield they shew an old 
 hollow tree, in which, it is affirmed, Waller wrote many of bis 
 poems. I do not believe much of the story, yet still it is plea- 
 sant to see old hollow trees derive an interest from these asso- 
 ciations, that the residence of monarchs cannot confer upon the 
 most splendid palaces. In deviating, just as the roads occa- 
 sionally offered inducement, I had a view of a fine old palace, 
 once the property of the Hampdens, a name so well known in 
 our country for inflexible patriotism, that it is often adopted 
 with that of Russell and Sydney, by those who advocate the 
 rights of the people. The family of Hampden was of great 
 antiquity, of the genuine old Saxon blood, without any mix- 
 ture of Norman. The gentry who came over with William 
 the Conqueror were mere upstarts of the day before yesterday, 
 compared with the Hampdens. But I was not thinking of their 
 antiquity. As 1 contemplated the venerable pile, I was recall- 
 ing to mind that noble Englishman, who was the first to put 
 himself in the breach between an arbitrary king and an abused 
 people ; of the man who dared to appeal to the laws of his 
 country against the oppression of his sovereign to judges who 
 betrayed their trust, and sacrificed their conscience at the shrine 
 of a time-serving interest. Eight out of twelve decided against 
 Hampden ; but though he lost his cause with the judges he 
 gained it with the people, and the decision became one of the 
 principal grounds of the revolution that followed. Of such a 
 man it is of little moment who were his ancestors; the blood 
 that flowed in his veins was noble of itself without tracing it to 
 a noble ancestry. But the name and the race are now no more, 
 or, beyond doubt, we should see some of them at this moment 
 foremost in the ranks, resisting the torrent of corruption, ve- 
 nality and boundless extravagance of this government. The 
 great John Hampden is acknowledged, even by Hume, the 
 apologist i)f the Stuarts, to have been a man of the purest
 
 "by a Neio England Man. 19 
 
 patriotism ; and such was the spotlessness of his character, 
 that not one of the apologists of kingly pretension has ven- 
 tured to impeach his motives or attack bis memory. He was 
 a near kinsman of Cromwell, and fell in action early in the 
 commencement of the war between the people and the king. 
 His grandson became involved in the South Sea scheme, and 
 died by his own hands ; he was succeeded by his brother, who 
 dying without issue, the estates fell to a Trevor, who now bears 
 the title of Viscount Hampden. To the disgrace of his coun- 
 try, I believe Hampden's life has never been written at least, 
 I -have not been able to procure it at any of the booksellers! 
 It is said he was one of those who took passage with Cromwell 
 for New-England, and were stopped by an order of council. 
 I cannot but regret that he did not reach our country, for 
 perhaps he might have left there a posterity worthy the soil of 
 freedom. Hampden was always a friend to our New England 
 may we never lose the recollection of his virtues or his 
 friendship ! 
 
 It is traditionary of the Hampdens, that they owned vast 
 possessions in the time of Edward the Third, a considerable 
 portion of which was forfeited by the heir of the family, (in 
 consequence of some provocation uot exactly known,) for 
 giving the Black Prince a box on the ear. There is extant a 
 couplet, which has reference to that circumstance. 
 
 ** Tring, Wing, and Ivengo did go, 
 For striking the Black Prince a blow." 
 
 You see, brother, the Hampdeas were, from the first, gifted 
 with the spirit of freemen. It is a pity the race is extinct ; for 
 never did England more require such men as Hampden and 
 Sydney. She has yet a Russell in the person of Lord John, 
 one of the most respectable and patriotic noblemen in the 
 'kingdom. 
 
 Leaving this old nest of the eagles, I returned into the 
 Oxford road, and pursued my way towards that famous city 
 of the Muses, that is to say, the Prize Muses ; for the Sacred 
 Nine of Oxford never sing now, except when tempted by a 
 medal. Palaces and fine seats were sprinkled thickly by the 
 road-side ; but as they contained little else but a collection of 
 pictures to attract the stranger, 1 passed them by. Few things, 
 in this world of trouble, are more intolerable than a visit to 
 one of these show-places, where one is not only obliged to pay 
 for opening every door, but, what is still worse, to listen to the 
 eternal gabble of a cicerone by rote, who will by no means 
 permit a man to consult his own taste in the selection of objects 
 of admiration. The only way to silence one of those is to
 
 20 
 
 give him a shilling when he expects half a guinea. He will 
 never speak more, depend upon it. 
 
 The sunset, I remember, was exceedingly uupropitious to 
 my entrance into Oxford, for it set in a profound English mist. 
 I had been forewarned and fore-armed of the beauties of the. 
 place, and that I should enter it by one of the finest and 
 longest streets in the world. It certainly was long enough, for I 
 thought never to have got to the end of it ; but its beauties 
 were too modest to meet the ardent gaze of a stranger, and re- 
 tired quietly behind the fog. 
 
 I w r as ready to be pleased with every thing; and never, 1 
 believe, were the noble fanes of Oxford admired by a more 
 enthusiastic votary. Learning was, for once in her life, lodged 
 in palaces, some of which were so lofty and majestic, that I 
 actually mistook them for poor-houses, which are beyond all 
 comparison the most sumptuous edifices in this country. 1 
 cannot describe them, nor recollect half that I saw in this 
 Gothic heaven. I had introductions to some of the jolly 
 fellows ; but they \vere of very little use to me, owing to a 
 most untoward matter, which I shall proceed to disclose, 
 which disturbed the prize muses, and occupied the exclusive 
 attention of every member of the university, from the vice- 
 chancellor, in his white band, to the students in their black 
 caps. To explain it properly, I must furnish you with a few 
 preliminaries, concerning the peculiar constitution and pri- 
 vileges of the university, without which it would be difficult 
 to comprehend the nature of the case. 
 
 The University of Oxford is governed by its own peculiar 
 laws, which are administered, or ought to be, by a great officer, 
 called the chancellor ; but as almost every great office is 
 executed here by a deputy or sub-deputy, the chancellor nomi- 
 nates to the university two persons, one to be chosen high 
 steward, the other vice-chancellor. The high steward assists 
 the proctors, if required, in the performance of their duties, and 
 hears and decides all capital cases, arising within the juris- 
 diction of the university, when required by the chancellor. 
 The vice-chancellor is, in almost every other respect, the 
 deputy of the chancellor ; he receives the rents due to the 
 university, licenses taverns, &c. and, to use the words of an 
 old author, " he takes care that sermons, lectures, disputations, 
 and other exercises be performed ; that heretics, panders, 
 bawds, Winchester geese, &c. be expelled the university, and 
 the converse of the students ; that the proctors and other 
 officers do their duty ; that courts be duly called and law-suits 
 determined, without delay ; in a word, that whatever is for the 
 honour or the profit of the university, or may conduce to the
 
 by a New England Man, 21 
 
 .advantage of good literature, may be carefully obtained.'' The 
 Vice-chancellor, at his entrance into office, chooses two pro- 
 vice-chancellors out of the heads of colleges, to one of whom 
 he deputes his power during his absence. The high steward is 
 chosen for life, but the vice-chancellor is nominated annually, 
 and is always a person in holy orders as well as the head of a 
 college. Now for the affair which so effectually disturbed the 
 repose, not to say the profound sleep, of this temple of the 
 Muses. 
 
 It seems a ferocious tailor, not having the fear of the vice- 
 chancellor before his eyes, had brought a suit.against a student 
 of Brazen-nose, in the court of King's Bench, when the statute 
 prescribed that he should bring it before the vice-chancellor. 
 The vice-chancellor, indignant at this contempt of his authority, 
 hereupon summoned the tailor before him, and addressed him, 
 as is affirmed, in something like the following, when he found 
 that the souls of nine stout heroes were domiciled in the body 
 of this ninth part of a man : 
 
 " Avaunt and quit my si^ht ! 
 
 Thy shears are edgeless: thou hast no thread and needle 
 In those paws, that thou dost stitch withal. 
 Approach thee like an Edinburgh Reviewer, 
 French sans-culotte, or damned democrat, 
 The Carbonari, half-starv'd radical,",, 
 Or Cato Street conspirator ! 
 Nay, come like nonconformists in A row, 
 And swear that church and tithes shall be no more; 
 Moot points of logic with a cambric needle ;' 
 Or, cross-legg'd, like a rascal papist, sit, 
 With thimble on thy pate instead of helmet, 
 And dare me to the shopboard with thy shears, 
 But never dare me to the king's bench court- 
 Skip, stitch-louse, skip, I say !" 
 
 " Ay, ay," cried this unparalleled tailor ; " ay, ay, Mr. Vice, 
 you may talk Latin as much as you please; but, in plain Eng- 
 lish, I must have my money, and, what's more, I will. I 
 have had enough of dunning ; and as for bringing a suit 
 in your courts here, I recovered one not long ago, and 
 was almost ruined by it." The vice-chancellor, it is affirmed, 
 did not swear: but it was the general opinion he would have 
 done if, had he not been a clergyman. 
 
 The recreant tailor brought the curse of Ernulphus upon him ; 
 he was cursed in all the moods and tenses ; in Latin and Eng- 
 lish ; and would have been cursed in Greek and Hebrew, had 
 any of the present professors been sufficiently versed in those 
 tongues. He was formally excommunicated ; his shop win- 
 dows hermetically sealed, and himself prohibited from labour^
 
 $2 A Sketch of Old England, 
 
 ing in his vocation for the fiery students of Brazen-nose ; his 
 business was doomed to destruction here, and his soul here- 
 after. Still the thrice, and nine times valiant tailor, refused 
 to take a single back-stitch or herring-bone, either to the right 
 or to the left; he continued to demur to the jurisdiction of the 
 vice-chancellor, and to stand by the King's Bench, which, 
 next to the shopboard, he looked upon to be the purest seat of 
 justice in the kingdom. '* I defy the d 1 and all his imps!"" 
 said the tailor, snapping bis fingers ; which saying was held 
 to be a reflection upon the vice-chancellor and the scholars. 
 
 In this state the matter remained all the time I staid at Ox- 
 ford, which was nearly a week. The tailor was the greatest 
 man of the age ; another Caliph Omar, enemy to learning and 
 orthodoxy. His name was in every body^s mouth, and the 
 Muses, all nine of them, sung in praise of this ninth part of a 
 man. The Senior Wrangler was deputed to argue with him, 
 but the tailor got him betwixt the sharp shears of his logic, and 
 almost cut him in two. A Terrce Filius was next sent; but, 
 though his speech was bitterly satirical, the tailor remained as 
 immovable as the sun himself. At prayers, and lectures, the 
 students could think of nothing but the tailor ; the jolly fellows 
 could not sleep quietly upon the " Pennyless Bench " over 
 their ale, for thinking of the tailor; the sempstresses, who are 
 very pretty at Oxford, marked nothing on their linen, but tai- 
 lor; the little boys at catechism, answered nothing but " the 
 tailor 1 ' to all questions ; and several children, born about this 
 time, cried for their nurses' thimbles before they were a day 
 old. Never, in fact, since the days of the furious contests be- 
 tween the students of the " north and south, 11 recorded by An- 
 thony Wood, was the seat of the prize Muses in such a con- 
 sternation. I left the place before the matter was settled, with 
 a determination that if the tailor were ever restored to the use 
 of his weapons, and I ever had an opportunity, he should make 
 me a full suit of the cloth called Thunder and Lightning, 
 which cannot but equal armour of proof, considering his in- 
 domitable and valorous propensities. 
 
 Notwithstanding, however, the confusion which I have de- 
 scribed, I gained sufficient opportunity to put ray nose into 
 some of the old rusty remains of antiquity, which abound in 
 this place. Among these, the Bodleian Library, the Ashmo- 
 lean Museum, and the Arundel and Pomfret Marbles, are par- 
 ticularly curious and interesting. In the libraries are many 
 notices of the early events which occurred in different ages, 
 which throw vast light upon the state of manners, and mark 
 the gradual changes produced by time and circumstances. As 
 such, they are highly worthy of notice, and if I had possessed
 
 by a New England Man. 2$ 
 
 sufficient time or patience, I would have made copious extracts 
 from them. As it was, I could only copy a few of such as I 
 considered might contribute to the future instruction or amuse- 
 ment of my friends. ] will select some of these, pretty much 
 as they occur in my memorandum-book. They are principally 
 taken from Anthony Wood, whose work is a sort of store- 
 house of Oxford antiquities. The nature of his book may be ga- 
 thered from Wood's complaint of one John Shirley, TerrceFilius 
 of Trinity College, in 1673, who said, "That the society of 
 Merton would not let me live in the college, for fear 1 should 
 pluck it down to search after antiquities ; that I was so great 
 a lover of antiquities, that I loved to live in an old cockle-loft, 
 rather than in a spacious chamber ; that I was vir caducus ; 
 that I intended to put into my book pictures of mother Louse 
 and mother George, two old wives ; that I would not let it be 
 printed, because 1 would not have it new and common." This 
 is the character of Anthony's book, given by a wag, with some 
 little exaggeration, of course. 
 
 The state of learning at Oxford, in the thirteenth century, 
 may be gathered from the following : " In the year 1284, John 
 Peckham, Archbishop of Canterbury, came to Oxford, to 
 visit Osney Abbey ; which being finished, he called together (he 
 masters of the University, who appearing before him, he made 
 a grave speech ; then told them of divers erroneous opinions, 
 which they, not becoming their wisdom, did entertain ; and 
 that neither by reason, nor upon any scholastical ground, but 
 for the cause of commotion, did impude?illy affirm and defend, 
 against the instructions and lessons of the ancient philosophers, 
 and other wise men." Among their grammatical errors, it 
 seems they held " Ego currit" and " Ego legit" to be good 
 Latin. 
 
 As late as the beginning of the sixteenth century, the study 
 of Greek was entirely unknown at Oxford ; and, with the ex- 
 ception of Thomas Linacre, and one or two others, who were 
 trying to introduce it into the University, the members treated 
 the study of Greek with contempt. King James the First, with 
 his Queen, in 1605, visited Oxford, and was entertained there 
 with speeches, sermons, comedies, mysteries, and tragedies, 
 for some days. Several regulations were made for their recep- 
 tion, among which, the most remarkable, are the following : 
 
 " The University College, All Soules, and Magdalen Col- 
 lege, do sett up verses at his Majesty's departure, upon such 
 places where they may be seen as he passeth by." 
 
 " Doctor Parry to preach a Latin sermon three quarters of an 
 hour long." It is stated afterwards, that his Majesty "yawned 
 mightilye," on this occasion; indeed, beseems to have been
 
 24 A Sketch of Old England, 
 
 "mightilye" tired of the whole visit, if we may credit the 
 chronicler, who gives the following account of bis behaviour 
 at a comedy : 
 
 "The Comedy," quoth he, " began at between nine and tea, 
 and ended atone; the name of it was Alba, whereof I never 
 knew the reason; it was a pastoral, much like one I had seen 
 in King's College, Cambridge. 1 " " There were many rusticall 
 songes and dances, which made it very tedious, insomuch that 
 if the chancellors of both Universities had not entreated his 
 Majesty earnestly, he would have been gone before half the 
 comedy had been ended." 
 
 Neither did His Majesty, it seems, relish their tragedy bet- 
 ter than their comedy. The same writer, who, you may de- 
 pend upon it, was a Cantab, proceeds to record " The next 
 morning and afternoon we passed in hearing sermons and dis- 
 putations. The same day after supper, about nine of the clock, 
 they began to act the tragedy of Ajax Flagellifer, wherein the 
 stage varied three times ; they had all goodly antique apparel, 
 for all that, it was not acted so well by many degrees as I have 
 seen it in Cambridge. The King was very weary before he 
 came thither, and much more wearied by it, and spoke many 
 words of dislike." 
 
 A comedy called Vertumnus was next day represented, and 
 though allowed by our Cantab to be much better performed 
 than the others, " yet the King was so overwearied, that after 
 a while he distasted it and fell asleep ; when he awakened, he 
 would have him gone, saying, I marvel what they think me to 
 be, with such other like speeches, shewing his dislike thereof; 
 yet did he tarry till they had ended it, which was after one 
 o'clock." The only thing that pleased his Majesty, was a " dis- 
 creet and learned speech by Dr. Warner, dissuading men from 
 tobacco, by good reasons and apt similes, backed by twenty 
 syllogisms, which so delighted the great opponent of tobacco, 
 that he said to the nobles about him, " God keep this fellow in 
 a right course, he would prove a dangerous heretic ; he is the 
 best disputer I ever heard." 
 
 The poverty of the students at Oxford, in the middle of the 
 sixteenth century, was such, that many of them were obliged 
 to get a license from the chancellor to beg, and it appears that 
 it was at that time common for them to go "a-begging with 
 bags and wallets, and sing Salve Regina at rich men's dores." 
 "The students were about this time (1559) so poor and beg- 
 garly, that many of them were forced to obtain licence under 
 the commissary's hand to require alms of well-disposed people ; 
 and indeed the want of exhibitions and charity of religious 
 people, was so much, that their usual saying now was, 
 " Sunt mutfc muscr, nostraque fama fames ."
 
 by a New England Man. 25 
 
 The following clerical anecdotes may amuse you, at the 
 same time that they illustrate the style of preaching, as well as 
 the charity of the priests of those times: 
 
 " Richard Taveuer, Esq., did several times preach at Oxford, 
 and when he was high sheriff of the county, came into St. 
 Mary's church, out of pure charity, with a gold chain about 
 his neck, and a sword, it is said, by his side." One of his ser- 
 mons began as follows: 
 
 *' Arriving at the mount of St. Mary's, in the strong stage 
 (the stone pulpit) where I now stand, I have brought you some 
 fyne bisketts baked in the oven of charitye, carefully conserved 
 for the chickens of the church, the sparrows of the spirit, and 
 the sweet swallows of salvation." Mr. Sheriff Tavener must 
 have been another Friar Gerund. 
 
 Two itinerant priests coming, says Anthony Wood, towards 
 night, to a cell of Benedictines near Oxford, where, on a sup- 
 position of their being mimes or minstrels, they gained admit- 
 tance. But the cellarer, sacristan, and others of the brethren, 
 hoping to have been entertained by their buffoonery, and find- 
 ing them to be nothing more than two poor priests, who had 
 nothing but spiritual consolation to offer in return for their 
 hospitality, disappointed of their mirth, they beat them soundly 
 and turned them out of the monastery. 
 
 The same author gives a character of Sir Walter Raleigh, 
 who was of Oriel College, which I copied for two reasons. 
 Raleigh ought ever to be remembered and honoured in our 
 country, as one of the first who employed his influence and his 
 fortune in laying the foundation of our western empire. " His 
 eminent worth," says Wood, speaking of Raleigh, " both in 
 domestic polity, foreign expeditions and discoveries, arts and 
 literature, both practive and contemplative, was such, that 
 they seemed at once to conquer both example and imitation. 
 Those that knew him well, esteemed him to be a person born to 
 that only which he went about, so de&teruus was he in all or 
 most of his undertakings, in court, in camp, by sea, by land, 
 with sword, with pen." 
 
 There is something, I think, singularly and oddly affecting 
 in the following notices of the early Protestant martyrs, which 
 I got out of Strype's Memorials, an old book in the.Bodleian : 
 
 " I cannot here omit," he says, " old Father Latimer's habit 
 at his appearing before the commissioners, which was also his 
 habit while he remained prisoner at Oxford. He held his hat 
 in his hand ; he had a kerchief on his head, and upon it a 
 nightcap or two, and a great cap such as townsmen used, with 
 two broad flaps to button under his chin : an old thread-bare 
 freez-gown of Bristow, girded to his body with a penny leather 
 
 VOYAGES and TRAVELS, No. XLV. Vol. VIII. E
 
 2(5 A Sketch of Old England, 
 
 girdfe, at which hanged, by a long string of leather, his testa- 
 ment and his spectacles, without case, hanging about his neck 
 upon his breast." What would our modern English bishops, 
 with their twenty, thirty, aye, fifty thousands a year, say to this 
 costume of one of the noblest of their tribe ? I mean those con-, 
 sislent ones, who, it has been aptly said, 
 
 " All over luxury, they at vice declaim, 
 Chide at ill lives, and at good livings aim ; 
 On down they sleep, on downy carpets tread, 
 Their ancestors, th' Apostles, wanted bread ! 
 At home they lie, with pride, spleen, plenty stor'd, 
 And hire some poor dull rogue to serve the Lord." 
 
 " In October," continues Strype, " Ridley and Latimer 
 were brought forth to their burning ; and passing by Cranmer's 
 prison, Ridley looked up to have seen him, and to have taken 
 his last farewell. But he was not then at the window, being 
 engaged in a dispute with a Spanish friar. But he looked 
 after them, and devoutly failing on his knees, prayed to God 
 to strengthen their faith and patience in that their last but 
 painful passage." 
 
 I will conclude this letter with some curious particulars re- 
 lating to the first introduction of newspapers into England, 
 which took place little more than two hundred years ago. 
 
 I am indebted to honest Anthony Wood for the succeeding 
 list, and the particulars collected with so much industry. The 
 first paper mentioned by him is, " Mercurius Rusticus* or the 
 Countrie's Complaint"" It first appeared, he says, the 22d of 
 August, 1642, in a single quarto sheet, and extended to only 
 nineteen or twenty numbers. I believe Wood is mistaken here 
 with regard to this being the first. Cleveland, in giving an 
 account of the London periodicals and diurnals, states, that 
 " the original desiner of this kind was Dutch Gallo Belgicus, 
 the Protoplast, and the modern Mercuries but Hans en Kel~ 
 ders" I have somewhere read, that the Mercurius-Gatto- 
 Belgicus is mentioned in Carew's Survey of Cornwall, first 
 published in 1602, and by Donne in some verses of the date of 
 1611. If the Mercurius Rusticus was the first of these diur- 
 nals, there is probably some error in the date as set down by 
 Wood. 
 
 There was a second part of Mercurius Rusticus, giving an 
 account of some outrages committed on the cathedrals in, 
 various parts of England. These were all collected in a 
 volume, four or five years after their first publication ; but I 
 believe no copy is extant at this time. It would be an in- 
 valuable accession to the treasures of his Grace of ***#**,,
 
 oy a New England Man. $7 
 
 or my Lord *******. These papers were written by one 
 Bruno Ryves, a Dorsetshire man, first one of the clerks in 
 New College, then chaplain to Magdalen, and then " a most 
 noted and florid preacher" at Stanwell, in the County of Mid- 
 dlesex. He afterwards became rector of St. Martin's, London, 
 and chaplain to Charles the First. When the Presbyterians 
 got the upper hand, they turned him out of his rectory, and he 
 fared ill enough, until the Restoration, when he enjoyed several 
 rich benefices, was " sworn scribe" to the order of the garter, 
 and died in 1677. 
 
 Mercurius Aulicus, the next paper of this kind, was begun 
 at Oxford, where the court then was, in 1642, and continued 
 to be published once a week, till the latter part of 1645, when it 
 ceased to appear with any degree of regularity. Wood says, 
 it had a great deal of wit and buffoonery ; and that Nedham, 
 the writer of Mercurius Britannicus, was no more to be com- 
 pared with Aulicus, than a dwarf to a giant. Mercurius 
 Aulicus, according to Nedham, was the work of several 
 hands, such as George Digby, Secretary Nicholas, and Birken- 
 head, the scribe. He also says, that each college was assessed 
 both for a weekly contribution of money and wit. But Wood 
 says, that notwithstanding what this liar affirms, all Oxford 
 knew, that John Birkenhead began, and continued them, only 
 that in his absence his place was supplied by Peter Heylin. 
 
 Birkenhead was the son of a saddler in Cheshire, and became 
 amanuensis to Archbishop Laud, who got him elected a fellow 
 of All Souls. When the king retired to Oxford, on account of 
 the troubles, Birkenhead began the Mercurius Aulicus, which 
 so pleased the King, that he got him appointed reader or pro- 
 fessor of Moral Philosophy. Being turned out by the parlia- 
 mentary ascendency, he went to London, where he was several 
 times imprisoned, and lived by his wits, in helping young gen- 
 tlemen out at dead lifts, in making poems, songs, and amorous 
 epistles, to their respective mistresses, &c. On the Restoration 
 times mended with him. He became successively Doctor of 
 Civil Law, member of parliament, knight, a Master of Requests 
 and of the Faculties, and member of the Royal Society. He 
 died in 1G79. 
 
 Mercurius Britannicus, Mercurius Pragmaticus, and Mer- 
 curius Politicus, were all written by March mont Nedham, a 
 native of Oxfordshire, who was educated at All Souls college, 
 and afterwards went to London, where he officiated as a 
 schoolmaster or usher at Merchant Tailors. He belonged 
 subsequently to Gray's Inn, where he obtained a comfortable 
 subsistence, until the commencement of the parliamentary war, 
 when, soon siding, says the author, with the rout and scum
 
 28 A Sketch of Old England, 
 
 of the people, he made them weekly sport by railing at all 
 that was ooble and intelligent, in his paper called Mercurius 
 Britannicus ; wherein his aim was to sacrifice some noble 
 lord, or even the king himself, to the beast with many heads. 
 This prodigy of editorial consistency, however, was either 
 bribed or persecuted into loyalty, since he afterwards was in- 
 troduced to King Charles, kneeled down, and begged his for- 
 giveness, and had the honour to kiss his majesty 1 !* hand. He 
 then attacked his old friends, the Presbyterians, in Mercurius 
 Pragmaticus, for which he was caught, imprisoned in New- 
 gate, and escaped with his ears, through the interposition of 
 Lenthall, the Speaker, and Bradshaw, President of the High 
 Court, which brought Charles to the block. These obtained 
 his pardon, I suppose, on condition of his once more changing 
 sides. Accordingly, he commenced a new journal, under the 
 title of Mercurius Politicus, in which he treated the cavaliers 
 with as much severity as he had formerly done the Presby- 
 terians. His writings had great influence on the popular feel- 
 ings ; for he was a good scholar, a poet, and a great wag, 
 witty, humorous, and conceited. The royal party pitied him 
 while he continued on their side, but afterwards, he was so 
 much hated by them, that, according to our author, there were 
 many, even in his time, who could not endure to hear Ned- 
 ham's name mentioned. He died in 1678. 
 
 The Mercurius Britannicus was published once a week, on 
 Monday, from 1643 to 1647, when the Mercurius Pragmaticus, 
 for King Charles, was commenced and ended shortly after- 
 wards, by Nedham again changing sides, and joining his old 
 friends, the Presbyterians, or people. The next series, the 
 Mercurius Politicus, it is said, contained many essays against 
 monarchy, and in support of a free state ; so much so, that 
 the author was more than once stopped by the interference of 
 the Council of State. Their last order suppressed the paper 
 for the future, in consequence of which, Muddiman and Dury 
 began the publication of a semi-weekly paper, called thePar- 
 liamentary Intelligencer. To this succeeded the Mercurius 
 Publicus, which was continued by Dury till 1663, when Roger 
 L'Estrange took charge of it, and changed the title succes- 
 sively to the Public Intelligencer and The News. These con- 
 tinued till 1665, when L'Estrange gave them up, in conse- 
 quence of the publication of other and cheaper semi-weekly 
 papers. These were the Oxford Gazette, by Henry Muddi- 
 man, afterwards called the London Gazette, when the court 
 removed to London, and placed under the superintendence of 
 Williamson, under-secretary of state, who employed Charles 
 Perrot, A.M. to do the business under him, till the year 1671.
 
 by a New England Man. %9 
 
 From that time to the period of Wood's writing, they were, 
 he says, constantly written by the under secretaries of state, 
 and so continued. 
 
 As the progress of intelligence, and the reception of more 
 free principles prepared the minds of the people to become in- 
 terested in the affairs of government, newspapers and periodical 
 journals continued to multiply, until it became impossible to 
 keep an account of their successive appearance. Magazines, 
 reviews, and political, and scientific, and literary, and philoso- 
 phical journals, multiplied apace, until the present time, when 
 our daily opinions can scarcely be said to depend upon any 
 other basis, than the varying interests and temporary supre- 
 macy of some one or other of these periodical or diurnal 
 oracles. It is well for us, indeed, that those fundamental 
 rules, those moral axioms, on which the relative duties of man. 
 to man, and man to society rest, are beyond the reach of the 
 caprices of fashion, or the schemes of politicians; else we 
 should be in danger of having no stationary land-marks, no 
 God Terminus in morals, to designate either our rights or our 
 duties. 
 
 I must not forget to tell you, that there , is no place in 
 all Christendom, where they say their prayers so fast as at 
 Oxford. ^ 
 
 LETTER V. 
 DEAR BROTHER, 
 
 London. 
 
 IN my last, I believe I forgot to inform you of a curious 
 fact recorded, concerning Oxford, in the very tedious, parti- 
 cular, and prosing accounts of those various " Progresses" 
 made by Queen Elizabeth, at various -time?, through different 
 parts of England, by which she reaped such harvests of popu- 
 larity, and, what pleased her quite as well, lived at free quar- 
 ters* There is certainly something servile in the nature of 
 civilized man. An Indian will turn his back on any thing 
 which might be supposed to challenge his admiration among 
 civilized people, because he considers it a sort of acknowledg- 
 ment of his inferiority, to wonder. Only, however, let a great 
 personage come among a refined people, and they will follow, 
 and shout at his heels, and wonder, and be delighted beyond 
 measure, whenever he smiles, bows, or exhibits any of those 
 ordinary condescensions which gentlemen usually pay to their 
 inferiors. The good folks will pardon a hundred acts of op- 
 pression in consideration of a bow and a smile. 
 
 But to my story. Jt is recorded that Queen Elizabeth, some-
 
 SO A Sketch of Old England, 
 
 time in 156, visited Oxford, where she was royally feasted 
 for a whole week. " The day after," says the writer of the 
 Progress, " she took her leave, and was conducted by the 
 heads as far as Shotover Hill, when the Earl of Leicester gave 
 her notice, that they had accompanied her to the limits of their 
 jurisdiction. From hence, casting her eyes back upon Oxford 
 with all possible marks of tenderness and affection, she bade 
 them farewell. The Queen's countenance had such an effect 
 upon the diligence of this learned body, that within a few 
 years after, it produced more shining instances of real worth, 
 than had ever been sent abroad, at the same time, in any age 
 whatsoever." This is one of the most marvellous effects of 
 the Queen's countenance I remember ; it shows how com- 
 plaisant even genius and learning are, in countries where the 
 people are brought up with a proper notion of the " divine 
 right of kings." A mere visit to Oxford awakened all the 
 Muses, and inspired not only learning, but " worth," in this 
 ancient seminary of loyalty. Oxford, with all its beauties, is 
 one of the dullest places I ever visited ; and had not the tailor 
 given it some additional interest, I should have been heartily 
 tired with the sameness of every thing I saw. In leaving it, I 
 had a view of the village of Cumnor, which has lately become 
 noted as the scene of part of the romance of Kenilworth. I 
 did not visit it ; the scenes described by the " Great Un- 
 known" are not yet classical, and I do not think they ever 
 will be. 
 
 From hence to Worcester, nothing particular occurred, and 
 I shall reserve, till a future opportunity, my observations on 
 what I saw, at the different places where I stopped occasion- 
 ally, and spent from one to three days, in making inquiries on 
 particular subjects. There were as usual several fine seats, 
 and one in particular at Ditchley, where I was told were some 
 valuable pictures ; but knowing the price one must pay in 
 money and patience for these treats, I avoided all such places. 
 In general I may observe, that the country was not so pretty 
 as in some other parts I have seen, and that occasionally it 
 presented scenes of barrenness. Two spots, however, seem 
 worthy of some little commemoration. One is the ancient 
 town of Evesham ; the other, the famous Malvern Hill, where 
 every picturesque tourist makes a point of being enraptured. 
 I'll not be out of fashion. 
 
 Evesham is derived, by the monkish antiquaries, from one 
 Eaves, swineherd to the Bishop of Worcester. As bishops in 
 those days were nearly all of them saints, which I am sorry to 
 say is not the case at present, I presume their swineherds were 
 men of some consequence, by their giving names to towns.
 
 by a New England Man. 81 
 
 This part of England, between Oxford and Worcester, seems 
 to have been the paradise of monks. At Abingdon they had a 
 rich and stately monastery, whose revenue, in an age when 
 money was probably twenty times more valuable than at pre- 
 sent, amounted to about two thousand sterling a year. At 
 Evesham they were lords of twenty-two towns and manors. 
 No wonder such a church abounded in saints! The principal 
 reason for detaining you a little at Evesham is connected, how- 
 ever, with a different matter. It was here that the famous 
 Simon Mountford, Earl of Leicester, the champion of the 
 English Barons, and the great assertor of Magna Charta, after 
 having been virtually lord of England and its paltry king, 
 fought his last fight, was defeated and slain. Like many other 
 assertors of popular and aristocratic rights, in monarchies, his 
 character has come down to us covered with imputations of 
 ingratitude, perfidy, and ambition. But we should be cautious 
 how we receive the relations of characters and events from 
 the pens of historians, who wrote while the descendants of the 
 king, whom Mountford opposed, occupied the throne of Eng- 
 land. If historians can ever be said to be impartial, it is only 
 when the events they record, and the characters they discuss, 
 are so distant or obscure, that they are just as likely to err 
 through ignorance, as their predecessors were through preju- 
 dice. There is something, at all events, about the renown of 
 this Simon Mountford, which made an impression on me early 
 in life ; and as be took the popular side, at least the only 
 popular side there was at that time, I do not for my part, 
 exactly see, why he is not as good a martyr as Charles the 
 First. 
 
 Not far from hence, I passed the site of another fat rookery 
 of monks, who in ancient times revelled in the spoils of a score 
 of manors and towns. The name of Ibis place is Pershore, 
 and from hence to Worcester is one of the pleasautest rides in 
 the whole country. This last is one of the most lively, agree- 
 able, not to say beautiful, cities I have ever seen out of our 
 own country. Though one of the most ancient in England, it 
 displays nothing, or almost nothing, of that gloomy aspect of 
 decay, which may be observed in every other old city I have 
 visited; where the houses look old, the people look old, and 
 the very air we breathe seems to come out of old cellars and 
 mildewed cloisters. I never get among these reliques of past 
 changes, without my imagination soon becoming tinged with 
 gloom and superstition ; there is certainly something in the 
 very style of a Gothic building that is calculated to nourish 
 such impressions, and a ghost, a miracle, or a murder, is like 
 a fish out of water, unless connected with this species of archi-
 
 32 A Sketch of Old England, 
 
 lecture ; it was the cause, as well as the effect, of the super- 
 stitious character of those times in which it flourished. 
 
 But there is little of this about this charming city, where 
 the girls trip along as if they were going a maying, and the 
 men actually look as if they had something to do: it lies close 
 by the side of the Severn, which being the largest river in Eng- 
 land, is, of course, entitled to be described in the superlative. 
 Accordingly, the poets, call it the " majestic," the ''magnifi- 
 cent," " the Father of Rivers," &c. r while tourists never men- 
 tion it without some epithet indicative of prodigious magnitude. 
 This prodigious river is crossed here by a bridge of five arches ; 
 it rises in Plinlimmon, in Montgomeryshire, and falls into the 
 Bristol Channel, after an " endlsss course of one hundred and 
 thirty miles ! " 
 
 As I shall have 'occasion, in the course of my tours, to re- 
 mark the frequent recurrence of this species of the bathos, in 
 describing scenes of nature, permit me to make a few obser- 
 vations once for all. Every man, in speaking of whatever is 
 great in his estimation, refers to some standard of comparison, 
 formed from the result of his own individual experience. The 
 greatest he has seen, is, to his imagination, the greatest in the 
 world. Hence, the English tourist calls his rivers, his moun- 
 tains, and his lakes, the greatest, the highest, and the most 
 beautiful, because he knows of no other. When one of the 
 picturesque tourists comes to the mighty Severn, he is in rap- 
 tures; when he beholds the lake of Bala, the largest in Wales, 
 be calls it " this immense body of water," although, as I am 
 an authentic traveller, it is but four miles long and one broad ! 
 But, "body o^me," when he mounts to the summit of Snow- 
 doun, which is of the " prodigious height 1 ' of three thousand 
 six hundred feet, he is unalterably convinced that be can over- 
 look the tops of the Andes, and that the whole world lies di- 
 rectly under his nose. The painters of the picturesque also 
 practise this species of imposition upon foreigners, especially 
 us Americans, by heightening, as it is called, the effect of their 
 pieces ; that is to say, by making the waterfalls higher, the 
 rocks more rugged, and the hills more perpendicular. When I 
 came to view the originals of those coloured landscapes, which 
 abound to such a degree in our parlours and print-shops at 
 home, I did not know them. It is inconceivable, brother, how 
 they are exaggerated in every feature of beauty and sublimity. 
 
 Far be it from me to flout these people for not having larger 
 rivers, higher mountains, fner waterfalls, and broader lakes. 
 They cannot help it. All I wish is to put you on your guard 
 against the superlative style in which they speak of things, to 
 which, in our country, we should apply some diminutive epi-*
 
 by a New England Man. 33 
 
 thef. Our standard of greatness is different from theirs. Our 
 Mississippi and Missouri are alone called " mighty streams," 
 because they course their thousands of miles, and roll a tribute 
 to the sea greater than that of all the rivers of Britain combined. 
 Our Lake Superior, with its hundred rivers, is alone named ia 
 the language of the superlative degree, because you could empty 
 all the lakes of Britain into its bosom, as a drop in the bucket, 
 without raising its surface the breadth of a hair. Some of our 
 hills too, as the white hills of New Hampshire, are twice as 
 high as the" mighty Suowdoun,'" 1 yet they are only called hills. 
 This habit of speaking in the superlative has also crept into 
 their modes of estimating their exploits, the beauties of their 
 landscapes, the excellence of their literature, and above all, 
 the talents of their great men. In just the same degree that they 
 exaggerate the dimensions of natural objects to the imagination, 
 by their inflated epithets, do they exaggerate the talents and 
 qualifications of their great men. 
 
 At present, I must not forget this " boundless" city of Wor- 
 cester, and its "magnificent" river. It is spread, as I before 
 stated, along the Severn, which is really a pretty little river, 
 or rather, as we should call it at home, a creek. They go so 
 far as to say, that Worcester owes its foundation to Const anline 
 Cklorus. It was burnt by Hardicanute the Dane ; set fire to 
 by Roger de Montgomery; afterwards burnt by accident; 
 again burnt in the wars of king Stephen and Maud ; in the 
 time of Henry the Second it again underwent the same fate. 
 From out of all these burnings Worcester rose a gay, a beau- 
 tiful city ; the seat of the graces in this part of England, and 
 the town residence in winter, of many of the country gentry 
 of these parts, who prefer it to the noise, smoke, and corrup- 
 tion of London. It is just large enough for ail the real pur- 
 poses of social enjoyment, containing, I should imagine, be- 
 tween fifteen and eighteen thousand persons. From these is 
 formed one of the most agreeable, polite, and intelligent circles 
 to be found any where ; equal in polish, and superior in real 
 politeness to the London Beau Monde, which is, in fact, a 
 fantastic assemblage of coxcombs and coquettes, with now 
 and then a fashionable poet or chemist to give it a literary or 
 scientific air. 
 
 From Worcester I proceeded towards Hereford, it being my 
 intention to visit some of the picturesque scenery of the Wye, 
 and thence take the mighty Snowdoun by the hair of bis head. 
 The road was one of the roughest I bad yet travelled, but the 
 country on either side abounded in fruit trees and flowers. 
 The man who drove my vehicle assured me I might gather a 
 rose, without being transported to Botany Bay, that paradise 
 
 VOYAGES and TRAVELS, No. XLV. Vol. VIII. F
 
 34 A Sketch of Old England, 
 
 of English rogues. I ventured to pluck a beautiful one over 
 the fence, and would you believe it, brother, was neither shot 
 by a spring gun, caught in a man-trap, nor prosecuted afiei - 
 \\ards for trespass! This 1 record as the first miracle which 
 has happened to me in this country. I confess, however, a 
 stout, square, rougbfaced damsel did start out upon me, and 
 bawl out something, which luckily 1 could not understand; 
 for I do assure you, that notwithstanding the vulgar opinion 
 on our side of the water, the English is not the national tongue 
 of this country. In the various counties, particularly Somer- 
 set, Yorkshire, Cumberland, and elsewhere, I give you my 
 honour, not one in a hundred can speak the English language. 
 Were not my servant a sort of booby, who speaks all the lan- 
 guages of this island, except the English, I should be quite at 
 a loss to understand or be understood. I am often reminded 
 by such little incidents as this of the rose, of the difference be- 
 tween this country and our liberal and plentiful laud, in which 
 a country gentleman or common farmer would be disgraced 
 as a miser or a brute, who should refuse to a stranger or his 
 neighbours his flowers or his fruit. Of the latter, indeed, no 
 one scruples to pluck what he likes from the road side, without 
 ever asking. Soon I came to the foot of Malvern Hill, where 
 I halted at a neat inn at its foot, with the determined purpose 
 of going to the uttermost top, where, as I have read in all the 
 picturesque tours, was to be seen one of the finest prospects in 
 England. 
 
 In my opinion, brother, the very first excellence of this fine 
 view is, that the ascent to it is not fatiguing. Fatigue destroys 
 the very essence and being of delight. I have often, in my 
 own country, climbed a rugged precipice to see a fine prospect, 
 and vf hen I got to the top, felt as if I could lie down and die, 
 I was so tired. But the ascent of Malvern Hill is all an easy 
 slope, covered with velvet grass. Were it more laborious, 
 however, it would pay well, for it is indeed a noble throne for 
 the very king of the picturesque. The evening was a little 
 hazy, and the atmosphere presented that soft sleepiness of hue, 
 on which the soul, at least mine, reposes with such measureless 
 luxury. The fields just beneath, were some of them in the sun, 
 some in the shade, and their different tints were like the first 
 and second of two well-tuned instruments, producing variety 
 and harmony. Farther off, landscape faded by imperceptible 
 gradations into less of the bright green, and more of the sky 
 blue. The white houses were sprinkled among villages and 
 lawns, and woody groves, whose foliage was alh in soft fleeces. 
 Among these, through the vale of Evesham, I saw two little 
 rivers, like white ribands, waving and meandering along ; and.
 
 by a New England Man. 85 
 
 in the distance the Welsh mountains, whose outlines could 
 hardly be distinguished from the blue sky. On inquiring the 
 names of these streams, 1 was made to comprehend by my 
 guide, that one of them, the smallest, was the Avon. The 
 very name of this river conjured up visions and recollections 
 of Shakspeare, to whom it is for ever consecrated, and mingled 
 what was alone wanting in my impressions, the charm of mo- 
 ral association, with all that is beautiful to the eye. 
 
 The next day I proceeded on towards Hereford, through an 
 exuberant hop country, rich also in every other production of 
 English husbandry, as well as in pastoral beauty and fine 
 houses, to a tolerably miserable town, the name of which I 
 think is Ledbury, for it is so equivocally written in my memo- 
 randum book, that I will not swear to it. The next day I ar- 
 rived at a place noted in days of yore. 
 
 LETTER VI. 
 
 DEAR BROTHER, 
 
 London. 
 
 HEREFORD looks dull and is dull. There is no deception in 
 the place ; for, in approaching, it presents a heavy, flat ap- 
 pearance, very different from Worcester. There is little to be 
 gleaned here, except old tales about Griffin the Welshman, 
 Algar the Englishman, Leofgar the Bishop, and William Fitz- 
 Osborne, with remains of English and Roman antiquities; all 
 which is to be found in every book of travels, and all which 
 you are as well acquainted with as myself. 
 
 The picturesque tourists come hither for the purpose of view- 
 ing the scenery and ancient remains of the river Wye, which 
 abounds in some of the finest landscapes to be seen in this coun- 
 try, and they all make a point of repeating over the same 
 things. Among the public buildings here, the Cathedral is the 
 principal; and of all parts of a cathedral, the most interesting 
 to me are the old tombs to be found in most of them. Here is 
 to be seen a number of these, most of them erected in memory 
 of bishops and ecclesiastics. Among them, however, is one 
 representing a figure in close armour, with the hands raised in 
 prayer, the usual fashion of the more ancient tombs. The 
 figure had a wooden leg, whence I concluded he was some 
 great soldier, who had lost it in the wars; but it turned out 
 that the leg of the figure, and not that of the living knight, had 
 been accidentally broken off, and replaced by an artist of this 
 place. Observing a garter, the badge of the order of knights 
 of the garter, remaining upon the leg, the artist carved another
 
 S6 A Sketch of Old England, 
 
 on the wooden one, exactly like it, so that this is, beyond 
 doubt, the best gartered knight in all England. 
 
 Hereford, although its name is quite familiar to our Ameri- 
 can ears, is but an insignificant place, containing not more 
 than seven thousand inhabitants. As an ancient frontier town 
 between England and Wales, it has, however, derived his- 
 torical consequence, from having been overrun, plundered, 
 taken and retaken, by Welsh and English marauding princes 
 and border-barons, its castle was once reputed of great 
 strength, but there is scarcely a vestige of it remaining, although, 
 its adjacent walks along the river, being kept in good order, 
 form a, most agreeable promenade. Hereford is one of the 
 most orthodox places in England ; so much so, that when I 
 was there, the library association in that town actually talked 
 of making an Auto de Fe of Hume, Gibbon, and some other 
 writers, who have marvellously disturbed the fat dignitaries of 
 the church ! I am not jesting, upon ray word, and from this 
 and other indications, begin to have serious doubts, whether 
 the nineteenth century will not turn out in the end almost as 
 enlightened as the ninth. 
 
 The first objects which, in going out of town, attracted my 
 notice, were a dozen or two of beggars, who form a conside- 
 rable feature of the picturesque in many of the English land- 
 scapes, I assure you. Having distanced these, 1 proceeded 
 towards a noble old place, called Holme Lacy, belonging to 
 the Duke of Norfolk, for the purpose of reconnoitring a scene, 
 once a favourite resort of Pope. /Fhe situation is just fit for a 
 poet: quiet, soft, and secluded, in the midst of rural beauties. 
 It was once the property of the ancient family of Scudamore, 
 and the last viscount was an intimate friend of the poet, who 
 wrote a great deal in these shades. By the aid of that key 
 which unlocks the flinty hearts of every serving-man and 
 serving-maid in this kingdom, I was permitted to enter the 
 grounds, and ramble about almost at pleasure. I always feel 
 like a pilgrim visiting the shrine of a tutelary saint, in such 
 scenes, hallowed by such associations there is something so 
 blameless, so pure, so spiritual, in the fame of literary geuius, 
 more especially poetical inspiration. The harp of the true 
 poet, when tuned to virtuous feeling, is like the harp of 
 the angels, accompanied by the song of the cherubim and 
 seraphim. 
 
 From hence, I pursued my devious course to Ross, and 
 crossed a steep hill, where the bold scenery of this region 
 began to make its appearance ; some distance beyond, I passed 
 Harewood, an old seat. In the", adjoining forest, is the scene 
 of the bloody tragedy of Elfrida, which I refrain from harping
 
 by a New England Alan. 37 
 
 upon, becautK? we have been lately so stultified with history, 
 vamped up iu romance and poetry, that no more is necessary 
 at present. I think, however, it would be no badsubject for the 
 " Great Unknown." Next came we to the ruins of an old 
 castle, which I visited for no other reason, than because it was 
 once the property of Arthur Grey, renowned for his Irish wars, 
 but still more as the friend and benefactor of Spenser, who ac- 
 companied him to Ireland, as his secretary, and received from 
 him a grant of three thousand acres of land there, Spenser 
 has expressed his gratitude in a sonnet prefixed to the Fairy 
 Queen, Very little of this castle now remains. It has passed 
 from the Greys; but long after a stone or a vestige is to be 
 seen, the spot will be remembered and known, as connected 
 with the benefactor of this charming poet. 
 
 Leaving Wilton Castle on the right, I proceeded some dis- 
 tance, three or four miles perhaps, without being particularly 
 struck with any features in the landscape. Some fishermen, 
 catching trout in little wicker-basket boats, attracted my notice, 
 however. When I came to Goodrich Castle, I,was so struck 
 with its venerable aspect, covered half over with green moss, 
 that I determined once for all to invade this strong hold, and 
 give you one single description, which is to satisfy you for the 
 rest of your life. It is placed on a fine eminence, overlooking 
 the river, and is surrounded by a deep trench, some fifty feet 
 wide, as I should judge, cut out of the solid rock. The first 
 apartment, inside the gate, is a small room to the left, with an 
 ornamental window, and large stone chalice for holding the 
 holy water. From hence it has been sagely concluded, that 
 this was the chapel, of which I have not the least doubt. A 
 mass of ruins directly opposite, with an octagon column rising 
 out of them, indicates the ancient baronial hail, where they no 
 doubt held mortal carousals in the time of William Marshall, 
 Gilbert Talbot, and Harry Grey, successively possessors of 
 the castle. A large square tower remains, flaunting amidst 
 its decay, in moss and clambering vines, that almost make it 
 look gay. This is said to have been built by an Irish Mac- 
 beth, a prisoner, who worked out his freedom, and that of his 
 son, by building this enormous keep. Inside of this are mil- 
 dewed, damp, and dreary walls, festooned with cobwebs, in 
 which I observed certain old spiders that came over with 
 William the Conqueror. 
 
 At the iron works, known by the name of Bishop's Wood, 
 the scenery waxed more and more beautiful. At Bicknor I 
 began to comprehend that there was some little reason for the 
 raptures of picturesque tourists, when speaking of the river 
 Wye. Rocks of the boldest magnitude, dressed out in ver-.
 
 38 A Sketch of Old England, 
 
 dare, at every little projection or crevice, and hanging over 
 the water, give a character of grandeur to the scenery, while 
 the narrowness of the stream itself contributes to the sublime, 
 by giving a comparative altitude to the precipices. You tell 
 me you lately sailed up the Hudson River in the State of New 
 York, and observed, how the effect of one magnificent feature 
 of sublimity is diminished by the grandeur and immensity 
 of another. The Palisades, as they are called, are much 
 higher, and in every way more noble than the cliffs of the Wye ; 
 but the wideness of the Hudson takes from them more than 
 half their effect, while the narrow channel of the Wye adds to 
 those I am speaking of in the same or a greater proportion. 
 This remark may be extended to almost all our scenery ; the 
 very vastness of the constituents of our landscapes diminishes 
 the effect, not only of the different parts, but of the whole com- 
 bined. I was more particularly struck with the truth of this, 
 in viewing parts of Wales, where, owing to the proximity of 
 objects, the narrowness of glens, and the disposition of rocks, 
 the highest effect of sublimity was produced by objects com- 
 paratively diminutive. 
 
 Among the wonders of this region areTintern Abbey, Chep- 
 stowe Castle, and Piercefield, the latter, one of the most 
 famous show-places in England. The abbey, to my mind, 
 is more remarkable for the exquisite beauty and finish of its 
 remaining parts, than for its situation, which is low, and does 
 not command a view of the river, except, from above. It is 
 also surrounded by cottages, inhabited by workmen belonging 
 to neighbouring iron works, the din of whose hammers dis- 
 turbs, of an evening, the repose of the scene. But the inside 
 is indescribably fine, and cannot be done justice to by any 
 other medium than that of actual inspection. All I shall say 
 is, that as a mere ruin, it exceeds any thing I have seen since, 
 or ever saw before. Its history is not particularly interesting. 
 It was, according to the fashion of the age, endowed by 
 various benefactions in the elder times, from pious or profli- 
 gate noblemen, who made their peace with heaven by enrich- 
 ing the church : and when the fashion changed, it was sup- 
 pressed and deprived of its revenues, which were shared again 
 among the nobility, from whose munificence or fears they were 
 first obtained. It is now, if I recollect right, the property of 
 the Duke of Beaufort, who takes pains to prevent its further 
 decay. 
 
 The scenery in the neighbourhood of Chepstowe Castle is 
 equal to any on the Wye. A bridge, which, whether hand- 
 some or not, is always a good object in a landscape, crosses 
 near it, below which, on the opposite side, is a range of cliffs
 
 by a New England Man. 39 
 
 rising directly out of the water, on whose sides the ivy and the 
 moss luxuriate, and over whose top the verdure nods. But I 
 must try and elevate myself to the proper degree of pictu- 
 resque sublimity, and talk a little like a traveller on this mo- 
 mentous occasion. Advancing then towards the battlements 
 (1 beg pardon, massive battlements), and sky-aspiring turrets 
 of this adamantine work of ages, I was struck dumb by the 
 view of a grand entrance, personifying the repulsive gloom, 
 feodal reserve, and frantic ferocity of the times, in which its 
 everlasting walls, which are now almost decayed, were reared. 
 The very knocker was warlike, being nothing more than a 
 cannon ball suspended by a vast chain, with which I ordered 
 my man to " knock me here at the gate." He did so, and the 
 very walls, not only of the castle, but the river on which it 
 stands, trembled at the sound. The warder of the castle did 
 not make his appearance, nor did any whylome eftsoons peep 
 over the wall, with his cross-bow levelled, and demand our 
 business ; but an exceedingly decrepid, wrinkled, and withal, 
 ugly old woman, did, after some unreasonable delay, open the 
 gate for our admittance, upon receiving" a piece of that, which 
 melts stone walls and stony hearts in this country. The pro- 
 fessor of English tongues looked rather shy ; for he came from 
 a shire where the witches grew, and privately assured me, that 
 this old woman had all the marks about her. 
 
 Having already described one castle, I hold myself ex- 
 onerated from describing any more ; for, after all, no words 
 can give any idea, except a false one, of visible objects, for 
 which our senses have acquired no standard. I will only 
 mention, that here, in a large round tower of the ancient 
 citadel, Henry Martin, one of King Charles's judges, was con- 
 fined thirty years, and here he died. There is probably no 
 set of men, whose memory has been treated with more in- 
 justice, or who suffered more unrelenting persecution, than 
 these high-souled republicans. On the accession of Charles 
 the Second, they were hunted through England, Switzerland, 
 and all parts of Europe nay, in our new world, where three 
 of them, Whalley, Dixwell, and Goffe, found a refuge, and 
 remained secreted for half the life of man. There is, perhaps, 
 no instance on record, of a secret intrusted to so many persons, 
 so dangerous to keep, and for the disclosure of which there 
 were so many temptations of danger and interest, being kept 
 so long and with such inflexible faith. Yet not one betrayed 
 them. They were in New Haven when the king's officers 
 were searching every house ; nay, they were in the very house 
 they searched ; yet such was the cool discretion and inflexible 
 faith of the people, that they escaped discovery. They lived
 
 40 A Sketch of Old E?tgland, 
 
 many years at Hadley, died there, and t\vo of (hem were 
 buried in the Church-yard at New Haven, without its being 
 known to a single person who ever betrayed the secret, till it 
 was no longer of consequence to the safety of any human 
 being. The truth is, that the sentiment of the people of New 
 England sanctioned their condemnation of the king, and the 
 hearts of the colonists were with those bold, inflexible patriots, 
 who dared to punish a tyrant for making war against his peo- 
 ple. I have often, when at Yale, seen the graves of Dixweli 
 and Whalley, each designated by a stone, which, humble as 
 it is, is calculated to retain their initials, and the time of their 
 decease, for ages. It is a hard, red, primitive stone, very thick, 
 and pointed at the top, in such a way as to form nearly the 
 two sides of a triangle. They lie close together, at the west 
 end of the old Presbyterian Church, where I hope they will 
 remain for ever undisturbed. They were the judges of kings ; 
 and, although they escaped a violent death, their latter life 
 was one long series of exile, danger, seclusion, and oblivion. 
 Henry Martin was another of these, and was spared only for 
 perpetual imprisonment. Mr. Southey wrote some exceed- 
 ingly blank verse on the occasion upon the walls of Chepstowe. 
 
 Piercefield owes its celebrated improvements to Valentine 
 Morris, of St. Vincents, in the West Indies, who wrecked 
 his fortune upon these rocks, and, as usual, was obliged to 
 sell what had cost him a vast sum, the fruits of which he never 
 enjoyed. A Mr. Smith purchased it,nbut got tired, as every 
 man does, of such expensive playthings, and sold it to Colo- 
 nel Wood, who, covered with the spoils of India, also spent 
 vast sums upon these rocks for other people to enjoy, which 
 was very good of him. He got tired too, and sold it to a Mr. 
 Wells, who 1 believe still holds out, but will not probably do so 
 very long. There are, it seems, certain days in which only 
 the show-place is opened, and the day I applied for admit- 
 tance happened not to be one of these. 
 
 My next excursion was to the city of Gloucester, situated 
 on the " noble Severn/'' which, notwithstanding its dignity, is 
 here only navigable lor smaller vessels. It is one of the prin- 
 cipal cities of this part of England. I found an air of busi- 
 ness here, very different from Hereford, and in fact it is a 
 place of considerable trade in pins, &c. by means ef the river, 
 which is divided into two channels here. But the great won- 
 der of the place, and that which most attracted my attention, 
 is the cathedral, which is one of the finest in this country. 
 Is lofty tower, and transparent pinnacles, ornamented with 
 beautiful fret- work the majestic roof, and Gothic ornaments 
 of the choir, with the old Saxon pillars, and arches support-
 
 by a New England Man. 41 
 
 ing the aisle in short, the singular, yet not unharmonious 
 combination of different ages of architecture, all contributed 
 to engage my wonder. It was begun, as antiquaries have de- 
 cided, about the latter end of the tenth century, and not com- 
 pleted, as it now stands, till more than four hundred years 
 afterwards. It therefore exhibits a curious, as well as com- 
 plete exemplification of the variations and progress of church- 
 architecture in England. It would fill a book to describe all 
 the various portions of this building, and even then, without 
 drawings, the impression would be altogether indistinct. There 
 are several very ancient tombs ; among others, that of Ed- 
 ward the Second, which is very singular as well as striking. 
 His e"ftigies exhibit him with cropped hair and beard, whence 
 we may conclude, this was the fashion of the time. 
 
 This, and many other vast edifices of a similar kind, form 
 one among the many boasts of the people of this country. 
 They certainly add both dignity and splendour to the cities 
 where they are situated ; and the stranger, while contemplat- 
 ing them with awe and admiration, is apt to forget what an 
 expense of human labour was here applied to purposes of 
 church vanity ; what vast sums of money were taken from 
 the poor people, to rear those ostentatious monuments of the 
 pow r er and pride of churchmen. They were built in ages when 
 probably one-third of the wealth of the kingdom flowed into 
 the treasury of the church ; when kings trembled at the frown 
 of a mitred minion of the pope; and the people were the 
 beasts of burden that laboured for them all. When we reflect 
 that the labours of millions, the wealth of kingdoms, were 
 thus invested in a dead capital, that yields nothing to the 
 state, and how many hundred thousand people are, at this 
 moment, suffering for the common necessaries of life, it is dif- 
 ficult to resist the impression, that it would add to the happi- 
 ness of mankind, if the incalculable sums lavished on these 
 temples of human vanity, could be made to return to the chil- 
 dren of those whose fathers paid the price. Nothing could 
 be lost on the score of religion, since these immense structures 
 are not in the least calculated for sermons, which cannot be 
 heard through their interminable aisles. 
 
 LETTER VII. 
 DEAR BROTHER, 
 
 London. 
 
 AT Gloucester I received some information which induced 
 me to alter my original design of penetrating into Wales from 
 that quarter, and determined me to proceed to Shrewsbury, 
 
 VOYAGES and TRAVELS, No. XLV. Vol. VIII. G
 
 42 A Sketch of Old England, 
 
 thence into North Wales. I was told I might in this way 
 have an opportunity of seeing one of the finest parts of the 
 country. As it was of little consequence to me which way I 
 entered into Wales, I accordingly proceeded towards Shrews- 
 bury, by the vale of Evesham, and another beautiful vale 
 extending to the foot of Coteswold Hills. Crossing another 
 hill, which separates the two valleys, I had a noble prospect 
 of the cities of Gloucester and Worcester, with almost count- 
 less villas and villages, in the midst of a rich assemblage of 
 natural beauty. At the foot of this hill is the ancient Eve- 
 sham, which lies on the river Avon, out of which I drank to 
 the memory of Shakespeare. But what was rather extraor- 
 dinary, I found very little inspiration therefrom. 
 
 Somewhere about two centuries ago, Coteswold Hill was 
 famed for certain annual sports, called Dover's Olympics, of 
 which Anthony Wood gives the following account : 
 
 - " These games were begun and continued at a certain time 
 in the year, for forty years, by one Robert Dover, an attor- 
 ney of Benton-on-the-Heath, in Warwickshire, son of John 
 Dover of Norfolk ; who being full of activity, and of a ge- 
 nerous, free, and public spirit, did, with leave of James the 
 First, select a place on Coteswold Hills, in Gloucestershire, 
 whereon these games should be acted. Endimion Porter, Esq. 
 a native of that county, and a servant of that King, a person 
 also of a most generous spirit, did, to encourage Dover, give 
 him some of the King's old clothes, with a hat, and feather, 
 and ruff, purposely to grace him, and consequently the so- 
 lemnity. Dover was constantly there in person, well mounted 
 and accoutred, and was the chief director and manager of 
 those games, frequented by the nobility and gentry, (some of 
 whom came sixty miles to see them) even till the rascally 
 rebellion was begun by the Presbyterians ; which gave a stop 
 to their proceedings, and spoiled all that was genero.us or in- 
 genious elsewhere.' 1 '' These games were celebrated in verses by 
 Ben Jonson, Draylon, Randolph, Marmyon, Heywood, and 
 many other wits of the day. Their poems, it is said, were 
 collected and published, with a picture of Dover on horseback, 
 superintending the games : the book, I believe, is not extant. 
 
 We now advanced into Warwickshire, famous for its va- 
 liant champion, Guy, and a thousand times more famous for 
 its Shakespeare,- to whom the world is indebted for more 
 pleasant hours than all the bloody triumphs of a thousand he- 
 roes have ever bestowed upon mankind. What a charming 
 reflection it is, to think that genius has the power of giving 
 delight, when the organization of mind and matter which pro- 
 duced it is dissolved for ever ! Soon we saw the spire of
 
 by a New England Man. 43 
 
 Stratford church, and then the town itself, with its pretty little 
 river. Nobody would ever have heard either of the town or 
 the river, beyond their neighbourhood, were it not for the 
 name of Shakespeare, who has conferred a never-dying 
 fame upon both. Stratford is now a place of pilgrimage, like 
 the grave of Washington, at Mount Vernon. They are wor- 
 thy to be mentioned together, for one is the birth-place of the 
 first of poets ; the other, the tomb of the first of men. Our 
 countryman, Irving, has lately given so pleasing an account 
 of this place, and all the localities connected with the life of 
 the poet, that I will not attempt any thing of the kind, for it 
 would only be repeating what another has said much better. 
 
 From hence to Warwick, where every body knows there is 
 one of the finest castles, or show-places, in this country. It 
 is remarkable for some pretended reliques of the champion 
 Guy, who, judging from his porridge pot, was a great hero, 
 at least in trencher feats. You have no doubt seen views of 
 this castle, as it is in all the picturesque works ; and if you 
 have not, it is impossible to convey any likeness in words. 
 What amused me most was, the honest country people I occa- 
 sionally conversed with, who repeated, with an air of most 
 credulous gravity, all the enormous tales recorded of this re- 
 nowned trencher-man, Sir Guy, whose legendary feats in va- 
 lorous fight, and valorous eating, are all authenticated by a 
 statue, at Guy's Cliff, in the neighbourhood, of most gigantic 
 proportions. 
 
 From Warwick I passed the castle of Kenilworth, which 
 has lately been dug out of its ruins by the indefatigable pen of 
 the " Great Unknown." It is a fine ruin, overgrown with ivy : 
 the comparatively modern additions of the Earl of Leicester 
 are gone to decay, while the more ancient still subsist in toler- 
 able preservation. Rout, and revel, and beer-drinking, bear- 
 baiting, and other royal sports, are here succeeded by silence, 
 decay, and desolation. These castles formed the links of that 
 vast feudal chain which bound the people of the middle ages. 
 They are fast disappearing from the laud, and let them go : 
 they swallowed up the cottages, and held the cottagers in 
 bondage. 
 
 Passing some fine seats I now came in sight of Coventry, 
 famous for Peeping Tom and ribbon weaving. It is an old 
 city ; and all the old cities I have ever seen, except Oxford, 
 that have not been burned down two or three times at 
 least, are, to my mind, very ugly. The streets of Coventry 
 are narrow, inconvenient, and dirty ; the houses gloomy, and 
 the people bear the indelible marks of a manufacturing town. 
 Soon after leaving this place, which is regularly anathematized 
 by alt picturesque tourists, the country became flat, and ap-
 
 44 A Sketch of Old England, 
 
 patently volcauic; for all around I could see (he columns of 
 black, malignant, manufacturing smoke, curling to the skies, 
 or flattening and spreading over the landscape. 
 
 Approaching Birmingham, I breathed the very essence of 
 coal-smoke, which lowered over the pretty, smart, new coun- 
 try-boxes of the manufacturers. I had passed through this 
 town before, on my way to London, but as I was in haste to 
 
 deliver my , made no stay here. On this occasion, 
 
 however, I spent several days in viewing the manufactories, 
 and making inquiries as to the effects of the system upon the 
 morals, manners, and health of the people engaged in them. 
 The general result of all my experience, observation, and in- 
 quiry I shall perhaps give you in a letter particularly devoted 
 to the subject, which is just now of peculiar interest in our 
 country. I found every thing at a stand here ; the manu- 
 facturers dispirited ; the workmen ragged, starving, and dis- 
 affected ; the whole town complaining. Nothing, in fact, can 
 present a more miserable spectacle, than a place arrested in a 
 course of almost unparalleled prosperity, by those unaccount- 
 able mutations which turn the tide of commerce into new chan- 
 nels, and, while they throw thousands out of employment and 
 bread, produce premature decay, and modern ruins. The most 
 common appearance here, is that of beggary ; the rarest, a 
 clean face and hands. 
 
 Skirting the borders of Worcestershire, Staffordshire, and 
 Shropshire, the country was beautiful, and some of the views 
 highly picturesque as well as extensive. In many parts of 
 Staffordshire especially, the appearance of innumerable fur- 
 naces gave the country at night a most singular aspect. It 
 seemed that Mr. Button's subterranean tire was bursting forth 
 in every direction, and that the whole interior of the earth was 
 teeming with combustible matter. I bad a view of the Lea- 
 sowes and Hagley, two beautiful spots ; the one connected 
 with the genius, taste, and prodigality of Shenstone ; the other, 
 with the name of Ly ttelton. The latter place has been fruitful 
 in distinguished characters. Their beauties are familiar to the 
 imagination of most general readers in our country, and so I 
 pass them by. I visited Colebrooke Dale, which is in the way 
 to Shrewsbury, and where Vulcan and the Cyclops resort. 
 Every thing is iron here ; there is an iron bridge ; the seats are 
 iron ; and the men who sit on them are either iron or steel, I 
 could not tell which. The eternal clink of hammers, the roar- 
 ing of the forges, and the columns of thick black smoke, ren- 
 der this place particularly detestable to ears and eyes of com- 
 mon sensibility. If ever they catch me there again, I'll give 
 them full leave, as Sbakspeare says, " to hammer me into a 
 twigger bottle.""
 
 by a New' England Man. 45 
 
 From Colebrooke Dale, winding along the " Noble Severn," 
 which may be about as wide as our Thames at Norwich, in 
 Connecticut, I was highly pleased with the pretty scenery of 
 the little basin through which the river passes. In getting to 
 the city, however, it was necessary to mount an eminence, from 
 whence I had a clear view of the mountains of North Wales. 
 On the other hand, was a fine hill, called the VVrekin, rising 
 pretty abruptly out of a great plain and richly clothed with 
 verdure. I afterwards climbed to the top, in an excursion from 
 Shrewsbury, and was gratified with a view that paid me for 
 the labour, which is more than I can say of many others. I 
 arrived at that city about five in the afternoon, crossing a second 
 time by a grand bridge over the Severn, which almost flows 
 round the whole hill on which Shrewsbury is built. 
 
 I bad two particular objects in view, which induced me to 
 spend three or four days at Shrewsbury : one was to see the 
 prison, which is conducted and governed according to the 
 system proposed by Mr. Howard, and combines with it a 
 house of correction; the other was, to inspect the House of 
 Industry, which is considered one of the most luxurious re- 
 ceptacles of idleness and beggary in this country. Having 
 made the necessary arrangements, I accordingly first visited 
 the prison. The area within the walls contains about two 
 acres of ground ; you enter by the porter's lodge, over the 
 gate of which is a bust of Mr. Howard, that benevolent man 
 and inflexible father! The ground floor on the left is occupied 
 by the turnkey's rooms, above which are his bed-chambers ; 
 that on the right is occupied by the lazaretto, where is a hot 
 and cold bath, an oven to fumigate clothes, which are taken 
 from the prisoners, and a prison uniform put on them. Other 
 rooms up stairs are appropriated to the performance of the last 
 offices for criminals by the clergy, previously to execution 
 on the flat roof above. The debtors, male and female, fe- 
 male felons, capital male felons, petty male felons, women of 
 iil fame, and vagrants, male and female disorderly servants, 
 and apprentices, male vagrants and deserters, are each accom- 
 modated with a spacious court, day rooms, and sleeping rooms, 
 so that it is quite a luxury to be here. In addition to these, 
 there are two courts for male and female refractory prisoners, 
 together with a detached infirmary, with separate courts, day- 
 rooms, and sleeping-rooms: in short, my dear brother, beyond 
 all doubt, a large proportion of the prisoners here are better 
 lodged, better fed, and better clothed, than they were at home. 
 In fact, nine out of ten, of the people of England, do not 
 spend as much as it costs to maintain a pauper here. 
 
 AH this is pretty enough in theory, and looks very like hu-
 
 46 A Sketch of Old England, 
 
 manity ; but I dare only shake my head at it, and say nothing. 
 If people will divert the laws from their original intention, and 
 make that, in effect, a reward, which was intended, and ought 
 to be, a punishment; if they will build palaces for felons and 
 paupers to revel in at the expense of honest industry, why 
 nothing is to be said against humanity, which, under pretence 
 of tenderness to the worthless and unprincipled, pardons the 
 wretch who is only liberated to commit new crimes, or feeds 
 and lodges him in infinite comfort at the expense of the society 
 he has offended. Experience, not argument, must cure these 
 indiscreet gambols of philanthropists. It will not be long 
 before they discover, that they are only heaping coals of fire 
 upon the heads of thousands, in the remote hope of reclaiming 
 one, and offering premiums to vice and immorality. If Mrs. 
 Fry will bribe women of ill fame to reformation, by support- 
 ing them comfortably, while thousands of wives and mothers, 
 who never wallowed in scenes of corruption, but have worked 
 their fingers to the bone, to keep themselves and their children 
 from want, are pining in hopeless and obscure wretchedness ; 
 let her do it, I say again. Instead of offering premiums to 
 virtue, she is proposing temptations to vice, since it seems 
 women must first become infamous in society, in order to 
 entitle themselves to her notice and bounty. No wonder, my 
 dear brother, that vice should thrive, poverty multiply, and 
 prodigality and idleness increase here, under this new system 
 of patronage. But the voice of warning is the voice of one 
 crying in the wilderness ; or, if it be heard, it is only beard for 
 the purpose of bringing the charge of inhumanity against him 
 who uttered the warning. It is not difficult to predict the 
 result of all these injudicious measures. 
 
 From the prison I was carried to what 1 supposed to be a 
 palace, beautifully situated on a lofty bank, and overlooking 
 one of the finest prospects imaginable. Concluding there was 
 some mistake, I begged to be conducted to the poor house. 
 My guide, with an air of great self-complacency, assured me 
 this was the poor house, and that it cost, first and last, above 
 twenty thousand pounds sterling. It is a superb building, 
 affording such luxurious lodgings and excellent accommo- 
 dations, that I was not surprised people preferred living there 
 in idleness and luxury, to working hard at home, and faring 
 indifferently. In looking over the books, and seeing the vast 
 quantities of provisions, the number of fat beeves slaughtered 
 for the entertainment of these sumptuous beggars, I no longer 
 wondered that beggary was grown so respectable a trade. It 
 is quite natural that the people of England should be degraded 
 into paupers, when they are thus actually seduced into idleness,
 
 by a New England Man. 47 
 
 by the tempting prospect of good living and good lodging, 
 instead of being deterred by the certainty of want, and all its 
 train of ills. Is this humanity, is this charity? thought I. Is 
 it thus, that the happiness of human beings is brought about, 
 by tempting them from labour and economy by the prospect of 
 indulgence and plenty, at the expense of others? Is it thus 
 that children are prepared to encounter the labours to which 
 their birth renders them liable, by being pampered in this 
 splendid eating-house? I put some of these questions to those 
 about me, and never got a civil word afterwards. These people 
 share in the good things, and grow rich on charities. It is a fine 
 thing, brother, to manage the concerns of the poor in this coun- 
 try. I wish some one would have the honest hardihood to 
 speak of these institutions as they deserve ; risk the reputation 
 of a philanthropist in the attempt to restrain the progress of 
 idleness and beggary, and rid the industrious of the task, not 
 only of supplying their own wants, but of pampering those of 
 others. He might be a martyr to his honesty, but I am mis- 
 taken if posterity would not do him justice. 
 
 LETTER VIII. 
 DEAR BROTHER, 
 
 London. 
 
 BY the advice of mine host of the Talbot, who prided him- 
 self on " serving the noble Earl of Shrewsbury," I left my 
 horses here, and hired a couple of Welsh ponies, which, he 
 assured me, would carry me much more safely over the moun- 
 tains and through the defiles of Wales. He likewise hinted, 
 that a Welsh pony had a sort of instinctive feeling of the pic- 
 turesque, and never failed to stop where there was a fine view, 
 so that there would be no occasion to carry a guide-book with 
 me. I took his advice, and accordingly bestrided a pony that 
 turned out to be broken-winded. This, however, proved in the 
 end to be a great advantage, for whenever I dismounted to 
 scramble up a precipice, or view a cascade in some glen, un- 
 approachable on horseback, I was always sure of finding him 
 exactly in the same place on my return, he being never guilty 
 of any voluntary locomotion whatever. 
 
 Some of the picturesque hunters make their tours on foot, 
 but I had two invincible objections to this mode. I bate walk- 
 ing, and should have been as long getting through Wales, as a 
 Welsh pedigree. In the next place, I was aware, from ex- 
 perience, that a man on foot never gets a civil answer or civil 
 treatment at a decent British inn. The first salute will be from 
 the chambermaid, who, on being questioned about a bed, will
 
 48 A Sketch of Old England, 
 
 go near to snap your head off. This is particularly the case 
 about Shrewsbury, where the women, having a little of the 
 hot Welsh blood in them, are apt to be somewhat shrewish, 
 whence, possibly, may be derived the name of this ancient 
 city. On one occasion, in Herefordshire, I was very much 
 amused with a respectable, though plain looking man, who 
 came up on foot to an inn, where I had stopt to dine, and 
 ordered dinner. Nobody invited him into the house, and he 
 was permitted to sit on the piazza, until I was wrought upon 
 to ask him into the room I occupied. Contrary to my expec- 
 tation, for I concluded this piece of civility would make him 
 suspect me of a design to pick his pocket, it is so uncommon 
 in this country, he accepted the invitation very frankly, and I 
 found him exceedingly intelligent and well-bred. To tell you 
 the truth, I began to suspect him, it being so unnatural for an 
 Englishman to be entertaining without the hope of advantage. 
 However, no dinner came, or was likely to come, when, af- 
 ter a delay of an hour or two,, an elegant equipage drove up 
 to the door, preceded by an outrider, who enquired if a gen- 
 tleman, whom he described, had stopped there. An explana- 
 tion ensued, and I found that the carriage having received 
 some little damage, the owner, the plain gentleman I spoke of, 
 had taken it into his head to walk on to this hospitable inn. 
 Never were there such civilities, such bows, such congees, 
 and such enquiries, about what the gentleman would choose 
 for dinner, and such apologies for the delay, which was all 
 put upon the cook. The gentleman, who seemed somewhat 
 of a sly humourist, upon this insisted upon the cook's head 
 being well singed, and made into a stew for his dinner. This 
 brought up the cook, who, in spite of the landlord's menac- 
 ing looks, told, what was no doubt the truth, that no dinner 
 had been ordered. The incognito then, pulling out his watch, 
 observed that it was now too late to cook a dinner, and he 
 would go 011 to the next inn to sup and sleep. The landlord 
 was in despair, and the chambermaid almost bit off the end 
 of her thumb, on the occasion. Previously to his departure, 
 we exchanged addresses, and the stranger took my promise 
 to visit him, should I ever pass his mansion, which was in a 
 distant part of the country. 
 
 Having furnished myself with a map and portfolio, I set 
 forth from Shrewsbury one bright morning, for the land of 
 promise, which I had come so far to visit. Previously to this, 
 I had brightened up my rusty genealogy, and traced my 
 descent pretty clearly from Adam, which is considered a 
 tolerable pedigree in Wales, though nothing to make a boast 
 of. Blood, brother, blood is every thing here. In the words
 
 by a New England Man. 49 
 
 of an old writer, which I quote because I am fairly tired of 
 every new one," You shall ever find amongst a hundred 
 Frenchmen forty hot shots ; amongst a hundred Spaniards 
 threescore braggarts; amongst a hundred Dutchmen fourscore 
 drunkards: amongst a hundred Englishmen fourscore and 
 ten madmen ; and amongst a hundred Welshmen fourscore and 
 nineteen gentlemen!" Some of the family trees there took 
 root long before the flood. I must not omit to apprise you, 
 that I was still accompanied by the Professor of languages, 
 whose services as an interpreter I found necessary in crossing 
 through some of the shires, where they speak a tongue not to 
 be found in the German professor's book, that enumerates six 
 or seven thousand. To one, who in America has been accus- 
 tomed to hear the commonest people speak with the fluency 
 and almost the correctness of a gentleman, it is intolerable to 
 listen to the haw hawing and yaw yawing of these terribly 
 thick-headed fellows, who, with all their really good qualities, 
 and these are many, are most stupidly deficient in ideas, and 
 possess no language to express the few they have. I long to 
 get among the sprightly, saucy Americans, whose tongues 
 run like mill-tails, and whose brains are the inexhaustible re- 
 servoirs that keep the mill-clappers going. 
 
 Passing Oswestry, a neat town, I came to a small brook, 
 called the river Carriac, rolling through a deep glen, and 
 there first entered Denbighshire, the frontier county in this part 
 of North Wales. The first object that attracted my attention, 
 
 was castle, belonging to one of the , 
 
 who here, as in our country, are people of figure. From the 
 ascent leading to this castle, there is one of the first fine views, 
 comprehending seventeen counties, and bounded by the Wrekin, 
 Clay Hills, and various other picturesque mountains. A ser- 
 vant came out to us in the park, but rather with a view to 
 watch our motions, I believe, than to show the grounds, for 
 he stuck right close to our heels, without pointing out any 
 thing to notice. Being thirsty, I asked for a drink of water, 
 but, according to the information of our spy, there was not a 
 drop in or about this grand place. 
 
 From the castle we gained the road, which divides towards 
 Chester on the one hand, and Llangollan on the other. The 
 name of the latter being familiar to me, as abounding in rural 
 beauties, I turned in that direction, and after riding about 
 seven miles, came to the village of Llangollan, which is worth 
 going seven miles to avoid. It is, however, useful to the lovers 
 of the picturesque, as forming a perfect contrast with the 
 scenery in the vicinity, which is embellished by the river Dee, 
 and various other beautiful objects. And here, my dear bro- 
 
 VOYAGES and TRAVELS, No. XLV. Vol. VIII. H
 
 50 
 
 ther, before I proceed another step, I must apprise you, that 
 you are not to expect me to mention the name of every place 
 I attempt to sketch for your amusement. The Welsh names, 
 when spoken, are musical enough ; but woe to the man, un- 
 less he be a descendant of Caractacus, who attempts to pro- 
 nounce them as they are written ! The easiest of them are 
 such as Craig, Eglwyseg, Llechweddgartb, and St. Collen ap 
 Gwynnawg ap Clydawg ap Cowdra ap Caradoy Freichfas ap 
 Lleyr Merim ap Einion Yrth ap Cunedda Wledig! the name 
 of one single Welsh saint, the patron of a church in this 
 neighbourhood. 
 
 On arriving at Llangollan, I trusted to instinct for the 
 choice of an inn, and, as ill fate would have it, came to the 
 sign of the Open Hand, which looked like an indication of 
 liberality. My experience, however, demonstrated to me af- 
 terwards, that this Hand was open to receive, not to bestow ; 
 and that it was a very grasping band. The first object that 
 attracts the eye of a stranger at Llangollan, is Dinas Bran, 
 consisting of a few remains of what appears once to have been 
 an extensive castle. Having rested myself a little, I sallied 
 forth, book in hand, to pay it a visit. Tradition records, that 
 as long ago as the middle of the thirteenth century, which, 
 however, is but as yesterday in Wales, this castle afforded a 
 refuge to Gryffdd ap Madoc, Mr. Southey's hero, who disco- 
 vered America, and settled a Welsh colony somewhere. 
 
 Here, too, more than a century after, lived a beautiful maid 
 of the House of Tudor, who was beloved by an illustrious 
 bard, whose name occurs in Gray's fine ode, as " High born 
 Hoel." Myfanway Vecban, for that was her name, it seems 
 was content to receive the homage of the bard, and often 
 listened to his harp and song, which was heard at all times of 
 the night in this charming valley. Sometimes he tuned his 
 harp to the warlike exploits of the Tudors and the Hoels, in 
 old times compeers in battle, and, in his prophetic inspiration, 
 predicted that the former would one day give kings to the isle. 
 At others he sung the joys and the pains of love : he painted 
 the hopes of the lover as he won the smile of his mistress, his 
 despair at her frown or indifference ; the elysium of success, 
 and the agony of disappointment. The lady listened, but she 
 did not love ; at least, she only loved his music and his poe- 
 try : her hand was destined for princes. She married a Tudor, 
 and her descendants fulfilled the prophecy of the bard. Hoel 
 wandered away with his harp, through the wildest and most 
 unfrequented parts of the country, sometimes frenzied and 
 sometimes forlorn ; in his lucid hours singing the falsehood of 
 his mistress, and his own unalterable love. One of these
 
 by a New England Man. 51 
 
 songs is still extant, and, it is said, is exquisitely affecting. In 
 one of the paroxysms of his frenzy, he foretold the subjuga- 
 tion of his country ; and having finished, he broke his harp in 
 the sight of some astonished peasants, and precipitated himself 
 from a high rock into a torrent that carried him no one knew 
 whither. 
 
 It is probable this story, which I heard, not at Llangollan, 
 hut in one of the most sequestered parts of the country I 
 afterwards visited, suggested to Gray the fine picture of his 
 bard plunging into " Conway's foaming flood." There are 
 plenty of these little historical romances connected with the 
 old ruins in different parts of Wales, and it is from such that 
 the latter derive a great portion of their interest. The hill, on 
 which these ruins lie, is estimated at 1800 feet high, and com- 
 mands a prospect finer than that from the higher mountains, 
 though, of course, not so extensive. In fact, every one that 
 has had experience in these matters knows that views, bounded 
 only by the powers of human vision, are neither so beautiful 
 nor so gratifying as those which are circumscribed by pictu- 
 resque outlines. I have often had finer views from the base of 
 a mountain than its extreme summit, where every thing was 
 confused and indistinct. 
 
 The whole of this vale and adjacent country is full of fine 
 rural beauties, and abounds with interesting local associations. 
 1 wandered from the centre of the village, almost every day, for 
 four or five days, in different directions, and every where found 
 objects, and combinations of objects, that attracted my attention. 
 Among others, I one day stumbled by chance upon the site of 
 Owen Glendower's palace, which is marked by a clump of old 
 trees growing on an eminence Glendower, like almost every 
 man of great abilities in those days, at least among the Welsh, 
 was reputed by the English a magician : if Glendower escaped 
 their snares, or gave them a defeat, they saved their credit by 
 ascribing both one and the other to the aid of necromancy. 
 The ignorant, in an age of ignorance, are prone to believe 
 this, for they have in their own minds and resources nothing 
 that can enable them to comprehend the powers of a great 
 genius. Glendower, after baffling the arts of the English, and 
 fighting with his neighbour, Grey of Ruthyn, about boun- 
 daries and what not, for many years, finding himself over- 
 matched, retired into private life, and died quietly in his bed, 
 I believe. He left three daughters, one of whom married an 
 ancestor of that Scudamore, whose descendant I mentioned as 
 the friend of Pope. His posterity is numerous still, and con- 
 nected, in various ways, with many of the first families in 
 Great Britain. But he is best known, and will for ever re-
 
 52 A Sketch of Old England, 
 
 main best known, as associated with the Henry Percy and the 
 Douglas, in the imperishable works of Shakespeare. It is 
 from that circumstance alone, that I have been induced to 
 sketch this little biography. The name of Owen Glendower 
 would never have been familiar to every body in our country, 
 had it not been mentioned by the bard, who has given many 
 passports to immortality. 
 
 Having spent several days at Llangollan, roaming and 
 rambling about with infinite satisfaction, I returned by the 
 way of Chirck Castle, on the road to which, I should have 
 mentioned the famous Offa's Dyke, said to be the ancient 
 boundary between England and Wales. It might be the boun- 
 dary between two wheat fields, or vineyards, for it is suffi- 
 ciently insignificant. From hence I proceeded towards the 
 river Dee ; crossed it by a bridge in a deep vale or ravine, 
 and reconnoitred Wynnestay, which is the noble seat of Sir 
 Watkyns Williams Wynn, and, as the talk goes, is soon to be 
 consecrated by the presence of no less a visitor than King 
 George. This will be matter for the Wynns to talk about as 
 long as there is half a one left. I then turned towards Wrex- 
 ham, which has nothing but a tower steeple to recommend it. 
 From thence to Gressford; and after stopping to view a fine 
 prospect, through Shropshire and Cheshire, crossed the Dee to 
 the ancient and certainly very curious city of Chester, which 
 I visited previously to continuing my picturesque tour, for the 
 purpose of . 
 
 Chester is one of the most respectable old cities I have ever 
 seen : there is an air of originality about it too, that makes it 
 quite an object of interest. It does not appear to have much 
 business ; yet, from being the residence of many opulent fami- 
 lies, not only natives, but from Ireland and the neighbouring 
 "Wales, it has not that intolerable air of decay and total stagna- 
 tion, which I have generally observed in those ancient dozing 
 places. The people seemed actually inclined to politeness, 
 which was quite new to me ; and there were various genteel 
 amusements for evenings, that are always a great relief to a 
 stranger. Nobody ever carries an umbrella here, as the co- 
 vered galleries that extend all along the streets on either side, 
 like piazzas, jutting out from the second story, afford a safe 
 walk for foot passengers. Nevertheless, I was assured that a 
 cunning fellow, a real John Bull, observing there was no um- 
 brella-maker in all the city, thought to make a fortune by 
 commencing the business. He succeeded wonderfully: for, 
 though he failed in business, he became entitled to the privi- 
 leges of pauperism, which are now beginning to be considered 
 by the common people equivalent to a freehold. The walk on
 
 by a New England Man. 63 
 
 the rampart of Chester, is a most singular and delightful pro- 
 menade. In short, brother, there is more novelty in old Ches- 
 ter, than in many of the new towns in England. There is a 
 cathedral, but old, and rather uninteresting. A castle too, 
 but it is gone to decay. Let it go they are only memorials of 
 feudal wars and feudal slavery ; and wherever they abound, 
 one may be sure there is oppression on the one hand, and suf- 
 fering on the other. They were among the strongest links in 
 the chain of feudal slavery, and stood as monuments of the 
 abject situation of the people, whose labour was employed at 
 the will of the liege-lord, in erecting these strong holds, by the 
 possession of which, he was the better enabled to keep them 
 in subjection. 
 
 LETTER IX. 
 DEAR BROTHER, 
 
 London. 
 
 FROM Chester I again penetrated into Wales, passing along 
 the borders of Flintshire, a small county, apparently pretty 
 much divided among marshes and mountains. The old capital 
 lies buried in a marsh along the river Dee, and Holy well is 
 now the principal mart of this part of the country. The neigh- 
 bourhood contains a great many manufactories, and is, ol 
 course, distressed and disaffected. Holywell, like all the ma- 
 nufacturing towns 1 have seen, is tinged with black smoke, and 
 presents a disagreeable aspect. Below the town is a glen, 
 where the manufactories are placed, on a fine stream flowing 
 from St. Winifred's well, which, I believe, has lost all its medi- 
 cinal virtues, ever since the waters were prostituted to these 
 mechanical purposes. The mills and manufactories are prin- 
 cipally for brass and copper ; and it is hardly possible for me to 
 describe the wretched, cadaverous, and unwholesome looks 
 of the workmen in these metals. One might almost be tempted 
 to conclude that the conveniences of life were too dearly pur- 
 chased at the expense of such unhealthy employments. I felt 
 grateful to Providence, that our countrymen were, as yet, per- 
 mitted to exchange the fruits of labours that result in health, 
 manliness, and virtuous independence, for the products of 
 occupations so fatal to all these. 
 
 The famous well of St. Winifred, from whence is derived the 
 name of Holywell, is the finest gush of water from one single 
 source that I have ever seen. It springs at one bound from 
 the foot of a fine rock, and in a single volume, that, at a short 
 distance below, without any accession that I observed, turned
 
 54 A Sketch of Old England, 
 
 all the mills employed in the manufactories. The well is co- 
 vered with a little venerable Gothic building, said to be an of- 
 fering of gratitude from Margaret, mother of Henry the Seventh, 
 for her recovery through the virtues of this well. The inside 
 of the little canopy is exquisitely carved. Many votive offer- 
 ings of crutches, &c. are left here by invalids of former times, 
 in memory of their recovery to the use of their limbs, some of 
 whose stories are perfectly miraculous. But the miracle of all 
 miracles is the history of the saint herself. Winifred was a de- 
 vout and beautiful damsel, daughter of one Thearth, as we say 
 of obscure persons, and niece to St. Benno, another rather ob- 
 scure person. Having obtained leave to found a church upon 
 the possessions of her father, the saint took her under his tui- 
 tion, and instructed her in religion. Crodorus, sou to a very 
 obscure king, one also who reigned in this neighbourhood, 
 being smitten with her beauty, according to the customs of the 
 age, attempted to violate her person. She ran towards the 
 church for sanctuary, but was overtaken at the brow of the 
 hill by this gallant British prince, who, enraged at his disap- 
 pointment, cut off her head, which rolled down the hill to the 
 place where the congregation were kneeling at their devotions. 
 From the spot where it stopped, immediately gushed forth a 
 clear and beautiful fountain ; and thereupon St. Benno, taking 
 up the head, and joining it to the body, to the surprise of all, 
 the virgin became re-animated, nothing remaining to mark the 
 separation but a white ring round the neck. Crodorus dropped 
 down upon the spot where he committed the outrage; but, 
 whether he was swallowed up by the earth, or carried away 
 by the devil, the legend rather doubts. It is affirmed that the 
 sides of the orifice, whence the waters issued, became all at 
 once fringed with a green and sweet-scented moss, and the 
 stones at the bottom tinctured with the blood of the virgin. 
 She outlived the cutting off her head about fifteen years, and, 
 having taken the veil, died abbess of Gwytherin, in this 
 county. 
 
 The well became famous for its sweet-scented moss, the 
 bloody tint of the rocks, and the miraculous virtues of its waters. 
 The sick and the pious resorted to it from all parts of the 
 neighbourhood ; and the votive crutches and barrows announce 
 the recovery of some at least, whether by faith, or the work- 
 ings of the waters, cannot be known. Of late years, how- 
 ever, it has not been much frequented. Industry and employ- 
 ment, most potent enemies to superstitious fancies, have called 
 the attention of the people from legends and saints, while the 
 clink of hammers, the turning of wheels, and the roaring of 
 bellows, have all combined to banish the silent musings of
 
 55 
 
 wayward imagination. Either the water, the human mind, 
 or the human constitution, has altered, for no cures are now 
 worked by the miraculous well of St. Winifred. The moss 
 and the blood-tinged stones, it is true, remain, but they have 
 ceased to excite wonder, ever since the prying curiosity of bo- 
 tanists discovered that the former was nothing more than the 
 mere vulgar jungermanius asplenoides, and the latter the 
 byssus jolitferus, a little red fibrous plant, which is common 
 at the bottom of our pure mountain brooks. Nevertheless, it 
 is a fine curiosity, inasmuch as it gushes forth upwards of 
 eighty hogsheads of water a minute, which never freezes, nor 
 ever varies in quantity, under any change of seasons. After 
 all, my dear brother, what business have we to laugh at the 
 credulity of our ancestors, or pride ourselves upon our disen- 
 chantment from the wonders of St. Winifred's well, while half 
 the world is buying quack medicines, and trusting to quack doc- 
 tors ? I am somewhat apprehensive, that the boasted im- 
 provement, in the present age, consists pretty much in banish- 
 ing old to make way for new absurdities. While the good 
 folks of England continue their faith in the magical operation 
 of the sinking fund, the blessings of a national debt, or Mr. 
 Owen's plan of placing the people out at board at the expense 
 of the nation ; and while our worthy countrymen follow in 
 the footsteps of this faith, what business, I say again, have we 
 to laugh at the magical wonders of St. Winifred's well? If 
 Dr. Solomon could build a palace upon the credulity of man- 
 kind, in the nineteenth century, why should we laugh at the 
 credulity which built only a little dome to the virtues of St. 
 Winifred's well? 
 
 I shall say nothing about the ruins of Basingworth Abbey, 
 which I passed in my way to the famous vale of Clwydd, 
 which you may pronounce if you can. This vale extends 
 almost all the way to Llangollan, which, on the whole, I think 
 it excels in beauty. It is generally about three to four miles 
 wide, and nearly thirty in length. Throughout almost the 
 whole length of the vale, the two little rivers Clwydd and 
 Elwy meander in curving parallels, sometimes appearing as if 
 they would unite their waters, then capriciously separating 
 wide apart, as if they bad brawled themselves into a quarrel. 
 Thus they coquette with each other through the vale, exhibit- 
 ing a thousand little meandering curves, and adding every 
 beauty that can be added, to rich cultivated fields, pleasant 
 villages, beautiful country-seats, and ruins associated with 
 history, tradition, and fiction. The contrast of sterile hills 
 and bald mountains on either side, with this scene of rural 
 wealth, rural health, and rural innocence, is peculiarly striking.
 
 66 A Sketch of Old England, 
 
 On a distant eminence, as I passed along, I observed the town 
 of Ruthyn, once the seat of Grey of Ruthyn, the wily neigh- 
 bour and antagonist of the "d d magician Glendower," as 
 
 Shakspeare calls him. It yet gives the title of Lord Grey of 
 Ruthyn. The present representative, a lady, claims the right 
 of bearing the king's spurs at the coronation ! On another 
 high mount I saw the castle, or rather the remains of the castle 
 of Denbigh, a most striking object, whose ruined gateway 
 seemed trembling on the verge of the steep. Shall I tell you, 
 my dear brother, that most of these old castles, which form 
 such prominent features in the picturesque tours, are, in reality, 
 most insignificant objects. Now and then indeed I met with 
 one, as Conway Castle, for instance, which was really a noble 
 ruin, but by far the greater portion of them are, in every re- 
 spect, insignificant. 
 
 Leaving the vale of Clwydd, of whose sweet rural beauties 
 I shall ever retain a pleasing recollection, I passed over a hilly 
 rough ridge around the base of Penmanmoss, in doing which, 
 I suddenly came upon a fine view of Conway Castle and 
 town, finely backed by a range of mountains in the distance. 
 The position of this castle, and what remains of it, is really 
 fine, and in some measure justifies the eulogies passed upon its 
 picturesque beauties : it is as old as the thirteenth century, and 
 was the work of Edward the First, who put rings in the 
 Welshmen's noses by building strong castles. One of the Earls 
 of Conway transported the timber, lead, and iron, to Ireland, 
 in the way of speculation, I believe; since then it has gone to 
 decay. It is usually rented at six shillings and eightpence paid 
 to the king, and a dish of fish to the Marquis of Hertford. 
 The town itself is a miserable place, abounding in beggars. 
 Indeed, all the pleasure to be derived from a tour in these fine 
 scenes, is in a great measure saddened by the wretched state of 
 the people, and the fast increasing habit of begging. The pride 
 of the Englishman, as well as of the Welshman, is gradually 
 stooping to this degradation; nor is it any longer a disgrace to 
 beg. In every direction I was repelled from these recesses, 
 which ought to be, and once were, the strong holds of virtuous 
 independence, by the sight of human beings, whose spirits 
 were bound down by poverty, and who, instead of hiding their 
 wants, made them a pretence for asking charity of a stranger. 
 At Conway is the worst ferry in the United Kingdom. I 
 waited for the ferryman till I was quite tired, and finally alter- 
 ing my original intention, instead of crossing the river, con- 
 tinued on the side where I was for several miles. It turned 
 out well, for I thus, by mere chance, fell into the track of some 
 of the finest views I had yet seen.
 
 by a Afea England Man. 57 
 
 . The road wound along the terrace on the bank of the river, 
 which gradually grew narrower, merely leaving room for strips 
 of verdant meadows betwef-n its banks and the bills, which 
 were fringed with wood at their base. On the other side ap- 
 peared a ridge of high mountains, broken with masses of rocks, 
 and sometimes half hid by the clouds flitting along its sides ; 
 fcereand there brooks, rushing down the sides, or precipitating 
 ifl fine little cascades, gave life and animation to this solitary 
 scene. At the extremity of this vale is the town of Llanrwst, 
 which must be pronounced with a twist of the mouth : here I 
 baited with a design of getting rest and refreshment. Llanrwst 
 is hardly worth mentioning as a town; but its situation is truly 
 delightful, although here also the curse of inequality has 
 showered its miseries. The principal proprietor of this part 
 of Wales is Lord Gwydir, who is to figure in the coronation 
 as chamberlain, in right of his wife, and will come in for a 
 few towels, if not a wash-hand basin. He has the character 
 of an easy landlord, and rolls in wealth, while his tenants are, 
 a great many cf them, wallowing in poverty. You may think 
 liow they live in these stagnant times, when some of them pay 
 as high as four guineas an acre, yearly rent, for meadow land. 
 No wonder that even in this sequestered nook they think and 
 talk of our New World, and like the Israelites in the desert, 
 took with longing eyes to the land of freedom, the land of in- 
 dividual independence, the land flowing with milk and honey. 
 I cannot express the proud and secret transports of ray heart, 
 at hearing, as I have done in every part of England, in the 
 crowded city, the cultivated fields, and sequestered mountains, 
 poor people talking about our country, as a home to which 
 they looked with longing eyes ; as a refuge, which if they 
 could only once gain, they would no longer fear the ills of 
 poverty, or the curse of dependance. In vain is it, that hired 
 or disappointed travellers have indulged in every species of 
 wanton and exaggerated misrepresentation ; in vain have they 
 pictured our country, its character and its institations, in the 
 most uninviting colours ; in vain have our newspapers con- 
 jured up yellow fevers every summer ; in vain has the govern- 
 ment tried to allure them to Canada, to the Cape of Good 
 Hope, to Botany Bay. All that has been said of these; 
 all that has been said of the distresses under which our 
 country is labouring ; all that truth, falsehood, and decla- 
 mation have uttered, has not diminished the poor man's con- 
 fidence in the advantages held out to the English emigrant. 
 They know, that for the price of one year's rent of an acre 
 of English land, th'ey could purchase to themselves the right 
 -and property for ever, in half-a-dozen acres, quite as good ; 
 VOYAGES and TRAVELS, No.XLV. Vol. VIII. i
 
 58 A. Sketch of Old England, 
 
 they know they will hold this land free from poor-rates, tithes, 
 and taxation, except a mere trifle of the last ; and above all, 
 they know, that the very miseries of which our mean, unmanly, 
 and unprincipled speculators so loudly complain, would be 
 happiness to them ; vast numbers would emigrate to America 
 had the lower and labouring classes only the means of getting 
 there : as it is, they talk of it as an event familiar to their wishes 
 and imaginations, and feel that sort of anxiety to get thither, 
 which those, who are born and brought up in a happy country, 
 feel to return to it, after a long absence, like mine. 
 
 I must not forget to mention, that mine host at Llanrwst was 
 one of the most pompously indifferent, inattentive fellows in 
 the world. He never knew any thing about his house, or what 
 was in it, not he ; but be was somewhat excusable, being de- 
 scended in a direct line from Llewellyn ap something, Prince 
 of Wales ; in imitation of whom, he kept open house to all 
 comers, and made them pay double. 
 
 LETTER X. 
 DEAR BROTHER, 
 
 London. 
 
 FROM Llanrwst I made an excursion up the vale of Con- 
 way, to where the mountains approach so near each other, 
 that there is just room for the river to pass. All the rest of 
 the valley was completely shut in by the curving hills. This 
 is the neighbourhood of Snowdon, which is never spoken of 
 except in the extreme of high-wrought superlative. Its " as- 
 tonishing height, 1 ' 3,600 feet its abrupt sides and fantastic 
 heads its " horrible beauties, 11 and the " incredible velocity 
 of its torrents, 51 which, like most other mountain streams, are 
 apt to run pretty fast down hill, and to tumble when they come 
 to a perpendicular all these, brother, are described by the 
 picturesque travellers in such terms, that you would suppose 
 every cascade a Niagara, and every hill a Mont Blanc or a 
 Peak of Teneriffe. The scenery, however, in spite of all their 
 exaggerations, which of course must necessarily diminish the 
 effect of the reality, is very striking. The misty mountain 
 tops, the rugged and confused masses of rocks, the occasional 
 torrents, and the rushing of the river through the pass, together 
 with those rugged and savage features, which almost every 
 where accompany the passage of rivers through mountains, all 
 unite to form a scene of glorious variety. 
 
 Following a wild track, I came to the ruins of an ancient 
 castle, called Dolwyddellan, which, mounted upon a high
 
 by a New England Man. 59 
 
 steep rock, formed a striking feature of this wild region. 
 Below these ruins, and about a mile distant, is the little village 
 of Dolwyddellan, situated in one of the most sequestered spots 
 in the world. It consists of a few small cottages, inhabited 
 by the simplest race, who speak no other language but the 
 Welsh, and never, except when broken in upon by a pictu- 
 resque tourist, see any new faces. They pride themselves, 
 however, (for no people, however insignificant, can live with- 
 out something to be proud of) they pride themselves upon an 
 old tradition, that Llewellyn was a native of their town. This 
 I learned from my professor of languages, who, I beg you to 
 understand, though I do not mention it, is always at my heels. 
 I found him particularly useful here, as an interpreter, having 
 begun to understand his English lately. I spent the night here 
 among these rural innocents, in a thatched hut ; and I do assure 
 you, that never since I left America have I passed one more 
 pleasantly. To the eye, the whole world was centred in this 
 little valley. The breezy stillness of twilight, disturbed only 
 by rural sounds, the most homely of which (such is the charm 
 of association), sounded musically sweet, lulled me into a train 
 of reflections, that centred at last in home. The calling of 
 the cows ; the voices of the women and children talking or 
 singing ; even the squeaking of the pigs, were all harmonious 
 to the scene and the hour. The moon by and by rose, and 
 hovering along the tops of the mountains, divided the little 
 valley into spots of light and shade, beautifully contrasted, yet 
 harmoniously blending with each other. All was peace, se- 
 renity, and confidence. For the first time in England, among 
 strangers, I was received without inquiry or suspicion, and 
 nothing could exceed the simple reliance with which they 
 placed their house, and all it afforded, at my command. True, 
 they had nothing to lose worth taking ; yet still it was a rare 
 and pleasing trait of character, and as such I have remembered 
 it, and shall do so as long as I live. 
 
 Their mode of living in this little village, and indeed 
 throughout all this sequestered region, is such, as our beef, 
 ham, and turkey-eating villains at home, would call starvation. 
 They would not even put up with it in the poor house or state 
 prison. The cow and the goat furnish them with most of 
 their food, and it is very seldom they get a meal of flesh among 
 them. Yet they are far happier than most of the lower English 
 peasantry, and a hundred times happier than a large portion 
 of the labouring manufacturers. Their wants are few, and 
 their habits are virtuous. Labour is there combined with 
 health, wholesome, though simple food, and pure elastic air. 
 In a word, they are apparently happy in their situation, what-
 
 60 A Sketch of Old England, 
 
 ever estimate others may form of it, and that is quite 
 for them. I met here but with one family, the one where I 
 slept, who talked of going to America when they could get 
 there. Through the medium of the professor, I told them of 
 the old Welsh woman and her husband, who kept your dairy 
 and garden ; and when assured that these ate as much fresh 
 meat as they liked, morning, noon, and night, they cast up 
 their eyes, and clapped their hands in utter astonishment. 
 When I also made "them comprehend, that this good couple 
 had saved money enough, in a few years, to buy a hundred- 
 and fifty acres of land for themselves and their children, to 
 have and to hold for ever, without lords, rents, tithes, or 
 taxes, they almost shed tears, and for the first time seemed 
 sensible that something was wanting to their happiness. I 
 almost reproached myself for what I had done. On going 
 away I gave the father your address ; and as God shall pros- 
 per you, my brother, should they ever find their way to. your 
 door, I would have you recollect that they treated me kiadly 
 in the mountains of Wales. 
 
 From Dolwyddellan, I went, through a succession of inte- 
 resting scenery, to the little village of Aber, which is a good 
 place to halt at, for the purpose of ascending Penmanmuir. 
 From this village I explored a little glen, deep and romantic, 
 which leads to a famous fall, called Maes-y-Gair, or Rhryadr 
 Mawr, I cannot say which, as my note is rather obscure. 
 Here, to use the proper elevation of language, which all the 
 tourists indulge, whenever they want to make a mountain of 
 a molehill here, the water, a small brook, rushing with in- 
 describable velocity, foams and dashes over a tremendous slate 
 rock, fifty feet high ! I made a drawing of this, and some other 
 great falls, with a scrupulous regard to the size and dimensions 
 of objects, which I send with this letter. From these, which 
 I assure you, are rather heightened than otherwise, you will 
 perceive, how we in America are misled by the high-sounding 
 superlative of tourists, and the unjustifiable hyperbole of pic- 
 turesque pencils. The Rhrydr Mawr is what we call a pretty 
 little cascade at home. During a dry season, I am told, it is 
 apt to disappear entirely. The winter is the best time for 
 visiting them, only nobody can get there in that season. 
 
 Near the village of Aber once stood a castle or palace of 
 Llewellyn ap Gryffyd, Prince of Wales. Tradition has pre- 
 served the following tale connected with these ruins. At the 
 siege of some place, Llewellyn took prisoner an English baron, 
 of the name of William de Breos, or de Bruce, whom he car- 
 ried home, and treated with great hospitality, insomuch, that a 
 strong friendship grew up between them. Llewellyn's wife,
 
 by a New England Man. 61 
 
 Joan Plantagenet, daughter of King John, from pitying the 
 captive knight, who was said to be very accomplished and 
 beautiful, realized the affinity between compassion and love, 
 and finally carried on a clandestine intercourse with De Breos. 
 The English knight was afterwards set free, but before Llew- 
 ellyn had discovered the wrong he had done him. When, 
 however, it came to his knowledge not long afterwards, he 
 invited De Breos to pay him a visit, threw him into a; dun- 
 geon, and afterwards hanged him at a short distance from the 
 castle upon a little knoll, lull in sight. He then drew Joan to 
 the window, and in the words of the legend 
 
 " Lovely Princess," said Llewellyn, 
 " What will you give to see your William?" 
 " Wales and England and Llewellyn, 
 " I'd freely give to see my William.'' 
 
 Llewellyn, as might be expected, irritated at this answer, 
 pointed out, with horrible satisfaction, the body of De Breos, 
 hanging full in view. The lady did not expire at the sight, 
 but lived several years afterwards with her husband, who, it 
 seems, was satisfied with his revenge upon the lover. You 
 must excuse me for troubling you with this stuff; but the fact 
 is, there is little else to be told about these old castle^, but tales 
 of unprincipled love and outrageous revenge. 
 
 Nothing occurred worthy of record between Aber and Caer- 
 narvon, whither I next bent my way. This last is one of the 
 finest towns in North Wales. Itis surrounded by walls, which, 
 together with the castle, were more entire than any I had ob- 
 served in this country. The castle was built by Edwafd the 
 First, and is admirably situated for " curbing the Welsh," as 
 the phrase then was. In one of the small dark rooms was 
 born Edward the Second, in consequence of the Queen being 
 taken there to give the Welshmen a native Prince. He did 
 them very little honour by his birth, for he was, beyond doubt, 
 one of the most weak and worthless monarchs that ever 
 reigned in England. The views of, and from this castle, are 
 highly picturesque and beautiful ; and its preservation, for more 
 than five hundred years, gives it a degree of sublimity ap- 
 proaching to the idea of perpetual duration. 
 
 Near to Caernarvon are the remains of the ancient Segon- 
 tium, a Roman station ; and parts of a Roman road are still to 
 be traced in the vicinity. The road to Beddgelert passes 
 through it. There are also the vestiges of a Roman fort, con- 
 sisting of walls of great thickness, and perhaps ten feet high. 
 Here I had the satisfaction of seeing, that the Romans built 
 ptone wajls in Wales exactly as we do in America, and as they
 
 62 A Sketch of Old England, 
 
 did in Italy, by laying one stone upon another. You see, 
 brother, one learns something by travelling. It is said, how- 
 ever, that they used boiling water for cement, which is, un- 
 doubtedly, one great reason of the durability of their works. 
 The mortar, being thus in a sort of liquid state, insinuated 
 itself into every vacancy between the stones, and formed a 
 solid wall. In the walls of this fort are a number of round 
 holes, about three inches in diameter, and passing quite through. 
 These holes have puzzled the antiquaries very much,. and given 
 occasion to various conjectures. If it might be permitted me 
 to make a yankee guess, I would say, they were left there to 
 look through, as occasion required, at the enemy, or any -thing 
 else. From the eminences in the neighbourhood of Caernar- 
 von, are seen the Isle of Anglesea, and a great variety of 
 mountain peaks ranged along for a considerable distance. The 
 view of Anglesea was quite inviting, and almost tempted me to 
 cross the ferry. Other considerations, however, prevented me, 
 and I passed into what is called, by the picturesque tourists, 
 the wonders of Snowdonia. The mention of this mountain re- 
 minds me of an omission, in not telling you, that from Conway 
 I ascended to the summit of Penmanmuir, which rises fourteen 
 hundred feet, almost perpendicular, from the sea. It was the 
 only place, that at all realized the magnificent descriptions of 
 the tourists, that I had yet seen in Wales. A walled road 
 passes close around the edge of this tremendous ocean barrier ; 
 and the boundless prospect, as well as the sublime precipice, 
 caused a glowing fluttering of the heart, partaking of elevation 
 and apprehension combined. This place is all simplicity and 
 sublimity, There are but three ingredients, all purely grand 
 the sky, the ocean, and the tremendous precipice. It is be- 
 yond doubt the noblest spot in all England, and makes an im- 
 pression never to be forgotten. 
 
 I contented myself with viewing Snowdon from Beddgelert, 
 from whence it makes rather a striking appearance, presenting 
 a high peak, generally, however, encircled with vapours. In- 
 deed, this is the region of humidity; and nine times in ten a 
 traveller ascending the mountain gets wet in going up, and 
 when he gains the summit, can see nothing but a Welsh mist, 
 equal in obscurity to a genuine Welsh pedigree. I therefore 
 turned my back on Snowdon, who very modestly retired be- 
 hind his veil of vapours, and did not appear again the whole 
 day. This region, which is called Snowdouia, is composed of 
 subsidiary hills, lying about the base of Snowdon, and con- 
 stituting properly the different steps in the ascent to that moun- 
 tain, although there are valleys between. It is a wild and 
 dreary region, with scarcely a vestige of agriculture, and pre-
 
 by a Netfi England Man, G& 
 
 Senting nothing but the most harsh and savage features of 
 nature. But I must caution you once more against the super- 
 lative phraseology of the tourists, when speaking of these 
 places. They set out from London, where perhaps they have 
 lived all their lives, without seeing a hill higher than Hamp- 
 stead or Highgate, or any object of nature more sublime than 
 the Thames and Rosamond's Pond, and coming into Wales, 
 are fully assured that every thing they behold is on a scale of 
 immensity, because it exceeds all they have ever seen before. 
 I assure you, brother, I have not half the opinion of Welsh 
 scenery that I had, when reading tours and looking at pictures 
 of Llangollan, &c. by your fire-side in America. The moun- 
 tains of Switzerland present objects on a far greater scale; 
 and nothing I have yet seen, in England or Wales, can rival 
 the scenery of the Rhine and its neighbourhood for sublimity 
 and beauty combined. All England can produce nothing to 
 compare with the Rhinegau, any more than all England can 
 produce such wine. 
 
 Still you are not to understand me to mean, that the Welsh 
 scenery is not very pretty, very respectable indeed, in point of 
 variety at least. By one, who has never been out of England, 
 it will undoubtedly be considered wonderful and unequalled. 
 It is under this impression that the tourists have deceived them- 
 selves and their readers, by adopting the superlative, when they 
 should modestly have, confined themselves to the positive, and 
 not even ventured upon the comparative. Excepting the pass 
 of Penmanmuir, the higher class of sublimity is no where to 
 be seen in Wales. For my part, it was neither the mountains, 
 the rivers, the cataracts, nor the magnitude, indeed, of any 
 particular feature of nature that struck me. It was the beau- 
 tiful, romantic, and solitary little vales, deeply embosomed in 
 the mountains the softer and more latent beauties, that caught 
 my heart, and awakened the rural feeling in its highest state. 
 Such scenery abounds in Wales, and to those who have a taste 
 for it, few countries present more frequent or more entire gra- 
 tification. 
 
 The view of the vale of Festiniog, on emerging from the 
 defiles among the ruins and rugged tributaries of Snowdon, 
 was of this character, and carried with it also the charm of 
 novelty, as well as the sight of a comfortable looking little inn, 
 to a weary and hungry traveller. This last is a prospect in 
 Which all true lovers of the picturesque delight.
 
 64 A Sketch of Old England^ 
 
 LETTER XL 
 DEAR BROTHER, 
 
 London; 
 
 THE vale of Festiniog of Maentwrog is well cultivated, and 
 abounds in rural beauties, the very seat of musing and tran* 
 quillity. It is all wild mountains without, and all gentleness 
 within. The little village of Festiniog lies somewhat elevated 
 above the surrounding fields, and at the foot of the mountains. 
 Near it are the pretty falls of Cynfael, separated by a distance 
 of about half a quarter of a mile, and the principal pitch about 
 forty feet high. Below this, the water, being confined in a 
 narrow pass of rocks, rushes along with considerable velocity, 
 exhibiting altogether a picturesque and romantic spectacle* 
 There is a singular rock rising out of the bed of the river like 
 a column, and is called Hugh Lloyd's pulpit. 
 
 This little vale, which is only about three miles long, and a 
 mile wide, is intersected by a rivulet, called the river Dwyrid, 
 on either side skirted with meadows, succeeded by cultivated 
 fields along the sides of the hills, which, in many places, are 
 covered with wood. At either end are high mountains, shut- 
 ting out this little sequestered spot from all but the skies. The 
 tide, at the bottom of the vale, flows in from the sea, which is 
 just distinguished through the opening, as you pass between the 
 mountains. It is indeed a beautiful scene; presenting, on 
 every side, a combination of objects, associated with all that 
 is gay, innocent, and happy, in the lot of man. I must not 
 omit to mention that there is an inn here, called Tan-y-Bwlch t 
 which is reprobated by all the picturesque travellers, and par- 
 ticularly those who journeyed on foot. Each of these has had 
 a fling at the poor host, who, like Fielding's landlady, is not 
 really an ill-natured person, but he loves money so well, that 
 he hates every thing like poverty. There are two ways of 
 quieting Englishmen, particularly English landlords. One by 
 the jingling of money, the other by the jingling of bells. 
 Either of these will calm the roarings of the stoutest John 
 Bull. But among all the triumphs of gold, that of winning 
 civility from an English innkeeper, is certainly the greatest. 
 It is conquering both nature and habit at a blow. 
 
 Passing the southern barrier of the valley, I took a farewell 
 look at Its beauties. The road now carried me for miles over 
 mountains, which afforded views of great extent and variety, 
 and comprehended the summit of Snowdon, which seems to 
 have as many heads as Hydra ; for one cannot look, it would 
 seem, in any direction, without seeing Snowdon, or at least the
 
 by a New England Man. 65 
 
 clouds that hide his top. Passing a miserable village, inhabited 
 by a miserable people,! gradually descended again into a valley, 
 abounding in wood, the road through which leads to the famous 
 cascade of Dollymyllan, formed by a brook called the Gam- 
 Jan, which foams and dashes terribly in the accounts of the 
 tourists, but is really no more than the ordinary mountain 
 torrents that our country presents to every traveller, who has 
 leisure and taste to admire them. 
 
 After visiting two other little cascades, the Cayne and Moth- 
 waye, which are really worth going a couple of miles to see, 
 and passing through a track abounding in striking features, I 
 gradually descended, along the rocky and almost sublime 
 shelving bank of the Mawdoch, to Dolgelly, the poor capital 
 of Merionethshire. There was very little here to eat, but a 
 great deal to see ; poverty, the bane of happiness, is here I 
 mean beggarly poverty want. The town lies at the base of 
 Coder Idris, which rises almost perpendicularly, presenting. a 
 broken rocky face, of uncommon grimness and savage majesty. 
 It is only about twenty-eight hundred feet high ; but its abrupt- 
 ness, and, above all, its detached position, distinct from any 
 other range, gives it an air of great majesty. Indeed, it may 
 be remarked, that the Welsh scenery, particularly mountains, 
 derives most of its effect from its abrupt transitions, and the 
 frequent occurrence of hills and rocks that are nearly perpen- 
 dicular. A precipice, or very steep mountain, approaches 
 more near to the sublime, than a mass of rocks, or a full- 
 swelling hill of thrice their altitude. Another feature, which 
 undoubtedly contributes to render the Welsh mountains more 
 striking, though far less beautiful, is their general barrenness. 
 Destitute almost entirely of trees, they present a grim and 
 terrible aspect; and I was perpetually struck with the contrast 
 between them and our native hills, the fine foliage of whose 
 trees, extending quite to the summit, gives them a fleecy soft- 
 ness, a feathery outline, peculiar to themselves. Nothing 
 indeed can be more enchantingly beautiful, than a view of the 
 grey rocks, and variegated foliage of one of our mountains 
 through the pure transparent atmosphere of an early October 
 morning. 
 
 The fiend, who presides over the picturesque in these regions, 
 tempted me to the ascent of Coder Idris. Accordingly, in- 
 vited by a fine morning of most promising aspect, I proceeded 
 to the house of an honest, but exceedingly poor publican, 
 situated just at the point for beginning this- mighty task. I 
 chose a path gullied out by a little torrent, which, during rains, 
 leaps from rock to rock, through a deep winding way, from 
 the summit to the vale below, stopping, as it were, to rest after 
 
 VOYAGES and TRAVELS, No. XLV. Vol. VIII. K
 
 66, A Sketch of Old England, 
 
 each leap, in little transparent crystal basins, formed by its 
 perpetual action. Hie labor, hoc opu$ ettt, quoth I, as I 
 tpiled and climbed upwards, the ascent growing more and 
 more difficult as I approached the summit. Nevertheless, the 
 anticipated prospect supported my strength, and renovated my 
 spirits. But the picturesque d 1, or, more politely, fiend, 
 brownie, or goblin, played me a trick after all ; for, just about 
 the time I was toiling in the ravine, the vapours were gathering 
 at the top, and a shower of rain hailed my emerging to the 
 light of day. I got a wet jacket, and missed a prospect of two 
 hundred miles in circuit. Cader Idris tempted me, however, 
 ajad I fell into a great showjer, which not only spoiled my pic- 
 turesque hunting coat, but hid all the prospect in dense mists. 
 When I came d.own I took out my book to see what I might 
 have seen, if it had pleased heaven, and was consoled to find 
 that several tourists, besides myself, had got a wet skin in 
 ascending the mountain, and had, like me, come down as wise 
 as they went up. 
 
 1 shook the mud from my feet, as did the trees of Orpheus 
 from their roots, when that divine fiddler set them a dancing, 
 and turning my back to this uncourtly, inhospitable mountain, 
 proceeded to the junction of the Mawdoch with the Avon. 
 The ride from Dolgelly, along one of the most extraordinary 
 roads in Wales for art and labour, is singularly fine, present- 
 ing a bold and variegated scenery, particularly on the north. 
 After the junction of the two rivers, the expanse of water be- 
 comes very broad, at full tide especially, when it appears like 
 a broad lake encompassed with high and irregular mountains. 
 At low water it looks, if the truth must be told, very like a 
 great marsh, with a creek meandering through the mud 
 thereof. At the outlet of this lake is Barmouth, which is fre- 
 quented by the Welsh gentry for the purpose of sea-bathing. 
 Barmouth is called the Gibraltar of Wales. It is placed on a 
 high rock, 'tis true, but it is not Gibraltar. The town is 
 mean, incommodious, and difficult of access, presenting, on 
 the whole, nearly all the inconveniences which form the prin- 
 cipal attraction of watering places. 
 
 Returning to Dolgelly, I followed the course of the Avon 
 not Shakespeare's Avon through a well-cult* vated region, en- 
 closed by high hills, dividing the basins of those streams that 
 water the two divisions of Merionethshire. This brought me 
 at length to the great Bala, Lyn-Tegid, or Pimble-Mere, the 
 largest lake in North Wales. It has little remarkable about it, 
 and the greatest wonder is, that being so small, it should be 
 the greatest in all this country. It is estimated at from four 
 to six miles long, and one mile broad. I forgot, however 
 .Ui JUAt. //
 
 by a New England Man . 67 
 
 there is a wonder about this lake. The river Dee, which 
 irises near the head of the lake, is affirmed, by Giraldus Cam- 
 brensis, to pass quite from one end to the other, through this 
 c * immense 1 ' body of water, as it is called, without mingling 
 its waters with those of Bala. It is quite amusing to read the 
 accounts of terrible dangers, of inundations, and the like, 
 which have frequently befallen the unfortunate people there, 
 from the immense swells, occasioned by the storms, upon 
 this immense body of water of one mile wide ! I had heard 
 of a puddle in a storm before I came to Wales. 1 made an 
 excursion round the lake, but saw nothing remarkable, except 
 the vestiges of an overflow of the river, of which my guide 
 gave me a terrible account, concluding with the catastrophe 
 of ten cows that were carried away. 
 
 Leaving the little town of Bala, I reached the river Dee, 
 and came to the little town of Corwen, remarkable for a most 
 ferocious and gigantic likeness of the great Owen Glendower, 
 who is the hero of every impossible feat, or miraculous ap- 
 pearance in this his chosen retreat. I hope, for the credit of 
 Owen, the likeness is not a good one. There is the impres- 
 sion of a dagger in a stone, which he made by throwing it 
 away in a passion. This forms part of a door-way, made on 
 purpose for him, when he one day took it into his head, it 
 seems, to go to church, a rare event commemorated by this 
 door. Nobody must doubt these stories, for all Wales would 
 rise to resent it, and the very echoes turn into growls of dikip- 
 probation. From Corwen, I again passed along the banks of 
 the Dee, by a charming road to Llangollan, having thus re- 
 turned to the spot, from whence I commenced my tour. 
 
 The peculiar characteristics, by which the Welsh were for- 
 merly distinguished, are fast wearing away. Subjugation to 
 English rulers, and submission to English taxes, have altered 
 their very nature, and little of the high-spirited independence 
 of the followers of Llewellyn now remains. Excessive poverty, 
 when it begets an abject dependence upon public or private 
 munificence, grinds away all prominent points of character, 
 and almost uniformly produces a sycophant. I do riot say, 
 this is true of all the middle and lower orders in Welles ; but 
 there is enough of this to give a different aspect to the national 
 character. 
 
 Yet there is plenty of every thing, and every thing is cheap 
 among them. How is it then that this paradox of human mi- 
 sery exists in the midst of plenty? The land they till is not 
 their own, my brother. They have the same rent to pay when 
 their produce is cheap, as when it is dear, and, consequently, 
 the plenty of a surplus produce, for which there is no dem and
 
 68 A Sketch of Old England, 
 
 impoverishes them. Had they no rents uor taxes to pay, thw 
 profusion would be a blessing ; now it operates in the other ex- 
 treme, and is actually a misfortune. Lord Liverpool, the 
 premier, not long since acknowledged the truth of this strange 
 doctrine, when he ascribed a great portion of the miseries of 
 this country to the abundant harvests, bestowed by the bounty 
 of Providence. Thus it is, that this boasted system of British 
 wisdom has produced the paradox of want in the midst of pro- 
 fusion. By its incessant cobbling and tinkering, and undertak- 
 ing to divert the course of nature, as well as the eternal econ- 
 omy of Providence, this government has wrested the blessings 
 of heaven from their usual and ordinary effects, converting be- 
 nign seasons and plenteous harvests, and all the bounties of an 
 indulgent Benefactor, into curses and maledictions. It cannot 
 be that this is wisdom, that so mars and murders the mercies 
 of God, and distorts the very redundancies of the harvest into 
 famine and misery. 
 
 Of the land-proprietors, and higher orders in Wales, and 
 their once renowned hospitality, I can say but little. You 
 can get a dinner and a night's lodging of them sometimes, pro- 
 vided you bring a letter from a great man they wish to oblige ; 
 but it is not given to you it is given to the great man. But 
 that noble feeling of hospitality, which springs from a liberal 
 heart and open hand; which is bestowed, not from vanity, os- 
 tentation, or interest, but from love to our fellow-creatures ; 
 tti|^ hospitality, which you and 1, and every other reputable 
 traveller, have shared liberally in our own country, is not to 
 be found among the gentry of Wales or England. 
 
 LETTER XII. 
 DEAR BROTHER, 
 
 London. 
 
 BIDDING adieu to North Wales, I again found myself at 
 Shrewsbury, where, resuming my horses, I returned by a 
 roundabout way through Staffordshire, Derbyshire, Notting- 
 hamshire, Leicester, Northampton, &c. to London. 
 
 Beyond all doubt, some of the farmers in the midland coun- 
 ties have brought agriculture to as high perfection as it was 
 ever before carried. The vast labour and expense, applied to 
 small farms and parcels of land, and that too with much judg- 
 ment, generally resulted in the production of the greatest crops. 
 While these crops met with a ready sale, and at a price afford- 
 ing a profit, this vast application of labour and expense brought 
 with it a return of profit, and enriched the farmer. But it is
 
 by a New England Man. 63 
 
 quite natural, that when the produce no longer repays the ex- 
 penditure of labour, food, tithes, and taxes, there should be 
 no longer any spur to enterprise or exertion. The improve- 
 ment of the land, the labours of cultivation, and all the re- 
 finements of agriculture, which the common farmers practised 
 with profit, because every additional bushel of wheat brought 
 more or less of a clear gain all these will be abandoned by 
 degrees, when the fruits no longer repay the toil and expense. 
 
 My practice has been to make a short stay at the villages I 
 passed through ; to wander about, and look at the people in 
 the fields, who, by dint of seeing me three or four times, would 
 get over their strangeness, and often converse with me freely 
 on their affairs. It is by frequently resorting to this practice, 
 that I gained a knowledge of the depression of agriculture and 
 its causes. No one knows where the shoe pinches, or the 
 cause of its pinching, so well as he that wears it ; the sufferer 
 can best tell the sources of his grief. The noble trio that have 
 produced the rum of the tenantry of England, are rents, tithes, 
 and taxes. 
 
 While a brisk market, a ready sale, prompt payment, and 
 high prices offered themselves, the tenant did not so much mind 
 the rent he paid, or the taxes levied upon him, both which, 
 have been gradually increasing with the creation and magnitude 
 of paper credit, paper currency, and national expenditures. 
 But suddenly his market is glutted, prices fall, and rents and 
 taxes continue the same, or become higher than they were. 
 His situation may easily be conceived without the magic spec- 
 tacles of political economy; he is impoverished and ruined. 
 The very perfection to which he brought his system of farming 
 adds to his misfortunes, because it will not now repay him 
 the interest of the labour and expense laid out upon it. 
 
 Under all these circumstances, you cannot wonder if the 
 agricultural interest is in a state of great depression; that the 
 people have no heart to labour, since neither industry 
 nor economy can keep them from want. That must be a 
 wretched country, where the two great virtues of the labouring 
 class, industry and economy, cannot keep the wolf from the 
 door. Such is the case with England. The tenantry find the 
 produce of their fields decreasing in value, while their rents 
 remain the same, and the taxes and poor rates are increasing. 
 The consequence is, abject poverty among a large portion, 
 and approaching poverty among the remainder. 
 
 I have never been among a people I pitied so much as this 
 industrious, patriotic, abused, and deceived tenantry. No 
 body of people on the face of the earth, or that ever were upon 
 the face of the earth, have made such sacrifices for their coun-
 
 70 A Sketch of Old England, 
 
 try. They have patiently endured for years a system of tax- 
 ation without example, and have freely given to their country 
 all that they could spare, and more besides. They have work- 
 ed, and watched, and starved for their country, and contri- 
 buted to what they believed to be her safety or her glory, al- 
 most as many millions as they have given to their own com- 
 forts. They looked to the banishment of Napoleon and the 
 re-establishment of peace, as the end of their sacrifices, and 
 they found it but the beginning of their sufferings. They dis- 
 covered, too late, that they had sacrificed their substance for a 
 shadow, and riveted their own chains while they believed 
 themselves breaking those of Europe. 
 
 Could they by any possibility be relieved from their bur- 
 thens, and rise to a state of comparative competency, they 
 would be, what they once were, worthy of being the ancestors 
 of our countrymen. But such is not even to be hoped, with- 
 out a revolution. The government cannot, if it would, dimi- 
 nish the taxes, and would not, if it could. The landlords 
 make subscriptions and form societies forgiving them charity ; 
 but they do not diminish their rents to any great extent, nor 
 do the clergy relinquish a tittle of their tithes, either for the 
 love of man or the love of heaven. 
 
 In comparing the situation of the manufacturing with that 
 of the agricultural labourers, I found the balance against the 
 former in every point of view. There is more misery, as well 
 as vice and ignorance, among them. Their wages are actually 
 and literally entirely insufficient to satisfy the wants of nature, 
 where a man has a family to support. In many of the manu- 
 factories of Birmingham and Manchester, they labour only 
 half the time, three days in the week, because there is not work 
 for them, and this at one-third, and sometimes one-half less 
 wages, than they received during the war. No one, that has 
 not seen can conceive the squalid and miserable looks of these 
 people, between the dirt and unwholesomeness of their 1 employ- 
 ment, the ignorant worthlessness of their characters, and the 
 shifts the poor creatures are obliged to resort to in order to 
 exist. It is not to be wondered at, if in the madness of misery, 
 and cast out as it were from a participation in the common 
 benefits of society, they become turbulent, seditious, and dan- 
 gerous. It is because they are hungry, and their children are 
 starving, and not because they have read Thomas Paine or 
 William Cobbett, that they are become radicals, as is the 
 phrase of the day. Give them plenty to eat, and they will 
 lie down as contendedly as a pig in the stye. Probably more 
 than two-thirds of them cannot read ; what absurdity then to 
 suppose, or what hypocrisy rather to pretend to suppose, they 
 are excited to acts of violence by books !
 
 by a New England Man. 71 
 
 That you may the better understand the actual and funda- 
 mental causes of this depression in the agricultural interest, 
 and be satisfied that poor-rates, tithes, taxes, and rents, and 
 not a " superabundant harvest," are at the root of the evil, I 
 will state to you some facts, which I neglected in the proper 
 place. They will, however, come in well enough here, espe- 
 cially as they are entirely corroborated by testimony delivered 
 to this very committee by agriculturists from different parts of 
 the kingdom. In one of the counties, I was assured, that all 
 agricultural produce had, within a given period, suffered a 
 depression averaging thirty-five per cent, while the poor-rates 
 in the same period had advanced seventy-five, and the taxes 
 about seventy per cent. The poor-rates, in other counties, in 
 many cases, amount to an assessment of from twelve to fifteen 
 or sixteen shillings an acre per annum. In another place I was 
 told by farmers, hard at work even in the midst of this hope- 
 less state of things, that their actual losses upon the last year's 
 crop amounted to as much as their whole rental. In other 
 places, such is the depression of the tenantry, that they have 
 not been able to pay a shilling of rent from one to two years 
 past, and the landlords have permitted them to remain, be- 
 cause no others would occupy them, even on condition of 
 paying tithes, taxes, and poor-rates, and living rent free. In 
 other places, warrants of distress for rent have been issued to 
 four times the number ever known before, in the same period 
 of time ; and the shopkeepers have gone so far in some cases, 
 as to enter into combinations not to trust the farmers, from a 
 conviction of their total inability to pay. When I asked these 
 unfortunate people, what possible modification of things would 
 relieve them, the answer invariably was, " relief from tithes 
 and taxes." All agreed, that it would be impossible to go on 
 much longer, unless these were reduced at least one-third. This 
 is impracticable without a reduction of the expenditures of 
 the government, and the interest of the national debt. As to 
 tithes, the clergy might be brought to relinquish these, under a 
 discipline similar to that King John exercised upon the rich 
 Jew. Every way, therefore, it seems to me, that any salutary, 
 permanent change in the situation of the English tenantry is 
 hopeless, from any voluntary reduction of their burthens either 
 by the government or the church. They must either be con- 
 tent to accept from the rich that charity which is exercised at 
 the expence of their own labours ; or emigrate ; or boldly de- 
 mand, that they be permitted to share in the blessings of that 
 government, for the support of which they pay so dearly. 
 
 Such is the wretched state to which Mr. Pitt's policy; his 
 system of funding, borrowing, and wasting, has brought Old
 
 72 A Sketch of Old England, 
 
 England, the favourite of philosophy and song. All the mys- 
 tery consists in relieving one class at the expence of another ; 
 bleeding until the patient is near fainting, and then filching a 
 smelliug bottle from his neighbour's pocket, to afford him a 
 temporary resuscitation. It is thus that the present ministry 
 supports itself, by playing off alternately the wants of the 
 poor against the fears of the rich ; arraying them from time to 
 time in opposition to each other, and holding the balance of 
 victory in ijs own hands. Should this income tax be laid, the 
 consequences are pretty obvious. The landlords, who have 
 been duped into the support of every arbitrary measure of 
 late, and thus entirely lost the affections of the poor, will be 
 unable to make head against ministers ; while the tenantry 
 will very probably laugh in their sleeves, and support the very 
 ministry they have been accustomed to denounce and revile. 
 Had the landlords made common cause with the tenants, they 
 could have done what they pleased ; but they were frightened 
 at the " Spencerean system," and will ere long feel the con- 
 sequences. They will have the privilege of being next de- 
 voured. 
 
 LETTER XIII. 
 DEAR BROTHER, 
 
 London. 
 
 THAT the present age is in rapid progress to something nearly 
 allied to fanaticism on one hand, and infidelity on the other, is, 
 J think, pretty evident from various indications ; and it is 
 equally clear, that the origin of this may be traced to political 
 causes, which have in truth exercised in all ages a vast influence 
 over religion. The kingdoms of Europe were all pretty much 
 in the same situation. The church and state were every where 
 combined, and mutually supported each other's prerogatives. 
 The French Revolution, which shook these thrones, shook 
 with them the pillars of the established churches, I mean those 
 churches which shared with the kings and their nobility a great 
 portion of the wealth of nations. Connected thus by the 
 strong tie of mutual interest, it is therefore obvious, that the 
 ancient political and the ancient ecclesiastical establishments 
 would make common cause against the claims and rights of 
 the people. Their mutual fears would also operate still more 
 to cement this bond of union, and the alliance for mutual 
 defence. The example of this alliance in France was followed 
 by the different states of Europe, whose similarity of situation 
 dictated the same measures, and thus happened the wonderful
 
 by a New England Man. 73 
 
 coincidence of all the monartfhs of that quarter, together with 
 the princes and nobles becoming all at once extremely pious ; 
 that is to say, so far as the support of a hierarchy was essen- 
 tial to their interests, and so far as the possession of piety did 
 not carry with it the necessity of practising what they pro- 
 fessed. In fact, there seems to have been a compromise, by 
 which the faith of the monarch was to be accepted in lieu of all 
 good works, except the good work of repressing those throes 
 of misery among the nations, which sometimes came near to 
 shake the throne and the hierarchy. 
 
 Two effects resulted from this cunning conspiracy. All those, 
 who supported the throne and the established church, which 
 last at length became synonymous with religion itself, were 
 friends of order and religion as a matter of course. On the 
 contrary, those who thought that causes, which have been 
 gaining strength for centuries past, had accumulated to such a 
 degree as to render some alterations in the old systems of 
 governments necessary to the welfare of mankind, were stig- 
 matized as enemies to the true faith, as hostile to religion itself. 
 In short, despotism became order, and an established church, 
 with exclusive privileges, religion. To question the claims of 
 the one was treason ; of the other, infidelity. 
 
 In the natural course of things, these excellent synonymes 
 found their way into our country. The two great parties, for 
 and against the Revolution of France, in the United States, 
 adopted, in a great measure, the cant which prevailed abroad, 
 and opposed each other on the same grounds, though we had 
 happily no privileged church nor privileged orders. Still, one 
 party did not hesitate to stigmatize the other with being defi- 
 cient in an orthodoxy, of which there was no standard among 
 them ; while the other maintained, with a greater appearance 
 of reason, that there was no connexion between religion itself 
 and a church with exclusive privileges, but what was arbitrary 
 and injurious to the best interests of piety and morality. Thus 
 the connexion between democracy and heterodoxy became 
 naturalized among the opposers of the French Revolution in 
 the United States. In horrible imitation of their prototypes 
 abroad, a vast many people became advocates and converts of 
 that " legitimate party," which disdains an alliance with moral 
 principles, and can reconcile a breach of the moral duties with 
 the sincerest devotion and the truest faith. Hypocrisy, how- 
 ever, has generally a number of sincere followers ; and a simu- 
 lated piety adopted, merely from political and interested 
 motives, by the great, has produced, among a large portion 
 of the lower orders, a species of fanaticism, which seems to 
 be spreading over the face of the earth. The advocates of 
 VOYAGES and TRAVELS, No. XLV. Vol. VIII. L
 
 74 A Sketch of Old England, 
 
 political freedom, in their solicitude to avoid the imputation 
 of being without religion, because they do not adhere to an 
 established church, seem determined to go even beyond legi- 
 timacy in the race of fiery zeal ; so that it is probable, before 
 long, we shall have nothing but fanatics and infidels, and that 
 rational religion will no longer be found among the nations of 
 Europe, or the people of the United States. 
 
 You have no doubt heard of the million of pounds sterling, 
 appropriated some two or three years since, at the recommenda- 
 tion of his present majesty, who is a great example of morals 
 and religion, for the building of one hundred new churches in 
 and about London. This was advertised and puffed to the 
 uttermost corners of the earth, as if the Regent had himself 
 bestowed this million from his own privy purse. No such 
 thing, I assure you. It was a million extra, not drawn from 
 his own pocket, but from the pockets of the people. What 
 rendered this appropriation still less praiseworthy, was the 
 fact to which every man in this city can bear witness, that the 
 episcopal churches already built are amply sufficient for all 
 the purposes of public worship. The dissenting chapels and 
 methodist tabernacles are indeed generally crowded ; but the 
 places of worship belonging to the established church are, I 
 repeat again, never filled, except on some extraordinary occa- 
 sion. It is true, that the present churches in this city are not 
 sufficient to hold the whole population of London, should they 
 all attend public worship at one and the same time, a thing that 
 never did nor ever can happen. 
 
 If a stranger wishes to see how the people of fashion spend 
 their Sunday mornings, that is to say, from two till five in the 
 afternoon, he should go to Hyde Park, Here he will see 
 Corinthians, fine ladies, and sons of aspiring cits, galloping, gal- 
 loping, galloping ; and trotting, trotting, trotting, in one eternal 
 " never-ending and still beginning" circle, admiring themselves 
 and envying each other. The great pleasure arising from this 
 pretty variety of round and round, seems to be the stupid 
 admiration of the commonalty, who stare at these great ones, 
 and decide upon the claims of each rider, horse, and equipage. 
 It is impossible to describe the vast variety of extravagance 
 exhibited on these occasions, or the whimsical diversity of 
 riders and equipages. This exhibition of vanity continues, 
 till it is time to go home and dress for dinner, to a good 
 appetite for which, half the lives of the young Corinthians 
 are devoted. 
 
 To conclude : most of the superiority of this country in re- 
 ligion will be found to originate in newspaper advertisements 
 and missionary magazines, speeches in parliament, and declara-
 
 by a New England Man. 75 
 
 lions. If we try it by any other standard, it will be found 
 entirely unsupported. If we look to morals as a criterion of 
 religion, and to crimes as a test of morals, there is no founda- 
 tion for this claim. If we look to other outward indications, 
 such as a respect for public decorum; an observance of the 
 Sabbath ; a friendly regard to other nations ; or a general 
 benevolence, indicated by a habit of speaking of them with 
 temper and decorum ; a desire of preserving peace and good 
 will with their neighbours on the continent, or the distant 
 people of the other quarters of the globe there is still less 
 foundation for this boast. Her practice has never been to speak 
 well of other nations. Her wars, for the last hundred years, 
 have been more frequent than those of any other country. In 
 every quarter of the globe she has warred against the human 
 race, through the impulses of ambition and avarice. Asia, 
 Africa, and America, can tell of her oppressions; and if she 
 thinks she can make amends to them, or deceive the world, by 
 sending missionaries and Bibles to pave the way for a still 
 greater extension of trade and empire, I think she is mistaken. 
 The veil is dropping lower and lower every day, and the phy- 
 siognomy of the hypocrite becoming more visible to the eyes 
 of the world. 
 
 LETTER XIV. 
 DEAR BROTHER, 
 
 London. 
 
 THOMAS PAINE, although his " Age of Reason " was an- 
 swered and refuted so completely in this country, is still, 
 though dead, an object against which the fears of this govern- 
 ment are strongly directed. To buy and read his book is con- 
 sidered an overt act of disaffection, if not treason ; and to sell 
 it, subjects a bookseller to a prosecution, although he may vend 
 the works of Tindal, Bolingbroke, Hume, Gibbon, Swift, Ra- 
 belais, and Voltaire, in perfect security. This the most ortho- 
 dox booksellers do without scruple ; and what is more, the 
 most orthodox of the clergy and nobility buy them with as 
 little. It is true, that Paine has treated the religion of our 
 fathers with indecent scurrility ; whereas most of those who 
 previously attacked it, preserved an air of respect, which only 
 made their efforts the more dangerous. This is not, however, 
 the case with Tindal, Woolston, Swift, Rabelais, and Voltaire, 
 whose works, as I observed before, are still vended by the 
 trade, who, as there is no law to the contrary, settle the point 
 of conscience quietly among themselves.
 
 76 
 
 Not long ago, I alarmed the shopman of a worthy bookseller, 
 by inquiring for a copy of Paine's works. This honest fellow 
 has lived so much among books, that he resembles an exceed- 
 ingly old edition of a man by Caxton or Wynkyn de Worde. 
 In reply to my question, he pursed up his mouth into an excru- 
 ciating vinegar expression, and assured me they never kept any 
 such vile trash in the store. I believe I have almost lost his 
 good opinion, for he eyes me ever since with a look of sus- 
 picion, and 1 begin to believe takes me for a confirmed radical. 
 
 This worthy and well-meaning man, however, on my in- 
 quiring for Voltaire and the rest, very courteously handed me 
 a quarto of Tindal, from which he brushed the dust with an 
 air of great devotion, being one of those excellent scholars 
 who actually worship a great book. What I mean to infer 
 from this toleration of other deistical works, and this inveterate 
 persecution of Paine, is simply, that a regard to the interests of 
 religion has nothing to do with the matter. I am no advocate 
 or defender of Paine's theological opinions. Though I look 
 upon him as one of the most clear and able advocates of human 
 rights, I certainly have no respect whatever for his religion or 
 morality. By his attacks on the Bible, he has not only medi- 
 tated a great injury to the welfare and happiness of mankind 
 here and hereafter, but he has likewise vitally injured the 
 interests of human freedom, by affording its enemies a pre- 
 text to couple it with infidelity. Because the same writer 
 happened to advocate the rights of man, and question the 
 authority of the Scriptures, occasion has been taken to es- 
 tablish a sort of affinity between the unbeliever and the re- 
 publican, which would probably never have been thought of, 
 had it not been that the example of Paine afforded a pretext 
 for this preposterous association. For this reason, I am apt to 
 think him one of the worst enemies to liberty ; and that, so far 
 as his influence extends, he has actually retarded the progress 
 of freedom more than all the efforts of the Holy Alliance. 
 
 But though the pretence set up by the ministry, the beneficed 
 clergy, and indeed all those orthodox people here, who enjoy 
 more than their share of the good things of this life, for per- 
 secuting Paine and his opinions, is that of religion ; yet nothing 
 is clearer to my mind, than that his political opinions are almost 
 exclusively the objects of their apprehension and hostility. If 
 he had only maintained the divine right of kings, I believe he 
 might have questioned any other divine right with impunity. 
 As it was, he afforded, by his religious, a pretext for prohibiting 
 the circulation of his political opinions; and although his 
 morals were quite equal, I am inclined to think, to most of the
 
 by a New England Man. 77 
 
 kings and princes of this age, he left behind him a reputation 
 which has deprived his opinions of a great portion of their 
 weight and authority. His Age of Reason has been tri- 
 umphantly refuted by men who were made bishops for their 
 good service : yet such are the apprehensions still entertained 
 by the good ministry and Church of England, that though hia 
 book has been thus entirely subdued, they have actually out- 
 lawed its disarmed heresies, and made it penal to print or to 
 read " this flippant, nonsensical, and dangerous blasphemy." 
 Nothing, my dear brother, so strongly indicates the weakness 
 of a government as the fear of a book. It is a sign of a con- 
 sumptive habit in any system, religious or political, when it 
 shrinks from the battery of truth, much more when it is afraid 
 even of the sapping of falsehood. When a single volume, a single 
 newspaper, or a single individual becomes an object of royal, 
 ministerial, noble, or clerical apprehension, it would seem to 
 indicate, that the edifice which thus trembles at every blast, is 
 destitute of a proper basis of truth or utility, to sustain it 
 against reason, ridicule, or declamation. 
 
 In witnessing thus the whole force of the government applied 
 to the suppression of a single book, one might be tempted to 
 suppose, that Thomas Paine was the first English writer who 
 ventured to question the authority of the Bible, and the truth 
 of revealed religion ; or, at all events, that the present king 
 was the only pious monarch, and the present ministers the only 
 pious ministers, this country has been blessed with since the 
 days of lord Herbert of Cherbury. He was one of the 
 bravest, most gallant, and accomplished persons of the seven- 
 teenth century, a courtier and scholar combined. He has writ- 
 ten his own life with a degree of candour and openness, which 
 seems to prove him incapable of deceit or falsehood, and from 
 which it appears that he was somewhat spoiled by the ad- 
 miration of the ladies, with whom he was a great favourite, on 
 account of his wit, gallantry, and great personal beauty. Lord 
 Herbert was every where celebrated for his generosity and mag- 
 nanimity ; nor can it be denied that he carried the point of 
 honour to a pitch that might almost be called fantastical. He 
 filled several offices about the court of England, and was am- 
 bassador at the court of France for some time. Here he first 
 printed his work, " De Veritate prout distinguitur a Reve- 
 latione" This tract is a vindication of natural religion, which 
 he maintains to be in itself perfect without the aid of revelation. 
 That he might clearly understand whether his work was agree- 
 able to Heaven, he adopted the following method of consulting 
 its will previous to the publication. " I took," he says, " my 
 book ' De Veritate' in my hand, and kneeling on my knees,
 
 78 A Sketch of Old England t 
 
 devoutly said these words, ' O thou eternal God, author of the 
 light that now shines on me, and giver of all inward illumi- 
 nation ! I do beseech thee, of thy infinite goodness, to pardon 
 a greater request than I, a sinner, ought to make. I am not 
 satisfied enough whether I shall publish this book De Veritate ; 
 if it be for thy glory, I beseech thee give me some sign from 
 Heaven ; if not, 1 will suppress it.' I had no sooner spoke 
 these words, than a loud, though gentle noise came from 
 Heaven, (for it was like nothing on earth,) which did so com- 
 fort and cheer me, that I took my petition as granted, and that 
 I had the sign demanded." 
 
 Thomas Hobbes was one of the most learned and scientific 
 men of his age, and among the most acute reasoners, although 
 entirely worsted in a mathematical controversy with the fa- 
 mous Dr. Wallis. He was a person of great purity and sim- 
 plicity of character, and held with Socrates, that a man was 
 bound to conform to the religion established by government. 
 Hobbes traces religion to a fear of invisible powers, and an 
 ignorance of second causes, which ascribes natural or acci- 
 dental appearances to supernatural power. Inspiration, he 
 affirms, is a sign of madness ; the immortality of the soul, and 
 a belief in a future state, as hearsay ; and the distinction be- 
 tween soul and body, as a modern branch from the old root of 
 Grecian demonology ; that the truth of the scriptures rests al- 
 together upon the decisions of councils and the will of magis- 
 trates, who are the interpreters in authority, whose dicta must 
 be obeyed. He also maintained, that a subject might con- 
 scientiously comply with the will of his sovereign, acting as 
 God's vicegerent, even to the denying of Christ in words, 
 while he cherished him in his heart. It was this courtly doc- 
 trine of the king's supremacy, that probably procured him the 
 patronage of King Charles, who settled a pension upon him. 
 He also was all his lifetime patronised by the Earl of Devon- 
 shire, at whose house he died in the year 1679. Unluckily, 
 however, he was not a democrat, and therefore affords no sup- 
 port to the prevailing theory of the inflexible affinity between 
 freedom in politics and free opinions in religion. 
 
 Lord Shaftesbury was a cotemporary of Hobbes, but not, 
 like him, an advocate for the divine right of kings, being a 
 steady opposer of arbitrary power, although by no means a re- 
 publican. He wrote the famous " Characteristics," and was 
 justly esteemed one of the most elegant scholars and well read 
 persons of the age. His style of writing,"though condemned 
 by Blair, has been much admired by fine judges. Though 
 Lord Shaftesbury, in his dialogue of " the Moralists," most 
 eloquently supports the doctrines of a Deity and superintending
 
 by a New England Man. 79 
 
 Providence, yet he is never solicitous to hide his doubts re- 
 specting the divinity of Christ. Hence he must be classed 
 with those, who, like Paine, have been the opponents of re- 
 ligiou, according to the opinions of orthodox writers, although 
 in other respects an advocate of virtue, and an enemy to arbi- 
 trary power. For this last reason, while Hobbes was pensioned, 
 Shaftesbury lost his place of vice-admiral of Dorsetshire, and 
 continued out of favour with queen Anne. 
 
 Bolingbroke, the cotemporary of Pope and Swift, and one 
 of the finest English writers, imitated by Burke, and praised 
 by all the wits of his time, also wrote against revealed religion. 
 After the publication of his tracts, the grand jury of West- 
 minster presented them as calculated to subvert religion, mo- 
 rality, and government. They have, however, continued to 
 be publicly vended in this country ever since ; and have met 
 their antidote, as all such writings should do, not in the perse- 
 cution of their author, or the proscription of his book, but in 
 able and satisfactory refutations. Bolingbroke's opinions on 
 religious subjects were undoubtedly known during his life, for 
 he was not a man to keep them secret ; yet he was secretary 
 of state to queen Anne, and owed his subsequent disgrace and 
 attainder, not to his religious, but his political opinions. His 
 favourite doctrine was, that atheists were much less dangerous 
 than divines. How came he to escape being burnt? 
 
 Matthew Tindal was another bold and bitter enemy to Chris- 
 tianity, cotemporary with Bolingbroke. He was the son of a 
 clergyman, and a doctor of laws at Oxford. He turned ca- 
 tholic at the instance of some Roman missionaries, but after- 
 wards returned to the Church of England. He wrote a book 
 called " The rights of the Christian Church vindicated, 11 &c. 
 which waked up the high church clergy, who would go to 
 sleep at their fat stalls, if it were not for a blast of heterodoxy 
 to awaken them now and then. Tindal was furiously assailed 
 as a deist, and his publishers indicted. He afterwards pub- 
 lished a defence of this work, which was ordered by the house 
 of commons to be burnt by the common hangman, in the same 
 fire with Sachevereirs sermons. Like many other men, Tin- 
 dal, finding himself persecuted on suspicion of heterodoxy, was 
 spurred on by a sense of injury, and injustice perhaps, to direct 
 opposition. He accordingly wrote a book, called " Christianity 
 as old as the Creation; 11 in which he boldly and directly main- 
 tained the broadest principles of natural religion, and denied 
 all external revelation. But his politics, as usual, atoned for 
 his heterodoxy ; being a staunch advocate of the Hanoverian 
 succession, he enjoyed a pension of two hundred sterling a 
 year from George the First.
 
 80 A Sketch of Old England, 
 
 Toland, author of " Christianity not mysterious," the " Pau- 
 theisticon," and other works, was a haughty, bold spirit, ex- 
 asperated by opposition into open and violent assaults on Chris- 
 tianity. Being prosecuted in Ireland for his first work, he 
 threw aside disguise, and afterwards came to England, where 
 he published the others, which contain the most undisguised 
 attacks. But though prosecuted in Ireland for the most mo- 
 derate of his productions, he remained unmolested in England 
 for the most violent of them all, and neither suffered in person 
 nor property, although heterodox in the extreme. He was 
 accused of dying with a blasphemous prayer in his mouth, be- 
 ginning with " Omnipotens et sempiterne Bacche," &c. But 
 this is probably a calumny, as the prayer, according to Vol- 
 taire, was composed two centuries before, for a society of 
 tipplers. He died with perfect composure, saying, " I am 
 going to sleep. 11 
 
 Anthony Collins, author of " A Discourse on Free-thinking," 
 " A Discourse of the grounds and reasons of the Christian Re- 
 ligion," and various other controversial works, was a man of 
 extraordinary ability, as well as great private and public vir- 
 tues ; but he was one of the most dangerous enemies to ortho- 
 doxy that ever lived, not excepting David Hume, whom he 
 resembled in many respects. Instead of being persecuted for 
 his opinions, he successively enjoyed the most honourable pub- 
 lic offices, such as deputy lord-lieutenant of Essex, and trea- 
 surer of that county. On his death-bed he appealed to his 
 Maker for the purity of his intentions in all his writings. He 
 was a friend and correspondent of Mr. Locke, who had a great 
 regard for him, and his most bitter adversaries always treated 
 him with respect. They thought it better, perhaps, to take 
 the trouble of refuting him by their learning, than to resort to 
 the more easy and expeditious method of the modern Church 
 of England, clamour and persecution. 
 
 Thomas Woolston was a cotemporary with Collins, and 
 mingled in the controversy with him and Dr. Clarke, who, 
 perhaps, of all the champions of orthodoxy, was the most able, 
 learned, and tolerant. He refuted Woolston, and interfered 
 for his release when imprisoned for a fine which he could not 
 pay, condemning every species of religious persecution. Wool- 
 ston was, in the latter part of his life, reputed mad by his op- 
 ponents, and yet, at the same time was prosecuted by the 
 attorney-general for his heresies; for it happened, unluckily 
 for him, that his opinions coincided with neither party, being 
 far more extravagant than those of lord Herbert, or any of 
 his successors. He belonged to no faction, and was persecuted 
 by one, without being protected by the other. His moral cha-
 
 by a New England Man. 81 
 
 racter was, however, without reproach ; and his last words 
 were, " This is a struggle which all men must go through, 
 and which I bear not only patiently but willingly ;" certainly 
 neither the words of a madman nor unbeliever. Woolston was 
 offered his freedom from prison, if he would promise to refrain 
 from the further publication of his opinions. This he refused, 
 and it is said that he died in jail, although from the best autho- 
 rities, and the testimony of eye-witnesses, it appears that he 
 obtained his liberty, and died peaceably at his own house. He 
 maintained that the miracles of our Saviour were all allegorical, 
 and attempted to explain their mystical sense. Such was the 
 demand for his discourses against the miracles, that three edi- 
 tions, of ten thousand copies each, were sold by himself at his 
 own house in a very short time. 
 
 Thomas Chubb was a person of extraordinary natural abili- 
 ties, which he managed greatly to improve by study, although 
 successively engaged as apprentice to a glover, and assistant 
 to a tallow-chandler. His first work was published in conjunc- 
 tion with the celebrated Whiston, who, together with Pope 
 and many other persons, admired his talents greatly. He was 
 in truth, a philosopher of nature's forming. In his book, en- 
 titled " The Supremacy of the Father asserted," &c. his object 
 was to prove the Son a being of inferior order to the Father. It 
 engaged him, eventually, in a whole life of controversy, 
 though he escaped legal prosecution and clerical persecution. 
 Being charged with hostility to revealed religion, he proceeded 
 to justify himself; and, as often happens, in the zeal to defend 
 himself, advanced into the very errors with which he was 
 charged ; he at length came to the point, and placed the Sa- 
 viour in the highest rank of teachers and moralists, such as So- 
 crates and Confucius. He was a man of great purity and sim- 
 plicity of character, and so disinterested, that he refused to 
 accept any addition to his income, which was already equal to 
 his wants. The famous Dr. Clarke, the two Hoadleys, the 
 bishop and Dr. John, although they rejected and opposed his 
 theory, bore testimony to his ability and virtues: but it must 
 be remembered, this was before it became orthodox to take 
 away a man's character for disagreeing in opinion. Chubb, 
 however, like many others of his class, is now known princi- 
 pally through the writings of his adversaries, and has more re- 
 putation than readers. 
 
 But of all those writers who attacked religion under many 
 masks, and in various ways, there is none who took such liber- 
 ties, and broke so many severe jests as Swift, a beneficed clergy- 
 man of the Church of England. His "Tale of a Tub" is one of the 
 bitterest satires ever written ; nor do I believe any works now 
 VOYAGES and TRAVELS, No. XLV. Vol. VIII. M
 
 81 A Sketch of Old England, 
 
 extant, not even excepting those of Rabelais and Paine, so woll 
 calculated to weaken our respect and reverence for the scrip- 
 tures. He possessed an admirable vein of humour, with an 
 invention thatsupplied him with all sorts of incidents in which 
 to display it ; and having chosen the vehicle of a romance, 
 has had more readers than all the preceding catalogue of 
 writers put together. By placing the pulpit side by side with 
 the gallows and mountebank's stage, as theatres for the display 
 of eloquence, he did what would in preceding ages have cost 
 him his life. Yet he escaped persecution, and was rewarded 
 with a rich benefice. His only punishment was not obtaining 
 an English bishopric. The matter is easily explained ; he was 
 the partisan of ministers, and the advocate of tory principles. 
 This merit atoned for his having soused the Christian religion 
 all over with ridicule. But I forget he had another merit ; 
 he made the catholic more ridiculous than any other, which 
 procured him toleration from the protestant divines. 
 
 It is not generally known, nor is it mentioned, that I recol- 
 lect, by any of his biographers, that Swift borrowed the 
 idea of his " Tale of a Tub" from an eastern story of consider- 
 able antiquity, called " The Three Rings." An old man, 
 having three sons, leaves each one at his death a ring: they fall 
 together by the ears about which is entitled to the handsomest. 
 After long debates and furious contentions, they make the dis- 
 covery that the three rings are all perfectly alike. The father 
 signifies Theism, and the three sons typify Judaism, Chris- 
 tianity, and Mahommedanism. The three coats of Peter, 
 Martin, and Jack, and the three rings, suggest nearly the 
 same ideas, and the resemblance in the plans is certainly not 
 accidental. 
 
 During the eighteenth century, England appears to have 
 produced no other writers against orthodoxy of particular note, 
 except Hume, Gibbon, and Thomas Paine. The preceding 
 century had exhausted the subject in a great degree, or per- 
 haps few persons had the hardihood to resume a controversy, 
 which not only ensured a life of contention, but a bad name 
 after death. David Hume, however, the most cool and philoso- 
 phical of Scotsmen, published, during the last century, his 
 " Dialogues concerning Natural Religion," and " Essays on 
 Suicide," which last contains those principles that have called 
 forth the abuse and reproaches of thousands who have never 
 read them, and know not what they contain. He was cer- 
 tainly a most sturdy heterodoxian ; and though more tempe- 
 rate as well as decorous in his style and majmer, aimed greater 
 blows at religion and the immortality of the soul than Paine 
 himself. But his History of England made amends for his
 
 by a 'New England Man. 83 
 
 scepticism, by its orthodox precepts inculcating the divine 
 right of kings. Hume became secretary to embassies and 
 charge des affaires ; received a pension from the king ; was 
 admired and respected by the first men of the age; and finally 
 died like Socrates, leaving behind him one of the best charac- 
 ters on record. 
 
 . Not long after the " Essays on Suicide," appeared the cele- 
 brated " History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Em- 
 pire," by Edward Gibbon. Gibbon Had turned catholic when 
 young, and was sent to a calvinist minister at Lausanne by 
 his father, with a view of having him brought back to his 
 mother church. The experiment was successful, and Gibbon 
 abjured his errors. Two chapters of bis great work gave of- 
 fence to the ruling church here. In relating the progress of the 
 Christian religion, he ascribes much of its success to temporal 
 influence; in short, he maintains that secondary causes had 
 highly favoured the first establishment of the church. These 
 chapters of Gibbon were made the pretext perhaps, for aveng- 
 ing the tales he has told of the profligacy of some of the 
 early patrons of the church the ridicule he has cast upon 
 some of the most frivolous grounds of church divisions and 
 ecclesiastical persecutions and above all, the light be has 
 thrown upon the creed of St. Athanasius. To these offences 
 may be added the terrible liberties he has taken with the 
 Reverend George of Cappadocia, tutelary saint of England. 
 This worthy he proves to have been one of the most corrupt, 
 unprincipled rogues of his time, by testimonials which are of 
 unquestionable authority. St. George is, however, the patron 
 of more orders of knighthood than any saint in the calendar, 
 and figures as the tutelary of the most noble order of the gar- 
 ter, of which bis excellent copyist, his present majesty, is 
 grand master. He was assailed by many writers of the esta- 
 blished church, and will descend to posterity as the enemy of 
 true religion. But his politics were right orthodox ; as a 
 member of parliament, he voted with the ministry ; as a poli- 
 tical writer, he supported the principles of Mr. Burke in his 
 " Reflections," and professed himself an enemy to every spe- 
 cies of reform. Instead, therefore, of being fined, imprisoned, 
 or outlawed, he was made a lord of trade, a profitable sine- 
 cure, and was a favourite of kings and their ministers all his 
 life. 
 
 But it was otherwise with TJboflias Paine, who was neither 
 so profane as Tindal and Swift, nor so much of a sceptic as 
 Hume and Collins. His " Rights of Man" rendered his " Age of 
 Reason" unpardonable. Although the examples I have quoted, 
 and the fact that all the other heterodox books continue to be
 
 84 A Sketch of Old England, 
 
 publicly Bold, sufficiently justify the belief, that if he had ab- 
 jured his politics, and supported the divine right of kings, 
 with the same clearness and ability he did those of the people, 
 he might have enjoyed his unbelief unmolested, either by church 
 or state. As I observed before, I have no great regard to the 
 memory of this person, although his early writings were ser- 
 viceable to our cause in the time of the revolutionary war. 
 All that he ever wrote in favour of freedom, is insufficient to 
 atone for the indecent and arrogant manner in which he ques- 
 tions the authority of Holy Writ ; nor can all the clearness of 
 his reasonings in support of human liberty, counterbalance the 
 injury he has inflicted upon it, by giving its enemies a plausi- 
 ble pretext for connecting the progress of political freedom 
 with the spreading of religious indifference, if not absolute 
 unbelief. 
 
 In the present state of human intellect, the middling orders 
 of people here, who see the works of those writers I have just 
 enumerated publicly sold by the most orthodox booksellers, 
 and publicly bought by the most orthodox people (bishops and 
 all), naturally think they have a right to read these matters 
 in books adapted to their taste and capacity. Like the grave- 
 digger in Hamlet, they exclaim, " It is a shame, that great 
 folks shall have countenance to drown or hang themselves, 
 more than common Christians." Accordingly, they claim the 
 privilege of incurring the same risk as to the future, that their 
 superiors so heedlessly encounter. The higher orders, on the 
 contrary, seem to think that these books come under the class 
 of luxuries, to which the other classes have no right to aspire. 
 They are delicacies only calculated for the most refined palates, 
 and must not be prostituted to the uses of the vulgar. While they 
 do not hesitate to purchase and read the ribaldry of Rabelais 
 and Swift, as well as the dangerous heresies of Collins and 
 Hume, they prosecute the printers and purchasers of Paine, 
 and sentence Mr. and Mrs. Carlile, Miss Mary Ann Carlile, 
 and half-a-dozen more, to what, in fact, amounts to perpetual 
 imprisonment, for selling a twopenny pamphlet. Of those 
 guilty of these inconsistencies, what can we say, except that 
 they must be either the greatest hypocrites on earth, or the 
 most disinterested of human beings, since they heedlessly sub- 
 ject themselves to a danger which they punish others for daring 
 to encounter ? They had better be consistent, however, like 
 the great Mecaenas of Germany, who honestly confesses his 
 motives, and has made abundance of regulations to prohibit 
 the introduction of Voltaire, Hume, Gibbon, and various others 
 whose works have ever since been not only more plenty, but 
 also more read, in the empire, than they were before. This
 
 was just what might have been foreseen by all persons gifted 
 with the faculty of growing wise by experience. 
 
 As an abstract proposition, nobody ever denied that prose- 
 cution had any other effect, than to render opinion more ob- 
 stinate in matters of religion. 
 
 " For conscience is a thing you know, 
 
 Like to a mastiff dog ; 
 Which, if tied up, so fierce he'll grow, 
 He'll bite his very clog." 
 
 And yet, no government of modern days but our own, ever 
 acted upon this universal experience. On the contrary, they 
 have ever proceeded upon the supposition, that they could do 
 what no other had ever done before, and cemented by oppres- 
 sion, what, if let alone, would very probably have, in a few 
 years, crumbled to pieces. 
 
 LETTER XV. 
 
 DEAR BROTHER, 
 
 London. 
 
 MR. , who, in consequence of his extensive deal- 
 ings with the United States, is sometimes partly civil to us 
 Americans^ amused me lately with an account of the anni- 
 versary dinner of the Society, to which he is 
 
 one of the subscribers, and which is honoured by having his 
 
 Grace of for its patron. The dinner was given at the 
 
 Old London Tavern, where there is a capital cook, and the 
 
 fare equal to any in the city. Indeed, Mr. seemed, 
 
 as I thought, rather to countenance a suspicion, that if it were 
 not for the bond of good fellowship and good eating at these 
 places, most of these societies would soon fall to the ground. 
 The anniversary dinners are, he says, however, aided by the 
 honour of an association with their Royal Highnesses, who 
 patronize these societies by always coming to the dinners, and 
 by the particular care always taken to record their proceed- 
 ings, as well as the presence of their Royal Highnesses in the 
 public papers. This dinner cost some three or four hundred 
 guineas ; and was so excellent, that, I am assured by Mr. 
 
 that the venison and iced Champagne so wrought 
 
 upon several present, that they actually subscribed nearly the 
 amount of the price of a ticket to the charitable fund. He 
 likewise hinted, that there are not a few of these subscription- 
 people, who thus unite charity and economy with the gratifi- 
 cation of their appetites, and under cover of the first, escape 
 the imputation of gluttony and hard drinking. By this you
 
 86 A Sketch of Old England, 
 
 are not to understand any imputation on the of 
 
 , Lord - , or either of the R D , 
 
 who are extremely liberal in their attendance on the anniver- 
 sary dinners. Not one of these, Mr. assured me, 
 
 indulged in any indecorum of speech, or extravagance in 
 drinking, on this occasion ; but whether this proceeded from 
 a habit of temperance, or an untoward accident, which took 
 place shortly after the cloth was removed, must be left in 
 doubt. 
 
 You will understand, my dear brother, that no mission can 
 be sent to India, no poor people relieved, nor any poor children 
 put to a charity school, unless there be a good dinner, and 
 plenty of wine consumed, as a sort of modern Christian libation 
 to the goddess of charity. So universal is this practice of 
 eating and drinking for the benefit of the souls of the Brahmins, 
 and the bodies of the English, that it is computed the con* 
 sumption at these feasts would go a considerable way in re- 
 lieving the poor of the nation. In no two places, I am told, 
 do they keep up this classical mode of making libations more 
 
 piously and charitably, than at the meetings of the 
 
 and the Society for the Suppression of Vice and Immorality, 
 at which last they generally drink eighteen bumper toasts, to 
 set a good example to tavern tipplers and the rising generation. 
 In brief, nothing of this kind can be done without a good 
 
 dinner, which is a sine qua non with the R D and 
 
 my Lord , for which the latter is rather more tena- 
 cious than he was for the sine qua non at the treaty of Ghent. 
 
 Not one of the R D will patronise a society that does 
 
 not give a famous anniversary dinner, with plenty of iced 
 Champagne. 
 
 You are to understand, that these dinners are not given to 
 the poor people belonging to those institutions, but to the di- 
 rectors, and not unfrequently out of the charitable fund. But 
 
 the grand object is gained. His , who is himself 
 
 a pauper, supported by public bounty, gets an excellent dinner, 
 and is complimented for eating it ; the stewards and directors 
 get their names in the newspapers, and the whole affair re- 
 dounds wonderfully to the credit of their charity ! Oh, but 
 say they, our example at least is beneficial. The example of 
 the hypocrite can never inspire others with a sincere love of 
 virtue. On the contrary, as hypocrisy is never consistent 
 throughout, it is much more likely to injure the cause of virtue 
 by the frequent display of vices irreconcileable with its own 
 pretensions. Those, who give charity with one hand, and 
 gripe the hard earnings of the poor with the other, will more 
 probably do harm rather than good by their example.
 
 by a New England Man. 87 
 
 In conformity with this truly charitable custom, after the 
 business had been gone through, that is to say, after nothing 
 had been done and a vast deal said, we (I use the language of 
 
 Mr. ) sat down to one of the most enormous dinners 
 
 I ever saw ; the Lord Mayor's feast was nothing to it. Every 
 body was delighted with the condescension of the duke, and 
 the bishops sustained their ancient reputation for abstinence at 
 
 dinner. His grace of undertook to prove, that 
 
 ignorance was the source of all crimes, but was interrupted 
 by a candidate for one of the livings in his grace's gift with, 
 " your grace must except the crime of forgery." The joke 
 
 occasioned a smile even from Sir , who is 
 
 a very serious man, owing to the vast many murders he hath 
 committed secuudum artem but the luckless wit, in the opi- 
 nion of the company, had lost all chance for the living. 
 
 Matters went on swimmingly, and all the children, includ- 
 ing those of the , ' bastards and all,' were in 
 
 a fair way of being well educated, when the drinking of toasts 
 began. The first was * the king,' which was pronounced by 
 the waiter, who acted as toast-master, with infinite devotion, 
 and drank with still greater, especially by his grace of . 
 
 and the bishops. This was of course a bumper toast. A lit- 
 tle after the toast-master bawled out * the queen and the rest 
 of the royal family,' at which the whole company was struck 
 dumb, and they all stared as if the hand-writing had been seen 
 
 on the wall. ' Treason' looked his , * radicalism' 
 
 looked his grace of , while poor Sir , 
 
 I think it was, jumped up and snatched the list of toasts out 
 of the waiter's hands, who was now suspected of being at 
 least one of the Cato-street conspirators. The toast was there 
 at full length, but the author and the hand-writing remain un- 
 known even unto this day, although the Constitutional So- 
 ciety, aided by the Bridge-street Association, were busily em- 
 ployed in ferretting out the traitor, who will certainly . be 
 hanged if caught. The poor waiter has been discharged, I 
 understand, and two government spies sent to watch his mo- 
 tions, so that if there be any virtue in perjury, I think he is in 
 a fair way to the gallows. 
 
 This unlucky incident of the toast spoiled one of the finest 
 commencements to a pleasant drinking bout I ever saw ; it de- 
 stroyed all harmony and confidence ; each man now looked 
 
 on his next neighbour as a radical, and .- , who 
 
 drank the toast most loyally, were eyed with marks of jealousy 
 and suspicion. The drinking now flagged, the company began 
 to deal in forced laughs, and several excellent jokes had 
 already fallen dead under the table, when his Royal Highness
 
 88 A Sketch of Old England, 
 
 thought proper to retire, and was shortly followed by the rest 
 of the company. Owing to this untoward accident, the guests 
 all went home sober, a thing, I am told, that has not occurred 
 at an anniversary dinner of a charitable society here, within 
 the memory of man. What rendered this toast so much more 
 awkward and ill-timed, was, that it came in the very nick 
 
 when the name of was to have been given, and 
 
 had already cleared his throat, and adjusted 
 
 himself for a speech, in reply to the compliment, as is cus- 
 tomary on such occasions. He was actually on his legs, when 
 the name of the queen knocked him fairly down on his chair, 
 from whence he rose no more until his final departure. 
 
 I should certainly not have mentioned this ludicrous inci- 
 dent, or given this ludicrous turn to the whole business, had I 
 not ample reason for doubting the sincerity of the great leaders 
 in these institutions for curing all the wants, healing all the 
 sores, and reforming ail the vices of mankind in England, by 
 eating anniversary dinners. But I have seen and see enough 
 every day to convince me, that these innumerable societies for 
 bettering the condition of the poor, are, nine out of ten, the 
 offspring of a great and general plan of the present monopo- 
 lists of all the property and patronage of this kingdom, for 
 bringing the common people into a state of abject dependence, 
 and thus depriving them, not only of the power, but the will, 
 to assert their constitutional rights. In the ages of ecclesias- 
 tical tyranny, the people were reconciled to the monopoly of 
 the church by distributions of alms from the monasteries, which 
 converted them into idle and dissolute beggars ; and now, in 
 the age of expiring antiquated abuses in government, the same 
 means are resorted to. The property of the country, if even 
 tolerably distributed, would be amply sufficient to make the 
 tenantry farmers instead of beggars ; but as this is at present 
 quite out of the question, it is thought a good stroke of policy 
 to reconcile them to their fate, by inviting them to poor-houses, 
 or soup-houses, to eat the miserable pittance of charity. Thus 
 these new and increasing charities are nothing more than links 
 in the chain, by which the people are kept in a state of degrad- 
 ing dependence on the rich, and taught to be grateful to the 
 benefactor, who takes pounds from the produce of the 
 labouring peasant in tithes and rents, and gives them pennies 
 in charity. 
 
 Charity, however, as it would seem, is no longer the modest, 
 unobtrusive, blessed minister, who walked forth in secret and 
 in silence, alone and in darkness, to solace the wants of de- 
 serving sufferers. She must be treated with anniversary din- 
 ners, complimentary toasts, and puffs innumerable in the news-
 
 by a New England Man. 89 
 
 papers and magazines in short, she is become a mere political 
 engine to enslave a whole people, by inuring them to habits of 
 abject dependence, and making them fit only for what they 
 will soon become. 
 
 I grant you, brother, that when I see the rich, the clergy, 
 and the nobility liberally contributing to these societies, it 
 seems little less than wicked to doubt their motives. Yet let 
 me not be deterred from questioning motives and actions, 
 directly tending to corrupt and debase mankind. Half the 
 evils of this world are produced by the abuse or misapplica- 
 tion of a good thing to a bad purpose. The delicacy which 
 shrinks from detecting hypocrisy in whatever garb, whether of 
 charity or religion, is treason to mankind. 
 
 It is a fact which nobody, except Mr. Vansittart, can or will 
 deny, that a great portion of the present distress, in this coun- 
 try, arises from taxation, rents, and tithes, combined. What 
 then should be the great object of those who are really ani- 
 mated with a pure and disinterested passion for the good of 
 their fellow-countrymen? Certainly to diminish as far as pos- 
 sible these burthens to adapt the amount of rents and tithes 
 to the present depressed state of agriculture and manufactures. 
 They would, at least such is my humble opinion of philan- 
 thropy, large, comprehensive, practical and efficient they 
 would, in their capacity of legislators, resist, on all occasions, 
 every attempt to lay any additional burthens on the people they 
 would use every effort within the limits of rational economy, 
 to diminish the expenditures of government; and, if clergy 
 or landholders, gradually relinquish a portion of tithes, and 
 lower the rents of their poor tenants, already bowed to the 
 earth by taxes, that eat the coats from their backs and the food 
 from their tables. 
 
 With respect to those numerous charitable schools established 
 of late years, they are, for the most part, intended for little 
 else than mere means of strengthening particular sects, by 
 bringing up the children educated by them, in the tenets of 
 the church, under whose patronage the school happens to be 
 placed. Thus the church of England has its schools supported 
 by what by courtesy is called charity, but at which no child is 
 admitted, whose parents will not consent to its being educated 
 in the tenets and forms of this particular church. This is also 
 the case with the dissenters, the methodists, and every other 
 denomination, whose different charity schools are exclusively 
 devoted to the education of religious proselytes, and, for the 
 most part, beyond doubt, originated in the spirit of jealousy, 
 rivalship, and esprit du corps. Within a few years past more 
 than one plan of national education has been defeated by the 
 VOYAGES and TRAVELS, No. XLV. VoL VIII. N
 
 90 A Sketch of Old England, 
 
 jealousy of the established church, which saw, or fancied it 
 saw, in them, the seeds of danger to its predominating in- 
 fluence; and it is now well understood, that Mr. Brougham 
 has abandoned his great scheme for rendering education general 
 in this country by national patronage, through the opposition 
 of the dissenters, who, it seems, with all their horrors of igno- 
 rance, had rather the people should remain ignorant, than give 
 to the established church, and the government which is incor- 
 porated with it, the means of making proselytes through the 
 medium of national schools. Thus you see, brother, what is 
 really the honest truth, that charity here, as elsewhere, often 
 covers a multitude of sins, and takes care to look sharp 
 through religious spectacles, before she will contribute a 
 penny. 
 
 How different is this from OUR PEAR LITTLE NEW ENGLAND ; 
 of which every man who drew his first breath there, feels the 
 prouder, the more he sees of the rest of the world. There 
 education is the general property of the whole people ; and 
 the poorest child of the poorest man that breathes our air, re- 
 ceives his education without feeling it as a degradation, be- 
 cause he has paid his little portion for this purpose to the state, 
 and is as much entitled to the benefits of the establishment as 
 the richest person in the country. Neither parent nor child is 
 obliged to profess or abjure any particular creed, or to belie 
 their consciences under the penalty of living in utter ignorance; 
 nor does the meanest urchin ever feel the degrading conscious- 
 ness, that he is beholden to the charity of strangers for the 
 nurture of his mind. Well may our New England people 
 boast of this distinction, which is peculiar to themselves, and 
 long may they resist any and every attempt to prop up a par- 
 ticular church, or strengthen a particular sect or party by the 
 establishment of charity schools, where the test of admission 
 is a religious creed, and its consequences but too often a con- 
 firmed and base-born habit of perpetual dependence on charity, 
 for what every one ought to rest upon his own exertions to 
 supply. 
 
 This country plumes itself upon its superiority over all 
 others in charities, and urges its pretensions with an arrogance 
 that cannot fail of provoking a scrutiny into the motives for 
 these boasted establishments. Those who make the greatest 
 claims upon our admiration, must expect to be tried by motives 
 as well as actions ; and the people, who are ever boasting of 
 their virtues, will certainly, sooner or later, be convicted of 
 hypocrisy. I cannot easily bring my mind to comprehend the 
 purity of that charity, which racks the industrious out of 
 pounds, and gives away pennies to the idle and thriftless. I 
 cannot believe in that benevolence or generosity, which gives
 
 by a New England Man. 91 
 
 a trifle in alms, for the purpose of reconciling the people to its 
 insatiable monopoly of all the rest. In short, when I see 
 hardened profligates, who live in the daily violation of social 
 and moral duties; inexorable landlords, who are everyday 
 distressing their tenants for rent; and inflexible parsons, who 
 will not forego a little of their tithes, contributing at public 
 meetings to societies for propagating morality and religion, 
 and relieving distress, it is impossible to help taking it for 
 granted, that the first seek to cover their debaucheries, the 
 latter their extortions, under the sacred mantles of piety and 
 benevolence. 
 
 LETTER XVI. 
 
 DEAR BROTHER, 
 
 London. 
 
 I USED to go often to the theatres here, until I grew tired of 
 their abominations. The dramatic art is certainly at the lowest 
 ebb in this country, owing to a variety of causes. The first is 
 the indifference of the fashionable world, who, one and all, 
 prefer to go to sleep at the Italian opera, to sitting out one of 
 Shakspeare's best plays : the second cause, I apprehend to be 
 the bigotry of a considerable portion of that class, which fur- 
 nished a vast many spectators to the theatres. I mean the 
 respectable middling class, many of whom will not go to the 
 play because they are told it is immoral; and many for no 
 other reason, than because it is no longer fashionable. It 
 actually smacks of radicalism to go often to the theatre. 
 
 For these, and other reasons of less extensive operation, it 
 happens, that except when a new well be-puffed actor; a well 
 be-puffed play, by some well be-puffed author; or some monster 
 attracts them, the theatres are but little visited by fashionable 
 people. The drama is no longer a fashionable topic of con- 
 versation ; and the man who ventured to introduce the name 
 of iShakspeare into the best society, would, beyond doubt, be 
 voted a great bore by the Corinthians and the young ladies of 
 ton. The theatres are consequently in possession of the vulgar, 
 who can relish nothing but spectacles or broad caricatures ; 
 country gentry that come to town, and are taken thither by 
 their fashionable friends, because it is a sort of out of the way 
 place, where their awkwardness and old-fashioned dresses can- 
 not disgrace them ; and strangers, driven thither by that despe- 
 rate fiend, Ennui, a native of London, though baptized 
 in French, who hovers night and day over this cave of 
 spleen. These last, whatever they may think or say on the 
 subject, can have little or no influence in correcting the taste of 
 the town.
 
 92 A Sketch of Old England, 
 
 The result is as might be expected. The taste of the mob 
 must be consulted, as by the mob the theatres are principally 
 supported. Every species of monster, moral and intellectual, 
 two-legged and four-legged, riots on the stage. Horses, dogs, 
 cossacks, elephants, camels, and dromedaries, are the heroes of 
 the drama, so that I have often been tempted to cry out with 
 the excellent mayor of Quinborough, 
 
 " Give me a play without a beast, I charge you." 
 
 These exhibitions of quadrupeds take precedence over all 
 others, and command the most outrageous plaudits of the dis- 
 criminating audience. The next in public attention is the 
 melo-drame, where the passions are expressed by the fiddlers, 
 and the author is saved the trouble of attending to such low 
 matters. All he has to do is to produce striking situations, at 
 all hazards, at every risk of probability, and in defiance of 
 common sense. After these comes the legitimate comedy, as 
 the excellent critics call it, which owes all its effect to a 
 drunken Irishman or sailor, two or three non-descript and 
 original monsters not to be found on the earth, nor in the waters 
 under the earth ; a smart hero, compounded of the opposite ex- 
 tremes of harem-scarem imprudence and profound sentiment, 
 together with a sentimental young lady, always ready to make 
 a fool of her parents. The dialogue must consist in cant 
 phrases, gross slang, offensive double-entendre, and inflated 
 sentiment on the part of the young lady as also her lover, 
 whenever he has time to be in love. A fourth class of plays, 
 very much approved of by John Bull at present, are those 
 not absolutely written by any body. They consist of the 
 united labours of the scene-painters, the machinists, the scene- 
 shifters, and the " Great Unknown," whose works are regu- 
 larly dramatised by an industrious journeyman playwright, 
 
 called Nathaniel T . They are made up of all the most 
 
 striking incidents of. the novel or poem, crowded as thick as 
 hops, and jumbled together pretty much at random. The 
 whole machinery of these farragoes is held together by the fid- 
 dlers, who, whenever the playwright is at his wit's ends, or 
 on the verge of absurdity or impossibility, flourish their bows, 
 and thunder away in the very nick of time, while the lucky 
 wight escapes under their cover to the next incongruity. The 
 audience, which in London always goes to sleep while the 
 music is playing, forgets what came last, and the next scene 
 commences with all the advantages of an utter oblivion of the 
 past. The nice taste of the mob is thus perfectly satisfied, in 
 witnessing a quick succession of striking incidents, without the 
 necessity of those fatiguing efforts to make them appear pro-
 
 by a New England Alan. 98 
 
 bable, that have thrown such obstacles in the way of many 
 dramatic authors. The most illustrious of 'these domestic 
 manufacturers of second-hand trumpery is Mr. Nathaniel 
 
 T aforesaid, whom the " Great Unknown" calls " my 
 
 friend, Mr. T ;" a proof, in my opinion, that the aforesaid 
 
 Unknown is a very good-natured knight, or be would not call 
 a man his friend who had committed so many assassinations 
 upon his Muse. Saving this gentleman, I know of no other 
 distinguished comic writers here at present. There are several 
 that write excellent farces in five acts, however, which please 
 the public taste just as well, and better, than a Sheridan or a 
 Moliere. 
 
 Tragedy, who has certainly more lives than a cat, and has 
 been daggered and ratsbaned at least a dozen times within the 
 last twenty years, has lately, it is said, revived here with great 
 splendour. Mr. Walker has written the tragedy of Wallace ; 
 Mr. Sheil, that of Damon and Pythias; Mr. Haynes, that of 
 the Bridal Night ; and Lord Byron, as distant rumour states 
 rather obscurely, four new ones, only one of which is yet before 
 the public. That I presume you have read, as I perceive it has 
 been republished in the United States. Of the other three I 
 know nothing, except what has leaked out from persons lately 
 arrived from Italy. One, it is hinted, is antediluvian, another 
 Asiatic, and the third Italian. His lordship, in addition to 
 these, has, it is said, written his own life, besides a poem, 
 called, I know not what, for it is only rumour as yet. He has, 
 I should think, rather too many irons in the fire to do any one 
 of these jobs as it ought to be done ; and I fear is frittering 
 away his genius, by lending it alternately, or, as it would seem, 
 at one and the same time, to the most lofty and the most fri- 
 volous objects. It is stated that he intends to give his biography 
 to " the first lyric poet of the age," who has already sold it to 
 Mr. John Murray for two thousand guineas. Whether this 
 " first lyric poet of the age" be Mr. Southey, Mr. Words- 
 worth, or Mr. Thomas Moore, I cannot determine ; for each 
 of these has his respective admirers, aye, and critics too, who 
 will not give up a hair's breadth of their opinions. With re- 
 spect to the two thousand guineas, I do not believe in one 
 quarter of it ; for it is one of the secrets of the excellent art of 
 puffing here, to circulate accounts of the enormous sums paid 
 by booksellers for their copyrights. The enlightened public, 
 which always applies the Hudibrastic criterion, and estimates 
 the value of a thing at what it will bring, will run after a two 
 thousand guinea book, when they would run away from one of 
 ten pounds. The admirers of genius here have never purchased 
 a copy of Milton's Paradise Lost, since they found out he
 
 94 A Sketch of Old England, 
 
 was a republican, and sold his poem for twelve or twenty 
 pounds. 
 
 Another of the accoucheurs, who assisted at the late new 
 birth of a tragedy, is known to the Muses by the name of 
 Barry Cornwall. For some unknown cause he is a great 
 favourite of the Edinburgh Review, which has for some time 
 past been preparing the way for giving him a run upon the 
 town. He first published some smaller pieces of poetry, which 
 were praised by the reviewer. He then felt the public pulse 
 with some fragments of a tragedy, which were also praised by 
 the reviewer. Then, after a vast deal of preliminary puffing, 
 and appeals to public curiosity, the new tragedy of Mr. Barry 
 Cornwall, which was to establish a new era of the drama, was 
 acted before the discriminating mob, which constitutes a Lon- 
 don audience. The Literary Gazette, and a few other half- 
 crown critics, attempted to maintain its reputation ; but it did 
 not obtain a run, as was expected. It is by no means equal to 
 our countryman Payne's tragedy of Brutus, which is quite as 
 original as Mirandola, and, in the opinion of the best judges 
 here, much superior to any tragedy brought out within several 
 years past. 
 
 But the most popular of all those inspired writers, who have 
 lately assisted at the resurrection of tragedy, is Mr. Maturin, 
 an Irish clergyman, who is, in the region of fiction, what 
 Counsellor Phillips is in that of law. There is certainly some 
 of the smoke of genius in this writer, and where there is smoke, 
 they say, there must be fire : but it seems to be a sort of clumsy, 
 unpurposed, and indiscriminate faculty, engendered in horrors, 
 and nestled in the same cradle with the great " raw head and 
 bloody bones" of the nursery. It seems always labouring with 
 some mighty godhead, and yet produces nothing but shapeless 
 monsters. Devoted to a mere accumulation of horror upon 
 horror, extravagance upon extravagance, his efforts seem those 
 of the cyclop, Polyphemus, the result of energy and blindness 
 combined. His genius appears, in fact, entirely devoted to the 
 salutary purpose of exciting a people, like the citizens of Lon- 
 don, the genteeler portion of whom are so used to boxing- 
 matches, and the lower classes to executions, that their blunted 
 sympathies can only be awakened on the stage by the most dis- 
 gusting exhibitions of extravagant horrors. 
 
 Mr. Maturin always has his pockets full of daggers and rats- 
 bane ; and not content, like Bob Acres, with killing a man a 
 week, murders away in every page, like a perfect Jack Ketch 
 in tragedy. Then his characters are always insuperably me- 
 lancholy or ineffably mad, without ever, on any occasion, either 
 thinking, feeling, or expressing themselves like the people who
 
 by a New England Man. 95 
 
 inhabit this humble earth. I should take it that he had made 
 an excursion to the planet Mercury, or some other in the near 
 neighbourhood of the sun, and there studied nature sublimated 
 to " hissing hot," at the same time that his brain became heated 
 to the salamander temperament, We have convulsions; mur- 
 ders by dagger and poison ; ravings, writhings, gnashings of 
 teeth, and extremes of all kinds, which are the mere ordinary, 
 every-day amusements of his characters; and from beginning 
 to end, not one of them, is sufficiently cool to act like a person 
 in his sober senses for half a minute together. 
 
 But it would appear, my dear brother, that these blustering, 
 poisoning, daggering, and ratsbaning tragedies are not only 
 eminently fitted for the audience, but actually seem manu- 
 factured on purpose for the actors who are to perform them. 
 These last are eternally in a fever or a fidget, just like the 
 author. Their muscles are always in a busy convulsive motion, 
 and their eyes, as it were, starting out of their heads, like the 
 honest captain in Italy, who got what he called " a d d 
 painted snowball in his mouth." They rage, roar, grin, and 
 skip about like so many mad harlequins ; and it is worth a great 
 deal to see one of them fight a battle and die on the stage. 
 The English, with all their humanity, you know are fond -of 
 boxing-matches, cock-fighting, and bull-baiting, except when 
 they see these things abroad, when their tourists always write 
 down their people brutes, or something equally complimentary. 
 Nothing, therefore, except the wild beasts, delights them half 
 so much at the play, as seeing Richard and Richmond, Mac- 
 beth and Macduff, Hotspur and Harry, fight like bull-dogs or 
 bruisers. They appear to enjoy every imaginary thrust, pretty 
 much in the spirit of an Indian banqueting upon the tortures of 
 a prisoner at the stake ; and they would never forgive an actor 
 if he suffered himself to be killed like a Christian man, by the 
 first thrust through the body. But the dying is the triumph of 
 the art, and occasions equal satisfaction with an execution at 
 Tyburn, The hero must not be less than a quarter of an hour 
 about it. He must roll and tumble about the stage, like one in 
 a fit of the cholic, and at the last pang give himself a flip-flap 
 like a flounder, and fall flat on his back, as stiff as buckram. If 
 he do not lie in this way, John Bull will set about demolishing 
 the playhouse directly. 
 
 I have seen the critics convulsed with ecslacy, and the 
 whole house in a roar of delight, at a death-scene of Roscius 
 Kean. On receiving his first wound, he doubled himself up 
 like a tobacco worm, and announced the accident with a 
 broad grin. But he fell to again with most resolute courage. 
 Anon he received another poke, which caused him to stagger
 
 96 A Sketch of Old England, 
 
 and fall upon one knee, where he delighted the audience with 
 various displays of determined valour, grinning terribly all 
 the while. On receiving the third push, he wheeled round, 
 staggered, stamped, and fenced with the air like a blind game 
 cock, uutil finally he received a coup de grace, which caused 
 him to jump up two yards, and fall down in the most affecting 
 manner. Now, heaven be praised ! thought I, the man is 
 dead at last. But I was out in my reckoning, for then began 
 the cream of the affair: the rollings, the contortions, the gnash- 
 ings of teeth, the bitings of the dust, the gropings about for the 
 sword, and, finally, the great flip-flap which crowns all. I 
 swear to you, brother, one of these first-rate actors is as hard 
 to kill as our Missouri bears, which, it is said, are so tenacious 
 of life, that a bullet or two through the vitals is a mere flea- 
 bite. Now, if the result of this terrible battle were not per- 
 fectly well known to every one of the audience beforehand, at 
 least, to a great majority of them, one might suppose, that 
 the intense interest it excited was simply the effect of a high 
 state of suspense and anxiety to see which of the combatants 
 would be victorious. But they all know perfectly well, that 
 Macduff will kill Macbeth ; and Richmond, Richard; so that 
 it can only originate in that innate love of bloodshed, which is 
 gratified even with a mere sham battle and fictitious death. 
 
 Comic acting, like Comedy herself, is on a scale still inferior 
 to that of tragic acting. The real fine gentleman is no more, 
 either in real life here, or in the comedies or comedians of the 
 present time, unless Mr. Elliston may be called an exception. 
 In the room of those sprightly wits and courageous coxcombs, 
 who give such charms to the elder plays, we now see a mise- 
 rable specimen of a modern Corinthian, stupid as the author 
 himself, and depending entirely for endurance on the size of 
 his neckcloth, the enormity of his costume, and a few cant 
 phrases, equally destitute of meaning and wit. The rest de- 
 pends upon the actor, who is obliged to animate the skeleton, 
 by every exertion of the powers of grimace and buffoonery. 
 The broad vulgarity, mixed up with incongruous and exag- 
 gerated feeling, as its contrast, by which the comedy of the 
 present day is characterised, is equally at war with genteel hu- 
 mour and sprightliness, as well as natural, unaffected senti- 
 ment. It is the exertion of an exhausted genius, fostered 
 by a worn-out taste. The actors must, of course, accommo- 
 date themselves to the poverty of the age, and bring their pow- 
 ers down to the dead level of dramatic degradation. Besides, 
 they have no heart to exert themselves, after seeing a New- 
 foundland dog, or an elephant, greeted with applauses on the 
 stage, that in a better age would have only fallen to the lot of 
 a Garrick, aBetterton, a Gibber, or an Abingdon.
 
 by a New England Man. 97 
 
 It is impossible to compare the French stage with the English 
 fet this period, without being forcibly struck with the entire su- 
 periority of the Theatre Fran$ais, which is devoted to the 
 preservation of the national taste, over either of the London 
 theatres. At the former, I always found an audience, refined, 
 decorous, quiet, and attentive. Every noise was promptly 
 repressed by the sentiment of the house, and every indecorum 
 immediately arrested by a burst of indignant feeling, which 
 the most hardy insolence or determined profligacy cannot with- 
 stand. The costume of the actors, while accommodated, in 
 the most scrupulous fjauner, to the age and people to which 
 the characters appertained, was totally divested of all tinsel 
 and glitter: the scenery and decorations were always in the 
 most chaste and appropriate style ; nor did I ever see an instance 
 of the Birmingham brilliancy, with which Mr. Kean sometimes 
 dazzles a London audience. The taste of the vulgar is never 
 appealed to at the Theatre Fran$ais, by exhibitions of wild 
 beasts ; nor are the menageries emptied of their four-footed 
 tenants, for the purpose of giving a zest to an intellectual ban- 
 quet. There is no puffing in newspapers and play-bills, nor is 
 the public ever assured by an anonymous friend that the spec- 
 tacle will be entirely superb. The audience judges for itself, 
 and the decision is seldom, if ever, reversed ; because it consists 
 of the most enlightened people of the capital. In short, there 
 is a total absence, a studied rejection, of all those impudent 
 quackeries, and unblushing impostures, to which the theatres 
 here, continually resort to inveigle the mob into their toils. 
 Nothing but the legitimate drama is admitted on the stage of 
 the Theatre Fran$ais ; nor would it be possible for the taste 
 of the polite audience to be brought to endure the profanations 
 nightly exhibited on the London boards. 
 
 LETTER XVII. 
 DEAR BROTHER, 
 
 London. 
 
 WHEN I have nothing else to attract my attention, which is 
 pretty often the case in this very dull city, I amuse myself 
 with attending the debates in parliament, that are sometimes 
 interesting from the subjects under discussion. In this way, 
 I have had an opportunity of hearing the ablest speakers, on 
 topics that afforded the best opportunities for the display of 
 their talents. On a late occasion, in a question connected with 
 African slavery, (a fruitful subject for declamation) Mr. Wil- 
 berforce, Mr. Brougham, Sir James Mackintosh, Lord Lon- 
 
 VOYAGES and TRAVELS, No. XLV. Vol. VIII. o
 
 .98 A Sketch of Old England, 
 
 donderry, and several others, made their best figure. Each 
 in turn complained of the encouragement given to the slave 
 trade by many of the European powers, in possession of co- 
 lonies in the West Indies, and at the same time reluctantly ac- 
 knowledged, that our abandoned Republic was the only 
 government that heartily and in good earnest co-operated with 
 them in their efforts to prevent it. 
 
 Humanity, when in its pure state, and uncontarainated by 
 any mixture of interest or passion, is a widely extended and 
 comprehensive feeling. It comprehends not merely one co- 
 lour, one nation, and one quarter of th$ globe, but the whole 
 human race in a greater or less degree. " To oppress one peo- 
 ple, and at the same time affect great commiseration for 
 another, is not humanity, but hypocrisy. It is assuming a 
 cloak for some interested purpose; either to impose upon 
 the credulity of the world for objects of gain or ambition, or 
 to prop up a falling reputation. If this government were 
 really and sincerely actuated by a principle of humanity, not 
 altogether confined to the colour of the epidermis, why 
 has it lately permitted the Mussulmen to exercise the most 
 cruel outrages on the Greeks ; to carry on a war of extermi- 
 nation against Christians, who believe in the same Saviour as 
 the people of England? Why did not Lord Strangford, the 
 English ambassador at the Porte, while dining with the Grand 
 Seignior, an honour never before conferred on a Christian dog, 
 and basking in the sunshine of Ottoman favour why did he 
 not take the opportunity to interfere to prevent the indiscri- 
 minate massacre of Christians, men, women, and children ? 
 Why? because he enjoyed this very favour at the price 
 of giving them up to the butcher at the price of re- 
 fusing admission on board the English vessels in the Ar- 
 chipelago, to those Christian Greeks that fled from the Mus- 
 sulman tyrant, who had issued a declaration that their exist- 
 ence could no longer be tolerated and from the very 
 first, siding with Mussulman executioners against Christian 
 victims ; and the issuing of a declaration, prohibiting the 
 lonians, who are under English protection, from assisting their 
 countrymen upon pain of death at the price of giving an 
 English escort to Turkish ships, loaded with men and 
 stores, for the purpose of bringing a Christian people to the 
 sabre and the bowstring of an infidel oppressor in short, at 
 the price of abandoning all the obligations of justice, hunm- 
 nity, and religion. 
 
 Why did not Lord Strangford, at this auspicious moment, 
 when the existence of the Ottoman power depended on the di- 
 version made by England and Austria, stipulate with the
 
 by a New England Man. 99 
 
 Turk for the abolition of the trade in human flesh, which is 
 carried on in all parts of his empire, and under which thou- 
 sands of WHITE CHRISTIAN SLAVES are every day sold in the 
 markets of every Turkish city? A glorious opportunity of- 
 fered itself to establish the reputation of British humanity 
 beyond all question, by a stipulation in favour of white Chris- 
 tian slaves, similar to that in behalf of black pagan ones. 
 The interests of humanity would be better served by the former 
 than by the latter. I have no particular disposition to ques- 
 tion the motives of Mr. Wilberforce, in bis long and persever- 
 ing efforts to procure the abolition of the African slave trade; 
 but whatever were his motives, I cannot but be of opinion, 
 that by making slaves more valuable in the colonies than they 
 were before, he has offered temptations of profit, more than 
 equivalent to the difficulties thrown in the way of the trade. 
 But the best men are apt to overlook obvious consequences in 
 their headlong zeal to benefit nrankind. Good intentions are 
 common enough ; but the wisdom to direct them to practical 
 good is seldom their companion. 
 
 The better sort of members, such as Mr. Brougham, 
 Mr. Wilberforce, Sir James Mackintosh, and others, are 
 exceedingly worthy, useful, and able men. They discuss 
 some questions with a sagacity and extent of research, highly 
 honourable to themselves and to the country, reminding me 
 
 not unfrequently of Mr. <-, Mr. , 
 
 Mr. , and others of the late members of our congress. 
 
 But shall I venture upon the heresy? Shall I dare, in the face 
 of old habits, prejudices, and opinions fostered by education, 
 strengthened by books, and the example of all around you, to 
 assert, that these men are not equal to the orators just named? 
 And yet this is as true as that you are alive. With the excep- 
 tion of Mr. Canning, there is scarcely the shadow of an orator 
 in the house of commons; and the house of lords is, beyond 
 all doubt, the most sleepy place in England, except the Italian 
 opera and Mr. Campbell's lectures. 
 
 Mr. Brougham is a laborious speaker. To me there appears 
 something somewhat grotesque in his attempts at impassioned 
 oratory, wherein he occasionally displays his zeal and warmth 
 in contortions of face and figure nearly approaching to the lu- 
 dicrous. He has an iron face and an iron figure, both equally 
 divested of grace or majesty, nor does his action or expression 
 make amends for these deficiencies of face and person. Yet 
 his habits of laborious investigation and research, his extensive 
 range of memory, and his capacity for intellectual arrange- 
 ment, make him, on the whole, a useful man of business, and 
 a powerful pleader; for his eloquence is little more than ape-,
 
 100 A Sketch of Old England, 
 
 cial pleading. As the leader of a party in the house of com- 
 mons, he is at most, however, but second rate. He is much 
 better in subjects where mere labour and investigation are re- 
 quired, and is pre-eminent on school committees and parlia- 
 mentary inquiries, where he listens with the patience of a judge, 
 and sifts the evidence with the indefatigable sagacity of a 
 thorough-bred lawyer. But I have heard him occasionally on 
 subjects of foreign policy, wherein the talents of a statesman 
 are put to the test, and was surprised at his crudeness, as well 
 as want of extent of idea and accuracy of information. I cer- 
 tainly have heard a member from our woods talk more sensi- 
 bly, and display more statesman-like views of the relation of 
 European nations with each other, and with the United States. 
 This lameness, however, in the discussion of great political 
 questions, _ seems common to almost all the great men here, 
 either because those of the opposition do not know the state of 
 their relations with foreign powers, and those of the cabinet do 
 not choose to tell ; or from a want of that enlargement of intel- 
 lect which is the peculiar characteristic of a great statesman, 
 I will do the opposition the justice to say, that they cannot, as 
 they do in our congress, get whatever information they ask 
 from the executive, and are therefore often obliged to grope in 
 the dark. But Lord Londonderry certainly is in all the secrets, 
 as foreign secretary, and he talks like a rebus, seemingly em- 
 ploying the whole force of his understanding in withholding, 
 rather than communicating information. It is quite laughable 
 to hear the Corinthian members cry, " hear, hear !" when he 
 says any thing beyond the comprehension of mortal man. I 
 certainly never saw a more laborious speaker ; but his labour 
 seems most preposterously employed, not in enlightening his 
 hearers, but in perplexing their understandings in an equal de* 
 gree with his own, by which means alone he seems to expect 
 to carry his point. His logic is the logic of a perplexed, ra- 
 ther than a profound understanding, and his rhetoric is highly 
 worthy of his logic. There is a story told here of a gentle- 
 man, who, after listening to his lordship for a long time, started 
 up at length in great haste, and on being questioned where he 
 was going, replied " to the house of peers, to know from 
 Lord Liverpool what Lord Castlereagh means." His action 
 is that of a pump-handle when in brisk motion, as you may 
 have learned from Moore's epigram. 
 
 Sir James Mackintosh is, I think, a much better writer than 
 speaker, although a very powerful orator on the whole. He is 
 fluent and animated, but too florid and studied to appear natu- 
 tural. I can hardly tell what he wants to make him a fine 
 speaker, except it be nature, or ttfet art which supplies its
 
 by a New England Man. 101 
 
 place in some degree. To read the papers and daily produc- 
 tions which record passing events, and confer a nine days im- 
 mortality, one would suppose Sir James and his compeers 
 were giants of the race of those who warred against the gods, 
 with mountains and torrents of intellectual force and eloquence. 
 But I must again caution you to beware of the deceptions 
 practised upon us at home, by the monstrous and inflated style, 
 which it is now fashionable to use in speaking of every thing 
 rising above mediocrity. The system of puffing is at its most 
 alarming height in this country, and it is quite impossible for 
 the mere reader to judge of the merits of any public man. 
 They must be every thing, or nothing superlatively great or 
 superlatively mean the perfection of nature and intellect, or 
 the extreme of littleness and folly. 
 
 It is thus that such writers, as the author of " Peter's Letters 
 to his Kinsfolk," and hundreds of similar delineators of cha- 
 racter, will speak of Edinburgh reviewers, and Ettrick 
 shepherds, as if the former were of that order of men, of whom 
 it is interesting to know, whether they wear short jackets or 
 long coats in the country, and the latter were a Burns, the 
 high priest of nature and simplicity, instead of the coarse and 
 vulgar humourist of Blackwood's Magazine. .It is thus, too, 
 that every person and every thing, which fashion or party- 
 spirit idolizes for the moment, is wrought into the lineaments 
 of sublimity and greatness, while the real and genuine candi- 
 dates for immortality, like Sir James Mackintosh, are carica- 
 tured by the coarse eulogists, who affect to know what is really 
 intellectual greatness, and have the consummate audacity to 
 pronounce sentence of immortality with a degree of indiscri- 
 minate profligacy, that is quite sufficient to ruin a tolerable re- 
 putation. 
 
 Mr. Canning, for wit, grace, fluency, and satire, is excel- 
 lent ; but he only skirmishes, for the most part, with an argu- 
 ment, and is satisfied to raise a laugh rather than produce 
 conviction. He is, however, the only man in the house who 
 can keep the rotten borough-dandies awake during a speech, 
 with the exception of Lord Londonderry, to whom they are 
 bound in gratitude, or in hope, to listen, under the penalty of 
 not getting a good place or pension. 
 
 If Mr. Wilberforce was not a pious and good man, I should 
 say that he cants a little too much, and votes a little too often 
 with ministers. There is, however, a reason for all things. 
 Mr. Wilberforce is the political head and oracle of the metho- 
 dists, who are now a body of very considerable weight and 
 influence in parliament. I am of opinion there is a deal of 
 underhand courtship going on between the ministry and metho-
 
 102 A Sketch of Old England, 
 
 dist leaders, the effects of which are seen in leaving out* 
 the queen's name from their liturgy, and the particular 
 attention paid by Lord Londonderry to Mr. Wilberforce's 
 opinions on all occasions. The established church begins to 
 be not a little jealous of this pious intrigue ; and it is a fact 
 well known here, that Mr. Brougham's great national educa- 
 tion bill was smothered in these mutual fears and antipathies. 
 The dissenters and methodists, on one side, were afraid that it 
 would throw into the hands of the established church too great 
 opportunities of instilling their doctrines into the minds of the 
 young people ; and the established church was dissatisfied, that 
 the act did not give it a more complete control over the reli- 
 gious opinions of those who were to be educated under the 
 bill. All felt and acknowledged the want of education among 
 the poorer class ; all professed a sincere desire that this want 
 should be supplied ; but religious bigotry, or religious zeal, as 
 it is politely called, stepped in, and thus condemned the chil- 
 dren of the poor to ignorance, until they can reconcile these 
 conflicting interests. 
 
 In the meantime the methodisls are gathering strength every 
 day. Their admirable system of worldly wisdom ; their ap- 
 parent zeal and sanctity ; their watchful industry, not only in 
 propagating their doctrines, but in stigmatizing those of other 
 sects, together with the aid which a spirit of fanaticism always 
 administers in the progress of a new religion, all combined, 
 have contributed vastly to the increase of their numbers and 
 influence. If I am not mistaken, the time is not far distant, 
 when they will either force an union with the established 
 church, or leave it in a minority. The methodists, and the 
 methodistical church of England people, are now strong in 
 parliament, and their force is daily increasing; for you will 
 recollect, that they have ever refused to be considered as dis- 
 senters from the church of England, and that there is nothing 
 in the tests, to which an orthodox methodist may not con- 
 scientiously accommodate himself. 
 
 I feel perfectly satisfied, that the weak, unsteady, and ap- 
 parently unpurposed opposition, is rather detrimental than 
 otherwise to the progress of reform in this country. The peo- 
 ple rely upon men who have neither the power, nor, I firmly 
 believe, the will, to breast the exigencies of the time, but who 
 are a knot of peddling, tinkering politicians, that talk big, 
 bluster finely, but are much more afraid of the Tower and the 
 attorney-general, than of arbitrary power and parliamentary 
 corruption. They are like your big fish, which are ever the 
 greatest cowards. Estimating their own importance most 
 highly, they are the first to run away ; while the lesser fry,
 
 by a New England Man. 103 
 
 confiding in their insignificance, remain behind, are caught, 
 and cooked for want of higher fare. These men will never 
 bring about a reform, such as is wanting to the prosperity of 
 the people of this country. Those who undertake this glorious 
 object, must not mind fine, pillory, or loss of ears. Nay, they 
 must, like the noble patriots of our revolution, take the step 
 that devotes them to death if they fail, to immortality if they 
 succeed. Even if they fail, from the blood and the ashes of 
 these unsuccessful victims, arises a host to consummate what 
 they but began. 
 
 Nothing can equal the pretty exchange of complimentary 
 eulogy, which occurs between the ministers and the opposition, 
 whenever the question of enlightening foreign nations, teaching 
 poor children to read, instead- of giving their parents a chance 
 of paying by their labours for their education, and such like 
 excellent plans, come up. The noble Lord Londonderry cor- 
 dially co-operates with the honourable member ; while the ho- 
 nourable member seems infinitely delighted at the opportunity 
 of voting for once on the side of ministers, and extols their 
 humanity to negroes, instead of boldly and promptly exposing 
 their hypocrisy, by placing their conduct to the people of 
 England, Europe, Asia, and America, in contrast with this 
 simulated humanity, assumed only for the purpose of deceiving 
 mankind, and cheating the public opinion. Indeed, the op- 
 position snatches with such avidity at every opportunity to be 
 on good terms, and exchange civil speeches, that one cannot 
 help suspecting they would be happy to consummate a perma- 
 nent union, by surrendering the virgin purity of their patriotism 
 into the arms of ministerial piety and benevolence. I may 
 mistake, but in my poor opinion, the good people here stand 
 but a bad chance for a reform in parliament, or any other 
 branch of the government, if they depend upon the present 
 opposition. 
 
 Since the time that Mr. Fox led the opposition, there has 
 been no efficient one in the house of commons, any more thau 
 there have been any true patriots since the days of Russell, 
 Hampden, and Sidney, who were willing to sacrifice life, 
 liberty, and a good name, in behalf of the principles of free- 
 dom. It would seem, that almost all the stern, inflexible sup- 
 porters of human rights came over to our country, and there 
 planted the tree of liberty, which would not take root in Eng- 
 land. You may form some idea of Sir James Mackintosh's 
 notions of liberty, when I tell you that in this -very debate, to 
 which I referred in the early part of this letter, he took an op- 
 portunity to class the United States and Great Britain together, 
 as "two nations mutually sharing the same freedom."
 
 104 A Sketch of Old England, 
 
 The art of raising the greatest possible quantity of money otfl 
 of the people, comprehends the whole mystery of the English 
 government. As I observed before, they are all very indiffer- 
 ent speakers, with the exception of Mr. Canning, and with the 
 same exception, among the dullest persons in a society over 
 which the genius of dulness presides. I am aware that there 
 are two sorts of great men those who talk wisely, and those 
 who act wisely. The former are only theoretically or abstract- 
 edly wise ; the latter practically so. It is difficult, indeed, to 
 tell a man by his talk, I have frequently met with men who 
 reversed Rochester's epitaph, and who never said a good thing 
 in their whole lives, yet always acted with the most provoking 
 wisdom, and always got the better of the great talkers. Still, 
 it is pretty certain, that no one who talks well can be a great 
 blockhead ; and it is equally clear, I think, that many a great 
 blockhead has chanced to stumble, or be driven into a system 
 of policy, the accidental success of which has caused him to 
 pass for a sage. The present ministers have kept their places, 
 and lived to seethe downfall of Napoleon : but they certainly 
 were particularly indebted to an early Russian frost, and a 
 weak opposition in parliament, for their triumphs. 
 
 Men of great and splendid talents are quite unnecessary in 
 the ministry, except when any invasion of the ancient privi- 
 leges of the people is meditated. Then Mr. Canning is put in 
 requisition, to ridicule his opponents and gloss over the mea- 
 sure. At other times, Mr. Vansittart, or Lord Londonderry, 
 is just as good as a Madison, or a Hamilton. On occasions of 
 emergency, they send to France for Mr. Canning, to get Lord 
 Liverpool, or Lord Londonderry out of a scrape. Feeling, as 
 it would appear, bis own consequence among these dull lords, 
 Mr. Canning sometimes takes the liberty, as in the case of the 
 Queen, to retire from the support of a ministerial measure. He 
 also keeps up a familiar intercourse in France with Anacreon 
 Moore, the writer of " Lascivious Lyrics," as Mr. Adams 
 aptly calls him ; though Moore is not only a public defaulter, 
 but has likewise made his present majesty quite as ridiculous, 
 as Peter Pindar did his revered father, George the Third 
 for whose memory I have a great respect, ever since his ac- 
 quittal, as set forth in the laureates immortal poem of "Judg- 
 ment." The taking all these freedoms, shows, that both Mr. 
 Canning and the ministers feel that they cannot do without him 
 at a pinch. He is, indeed, now that poor Sheridan is gone, a 
 first-rate wit, a star in Boeotia; excellent at a jest, delightful 
 at a dinner table, but not very happy at alliteration, witness 
 the unlucky one of " the revered and ruptured Ogden." 
 
 The ministerial wise-acres begin to suspect, that in putting-
 
 by a New England Man. 105 
 
 down Napoleon Bonapa/te, that mighty schoolmaster qf an old 
 worn out world, they;have fallen out of the frying-pan into 
 the fire. The best politicians of the last hundred years, have 
 always pointed the jealousies of Europe towards the Russian 
 empire. But present fears and pressing interests caused the 
 cabinets of Europe and England to lose sight of future dangers ; 
 and there is not one of these powers, that does not look with 
 trembling solicitude towards every movement of the emperor 
 Alexander. The poor pageant, who occupies the throne of 
 France, has been, for some time, vacillating between a desire 
 to dissent from the policy of the Holy Alliance, and a fear of 
 the consequences. I have reason to be persuaded, that the 
 omission of King George to pay a visit to Paris originated in a 
 demur on the part of Louis, to a proposition of the British 
 cabinet in relation to the affairs of Greece and Turkey. Much 
 difficulty exists in the French cabinet on this head ; and I have 
 but little doubt, that it will lead to a change of ministers, if 
 not of measures, in France. 
 
 The emperor of Austria, what between his fears of Russia, 
 and of books bound in Russian leather, has no heart, just now, 
 to attend to his favourite amusement of making sealing-wax. 
 
 It is rumoured in the -= circle, that he fainted not long 
 
 ago at the smell of a book in Russian binding. The king of 
 Prussia is so busy in warring against the four-and- twenty letters, 
 and prosecuting authors for telling him the truth, that he has 
 no time to attend to any thing else. But he is said to have 
 very uneasy dreams. In fact, I assure you, there never was a 
 set of poor people in such desperate perplexity, between a de- 
 sire to restrain the projects of Russia, and a fear of the almost 
 inevitable consequences of a war bankruptcy and revolution. 
 
 In the mean time, the Russian government has been at the 
 same moment negotiating a peace, and making preparations 
 for war. The Russian armies are at present more numerous 
 and efficient than those of all Europe besides, and are stationed 
 on the frontiers of Turkey in such a way, as that Constantino- 
 ple might be taken before the news of hostilities could reach 
 London. Well may the British ministry tremble if a war take 
 place. They have nothing left for it, but to swear there is no 
 danger until the danger arrives, and then set the Courier and 
 Quarterly Review abusing Alexander like a pickpocket. So 
 soon as I see this, I shall be sure there is difficulty with Russia ; 
 for it is always the signal for some refractory movements on 
 the part of a foreign power. The first indication I had of the 
 probable assertion of its independence by the French govern- 
 ment, was from the abusive article in the Quarterly, which I 
 
 VOYAGES and TRAVELS, A'o. XLV. Vol. VIII. ' P
 
 106 A Sketch of Old England, 
 
 mentioned in a former letter. It is a bull-dog, which is 
 always set at obnoxious people, before the masters come to 
 Wows. 
 
 LETTER XVIII. 
 DEAR BROTHER, 
 
 London. 
 
 THIS country has, beyond doubt, a greater proportion of 
 people without the necessaries of life, or the means of honestly 
 acquiring them, than any other I have ever visited. I do not 
 know that they are more positively poor, but they certainly 
 are so comparatively. A large portion of the labouring class 
 here possess more actual property, than the same class of peo- 
 ple in Italy, Spain, and Portugal ; but they require more, be- 
 cause their taxes are far greater and their habits are different. 
 In the south of Europe, the people live on grapes, chestnuts, 
 olives, and other fruits that are plenty and cheap; at night they 
 can sleep under a tree, or under the canopy of heaven ; they 
 neither want thick clothing nor constant fires in winter ; nor is 
 it necessary they should have a warm and weather-tight house 
 over their heads. But the labouring Englishman, until of late 
 years, was accustomed to meat sometimes, and always to bread, 
 cheese, and beer, in a reasonable quantity. Now, it is other- 
 wise with him. He inhabits too a climate humid at all times, 
 and cold in winter, and cannot sleep in the air, or in an open 
 hovel, without the risk, if not the certainty, of ruining his 
 health. It is these and other considerations, that make his 
 actual situation far worse than the peasant or the labourer in 
 the south of EuVope, although his actual comforts may appear 
 superior to theirs. Indeed, it cannot be denied, and it is cer- 
 tainly not in triumph, but sorrow, that I am compelled to 
 state, that the poor of this country are now r ,at this moment, 
 more wretched, and more numerous, than any where on the 
 continent of Europe I believe I may say in the whole world. 
 It is not uncommon to see in the country towns, thirty, forty, 
 and fifty people, consisting of stout, hearty labourers, their 
 wives and children, applying at one time for admission into 
 the parish poor-houses. It is neither laziness nor improvidence, 
 that has brought them to this ; but the want of employment, 
 and the exactions of the government and the clergy, which 
 actually drive them into the poor-house for a refuge. If there 
 ever were a noble nation sacrificed to the abuses of power ; the 
 extravagance of its rulers ; and the patchwork system of ex-
 
 ty a New Engldnd Man. 107 
 
 pedients, invented by prodigality in the last stage of fatuity 
 and desperation, it is this nation of Englishmen, who, in the 
 course of their history, have equalled the Romans in patriotism, 
 the Greeks in literature, and the Americans in defending their 
 rights against the encroachments of power. But poverty and 
 dependence, the offspring of financial swindling and misapplied 
 resources, have undermined the noble foundation of the national 
 character, and the superstructure seems crumbling and cor- 
 roding fast away. 
 
 This abject poverty is the secret of almost all their mobs, 
 crimes, and apparently ridiculous inconsistencies, that go near 
 to deprive them of our sympathy. That they murmur at the 
 government is because they want bread ; that they rise in 
 mobs, is not that the spirit of Radicalism, but the spirit of 
 suffering, impels them to violence. That their crimes every 
 day multiply, and the restraints of a severe penal code become 
 more and more insufficient to prevent their transgressions, is, 
 in a great measure, owing to their miserable situation, which 
 makes a prison no longer terrible ; transportation an object of 
 hope rather than fear ; and death itself an alternative hardly 
 to be dreaded. The other day, a fellow, being sentenced to 
 fourteen years' transportation, cried out, " God bless your 
 honour, it's just what I wanted." 
 
 It is indeed impossible to conceive the capricious unheard of 
 extravagance of the rich, which actually seems to keep pace 
 with the increasing miseries of the poor. Every where, except 
 among a very few of the old-fashioned nobility and gentry, I 
 see the most wasteful follies, the most unbounded love, nay, 
 passion, for expensive pageantry and vulgar ostentation. If a 
 lady of fashion give a party, nothing will satisfy her, unless 
 fruits equally tasteless and expensive are served up with a pro- 
 fusion equally senseless and absurd ; and she would be miser- 
 able for life, if the number and the cost of each were not 
 advertised in all the fashionable newspapers. The particulars 
 of her dress, the quantity of diamonds, and the net value of 
 the lady as she stood in her shoes, must also be published, in 
 the style of a vender of quack-medicines, while every thing, 
 which real good breeding and well constituted gentility would 
 avoid and despise, is said and done, to make her equals envy, 
 her inferiors despair, and the hungry multitude become more 
 fully aware of their misery by comparison. It often makes 
 me smile even in the bitterness of my feelings, to hear the lady 
 of the gala simpering out, " Two guineas a-piece," when asked 
 the price of such peaches as the pigs run away from in New- 
 England. 
 
 This extravagance is held by the adepts in political economy
 
 108 A Sketch of Old England, 
 
 to be a great national blessing. If, for instance, Madame 
 Catalan! receive a few thousand guineas for singing " God 
 shave the king," as she always pronounces it, at galas and 
 concerts, it is all for the good of the people of England, be- 
 cause she goes and spends the money in France or Italy, or 
 invests it in the English funds, where the people have the 
 pleasure of paying the interest. The great sums in fact, thus 
 squandered away by the extravagance of the court and nobi- 
 lity, never return to the tenantry, from whom they are origi- 
 nally derived. That portion which does return is so long in 
 coming, that poverty too often gets the start of it. But the 
 greatest part goes to foreigners, without circulating at all 
 among the community. Flatterers, dancers, singers, pimps 
 
 and a thousand useless, or worse than useless, people, 
 
 share the spoil of prodigality, and carry the greatest part out 
 of the country. It is only those immediately about the court, 
 or who can gain the patronage of some court sycophant, that 
 partake of this expenditure, or receive any benefit from it, 
 either directly or indirectly. England at this moment, and 
 most especially London, exhibits a striking proof, bow little 
 the boundless prodigality of a court and nobility can contri- 
 bute to the real comfort of the community at large. There is 
 more extravagance and more misery in London, than in any 
 other city of the world. 
 
 In every country, which has been settled long enough to 
 exhibit the invariable course of all earthly communities from 
 rudeness to order, from order to refinement, from refinement to 
 luxury, and from luxury to ruin, it has always happened, that 
 the example has been first set among the higher orders. To 
 them we may trace elegance and refinement, and from them is 
 derived that example of profligate, luxurious sensuality, which 
 corrupts the lower orders, and at length ends in the downfall 
 of states and empires. When therefore the Quarterly Review, 
 and the other stern advocates of despotism, talk of the igno- 
 rance, corruption, and wickedness of the lower orders, instead 
 of deriving alUthis from Paine's works, Cobbett's tracts, and 
 Carlile's and Hone's pamphlets, they should tell the honest 
 truth, that it is the example of the higher orders, that has de- 
 scended to a people, already fitted by their poverty to adopt 
 the worst models. To a people prepared by education and 
 example, precept and habit, to look up to princes and nobles ; 
 the fashion which is set them by these is more powerful and 
 efficacious, than the best moral codes, and the most orthodox 
 exhortations, enforced by abundance of societies for the bet- 
 tering of mankind. 
 
 I do not think it is refiaing too much, to state, as one of the
 
 by a New England Alan. 109 
 
 causes of petty crime in this country, the mode in which so many 
 of these cases are presented to the public in the newspapers. 
 Almost every one of these has a column, and sometimes two, 
 of reports of cases at the police-offices, for the gratification 
 of their readers. If, as is very frequently the case, there be 
 any thing odd or ridiculous in the culprit, or the offence, or the 
 mode of examination, it never fails to be made still more so by 
 the witty reporter, who involves the whole affair, magistrate 
 and all, in fun and frolic. A crime is thus presented to the 
 reader as a mere joke, an excellent subject for the wit of the 
 justice, and the amusement of the public. It is divested of 
 all its turpitude and atrocity, and instead of a serious offence 
 to society, appears as a subject for jest and laughter. It is to 
 be remembered, that the principal reading of the lower orders 
 is confined to newspapers, and that the most interesting sub- 
 jects of vulgar curiosity are the records of crimes and punish- 
 ments. Now, if courts of justice and culprits are thus made 
 to furnish subjects of merriment, and crimes become the objects 
 of joke and ribaldry, it is very easy to be conceived, that those 
 whose morality is not well fortified, will very likely yield to 
 the seduction of such pleasant recreation. 
 
 If my preceding observations be correct,you will perceive, that 
 it is scarcely possible there should not be a more than ordinary 
 degree of turpitude, a greater portion of crime here, than is to 
 be found among contemporary nations. In France, where the 
 people are comparatively comfortable, and where the king and 
 nobility have before them an awful example of the conse- 
 quences of despising the just resentment of millions of human 
 beings, crimes are diminishing every day. In this country, on 
 the contrary, where the king and nobility seem to have for- 
 gotten that they only escaped a similar lesson by the breadth of 
 a hair, crimes are every day increasing. They are gradually 
 ascending into the more respectable classes, and descending to 
 the meridian of childhood. In my occasional attendance at 
 the Old Bailey, Hatton Garden, Bow Street, Guildhall, and 
 other places where the police officers hold their state, I have 
 frequently been shocked to see men and women, evidently well 
 educated, and whose manners bore testimony to their former 
 respectability, arraigned for crimes, not the effect of sudden 
 passion or instantaneous impulse, but of reflection and plan ; 
 during the organization of which the crime and its probable 
 consequences must have been looked steadily in the face. 
 Such instances are not, however, frequent ; but occurring even 
 rarely, they point to a state of morals verging towards the last 
 stage of corruption, or to a state of society, in which the
 
 1 10 A Sketch of Old England, 
 
 temptations of poverty are ascending to a higher class thau 
 usual. 
 
 My principal object in writing this long letter was to point 
 out to you the inevitable consequences of a vast disproportion 
 of wealth, and enormous public burthens, that press the people 
 down to the dust ; of those artificial distinctions of rank, which, 
 being hereditary, require neither moral nor intellectual supe- 
 riority to preserve them, and become in the end.a warrant for 
 the indulgence of every wanton and capricious impulse of folly 
 or vice. This inequality of wealth, and these hereditary dis- 
 tinctions of rank, enable the possessors to despise the suffrages 
 of mankind ; to insult their poverty with a display of wasteful 
 extravagance; and to corrupt their morals by examples of 
 vicious indulgence. These enormous public burthens, the in- 
 attention of the well-beneficed clergy to almost every thing 
 but the collection of tithes, together with the profligate extra- 
 vagance of the rich and nobility, have, all combined, gone near 
 to ruin one of the finest and noblest nations under the sun. 
 That they are not thoroughly corrupted and debased is a proof 
 of the excellent materials of which the national character was 
 composed, At the time, or perhaps just before, our ancestors 
 came to Plymouth, England might have challenged the world 
 for inflexible integrity, diffused intelligence, and noble patriot- 
 ism ; nor was there a country in existence where the principles 
 of civil liberty were more cherished or better understood. 
 
 Every day, and every country I visit, add to my affection 
 for my home, and my attachment to a republican form of go- 
 vernment. I am more and more convinced of its intrinsic 
 superiority over all others, in diffusing a general and equal hap- 
 piness over all ; in preventing the permanent and lasting accu- 
 mulation of wealth, which enables one class of men to tread 
 on the necks of another from generation to generation ; and in 
 destroying that hereditary and low-lived feeling of inferiority, 
 which debases the mass of the people, and cows the master 
 spirit of manhood. It is not those who are best paid, or who 
 wear the most diamonds, that are the greatest men. My Lord 
 Londonderry, with his thousands and tens of thousands a year, 
 will never be put on a level with Franklin, in his plain stuff- 
 coloured coat; nor will Prince Esterhazy, whose diamonds 
 made Sir Walter Scott's mouth water, ever reach the level of 
 the simple majesty of Washington, in his black velvet suit. 
 The very admiration which is bestowed upon such idle pa- 
 geantry, not only by the people, but by the most exalted states- 
 men, and warriors, and divines; the manner in which it is 
 puffed, not only in newspapers, but in productions that affect 
 to be literary, all together furnish the most unequivocal proof
 
 by a New England Man- 1 1 1 
 
 of the superior manliness and dignity of the simple repub- 
 lican character. So far, therefore, from being ashamed that our 
 government and its officers cannot afford this effeminate trum- 
 pery, we should be proud of it, as a proof that the people are 
 well governed, since their earnings are not wasted in bound- 
 less extravagance and childish parade. 
 
 LETTER XIX. 
 
 DEAR BROTHER, 
 
 London. 
 
 IN running the parallel between our government and that of 
 England, the House of Lords having been, most unaptly as I 
 think, compared to the Senate of the United States, it may be 
 neither uninstructive, nor without amusement, to inquire into 
 the respective points of their resemblance. 
 
 To begin with the first that naturally presents itself. The 
 Senate of the United States is an elective body, the members of 
 which are chosen for six years. The House of Lords is com- 
 posed of members who sit there for life, and their eldest sons 
 after them, by the right of hereditary succession. The mem- 
 bers of our Senate are all equal ; there is neither distinction of 
 rank nor precedence, nor seniority, but what is freely awarded 
 to merit or talents. In the House of Lords there is, on the con- 
 trary, an endless diversity of rank and pretension, which must 
 obviously tend to destroy, or at least diminish, the feeling of 
 equality, even where a man is said to be among his peers. In 
 fact, it is this nice and almost imperceptible gradation of ranks, 
 the strictness with which it is every where enforced, and the 
 submission every where paid to it, that constitutes, in my 
 opinion, the cement of every monarchical government. 
 
 This system of gradation in the ladder of life is here brought 
 to great perfection, and its parts adjusted with the nicest exact- 
 ness. Thus a duke precedes a marquis, in entering a room, 
 going to dinner, or marching in procession. Besides this, his 
 mantle has "four guards" and his coronet has only leaves 
 without pearls! But even dukes have their degrees; and a 
 duke of yesterday is entitled to turn his back upon one of to- 
 day, on all occasions of etiquette. 
 
 A marquis, although " most noble," carries the badge of in- 
 feriority in his mantle of only " three doublings and a half," 
 and his coronet of pearls and strawberry leaves, all of a height. 
 An earl is only right honourable ; his mantle has only three 
 doublings, and his coronet has the pearls raised upon points, 
 with the leaves low between. A viscount, although right ho-
 
 1 1 g A Sketch of Old England, 
 
 nourable too, has only two doublings and a half to his mantle, 
 and his coronet is only " pearled with a row of pearls close to 
 the chaplet." A baron is right honourable as well as the 
 viscount ; but his inferiority is demonstrated by a mantle with 
 only two doublings, and a coronet with only six pearls. 
 
 You will perceive, by (his detail, how the spirit of personal 
 independence and the noble self-consciousness, which alone 
 give dignity to man, must be repressed by these outward and 
 palpable insignia of inferiority, which derive an importance 
 from habit and custom. Servility to superiors, and supercilious 
 airs of superiority towards inferiors, together with a miserable 
 subserviency to those who can bestow on them the privilege of 
 a cloth of state, or of turning their backs upon those who be- 
 fore turned their backs upon them, must naturally result from 
 such a system of nicely graduated importance. No one, that 
 ever mixes in titled society, can fail to perceive the relative im- 
 portance accorded to these different ranks, and, more especially, 
 the airs of superiority assumed by a lady of the old nobility 
 over an upstart titled dame of yesterday. In fact, the lord or 
 the lady who marches first of their grade at a coronation, has 
 all the superiority over those that march at the other end, that 
 the leader of a herd of buffaloes has over the rest of the rabble 
 in the rear. 
 
 But the privileges of carrying a cloth of state, marching first 
 in a procession, and having their trains borne by barons', 
 knights', or esquires' ladies, are not the only ones enjoyed by 
 the nobility. They possess certain rights and exemptions, 
 which, it will be perceived, give them a decided advantage 
 over other subjects of this realm. Their persons are at all 
 times privileged from arrests, except for contempt of the king, 
 felony, breach of the peace, or treason. No capias can be 
 sued out against them for trespass or debt ; nor can essoign lie 
 against a peer of the realm. In oivil causes they are not to be 
 impanneled upon juries ; and in case a peer be returned upon a 
 jury, there is a special writ for his discharge. They cannot be 
 bound over to keep the peace, any further than pledging their 
 honour for that purpose. Contrary to the custom of the lower 
 house of parliament, they can constitute a proxy to vote for 
 them during their absence. A peer is not subject to outlawry 
 in any civil action, nor can any attachment lie against him. In 
 calling out the posse comitatus for the suppression of riots, 
 peers are exempted from obeying the commands of the sheriff. 
 The statute of Scandalum Magnatum makes it a crime to 
 Kaise injurious reports against them, such as in the case of a 
 commoner could not be punished by law. In many cases the 
 houses of peers cannot be entered by the officers of justice, ex-
 
 by a New England Man. 1 13 
 
 cept on the authority of a warrant under the king's own hand, 
 and countersigned by six privy councillors, four of whom must 
 be peers of the realm. Every peer has what is called the pri- 
 vilege of qualifying a certain number of chaplains, who, on 
 receiving a dispensation from their metropolitan, ratified under 
 the great seal, may hold a plurality of benefices. A duke 
 may qualify six chaplains; a marquis and earl five each; a 
 viscount four ; and a baron three. It is by the exercise of this 
 privilege of " qualifying," that the law with respect to a plu- 
 rality of benefices may be evaded by every priest who can 
 secure the patronage of a peer. 
 
 You will readily perceive by the foregoing, which is a mere 
 sketch of the privileges and exemptions of the members of the 
 House of Peers, that it is constituted upon principles essentially 
 different from our Senate, the members of which are appointed 
 for only six years, by the representatives of the several states, 
 and enjoy no other privilege but that which is held in common 
 with every other representative^ the people, and is essential 
 to the discharge of their public duties, the privilege of ex- 
 emption from arrest during the session of congress, and in going 
 and returning therefrom. A peer being, it is true, an hereditary 
 legislator, the general freedom he enjoys from arrest naturally 
 arises from his being always held to be employed in that ca- 
 pacity. But this, among other features, exhibits more dis- 
 tinctly the wide dissimilarity of the two bodies. 
 
 That the Senate of the United States stands in a situation, 
 with regard to the executive and House of Representatives, 
 analogous to that of the House of Peers in relation to the 
 king and the House of Commons, is most undoubtedly true. 
 Its legislative powers, as well as its judicial functions, are, in 
 many important cases the same. But so long as they are con- 
 stituted upon principles so totally distinct and irreconcileable 
 so long as the one is hereditary, the other elective so long as 
 one is the creation of the king, the other the creature of the 
 people, it seems undeniable, that nothing but error and mis- 
 chief can result from drawing precedents, in matters of prin- 
 ciple or politics, from a British House of Peers, for the imita- 
 tion of the Senate of the United States. 
 
 There are a few other points which occur to me, as render- 
 ing this separation of the two bodies still wider. When a sena- 
 tor of the United States accepts an office from the executive, 
 he forfeits his seat, and remains ineligible so long as he re- 
 tains the office. Hence, although the patronage of the execu- 
 tive may tempt him to a desertion of his principles before he 
 receives his reward, he remains ever afterwards incapable of 
 betraying the people in the capacity of their representative. 
 
 VOYAGES and TRAVELS, No. XLV. Vol. VIII. Q
 
 114 
 
 But it is otherwise in the British House of Peers, where a man 
 may hold a dozen places at the pleasure of the king, without 
 forfeiting his seat. In the present House of Peers, there are 
 somewhere (for I took the trouble to count them) about one 
 hundred and eighty placemen, who enjoy offices either of pro- 
 fit, or honour, or both. In the United States, a senator, when 
 he receives the price of his sacrifice of principle, becomes of 
 no value to the purchaser. 
 
 LETTER XX. 
 DEAR BROTHER, 
 
 London. 
 
 You may form some notion of the resemblance, in point 
 of substantial reality, between the House of Commons here, 
 and our House of Representatives, which, in running the pa- 
 rallel between the two systems of government, have been com- 
 pared to each other, by the fact, that fifteen thousand voters 
 return a majority in the former body. There is one nobleman 
 who sends twelve members, and there are at Birmingham and 
 Manchester, containing between them upwards of two hundred 
 thousand inhabitants, that send none. Counties, containing 
 from one to three or four hundred thousand inhabitants, have 
 no more weight in the House of Commons, than a borough in 
 which there are some half-a-dozen voters, who return two 
 members. Nay, the members from the rotten boroughs are 
 actually of more consequence in the house, from being noto- 
 riously articles of sale, and at the command of the highest 
 bidder : whereas, those from the counties, being sometimes 
 men of independence and principle, are listened to quietly and 
 indifferently, and suffered to take their own way, from a con- 
 viction that there is no use in tampering with them. 
 
 The representatives of the boroughs, on the contrary, are 
 either, for the most part, the proprietors of the boroughs 
 themselves, their sons, brothers, &c. or they are mere crea- 
 tures of the proprietor ; or they are persons who can afford to 
 bribe high> because they mean to be bribed high in turn ; or 
 lastly, they are persons of political talents, who can get into 
 parliament only through the patronage of some borough-holder, 
 who is either a partisan of the minister, and wishes to furnish 
 him an able supporter, or who expects to make himself of 
 consequence by setting his great mastiff to bark at him. The 
 opportunity thus afforded, of getting men of talents into the 
 House, who would otherwise perhaps not attain a seat, has 
 been made one great ground of defence to the borough- 
 system. 
 
 There is nothing approaching to, or resembling an equality
 
 by a New England Man. 115 
 
 in the exercise of the right of suffrage ; there is nothing which 
 approaches to an apportionment of the number of representa- 
 tives to the number of freeholders ; there is nothing, in short, 
 in the system, adapted to those changes which time and cir- 
 cumstances produce in every nation, and according to which 
 its government ought to be modified. Boroughs without trade 
 or importance, and almost without inhabitants, return mem- 
 bers to parliament, because they possessed all these some cen- 
 turies ago ; while vast cities, which have grown up into 
 wealth, importance, and numbers, are denied the privilege of 
 representation, because some centuries ago they were not in 
 existence. No government, and, least of all, any system of 
 representation can be applicable to the situation of a people, 
 where changes of this kind are totally disregarded. 
 
 There have been vast and learned dissertations, of late, as 
 to the question of who voted, and who did not vote, for mem- 
 bers of parliament in the reign of Henry the Third. The ad- 
 vocates of a general distribution of the right of suffrage lay 
 great stress upon certain equivocal authorities, on which they 
 found the doctrine of universal suffrage, as respected the free- 
 man of England. But then, who were the freemen of England 
 at that time ? As nothing is settled here according to the en- 
 larged principles of human rights, or in accordance with those 
 changes which time inevitably produces in men and things, 
 resort is always had to ancient precedents, many of them 
 entirely inapplicable to the present state of England, and to 
 laws and customs questionable in their existence, or, if not 
 questionable, no longer founded in reason or expediency. A 
 jury of antiquaries now decide on the rights of Englishmen. 
 Hence, it is considered of infinite importance to ascertain the 
 fact, whether the first parliament of England was originally 
 the delegated representative of all the freeholders of England. 
 That this was actually the case appears, both from the very 
 origin of that assembly, as well as from various other authori- 
 ties. The peers represent themselves ; but as it would be ma- 
 nifestly impossible for the people to sit collectively and legis- 
 late for themselves, they delegated their powers to their repre- 
 sentatives. Hence, the common language of the early writers 
 on the constitution is the unqualified assertion, that every 
 Englishman is present, either by himself or his representative, 
 in the English parliament. If this does not mean, that every 
 English freeholder has a voice in the election of his represen- 
 tative, it means nothing but mockery and nonsense. 
 
 The Wittenagemot, the Saxon parliament, and the original 
 of the English one, was unquestionably an assembly modelled 
 on those free principles common at that time, and from the
 
 earliest ages, to the northern nations, who, according to Taci- 
 tus, were all governed by their own consent alone De mino- 
 ribus rebus principes consultant, demajoribus omnes. Xephi- 
 line also, speaking of the Britons, tells us, apud hos, populus 
 magno exparte principatum tenet. It is true, the feudal sys- 
 tem, which succeeded, subverted the ancient freedom of 
 British and Saxon institutions, yet this does not impeach the 
 validity of the people's claim to a fair representation in parlia- 
 liament, especially in a country where antiquity supersedes 
 every thing; since the freedom, spoken of by Tacitus and 
 Xephiline, was far more ancient than the feudal system, which 
 was established by force and fraud upon its ruins. 
 
 What is called radicalism here, consists principally in ad- 
 vocating, not exactly universal suffrage, but in giving the right 
 of voting for members of parliament to all " resident house- 
 holders," paying taxes, as they generally do, to an amount which 
 one would think fairly entitles them to a vote for those who 
 enact them. This, you will perceive, is little more than putting 
 the right of voting for members of parliament on the same foot- 
 ing with the right of voting for a member of congress, in most 
 of the states, at least in very many of them. The great ob- 
 jection to this, even with those who think parliamentary reform 
 indispensably necessary to the security of the government, is, 
 that it will make the House of Commons a democratic body. 
 It appears to me, that if that house is not the representative of 
 the commons, or the people, or the democracy of England, it 
 is worse than nothing ; for it was originally, beyond doubt, 
 essentially the democratic branch of the government. Be this 
 as it may, the cry of radical, or democrat, will set even the 
 most liberal of these patriots legislating against the people with 
 all his might. 
 
 I happened to be present, not long since, when Lord John 
 Russell made his motion for extending the right of representa- 
 tion in parliament, to certain of the great towns, and taking it 
 away, or buying it, of some of the most contemptible of the 
 boroughs. He stated various instances of corruption in the 
 elections for boroughs, alluding to them by name, and ex- 
 plicitly maintained, that, in the present state of things, where, 
 in a vast many cases, some twenty, ten, or perhaps fewer 
 electors, " little better than paupers," were to return one or 
 two members, it was next to impossible to prevent these beg- 
 garly voters from selling, and some rich purchaser from buy- 
 ing, a seat. All the acts of parliament, he said, for preventing 
 this system of corruption, were evaded by dexterous dealers in 
 boroughs ; and the practice of selling votes was now as com- 
 mon as that of selling wool, or cheese, or any marketable com-
 
 by a New England Man. 117 
 
 modify. It was in this manner, or by the influence of borough 
 proprietors, who either represented them in person, or bar- 
 gained for them with the minister, that about three hundred 
 members were returned to the house. 
 
 Lord John called upon the Marquis of Londonderry to deny 
 these facts, and challenged denial from any member. His 
 lordship did not deny them, for it is not many years since a 
 case of this kind was brought home to himself. Nobody 
 denied them ; and, in fact, it seemed as if it were a matter of 
 too little consequence to call for denial. He might just as well 
 have complained of a notorious strumpet for selling her fa- 
 vours, to the young members who were lounging about, yawn- 
 ing most piteously at such stuff, or nodding in their seats, half 
 asleep, till roused by the noble marquis, whose profound, or 
 rather perplexed, eloquence, every now and then waked them 
 up, and caused them to cry " bear ! hear !" with vast vocife- 
 ration. 
 
 You will perceive, from the foregoing details, that there is 
 nothing more than a mere outside resemblance, between the 
 House of Commons here, and the House of Representatives at 
 home. The latter really represents the people of the United 
 States ; the former represents the mere paper money and pa- 
 tronage of the government A large proportion of the mem- 
 bers of parliament only represent a few paupers, whose votes 
 they have purchased, and the numbers of these representatives 
 actually counterbalance, and outvote, the representatives of 
 the merchants, manufacturers, and agriculturists combined. 
 The price of a borough, which returns two members, is en- 
 hanced sometimes four, six, ten, twenty fold, by that privilege 
 can we wonder, then, if the purchaser is anxious to make 
 the most of such an expensive bauble ? So, when a man buys 
 the votes of a borough at a high price, is it not to be expected 
 he will sell his own to the highest bidder ? The whole system 
 is fraught with corruption. It leads men into temptation pre- 
 cisely where there is the greatest danger of falling, and where 
 a fall is accompanied with the most extensive evils. 
 
 LETTER XXI. 
 DEAR BROTHER, 
 
 London. 
 
 IN my last two or three letters, I attempted to give you some 
 idea of the real nature and spirit of this government, not by 
 vague declamations, borrowed from their own writers, or the 
 partial ignorance of foreigners, but by sketching some of those
 
 118 A Sketch of Old England, 
 
 features, which, although they do not strike at first sight, 
 finally, on a closer examination, are found to give a character 
 to the whole composition. Much has been said and written 
 of this government which it never deserved ; and much which, 
 if it ever merited, it merits no longer. But it is difficult to 
 shake a long established belief, or to weaken our confidence 
 in a good character, sustained for a considerable length of 
 time. It is right it should be so, or else the fruits of a whole 
 age of virtuous actions might be blasted in a moment by a 
 breath of calumny. 
 
 - As all things are however good by comparison, and as it is 
 the custom of most Englishmen to insist upon some mysterious, 
 occult, invisible, and indefinable superiority of their govern- 
 ment over all others, and most especially over our republic, 
 it may be worth while to institute a short comparison between 
 the two. Declamation is a good prop to error ; but facts are 
 the best support of truth. 
 
 The independence of an English jury, of the present day, 
 has been greatly overrated, because, in a few instances, state 
 prosecutions have failed in the City of London. This fact 
 only proves what I have just urged, that an independence of 
 the king, or at least, a partial dependence on the people, is 
 essential to the security of the subject. The sheriff of London 
 is chosen by the livery of London, which is essentially a de- 
 mocratic body. It is therefore highly probable, that in a cause 
 where the rights of the people are opposed to the pretensions 
 of the king, he will not summon a jury biassed in favour of the 
 latter. 
 
 In all the counties of Great Britain, with perhaps one or 
 two exceptions, where the right is vested in some nobleman, 
 the sheriffs are appointed by the king. That his majesty and 
 his council will select the most loyal supporters of the prero- 
 gative, is at least naturally to be expected, and most especially 
 at the present crisis, when the people and the king are perpe- 
 tually in conflict. In the large cities, the appointment of the 
 sheriff is sometimes in the corporation or in the guilds ; and in 
 proportion as these are popular, or the creatures of some 
 courtier, which last is generally the case, the independence of 
 juries may be inferred. Out of London, we hear of no ac- 
 quittals of radicals, nor any condemnation of soldiers for 
 riding over and shooting unarmed citizens, men, women, and 
 children. 
 
 But even admitting the trial by jury, and habeas corpus, to 
 subsist in this country in all their purity, still they are par- 
 tially suspended, of late almost every year, under some pre- 
 tence of public danger ; that is, whenever the public sentiment,
 
 by a New England Man. 1 19 
 
 the servility of sheriffs, and the subserviency of juries, cannot 
 be sufficiently calculated upon for the purposes of oppression. 
 Again : the security of a person is at the mercy of a press- 
 gang, from whose lawless fangs no man with a ragged coat is 
 exempt. Instances are continually occurring, where the sons 
 of the country people, in roaming about London, and else- 
 where, at the naval stations, are kidnapped by the press-gangs, 
 and carried on board of ships, where it rests with the caprice, 
 or the necessities of the officers, either to let him go or to take 
 him to sea, where he is not heard of by his friends for years. 
 On the other hand, the security of property, at least of the 
 produce of landed property, is, I may say, destroyed, by being 
 subjected to taxation by a parliament, in which the far greater 
 proportion of those who pay them have no representatives. 
 
 But admitting, for the sake of argument, that the two coun- 
 tries are on a par, with respect to the two great ends of govern- 
 ment, security of person and property ; I would then put their 
 excellence to the test, by inquiring, which attains these great 
 objects at the least sacrifice of property and independence? 
 The comparison is perfectly simple, as respects the first. There 
 are twenty millions of people in Great Britain, and ten in the 
 United States. Of the former, one-seventh are paupers, not 
 taxable ; of the latter, about the same proportion are negroes, 
 also not taxable ; at least their owners pay their taxes. We 
 will put the negroes against the paupers, and the proportion 
 will still remain the same ; that is, about double the number 
 of taxable persons in this country, that there is in the United 
 States. We will put the whole of the expenditures of the 
 latter at twenty millions of dollars per annum, which is a very 
 large allowance for the present year, I am sure, and contrast it 
 with the 53,289, 754Z. sterling yearly expenditure of this govern- 
 ment, including interest on the public debt. The mere annual 
 expence of the British government, exclusive of the interest of 
 the public debt, amounts to upwards of twenty-two millions 
 of pounds sterling; that is to say, at the rate of about twenty-two 
 shillings sterling a head for every man, woman, and child in 
 Great Britain. Add to this the interest on the public debt, the 
 tithes, poor-rates, &c. and it will amount to between two or three 
 times as much more, making an average of about fourteen 
 dollars a head for every soul in Great Britain. In the United 
 States the average is less than two dollars, or about one-seventh. 
 It will appear, therefore, that the people of the United States 
 pay only one-seventh of the sum per annum for the security 
 of person and property, that the people of this country do for 
 the attainment of similar blessings. 
 
 Of the state of religion, morals, and manners, I have given
 
 1 20 A Sketch of Old England, 
 
 you some sketches in my former letters. Where crimes are 
 most frequent, and violations of decency most public and most 
 common, it is but empty boasting to make pretensions to supe- 
 rior piety, morality, or refinement. There may be pious, vir- 
 tuous, and refined individuals, but the nation can possess no 
 extraordinary share of either. If we take this criterion, I 
 apprehend it will be found, -that England has little to boast of 
 in these particulars. Certain it is, however, that in no city 
 have I heard of so many crimes, and so many violations of 
 public decency, as occur in London. If there be, in reality, 
 any extraordinary degree of evangelical piety, or orthodox 
 religion here, it does not appear to be of that species which 
 hold the reins of human passions, and places the curb in the 
 hard mouth of wilful wickedness. It seenls to vent itself in 
 strange and abstract doctrines of mysterious subtlety in Bible 
 and Missionary Societies, whose remote objects appear to 
 attract almost exclusive attention, while the corruptions, that 
 walk at noonday, and stink in our very nostrils, are either 
 neglected, or become indifferent, by being so common. It 
 would seem to consist in the doctrine of old fanaticism, or still 
 older hypocrisy, of making the conversion of one Pagan an 
 equivalent for the loss of a hundred Christian souls ; of pur- 
 chasing pardon for the .habitual breach of moral laws and 
 social duties, by an infuriated zeal in converting people who 
 inhabit the uttermost parts of the earth. That such a perver- 
 sion of the true ends of religion, and such principles of action, 
 should lead to an era of multiplied crimes, and endless offences 
 against human laws, is not any subject of surprise, since all 
 human experience goes to prove, that the separation of mora- 
 lity and religion is in the end fatal to both. 
 
 LETTER XXII. 
 DEAR BROTHER, 
 
 London. 
 
 KINGS would, at all times, I believe, if left to their choice, 
 rather govern by opinion than by force, by love than by fear. 
 An army of pensioned writers, when it will suffice to support 
 the king's popularity, will, in most cases, be preferred to an 
 army of soldiers to maintain his authority, for at least two 
 special reasons. The former method is by far the cheaper ; 
 since a few pensions, a paltry title, a ring, a picture, or a letter 
 written by his majesty's own hand, will very generally neutra- 
 lize, if not correct, the most stubborn literary patriot, and so 
 completely alter his perception of things, that a country, which
 
 by a New England Man. 
 
 <mly yesterday was the most oppressed and miserable, becomes 
 to-morrow the happiest in the world. For instance, Thomas 
 Campbell, whose noble and affecting strains on the subject of 
 Polish freedom and Irish oppression are remembered by every 
 American reader, has dwindled into the nominal editor of a 
 tory magazine, and gone over from the oppressed to the 
 oppressor. I do not say this change was wrought by a pen- 
 sion, of two or three hundred pounds a year; but when a man 
 changes his sentiments very suddenly, and receives a pension 
 immediately afterwards, it is difficult to resist the conviction 
 that there is some connexion between the two. 
 
 The laureat, Southey, was seduced from the arms of Wat 
 Tyler, by the irresistible attractions of sack and sugar. A 
 hundred a year, and a butt of sack, did his business. They 
 so wrought upon his conscience, that from a downright patriot, 
 he became first a flatterer of kings, and next a fanatical advo- 
 cate of every species of pious fraud and kingly pretension. 
 I verily believe the poor man is sincere now ; for hypocrisy is 
 too wary and worldly-minded to give in to such fantastic 
 fooleries as the laureat has lately committed. It is often the 
 case, that men are inducted into a great devotion for principles, 
 to which they were at first but little attached, by the aid of a 
 sound drubbing or two, which operates like persecution upon 
 new modes of faith, making what was before perhaps little 
 better than hypocrisy, a confirmed and obstinate conviction. 
 Few persons have been more persecuted in this way than the 
 unfortunate laureat. When he was a patriot, he was terribly 
 persecuted by the Anti-jacobin, which parodied his Sapphics-, 
 and, what every body thought impossible, made them even 
 more ridiculous than they were originally. After he was con- 
 verted to loyalty by sack and sugar, and a hundred a year, 
 his old friends, whom he had abandoned, attacked him with 
 every weapon of ridicule and severity ; while his new allies, 
 feeling rather ashamed of their new convert, left him to the 
 poor consolation of praising himself, which he does now at 
 every convenient opportunity. As he was drubbed into a 
 perfect conviction of the truth of his newly adopted principles, 
 so in like manner has he been convinced of his own great merit 
 and talents by the ridicule and incredulity of the world. In 
 attempting to make bead against these, he was so often obliged 
 to bear testimony in favour of himself, that he at length be- 
 came a sincere convert to his own absurdities, and grew to 
 believe in himself, as a man comes to believe in a story of his 
 own invention, by dint of eternal repetition. What the laureat 
 does with his butt of sack is a profound secret in the republic 
 of letters. He cannot drink it, certainly, (Trelse Jack Falstaff 
 
 VOYAGES and TRAVELS, No. XLV. Vol. VIII. R
 
 1*2 A Sketch of Old England, 
 
 was even a greater liar than he has credit for being. If, as he 
 affirms, " a good sherris sack hath a two-fold operation" if 
 " it ascends me to the brain, and there dries the vapours," the 
 laureat had better set about drinking it, for " by 'r Lady," 
 brother, another birth-day poem will finish honest Bob Southey, 
 unless be disperse the aforesaid vapours. He begins to reverse 
 all the rules of composition of late ; for it may lawfully be 
 said of him, that he writes prose like a madman, and poetry 
 like a fool. I am sorry for him ; for, notwithstanding his 
 overbearing self-sufficiency; his desertion of the cause of free- 
 dom ; his virulent invectives against his opponents ; his ram- 
 pant conceit, and his utter want of all literary courtesy ; I 
 am assured that his character in private life is amiable and 
 exemplary. 
 
 An army of authors is a much cheaper support of royalty 
 than an army of soldiers, and has this special recommendation 
 besides, that it not only can uphold the king's authority while 
 living, but give him a good name after death. 
 
 But the trade of a king is not near so good as it used to be. 
 At this time, when there seems to be a general rebellion of the 
 human understanding against the abuses and exactions of anti- 
 quated tyranny, it has become indispensable for royalty to turn 
 its attentions more particularly to the people. For this purpose, 
 it is considered equally essential to laud the characters and man- 
 ners of kings ; to maintain the superiority of that system of 
 government of which they are the heads ; and to denounce, on 
 all occasions, those principles of freedom, which are as much, 
 and as surely, the product of intellectual advancement, as the 
 blossom is of the sun. 
 
 The whole tide of corruption has consequently turned into 
 these channels ; and in order to render the means of depressing 
 mankind more effectual, it has become more than ever neces- 
 sary, that the press should be either corrupted or enslaved. 
 You perhaps have not remarked it, but it is becoming every 
 day more and more evident, that republicanism and repub- 
 licans must be either rendered odious and detestable in the 
 eyes of nations, by reiterated falsehoods and misrepresentations, 
 or there will be shortly little security for many thrones of 
 Europe. One or other, the old or the new world, must change 
 its governments. A plan has therefore been devised, and is 
 now in most promising progress, ia Europe, for controuling the 
 freedom of the press, on the one hand by fines, prosecutions, and 
 censorships; and on the other to render it subservient to the 
 purposes of an liquated oppressions, ignorance, and superstition, 
 by means of pensions, patronage, sinecures, and paltry titles, 
 thai sink the man of genius into a mere courtier. 
 
 .
 
 by a New England Man. 123 
 
 In the progress of this deep laid plot against the human un- 
 derstanding, we have seen, that only those republican writers 
 whose efforts were not the most dangerous, either from want of 
 talents or of a popular mode of addressing the multitude, are 
 tolerated. The moment a popular writer becomes dangerous 
 by his power of addressing the public feelings, himself and his 
 writings are singled out for the lash of the law or the church. 
 Under some pretence of blasphemy, if they can find no other, 
 the author is prosecuted, fined, and ruined ; and his book, if not 
 entirely suppressed, becomes an object for all the hirelings (o 
 bark at, from the Quarterly Review to Blackwood's Magazine. 
 
 But in a government in which the whole wealth of the state 
 can be employed almost at will in the wages of corruption, the 
 means of influencing and controuling the press are not confined 
 to mere oppression and punishment. If, for instance, a writer 
 possess too much courage to be frightened, or too much honesty 
 to be bribed into a sacrifice of his principles, they set the 
 Quarterly Review upon him. That excellent, conscientious, 
 and disinterested publication, begins by charging him with 
 radicalism and infidelity. The Literary Gazette repeats the 
 tale to the New Monthly and the John Bull ; the New Monthly 
 to the Beacon and Blackwood's Magazine ; and thus the cry is 
 sounded from the London Monument to Edinburgh Cross. 
 This never fails to alarm the rich and privileged orders ; in 
 fact, all those whose opinions have great influence in society, 
 and to whom an author looks up, not only for reputation, but 
 patronage, at least so far as to the purchase of his book. Few 
 men, however great may be their civil courage^ can resist a 
 combined and successful attack upon their purse and character 
 at the same time. It therefore happens, in a vast many in- 
 stances, that, unless the Edinburgh Review and its followers 
 take up the cudgels, on the other side, the poor man recants in 
 his next publication, accommodates himself to the views of our 
 ministerial critic, and sacrifices his principles to save the rem- 
 nant of his good name, and find purchasers for his book. 
 
 Others, however, who, like Mr. Southey and Mr. Gilford, 
 are naturally inclined to become pensioners and parasites, have 
 their virgin purity assailed and speedily overcome by the se- 
 ductive applications of certain agreeable sinecures, that are 
 generally found to be quite irresistible. One of these, it is well 
 known, caused Mr. Southey to abjure his Joan of Arc and 
 Wat Tyler, and fairly converted him from Dora Daniels, jaco- 
 bin epics, and republican sapphics, into a loving coadjutor of 
 Messrs. Gifford and Canning, who, erewhile, had set the whole 
 universe laughing at him and his sapphics in the Anti-jacobin. 
 That arch enemy of our country, Mr. William Giffbrd, is clerk
 
 124 A Sketch of Old England, 
 
 to the honourable band of pensioners; an excellent place, with 
 a good salary, nothing to do, and twelve hundred buttons to 
 his coronation coat. This ig as it should be. There is a fitness 
 of things in a pensioned writer being clerk to a band of pen- 
 sioners. 
 
 Thomas Campbell, alack for genius ! is also a pensioner of 
 the king, and has been placed at the head of the New Monthly 
 Magazine, with the well known object of putting down, or 
 superseding the Monthly ; for you must know it is common 
 here, not only with tavern-keepers, who let out their houses to 
 the public, but also with authors, who let out their consciences 
 to the best paymaster, to juggle each other out of his custom, 
 by putting up a similar sign; that is to say, christening their 
 new bantling by the name of some well known and popular 
 establishment. There is something exceedingly contemptible 
 in this ; but really, the arts of literature, as practised here now, 
 graze very closely upon the skirts of the noble art of swindling. 
 This setting up a spurious magazine, with the same title which 
 is borne by one already popular and well known, to my mind, 
 is very little better than getting into society, and borrowing 
 money, under the name and on the credit of some respectable 
 person. The mere tagging of the epithet " New" to it, is no- 
 thing, since the generality of people will suppose it nothing 
 more than a new series of the same work. 
 
 The New Monthly is, in every respect, a complete contrast 
 to the Monthly Magazine every way inferior in talent, in 
 principle, instruction, and amusement. The Monthly Maga- 
 zine, has, for many years past been conducted with much 
 ability ; and is, at this moment, in my opinion, the best pub- 
 lication in Great Britain of the kind. The New Monthly, on 
 the contrary, is a mere collection of frivolous articles, princi- 
 pally composed of notices of second hand German literature ; 
 letters from Grimus Short ; abortive attempts at the pathetic, 
 and still more abortive attempts at wit and satire. 
 
 The Monthly Magazine has always displayed a most liberal 
 disposition towards our country, and dealt with us in the 
 spirit of friendly intercourse. It has, on all occasions, been 
 the advocate of rational freedom, and maintained, with equal 
 zeal and ability, those sober doctrines of political right, which 
 are as free from the license of anarchy, as they are from the 
 chains of despotism. It has always spoken with a just discri- 
 mination of our character, manners, and literature; neither 
 elevating us above the scale of human excellence, nor debas- 
 ing us to the level of profligate boors. In short, if we are to 
 depend upon foreign periodical literature, the Monthly Maga-
 
 by a New England Man. 125 
 
 zine is, beyond doubt, in every point of view, entitled to the 
 first selection, since it neither pampers our vanity, nor outrages 
 our just feelings of pride and patriotism. 
 
 Besides Messrs, Gifford, Southey, Campbell, and others, 
 there are hundreds of inferior note, at least that are not so well 
 known on our side of the water, who are in the enjoyment of 
 places, pensions, and patronage, of some sort or other. I will 
 not trouble you with any more of these. It is sufficient for me 
 to assure you, that very little independence is to be looked for, 
 either in the reviews or Magazines, with few exceptions. Al- 
 most every one of these was either originally established for 
 certain religious or political objects, or has been seduced by 
 bribery and patronage to become a hot partisan. The govern- 
 ment having the heaviest purse, and the most extensive patron- 
 age, is, of course, the best paymaster, and consequently retains 
 by far the greater proportion of authors, either as apologists of 
 itself, or calumniators of others. Hence it is, that we see 
 them industriously employing all their learning and talents in 
 propping up old abuses, and recommending new ones ; ming- 
 ling the praises of religion with the grossest flattery of those 
 whose whole conduct belies its precepts; covering the indul- 
 gence of the bitterest, most malignant passions, with the thin 
 pretext of 'orthodox piety ; making a parade of their faith in 
 ribald farce and impious tragedies ; spicing the keenest conflicts 
 of interest and ambition with an ample sprinkling of pure mi- 
 nisterial orthodoxy ; and joining their voices to the full chorus 
 of cant, which, under the auspices of the Holy Alliance, now 
 echoes through half the world. It is in this way they either 
 repay the bounty of the ministry, or insinuate themselves into 
 the lap of new rewards, by means of new services. 
 
 When a writer once consents to receive a benefit, be it what 
 it may, the tenure of which is, that he shall not write anything 
 not palatable to the patron, he sells his birth-right for a mess 
 of pottage ; the wings of his genius are clipped by the sword 
 of power, and his intellectual faculties become cramped in 
 their exercise. When old Faustus, according to the story, 
 sold himself to Satan, he gained by his bargain, at least, .an 
 enlargement of his powers, both of mind and body ; his genius 
 expanded, and he was enabled to comprehend what was be- 
 fore beyond the reach of his mind. But when Messrs. 
 Southey and Campbell sold themselves, they seem to have 
 lost the talent they before possessed ; and, like the traitor Ar- 
 nold, carried with them nothing but their disgrace. The in- 
 different poetry of the patriot Southey, has become ten times 
 more so since he became a pensioner ; and the genius of
 
 ixs6 A Sketch of Old Engla,^ . 
 
 Thomns Campbell seems to have deserted him, the moment he 
 entered within the magic circle of ministerial patronage. 
 
 In an age of ignorance and superstition, it may be, that 
 literature will find it necessary to appeal to an enlightened 
 monarch, or his minister, for that support which the indiffer- 
 ence of the public denies him ; or for that protection which the 
 bigotry of ecclesiastical power renders necessary. But at this 
 time, when the taste and liberality of the people are amply 
 sufficient to remunerate the highest efforts of genius, it is not 
 necessary that it should grovel at the foot of power for protec- 
 tion, nor prostitute its independence for bread. It is now but 
 seldom that talent appeals in vain to the patronage of nations, 
 when it comes recommended by independent principles and. 
 honest patriotism. A people that wish to be free, mnst take 
 the exclusive controul of literature out of the bands of their go- 
 
 LETTER XXIII. 
 DEAR BROTHER, 
 
 London. 
 
 MUCH of the lighter kind of literature here, such as poetry, 
 novels, and the like, having no bearing on politics, is dependant 
 on the patronage of the booksellers, between whom, and the 
 authors, there is a good deal of bye-play and management, A 
 combination of booksellers can easily produce a gale of popu- 
 larity, that will frequently waft a book through half a dozen 
 editions. When they find a poet somewhat better at a rant 
 than his fellows, or a novel writer gifted with a more than or- 
 dinary talent for caricaturing human nature, they commonly 
 unite to give him a run, as it is called, for a season at least, 
 because it is indispensable to the profits of their business, that 
 there should be some few authors, whose names alone will en- 
 sure the sale of their works. 
 
 You are to understand, that there is abundance of second 
 and third rate reviews and magazines, in one way or other par- 
 tially under the influence of booksellers, and who will, at any 
 time, say a good word for a book, if the author or publisher 
 will only send them a copy, with a polite note, complimenting 
 their taste, and calling their review or magazine, " your valu- 
 able publication."" These are set to work to inflate the reputa- 
 tion of the fortunate authors, selected by the trade for a run 
 for the season. The impulse given by these means in London, 
 soon extends to all the provincial towns. Edition after edition 
 is put forth with inconceivable rapidity, and the author be-
 
 by a New England Man. 127 
 
 comes famous for at least nine days, while the booksellers 
 laugh, it may be, in their sleeves, and pocket the money. 
 Here, in London, the people of real taste, who are not led 
 away by this whiff of popularity, laugh at all this mummery. 
 The provincial towns, however, oftener yawn than laugh over 
 the book, without daring to dissent from the unquestionable 
 award of the London Literary Gazette, or the anonymous tes- 
 timony of some newspaper critic. In a little while they wake 
 up, and after rubbing their eyes and yawning some twenty 
 times, begin to suspect that they want taste, rather than that 
 the author lacks talents, or the reviewer judgment. As no man, 
 however, can permanently cherish the idea of being a block- 
 head, without becoming either a sage or a madman, these 
 doubts settle gradually into a conviction that the book is defi- 
 cient in merit, rather than the reader in taste. The delusion 
 is then over the bard or the novelist walks quietly into obli- 
 vion the booksellers jingle their money, and prepare ,{o start 
 another of these overgrown yearlings. Thus runs the race of 
 this species of literature, and thus are honest England and 
 simple America played with by reviewers and booksellers. 
 There was, a few months ago, a genius called the Rev. Mr. 
 Croly, that always wrote upon the hot crust of a volcano, 
 who was patted on the back, until he actually stood beside 
 some of the great poets without blushing. On the contrary, 
 he determined to make hay while the sun shone, in the true 
 spirit of a modern bard. He wrote poetry faster than the 
 " great unknown ;" and, by means of divers blasts of the re- 
 viewers' trumpets, actually made a little fortune, before the 
 town discovered he had asses'* ears, and was a most lusty 
 brayer. 
 
 Literature, like almost every other trade in this country, is 
 not only overstocked with workmen, but with a vast many very 
 indifferent ones, and it is with their books as with other manu- 
 factures if they did not find an extensive market incur coun- 
 try, one half of the artists would starve. It is inconceivable what 
 A vast literary taste there is in England ; that is to say, a taste 
 for literary scandal, tittle-tattle, reviewing, and magaziniug. 
 The number of these publications are as the leaves of the trees, 
 the sands of the sea ; and their contents of such a nature, that 
 tto look into them is like looking for a grain of wheat in a hun- 
 dred bushels of chaff. Opinions of books that the critics never 
 read, and of things they cannot comprehend ; trumpery pro- 
 vincial antiquities ; puffings of quack authors, quack politi- 
 cians, quack philanthropists, and quack doctors new revivals 
 of old absurdities, or new discoveries of exploded and forgotten 
 things anecdotes familiar to --every general reader together
 
 128 A Sketch of Old JRngland, 
 
 with the fashions, lists of promotions, marriages and deaths, 
 murders and executions these constitute the great mass, among 
 which, however, will occasionally be found an able scientific 
 article, a well written essay, and a capital engraving. Indeed, 
 it may with great truth be said, that these publications owe 
 their greatest beauties to the engravers. 'The horses, dogs, 
 fiddlers, players, and great men, are beatifully done. 
 
 It may possibly be news in your retired village to tell you 
 that the editor of Blackwood's ferocious and bouncing maga- 
 zine, is the son-in-law of Sir Walter Scott, and that he exceeds 
 all living creatures in puffing his worthy father-in-law. It was 
 he that christened him the " Great Unknown," if I do not mis- 
 take, and on all occasions he is foremost in his offerings of in- 
 cense at the shrine of his idol. One might suppose that a sense 
 of decorum would restrain him from this unblushing adulation ; 
 but they don't mind these things here, where it is almost as 
 common for an author to puff his own book in the magazines, 
 as for a quack doctor to be his own trumpeter in the newspa- 
 pers. It is related to me, by persons whose opportunities of 
 information are unquestionable, that if you could trace the ap- 
 probation or censures of these magazines and reviews to their 
 true source, they would, nine times in ten, be found to originate 
 in personal, political, and religious antipathies or attachments, 
 or in some holy alliance for mutual defence and mutual praises. 
 In fact, such is the notorious prostitution of these reviews, that 
 the real admirers of literature, who are not wedded to some 
 political party or other, pay no sort of attention to their deci- 
 sions, from a conviction that they originate in impure motives. 
 
 A great many books, which were barked at by the whole 
 pack, have attained an extensive circulation, in spite of the 
 hue and cry of canting hypocrisy, and canting criticism. Such 
 has been the case with Lady Morgan's late works, even in 
 spite of that fantastic affectation of style for which her lady- 
 ship is so notorious. On the other hand, a vast many books, 
 which they have attempted, with all their might, to impose 
 upon the patronage of the public, have already sunk into the 
 bottomless pit of oblivion. It begins to be understood that 
 this reviewing is a trade, and that their conductors must not 
 fail to please their customers at all hazards. Hence, when 
 any obnoxious opinions come abroad, and especially any that 
 smack of republicanism, if the book be written with the pea 
 of an angel, it stands no more chance of receiving quarter here, 
 than a heretic among so many monks of the twelfth century. 
 The author will be served by these literary judges like poor 
 Naboth ; he will be accused of blasphemy, and lose at least 
 hi> reputation, if not, the harvest of this little vineyard. On
 
 by a New England Man. 129 
 
 the contrary, if he should happea to be the greatest blockhead 
 in the world, he may be sure of a good word, if he will only 
 calumniate the whole mass of mankind, except the rich and 
 noble, by calling them " deluded wretches," and placing their 
 exertions to obtain bread to the account of 'an unprincipled 
 disregard of all human obligations. It is in this way that 
 writers attain to honours and rewards in England, just now, 
 without the display of a single talent, except the talent of 
 glossing over the corruptions of the higher, and insulting the 
 distresses of the lower, orders. 
 
 Sir W. S. owes much of his success, and still more of his 
 knighthood, to his politics, which are high tory. A curious 
 affair came to light the other day, which lets us into the secret 
 of Sir W.'s merits in the sight of my lord the king. People in 
 America think he was knighted for bis genius. It seems a 
 paper was not long ago setup in Edinburgh, called the Beacon, 
 which turned out even more libellous than BlackwoocTs Ma- 
 gazine, and exceeded that excellent production in its praises 
 of Sir W. Almost every person of note, obnoxious on the 
 score of his opposition to the court politics, was libelled in 
 the grossest manner. Among these was a Mr. Stuart, who, in 
 the course of his inquiries as to the persons responsible for the 
 attack, discovered that the paper was patronised by an associa- 
 tion of loyal persons, each of whom had signed a bond to 
 contribute a hundred guineas to its support in case of neces- 
 sity. Among these munificent patrons of literature were Sir 
 W. S., and the lord advocate, each of whom had subscribed 
 his hundred guineas. Upon this discovery, Stuart opened a 
 correspondence with the lord advocate, which resulted in his 
 lordship's discovering the libels on Mr. Stuart. The associa- 
 tion for the encouragement of literature, hereupon finding the 
 affair was likely to turn out rather serious, cancelled the bond, 
 and dissolved partnership. The sole object of the Beacon was 
 to single out persons, obnoxious from their opposition to the 
 court, as objects for personal defamation. It attempted also a 
 contest with the Scotsman, the most powerful and ably con- 
 ducted newspaper in the three kingdoms. As was to be ex- 
 pected, it sunk under the struggle, and confined itself altogether 
 to libels afterwards. 
 
 I have seen it stated in print, and not contradicted, to my 
 knowledge, that Sir W. is actually co-proprietor and co-editor 
 of Blackwoods Magazine, which praises him so lustily. I 
 merely give you the fact, without vouching for any thing. 
 Thus much is certain, however, tbat this magazine is consi- 
 dered as the most virulent partisan of principles entirely at 
 war with the happiness and prosperity of our people ; tbat it 
 
 VOYAGES and TRAVELS, No. XL V. Vol. VIII. s
 
 1 30 A Sketch of Old England, 
 
 has been convicted of at least a dozen libels upon the charac- 
 ters of private individuals ; and that it is noted particularly for 
 its offensive articles concerning our country. In a late number 
 of this work, is a tale, called " the Floridian Pirate," grossly 
 libelling and calumniating the people of the southern and 
 western States, and in which it is boldly insinuated, that to tie 
 a planter to a tree, set fire to his house, and commence a pira- 
 tical warfare against white men, are not only justifiable, but 
 meritorious acts of heroism. 
 
 Of a similar character and principles, is the New Monthly 
 Magazine. It is not so open arid offensive in its hostility, but 
 still there is scarcely a number appears, that does not squint 
 ill-naturedly towards our country and its institutions. Ridi- 
 cule of the peculiar habits of the people, their sanguine antici- 
 pations of the future, and other little peculiarities, are fair ex- 
 ercises of ingenuity and wit enough. This is wBat all nations 
 indulge in towards each other. But when this satire degene- 
 rates into malignity, and proceeds, under the cover of various 
 disguises, to undermine the respect of foreigners for our govern- 
 ment and its institutions ; to give distorted and offensive 
 sketches of persons and things, calculated to degrade and dis- 
 grace a whole people, it passes the bounds of authorized 
 ridicule, and becomes a distorter of truth and a mis-stater of 
 facts. It becomes unworthy of our toleration, much more of 
 our patronage. 
 
 I regret to see Mr. Campbell lending his name to such a 
 publication as this. Though it may, perhaps, be for his im- 
 mediate interest to implant in our country, a rooted antipathy 
 for his name, and a lasting contempt for his principles, it might 
 be worth his while to recollect, that the affectionate admiration 
 of a new world is not to be lightly forfeited by one who values 
 bis immortal fame. To be read, admired, and cherished by 
 growing millions, as the author of " Gertrude of Wyoming," 
 the " Pleasures of Hope," and " Erin go Bragh," is something 
 better in the end, than to be remembered hereafter, by perhaps 
 thrice as many human beings as Britain now holds, as the petty 
 editor of petty squibs and sarcasms, contemptible, indeed, in 
 themselves, but deriving point and consequence from peculiar 
 causes, that will possibly preserve them from merited oblivion. 
 Men like Mr. Campbell would do well to bear in mind, that 
 the time is not far distant, when they must look across the At- 
 lantic for by far the greater proportion of their admirers, or 
 enemies ; and that the people of the United States are among 
 those, of all others, the least likely to select, as objects of re- 
 spect and veneration, writers who ridicule their institutions, or 
 calumniate their country.
 
 by a New England Man. 131 
 
 Next to the trade of magazining and reviewing, I find the 
 biographers of the middling sort of great men in the greatest 
 profusion here, and every day reminds me of Cowper's ad- 
 mirable epigram : 
 
 " O .' fond attempt to give a deathless lot 
 
 To names ignoble, born to be forgot." 
 " So when a child, as playful children use, 
 
 Has burnt to tinder a stale worn out News, 
 
 The flame extinct, he views the roving fire, 
 
 There goes my lady, and there goes the 'squire ; 
 . There goes the parson, most illustrious spaik, 
 
 And there, scarce less illustrious, goes the clerk !" 
 
 The particulars of these biographical budgets also call to 
 mind a passage in an old author, where " Memory" com- 
 plains thus : 
 
 " I remember, in the age of Assaracus and Ninus, and about 
 the wars of Thebes, and the siege of Troy, there were few 
 things committed to my care but those that were well worth 
 preserving; but now, every trifle must be wrapt up in the 
 volume of eternity. A rich pudding wife, or a cobbler, can't 
 die, but 1 must immortalize them in an epitaph. A dog cannot 
 commit in a nobleman's shoe, but it must be sprinkled in the 
 chronicles ; so that I never could remember my treasury so 
 full, or so empty, of honourable and truly heroic actions." 
 
 One might be almost tempted to believe the writer of the 
 foregoing passage had anticipated the present taste of the 
 English public. If a clergyman, through the patronage of 
 some great man, rises to the distinction of a stall ; if a doctor 
 practises physic with tolerable success ; or a country squire 
 owns a famous racer, or hunts a pack of staunch hounds, he is, 
 in good time, pretty sure of a biography either in the maga- 
 zines, or in quarto. Indeed, any man can have a place in the 
 former, if he would only find his own likeness. 
 
 It is amazing to see with what facility a great book is here 
 compiled concerning a little man. The incidents of his life; 
 his good or evil actions ; his importance, or his want of im- 
 portance, are of no sort of consequence. These biographers 
 are like French cooks, or Spanish inn-keepers, who can make 
 an excellent dish out of a tom-cat, or a cow's heel. If the 
 little man had any great men for his cotemporaries, or was co- 
 temporary with any great events ; if he was at Oxford, Cam- 
 bridge, Eton, or Harrow, with any body of distinguished rank, 
 or who afterwards distinguished himself, and dropped him a 
 letter now and then ; or if he was a member of some half-a-score 
 of learned societies, provincial or foreign ; either of these for- 
 tunate coincidences is sufficient for a quarto royal. If he was
 
 132 
 
 cotemporary with great men, a book can be made out of them ; 
 if with great events, the author can pounce upon the history oi' 
 the times ; if a member of learned societies, all the learned per- 
 sons belonging to them may be made to contribute to the dig- 
 nity of the hero ; but if he corresponded with illustrious men 
 the letters the letters, my dear brother, are treasures of 
 biography. If they were written in confidence, so much the 
 better ; the little tittle tattle, the free opinions, domestic dis- 
 closures, and private scandal, are inestimable treasures, as fur- 
 nishing irresistible attractions to the present literary taste. 
 
 Another characteristic feature of the present school of English 
 literature is, the incredible appetite for black letter books, and 
 old trash of every sort, which derives its sole value from its 
 scarcity. More than one nobleman here, owe all the eclat they 
 enjoy, independently of their rank and fortune, to their muni- 
 ficence in patronising old authors and printers, who have been 
 dead for centuries. The worse a book is printed, and the more 
 ridiculously quaint its title, the more they will give for the 
 treasure. If they meet with a book, for instance, entitled and 
 called " The dolefulle Tragedye and delectable pleasauute 
 and merrie Comedye of Goodye Twooe Shooes," or some 
 such trumpery, printed with wooden blocks, they will give a 
 couple of hundred guineas for it, provided it be the only copy 
 in the world. But if there should chance to be another extant, 
 its value is diminished a hundred fold. I happened, not long 
 ago, to be present at the sale of the Duke of Roxburgh's 
 library, where Locke, Newton, Milton, Shakspeare, and others, 
 went off for little or nothing, while a copy of " Most righte, 
 rare, and truly djrvertynge Ballads,"" such as the beggars were 
 wont to sing of Yore about Tower Hill, was purchased by a 
 Maecenas for a few hundred guineas, and a most valuable 
 series of old play-bills brought still more. I must not omit to 
 mention, that the fortunate purchasers not only had the plea- 
 sure of gaining the valuable acquisitions, but also got compli- 
 mented in all the periodicals and diurnals, for their munificence 
 in the encouragement of literature. 
 
 At this sale there was a most laughable contest between his 
 
 grace of and the right honourable earl , for 
 
 no less a treasure than a black letter copy of the history of 
 the Three Wise Men of Gotham, printed by Wynkyn de 
 Worde, in his worst manner. These noblemen were just be- 
 ginning to nibble at the treasure, and the auctioneer, as well as 
 the heirs of his grace of Roxburgh, were in expectation of a 
 
 great windfall, when Sir , a famous physician, who 
 
 is a sort of black letter oracle, observed, with an appearance 
 of great indifference, that he had seen a copy at Lacking ton's,
 
 by a New England Man. 183 
 
 and another at a stall in Grub-street. The name of Grub- 
 street was a death-blow to the " Three Wise Men," who were 
 forth with knocked down to some obscure person for little more 
 than twenty times their real value. Since then it has been 
 ascertained, that neither Lackington nor Grub-street can boast 
 
 a copy, and it is shrewdly suspected Sir raised the 
 
 report with a view of purchasing the book himself, had he not 
 been called off at the moment to attend the lap-dog of lady 
 D . 
 
 Let us now talk of little Walter Scott, who, though a tory crea- 
 ture, is one of the most pleasant, unaffected specimens of the 
 Genus Irritabile in the world. By the way, he is a little lame, 
 a circumstance that may account for the halting irregularity of 
 his verse. Lord Byron, too, labours under a similar impedi- 
 ment in his walk ; and, as his verse partakes of the like infir- 
 mity, it might be a curious speculation to inquire into the occult 
 connexion between a lame leg and a lame couplet. But I must 
 leave this matter to the dabblers in cause and effect. I believe 
 there is no doubt of Sir Walter Scott being the person, who, in 
 the bombastic phrase of the critics, is called the " Great Un- 
 known." It is a fact tolerablv well known, and if there were 
 any doubt, the extravagant adulation of Blackwood's Magazine 
 would resolve it. His reasons for preserving this affectation of 
 the incognito, are quite clear to me. He wrote himself down 
 in poetry before he began with prose, and that in a good mea- 
 sure by prematurely disclosing his name, and thus depriving his 
 readers of the pleasure of wondering, than which nothing com- 
 municates a higher zest to a book. The benefits of invisibility 
 are invaluable to authors, who can neither be hit by the critic, 
 nor wounded by personal attacks, so long as they remain unseen. 
 Besides, authors are a sort of divinity, very apt to turn out an 
 Egyptian stork, or arrant mumbo jumbo, if you approach them 
 too near. They should always keep out of the way, that the 
 public may see nothing but the beauties of their minds. Like 
 the famous chess-playing automaton, lately detected, genius loses 
 half the admiration of the vulgar, so soon as they find there is 
 a man in it. 
 
 Do not imagine, from these observations, that I am not a po- 
 tent admirer of the " Great Unknown," alias, Sir Walter 
 Scott. I have received too much pleasure from his prose writ- 
 ings not to feel grateful. Many an hour of ennui in this land 
 of blue devils hath he whiled away and many a lonely day of 
 sickly confinement hath he made tolerable to me by the exer- 
 tions, or, as it would seem, the relaxations of his genius. Shall 
 not the sick man be grateful to him who administers to the mind, 
 as well as to him that administers to the body ? Besides, every
 
 134 A Sketch of Old England, 
 
 soul that ever knew him bears testimony to the worth of his pri- 
 vate character, notwithstanding his being somewhat obnoxious 
 on the score of his toryism. His pleasant, unaffected, unpre- 
 tending manners are exemplary in a man but, in a successful 
 author, they are little less than miraculous. His heart, I am 
 assured, is free from a single spark of that jealous irritability 
 which divides men of genius, and prevents them from govern- 
 ing the republic of letters more despotically than a senate of 
 Venice. 
 
 But for all this, I cannot allow him to be equal either to a 
 Fielding or an Edgeworth, whatever may be the fashionable 
 verdict of the day. In this opinion I am supported by the 
 authority of those judges of the secret tribunal I spoke of, 
 whose approbation, after all, is essentially nece&sary to the per- 
 manent fame of every living author. I will give you an abstract 
 of their opinions, mixed up with some of my own, which last I 
 desire you will hold in especial reverence. No doubt my fair 
 cousin * * * *, who, as you inform me, not long ago set 
 the bed-curtains on fire at two o^clock in the morning, by falling 
 asleep over the Abbot, will be greatly affronted at seeing the 
 Great Unknown so sacrilegiously undervalued. 
 
 The author of the Waverley novels has pursued a path, 
 which saved him, in a great measure, the trouble of invention. 
 The principal characters, as well as events, are historical ; and 
 where he has filled up the chasm with incidents of his own, I 
 appeal to the judgment of reflecting persons, if he has not devi- 
 ated into the wild impossibilities of romance ? Where the cha- 
 racters are not absolutely historical, they are derived from old 
 plays and ballads, which also furnish models of language for the 
 actors. Indeed, it may be observed here, that not only the 
 Great Unknown, but a vast number of the present race of poets, 
 have poached pretty liberally in the old plays of Queen Eliza- 
 beth and James the First. These, after lying in oblivion, ex- 
 cept in the care of these industrious poachers, for two centuries, 
 have at length begun to excite attention, and will probably be- 
 fore long be sufficiently known to ensure the detection of modern 
 plagiarists. Without descending to particularize these borrow- 
 ings of the Great Unknown, it cannot but strike every reader, 
 who takes the trouble to reflect on the incidents of the tale of 
 Kenilworth, for instance, that they are principally taken from 
 Miss Aikin's Court of Elizabeth, where they are purely histori- 
 cal ; and that where the author has attempted to sketch from his 
 own resources, he has almost invariably deviated into common 
 place or caricature. Indeed, to me it appears, that through the 
 whole of the work there is an air of reckless extravagance, a 
 daring disregard to probability, that takes from the characters
 
 by a New England Man. 185 
 
 every feature of historical likeness, and gives to historical facts 
 every characteristic of improbability. 
 
 With the exception of Sir Hugh Robsart and Tressilian, 
 there is almost a total absence of interesting characters. Queen 
 Elizabeth is nothing but a coarse virago ; Leicester a miserable 
 dupe of a clumsy astrologer; and Sussex, Blount, Antony 
 Foster, and the rest, very common persons. The originals of 
 Lambourne, Giles Gosling, and Demetrius, may be found in a 
 dozen of the old plays ; but where to find Wayland Smith, the 
 mysterious blacksmith, and Dicky Sledge, is more than I know ; 
 not within the limits of nature, certainly. I cannot tell how it 
 is, but Dicky seems the identical Gilpin Horner of the Lay of 
 the Last Minstrel, merely divested of nis supernatural features. 
 Raleigh is a fine personage in history ; but apparently rather of 
 too high an aim for our author, since the only incident of any 
 consequence, illustrative of his character, introduced into the 
 work, is that of the cloak, familiar to every school-boy. Ra- 
 leigh is, of all the personages in the piece, the one of whom the 
 author ought to have made the most, and he has made nothing. 
 The Pirate has just come out, and has shaken the popularity 
 of the author so sensibly, that it begins to be rumoured, he will 
 shortly proceed to give us a third edition of the old beauties of 
 his mind, in the shape of a series of plays. This is certainly 
 making the most of one^s wealth* and reminds me of a cunning 
 fellow of the beau monde, who lately passed the same quantity 
 of silver through two editions, once in the shape of a service of 
 plate, and once as a beautiful tea set, after which he coined it 
 into money, dashed away in a curricle to the admiration of every 
 body, and died game at last. 
 
 But Julia Mannering, Mr. Pleydell, and every character in the 
 whole of this series of novels, which appertains to the class of 
 real, actually existing beings, such as we live and move amongst 
 at present, are destitute of all claim to vigour or originality. It 
 is only necessary to place them beside those of Miss Edgeworth, 
 to perceive at once, how much more easy it is to draw materials 
 from history and tradition than from actual observation of life 
 and manners. So with those incidents and events which can be 
 referred to beings like ourselves, and to which we can apply the 
 test of our own experience and observation. Nearly the same 
 deplorable tameness and common-place characterize them all; 
 and it is only when the author envelopes himself in the mists of 
 time, and the obscurity of provincial tradition, that he attains to 
 a new species of fiction, compounded of improbabilities stretched 
 on the rack, and characters not altogether human, nor yet quite 
 supernatural, such as abound in the records of popular super- 
 stition.
 
 1 36 A Sketch of Old England, $c. 
 
 Hence the apparently wonderful facility with which the author 
 compiles these novels. The experience of a whole life furnished 
 Fielding with the characters and incidents of Tom Jones ; but 
 traditions and ballads of old times supply the " Great Unknown"" 
 with ample materials for this kind of writing. The very notes to 
 Walter Scott's different poems, contain a mass of border lore, 
 amply sufficient for half a-dozen novels like " Guy Mannering" and 
 " Rob Roy." If there be any exception to these remarks, it is in 
 *' The Heart of Mid Lothian," which presents to us two charac- 
 ters that belong to all times, and are perfect in their kind : I 
 mean old Davie Deanes and his daughter Jeanie. They are 
 sufficient to redeem all the old half-bred witches, and half-bred 
 wizards, in the whole series, and possess an interest derived from 
 the purest springs of nature and probability, far more intense and 
 legitimate than all the rest of these extravagant creations of igno- 
 rance and superstition. 
 
 But with all these drawbacks, if such they be in the eyes of the 
 present age, the Great Unknown is still a pearl among swine. He 
 and Miss Edgeworth are the twin stars of Bceotia, and not 
 only shine by their own light, but by the reflection of surround- 
 ing darkness. The one, as a painter of life as it is, the other of 
 life as it was, is without a rival in the present times. The 
 author of Waverley is a great second-hand artist ; a capital pen- 
 cil in copying old pictures, and colouring them afresh. What I 
 particularly commend him for is, that though a friend to the go- 
 vernment, he does not think it necessary to cant. There is a 
 glow of vigourous freshness about him, so different from the 
 faded, sickly, green and yellow tribes of cotemporary novelists, 
 that to read one of his tales, is like contemplating a rich land- 
 scape, with the flowers of the spring, and the dews of the clear 
 mellow morning, blooming and glittering upon it, and the pure 
 and fragrant breeze playing in our faces. 
 
 But I cannot help thinking it is placing him where he ought 
 not to be, to put him on a level with Fielding, Smollett, Gold- 
 smith and Miss Edgeworth. He belongs, I imagine, to a diffe- 
 rent class of beings ; to a class of authors, who, when the charm 
 of novelty expires, and curiosity is satisfied in the developement 
 of the story, will never be much relished or sought after for other 
 and more lasting beauties. 
 
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