/A WALK \ 
 
 FROM 
 
 LONDON 
 
 TO 
 
 LAND'S END 
 
 \AND BACK/
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 WVERSI7Y OF CALIFORNIA 
 RIVERSIDE
 
 A WALK FROM LONDON 
 
 TO 
 
 LAND'S END AND BACK.
 
 '-
 
 
 /-> 
 
 WALK FROM LONDON 
 
 TO 
 
 LAND'S END AND BACK, 
 
 WITH 
 
 BY THE WAY. 
 
 WITH ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 BY 
 
 ELIHTJ BUEEITT. 
 /*/ 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 SAMPSON LOW, SON & MAESTON, 
 59, LUDGATE HILL. 
 
 1865. 
 [The Right of Translation is Reserved. ~\
 
 72. 
 
 Robinson an<J Waitt, Printers, 6a, Dowgate Hill, London.
 
 PEEFACE. 
 
 The volume herewith presented to the reader is the 
 sequel or companion to the one published last year 
 under the title of "A Walk from London to John 
 O'Groat's." It was the author's original intention to 
 make the journey on foot from one end of Great 
 Britain to the other in one season, and to make but 
 one volume of his notes by the way. But, being 
 obliged to postpone the commencement of the tour 
 until midsummer, 1863, he was able to accomplish only 
 the northern half of it during that year. This, how- 
 ever, furnished incident and observation enough to 
 fill a pretty large book. The next spring, therefore, 
 he set out on the other half of the journey, or " From 
 London to Land's End and Back," a distance about 
 equal to the tour of the preceding year. He now
 
 IV. PREFACE. 
 
 submits to the public the notes on what he saw, heard, 
 thought and enjoyed by the way, with the hope that 
 they may be read with some interest not only by those 
 who perused the first volume, but also by others who 
 would like to have fuller and fresher description of the 
 places he visited than the ordinary guide-book infor- 
 mation supplies. They will notice that the author, on 
 both of the " "Walks," has looked about him with an 
 American eye and addressed his observations to Ameri- 
 can readers. This fact, he trusts, will not abstract from 
 the interest with which the volume might otherwise 
 be read in England. "We like to hear what others 
 say of us " is a common remark of the most ardent 
 lovers of their own country. On the strength of this 
 sentiment, a kindly reception is anticipated for these 
 notes. 
 
 Although the leading motive of the two "Walks" 
 was originally to see and note the agricultural system, 
 aspects and industries of Great Britain, and to collect 
 information that might be useful to American farmers, 
 the general reader, not specially interested in these 
 matters, will find other topics in the work that may 
 contribute to his entertainment. Reiterating the con- 
 fidence expressed in the preface of the first book,
 
 PREFACE. V. 
 
 whatever exceptions may be taken to their diction or 
 style of composition, the author fully believes that no 
 English reader will object to the general spirit in 
 which both volumes have been written. 
 
 Birmingham, Nov., 1865.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Walk along the Thames to Eichmond Fete Champetre at 
 Twickenham An hour with English Aristocracy A Rustic 
 Fair in Contrast . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Kingston Hampton Court Windsor An hour in the Castle 
 St. George's Chapel ; its monuments, the Queen, Prince 
 Albert, his character and memory . . . . . . . . 37 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Eton and its School Reading and its Institutions Walk along 
 
 the Chalk Downs Wantage, its schools and history . . . . 75 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Farringdon Buscot Park Largest Sheep-raiser in England 
 Coleshill Lord Radnor's Cottages for the Poor Walks and 
 Talks with Farm-laborers ; their wages, condition, and pros- 
 pects Marlborough Pewsey Vale Antique Hamlets 
 Salisbury Plain and Stonehenge .. .. .. .. 110
 
 Vlll. CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Old Sarum Salisbury Cathedral Wilton the Herbert family 
 Axminster Carpets Shaftesbury BlackmoorValley English 
 and American Dairies Wages of Farm-laborers in Dorset- 
 shire Farm-houses Bridport; its business and scenery 
 Charmouth and its historical associations . . . . . . 149 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Devonshire Soil and Scenery Honiton and its Lacemakers 
 Ottery Church Bicton and its Arboretum Lady Rolle, her 
 taste and achievments Exeter, its Cathedral and men of 
 mark 187 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 A week-day hour in Exeter Cathedral Veitch's Nursery Daw- 
 lish and its scenery A Sabbath Picture Teignmouth ; 
 Newton Abbott and Ashburton The American Flag unfurled 
 across the street Walk over Dartmoor and Thoughts by the 
 Way Tavistock; North Milton and Brentor Duke of 
 Bedford's Model Farm . . . . 213 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Plymouth ; its position, scenery and history Albert Bridge St. 
 Germans ; its Baronial Mansion, Park, Dairy, Clotted Cream 
 Looe, Polpero and Fowey and their characteristics St. 
 Austell China-clay Works and their value Truro, and its 
 Birth-roll The Story of a Dog and his Affection. . . 253 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Falmouth A Bird-Friend and his Companions Helston and its 
 traditions Marazion Mount Michael Penzance, its loca- 
 tion and scenery Logan Rock Land's End Botallack 
 Mine St. Ives Camborne 289 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Carn-Brea, Redruth and St. Agnes Peran-zabuloe and its Buried 
 Church Tintangel and Boscastle and their Legends Hart- . 
 land Head and Vicinity 327
 
 CONTENTS. IX. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 Three Days with the Bideford Postman Poet the Pebble Beach ; 
 Torrington South Moulton Visit to Mr. Quartley ; Devon- 
 shire Breed of Cattle Walk to Dulverton Exmoor. . . . 361 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Exmoor Glen Scenery Dunster and its Castle The Blue 
 Anchor Walk by the Sea Land and Water- Views The 
 Weather and Crops St. Audries Bridgewater and its 
 Church Glastonbury Abbey Wells Chedder.. .. 396 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 Bristol The Valley of the Wye Ross Malvern Worcester 
 and its Cathedral Pershore Oxford The Queen's Dairy 
 End of my Walk 429
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 View of Stonehenge 140 
 
 The Story of a Dog and his Affections 287 
 
 A Bird Friend and his Companions 295 
 
 Land's End 311 
 
 Glastonbury Abbey 415 
 
 The Queen's Dairy 456
 
 A Walk from 
 London to Land's End and Back. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 WALK ALONG THE THAMES TO RICHMOND FETE CHAMPETRE AT TWICKEN- 
 HAM AN HOUR WITH ENGLISH ARISTOCRACY JL RUSTIC FAIR IN 
 CONTRAST. 
 
 j]N Tuesday, May 31st, 1864, I resumed the 
 staff that had kept step with me all the 
 way to John O'Groat's in the preceding 
 year, and set out on my proposed Walk from London 
 to Land's End. Having the original object of this 
 long pedestrian journey still in view, I was quite 
 willing to extend over two summer seasons an enter- 
 prise I had at first proposed to accomplish in one; 
 as this would enable me to see the whole length of 
 the island of Great Britain in the best aspects of 
 its agricultural industries and sceneries. And here, 
 again, what I say of them, and of the incidents of 
 the tour, and the thoughts they suggest, I must
 
 2 A Walk from London 
 
 address to that circle of American readers that may 
 peruse these pages ; although conscious that they will 
 also be read by many persons in England. And this 
 consciousness makes the task a little embarrassing; 
 akin to that of a man who undertakes to address an 
 audience of children, and, on arising from behind the 
 teacher's desk, with a speech formed for them alone, 
 sees that half the assembly is made up of middle- 
 aged men and women who know more of the subject 
 he is to treat upon than he does himself. The 
 educated and adult portion of such an audience, 
 however, are generally generous enough to sympathise 
 with the speaker, and to judge of his observations 
 solely in reference to their adaptation to the instruction 
 and entertainment of the young people present. Thus 
 they listen even to citations from the very horn-book 
 and alphabet of facts familiar to themselves with good- 
 natured indulgence, thinking that such matters may 
 be interesting and useful to the children. I hope, 
 and even believe, that the English portion of my 
 readers will take, with equal good nature and patience, 
 what I may say to the American section of the circle 
 on matters so familiar to themselves from their very 
 childhood. It is a bold and seemingly pretentious 
 thing for an American to state, in the hearing of an 
 English man or woman, any facts or impressions in
 
 to Land's End and Back. 3 
 
 regard to Kew, Richmond, or Windsor, or to any 
 sceneries or histories attaching to the Thames, but 1 
 am sure such a listener will remember that these 
 facts and impressions are addressed, as it were, to 
 children in the knowledge they are intended to impart 
 children on the other side of the Atlantic, standing, 
 
 7 O " 
 
 many, six feet in their shoes, with full-grown hearts 
 and minds ; who, even in these troublous years, call 
 England OUR OLD HOME, the MOTHERLAND ; who, 
 in the golden-most aspects of a grand future^ in their 
 largest ambition of national greatness and glory, have 
 always loved, and love still, in this day of calamity, 
 to thread back the rivulets of their race into the 
 broad river of English history, when it ran without 
 a branch or tributary outside the British Isle. To 
 them I may say something about even Richmond and 
 Windsor, places whose names are written each on the 
 frontlets of thirty towns or villages in the American 
 States to perpetuate its memory. 
 
 I commenced my walk at Kew Bridge, and followed 
 the Thames to Richmond by a foot-path close to the 
 river and winding with its course. Grand old trees put 
 forth their arms over the walk all the way. Palace- 
 like mansions, parks, lawns, pastures and meadows 
 alternated on both sides. An air of hereditary quiet, 
 almost sabbath-like, pervaded the whole scene, as if 
 
 B2
 
 4 A Walk from London 
 
 the rushing tides of life had all set in upon the great 
 heart of the empire, leaving these suburban sections 
 at low ebb. It seemed unreal and strange to feel 
 the pulse so slow and even here, so near to that 
 great centre of sleepless and boundless vitality. Passed 
 the famous Sion House, one of the many mansions of 
 the Duke of Northumberland. In the great park- 
 pasture descending to the river, two large herds of 
 cattle were feeding, one of the Aldemey the other 
 of the black Scotch breed, presenting as striking a 
 contrast as horned animals could well make. Passed 
 villages with their backs to the river, with shabby 
 out-houses staggering to the brink, jostling against 
 each other with laps full of rubbish. These villages 
 once stood stoutly on their town individuality, and 
 had all the feeling and aspect of what the Germans 
 would call selbstandigheif, just as if planted among 
 the wolds of Yorkshire. Once they were separated 
 from London and it was in the memory's reach of 
 that old man under the yew there by long stretches 
 of wild country, of moor, and morass, bog and thicket, 
 and miles of bramble and thorny gorse. It was a 
 dangerous distance to travel at night; and even men 
 called brave and steady-nerved waited for company 
 to make the journey ; for beggars with bludgeons 
 and masked thieves on horseback had taken many
 
 to Land's End and Back. 5 
 
 a purse and many a human life on that poaching- 
 ground of prowlers. But now London is after them 
 with its seven-league jaws distended to their utmost 
 grasp, swallowing them up one after the other with 
 all their intervening spaces. It makes nothing of 
 taking in a large town whole at a single meal, with 
 all its independent histories, associations, institutions, 
 churches, schools, street-names, and rural appurten- 
 ances. In this terrible tractoration, or whale-mouth 
 suction, the great city is not wolfish in its greed. It 
 does not masticate and inwardly digest the towns 
 and villages it draws into its maw, nor transmutes 
 ihem into one indistinguishable mass of brick and 
 mortar. It takes them in gently while they are 
 asleep, and lets them sleep on, just as if nothing 
 had happened. It lets them stand just where they 
 stood before, only not alone as then. It is a silent 
 absorption of the houseless spaces between. Before 
 they get their eyes well open, the cows, sheep, 
 donkeys and geese are gone from those rough and 
 furzy pastures, and all the once wild and breezy space 
 is filled with the broad streets and three-story buildings 
 of a bran new city. And this new city, with its 
 army of miners and sappers, works its outward way 
 in every direction towards the distant hills hooded 
 with groves. It swallows up the intervening meadows
 
 6 A Walk from London 
 
 basking so gently in the sun, all smiling with their 
 
 daisies and buttercups. It climbs the green slopes, 
 
 and the rooks of the old family mansion among the 
 
 trees sound the alarm and utter rattling volleys of 
 
 menace at the masons and their work. Thus it has 
 
 gone on for centuries ; thus it goes on now almost 
 
 like a miracle compared with former progress. London 
 
 is already a vast concrete of towns and villages, or 
 
 rather a great luminous nebula of a hundred stars, 
 
 all making one light, yet each a local shining, and 
 
 wearing its own name, and occupying its own space. 
 
 The suburban of one age becomes the mediurban of 
 
 another the outer the inner. Now London is taking 
 
 to railway travelling, there is no telling where, or 
 
 at what boundaries it will finally bring up. Windsor 
 
 Castle even may yet find itself surrounded by this 
 
 ebbless outflow, and occupy the same local relation to 
 
 the metropolis that Edinburgh Castle does to that city. 
 
 But, with all this greed of growth, even to an 
 
 appetite for subterranean extension, there are certain 
 
 places of large circumference that London cannot 
 
 " gobble up." They are the parks, play-grounds, and 
 
 breathing-grounds of the people. There they are and 
 
 there they will stand for ever, as Daniel Webster said 
 
 of two localities famous in American history. The 
 
 railway is endeavoring to poach upon these preserves
 
 to Land's End and Back. 7 
 
 bequeathed to the million by foregone ages. It is 
 working most insidiously to pare away a slice here, 
 to bore a passage under the surface there ; to come 
 up for breathing in a deep cut occasionally like a 
 spouting whale, and anon to tube its iron track over 
 a foot-path or carriage way. No one can realise 
 what changes it may work in the course of these 
 stealthy inroads. Hyde Park itself may hear a 
 whistle one of these days that shall startle the gentle 
 equestrians of Eotten Eow and their soft-haired 
 steeds with the sharp and unwelcome thrill and 
 tremor of a business age. Procul 0, procul 0, esto 
 profani! from a thousand frightened voices will fail 
 to bar the course of the terrible hexiped of the fiery 
 eyes. Go he will, above-ground or under-ground. 
 Where horses of flesh and blood canter, he will 
 gallop. So they will have to compromise the matter, 
 and give him a mole-walk a few fathoms under the 
 green sward, with here and there a breathing-hole 
 in these parks. But probably their shadows never 
 will be less. The public mind grows more and more 
 jealous of any let or lessening in the enjoyment 
 they afford. So the surface of all these thousands of 
 green and wooded acres, with their artificial rivers, 
 lakes, and fountains will be the inheritance of the 
 people for all generations.
 
 8 A Walk from London 
 
 There are more than "seven Eichmonds in the 
 field." There are at least twenty or thirty towns of 
 the name in America, one of which will rank in 
 history, perhaps, with Troy, Londonderry, or Sebas- 
 topol. But the venerable mother of all the corporate 
 Richmonds in the world, sitting spectacled in her arm- 
 chair on the Thames, quiet, composed, and placid, 
 will always be held in kindly and genial estimation by 
 well-read Americans. When the balances of human 
 doings, and beings, and worths, and immortalities 
 shall be fully made up, I am inclined to believe that 
 the residence and writings here of James Thomson, 
 that 'gentlest of Nature's bards, who sang the beauty 
 of her months and years with a life and love 
 never equalled before or since, will give to this old 
 English town the most pleasant and lasting memory 
 it will carry down through coming generations, even 
 though the genial poet of " The Seasons " shall be 
 known only by traditional reputation. I would 
 not repeat, nor recall by suggestion, the thoughts 
 submitted on the subject of biographs in a foregoing 
 volume. But of all the memories that a town or 
 other locality acquires and perpetuates, none are so 
 sunny, so full of speaking life as the great remembrance 
 of some man the world venerates or admires, who was 
 born there, who there gave birth to some thousand-
 
 to Land's End and Back. 9 
 
 tongued immortality of thought, which has sent its 
 like-producing speech into the souls of all subsequent 
 generations. I stand on Richmond Hill and look 
 down on the town sloping up from the river. Who 
 are you ? I am an American, a New England man, 
 of average reading among a reading people. Close 
 that red guide-book ; shut up the local history, and 
 tell me what you ever read at home of this Richmond. 
 How came you to know there was such a place, and 
 what are you here for? "Thomson's Seasons," sir, 
 was the first book of poems I ever read ; and I read 
 it over and over again, when I was an apprentice 
 girded with a leather apron. I read it by the forge- 
 light, against the forge-chimney, where I planted it 
 open in the coal-dust, and took short sips of its 
 beauty while the iron was heating, and the sparks 
 going up starward. And Thomson lived, and thought, 
 and wrote here, and put Richmond in his "Seasons." 
 Can you show me the house in which they were 
 born and where he died ? I would see that ; for I 
 know of no other here mentioned in the histories the 
 great world reads. There may be a palace here in 
 which Elizabeth or some other English Queen died ; 
 houses of statesmen and generals of great repute in 
 her age, or before or after her day ; but men from a 
 far-off country like me are apt to overlook them
 
 io A Walk from London 
 
 without the microscope of local history. So, will you 
 please show me " Thomson's House " ? Yes, there 
 it is, among the trees by the river. 
 
 His " Seasons " were my first love among the 
 Pleiades of Poetry, and I went to that house by the 
 river, as if it were still full of his breathing presence. 
 
 It is a large and comfortable mansion, now occu- 
 pied by the venerable mother of Lord Shaftesbury, 
 who, with the most sensitive appreciation of the haloed 
 memories of the place, keeps the rooms in which the 
 poet wrote and died in the same aspect and condition 
 in which he left them. That little round table, 
 standing on three legs, with its ebony-black disk 
 turned up edge-ways, was his. By that small, shiny 
 surface he sat by night and day, perhaps with "eyes 
 in fine frenzy rolling" up at that old ceiling overhead, 
 or at the wainscotted wall, fixed at the passing 
 apparition of tall thoughts in the vasty sweep of his 
 brilliant fancy. Bending over that table-rim, some 
 of them he caught and photographed whole with his 
 pen, to be admired by future generations ; some 
 doubtless escaped capture, darting off from the swift- 
 winged visions of the mind. Who could stand in 
 such a room, and speak in the common business-voice 
 of every-day life? or walk with a business step, even 
 with the measured tread of one passing up and down
 
 to Land 's End and Back. 1 1 
 
 the galleries of art or museums of natural history ? 
 That table was bequeathed to a servant before the 
 world had begun to see what a wealth of golden 
 thoughts had been wrought out on its scanty disk. 
 It was bought back to this room from that servant, 
 who threw into the bargain, or gave, as a free-will 
 offering to the consecrated memory, the brass hooks 
 on which the poet hung his hat and cane. I went 
 into the garden lawn, and sat down in the arbor, 
 by a small, unique, four-footed table, of still older 
 seeming, on which he composed many of the sunniest 
 pages of his " Summer," while the thrush and black- 
 bird sang their roundelays about him. Over the roof 
 of that arbor, and in the trees bending their branches 
 above it, they and their successive generations have 
 sung, without a break, the same summer songs that 
 made accompanying music to his thoughts as he 
 penned them down in that quiet retreat more than 
 a century ago. Most of the trees in the grounds 
 were younger than his " Summer," but there was 
 one grand old cedar with its long arms stayed up, 
 like those of Moses, over the walk. I looked at it 
 with a reverential admiration, for it seemed to stretch 
 out its broad hands over the lawn, palm downward, 
 as if pronouncing a benediction on a spot so sacred 
 to a human memory.
 
 12 A Walk from London 
 
 I went to the old church, and there, almost behind 
 the door, a plain brass tablet against the wall bore 
 this inscription : 
 
 In the Earth below this Tablet 
 
 are the Remains of 
 
 JAMES THOMSON, 
 
 Author of the beautiful Poems entitled ' The Seasons,' 
 
 and ' The Castle of Indolence ;' 
 
 Who died at Richmond, on the 27th day of August, and was buried 
 here on the 29th, the Old Stile, 1748. 
 
 The Earl of Buchan, unwilling that so good a man and sweet 
 
 a poet should be without a memorial, has denoted the 
 
 place of his interment for the satisfaction 
 
 of his admirers, in the year of 
 
 our Lord 1792. 
 
 Father of Light and Life ! Thou good Supreme ! 
 O, teach me what is good! Teach me Thyself! 
 Save me from folly, vanity, and vice, 
 From every low pursuit, and feed my soul 
 With knowledge, conscious peace and virtue pure, 
 Sacred, substantial, never-fading bliss. Winter. 
 
 All this is written in good, round letters in brass, 
 and the poet's admirers everywhere should feel them- 
 selves indebted to his nobleman Mend for much 
 satisfaction for such a memorial. It was put up 
 more than forty years after the interment; a fact 
 which may perhaps indicate how slowly the public 
 mind at that period came to any admiring per- 
 ception and appreciation of the great authors who 
 have enriched the literary annals of England with 
 their productions. "The grand old masters," of
 
 to Land's End and Back. 1 3 
 
 whom she boasts with a pride the outside world 
 envies, lay long in unmonumented and briar-covered 
 graves. Notice the suggestions peeping out of the 
 foregoing inscription. It was put up by one who 
 must have been very young, even if born, when 
 Thomson gave his poems to the world. Nearly 
 fifty years had elapsed since he was laid in that 
 grave, and no monument had been erected to his 
 memory. "Unwilling that so good a man and 
 sweet a poet should be without a memorial " any 
 longer, the Earl of Buchan had this erected over 
 his last resting place. 
 
 From the poet's I went to the "sage's seat;" not 
 the one spoken of by Thomson, but the seat of one 
 of the living sages of England, in political erudition 
 and experience. A friend took me up into the grand 
 old Park to see the view from Richmond Hill. I 
 would advise all Americans visiting London to put 
 this point in their programme of enjoyment without 
 fail ; for in its way it surpasses anything they will 
 find in England. It does not equal in extent and 
 variety of picturesque beauty the scenery of Belvoir 
 Yale from Broughton Hill, nor the view Forthward 
 from Stirling Castle, nor that from the top of the 
 Herefordshire Beacon, near Malvern ; but, for several 
 peculiar features, it is unique and grand. You
 
 14 A Walk from London 
 
 stand on the convex summit of a crescent ridge, 
 stretching out its arms as if to embrace the loveliest 
 scene on the Thames; or to say, in the language of 
 Nature, "Behold the best picture I could make for 
 you between its source and the sea." You look and 
 believe it before you leave the view. A little world 
 lies before you, rounded up from the broad-bottomed 
 valley, and rimmed with trees of every ' stature, age, 
 and leafage. Towns, villages, church towers, and 
 spires, mansion, park, cottage, and copse, and the grain 
 fields, meadow and pasture lands of a county make 
 the pictorial lining of this great nest. Sunny 
 patches of the meandering Thames, like smiles of 
 Nature, dropped here and there at some view-point 
 of the landscape, mingle their quiet sheen in the 
 scenery. Then the whole is permeated with silver 
 threads of English history, covering the expanse from 
 centre to circumference with a wonderful texture of 
 natural beauty and human being and interest. 
 
 After looking at this scene for a few minutes, we 
 proceeded a mile or two in the Park. Passed Pem- 
 broke Lodge, the residence of Lord John Russell, as 
 Americans will always call him, even should he 
 become the Duke of Bedford some day. It is par- 
 titioned off from the great wooded territory, and 
 surrounded and half concealed by a little world of
 
 to Land's End and Back. i 5 
 
 shade and shrubbery of its own. It was pleasant 
 to think that the present helmsman of the British 
 Empire, who is to steer it between the Scylla and 
 Charybdis of tempest-tossed nationalities, had such a 
 quiet, sweet-breathing retreat in which to get serenity 
 of mind for his arduous duties. The flowers that 
 breathe and bloom behind the thick tree-walls of 
 that enclosure, the thrush and blackbird that chirrup 
 and whistle over the lawn, even the pair of Alderney 
 cows lying on their shadows, ruminating with peace 
 and comfort in their eyes on the green slopes, may 
 have much to do with the peace of the world in these 
 troublous times ; carrying their influences into diplo- 
 matic correspondence, and softening the first draught 
 of many a momentous dispatch with the second, sober 
 thought of a calmer mind. As I passed before the 
 " sage's seat," and peeped through the thick, green 
 shrubbery that surrounded it to get glimpses of the 
 flowers, the lawn, and its walks, I could not but 
 wish that the foreign secretary of every great nation 
 were bound or biased to write his official letters to 
 other Powers on just such a table, under just such 
 an arbor, and to just such accompaniments of flower- 
 life and bird-music as Thomson had when he wrote 
 the happiest pages of his " Seasons." It might have 
 saved the world half-a-dozen wars during the last
 
 16 A Walk from London 
 
 century, if the diplomats of Clrristendom had thus 
 written their dispatches under "the sweet influences 
 of the Pleiades " of Nature. 
 
 Richmond Park is one of nearly a dozen belonging 
 to the nation which you will find on the Thames 
 within twenty miles or so of the Parliament House 
 in Westminster. It is not the largest, by any means, 
 of the dozen ; but it is twelve miles in circumference, 
 only occupying the space of an ordinary American 
 township. It is studded with trees, many of which 
 are of broader beam than the measure of their main- 
 masts; oaks and elms centuries old with the dimen- 
 sions of huge apple-trees. Two conditions of growth 
 seem to have contributed to this characteristic. In 
 the first place, they were all planted with abundant 
 verge and scope for side-ways expansion, so were 
 not constrained to take the American forest shape, 
 which was not wanted. Then the soil was cold and 
 watery for most of the year and hard and chapped 
 during the rest of it. Nearly the whole surface is 
 still in a rough state of nature, uneven with upland 
 hummocks, and covered with a coarse, swampy grass. 
 In a few years this wild aspect will be changed. 
 The process of under-draining has already commenced, 
 and large spaces of the great enclosure have assumed 
 a lawn-like evenness and verdure under this popular
 
 to Land's End and Back. 1 7 
 
 system of improvement. All these " woods and 
 forests" in England, whether belonging to the Gov- 
 ernment or to individuals, have their respective 
 rangers or head-shepherds, who keep watch and 
 ward over them, trimming, thinning, and planting. 
 Every park has its feeding nursery, in which young 
 trees of every description are trained with great care 
 to go on guard and do duty as sentinels for a few 
 centuries, in place of their superannuated ancestors. 
 Trees that were once unknown to the rank and file 
 of English woods, are also being incorporated with 
 the old veterans of the line, and show well in their 
 new uniforms. I saw some young hawthorn trees 
 here which illustrated strikingly what the commonest 
 flowers may become under the process of scientific 
 and assiduous cultivation. The natural flower is 
 single-leaved and shallow, like our wild thorn or 
 apple blossom. But, from this delicate and persever- 
 ing education, it had filled its cup overflowing full 
 of sweet and crimson leafage, so that it was round 
 and plump like a little dahlia. Thus, in a few 
 years, the English hawthorn will come out in a new 
 dress, breathing out upon the air three times the 
 odor it could once emit, and showing three times 
 the flowering it once wore in Spring. 
 
 The next -place I visited was the Queen's Laundry.
 
 1 8 A Walk from London 
 
 Some sensibilities too subtle and delicate to be put 
 in the parlance of common life, made me at first 
 hesitate to approach "the divinity that doth hedge 
 about a king," but a hundred-fold more sacredly, a 
 queen, by such a private, back-door access to those 
 aspects of our commom humanity and its necessities 
 which I felt that royalty would prefer to bar against 
 vulgar eyes, especially the eyes of a plain American 
 republican like myself. It really seemed a thing 
 beyond the beat of my propriety to venture near 
 such a place, and see unabashed how thin is the 
 dividing line that separates between a human nature 
 in a diadem and another in the stove-pipe hat of a 
 common mortal. Had it not been for the assurance 
 that it was "all right" from one of Her Majesty's 
 loyal lieges, I should have approached that great 
 lavatory of royal linen more bashfully and modestly 
 than that unfortunate young hunter in classic history 
 walked into the presence of a distinguished goddess 
 at an inopportune moment. 
 
 The Queen's Laundry, aside from its royal pedigree 
 and purpose, will well repay the most rigid utilitarian 
 for an attentive inspection. It is a large, plain buil- 
 ding, solid, quiet and comfortable, with a good show of 
 lawn and shrubbery in front and rear. A small steam 
 engine supplies all the motive and heating power
 
 to Land's End and Back. 19 
 
 employed in the process. As you see the machinery 
 brought to bear upon the different operations, and 
 then call to mind the primeval practice of the Paris 
 washing- women, pounding out their linen upon a stone 
 with a wooden mallet on the Seine, you realise 
 more fully than ever before the wonderful progress 
 and utilisation of mechanical science in the most 
 minute and domestic departments of human labor. 
 The linen of all branches of the Royal Family is 
 sent here to be washed, from Windsor, Osborne, 
 Buckingham Palace, Marlborough House, and all 
 the royal residences except Balmoral. Thirty-four 
 persons are constantly employed, besides the manager. 
 They receive from eighteen to twenty-one shillings 
 a week. When the Queen is at Windsor, twenty- 
 four baskets, averaging 150 Ibs. each, are sent away 
 daily, or 3600 Ibs., equal to a ton-and-a-half of solid 
 linen, making a heavy load for the stoutest yoke of 
 "the King's cattle," or of our own American oxen. 
 There is a mangle in operation which is undoubtedly 
 the most perfect and expensive machine of the kind 
 ever made. The bottom and upper plates are of 
 solid glass. The former is seven feet in length, 
 three feet and nine inches in width, and seven-eights 
 of an inch in thickness, resting upon a slate bed. 
 
 Glass rollers were made to pass over the linen 
 c2
 
 2O A Walk from London 
 
 between these plates ; but under the heavy weight 
 imposed upon them, they produced a friction which 
 rendered them useless ; so wooden rollers were sub- 
 stituted. This machine cost about 60, or 300 
 dollars. 
 
 The great table-cloths or diapers of the Royal 
 Palaces are of patterns entirely original, and designed 
 expressly for the Queen. This constitutes the main 
 item of their cost, which is from 20 to 25. 
 George IY, le Grand Monarqnc of English sovereigns 
 for luxurious and florid show, had a table-cloth 
 designed and manufactured for his royal guest-board 
 which cost 700. 
 
 On leaving the establishment, the manager, a very 
 intelligent and dignified Scotchman, referred, with a 
 good deal of feeling, to the sad condition of affairs 
 in America; and, in the most sincere and honest 
 manner, advised that, when the civil war was over, 
 we should select some good and trusty man and 
 make him a king, and be like England again. 
 I suggested that we had no one in training for such 
 a position, who would fill it with natural grace and 
 dignity ; and that if we really came to this, we 
 should prefer Prince Alfred to any other candidate. 
 This seemed to touch two sensibilites in him a 
 personal feeling towards the royal family he was
 
 to Land's End and Back. 21 
 
 serving in such an intimate capacity of usefulness, 
 and that common sentiment of loyalty and patriotism 
 which fills a true Briton's heart to the brim. lie 
 hesitated a moment, as if I had put him in a quandary 
 between loyal aifection and national ambition. To 
 bridge the chasm between the North and South with 
 a throne, and reign over the largest half of the 
 English-speaking race, was not a position for the 
 young prince to be sneezed at, in the mind of the 
 canny Scotchman. I fancied the thought of it made 
 a track of light across his face as it passed through 
 his mind. But it was for a moment only. The flash 
 of the idea faded away. He shook his head, not per- 
 emptorily, but hesitatingly, as if his thought said, " It 
 has a good look, but but I fear it would not do." 
 What he really said was, " I dinna think we can spare 
 him." It was a pleasant little incident at parting, 
 which both of us will be likely to remember. Having 
 visited several other places of interest, I was tempted 
 to an exhibition of extraordinary attraction. I had 
 walked up and down a good number of national and 
 private galleries, and roved admiringly through acres of 
 paintings and groves of statuary, including the master- 
 pieces of the old masters. I had admired the sublimest 
 forms of man or angel ever cut in marble, or painted on 
 canvas, and studied the graces of these almost divine
 
 22 A Walk from London 
 
 creations, and wondered at the artist's gift to make 
 the being of his hand speak for centuries, without 
 Wood or breath, so much of human speech and life- 
 Indeed, I had begun to think that I was becoming 
 almost a connoisseur in these matters of art. I was 
 just at that moment fresh from four long visits to 
 the collection of the Royal Academy, in London, 
 made up of paintings of all the great British artists, 
 in which life-size pictures of Princes and Princesses 
 of the blood, Dukes and Duchesses, and of minor 
 nobility figured in their finest robes and in their 
 best features. But I had never seen a collection of 
 English aristocracy in living, moving, and speaking 
 statuary, except at an inaccessible distance, as in 
 the House of Lords at the prorogation of Parliament 
 by the Queen. A capital opportunity now present- 
 ed itself for enjoying this exhibition of high art 
 and humanity. There was to be a grand "Fete 
 Champetre and Fancy Fair, in aid of the Funds 
 of the Societe Francaise de Bienfaisance," at the 
 Orleans House, Twickenham, just over the Thames, 
 opposite to Richmond. Never was a more attractive 
 bill of fare held out to tempt tuft-hunters to an 
 entertainment, as well as men of benevolent dis- 
 positions. In the first place, the whole aim and 
 animus of the fete had the look and spirit of good-
 
 to Land's End and Back. 23 
 
 will and charity to a peculiar class of sufferers 
 needy Frenchmen in London of every stripe of 
 political opinion, who were hard pressed by different 
 forms of affliction and want. The fairest fingers in 
 two nations had been at work for months on fancy 
 articles of exquisite taste for these poor emigres. 
 And now these were to be sold for their benefit by 
 French and English duchesses and countesses and 
 marchionesses, and their fair daughters, "polished 
 after the similitude of a palace." These brilKant and 
 titled ladies were to stand behind the stalls of the 
 bazaar and sell embroidered smoking-caps, dolls, ice- 
 creams and cigars, perhaps a handkerchief to bind 
 about the brow of some plain John Smith, who might 
 say "a princess wrought it me, or sold it me with 
 a smile." Then the fete was to come off at a remark- 
 able focus of attractions; or at what may be called 
 the representative residence of the late royal family 
 of France, the Orleans House, a noble English 
 mansion with its beautiful English lawn, fitted up 
 with the best grace of French taste and art. Thus 
 the object, the artistry and the locale were in them- 
 selves admirable and attractive. But these were 
 evidently regarded the minor features of the exhibi- 
 tion. It was a living Loan-Court a collection of 
 voluntary contributions of living presences to make
 
 24 A Walk from London 
 
 a spectacle worth a long journey and a long purse to 
 see. It was a moving gallery of the elite of two 
 nations' aristocracies, got up on the same basis as the 
 Royal Academy of Paintings, with this difference, a 
 fair countess came to it in all the grace and motion 
 of life, instead of sending her portrait. It would have 
 been a poor compliment to such contributors and 
 contributions, and a poorer one still to the mere spec- 
 tators, to have charged less than half-a-guinea for 
 such a sight at close quarters. They ask a shilling 
 at many a gallery to let you look at the mere inanimate 
 copies of such originals, without motion or change of 
 expression ; but here the whole beauty of human life 
 was to breathe and glow and bloom and move before 
 you with graces the painter could never portray on 
 canvas. It was cheap at half-a-guinea. That was 
 the price of one of the superbly embossed tickets in 
 the morning ; but it was raised to fifteen shillings in 
 the course of the day, in anticipation of the additional 
 attraction of the presence of the Prince of Wales and 
 his Alexandra the Dane. It was well worth five extra 
 shillings to see the Royal pair to one who had stood 
 half-a-day in the ground-swell of three millions of 
 people on which they rode into London at their grand 
 entree, the 10th of March, and yet had failed to get 
 a sight of their faces.
 
 to Land's End and Back. 25 
 
 So, armed with the credentials of the " Societe " 
 on a card eight inches by four, and embellished by a 
 flourish of French flags and trumpets, and numbered 
 894, I made my way on foot between lanes of people 
 lining the road the whole distance to the park-gate 
 of the Orleans House. The crowd by the road- 
 side had really the best of the sight after all. For 
 the whole cortege of the aristocracy and gentry, in 
 splendid carriages, passed one by one leisurely by 
 them, and they could pass judgment on each party 
 and its equipage, and recognise the rank by the arms 
 on the livery of the coachmen, postillions, or footmen. 
 In many cases the name would circulate through the 
 crowd with comments and critiques as to character 
 and appearance quite interesting. 
 
 It was really a little elysium for such an assembly 
 of rank, beauty, and fashion ; and it was well filled 
 with these three graces, especially with the last, which 
 embellished if it did not absorb the other two. 
 As shows the American or rhododendron Garden in 
 Regent's Park in its fullest bloom, so showed the 
 gossamer and ether'ial flowerage of titled fashion on 
 the delicate, sweet-breathing lawn-ground of that 
 garden, and against the deep-green shrubbery that 
 surrounded it as a foil to bring out its little glories 
 in the best relief. And here I was, in the midst of
 
 26 A Walk from London 
 
 all this brilliant exhibition of high life, with the full 
 intent and purpose to look at it, peer into it, and 
 study it as a cold-blooded connoisseur of art ! When 
 I was hugging this preposterous delusion, it was a 
 wonder that I had not extemporised on my way, out 
 of a leaf of the Illustrated News, or from stiffer and 
 coarser paper, one of those trumpet-shaped things used 
 in galleries with the express thought of turning it up 
 at the face of some beautiful countess moving before 
 me, in order to get the finest lines of her countenance 
 into the best perspective. I did intend it, and it was 
 a profane mistake, to look at all the graceful forms I 
 might see in this aristocratic collection, as if they 
 were walking statuary of the purest Parian marble, 
 and as if the bluest veins they showed, and all the rose 
 and lily of breathing life about them were only a 
 human sculptor's work! And I, who hardly dared 
 look a village school-girl in the face at twenty-one, 
 was going to walk stealthily around the divinest of 
 these forms and study it, as I would Power's Greek 
 Slave ! It was worse than Action's sin in me, and 
 I blushed with the guilt of it at the first trial of the 
 conceit ; besides, I felt it was worse in an American 
 than it could have been in any one else, to go into 
 an assemblage like that with such a notion. It was 
 not to be done, and I gave it up at the first attempt.
 
 to Land's End and Back. 27 
 
 You cannot deport yourself in that way before such 
 presences. You cannot get into the drift and maze 
 of such forms and faces; to be swept gently hither 
 and thither by the ebb and flow of rustling dresses ; 
 to look at the loveliest light of happy eyes setting- 
 features of classic beauty all a-glow in their best 
 expression ; to hear the musical murmur of mingled 
 voices in cadences of the most refined modulation; 
 to feel as it were the softest breathings of human life 
 and its most charming mysteries making an atmosphere 
 around you; you cannot see, hear and inspire all 
 this with the mere professional admiration of an artist 
 or an amateur of art. And, to the credit of my 
 countrymen, I will believe that I am the first American 
 that ever attempted it, and they will be glad I failed. 
 At six, there must have been at least a thousand 
 persons in the grounds before the river front of the 
 Orleans House. More than half this number represen- 
 ted the highest nobility of England and France. Many 
 members of the family of Louis Phillipe were present, 
 including the venerable queen-widow, to whom they 
 all do an affectionate, reverential, and beautiful hom- 
 age, as if she filled a higher throne to them than the 
 one her husband lost. Several marques, fashioned after 
 the best French taste and art, had been erected for 
 the stalls of the bazaar, and these presented a most
 
 28 
 
 brilliant exposition of fancy articles of every possible 
 invention. Behind these stood as fascinating an array 
 of saleswomen as ever performed business transactions 
 in domestic manufactures over a counter. It was a 
 unique and interesting sight to see such delicate, 
 be-jewelled hands doing the minute details of trade 
 with the even tenor of trained skill ; making up parcels 
 in grocery paper, with a grocer's sleight of hand ; 
 making change with such quick precision ; taking in 
 and giving out the great, heavy, ugly English copper 
 pennies with unfeigned and imperturbable gracious- 
 ness of manner; throwing into the smallest bargain 
 the gratuity of two or three smiles of the first water, 
 and half-a-dozen words done in a voice of the sweetest 
 modulation, and all this while putting out the witching 
 mesmerism of black eyes, and blue eyes, and eyes of 
 every spellful influence, upon the passing crowd to 
 draw in purchasers. It was a shame to think of 
 statuary and painting before such a spectacle. I drove 
 the thought out of me in a moment. There stood 
 side by side behind the stalls French Duchesses and 
 English Countesses dressed in the most recherche style 
 of their respective fashions, all active, earnest, and 
 natural, not playing at it with half-disguised affecta- 
 tion, but putting a heart in it with a wonderful 
 vivacity of interest. Occasionally a sylph-like creature
 
 to Land's End and Back. 29 
 
 in long, crimpled, auburn tresses, and with a voice 
 and look and motion that the stiffest cynic could not 
 resist, would come out of the marque and glide about 
 in the crowd with a tray or basket of fancy articles 
 seeking purchasers. 0, Zephaniah Bigelow, with all 
 your stern notions of republican life, and the fresh 
 air of your New Hampshire hills upon your face, it 
 would have cost you such an effort as you never 
 accomplished to have looked into those eyes and said 
 " No ! " when she held out to you, between two such 
 fingers as you never saw before, a real Havannah for 
 " only a shilling." 
 
 The Prince and Princess of Wales did not come 
 to the Fete after all the intimations and anticipations 
 of their presence. For a full hour the walk from the 
 great door of the house to the principal marque was 
 lined on each side by a wall of ladies and gentlemen 
 a dozen deep, to receive the royal visitors ; but they 
 did not make their appearance. But two or three 
 representatives of the English blood royal were present 
 in the persons of the Dowager-Duchess of Cambridge 
 and her daughter, the Princess Mary, who is truly 
 a magnificent woman in the grandest sense of stature, 
 look, and motion. The Place de la Concorde in Paris 
 is embellished with colossal female figures in stone, 
 representing all the great provincial cities of France.
 
 30 A Walk from London 
 
 Each has its distinctive face and features, as if it 
 personated the peculiar individuality of the city 
 whose name it bears. No one ever puts a continent 
 or a smaller sub-division of the natural world in the 
 masculine gender. If, therefore, the great common- 
 wealth of civilised nations should have a common 
 Place de la Concorde, and stud it with statues 
 representing each of them by a female figure which 
 should best embody its distinctive characteristics, no 
 woman in the British Empire could be found to 
 personate England so perfectly, in form and feature, 
 and every aspect of expression, as the Princess Mary 
 of Cambridge. A sculptor, transferring as much as 
 possible of her to marble, could give to the im- 
 personation only half the actual resemblance. Never 
 did I see England walking in the June month of 
 her maidenhood, with her round, rosy cheeks radiant 
 with its light, until I saw this daughter of hers 
 moving, a rural, genial, laughing Juno, through those 
 fairy-looking groups of delicate creatures on that lawn. 
 Poor Hawthorne! I am glad you were not there 
 with your iron pen to see it. She moved among 
 them with a gentle and good-humored grandeur, with 
 a sway and a swing gracefully proportionate to her 
 stature, dropping down into their faces the most genial 
 smiles from her own. And her face could be seen
 
 to Land's End and Back. 31 
 
 so far and so high, with the smiles on it, above the 
 heads of the tallest ladies in the crowd, that every 
 man, woman, and child on the grounds could see 
 her, and did see her with admiration. An American, 
 fresh from his own country, would have pointed her 
 out in a moment, in the largest assembly of English 
 ladies, as Uncle John Bull's pet daughter, with the 
 most striking features of resemblance to him that 
 could be given symmetrically to a female form and 
 face. She would fill a throne splendidly ; and she 
 ought to be made the queen of some great and 
 growing realm at the first proper vacancy that occurs. 
 
 The Orleans House, the residence of the Duke 
 d' Aumale, was thrown open to the assembly, and its 
 halls and galleries, and nearly the whole suite of splen- 
 did apartments were constantly filled with admirers 
 of art well qualified to appreciate the great collection 
 of paintings and statuary here arranged in the most 
 exquisite taste. Some of the master-pieces of all the 
 schools, French, English, Italian and Spanish, were 
 among the hundreds that lined the walls. There 
 were more of the paintings of Murillo and Correggio 
 than I had ever seen before in a private collection. 
 
 Take it all in all, it was the most interesting reunion 
 I ever witnessed. As a spectacle it was worth a long 
 journey to see, even if the assembly had no other
 
 32 A Walk from London 
 
 motive and end than to make a show of rank, grace, 
 and fashion. But the whole was seasoned with such 
 a savor of hearty benevolence and charity towards 
 a large class of the most sensitive of sufferers ; there 
 was such complete sympathy and co-operation between 
 this French royal family and English nobility in the 
 effort to relieve the wants of the French poor in London, 
 whatever the cause of their poverty or the color of 
 their political opinions, that the Fete presented an 
 aspect of good- will and gentle thought which enhanced 
 yet surpassed its other attractions. Perhaps that fancy 
 article sold at one of these stalls by an English 
 marchioness to the venerable queen-widow of Louis 
 Phillippe may have carried help and comfort to some 
 sick French artisan in London, who was one of the 
 hard-faced men in blouse that chased her royal husband 
 from his throne. Perhaps some of the purchases of 
 the Princess Mary fed the hungry children of some 
 proscrit of the last French republic. 
 
 Returning to Richmond, I shouldered my knapsack 
 again and made an evening walk to Kingston. On the 
 way witnessed another demonstration of " Merrie Eng- 
 land." On Ham Common there was another Fete 
 Champetre, of humbler pretensions, but rich and rampant 
 in rough fun. It was a regular Village Fair, looking 
 like a great Gipsy camp. Apparently there were more
 
 to Land's End and Back. 33 
 
 than a hundred vans, or large covered wagons drawn 
 up in streets, and a regiment of rustics extemporising 
 all kinds of sports, and music to match on all sorts of 
 instruments. It was all got up evidently for a big 
 frolic, though a small show of trade was kept up in 
 rows of stalls or rude tables covered with the queerest 
 complication of articles ever exposed for sale. These 
 were mostly of that description paraded at our old- 
 fashioned regimental musters in New England. They 
 were such as to tempt the eye and palate with imme- 
 diate enjoyment. Confectionery of the most fanciful 
 shapes and gaudy coloring predominated. Ginger 
 nuts, lemonade, dolls, dried herrings, tin soldiery, 
 pipes, cheese, and picture-books made up the main 
 staple of the business transactions along the line of 
 stands facing the road. It was already in the dusk 
 of the evening, and I could not stop to study this 
 ancient institution of common life in England as I 
 could have wished. But running my eye over it in 
 different directions, I came to the conclusion that it 
 was, pure and simple, one of the established merry- 
 makings of the country that have come down as heir- 
 looms of fun and frolic from past generations; that 
 the trade part of it was a mere pretence or an accident, 
 or at best an expedient by which one half of the rustic 
 frolickers sought to pay their way at the expense of
 
 34 A Walk from London 
 
 the other half. There was one feature of the Fair I 
 could not but notice especially. That was the large 
 number of photographic establishments on wheels 
 posted among the vans. Doubtless they had been 
 busy all day, doing the brown faces of rustic beaux 
 and belles, attitudinising, aspecting and trying, as 
 the finest ladies and gentlemen of the land always do, 
 to look as unnatural as possible before that mysterious 
 blunderbuss aimed at your face and eyes and loaded 
 with sun-lightning. Truly the sun is becoming a 
 painter of the million, and dispensing a world of cheap 
 but truthful artistry. The day may come when every 
 human face in a civilised country shall leave a dupli- 
 cate behind it ; and every faithful dog and donkey in 
 five shall do the same. 
 
 While yet in sight of the Fair grounds, I overtook 
 a couple of little boys who had spent the day on them. 
 The smallest of the two was quite fagged out with 
 the sports he had enjoyed. He was a little fellow 
 scarcely three feet high, and walked in the dusty road 
 with the hobbling step of a boy with bare feet over 
 the stiif stubble of a new-mown meadow. As I came 
 abreast, he turned up his small, round, red face at me, 
 and dabbing his hand to his forehead, asked the time 
 of day. So I walked with him all the way into Kings- 
 ton, and he gave me the happiest description of the
 
 to Land's End and Back. 35 
 
 day's fun, suiting the action to the word and the word 
 to the action, which is an improvement on Hamlet's 
 advice, which children alone might have taught that 
 unhappy philosopher. The animation with which he 
 pictured the scenes at the Fair in childhood's Saxon, 
 was charming. He had brought into the field three 
 ha'pennies, which he had earned by honest little 
 jobbings about home the previous week. He went 
 with his programme all made up before-hand, and he 
 had carried it out to the letter. He had spread the 
 value of his three ha'pennies over the whole day in 
 even bits of enjoyment. Two of them had gone for 
 cakes and confectionery, the other for a donkey-ride ; 
 and that was " such fun ! " From the Fair I led them 
 off by a question or two into their every-day sports. 
 The youngest was a little Izaak Walton in his way 
 and he entered into his feats with the fish-hook with 
 a vividness of description most interesting. As I bade 
 them good night, I could not but think what charm- 
 ing volumes could be made out of the thoughts and 
 talks of children taken by a short-hand writer in their 
 own language. For a whole hour these little bare- 
 footed youngsters took me back into the happiest 
 years of boyhood life. At an hour's distance from 
 the brilliant Fete at Twickenham, they led me back 
 
 through all the grave experiences of manhood, and 
 D 2
 
 36 A Walk from London 
 
 seated me, fishing-pole in hand, by a meadow brook- 
 bank in a New England village ; and I was looking 
 again with a boy's eyes and a boy's heart at the little 
 speckled fishes sporting in the stream. What a dew- 
 less Sahara would be the walk of life without the 
 companionship of children ! What a dull and mono- 
 tonous tune would be the best music of the world 
 without the treble of children's voices ! How slow 
 and heavy the pulse of human happiness without the 
 quick-breathing hopes, and thoughts and loves, and 
 faiths and fears of children ! 
 
 On reaching Kingston, and reviewing the incidents 
 and enjoyments of the day, I felt I had made a 
 pretty satisfactory beginning of my second Walk,
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 KINGSTON HAMPTON COURT WINDSOR AN HOUR IN THE CASTLE 
 ST. GEORGE'S CHAPEL : ITS MONUMENTS, THE QUEEN, PRINCE 
 ALBERT ; HIS CHARACTER AND MEMORY. 
 
 Q-STON is an old town famous in English 
 history. It is supposed that Caesar first 
 crossed the Thames here, defeating the 
 Britons on the opposite bank ; as the first practicable 
 ford is at this point. It is also said that the first 
 bridge across the river was constructed here by the 
 Romans under Claudius. They built a town here 
 called Thamesa, which the Saxons afterwards removed 
 and re-built under the name of Moreford, or the Great 
 Ford. After the invasion of the Danes, it was re- 
 built on its present site. In the year 838, Egbert, 
 first King of England, convened an assembly of bishops 
 and nobles to meet him in council at Kingston', thus 
 the little village planted and re-planted on the upper 
 Thames may be considered the fountain-head of the 
 parliaments of free peoples. Here Edward, Athelstane, 
 Edmund, Edred, Edwy, Edgar and Edward the
 
 38 A Walk from London 
 
 Martyr were crowned in the space of 75 years, from 
 901 to 975. The stone on which they sat has been 
 preserved with almost religious veneration. It stands 
 in the market place enclosed by an iron fence, and 
 is to town and nation, to a certain degree of interest, 
 what Plymouth Eock is to us. It is supposed by 
 many that the town was called Kingstone from this 
 circumstance. 
 
 Thursday, June 3rd. Besumed my walk westward, 
 and passed through Bushy Park to Hampton Court. 
 Here is a great national gallery for the people, opened 
 to them without a farthing's cost in a grand old palace 
 of vast extent. It must contain at least half an acre 
 of paintings, many of which are the works of the old 
 masters of all schools of art. In passing from room 
 to room lined with their productions, you seem to be 
 in the living, speaking parliament of the genius of 
 all modern ages. The language of their thoughts is 
 the same in this Pentecost of art; but uttered in 
 different accents and modulations of speech, which 
 distinguish the Elamites from the Parthians, and the 
 Greeks from the Jews. It is a parliament in which 
 the idiosyncracies, isms and osophies of race and nation, 
 and even the mental peculiarities of climate, are repre- 
 sented in a pleasant and instructive manner. Spain 
 and Holland look into each other's faces across the hall,
 
 to Land's End and Back. 39 
 
 as well as into your own, through the features, forms 
 and groups that hang framed against the walls. 
 France and Germany face each other with their 
 contrasts, and Italy puts in her soft speech of thought 
 between. The very names of the artists prepare you 
 for contrasts, before you have seen or compared their 
 paintings. Seat Reubens and Murillo before a living- 
 Venus de Medici with their easles and their best 
 ambition, and who would expect a family resemblance 
 between the pictures they produced ? Should we not 
 take it for granted that the Dutch painter would work 
 out his own second nature, and give the goddess a 
 couple of muscular arms that Samson might have 
 put around the pillars of the Philistines' temple to 
 pull it down upon their heads ? I have always thought 
 that it was an unfair suspicion, got up to save Reuben's 
 credit, that Dutch women and male and female babies 
 of his age were what he painted them. Had they sat 
 to an Italian artist as models, they would doubtless 
 have come out with a decent and equitable reputation 
 before the world. Still, these contrasts of perception, 
 barring the disparities of taste and executive skill, are 
 interesting, and should add a new feature of attraction 
 to a collection of paintings by the old masters of 
 different nations. 
 
 Hampton Court probably contains as many paintings
 
 40 A Walk from London 
 
 as New York city could muster, if it should put all 
 its public and private collections in one gallery. It 
 includes some of the best works of Benjamin West 
 and other American artists. Some of the historical 
 pieces are of a grand size, with groups of personages 
 nearly as large as life. One of these represents Greorge 
 III. on horseback, surrounded with generals in full 
 uniform, reviewing his troops. It gives him the most 
 intellectual countenance I ever saw put upon him, 
 and makes him look several inches more a king than 
 any other of his name or succession. The building is 
 made up in hollow squares, erected at different periods. 
 Only a portion of it is devoted to a public gallery; 
 the rest constitutes a residence and retreat for what 
 may be called the decayed aristocracy, and the wards 
 and pensioners of the Government, such as poor and 
 invalided generals and admirals and other officers in 
 the army and navy, or the widows and children of 
 those who have fallen in battle. The widow of the 
 celebrated Havelock, I believe, now occupies one of 
 these crown residences. The grounds are kept in 
 excellent condition, but are too continental in their 
 lines and angles to present the pleasant aspects of 
 which they are susceptible. They were first laid out 
 in a military age, when trees were made to " dress to 
 the right," and take marching order in double columns.
 
 to Land's End and Back. 41 
 
 Indeed, it will require a great while yet for Paxton 
 to oust Yauban and his taste and tactics from the 
 parks and public grounds in England. Here come 
 the common people of all trades, occupations and ages 
 from London and elsewhere. They flock up and down 
 the shaded walks, and saunter through the halls of 
 kings and queens, gazing at a furlong of paintings 
 hung from floor to ceiling in a suite of apartments, 
 including royal parlors, boudoirs and bed-rooms. And 
 not a farthing is paid or expected as a fee or gratuity 
 to any of the servants of the establishment for all this 
 enjoyment. Hat-tipping, beer-money and health- 
 offerings are strictly forbidden, and the whole privilege 
 and pleasure of the place are made as cheap as nature's 
 free-will gifts. 
 
 On leaving, I met several vans or large covered 
 wagons, full of men, women and children of the 
 working-classes, coming through Bushy Park, in a 
 bubbling stream of laughter and song. On the roof 
 of the wagon that led the van of the procession, a 
 band was seated with instruments of the most sonorous 
 brass, and they seemed to play a triumphal march to 
 a palace, once the abode of royalty in all its power 
 and grandeur, but now one of the play-grounds of the 
 people. I would advise American tourists to visit 
 Bushy Park about the middle of May, when its great
 
 42 A Walk from London 
 
 circus and avenues of horse-chesnuts are all in their 
 glory. It is then the finest floral sight they will 
 find in England. This park is only separated from 
 Hampton Court by a narrow public road ; and it is 
 said that one of the English queens wished to annex 
 it to the latter domain, with a little of the disposition 
 if not the deed of a famous queen of Israel in the 
 matter of a certain vineyard. On consulting her 
 prime minister and asking him how much the operation 
 would cost, he replied sententiously : " Only a crown, 
 your Majesty." Not having one to spare, she relin- 
 guished the speculation. She might have blocked 
 the whole gate-way of the Mediterranean with her 
 ships of war, but she could not close nor divert a mile 
 of public road running between these two parks. 
 
 Continued up the valley of the Thames to Windsor, 
 passing through Staines and several small villages 
 on the way. Saw a Titan-handed power planted by 
 the quiet river side, that showed off very strikingly 
 the muscular energies of this modern age. The 
 ancients gave to Neptune, the submarine rival of 
 Jupiter, a three-pronged fork called a trident, where- 
 with to spear whales or pitch up islands from the vasty 
 deep. But how little did that heathen deity of the 
 sea know of the element he claimed to rule! that the 
 water his steeds quaffed at a single draught, if turned
 
 to Land's End and Back. 43 
 
 into steam, would blow him up sky-high, chariot 
 and all ! In this staid and comfortable building by 
 the sunny side of the river, fronted with parterres of 
 flowers, there was that mysterious and mighty power 
 at work night and day, summer and winter. Its 
 slow, regular pulse would hardly number two beats 
 to the minute. You could feel and count them under 
 your feet for half-a-mile's distance, they so stirred 
 the earth. Neptune II. was at work under that 
 roof; a mighty and ingenious Titan. He had found out 
 the hidden force of his father's favorite element when 
 put to a boiling heat. He had beaten his father's clumsy 
 trident into an engine piston, and put one end of it 
 to the mouth of his great shaft-horse, and the monster, 
 with his hot vapor-breath, was blowing half the river 
 Thames over the hills and parks into London, to 
 supply the vast thirsty and dirty population with 
 cold water ! The dynamics of the operation are worth 
 thinking of still ; for they have not all been said or 
 sung. There they lie, side by side on the bank of the 
 river an ounce-bit of coal, a dew-drop, and a pail 
 of water; put algebraicaly thus, A+B = C x 10,000. 
 That is, put the ignited coal to the dew-drop, and 
 the dew-drop will lift the pail of water above the 
 dome of St. Paul's. What name and place among 
 their deities would the ancients have given to Steam, 
 if they had stumbled upon it as a power ?
 
 44 A Walk from London 
 
 In this, first week of June, haying had commenced, 
 and the mowers were at work in many fields of clover 
 in the valley or rather hottom lands of the Thames, 
 for, in several long reaches, there are not hills enough 
 in sight to make a valley proper. The grand old castle 
 of Windsor burst suddenly into view within a few 
 miles of the town. It began to rain just before I 
 reached it; so that I had to seek from under my 
 umbrella the oldest, oddest, and quaintest inn that 
 could be found, as it ever has been my wont on these 
 walks. I hunted out one in a back street, which 
 looked as if it did business in Falstaff's day, and 
 perhaps served him with sack and ale. This imagi- 
 nation seasoned the entertainment I received with a 
 pleasant relish, and I greatly enjoyed it. Sir John 
 Falstaff and Sancho Panza! How strange that the 
 airiest fictions of genius should overtop and survive 
 the tallest and stoutest facts in real, honest, human 
 history! Did all the annals of British knighthood 
 from wild Arthur's day to Elizabeth's produce a name, 
 really worn by a living man, that will reach within a 
 thousand years of the memory's end of Jack Falstaff ! 
 " Don't pitch that hay so like Sancho Panza ! " shouts 
 a red-faced farmer on the Connecticut river, as the 
 forkfuls come up too thick and fast to him while 
 loading his cart in the meadow. What does he
 
 to Land's End and Back. 45 
 
 know of Sancho Panza? Just nothing at all, except 
 a name that has inundated the civilised world with 
 its fame, and will float on the memory of all coming 
 generations. Put the popular memories of all the 
 Spanish kings, queens, and high dons into one indi- 
 vidual reputation, and it would not equal the living, 
 almost universal thought of that unique being of 
 Cervantes' brain. Truth is stranger than fiction, says 
 the proverb. Truth is stronger than fiction, says a 
 higher authority. Then what gives these fictions of 
 fancy such solid stature and over-powering life over 
 the standard facts of authentic and eventful history ? 
 This is it, doubtless their vraisemblance. They are 
 truer than facts, as the ideals the million seek when 
 looking for standards of human character they can 
 fully admire, whether as kings, queens, heroes, heroines, 
 patriots, lovers, sages, or clowns. If these imperso- 
 nations did never really exist in flesh and blood, so 
 much the worse for flesh and blood. They ought to 
 have existed, and the million make them exist in 
 their belief as living facts. Thus the ideals become 
 truer than the reals to the popular mind. Here, for 
 instance, are the two in vivid juxta-position. Here are 
 two Windsors, one built by a long race of kings, 
 the other by William Shakespeare, a humble architect 
 in his day who modelled a good many structures on
 
 46 A Walk from London 
 
 the banks of the quiet Avon at Stratford. Now go 
 to America, or Australia, and say accidentally in any 
 company of reading people, that you have visited 
 Windsor, and, ten to one, Shakespeare's will have 
 the first thought in the minds of three-fourths of 
 your audience. IJen will think of Falstaff where one 
 thinks of George the Fourth. Dame Quickly will 
 have as many chances to one of the first remem- 
 brance against Queen Anne. What a sublime, brain- 
 begotten world of these creations fills the space between 
 Homer and Tennyson ! If all the stars that human 
 genius has mounted over this expanse were quenched, 
 how dark would it be to our eyes ! If all the standard 
 characters it has planted by the pathways of the 
 past were cut down to the real, absolute stature of 
 the men who have lived and acted in the simple 
 chronicles of history, how many guide-lights and guide- 
 lives would be lost to the march of Humanity ! But 
 no more of that now. 
 
 The next was a rainy day, and I could not go to 
 Virginia Water and explore the great park, so I 
 confined my sight-seeing to the Castle. It is in itself 
 a little walled town, with a small cathedral in the 
 centre, surrounded by blocks, squares, rows and cres- 
 cents of buildings of as varied size, aspect, and use, 
 as a common village presents. It is built on a bluff
 
 to Land's End and Back. 47 
 
 quite elevated by nature and raised higher still by 
 art and labor. The massive walls on the river side 
 are lofty, and the towers at different angles are very 
 imposing. The keep or donjon is a huge, round tower, 
 arising out of a vast, conical earthwork, and stands 
 by itself. It is surmounted by a turret, on which is 
 planted a flagstaff bearing the royal standard unfurled 
 when the Queen is at Windsor. The view from the 
 battlements of this central tower is truly grand as well 
 as extensive. The vast pile, constituting and called 
 The Castle, is the concrete work of eight hundred 
 years of British royalty. Every king and queen in 
 the long muster-roll of English sovereigns added 
 something a wall, a town, a chapel, or some monu- 
 ment. William the Conqueror first built here and 
 there a hunting-box in these wild woods ; then on this 
 eminence, overlooking a vast sweep of country, he 
 planted the nucleus of this castle-burg in the foundation 
 of the great central keep. His sons, all the Henrys, 
 the Edwards, Jameses, Charleses, and Georges, added 
 their contingents, as did the Hebrews under Nehe- 
 miah to the walls and towers of Jerusalem. Here 
 kings and queens were born, married, and buried. 
 Hence the royal histories of the British Empire radiate, 
 and hither they converge. The luminous haze of 
 centuries of romance and legendary chivalry halo this
 
 48 A Walk from London 
 
 high place of kinghood and knighthood. The outside 
 face of its walls registers the rising tide of English 
 civilization through a score of ages, the slow trans- 
 formation of religious and political institutions, the 
 gradual upgrowth of the British Constitution and the 
 rights and recognitions it brought in with it at 
 different stages of its development. Here lived James 
 II., and Charles I., and Cromwell, not divided from 
 each other by long intervals of time, but sundered 
 like the poles in ideas that have shaken the world 
 in their struggle for the mastery. It is a wonderful, 
 grand junction station of the ages past and present ; 
 a castellated palace of the illustrious living and the 
 illustrious dead. You will not find its like in the 
 wide world for this remarkable blending. It is 
 impressive to sit under the lofty and ornate arches 
 of Westminster Abbey during a sabbath service ; to 
 hear the organ notes and the voice of prayer and 
 praise filling the chapel tombs and flooding the 
 monumental statuary of that august mausoleum of 
 the mighty dead. It is a sight which a thoughtful 
 man will carry in his memory for a life-time to see 
 the grand marble faces of Chatham, Pitt, Canning, 
 Peel, and the life-size statues of English heroes and 
 sages turned serenely towards the pulpit, as if listening 
 reverentially to the preacher's words, while a flash
 
 to Land's End and Back. 49 
 
 of light through the colored glass suffuses those 
 familiar features, giving to them the old speaking 
 expression they wore ere those lips were transferred to 
 marble. Westminster, the French Pantheon and other 
 sepulchral domes in which the most precious dust of 
 nations is treasured, are centres of grand histories and 
 associations at which the present may kneel devoutly 
 on the tomb of the past and pray for a better future for 
 mankind. But they are not the permanent abodes of 
 living royalty, like Windsor; and this makes a striking 
 distinction between them. The St. George's Chapel 
 under which so many kings, queens, princes, princesses, 
 and persons of noble and gentle lineage lie, is as much 
 a part of the great regal establishment as the Bound 
 Tower itself. The gilded salons of the palace and 
 the ornate tombs of the dead are but a slight space 
 apart. They constitute respective apartments of a 
 family residence fitted up for all the inseparable con- 
 ditions of humanity, for the highest man can attain 
 on earth while living, and the best in the low and 
 even ranks of mortality when his life is ended. 
 
 Graphic and florid descriptions of St. George's 
 Chapel are so multiplied and so familiar to reading 
 Americans that I will not venture to add to or draw 
 from the abundant guide-book information in reference 
 to the building. In London there is the celebrated
 
 50 A Walk from London 
 
 Church of the Knights Templars. This gorgeous 
 royal chapel might be called the Church of the Grarter 
 Knights. The whole length of the choir on each side, 
 and the throne end of it, are hung with the insignia 
 of that order, which seems, at the very outset, to have 
 sprung into the highest titular rank in Europe. Its 
 very origin and existence prove the truth of the old 
 proverb reversed, that it is only a step from the 
 ridiculous to the sublime as well as vice versa. Here 
 is an order of Knighthood founded not upon heroic 
 feats or sayings of the Coeur-de-Lion or other English 
 sovereigns in the Crusades, but upon an incident which 
 every one laughs at when it is related, as all who 
 witnessed it laughed at the time in spite of both the 
 presence and reproof of royalty. Indeed, the mem- 
 orable words uttered by the prince, which furnish the 
 motto of the order, seem to anticipate and reprove a 
 smile at his naiveU even down to the present time. 
 No incident more irresistibly visible could well have 
 happened in any circle of society, noble, gentle or 
 common. "Honi y soit qui mal y pense " undoubtedly 
 was a sentiment which the distinguished company 
 accepted from the lips of the blushing prince as he 
 picked up the immortal garter and presented it to the 
 fair owner ; but the saying did not meet the case. It 
 was not the evil but the oddity of the thing that pro-
 
 to Land's End and Back. 51 
 
 voked the smile" which his impromptu axiom did not 
 parry nor prevent. Thus formed, the order soon 
 overtopped every other institution of its kind in 
 Christendom. Not only English kings, princes, dukes 
 and high nobility have coveted its insignia and worn 
 them with pride, hut foreign sovereigns have aspired 
 to the distinction and given its blushing honors a 
 high place among their grandeurs when won. Among 
 the continental monarchs who donned "the ribbon" 
 in their day, the names of the Emperor Sigismund, 
 Charles V., and Francis I. of France, are engraven 
 in brass plates at the back of the stalls they occupied. 
 More than 500 years have elapsed since the order 
 was first instituted, and it promises to go down to 
 the last ages of the world. I believe there are twenty- 
 seven of these stalls, and probably not one of them has 
 remained vacant for a year since the founder's day. 
 No vacated seat in Parliament is sought by more 
 candidates than is one of these high-backed chairs in 
 St. Greorge's Chapel by the highest peers of the realm. 
 The premier duke touches the ribbon as if it were the 
 next best thing to a diadem. The choir, therefore, 
 presents an appearance which, if not anticipated on 
 entering, would excite a wonder and an impression in 
 many American minds which might not take a reverent 
 direction. I am afraid many an honest and pious 
 
 E2
 
 52 A Walk from London 
 
 backwoodsman at his first glance would think he had 
 got into a gorgeous temple dedicated to the worship 
 of Egyptian deities. On each side he would see a long 
 row of little flags projected out from the wall by steel- 
 pointed poles, bearing the images of a remarkable 
 variety of beasts and birds in the most singular atti- 
 tudes, whether devouring or devotional he would be 
 puzzled to decide. He would see lions by the scores 
 standing on hind legs half as large as their bodies, 
 pawing upwards and seemingly trying to say some- 
 thing, which is guessed at and written in Latin below. 
 Then there are duck-billed eagles and vultures looking 
 like doves, and doves with hawks' necks and beaks, 
 and other birds in different stages of transmigration ; 
 and he will wonder if Noah took any such things into 
 the ark with him. Then there are human limbs that 
 have seceded from the main body and are performing 
 extraordinary feats on the footing of the freest inde- 
 pendence. There are three legs playing in one knee 
 joint, like three opposite spokes in a wheel-hub, with 
 a large-sized foot to each ; and they are in the act of 
 turning a somerset and boasting in Latin that they 
 will stand right side up whichever way they are thrown. 
 Then there is a great show of daggers, drops of blood, 
 briers and bramble ; so that altogether there is an" 
 exhibition of symbols which would puzzle a plain
 
 to Land's End and Back. 53 
 
 American republican as much as the hieroglyphics on 
 Cleopatra's Needle. 
 
 Still there is really Christian worship performed in 
 this choir daily; a Christian creed is said in reverent 
 voice, and Christian hymns and psalms are sung, and 
 words of Christian faith and hope are uttered under 
 the strange canopy of these heathen types and shadows 
 of a by-gone age. I attended the service in the after- 
 noon, and felt it to be earnest and impressive. The 
 audience was composed mostly of persons belonging 
 to the royal household or living in the castle buildings, 
 including several of the superannuated officers of the 
 army called Military Knights. Very few were present 
 from outside the walls, perhaps on account of the rain. 
 I never heard the church service read with more distinct 
 and well-modulated elocution ; and fancied that the 
 clergyman had trained himself to read before the 
 Queen, who is one of the best judges of a performance 
 in which she pre-eminently excels. An incident 
 occurred which seemed to heighten the contrasts 
 which the place and occasion suggested. Two coal- 
 heavers came in accoutred as they were at their work. 
 They were stalwart men in well-worn fustian, with 
 grave, honest faces, tanned and furrowed and cross- 
 furrowed with lines of care and toil and hard experience 
 in this life. They did not come out of curiosity ; they
 
 54 -A Walk from London 
 
 seldom raised their eyes to the overhanging banners, 
 or to the grand windows, or carvings in stone or wood; 
 but fixed them steadfastly on the clergyman when 
 he read, and on the singers when they sang. At the 
 prayers, they knelt devoutly, turning the iron-shod 
 soles of their heavy shoes outward towards the stall of 
 one of the princes of the blood. What a variety of 
 kneelers had bent their faces to that marble floor over 
 the space of 500 years ! There was the altar at which 
 kings and queens knelt with the vows of wedlock on 
 their lips. There was the font at which they knelt 
 when the infant heirs of their estate were baptized. 
 There was the slab that covered the mouth of the 
 tombs below, and how many kneelers had bent them- 
 selves around that door in the pavement when it opened 
 for some one brought, in all the pomp and circumstance 
 of royal grief, to be laid among the titled sleepers of 
 other centuries ! Sometimes one was brought with 
 the head and body severed by the axe ; a head that 
 had worn a crown in all the divine right of Kings and 
 Queens. Poor Jane Seymour was brought here in 
 that way, with virtues enough to make a saint ; while 
 Henry YIIL with crimes enough to hang a common 
 sinner, wore his haughty head down into this palace- 
 chamber of the dead. The contrasts deepen as we 
 descend. One cold winter's day, a coffin was brought
 
 to Land's End and Back. 55 
 
 in here, with its pall covered with snow. The mourn- 
 ers were few and silent. There was a stern embargo 
 on their tears, for it was near to treason to weep for 
 the dead. The same authority had sealed the lips of 
 prayer at the tomb's dark mouth, even for the father- 
 less children left by him who lay in the coffin. The 
 bishop's lips moved with a supplicatory motion, but 
 an iron hand, he could not unclasp nor soften, grasped 
 the Prayer-Book of the Church of England, and 
 allowed no word therein written to be uttered aloud 
 over the bier of Charles I. On another winter's day, 
 two centuries later, to this door-way, opening down- 
 ward to the silent companionship below, one was 
 brought for whom more genuine wet tears of sorrow 
 fell than were ever shed for all the English sovereigns 
 that preceded him to the grave since the Norman 
 Conquest. He did not in his life-time wear a crown 
 himself; but the great world crowned Tn'm with a 
 diadem that outshines the lustre of a hundred that 
 have been worn by royal brows in Europe. The 
 sound of his coffin on the floor told off the first 
 millennium of England's history. It measured the 
 space of a thousand years between two great crownings; 
 distinguished by coincidences of happy augury. 
 Each belonged to the good old order of the Saxon 
 A /-men, wearing in this prefix, even, "the meaning
 
 56 A Walk 'from London 
 
 of a noble nature." This was given each at the font. 
 At the tomb a great nation, in its love and homage, gave 
 them their titles, both so high and even that they do "but 
 make one lustre," and yet they differ as the stars in glory; 
 they differ as do wide-severed ages and their standards 
 of worth. Parents christen their children at the font. 
 Nations christen theirs at the tomb, when the day and 
 deed of life are done ; and the naming and the crowning 
 they make them there and then live and shine among 
 the great immortalities of human memory. The space 
 of a thousand years divides the tomb-fonts of ALFRED 
 THE (TREAT and ALBERT THE GOOD. It is a great space 
 in time ; it is equally great in the moral progress and 
 perceptions of mankind. Not sooner, perhaps, had he 
 lived, could a prince have been crowned " THE GTOOD." 
 Not sooner, perhaps, could even the life of a Prince Albert 
 have instituted that new and noble order of Knighthood, 
 and inaugurated a new age of human distinctions as 
 well as history. What shall be its device, its emblem ? 
 Not the Rose, White or Red. Not either ; for both are 
 red with the blush of a guilty history of violence and 
 wrong. Let Tennyson decide and choose what breath- 
 ing beauty, of native birth and blossom, shall best 
 symbol " The Flower of a blameless life." 
 
 It would require a day to see studiously and well 
 the monuments of dead history and the statuary erected
 
 to Land's End and Back. 57 
 
 to more fortunate memories in St. George's Chapel. 
 Sculptors and carvers in stone, wood and brass have 
 filled the edifice with the work of centuries of genius, 
 labor and skill; niching the progress of their arts 
 from age to age. It is instructive and interesting to 
 look at their works in this aspect and estimation ; and 
 to see and feel that even high art is slowly emerg- 
 ing from the classical heathenism of " the Ancients," 
 and getting into the light of Christian truthfulness 
 and into better perceptions and proprieties of civilized 
 society. The progress in this direction has been most 
 marked and hopeful in the last ten years. I am not 
 sure that even now a sculptor, of American daring, 
 who had swallowed the whole age of Pericles whole, 
 would venture to give us another half-naked Washing- 
 ton, as a kind of marble manikin, set up for anatomical 
 students of muscular paganism. This is promising ; 
 this is full of auspicious significance ; this shows a 
 growing perception of the fact, that there is something 
 better in the world's great men than Herculean 
 Anatomy to be looked at or thought of ; that it is 
 indecorous to make them do longer service in statuary 
 which should be confined to Physiological Museums. 
 One might think that it would stimulate to new 
 ambition and effort those now aspiring to earn a statue 
 in marble, to know that they would not be set up in a
 
 58 A Walk from London 
 
 heathen dress or undress which they would have been 
 ashamed of when alive, but in the clothes they wore 
 when they were saying the great words and doing 
 the great deeds that won for them the admiration and 
 gratitude of their country and race. I believe Peel 
 has escaped the chisel of the Greeks in every encounter 
 with their genius. So far as I know, he stands in 
 his statues just as he stood at the helm of the English 
 Government in days of trial ; just as he stood in the 
 House of Commons when uttering the grand words 
 which few can read now with dry eyes, about untaxed 
 bread and the grateful remembrance he hoped from 
 the poor. The plain English clothes he wore at these 
 sublime moments of his life, the sculptor thought, 
 or somebody else thought who guided the sculptor's 
 will, were good enough to put on his marble statue. 
 I am confident that no one has yet dared to pedestal 
 the form of Prince Albert as a Greek athlete, or a 
 Eoman gladiator, or put it in any unchristian dress 
 that would have " pierced him like a shame " to stand 
 in by the side of England's Queen before the great 
 men of the nation. Perhaps his chaste and cultivated 
 taste did much towards bringing in this new, Christian 
 Era of Art. You see its rule in the newest and best 
 sculpture of the day. Sir Charles Napier, in St. Paul's, 
 might have stood to the sculptor in the very "regi-
 
 to Land's End and Back. 59 
 
 mentals" he wore at the head of his army. Hallam, of 
 the Middle Ages, stands in marble a well-dressed 
 English gentleman, with a white cravat folded and 
 fastened naturally about the neck, and enwrapped in 
 a cloak no more Roman than the one Harrison Gray 
 Otis used to wear in Fanuiel Hall. Thus hereafter 
 the very children will know without asking that the 
 statues they see of statesmen, sages and heroes stand 
 for men of their own country, and do not belong to 
 a pagan age or land. We shall not hear those rough- 
 and-ready critiques which even uncultivated working 
 men are often heard to pronounce on works of art, 
 which should make the sculptor or the painter blush. 
 We shall not overhear one say while looking at 
 Greenough's statue of Washington, before the Capitol : 
 " It looks like Hercules putting on a clean shirt ; " 
 nor a critique equally just on the statue of Dr. Johnson 
 in St. Paul's, that "it looks like Hercules squaring 
 at Samson." 
 
 This little royal cathedral, like all the great 
 cathedrals in England, of course was erected under 
 the Eoman Catholic regime, and retains all the 
 internal arrangements common to that system. It 
 is full of little private chapels devoted to the tombs or 
 monuments of royal personages, bishops, nobles, and 
 men and women of high estate. They are generally
 
 60 A Walk from London 
 
 erected against the interior walls of the building, being 
 partitioned off by carved work of the finest elaboration. 
 As no American who has never seen them in Europe 
 can have formed any clear idea of their structure and 
 appearance, it may help him to the best he can obtain 
 without sight, to imagine a number of bed-rooms con- 
 structed along the walls of the church for the repose 
 of men and women in marble, who lie, as large as 
 life, on an altar-looking couch of stone, carved with 
 all the taste, genius, and skill the sculptor could give 
 to the work. Sometimes not only a man and his 
 wife, but a whole family may be seen l}~ing, " as 
 thick as three in a bed," side by side, with serene 
 and solemn faces, with their cold, stone eyes looking 
 upward, and with uplifted hands clasped as in prayer. 
 Sometimes the ceiling of the chapel overhead is drawn 
 up in the form of a canopy, wrought in every fancy 
 of leaf and flower-work, while the door, walls and 
 windows resemble lace-work curtains done in stone 
 as delicately by the carver's chisel as a piece of 
 embroidery. The genius, the labor, the wealth and 
 religious enthusiasm expended on these chapels are 
 astonishing. Every device, symbol, allegory, style, 
 and taste possible to the human imagination seems 
 to have been brought into full and fervid play by 
 the designer and sculptor, if they were not one and
 
 to Land's End and Back. 61 
 
 the same artist. Here the relatives and friends of 
 the deceased were expected, and professional priests 
 hired, to come and pray for the peace of the departed 
 spirits of the personages thus represented. In many 
 cases, the little forms of relatives, mostly children, 
 are seen kneeling at the feet of the prostrate effigies, 
 clasping their hands in prayer, with their eyes directed 
 upwards with a visible expression of devotion. Crom- 
 well and his soldiers, and earlier reformers of the sledge 
 hammer-school, made sad work with the noses,. fingers 
 and toes of hundreds of these marble effigies in 
 different parts of the country, and many a bishop's 
 chapel served as a stable for a trooper's horse, and 
 the altar-couch of his mutilated statue as a manger. 
 They did a good deal of that sort of work in this 
 church ; especially upon a grand monument which 
 Cardinal "Wolsey designed and commenced for himself 
 on the usual scale of his showy magnificence, and 
 which yielded the Parliamentarians 600 worth of 
 old brass. 
 
 There are several monuments in this interesting 
 edifice which will attract the especial attention of 
 the American visitor. The last English king with 
 whom we had anything to do as an acknowleged 
 sovereign was George III. And, notwithstanding 
 all the trouble he made us and we made him, his
 
 62 A Walk from London 
 
 memory generally comes uppermost and first when 
 there is reference to the crowned heads of England 
 of a past generation. I do not think that the 
 American people really hated him in the very middle 
 of the Revolutionary War, but even retained a sort 
 of traditional respect for him after the conflict was 
 ended. Many of our old people can remember when 
 the saying was frequently used as a measurement of 
 perfection, even in regard to articles of food and 
 drink, such as buckwheat cakes, pumpkin-pies, egg- 
 nog and brandy-flip : " It is good enough for King 
 Greorge." Besides, there is a kind of social relation- 
 ship between representative opponents of long standing, 
 so that Greorge Washington and Greorge III. were 
 two great antagonistic Greorges who were brought 
 together a good deal in the same thought of the 
 American mind. His form and memory, of all English 
 sovereigns, stand nearest to us, on the very edge of 
 the first rift made in the Anglo-Saxon race. Thus 
 an American of thoughtful mind will pause at the 
 family tomb of Greorge III., and feel the humanity 
 of a common nature softening in him, as he reads the 
 long record of his fatherhood and the names of the chil- 
 dren that preceded him and followed him to the grave. 
 The statue and monument of Field Marshal Harcourt 
 will also possess no little interest to the American
 
 to Land's End and Back. 63 
 
 visitor, who will be struck with the fact that the 
 only exploit recorded in the marble tablet as the distin- 
 guishing deed of this nobleman, was his daring feat 
 of capturing the rash and reckless American General 
 Charles Lee, with a squad of a dozen troopers. 
 
 There are two monuments, erected to the memory 
 of two members of the royal family, which in their 
 way represent two schools of art, and two classes 
 of taste and design very remarkably. The first, in 
 order of execution, is a group of figures representing 
 the transfiguration and assumption of the Princess 
 Charlotte, who died in 1817. It is the largest, most 
 pretentious and elaborate piece of sculpture in England. 
 It represents the body of the princess lying covered 
 with a sheet-veil on her couch, and as lifeless as a 
 human form could be made to appear in marble. At 
 each corner of the bed a female figure, in life-size, 
 is bending in all the prostration and abandon of grief. 
 These forms are veiled in a long, thin drapery, which 
 reveals every feature the artist conceived to be graceful. 
 Above the prostrate body, many feet, the spirit of 
 the deceased princess is represented as ascending to 
 heaven in a form blending the Virgin Mary and 
 the classical Venus, and looking, for all the world, 
 as if she were to resume in paradise, if not to perform 
 on the way, the maternal duties so soon interrupted
 
 64 A Walk from London 
 
 on earth. A marble angel, as large as life, bearing 
 her infant child in his arms, is accompanying her up 
 through the golden light which pours in from above 
 through colored glass arranged to produce the effect. 
 It is an elaborate and well-sustained effort to engraft 
 Christian ideas upon the heathen stock of Grecian 
 mythology. The effort is sustained, but the result 
 is not a success. Indeed, the incongruities in the 
 blending seem to border upon the profane, and to 
 stir up queer and irreverent thoughts in the mind 
 of the spectator, which in itself proves the effort a 
 failure. In the first place, the impersonated spirit 
 is too large for the body by a half, and one thinks 
 that their positions should be reversed; the spirit 
 being put to bed and the body, so much the smallest 
 of the two, being put on the way to heaven with 
 the angel and the child. Many other physical and 
 moral discrepancies arrest the eye and mind, and 
 produce an impression that is not profitable "at the 
 grave of departed worth." Still, it ranks among 
 the grandest conceptions and achievements of that 
 classical school of sculpture which we have already 
 noticed at some length. 
 
 In beautiful and almost touching contrast with this 
 ostentatious group of Christian and pagan miscege- 
 nation, is a chaste, modest, but exquisitely-wrought
 
 to Land's End and Back. 65 
 
 monument bearing this inscription : " Erected by 
 Queen Victoria as a tribute of respect and affection 
 to her beloved Aunt, Mary Duchess of Gloucester, 
 A.D. 1859." Not one in a thousand of our American 
 people ever saw an English church or a specimen of 
 English monumental statuary. So I must employ 
 very simple and homely figures to convey, especially 
 to the younger portion of my American readers, a 
 clear idea even of the commonest forms of the 
 monuments in this country. This erected by Queen 
 Victoria to the memory of her Aunt Mary, resembles 
 in size and shape a large chest, about six feet in length, 
 three in height and two in width. The lid or cover 
 is one piece of variegated marble, called serpentine, 
 which is to English marbles what our birds-eye maple 
 is to American woods, when polished to the highest 
 lustre. The figure of a cross several feet in length, 
 and entwined with the rose, thistle and shamrock, 
 emblems of the three kingdoms, is formed in this lid 
 or cover with enamel work of exquisite execution. 
 The front and ends of the monument are of the whitest 
 marble, and the inscriptions are enclosed in panels 
 of the serpentine with mosaic borders, and each panel 
 is embellished with the arms of England worked in 
 with the finest taste and skill. Just above, in what 
 might stand for a back-board or head-board of this
 
 66 A Walk from London 
 
 altar-shaped tomb, four little groups are cut in marble 
 so perfectly that all the figures stand out in the full 
 rotundity of life, like those seen in stereoscopic views. 
 They are designed as the epitaph of the deceased 
 duchess. They are the letters in which her character 
 was to be read by the spectator. They were the 
 syllables which were to sum up her life. What a 
 contrast with the conceits of a heathen philosophy, 
 however well put by the sculptor! How like the 
 language of the purest immortals of the highest heaven 
 compared with the royalest hieroglyphics in Egyptian 
 obelisks ! There were four sentences cut in the stone over 
 the monument, which translated the welcome addressed 
 to the righteous back into the real actions which it 
 described and rewarded. There was a beautiful and 
 delicate thought in it. I wondered if the Queen or 
 Prince Albert himself, whose mind was perceptible in it, 
 really grasped all the minute threads of its significance. 
 The life-words cut so deep and clear did not repeat 
 the " Come ye blessed " in literal language ; but, 
 with a faith that seemed lifted to a high and steady 
 reach, they appeared to claim it from the lips the 
 Father commissioned to utter it. For the four groups 
 represented the four great works of Christian love 
 on which He pronounced the " "Well done," and the 
 " Welcome." The first portrayed the act of " Clothing
 
 to Land's End and Back. 67 
 
 the naked;" the second, "Giving bread to the hungry;" 
 the third, " Taking in the weary ; " the fourth, " Visit- 
 ing the sick and in prison." Each of these groups 
 contains quite a number of figures as full of the life 
 and expression of the action represented as the sculptor 
 could give to them. In contrasting the tastes, mental 
 perceptions and heart-thoughts symbolised and sug- 
 gested by this modest and beautiful monument with 
 the great and flaring allegories embodied and unbodied 
 by the statuary dedicated to the Princess Charlotte, 
 I was impressed more deeply than ever with the 
 advantage which this new Christian School of Art 
 possesses over the old classical regime of a by-gone age. 
 
 An interesting volume might be written on the 
 history of this royal chapel and the relics it contains. 
 But I shall never reach Land's End if I dwell longer 
 upon them ; so will pass on into the Castle proper. 
 
 The State Apartments, to which people are admitted 
 when the Queen is absent, include a large number 
 of rooms of different names, sizes and uses, several of 
 which are called after painters of great celebrity, and 
 hung with their works. Thus it may be said, much 
 to the credit of those artists and of their royal patrons, 
 that they have " taken apartments " in Windsor Castle 
 and become inmates with the royal family. There 
 is the " Vandyke Room," containing twenty- two portraits 
 
 F2
 
 68 A Walk front London 
 
 by that great master, a larger number of his works 
 than any other gallery in the world can boast. Then 
 there is the "Reubens Room" devoted entirely to the 
 productions of his tremendous brush ; of whom it 
 may be said, never man painted like that man, and 
 never man dare to do it hereafter, if he could. While 
 looking at many of his stupendous libels on the 
 human form, suspended in different galleries, I have 
 wondered if his reputation could possibly last through 
 another generation. If such an anachronism could 
 happen and a Reubens Junior arise, a perfect dupli- 
 cate of the great Dutch artist, would Sir E. Eastlake 
 allow him the entree of the Royal Academy for his 
 best pictures ? Doubtful ! Sheer coloring is certainly 
 a great thing in a painter's reputation. It is so in 
 a raw round of Christmas beef. 
 
 One of the very finest things in the whole collection 
 is the famous picture of the Misers, by Qmntin Matsys, 
 the Blacksmith of Antwerp, who won by it the fair 
 daughter of a celebrated artist, who fancied he had 
 estopped the suit of the captivated knight of the 
 hammer by barring it with a condition which a less 
 daring and chivalrous lover would hardly have at- 
 tempted to conquer. When he said to the young man, 
 "Paint a picture like that and you shall have her," 
 . he thought he had set her upon one of the loftiest
 
 to Land's End and Back. 69 
 
 cloud-tops, to which the enamorated aspirant would 
 never essay to climb. But he did climb, nevertheless, 
 glorious fellow that he was and reached her too, 
 and her proud father, prouder still at the giving, 
 gave him both bride and blessing ; and the world cried 
 hurrah ! In the whole history of chivalry, you will 
 hardly find a better thing ; and this picture, by which 
 the Antwerp Blacksmith climbed to his bride and his 
 bright reputation as an artist, is well worthy the place 
 it has in the Queen's Closet in Windsor Castle. 
 
 Every apartment opened to visitors is a gallery of 
 paintings of the most distinguished artists. This is 
 an interesting feature of the generous spirit of the 
 establishment. Here any well-behaved person, rich 
 or poor, old or young, may come, when the Queen 
 is away, and look their fill at her costliest treasures 
 of art, and those collected at immense expense by all 
 the sovereigns who have inhabited the Castle from 
 the first, rudest days of painting. The Grand Dining- 
 room is truly a magnificent apartment, large enough 
 to accommodate a host ; and if the long table is ever 
 fully lined, with guests for every seat, it must some- 
 times dine a host. I was pleased to learn a fact, of 
 hopeful augury, connected with this great hall. It 
 was first dedicated to the memory of the bloodiest 
 battle ever fought between England and France ; to
 
 70 A Walk from London 
 
 the commemoration of the most brilliant victory that 
 ever brought to the brow of a victorious nation a 
 fifty-year's shade of unrest, suspicion, and fear. Up 
 to the time of the Emperor Louis Napoleon's visit, 
 it was called the Waterloo Chamber, when, out of 
 generous respect to the head of the French nation, 
 it was re-christened with a name of more Christian 
 and hospitable associations. It is however decorated 
 with the portraits of the leading persons who figured 
 in the long wars that terminated at Waterloo, including 
 foreign sovereigns, ministers, ambassadors, generals, 
 admirals, &c. In St. George's Hall there are full 
 length portraits of the last eleven sovereigns, beginning 
 with James I., by Vandyke, and ending with Greorge 
 IY., by Lawrence. Allowing a little for the court 
 courtesy of painters laureate, these portraits may be 
 taken to be the best "counterfeit presentments" of 
 these eleven Kings and Queens that can be found ; 
 and it will be interesting to an American to see the 
 kind of faces worn by a line of English sovereigns 
 running the whole length of our history, and ten of 
 whom our forefathers honored with the homage of 
 loyal subjects. 
 
 The Grand Chamber is a museum of ancient armor, 
 containing many curious and interesting illustrations 
 of history and national customs. Among these is
 
 to Land's End and Back. 71 
 
 the celebrated shield presented by Francis I. to Henry 
 VIII., at the famous meeting of those two sovereigns 
 on the Field of the Cloth of Gold. England then 
 numbered a population nearly equal to that of New 
 York State to-day ; and yet was reckoned among the 
 very first Powers in Europe. A piece of the mast of 
 the Victory, perforated by a cannon ball at Trafalgar, 
 serves as a pedestal for the bust of Nelson, "supported" 
 on the right and left by busts of Wellington and Marl- 
 borough. And here I learned an interesting fact 
 connected with the tenure by which these celebrated 
 war-dukes held their estates. And it was this : that 
 they and their heirs should renew their banners, 
 suspended over their busts, on the anniversaries of 
 the victories for which the country gave them the 
 domains of Blenheim and Strathfieldsaye. So, every 
 year a new flag has to be put up over each of the 
 busts of these great warriors, as an annual tribute of 
 acknowledgment to the nation's generosity on the 
 part of their heirs and successors. 
 
 On the whole, a person passing through the royal 
 apartments of the Castle, would think it was built for 
 the painters of all ages and countries, and that the 
 residence therein of kings and queens was a secondary 
 and incidental circumstance. It contains a vast 
 number of works of art of the finest genius ; as well
 
 72 A Walk from London 
 
 as relics illustrating many centuries of English history. 
 Indeed, a small library of books might be written out 
 of the actual records of this Castle-palace, and they 
 would read like romances. The lives, sayings, doings, 
 and the chequered experiences of the involuntary 
 guests of the Bound Tower would fill volumes with 
 all the interest that attaches to the ages and histories 
 of chivalry. In this donjon. Scotch kings, French 
 marshals, English nobles and personages of high 
 position were imprisoned. Here old war-beaten 
 generals, like Earl Surrey, gazed down through grated 
 windows at fair faces looking up to them with the 
 silent but far-reaching speech of speaking eyes ; and 
 hands, rough and hard with the wear of war's weapons, 
 wrote soft rhymes at night in cells on the life and 
 beauty of woman's love. 
 
 The unsparing hand of "modern improvement" has 
 done its work upon Windsor Castle with characteristic 
 vigor of innovation. Nearly all the individual tide-marks 
 of history on its outer walls have been white-washed 
 out, or effaced by the trowel of the new-school mason. 
 The successive layers of the ages have been all 
 smoothed over ; and one cleanly-shaven face put 
 upon them all. George IV., with the tastes that 
 distinguished his school of architecture, modernised 
 the whole pile, giving to all its external aspects a
 
 to Land's End and Back. 73 
 
 
 
 relentless uniformity. Few persons living, probably, 
 remember how it looked before he laid his hand upon 
 it. He made sweeping and levelling work inside 
 and out. I believe the general form of the various 
 structures was preserved; but their external walls 
 were all re-faced with a kind of greyish stone, looking 
 at a distance a little above the size of common bricks. 
 But he might have done worse, and the nation should 
 be grateful that this great historical monument came 
 off as well as it did. He might have built a pagoda 
 on the top of the Bound Tower, or a Turkish Moslem 
 over the great gate-way, after the pattern of his 
 Brighton Pavilion. 
 
 But a modernisation, of higher tone and meaning, 
 has succeeded and surpassed all other innovations 
 wrought in Windsor Castle. The joint life of Queen 
 Victoria and Albert the Q-ood has shed over the whole 
 an influence which has given it a new moral aspect 
 to the world. The white mantle of their purity has 
 covered the black character and history of many royal 
 generations within those walls. The breath of their 
 better and happier thoughts has permeated the entire 
 edifice like a healthy savor, cancelling, if not sweetening 
 memories and associations which had put forth an 
 ungrateful odor upon society. Such buildings have 
 souls as well as beings of flesh and blood a succession
 
 74 
 
 of souls, each leaving its mark upon the structure. 
 This bears the shaping impress and reflects the grace 
 of that illustrious pair who filled it with the breathing 
 soul of their joint being. As the very physical 
 corporeity of a good and pure man commands respect 
 and reverence, so the house in which he lives and 
 dies seems to stand next to his personal, moving form, 
 in association with the virtues of his spiritual nature. 
 So it is, and so will it be with Windsor Castle, at 
 the shortest, for this generation. Let the American 
 traveller, however well read in English history, come 
 and stand before this palace, and he will forget all 
 about Henry VIII. and George IV., and think, 
 here lived Queen Victoria and Prince Albert ; here 
 she first became a mother; here she was made a 
 widow ; here a new race of English kings and queens 
 were born and bred and trained in the nurture of a 
 purer life than any that ever filled the British throne 
 in past generations.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 ETON AND ITS SCHOOL BEADING AND ITS INSTITUTIONS WALK ALONG 
 
 THE CHALK DOWNS WANTAGE, ITS SCHOOLS AND HISTORY. 
 
 L.VING- spent most of the day in the chapel, 
 public apartments and grounds of Windsor 
 Castle, I went over the bridge to Eton of 
 famous reputation. This antique, unique town is to 
 English Boydom what Windsor Castle is to English 
 King-and-Queendom. The rim of population outside 
 of the schools is of no more account in making up the 
 life, character and history of Eton, than the narrow- 
 streeted surroundings of the royal castle are to the 
 celebrity of Windsor. No one hearing the name of 
 Eton ever thinks of anything else than a dozen 
 generations of English boys, of high and turbulent 
 blood, fishing up a little Latin and Greek out of a 
 whirlpool of fun. It is probable that no educational 
 establishment in the world ever sugared its pills of 
 learning with such a thick coating of frolic as this
 
 76 A Walk from London 
 
 ancient institution has done from the beginning. It 
 is sometimes intimated and suspected that this coat- 
 ing is the thickest of the two, and that, in the most 
 literal sense of the word, the studying-spaces are 
 mere interludes, or breathing moments between out- 
 door sports, in which the scholars recruit for the practice 
 of " muscular Christianity " at the cricket, foot-ball 
 or oar; and occasionally at some impromptu and 
 vigorous lessons in pugilism. However this may 
 have been, is, and is to be, the memories of Eton are 
 often among the most pleasant souvenirs of a great 
 man's life. The " Eton Boys " have made their 
 mark, often above, by a head, the niche of other 
 institutions which prescribed more study and less 
 play. With considerable cause of suspicion that 
 they are too much on the river, when they ought to 
 be rowing Homer to Troy or tallying angles for 
 Euclid, more than one of them has sculled his way 
 into St. Stephen's, and stood at the wheel of the 
 British Empire when the storm was on. "Boys will 
 be boys," was doubtless a conviction expressed in 
 some language or another soon after the Flood. The 
 consecutive experience of all intervening generations 
 has made this conviction stronger now than it was 
 when it was spoken of Noah's grandchildren. The 
 young Etonites may have been allowed larger scope
 
 to Land's End and Back. 77 
 
 and play to this hereditary nature than the scholars 
 in other institutions, but, at the worst, they have only 
 shown it in excess. So, taking it all in all, the soberer 
 community, as well as the country at large, is 
 disposed to wink favorably at their pranks ; being 
 conscious that nearly all men were boys once. Indeed, 
 the very next day they were to have a grand boat- 
 race on the Thames, attended doubtless by numbers 
 of the nobility and gentry in their carriages, who 
 would not have gone twenty rods to have witnessed 
 a set-to of the best scholars among them in English, 
 Latin or Greek composition. Occasionally, however, 
 the official conservators of public instruction, with a 
 good-natured gravity put on for admonition, shake 
 their finger at the boys, half in fun and half in earnest, 
 saying, "This will hardly do; you are carrying this 
 a little too far; you are making it all play and no 
 work." But then, as the public and even their 
 relatives and personal friends make more talk of their 
 play than of their work, no wonder that they too 
 put it first. Still, the disposition to look more seriously 
 into the working of this and similar institutions begins 
 to be more general. Indeed, a Royal Commission 
 was appointed in 1861 to examine them and report 
 upon the habits of conduct into which they had drifted. 
 They appear to have performed this duty in down-
 
 78 A Walk from London 
 
 right earnestness and gravity of intention. They 
 "sent for persons and papers," and instituted really 
 a searching investigation. Lord Clarendon, an able 
 and accomplished scholar, was chairman, and they 
 examined masters, tutors, pupils, and persons more 
 remotely connected with the institution. Some of 
 the facts brought to light are remarkable, as illus- 
 trating the vis inertia* of "vested interests," and 
 qualities of their regime worse still. A writer in the 
 Cornhill Magazine thus tabulates some of the statistics 
 given in the report of the Commissioners, showing 
 the income and expenditure of the head-master 
 for I860: 
 
 Annual payments of six guineas each from 723| boys .... 4,558 1 
 
 Entrance and leaving money (say) 1,974 
 
 Stipend and allowance from college 225 
 
 House-rent, rate, repairs, and tax free (say) 350 
 
 7,107 1 
 
 From this gross sum the following deductions must 
 be made : 
 
 Payment to senior classical assistants 50 
 
 To 14 other assistants at 44 2s. each 617 8 
 
 Senior mathematical assistant 44 2 
 
 Other assistance 40 
 
 Books 350 
 
 Examinations 15 
 
 1,116 10
 
 to Land's End and Back. 79 
 
 This makes the net income of the head-master of Eton 
 about 5,990, or $28,770, which is nearly 4,000 
 more per annum than the President of the United 
 States receives for the duties he performs and the 
 expenses he incurs as the chief magistrate of a great 
 nation. An American educationist will be struck also 
 with one of the perquisites which must have crept 
 into the "vested interests" of the head-master, along 
 with that everlasting and ever-expanding habit of 
 feeing and hat-tipping which seems to have ridden into 
 power in this country under the old stage-coach dis- 
 pensation. The "leaving money," which makes such 
 a considerable item in the head-master's income, means 
 nothing more nor less than a kind of pour boire 
 gratuity which he receives at the end of the journey 
 from each pupil for coaching him through Virgil and 
 Homer and other studies, for which he has been paid 
 in full by the regular fees. These parting presents 
 from the boys on leaving vary from 10 to 25 each, 
 probably averaging 15. It would be interesting to 
 know by what precedents these gratuities are measured 
 or graduated. Supposing that they average 15 to 
 each scholar, for an average of four years' instruction, 
 then, counting out the holidays, he pays the head- 
 master 6d. for his service on every day's educational 
 meal. This is the exact sum that every head-waiter
 
 8o A Walk from London 
 
 at a first-class English hotel expects as his fee for 
 serving you with a dinner of roast-beef and plum-' 
 pudding. So, I am inclined to think that all the 
 gratuities that have made hat-tipping such a wide- 
 spread and graceful habit in England, find their origin 
 and measure in the old hotel and coaching custom 
 of feeing waiters, drivers, guards, &c. The sums 
 dropped half-covertly into hands half-covertly extended 
 of pew-openers, railway conductors, pony-men and 
 coachers on the highroad to learning, and of all higher 
 officials willing to pay a smile for such a gift, seem 
 to have their unit and inception in the sixpence given 
 to the "boots" or chamber-maid of the inn. 
 
 The Eeport of the Royal Commissioners speaks 
 very plainly of the lax system of education that 
 prevails at this celebrated institution ; showing that 
 its wheels move heavily, if at all, in the deep ruts of 
 routine. The great majority of the Eton boys are 
 stated "to lead, easy, pleasant lives, spending their 
 time chiefly in the playing-fields and on the river, 
 and not a little of it in the public-houses and taps 
 of the neighborhood and, if they are so minded, 
 but not otherwise, acquiring a faint smattering of the 
 classics in the intervals of play." One of the witnesses 
 examined testifies naively to this fact: "A boy at 
 Eton, if studious, is not thought the worse of on
 
 to Land's End and Back. 81 
 
 that account." Still, it is affirmed that real influence 
 and distinction in the school can only be won by the 
 most determined and successful wranglers at the bat 
 or oar. It is very fortunate for the classical reputation 
 of the school, however, that it has a kind of corps de 
 reserve busy at their books while the great majority are 
 busy at their bats. This small body of actual and bona 
 fide students is composed of seventy " collegers," boys 
 who, excluded by the fashionable circles of the school, 
 are described by the head-master as the "elite of 
 Eton." The application and attainments of this half- 
 ostracised band of scholars make a reputation which 
 spreads a mantle of credit over the whole establishment, 
 covering a multitude of indolences and ignorances on 
 the part of the young bloods who eschew laborious 
 study. A little bit of evidence came out in course of 
 the investigation, illustrating the free-and-easy habits 
 of the boys which are winked at by the authorities. 
 It was stated by some of the assistant-masters that 
 about one hundred a day resorted to either the " Chris- 
 topher" or the "Tap," the former being "a loosely- 
 conducted public-house," and the latter a mere beer- 
 shop, where they have their roystering frolics over 
 all sorts of liquors that can intoxicate. It is said 
 the captain of the boats, the highest dignitary among 
 them all, presides at the "Tap," and makes strict
 
 82 A Walk from London 
 
 laws of order and decorum, any infraction of which 
 is punished by a fine of " more beer " for the company; 
 a very astute policy, which, doubtless, makes the 
 majority regard the statute as " more honored in the 
 breach than in the observance," as every breach brings 
 to them additional mugs of malt liquor. Mr. Walter, 
 proprietor of the London Times, an elcvd of Eton, in 
 the evidence and opinions he submitted, deprecated 
 this frequenting of public-houses, and thought the 
 practice would be arrested if the tutors and dames 
 or landladies would supply the young men with a 
 better quality of beer. The views and suggestions 
 of this very influential gentleman are interesting, if 
 not correct on all points. He energetically denounced 
 the " leaving-money " custom, as savoring too much 
 of the days of stage-coaches, and not creditable to 
 such a school as Eton. He came out strong against 
 the study of French. "In England," he says, "an 
 English gentleman of course speaks English; he is 
 scarcely ever called upon to speak five words of French, 
 save in diplomatic circles. If he goes to Switzerland 
 for a few weeks and commences a conversation in 
 French, he is answered in English, and immediately 
 desists from continuing the conversation in a foreign 
 language. Englishmen do not travel much in France ; 
 they go to Paris and stay there. Even in Germany
 
 to Land's End and Back. 83 
 
 a good deal of English is spoken by the masters of 
 the hotels ; in Switzerland more and more every year, 
 and certainly in Borne English is spoken." Mr. 
 Walter states that French and Grerman literature is 
 little read by English members of Parliament and 
 country gentlemen, who, he believes, after a certain 
 age, read but little of anything. 
 
 The annual expense of a well-behaved boy at Eton 
 varies according to his accommodation. The "dames" 
 or boarding-house keepers, charge him 63 a year 
 for board and lodging, and five guineas extra, if he 
 has a room all to himself; which, put together, make 
 about a dollar a day. The mathematical masters 
 charge 84, and the tutors 120 for board, lodging 
 and tuition; the latter item being put at 21, or 
 about $100 a year. 
 
 I had a strong desire to see the Queen's Dairy and 
 Prince Albert's Farms; but a permit and note of 
 introduction not having reached me in season, and 
 the weather being also unfavorable, I concluded to 
 postpone my visit to these interesting places until 
 I had finished my Walk to Land's End. Towards 
 evening, therefore, I resumed my way westward and 
 reached Maidenhead at about dark. Passed the little 
 village of Clewer, nestling in the valley of the Thames, 
 
 at a short distance from Windsor. Its little church 
 G 2
 
 84 A Walk from London 
 
 is said to be the oldest but one in England ; but I 
 found that all the wrinkles of age in its face had been 
 ironed smooth by the hand of modern improvement. 
 Its walls had been re-faced with flint; its windows 
 and door-ways done up with free stone, so that the 
 whole building looked smart and new, and nothing 
 but the unique form of its candle-extinguisher of 
 a spire indicated that it was not a new structure 
 throughout. I have not yet seen a church-yard so 
 beautifully embellished and kept as this. Many of the 
 graves, even those of great age, were literally flower- 
 beds, blooming with the brightest tints and breathing 
 with the sweetest odors. Several monuments were 
 festooned with regular French immortelles. One erected 
 to the memory of a Spanish lady, founder of an Order 
 of Sisters of Mercy near by, was of peculiar and happy 
 design, and exceedingly well executed. It represented 
 a full-size marble coffin, with the lid burst open, 
 revealing the place where the body had lain. A bible 
 and a cross lay in the vacant place upon the grave- 
 clothes, and on the inside of the half-raised lid these 
 words were graven : " Non est hie, sed resurrexit" 
 Evidently this little church-yard was intended to be 
 made the common ornamental ground of the village, 
 to symbol the blossomings of immortality on the other 
 side of the river, wreathing the door-way of Time's
 
 to Land's End and Back. 85 
 
 Tomorrow with sweet-breathing flowers, emblems of 
 a love, hope and faith worn by the departing spirit 
 "through the gate into the city." It is a pretty 
 idea and worth a better place in the mind of a 
 Christian age. 
 
 Saturday, June 4th. Walked from Maidenhead to 
 Beading, passing through a lovely region most of 
 the way. The day was bright and beautiful. Cloud, 
 sky, tree, field, and stream were full of June the 
 honey-moon of Spring and Summer. Everything 
 visible and audible was full of it, and breathed and 
 sung of it. All things green and growing smiled 
 with the same light and joy of youth. Nothing had 
 reached the full meridian of its life. Some of the 
 earlier flowers had had their brief blooming and 
 retired. But nothing else had come to summer 
 size and ripeness. Everything was glowing and 
 glistening in the dewy maidenhood of the season. 
 The very cloudlets that swam in fleecy coteries above, 
 in proportion to their August size, seemed to measure 
 their own by the elm-leaf's growth. The leaves of 
 the hedge-row trees, the grasses and grains they 
 looked down upon, all fluttered and waved toward 
 each other on the same even level of life. The 
 scenery, especially between Maidenhead and Twyford, 
 was rich and delightful. A sabbath stillness rested
 
 86 A Walk from London 
 
 upon homes that ought to be earthly Edens from their 
 surroundings. A brick-rimmed nest of trees and 
 shrubbery of every stature, leaf and color would show 
 an aperture through which you might catch a glimpse 
 of one of these sequestered mansions mirroring its 
 face and eyes in a soft, dewy lawn, belted and ribboned 
 with flowers. Some of them were surrounded with 
 such high walls, with closed gateways, that you could 
 only get a partial view of them on ascending a rising 
 in the road at a considerable distance. 
 
 Still, these beautiful sceneries were interspersed 
 with large spaces of waste land, looking all the more 
 strange and desolate for the contrast. Passed over a 
 common quite near Maidenhead, which must have 
 been three miles in circumference, all covered with 
 gorse. A gardener, who gave me a short ride in his 
 cart, told me that there were 18000 acres in the vicinity 
 of that town in this very condition. This .probably 
 was an exaggeration ; but the extent of waste, un- 
 cultivated land within forty miles of London, would 
 astonish an American. There is a larger space of it 
 in one block, within that distance of the great 
 Metropolis, than you would find unenclosed and 
 unutilised in the whole State of Connecticut. This 
 seems a striking and unaccountable incongruity in 
 face of the thrifty economics that characterise the
 
 to Land's End and Back. 87 
 
 country. Nowhere else is the produce of the earth 
 turned to more account than here. Every animal is 
 made the most of, even to hide, hair, horns and hoof. 
 Every tree is turned to the extremest use, bark, root 
 and twig. But vast tracts of land, the available 
 source of these productions, are still left in the rudest 
 state of nature, even in the very heart of the country. 
 There must be a million of acres of land in England 
 that do not yield fifty cents' worth of pasturage a year 
 per acre. 
 
 I spent the Sabbath in Beading, attending service 
 at different places of worship. In the afternoon my 
 friend and host took me out to a unique old church 
 in the parish of Sonning, planted as usual in a garden 
 of graves, and surrounded and embowered by trees. 
 All the crooked lanes in the village seem to converge 
 to this "(rod's Acre," and the silvery music of the 
 old bells in the ivy- netted tower flooded the thatched 
 cottages and the rustic pathways of the people with 
 a pleasant and cheery greeting. With the exception 
 of a few elegantly dressed families, the congregation 
 was made up of the laboring classes, who listened to 
 the service with much seeming attention. On coming 
 out, I stepped over a slab in the aisle bearing the 
 name of Lord Stowell. In this quiet sequestered 
 resting-place, lie the remains of a man whose words
 
 88 A Walk from London 
 
 of weighty wisdom have given such a shaping to the 
 relationships of great nations. 
 
 Beading is a vigorous town, distinguished for an 
 energetic individuality during a consecutive history 
 a thousand years long. It bears its antiquities with 
 great elasticity, and in the matter of progress will 
 never do discredit to its dozen namesakes in America. 
 It is situated on a bright, busy, little river called the 
 Kennet, a mile or two above its junction with the 
 Thames. It now numbers about 20,000 inhabitants, 
 and may see that number doubled, and even trebled, 
 before it ceases to grow. It has been the mother of 
 men who have made their mark in history; some of 
 them, unfortunately, a rather black mark. Archbishop 
 Laud was born here, and so was Justice Talfourd; 
 and the two represent "the extremest ends of parallels," 
 in thought, word, deed and disposition. What a 
 moral space in the mind and character of different 
 ages do their lives measure! Other men of mark 
 were born here, of more local celebrity, but still 
 holding a respectable place in the national registry 
 of notabilities. John Bunyan was often here in 
 times when sharp-eyed persecution dogged him closely 
 in his outgoings. Here he sometimes passed up and 
 down the crowded streets in the smock-frock, hobnailed 
 shoes, and round-crowned hat of a carter, with a
 
 to Land's End and Back. 89 
 
 cart-whip in his hand, to avoid detection. Here it 
 is said he took the disease which ended a life which 
 in itself made an epoch in the moral history of the 
 world. The great monument of antiquity which 
 constitutes the particular " lion " of Reading is the 
 ruin of one of the richest and most celebrated abbeys 
 founded in England. It is a huge, rough skeleton 
 of a structure once marking high in the scale of 
 magnitude and magnificence. It may possibly have 
 worn a clean, smooth face to the outside world and 
 looked like Westminster or Tintern Abbey. But 
 now the black, broken, scraggy walls present only 
 thick masses of concrete, flint and cement. Huge heaps 
 of this material lie here and there utterly without 
 form, and void of all architectural dimensions, and 
 one wonders how they were incorporated in a build- 
 ing on which a mason's line was ever drawn. It 
 was the theatre of several important transactions in 
 English history. Here its founder, Henry I., held 
 a Parliament in 1184, and here he received in the 
 year following the patriarch of Jerusalem, who presen- 
 ted to him the Keys of the Holy Sepulchre, and other 
 sacred relics. It is said that his wife Queen Molde, 
 and his daughter Matilda, wife of the Emperor 
 Henry IV., and the largest portion of his own body 
 were buried in this Abbey.
 
 9O A Walk from London 
 
 The Reading of to-day is, as I have already said, 
 a live town, full of healthful activities. It is distin- 
 guished for four establishments which have given it 
 an honorable status and reputation at home and 
 abroad. The three first have to do with the staff 
 of life, and they do a great work in that field of 
 enterprize. The fourth is a very extensive institution 
 for repairing the breaches of society, by punishing 
 criminals and turning them out safer men and women. 
 Although BO unlike the other three, this last has much 
 connection with them. Barrett & Exall's manufac- 
 tory of agricultural implements produces an immense 
 amount of diversified machinery for cultivating the 
 soil, and growing all kinds of grain and roots for 
 man and beast. Huntley & Palmer's Biscuit Manu- 
 factory can work up into its world of cakes all 
 the wheat that their neighbors ploughs, drills, and 
 threshing-machines can produce when well-manned on 
 the best soil. Sutton & Sons, the great seedsmen, 
 can furnish seeds of every earthly description enough 
 for a small continent. And the Beading Graol can 
 house and discipline all the idle and vicious people 
 of a county who are not content to earn and eat 
 their bread in the sweat of an honest brow, but go 
 poaching upon the peace of society with their evil 
 passions and habits. I will not undertake to say
 
 to Land's End and Back. 91 
 
 that if Huntley & Palmer's biscuits were more 
 widely and evenly dispensed among the neediest of 
 the working-classes, there would be less crime and 
 fewer tenants of this and other gaols. This is a moot 
 question, still under popular discussion. It is a pity 
 so many eat prison-bread who could earn and have 
 honest loaves of their own at home. Is it because 
 the prison-loaf is the largest and cheapest, that so 
 many sin themselves into the gaol for it ? It ought 
 not so to be in any land warmed, moistened, and 
 softened by the light, rain, and dews of heaven. 
 
 Huntley & Palmer's biscuit factory is a represent- 
 ative institution of its kind, worthy, as such, of special 
 notice. It illustrates the capacity of growth and 
 expansion which manufacturing establishments in 
 England possess over those of other countries. " For 
 home and exportation " are words of great meaning 
 here and now. The rayon of trade sweeping around 
 an English factory touches either pole and the outward 
 rim of either hemisphere, and that without going off 
 British dominion. One fourth of the whole population 
 of the globe is embraced in that dominion, including 
 all kinds of races, climates, wants, tastes, appetites, and 
 fancies. All these diversities diversify articles of trade 
 ad infinitum. If Birmingham makes brass beads and 
 nose-jewels for African belles, Sheffield makes sheep-
 
 92 
 
 shears for Australian wool-growers. Thus, without 
 counting the civilised world outside the sway of British 
 rule, every English manufacturer who can make a 
 good thing, be it a lucifer match, a hat-band, or a 
 doll's eye, has what might be called a home market of 
 prodigious range. Three great fields measure and 
 indicate the circumference of this domestic commerce, 
 India, Australia, and North America. All the spaces 
 between contain smaller "dependencies," or centres 
 of colonial trade. Doubtless this dominion numbers 
 a larger population than inhabited the entire globe in 
 Caesar's day. These two hundred and fifty millions, 
 their wants, tastes and fancies the English manufacturer 
 has in his eye when he sets his mind, hand and capital 
 to the production of articles of human necessity and 
 comfort. He counts upon them as making his home 
 market, nearly as much as if they all lived, with 
 their climates and wants, on the island of Great 
 Britain. Then he has as free access as any other 
 outsider to the markets of all foreign countries, and 
 he can run neck and neck, and generally better too, 
 in the competition for their trade. Then the geo- 
 graphical position of England, and a hundred other 
 favorable circumstances, combine to give him a large 
 advantage over the manufacturers of other countries. 
 With all these peculiar surroundings and capacities,
 
 to Land's End and Back. 93 
 
 no wonder that he can push his operations to such 
 prodigious expansion, in producing articles for "home 
 and exportation." 
 
 Still, to build up so large and successful a business 
 under these conditions, in face of the eager and 
 crowded competition which they encourage and pro- 
 duce, implies a genius, perseverance, good faith and 
 good hope which are pleasant and instructive to 
 contemplate. All these qualities seem to have dis- 
 tinguished the origin and growth of Huntley & 
 Palmer's Biscuit Factory in a remarkable degree. 
 Nothing is more interesting and encouraging in the 
 chronicles of wealth and prosperity than the "small 
 beginnings" of great ends. It is when the boy's 
 hand can girth the trunk of the oak sapling, that 
 he sees and feels what a tree he may plant and rear 
 for his afternoon years, and for the noon-tide hours 
 of another generation. The child is the father of 
 the man ; the beginning is the father of the end ; 
 therefore, nothing could be more useful than a Book 
 of Beginnings, compiled from the experiences of men 
 who have come to good and great ends. 
 
 In the year 1822, Thomas Huntley, a young 
 "Friend," commenced the making of biscuits in a 
 very limited way in Beading. It was truly one of 
 the small beginnings from which many an exemplar-
 
 94 
 
 man has gone up to a great ending. One sack of 
 flour kept his little oven a-going for six months, or 
 met all the demand his biscuits could create. One 
 quart of milk a day was the regular ration of that 
 element of them. His market was confined to the 
 town, and it was supplied from a hand-basket by the 
 first boy he employed, who has come down with the 
 establishment through all the stages of its expansion 
 to its present magnitude. He was a " Friend " indeed, 
 in whom there was no guile ; and he made good 
 biscuits. The number who thought this of him and 
 them increased gradually and steadily. And this 
 made his oven grow; and his hand-basket grew to 
 a cart; then it came to a sack of flour a month, 
 then to a sack a week; on a little farther, to a sack 
 a day. At this stage of progression, he took in as 
 partner Mr. George Palmer, then a young man full 
 of inventive mind and executive energy, who believed 
 the little enterprize could be built up into a great 
 business. He brought a small steam-engine and 
 some other machinery to bear upon the work. This 
 inaugurated the mechanical age of the establishment. 
 His taste was eclectic, and the combination of forces 
 now applied to the elaboration of dough is truly 
 wonderful. The great bakery is really and truly a 
 museum of machinery in the busiest occupation.
 
 to Land's End and Back. 95 
 
 Machinery does nearly everything but the thinking 
 part of the process. Everything " goes with a crank," 
 and the crank, or its equivalent, is turned or moved 
 by steam. Even the iron bottoms of the ovens rotate 
 like revolving shutters, each strip or slat carrying 
 with it a row of biscuits, taking them on in dough 
 at one side and dropping them down at the other 
 side of the oven baked with perfect evenness. I 
 believe nearly every kind of machinery used in the 
 manufacture of iron is employed here except the trip- 
 hammer. Some of it, though very little, is original, 
 invented for the express purpose of performing one of 
 the surprising operations. But if you have made the 
 tour of different mills and manufacturing establishments, 
 you meet here many old mechanical acquaintances, 
 slightly modified and trained to rather effeminate 
 uses. You will see a good deal of the old fashioned 
 cider-mill in the hopper and trough for mixing the 
 flour, milk, eggs, &c. Then you have the latest 
 improvements of brick-making machinery in working 
 these ingredients into an even mixture. Then comes 
 the iron-rolling mill for kneading the dough. The 
 end of a great elongated mass is thrust in between 
 two rollers, regulated by a screw, and you have the 
 same force and action as in the making of sheet-iron. 
 After passing between the rollers several times, until
 
 96 A Walk from London 
 
 it is reduced to a broad, even sheet of dough that 
 already savors pleasantly of the relish of its sweet 
 elements, it goes literally "to press," like sheets of 
 blank paper. The machine that performs this last 
 operation between the mixing trough and the oven, 
 is a rotary printing press. The types or dies of the 
 biscuits, of every shape and size, are set in a large 
 revolving cylinder. The broad, white and savory 
 sheet is passed between this and a highly-polished 
 roller under a pressure that cuts and stamps the 
 biscuits, which are laid in regular rows upon the 
 baking-tins as the cylinder revolves, ready for the 
 oven. Here, too, everything goes by clock-work. 
 The moving oven-bottoms are timed, according to 
 the size of the cakes they carry across the heated 
 surface. For ordinary biscuits, about a quarter of an 
 hour is allowed for the passage from one side of the 
 bread-kiln to the other. 
 
 The machinery for making the fancy biscuits is 
 exceedingly ingenious, and its operations amusing. 
 An instrument which American boys would call a 
 squirt-gun is employed in making the macaroons, 
 The tin barrel is filled with paste, instead of water, 
 and the operator holds it with his left hand, with 
 the ram-rod or piston against his breast, and, with 
 a sharp knife in his right, he cuts off in even bits
 
 to Land's End and Back. 97 
 
 the jet of dough he forces through the muzzle of his 
 " shooting-iron." The precision and rapidity with 
 which he manages both piston and knife, and drops 
 the little fluted bits of highly-flavored dough in regular 
 rows on the iron baking- plates before him, are really 
 wonderful. There was one engine, of recent intro- 
 duction, which I thought at first was too warlike and 
 unquakerly in its aspect and operation, to suit an 
 establishment carried on by Friends. It looked, at 
 first sight, like a mortar all mounted, loaded and 
 primed for the bombardment of a neighboring town. 
 But it soon revealed its peaceful ends. The cylinder 
 resembled a medium-sized cannon, and was loaded 
 at the breech, the charge being propelled by a piston 
 worked by steam. In the muzzle- end of the cylinder 
 were several orifices through which fluted tubes of 
 dough were forced, on the hollow-tile principle. In 
 a word, it was a great steam squirt-gun, shooting out 
 half a dozen hollow streams of the pleasant stuff 
 which many a hungry boy would have thought delicious 
 before it went to the oven. The patterns, devices, 
 shapes, sizes and savors of the biscuits and cakes 
 produced in this great manufactory, are almost of 
 endless and inconceivable variety. Whoever has 
 explored a can of Huntley & Palmer's "assorted," 
 will testify to this fact. They go to all countries 
 
 H
 
 98 A Walk from London 
 
 and climates, from Greenland to Cochin China, and 
 from Nova Zembla to New Zealand inclusive. 
 Arctic explorers, Australian shepherds and African 
 lion-hunters know all about them, and it is not certain 
 they are not beginning to give a better taste and habit 
 to cannibal pagans. They constitute the vade mecum 
 of railway travellers, pic-nickers, sportsmen of the 
 rod and gun, and tourists innumerable. Nor does 
 the establishment confine its ministry to the common 
 and daily wants of the million, stationary and 
 locomotive. It serves a lunch to the smock-frocked 
 ploughman by the hedge, and a bridal loaf for the 
 wedding of Kings and Queens. It has really grown 
 to this consummation. I was taken into the wedding- 
 cake room, and was surprised to find that it had such 
 affiliations with domestic happiness in high places. 
 Here they had a French artist employed in getting 
 up designs for bridal loaves of every size, description 
 and price known to the wedding feast, from the 
 cottage to the palace. These they send to order, all 
 embellished for the table. Here were drawers full 
 of all the ornaments that French genius has devised 
 for dressing up a cake fit for a crowned bride ; or 
 for a sempstress' wedding. Thus, at the shortest 
 notice, here is provision both for the humblest 
 and the grandest set-out. Nunquam non paratns might
 
 to Land's End and Back. 99 
 
 be written over the door of that sweet-flavored 
 apartment more appropriately than on the restaurant 
 sign which bears the motto. Perhaps the firm has a 
 heart to benevolence as well as an eye to business, 
 intending to smoothe the way to matrimonial happiness 
 by a kind of Gretna Green facilitation. It certainly 
 looks like keeping pace with the age to supply to 
 order, at the shortest notice, wedding cakes all 
 mounted with oupids, doves, trumpets, bows and 
 arrows, and the whole outfit of allegorical embellish- 
 ments. 
 
 A few figures will convey some approximate idea 
 of what this great bakery is and does. Its ovens have 
 a heating surface of 4,180 square feet, and this is 
 covered about twenty times a day. This would give 
 about two acres of biscuits touching each other on 
 every side ; or, put in round numbers, a million daily. 
 They consume weekly, besides an incredible amount 
 of flour, 30,000 eggs and 3,000 gallons of milk. The 
 number of hands employed is about 500. Twenty 
 carpenters and four coopers are required to make 
 and repair boxes and casks for the transportation of the 
 biscuits; while the manufacture of the tins makes a 
 large and independent business of itself. A large and 
 elegant building was in process of erection, to serve 
 
 principally as a warehouse, and other improvements 
 H 2
 
 TOO A Walk from London 
 
 were on foot to increase the capacities of the establish- 
 ment. It was pleasant to notice the liberal and 
 thoughtful provision for the social enjoyment and 
 moral elevation of the hands employed. A large 
 reading-room, well supplied with London and local 
 papers, is opened for them, where for only a penny 
 a week, they have access to all the news and the 
 periodical literature of the day, and also to the books 
 of a well-stocked library ; besides the entertainment 
 of occasional concerts and lectures. In passing from 
 one department to the other, one could fancy that all 
 the men, women, and boys wore at their work an 
 aspect of the intelligence thus acquired or quickened 
 in the reading-room of the establishment. It was 
 to me a pleasant and instructive visit ; all the more 
 from the proof and illustration it supplied of what 
 steady hope, faith, industry, skill and unswerving 
 probity may accomplish when all concentrated upon 
 a business of the smallest beginning. The moral 
 worth of such an example cannot be appreciated too 
 highly. As Corporal Trim would say, "It is worth 
 a regiment of horse" to a young man setting out 
 in the world with little other capital than a pair 
 of willing hands and an honest and hopeful heart. 
 
 I had intended to make a sharp angle at Heading 
 and turn southward towards Basingstroke. But hear-
 
 to Land's End and Back. 101 
 
 ing that the largest sheep-farmer in England resided 
 at Buscot Park, near Faringdon, I resolved to make 
 an extra walk of forty miles to see his establishment. 
 I therefore continued up the valley of the Thames 
 in a north-westerly direction. The country was beau- 
 tiful. Parks and mansions of the gentry lined both 
 sides of the river, interspersed with quiet, picturesque 
 hamlets half-hidden among the trees. Passed through 
 Pangbourne, the very beau ideal of a clean, cosy, 
 comfortable English village. I felt inclined to shorten 
 my afternoon's walk, in order to stop for the night 
 in this pleasant little town. The chief hotel was a 
 very picture of neatness, and would be worth photo- 
 graphing, as a model of a cheery-faced inn. 
 
 Passed Purley Hall, a stately mansion, parked and 
 gated in the grand, old English style of baronial life. 
 Here resided Warren Hastings at the time of his 
 celebrated trial, which raised him to the very apex 
 of causes celebres, and made his case the grandest ever 
 brought before the tribunal of human justice. Here 
 he may have slept the very night when the nation 
 was still tremulous with the Olympian word-bolts 
 of Burke and Sheridan: 
 
 Stopped at a blacksmith's shop to inquire the way, 
 and had a few minutes' conversation with the man 
 at the forge. He was carrying on the business for
 
 IO2 A Walk from London 
 
 his old master's widow, and received 18s. 6d. per 
 week for management and labor, filling the position 
 of foreman and servant. He said he had got on 
 very comfortably with that sum since he became a 
 teetotaller. He had been a desperate drinker ; he 
 wondered he was still alive. He had been " drunk 
 for four solid weeks together;" not having been in 
 bed for nineteen days and nights. He was conscious 
 all the while of the despotism and degradation of the 
 habit; he prayed against it; he wrestled with it; 
 but it threw him into the ditch of shame and misery. 
 He could not drown his conscience or appetite with 
 drink. Both grew more and more tormenting under 
 it. One evening, after drinking largely at a public- 
 house, the publican asked him, by way of banter, how 
 much he really could drink at a time and walk away 
 with it. He replied that he would engage to drink 
 sixteen pints. The landlord said, by way of challenge, 
 that he would furnish that quantity without charge 
 if he would drink it ; but if he fell short of it, he 
 should pay the score himself. He began on this 
 wager and swallowed fifteen pints, when the publican 
 repudiated the agreement, and the poor fellow had 
 to pay the whole bill for making himself worse than 
 a beast. He walked home the same night, a wretched, 
 self-debased creature. As he came out of the stupor
 
 to Land's End and Back. 103 
 
 of his miserable condition, reason and conscience righted 
 from this riot of appetite. He resolved to make one 
 more effort to break its bondage. He kept away 
 from the public-house the next Saturday night, and, 
 to his wife's surprise, ordered no beer for his Sunday 
 dinner. He went to church, and came back with 
 the determination to abstain for a whole month from 
 all intoxicating drinks. All his old beerhood fra- 
 ternity warned him against such a resolution. The 
 publican, who had drained away his wages for years, 
 was especially concerned and compassionate, and pre- 
 dicted all kinds of evils upon him. He would become 
 a walking shadow ; his heart would drown itself in 
 a puddle of cold water ; in short, he would sink into 
 the grave a forsaken scamp and skeleton. But he 
 held fast to his resolution under the pitiless beating 
 of these jeers and taunts. A new man now began to 
 grow up within him. He was surprised to see how 
 his home changed from day to day ; how bright, 
 comfortable, and happy it became ; how many luxuries 
 he never thought of before he could add to the 
 necessaries of life from his weekly wages. His brother- 
 in-law offered him a sovereign if he would stick to 
 total abstinence to midsummer, or a few months longer. 
 He resolved to do it. He got strength from month 
 to month, and now he never intended to drink another
 
 IO4 A Walk from London 
 
 drop of the perilous stuff as long as he lived. I said 
 a few words of encouragement to him, and bade him 
 good-hye, much pleased with the conversation over 
 the half-door of a wayside smithy. 
 
 Stopped an hour at Basilden Park, the seat of the 
 late James Morrison, probably the richest man in the 
 world at his death, measured by wealth all acquired 
 in one life-time. He came to London a poor boy, 
 and took a situation as porter in a wholesale establish- 
 ment. From this humble position he worked his way 
 upward to a wealth which enabled him to purchase 
 large estates yearly from the surplus of his income. 
 This great park and mansion were only one of the 
 number he had acquired in this way. This estate 
 contains about 3,000 acres. When Mr. Morrison died, 
 the furniture of the house, including pictures, was 
 appraised at 80,000. His gardener, who took me 
 over the grounds, estimates that he died, worth 
 7,000,000, or over $33,000,000. A story is in circu- 
 lation that his mind fell into the weakness of second 
 childhood in his last days, and that he fancied himself 
 a poor day-laborer ; and that, to humor this conceit, 
 they were wont to pay him 14s. a week, the wages 
 he received at the outset of his business life. Consi- 
 derable moralising has been based upon this statement, 
 and sermons preached upon it as a text for admonition
 
 to Land's End and Back, 105 
 
 as to the vanity of riches. But I was told it had 
 no foundation in fact, but that it came from this 
 incident : He was accustomed to be drawn out daily 
 in a bath chair by two servants, who were directed 
 never to expose him to being caught in the rain, but 
 to hasten back with him on the appearance of a shower. 
 These attendants consequently took a large advantage 
 of this direction, and always began to look at the 
 clouds when they became a little tired. Thus his 
 rides grew shorter ; so that one day he remonstrated 
 with them, and insisted to be drawn farther, saying 
 that he had still a sovereign or two left, and could 
 pay them for the service. 
 
 After a pleasant afternoon walk, I found a comfort- 
 able inn at Streatly, a quiet little village sleeping 
 sweetly among the trees that shade the Thames about 
 ten miles from Beading. 
 
 Tuesday, June 7th. Made a walk of about twenty 
 miles, lodging at a little inn thatched with straw, 
 and half buried in creepers and ivy, in a straggling 
 village called Stanford. Passed around a spur of 
 the chalk downs, which presented a remarkable 
 appearance. We have nothing in America resembling 
 these downs. The rolling prairies of the West approach 
 them slightly in some features, but hardly near 
 enough to help one to any correct idea of these
 
 io6 A Walk from London 
 
 remarkable formations. Naturally they are as tree- 
 less as the waves of the ocean. Indeed, they look 
 like huge waves hardened to lime just as they were 
 beginning to round down to the surface from which 
 they were raised. Their very name suggests this 
 action and result, for it is doubtless the derivative or 
 equivalent of dun or dune, and retains the sense in 
 which that term is applied to the sand-hills formed 
 by the sea on the coast of Holland and France. In 
 fact, the English downs will always affect an American 
 somewhat as ocean scenery does in a heavy ground- 
 swell. They wear a marine aspect which common 
 bills never present. They seem here to be all chalk, 
 covered with a very thin soil, yielding a short, crisp 
 beard of herbage which sheep alone can crop to any 
 advantage. By a long course of cultivation this soil 
 deepens and darkens and frequently produces good crops 
 of grain, grass and roots. I walked this day nearly 
 twenty miles around these chalk hills, sometimes ascend- 
 ing half way to their summits, then skirting along their 
 base, where they declined into the valley of the Thames. 
 Here were thousands of acres without hedging or fence 
 of any kind ; and from every point of view they presen- 
 ted a singular aspect. Here would be a strip of perhaps 
 twenty acres running up from bottom to top of the well- 
 rounded eminence, just ploughed and harrowed smooth
 
 to Land's End and Back. 107 
 
 for turnips. The plough had turned up the chalk, 
 and the whole space looked as if it had been sown 
 several inches thick with lime. As the sun poured 
 a hot flood of light upon it, it almost made you snow- 
 blind to look at it. Adjoining this strip of blinking 
 white was another of equal size covered with a heavy 
 growth of cinque foil all in its deep-red blossom, look- 
 ing like a little peony sea. On the other side you 
 saw a strip of wheat so filled and overtopped with 
 charlock in full blossom that it had all the seeming 
 of a field sown to butter-cups. Strips of beans in 
 dark blue and oats in vivid green, vetches, clover, 
 and a coarse red-top grass alternated with the other 
 crops of vegetation, giving you a picture, varying at 
 every mile, done in as "fast" and showy colors as 
 ever you saw Nature don in any part of the world. 
 An African belle could not have coveted more vivid 
 or stronger contrasts. Nestling between the feet of 
 these hills, or, Ruth-like, in the green folds of their 
 garments, you come upon a village here and there, 
 quaint and old and very quiet. Wantage was the 
 only one of any size that I saw on the day's walk. 
 There it was, apparently fast asleep, in the lap of 
 these old downs. There it is, snug and shady, as 
 you look over the tree-tops upon it from the surround- 
 ing eminences, lying upon a bed of stratified history
 
 io8 A Walk from London 
 
 a dozen centuries deep. Here, and it is a mystery 
 the great Saxon Alfred was born about a thousand 
 years ago. What brought his mother here, or 
 why this should have been selected for a royal 
 residence, is a marvel, considering the character of the 
 country around. Here, too, was born the celebrated 
 Bishop Butler, who was a kind of Alfred the Great 
 in a certain domain of thought. Wantage has another 
 distinction, which has popularised its name among 
 multitudes who never heard or cared where these two 
 great personages were born. For the best part of a 
 century it has been mentioned reverently in hundreds 
 of towns and villages in New England as the name 
 of a good old psalm tune, sung with great comfort 
 by our forefathers and foremothers on their thorny 
 road to heaven. When you get into the town, you 
 find it is wide awake, with institutions in its arms 
 that would do credit to any community. Among 
 these are several schools of liberal basis and catholic 
 spirit. One is for training girls for house servants ; 
 imparting an education which must tell greatly upon 
 the sum and centres of domestic happiness. Then 
 there is St. Mary's Home for Penitents, under the 
 charge of the Sisters of Mercy ; a sea-boat womanned 
 by a set of Grace Darlings, who push out into the 
 breaking gulfs and surges of sin and shame, and
 
 to Land's End and Back. 109 
 
 pluck from the eddy and the undertow poor unfortu- 
 nates, and bring them to the shore of hope and 
 salvation, and to the songs of a better life ; giving 
 them refuge and home and tender and loving care, 
 and white, pure hands to lean upon in their new trial- 
 walks in the paths of virtue. The blessings of hundreds 
 ready to perish, and scores lifted out of the whirlpool 
 of destruction, from half way down its stifling gorge, 
 must be on such an institution. I saw the work of 
 their fingers in the fine old church, recently renovated 
 and embellished beyond any other I have seen in 
 England. The altar was covered with a cloth most 
 elaborately and exquisitely embroidered by these 
 Magdalens. It symboled a beautiful idea. It seemed 
 like what the woman in scripture did, in washing 
 our Saviour's feet with her tears and wiping them 
 with the hair of her head, for these poor penitents 
 for a sin that made her weep, to spread His sacramental 
 table with such a work of their hope, faith and love.
 
 CHAPTER IY. 
 
 FARINGDON I BUSCOT PARK I LARGEST SHEEP-RAISER IN ENGLAND : 
 COLESHILL : LORD RADNOR'S COTTAGES FOR THE POOR : WALKS 
 AND TALKS WITH FARM-LABORERS ; THEIR WAGES, CONDITION, 
 AND PROSPECTS I MARLBQROUGH : PEWSEY VALE : ANTIQUE HAM- 
 LETS I SALISBURY PLAIN, AND STONEHENGE. 
 
 \EDNESDAY, June 8th. Passed through 
 Faringdon, a considerable town in the 
 north-west corner of Berkshire. In the 
 nomenclature of English town, don is a very frequent 
 termination; occurring as often as ton or town in 
 America. It is doubtless a contraction of down ; thus 
 showing that the first settlement or village took, as 
 a suffix to its designation, the name and character of 
 the locality. Like every other town and village in 
 the country, this has its special history of distinguished 
 personages and events that marked its records. Any 
 hamlet a thousand years old must have had some one 
 born or buried in it who made a name and a stir in 
 the world. To say nothing of the usual quota of 
 castles, abbeys and royal residences in the Saxon times,
 
 to Land's End and Back. 1 1 1 
 
 there is in the old Faringdon church the tomb of a 
 gallant knight who was a most chivalrous defender 
 of the faith in " Queen Bess," and would not tolerate 
 any slurring inuendo or witticism on her purity and 
 honor. When acting as her ambassador in France, 
 he resented a skit of this nature from the Duke of 
 Guise, and sent that nobleman a challenge to mortal 
 combat for a libel upon his mistress, in which he " had 
 most shamefully and wickedly lied." There is also 
 a little bit of unique and interesting history attached 
 to the Faringdon House, a noble old mansion near 
 the church. This was the scene of an event which 
 shows how a house was divided against itself in the 
 great struggle between Charles I. and his Parliament. 
 Sir R. Pye at that time owned this mansion, and his 
 wife was the daughter of John Hampden, then colonel in 
 the Parliamentarian army. But family division and an- 
 tagonism were brought to a severer issue in this case. 
 The English Eoman himself led the assault upon his 
 daughter's house. It is a wonder that some artist, of 
 Cromwellian inspiration, has not painted this scene. 
 The stern, old patriot armed cap-a-pie, charging up 
 the gate-way at the head of his ironsides 3 while his 
 fair daughter, in the inward conflict of contrary emo- 
 tions, was showing her frightened face and dishevelled 
 hair at one of the tower windows, would make a picture
 
 ii2 A Walk from London 
 
 for a skilled pencil which would show well in the 
 Royal Academy. 
 
 An hour's walk from Faringdon brought me to 
 Buscot Park, the residence of Mr. Robert Campbell, 
 who, I think it safe to say, is the largest sheep-raiser 
 in England. He distinguished himself in the same 
 business in Australia, where he acquired a large 
 fortune, which he has now invested in this estate, 
 on which he is carrying on the largest operations 
 not only in the keeping and culture of sheep but of 
 cattle of various breeds. 
 
 It is interesting to notice how these colonial feeders, 
 feelers and creepers are making young blood and 
 vigorous nerve for England, keeping her up to a 
 quick-step march of progress. America, republican 
 and colonial, Australia, a continental edition of 
 America and its activities in another hemisphere, are 
 the two lobes of one great heart and beating with the 
 same youthful impulses, and propelling them through 
 all the veins of the Mother-country, keeping her young 
 and active with mental life and business speculation, 
 even to exuberance in some cases. Witness, for 
 example, the mania for Joint-Stock enterprises, Limited 
 Liability Companies, Metropolitan Railroads, which, 
 to use an American term, they are almost certain in 
 England to "run into the ground" in the reckless
 
 to Land's End and Back. 113 
 
 race of credit and credulity. I am inclined to think 
 much of this go-aheadity without brakes comes from 
 periodical excesses of the young-man power poured 
 in upon England from America and Australia. 
 
 How remarkable that the Continent of New Holland, 
 that great mysterious blank in the maps that middle- 
 aged men studied in boyhood, should stand in such 
 relationship to England ! That blank is now peopled 
 with the youngest England in the world, a vigorous, 
 ambitious, self-multiplying nation, touched with the 
 feeling of " manifest destiny," irrepressibly and excu- 
 sably boastful, after American similies ; and boastful 
 of this, withal, that she can teach the Mother-country 
 a thing or two. This has always been the way with 
 smart boys from the beginning, to boast that they 
 can teach their mothers ; and probably they do 
 it oftener than is generally admitted. You will be 
 surprised, in travelling up and down England, to 
 find how many Australians stand in the first rank of 
 commercial and industrial enterprise. They never 
 seem to think even of beginning business on a small 
 scale, just as if they measured every undertaking by 
 the dimensions of the continent on which they have 
 lived. 
 
 Mr. Campbell appears to be one of these Australian 
 men of business. About five years ago he purchased
 
 114 -^ Walk from London 
 
 Buscot Park and an estate of about 5,000 acres lying 
 in one block. Within this period he has expended 
 what some men would esteem a fortune in drainage, 
 especially in the park proper, which was as sour, 
 water-soaked and humpy as any portion of Richmond 
 Park at the present time. The result of this costly 
 operation proved its utility and ready profit. The 
 space that once pastured three sheep now yields feed 
 for ten. Three hundred per cent, increase in pasture 
 grass proves pretty clearly that drainage " pays " its 
 way. I found, what I did not expect, that Mr. 
 Campbell is doing as large business in cattle as in 
 sheep. He keeps over 1000 bullocks ; frequently 
 hiring farmers in different parts of the country to feed 
 and tend them through the winter. He generally 
 keeps between 9,000 and 10,000 sheep, mostly of 
 the Lincolnshire breed. These yield about eight Ibs. 
 of wool per head, or 72,000 Ibs. for the whole flock, 
 worth, say 7,000. With these great herds and flocks, 
 he cuts no grass for hay and raises no grain. Thus 
 the extent of these agricultural operations makes him 
 a merchant and shipper on his own account. He 
 purchases Indian corn, oats, beans, &c. by the cargo, 
 and all his other transactions are on a similar scale. 
 We have heard much of merchant-princes, but this 
 Australian agriculturist may as appropriately be called
 
 to Land's End and Back. 115 
 
 a farmer-prince, for the fortune he has accumulated 
 and is expending in these large operations, and for 
 surroundings which few peers of the realm exceed 
 in luxury, taste and beauty. The mansion and out- 
 buildings are on a scale commensurate with the landed 
 estate, and the park is beautifully wooded, variegated 
 picturesquely in surface, and of great extent. In 
 going through the gardens and conservatories, I saw 
 a single grape vine which covered a surface fifty-three 
 feet in length and fifteen in breadth. It is a Black 
 Hamburg, and yields from 300 to 400 Ibs. of grapes 
 yearly. 
 
 Mr. Campbell is now in the prime of manhood, and 
 with the experience, energy, science, taste and wealth 
 that he is bringing to bear upon cattle and sheep 
 culture, must soon become known as one of the most 
 eminent and successful leaders of the agricultural 
 interest in England. He gave me a cordial reception, 
 and I spent several very pleasant and profitable hours 
 at Buscot Park. 
 
 Having made an extra walk of more than forty 
 miles to see this remarkable establishment, of which 
 I never heard until I reached Heading, I turned a 
 sharp angle, and headed south-easterly, with the 
 view of passing down through the middle of Wiltshire 
 
 to Salisbury. Passed Coleshill, the seat of the venera- 
 i 2
 
 1 1 6 A Walk from London 
 
 ble Earl Eadnor. The mansion is one of the Inigo 
 Jones' school, a most rectangular genius, who has 
 left many heavy and half-stately monuments to his 
 rigid and frigid architecture in England. The park 
 and appurtenant grounds are tastefully laid out and 
 kept in beautiful condition. I went in and introduced 
 myself to the head gardener as an American traveller, 
 which seemed to insure me a very genial and pleasant 
 reception. He took me over the grounds and through 
 conservatories and stables and showed me many hor- 
 ticultural operations and results which were very 
 interesting. The graperies presented a display of 
 Black Hamburgs and Alexandria Muscats captivating 
 to all the senses. Here, by the way, I may remark 
 that all the grapes I have yet seen in England are 
 either grown under glass or trained up against the 
 sunniest side of a high garden wall. You see no 
 standard vines as with us, or none grown in the vine- 
 yard way, or trailed up on a slat fence in an open 
 field. Still, even against an unfavorable climate for 
 open-field exposure, the English make a temperature 
 out of glass and coal which produces probably the 
 largest and most luscious grapes in the world. The 
 science, taste, labor and money they give to the 
 cultivation and perfection of this delicious and classical 
 fruit are unbounded and perfectly wonderful.
 
 to Land's End and Back. 117 
 
 Lord Radnor has erected a village of cottages near 
 his mansion which exceed in size, comfort,, elegance 
 and in every other requisite for a dwelling, anything 
 I have yet seen for an annual rent of 5. Indeed, 
 I doubt if they cost him less on an average than 300 
 or $1,500 each ; so that a rental of $25 a year would 
 be a small rate of interest on his money. I regretted 
 that I could not ascertain the real cost of the buildings, 
 as the dwellings of laboring men are now making a 
 stir in this country. With all the improvements pro- 
 posed, they must be erected on a self-sustaining- 
 basis ; or their rent must equal the regular rate of 
 interest. The question to be decided is, how much 
 of a house can you build for 5 or 3 rent per annum, 
 as a strictly business operation ? Some fifteen years 
 ago, I saw several rows of double cottages built at 
 Woburn by the Duke of Bedford, for 6 a year, 
 such as would rent in our New England manufac- 
 turing villages at from $50 to $60. But these of 
 Lord Radnor's at Coleshill are larger and more 
 elegant still, with large garden-patches for 5. Lord 
 Overstone has produced some on his estates in 
 Northamptonshire for 3 rental, and it is said they 
 are really commodious and comfortable for a common- 
 sized family. Still it is a remarkable fact, that the 
 same class of building costs much more in England
 
 n8 A Walk from London 
 
 than with us, notwithstanding that bricks and lime 
 can be made here from almost every other field, and 
 labor is so cheap and abundant. A brick house, which 
 costs $1,000 in New England, costs full $1,500 here. 
 The journeymen masons and carpenters, though appa- 
 rently busy and industrious, do not seem to get off half 
 the work per day that ours do. Perhaps much of this 
 may be ascribed to the fact, that the joiners in England 
 still make doors and window-sashes by hand in their 
 own shops, and even plane flooring and ceiling and 
 siding in the same way. Of course, this old slow- 
 coach system greatly increases the expense of even 
 building a cottage for a farm-laborer. 
 
 Continuing my walk southward, I stopped for tea at 
 Highworth, a goodly village situated on an eminence 
 that commanded a grand view of the valley of the 
 Thames. After an hour's rest, resumed my staff and 
 reached Swindon a little after dark. On my way, 
 overtook a laborer carrying an empty chest across his 
 shoulders, which bent his face downward so that I 
 could not see it. Had a long talk with him, for two 
 or three miles, on his situation and prospects. His 
 ordinary wages were eight shillings a week, and an 
 additional shilling in haying time. By milking cows 
 as an extra job, he was earning about eleven shillings, 
 working from sun to sun. His wife received eight-
 
 to Land's End and Back. \ 1 9 
 
 pence per day, making up fifteen shillings per week. 
 He paid Is. 6d. weekly for house-rent ; had a garden- 
 patch on which he had grown from twenty to twenty- 
 five hushels of potatoes. His food was entirely bread 
 and cheese on week-days for breakfast, dinner and 
 supper. On Sunday he had a piece of bacon for 
 dinner. He never spent anything for beer at the 
 public-house, and drank only what his master allowed 
 him, which was three half-pints a day. He could not 
 lay by any of his wages for old age or sickness, do 
 the best he might. When he came to be too old 
 to work, he should depend upon the parish for out- 
 door relief. A large proportion of the farm-laborers 
 had to be helped in this way when old or infirm. 
 His head was bent towards the ground under his 
 load as he thus spoke of his earthly lot and expect- 
 tations. He had fought all the forenoon battles of 
 life, and spoke of the last tug of the war with want 
 and poverty with a cheerful voice, uttering no complaint 
 nor a word against landlord or parish authorities. 
 Indeed, he seemed to have realised all the enjoyment 
 he expected when he looked forward from the threshold 
 of the life to which he was born. And who could 
 have the heart to break the even spell or darken 
 the dream of this content in such a man's heart ! 
 
 There are two Swindons, one centuries old, looking
 
 I2O A Walk from London 
 
 off upon the surrounding world from a hill, and holding 
 in its history many records of local interest. The 
 other is Yulcanic, rectangular and rigidly uniform 
 a tremendous smithy for the Great "Western Railway 
 and its branches. Here several hundred "iron horses" 
 are shod, their harnesses and carriages made and 
 repaired. These multifarious operations employ a 
 large population of men and boys who have the 
 personal seeming of an ambiguous race, wearing 
 almost an African aspect on week-days, but coming 
 out on the sabbath in good and fair Caucasian. They 
 have made a reading, thinking, vigorous community, 
 marked for locomotive mind and well-graded morals. 
 
 Thursday, June 8th. When about two hours on 
 the road, it began to rain; a most timely and grate- 
 ful dispensation, as the chalk-dust had become as 
 volatile as ashes, whitening the hedges and the fields 
 by the road-side. Took refuge in a way-side inn for 
 several hours ; and, as the rain increased, a considerable 
 number of persons dropped in, forming a pretty large 
 company, mostly agricultural laborers, small farmers, 
 including two or three young servant girls. As the 
 beer-pot began to circulate, conversation became quite 
 animated and varied. It required an active effort of 
 the ear and intellect to follow the thread of their 
 discourse through a kind of dialect I had not heard
 
 to Land's End and Back. 121 
 
 before. But it ran upon crops, wages, beer, bacon 
 and politics, according to the ruling bias of the 
 moment. About the middle of the afternoon, it 
 cleared away, with a bright sun, and I set out again 
 on my walk. A little way from the inn one of the 
 men who had come in for shelter was at work 
 trimming a hedge by the road-side; and I stopped 
 and had a talk with him on the condition of the 
 farm-laborers generally in that part of the county. 
 He was about fifty years of age, a respectable and 
 intelligent-looking man, who felt himself rather 
 favored in his circumstances. His children were all 
 grown up and able to earn their own living. He 
 had eight shillings a week, which was the ordinary 
 wages all the year round, except in haying, when 
 another shilling was added. The farmers of that 
 section generally did not like to give piece-work, by 
 which the laborers might earn so much as to make 
 them discontented with their regular wages. He had 
 been working on the same estate for thirty years, 
 under three different holders. He had been married 
 thirty years, and in all that time had never had a 
 piece of fresh beef or mutton cooked under his roof. 
 His family being small, he had a bit of bacon two 
 or three times a week ; had never received any 
 parish help, although he had buried one wife, and
 
 122 A Walk from London 
 
 had had considerable sickness in the house. It was 
 impossible for him to lay by anything for old age. 
 Were it not for their extra earnings in harvesting, 
 they could not pay their rent. His son-in-law had 
 six children, all too young to earn anything in the 
 field; and he had to feed, clothe and house the 
 whole family out of eight shillings a week. They 
 were obliged to live entirely on bread, for they could 
 not afford to have cheese with it. Take out eighteen- 
 pence a week for rent, and as much for fuel, candles, 
 clothes and a little tea, sugar or treacle, and there were 
 only five shillings left for food for eight mouths. They 
 must eat three times a day, which made twenty-four 
 meals to be got out of about eightpence, which was 
 only a third of a penny for each. How could a man 
 buy bacon or cheese at that rate ? 
 
 It does really seem a short-sighted policy, to say 
 nothing of moral principle and sentiment, on the part 
 of the farmers who constitute the majority in these 
 rural districts, to keep down the price of labor to this 
 low level. They are sure in the end to pay for it 
 dearly in the rates for the poor, when the men are 
 too old and infirm to work. For my part, I cannot 
 understand this policy, considered from the narrowest 
 point of self-interest. It seems like "robbing Peter 
 to pay Paul " without even a pecuniary motive to
 
 to Land's End and Back. 123 
 
 the theft. Or, in other words, like paying back to an 
 invalid pauper what was robbed from him at the 
 plough and sickle in his middle manhood. I am 
 persuaded that every able-bodied field-hand in Eng- 
 land is able to perform a daily amount of labor for 
 which his employer could afford to pay him four 
 shillings, or ninety-six cents. What he does now is 
 no measure of what he could perform under the stimulus 
 of a compensation proportioned to his work. Unless 
 all the fundamental notions of equity and justice are 
 turned upside down in his mind, for a half-crown 
 he will do a half-crown's worth of work, and a crown's 
 worth for a crown ; and if he can perform this last 
 amount of labor in a day without detriment to his 
 physical constitution, it is a great and equal advantage 
 to both parties that he should labor and earn at this 
 rate. For many years past many slave-holders in 
 the United States have recognised and adopted this 
 principle. They found it necessary to a right issue 
 of their balance-sheets, to get out of their slave- 
 laborers all the work they could safely and continuously 
 perform. The driver's lash could not bring into action 
 the latent capacities of their strength. The dull, 
 dumb drudgery of unrequited toil did not " pay " in 
 field or factory, especially in the latter. So, many a 
 planter, and two manufacturers to one planter, resorted
 
 124 -A Walk from London 
 
 to the piece-work policy. They put the slaves they 
 owned or hired under the stimulus of proportionate 
 or graduated compensation, the most sure, safe and 
 vigorous impulse that can be applied to human 
 sinews. And no planter had on his estate, and no 
 manufacturer had in his factory a slave, man, woman 
 or child, who did not feel and obey the impulse of 
 a new motive to increased exertion. Ten years ago, 
 I saw the working of this principle in different phases 
 of its influence in the Southern States. The first 
 experiment I witnessed was in the large tobacco fac- 
 tories in Richmond, Virginia ; establishments conducted 
 on a very extensive scale, involving the outlay of a 
 great amount of capital. In the first factory I visited, 
 there were employed over hundred men and boys, 
 all slaves. It was about six p.m., in June, an hour 
 at which even in free-labor establishments the hands 
 would be on the point of leaving off work. But 
 every man and boy of these colored laborers was 
 working as at a wager; and they were performing 
 all the operations, even those requiring the nicest 
 judgment of the eye and skilful manipulation, by 
 themselves, without apparent supervision or suggestion 
 on the part of any white foreman. I was surprised 
 at this industrial phenomenon. I had expected to 
 see the dullest, the most stupid and stolid labor ever
 
 to Land's End and Back. 125 
 
 performed by human hands; and could not withhold 
 an expression of wonder at what I witnessed. The 
 manager let me into the secret of this extraordinary 
 activity in a few words. All these men and boys 
 were working under an inspiration that thrilled and 
 filled every sinew. For the hour they were free men. 
 The stimulus of free labor was upon them, doubled 
 by proportionate compensation. I wish every farmer 
 in England could have seen that sight. The pro- 
 prietors of the factory did not own these slaves. They 
 were all hired of planters and other owners residing 
 in distant parts of the state, some several hundred 
 miles from Richmond ; who received on an average 
 per head as much per week as the wages of the 
 agricultural laborers in England. Nor was this all. 
 The employers not only paid the owners from 20 
 to 30 a year for the slave hands, but 'also had to 
 house, feed and clothe them, and pay the expense 
 of their conveyance to and fro. Here then were a 
 hundred slaves, hired to perform mere slave-labor at 
 a cost of from 40 to 50 a year, including keep, &c. 
 Here was a great factory, with costly machinery, with 
 a vast amount of capital invested in raw tobacco* 
 Now what ? This, most clearly and inevitably ; that 
 factory, machinery, and capital could not be worked 
 to a profit on sheer, hopeless, spiritless slave-labor.
 
 126 A Walk from London 
 
 Some influence must be brought to bear upon those 
 hands that should make them produce fifty per cent, 
 more work daily than could be forced out of them 
 under the lash. The ledger unfortunately was the 
 Bible that preached the doctrine, but it urged the 
 policy with irresistible arguments. So the firm set 
 every man and boy a daily task, and allowed a stipu- 
 lated sum for all the over-work he performed. This 
 policy took effect upon every one of them ; and, to a 
 certain extent, made free men of them all. For they 
 bent to their slave-tasks with as much energy and 
 ambition as if they were paid for their performance, 
 although they did not receive a farthing for it. The 
 sooner these tasks were done, the sooner and longer 
 would they be able to work for wages. Thus they 
 earned from four shillings to sixteen shillings a week 
 for themselves. The manager told me that they 
 would labor as long as he would let the gas burn 
 for them of a night. With these extra earnings they 
 clothed themselves well, and had most of the comforts 
 of the better class of free white laborers; while at 
 the same time the employers got out of them full 
 fifty per cent, more work daily than they could have 
 been made to perform under forced and unrequited 
 toil. I attended service at three African chapels on 
 the following Sabbath, conducted and supported by
 
 to Land's End and Back. 127 
 
 slaves, and was greatly struck at the appearance of 
 the congregation, male and female. Scores of both 
 sexes were fashionably and elegantly dressed ; many 
 of the young men in broad cloth frock-coats ; with 
 gold and silver guard chains to their watches, and 
 the young women in the latest fashions of bonnet, 
 shawl and gown. Now all that made them to differ 
 from the low level of slave-life in these respects they 
 owed to their earnings at piece-work, or to the 
 stimulus of requited toil. On travelling farther south 
 into the Cotton States, I saw the same principle at 
 work on the plantation, where it is more difficult to 
 apply it than in the factory. I saw slaves scattered 
 over a large field, at wide spaces apart, each striking 
 out with great vigor in his own allotment. I met a 
 planter in South Carolina who was quite enthusiastic 
 on the subject. If he had discovered the principle 
 of perpetual motion he could not have dilated upon 
 it with more self-complacency and satisfaction. I 
 could hardly keep my gravity, as a New Englandman, 
 when in the glow of his enthusiasm, he took me 
 by the button- hole and revealed to me a secret he 
 had recently . discovered. And it was nothing more 
 nor less than this, put in his own words: "I tell 
 you, sir, there's nothing like paying a man according 
 to his work to get it out of him." The principle
 
 128 A Walk from London 
 
 worked to a charm on his plantation. He never 
 saw the like. It saved him an immense amount of 
 bother and trouble. He had no overseer on his 
 estate ; no flogging ; no jawing ; no bell-ringing 
 to call up his hands in the morning. He could just 
 get on to his horse after breakfast and ride into 
 town on business or pleasure until night, and feel 
 sure all was going on right at home. All he did 
 was to apportion out to every man, woman and 
 boy a daily allotment or task, according to their age 
 or strength; and this they would perform by noon 
 or 1 or 2 p.m. So far from any necessity of ring- 
 ing them up in the morning, some of his men would 
 go out to the cotton field with their hoes on their 
 shoulders while it was yet dark, and wait there for 
 light enough to enable them to distinguish cotton 
 from weeds, then set to work might and main to 
 perform their tasks. He grew animated as he dwelt 
 upon the action of this stimulus upon his men, and 
 saw the interest with which I listened to the details 
 of his wonderful discovery. "And when they have 
 finished their tasks at one p.m., how do they spend 
 the rest of the day? in lounging about, fishing, or 
 hunting ? " I asked. " No, not at all," he replied, 
 as if piqued for their credit. He allowed every one 
 of them a good patch of land to grow whatever they
 
 to Land's End and Back. 129 
 
 pleased, and he himself purchased of them all they 
 raised. Some of his men would grow from three to 
 six bales of cotton a year on their allotments ; "and," 
 said he, "I "buy it all and pay them half a cent a 
 pound more for it than I get in the market; but," 
 he added apologetically, as if overstepping the rigid 
 letter and law of industrial economy, "it pays in the 
 long run to encourage them in this way." When 
 we parted I wished our journey together had been 
 longer. He was so full of the matter that he filled 
 his last words to me with it : "I tell you, sir, there 
 is rothing like paying a man according to his work 
 to get it out of him." If I may say it without 
 irreverent parody, "This was 'the planter's last good- 
 night," and I would commend it to English farmers 
 in general, and to the eight-shilling employers espe- 
 cially. Nearly all of them apply the stimulus of 
 piece-work to their laborers in haying and harvest, 
 because it is very essential to get an extra amount 
 of work out of them at that important season. Every 
 farmer then would be glad to pay his men six or 
 eight shillings a day if they could earn that sum 
 at the stipulated price per acre for mowing or reaping. 
 With this chance of extra earnings, a single month 
 in the year, these men of the scythe and sickle labor 
 assiduously from sun to sun and longer too. Not-
 
 130 A Walk from London 
 
 withstanding their unfortunate addiction to the most 
 brain-soddening beverage ever invented to tempt and 
 pervert a human appetite, they seem quickened to 
 new life and ambition and even mental vivacity by 
 the influence of this short opportunity to make up 
 the arrears of the year, to pay off rent, which would 
 be like a mill -storm to their necks with only their 
 ordinary wages ; and also to get possession of some 
 comforts for their homes which else would be wholly 
 beyond their reach. Thus piece-work is the strongest 
 stimulus that can be applied to the sinews of human 
 labor. We see how it operates even upon thousands 
 of negro slaves in America, and how it tells upon 
 the agricultural laborers in England for a month 
 or six weeks in summer. If then its moral and 
 economical results are so good to both parties, for 
 this short season, why not extend it through the 
 year, and bring all the operations on a farm under 
 the same impulse and direction? It may seem 
 inconvenient at first to piece out all or most of 
 the work to be done, but when a farmer has once 
 adopted the policy, he will soon and easily find 
 standards of allotment by which he may profitably 
 apportion compensation to labor in a way to call 
 into continuous action all the latent energies of his 
 men. He can certainly do this as conveniently
 
 to Land's End and Back. 131 
 
 through all the processes of ploughing, hoeing, reap- 
 ing, mowing, draining and hedge-trimming as the 
 southern planter can adopt it in the cultivation of 
 cotton, rice or tobacco. When he comes to apply it 
 to different operations on his farm, one by one, and 
 sees the success of the economy, he will be able and 
 induced to extend it so as to stimulate extra care or 
 labor in every branch of service by a proportionate 
 premium. He will contrive in-door or sheltered 
 employment for his men in stormy weather, and for 
 winter nights, which will develope and reward a 
 mechanical skill, and quicken thought and judgment, 
 in making hurdles and other things necessary for 
 the farm. I read some years ago with great interest, 
 the speech of a celebrated Suffolk pig-breeder, who 
 said he gave his swineherd a sixpence for every pig 
 he should rear to the age of a week. He found this 
 premium on extra care and watch paid him well. 
 This instance shows in how many directions a farmer 
 may extend the quickening influence of proportionate 
 compensation. 
 
 Pursuing my way, I came suddenly down upon 
 Maryborough, which lies hidden in the gorge of these 
 down-hills until you are upon it. It is a solid, 
 quaint, old town, mostly built of black-glazed bricks, 
 
 many of the outside walls of the houses being tiled 
 K 2
 
 132 A Walk from London 
 
 as well as the roofs, giving them a very rough and 
 scaly appearance. The whole town, I learned, is 
 owned almost entirely by the Marquis of Ailesbury; 
 I mean the houses and lands, not the tenants. It 
 has a goodly history-roll of events of considerable 
 national and local interest, but I should think the 
 best thing that ever happened in it was the temporary 
 residence of the poet Thomson, who here wrote his 
 " Spring " in the mansion of the Earl of Hertford, 
 dedicating it to the Countess, to whom he has given 
 a kind of classical memory in the opening lines of 
 the poem : 
 
 O, Hertford, fitted or to shine in courts 
 "With unaffected grace, or walk the plain 
 "With innocence and meditation joined 
 In soft assemblage, listen to my song 
 Which thy own Season paints; when Nature all 
 Is blooming and benevolent, like thee. 
 
 That was a pretty and graceful thing to say of his 
 fair and noble hostess and patroness. Doubtless she 
 valued the compliment as highly as her coronet. It 
 attached her name to the poet's memory by a silken 
 thread which will never wear asunder. He puts it 
 delicately in the words "Which thy own Season 
 paints ; " as if her youthful bloom and beauty tinted 
 the maiden cheek of Nature as he pencilled its features.
 
 to Land's End and Back. 133 
 
 The mansion in which he, Pope and Dr. "Watts 
 were received as welcome and honored guests, has 
 been turned into a college for the education of the 
 sons of the clergy, of whom about 500 are educated 
 here. 
 
 After tea, I made a walk of seven miles to Pewsey. 
 On the way came suddenly to a precipitous break in 
 the elevated downland, or to the edge of a range of 
 precipitous hills looking off upon the grand valley 
 called the Vale of Pewsey. It was truly a magni- 
 ficent sight, almost equal to Belvoir Vale. I clambered 
 up the high bank that walled the road and ascended 
 to an eminence which commanded the most extensive 
 view. The deepening shadows of the evening were 
 contracting the vista, but it was truly grand and 
 glorious. Descending to the road, I passed through 
 several queer little villages and hamlets which looked 
 as if the cottages were built by the immediate follow- 
 ers of Hengis or Horsa. Indeed, they were of the 
 same pattern as those you will find in Jutland and 
 Schleswig-Holstein, whence our Saxon progenitors 
 brought their models for houses and barns. The 
 gables were all " dubbed " off in the same way at 
 both ends. Here were the longest haired cottages 
 I ever saw. The windows all looked like a glass 
 face in a great straw hood, of the old gipsey order,
 
 1 34 ^ Walk from London 
 
 tied closely under the chin. The doors wore cowls 
 of straw, and the thatching of many houses must 
 have been a century old at the bottom. I was told 
 by one occupant that it was six feet thick on his 
 tenement. Everything new or old was thatched, not 
 only dwellings, barns, and out-houses great and 
 small, but barn-yard and garden walls. I saw a new 
 two-story inn of red brick with a roof of straw which 
 had not yet been rusted by a single rain, but was 
 as fresh as if just from the flail. 
 
 Friday, June llth. Continued my walk across the 
 broad bottom land of the Pewsey Vale, and saw some 
 most excellent and highly cultivated fields with heavy 
 crops of grain and grass. One of the Avons runs 
 through this valley to Salisbury, dividing the chalk 
 downs by a very picturesque interval, now expanding 
 to a dale, now narrowing to a meandering glen. An 
 American travelling extensively in Great Britain 
 will learn a curious fact in the nomenclature of 
 rivers which he will have passed over in his geo- 
 graphical studies at home. That is, the number of 
 rivers bearing the same name. Unless he has made 
 special inquiry, he may travel backward and forward 
 through the three adjoining counties of Worcestershire, 
 Gloucestershire and Somersetshire for a year, and not 
 discover that Shakespeare's Avon is not the Bristol
 
 to Land's End and Back. 135 
 
 Avon. Indeed they both run virtually into the Severn 
 not a very long way apart. The same ambiguity 
 in regard to the two Ouses will leave him in doubt 
 whether they are not one and the same stream. 
 Other rivers more widely sundered have their nominal 
 dualism, as the English Dee and the Scotch Dee. 
 
 The little Avon I followed to Salisbury through 
 Pewsey Vale runs by the side of the road, which 
 now descends to the very edge of the stream, then 
 ascends half way to the summit of the treeless hills. 
 I diverged once and followed a cart-path to the very- 
 top of this bald but well-cultivated region. It was 
 a rolling ocean of white land, divided into farms, not 
 by walls or hedges, but by white paths, by which 
 the crops of the adjoining occupants were carted to 
 the rick or barn. Here and there, separated by large 
 distances, were farm-houses surrounded by trees of 
 small stature or a thin cordon of short shrubbery, 
 looking like fishing-smacks at anchor. The grain 
 promised well, and fields interspersed with luxuriant 
 cinque-foil in the full of its purply-red blossom, variegate 
 the scenery with a pleasant and striking feature. 
 
 As I descended again to the turnpike road, found 
 a middle-aged man on a wooden leg at work in a 
 turnip field. Stopped and had a long talk with him 
 on the condition of farm-laborers in that section of
 
 136 A Walk from London 
 
 the country. He also said that their wages were only 
 eight shillings a week, except in haying and harvest, 
 and that they had no perquisites, such as cottage or 
 garden ground rent free. But he described a system 
 adopted by them which is worthy of all admiration, 
 and proves an intelligence, prudence and ingenuity 
 on the part of these humble and poorly-paid men 
 which might teach wisdom and virtue to those in 
 higher life who are apt to complain of the improvident 
 habits of farm-laborers. He said he belonged to a 
 Mutual Aid Society, formed a great many years ago 
 in the little village on the river below. It now 
 numbered 200 members, all resident in the parish. 
 They paid into the treasury twopence-halfpenny, or 
 five cents, a week. At the end of two years, after 
 making the weekly payment, a member was entitled 
 to draw out seven shillings a week for twelve weeks 
 in case of sickness ; and when he became too old or 
 infirm for labor, he could draw three shillings a 
 week to the end of his life. In addition to this weekly 
 payment to meet cases of sickness and death, once 
 a year every member paid 2s. 6d. for doctor's money. 
 If a member died, a direct rate of sixpence was 
 levied upon every member as a special fund for the 
 funeral expenses, and 2 were drawn out of the 
 treasury for the widow. If the wife died, the husband
 
 to Land's End and Back. 137 
 
 had only the sixpenny rate for his expenses. The 
 club had now 200 out at interest, under the guar- 
 rantee of a rich and benevolent gentleman of the 
 parish. They paid thirty shillings a year to a young 
 man who kept the books of the club. . 
 
 Thus these humble, patient, hopeful, brave-hearted 
 toilers, with a spirit of self-reliance and self-respect 
 worthy of all praise, had banded themselves together 
 against the pinching and the poverty of a cold and 
 rainy day of age and infirmity. This was their 
 league and covenant to hold one another up from 
 sinking down into the repulsive charity of parish 
 relief. It showed a quiet and steady heroism of 
 heart and hope, a faith, self-control and self-respect 
 that were truly noble and beautiful. Here were 200 
 men and women, whose average weekly wages, for 
 both sexes, would not exceed seven shillings to each 
 person, with families to feed, house and clothe, still 
 able and willing and proud to abstract a mite or two 
 from every meal to deposit in the general fund of 
 the society, as a provision for the coming day when 
 sickness or age should unnerve those hard and horny 
 hands for labor in the field. 
 
 A few miles north of Amesbury, I diverged from 
 the main road, and ascended the great chalk wall 
 that seems to surround and uplift Salisbury Plain.
 
 138 A Walk from London 
 
 The ascent was a full mile to the summit, from which 
 this wild, mysterious region unfolds itself to view, 
 in all its still, sombre amplitude and grandeur. 
 Doubtless ninety-nine in a hundred Americans who 
 have read of Salisbury Plain from their youth, 
 imagine it to be a great dead level, like here and 
 there a vast sandy expanse with us. But in surface, 
 it is as unlike a plain as is the ocean in a heavy 
 ground swell. You seem to walk the waves almost 
 in motion. As the sweeping shadows of the clouds 
 chase each other up these thinly grassed swellings, 
 they appear to make the earth-waves they mount. 
 It was like climbing up to a little, strange, seques- 
 tered world by itself, when I reached the summit, 
 and ascended a long, high barrow, or mound of 
 mysterious history and purpose, and looked off upon 
 the undulating ocean spread out before me. In 
 some directions, its shadowy rim melted and mingled 
 in the misty light of the distant horizon; in others 
 it was bounded with sharp definitions by ranges of 
 blue hills, arising like dark-browed sea-walls to the 
 swelling flood of pale green verdure. It was too 
 sea-like to apply to its surface the terms hills and 
 valkys. Its roundings and swellings were like the 
 bosoms of the great deep stilled at their full beating. 
 The depressions between were too soft and gentle to be
 
 to Land's End and Back. 139 
 
 called valleys. The first feature that struck me as 
 a contrast in the scene was the handiwork of culti- 
 vation, dotting the dull expanse here and there, 
 like prairie-flowers on the rolling wilds of the Western 
 "World. That great Blind Painter, human labor, 
 had sat down to paint his pictures of plenty and 
 beauty over the half desert. He had made already 
 a lodgment here, and was beginning to drive the 
 grim genius of Druid paganism from its oldest and 
 mightiest stronghold. Here and there whole farms, 
 with their grain fields and enshrubbed lawns, show 
 like brooches of green and golden glory set in the 
 dull bosom of the plain. They are gaining acre by 
 acre, year by year, upon the treeless wilderness. In 
 another decade its whole reach and compass may be 
 recovered and peopled by a human population. The 
 uncultivated extent is covered with a fine, frizzly 
 grass that feels elastic and moss-like under your feet. 
 I cut the turf with my knife in several places, 
 and found the soil about four inches thick on a bed 
 of chalk. On crossing a piece of rape, I stabbed my 
 staff full six inches deep into a very mellow and 
 fertile-looking earth. 
 
 Having thus glanced at the physical or natural 
 character of the Plain, I passed my eye around slowly, 
 but with eager interest, to get my first sight of
 
 140 A Walk from London 
 
 Stonehenge, that famous monument of a mysterious 
 and unfathomed antiquity. I discerned at the second 
 round a group of objects at first resembling hay- 
 cocks, but assuming other semblances as I looked at 
 them more steadily. They seemed far too low to 
 be the objects I anticipated. But I had not measured 
 aright the intervening space with my eye. I soon 
 recognised the cross-stones and the leaning columns 
 of that wonderful pile, so familiar in pictures seen 
 in childhood. Just over their shoulders I could see, 
 in the blue haze of the remote distance, the spire 
 of Salisbury Cathedral pricking the horizon like a 
 needle. Here, then, I had the range of the ages 
 in a direct line ; but who could number the centuries 
 that divided them! I stood on the largest barrow on 
 the Plain a long mound or ridge scooped up out of 
 a ditch surrounding it, which was as distinct and as 
 well denned as if dug only fifty years ago. What 
 was the use of this barrow? Was it built over the 
 bodies of men slain in battle? If so, of what men, 
 of what age ? Were they Britons or Eomans, Saxons 
 or Danes ? There were the huge, rude pillars grouped 
 in temple-form on the plain a mile away. How and 
 when where they brought up this high- walled plateau ? 
 by whom, for what object, in what age? The 
 mystery lies heavy and dank upon them. No ray
 
 to Land's End and Back. 141 
 
 of light has pierced it. The beam of no collateral 
 fact has revealed the finger-prints of a credible history 
 in one of those rough and ponderous columns. For a 
 century long and more, sharp-eyed explorers of anti- 
 quity, history-miners, philosophers skilled in the Attic 
 architecture of astute ^theories, have been at work on 
 that group of stones, and have made nothing of them 
 that a dozen men, of only common sense, can believe 
 in unanimously. Beyond, like a long, delicately- 
 tapering finger, ringed at the middle joint, the spire 
 of Salisbury Cathedral points upward, pushing its 
 silver nail into the lower clouds. For six times the 
 life-length of the American Republic that finger has 
 been uplifted in sky, cloud and storm. In the most 
 tempestuous years of English history, in John's day, 
 and Stephen's, and Cromwell's, it towered with steady 
 poise into the still, blue bosom of the sky, like a 
 petrified human prayer, lifting the cross nearer heaven 
 than it was ever raised by other shaft on this proud 
 island. This is a stand-point on which a thoughtful 
 American must feel the youth of his own nation 
 and the age of its mother. 
 
 As I descended from the barrow and crossed the 
 intervening valley, those stones grew upon the eye 
 like giants. And here I am at last and first, mea- 
 suring my height against their colossal statures. It is
 
 142 A Walk from London 
 
 truly a wonder, grand and mysterious. There cannot 
 be anything elsewhere in Europe to compare with it. 
 Pictures often exaggerate. Foregoing conceptions often 
 dwarf the reality, and make the first sight, touch or 
 sound disappoint the eager and dilated imagination. 
 Even Niagara, at the first glance, produces this impres- 
 sion on thousands. The Mammoth Cave in Kentucky 
 does not at once and in the first moment burst upon 
 one with all the startling wonders imagination had 
 fabricated. But mount the outer wall of Salisbury 
 Plain, and sit upon one of the prostrate columns of 
 Stonehenge, and see what manner of stones stand 
 or lie in pairs around that temple area, and your 
 original conception lags behind the real fact. The 
 stupendous skeleton grows upon you every moment, 
 and looks like the work of superhuman beings. You 
 can hardly believe that any enginery of modern science 
 could bring such quarried rocks up these surrounding 
 heights, and make them stand on end in such huge 
 pairs, coupled at the top by cross stones of greater 
 size and weight than you will find in any modern 
 edifice even as a foundation. One of the prostrate 
 columns has been estimated at the weight of forty-five 
 tons. A rough, round tenon was formed at the top 
 of each of the upright blocks, which fitted into a 
 corresponding mortise-hole in the under side of the
 
 to Land's End and Back. 143 
 
 horizontal stone. Most of these columns and cross 
 stones are squared and hewn with a good deal of 
 regularity ; showing that tools harder than common 
 iron must have wrought upon them. For many of 
 them are granite, supposed to have been brought 
 from Devonshire, a distance of more than 100 miles. 
 The descriptions of this pagan structure are so 
 numerous and detailed, that it would be serving up 
 stale information to repeat the particulars so well 
 known in America as well as in this country. A 
 few facts and features of the outline may be re- 
 called to enable the reader to revive the picture in 
 his mind's eye. 
 
 The columns were arranged in two concentric 
 circles, and two ellipses. The outer circle consisted 
 of thirty stones, about sixteen feet in height, placed 
 upright at intervals of three-and-a-half feet, and con- 
 nected at the top by cross stones of nearly equal 
 thickness. The inner circle was formed of rough 
 granite about five feet in height. Within this was 
 the great ellipsis formed of vast columns, coupled 
 in pairs by a huge transverse. These uprights were 
 graduated progressively in height from E. to W. ; 
 the largest and loftiest attaining an elevation of 
 twenty-five feet. Within this ellipsis of lofty triplets, 
 there was a smaller one consisting of nineteen rough
 
 144 ^ Walk from London 
 
 granite posts, like those of the inner circle; and in 
 the little enclosure or cell thus formed was what 
 has been supposed to be the altar-stone. The whole 
 pile or group is surrounded by a fosse or ditch, made 
 with great regularity at about a hundred feet from the 
 outside circle. About an equal distance from this ditch 
 to the east, there stands by itself in a leaning position a 
 a large block, sixteen feet in height, called the Friars' 
 Heel. This strange skeleton temple is partly surrounded 
 at some distance by barrows or mounds, clothed with 
 a deep blue-green verdure, which, contrasting with 
 the pale, sorrel-tinted herbage of the plain, makes 
 them very prominent and striking objects. One is 
 at a loss to account for this strong and decided 
 contrast. It would almost justify the conclusion 
 that these tumuli not only contained bones, but 
 that these permeated the whole superincumbent mass 
 with fertilising gasses which made for it a covering 
 of deeper green than that worn by the general 
 surface. The surrounding ditch, from which the 
 earth for the barrow was taken, is perfectly well- 
 defined. So, to the most incredulous and exacting, 
 the proof is present and clear that these mounds 
 were made by human hands. They deepen as well 
 as vary the mystery that broods over the sombre 
 arena of these strange structures. There seems to
 
 to Land's End and Back. 145 
 
 be a method in the arrangement between these mounds 
 and the temple, a kind of proportion and social rela- 
 tionship. At first glance, and with half the poetical 
 license of imagination that many writers have exercised 
 in reference to their origin and object, one might fancy 
 that it was the cemetery of some pre-historic race 
 of giants, the mounds being their graves, and the 
 temple, the chapel in which the funeral rites were 
 performed. Still, half a dozen or a dozen centuries 
 may have come between the rearing of these huge 
 columns and the rising of the barrows that surround 
 them. Whose bones do or did the latter cover? 
 Briton, Roman, Saxon or Dane? The theories con- 
 structed upon these rude monuments of antiquity are 
 legion. They afford the largest scope for the wildest 
 rides of fancy, and some of the four-footed and four- 
 winged hobbies have been ridden to the giddiest 
 heights of conjecture. 
 
 In looking at the stupendous structures which 
 extinguished and unknown races have left here and 
 there in both hemispheres, a kind of humiliating 
 thought must temper the spectator's admiration. He 
 sees before him a work of gigantic human strength. 
 Here is a mighty monument to the memory of the 
 religious sentiment in the heart of a numerous people. 
 Here is their united thought embodied in an edifice
 
 146 A Walk from London 
 
 that almost overawes our best civilisation in the 
 dimensions and materials of the building. The men 
 who reared it, and were as long, perhaps, in the 
 building as the masons and carpenters on Solomon's 
 Temple, were thinking, speaking men. They had a 
 living, common language, of elaborate, complex gram- 
 matical construction ; a language of nouns, adjectives, 
 verbs, moods and tenses, with all the rules, incidents, 
 intricacies and general and exceptional shapings of a 
 regular syntax and prosody. They had public meet- 
 ings and public orations. Their speeches would have 
 read well as samples of rhetoric and logic, if taken 
 at their utterance by some one gifted with the 
 mightiness of an alphabet and the skill of a short- 
 hand writer. What grave and stately parlaver of 
 priests and patriots preceded the raising of these 
 temples ! What plans were sketched in the sand, 
 or on the bark of trees ; what discussion and com- 
 parison of projects foreran the decision as to the 
 best of the competing architects ! How much of 
 mechanical science, as well as brute force of human 
 sinews, was brought to bear upon the quarrying, 
 transporting, hewing, sculpturing and raising of the 
 vast blocks of stone ? And when it was all complete, 
 and the whole nation came together to celebrate the 
 inauguration of the temple ; when their acclamations
 
 to Land's End and Back. 147 
 
 arose like the voice of many waters over a monument 
 of their hand-might that should stand through the 
 ages a marvel to them all, not one of their wisest 
 men, nor all of them put together, could write the 
 name of their race upon the frontlet of the structure. 
 They could build a temple of the grandest propor- 
 tions, but not an alphabet. They could not form 
 the pen-beams and joists of the shortest word in 
 their language, though they could quarry, hew, joint, 
 and raise the huge blocks of this Stonehenge. 
 
 What contrasts with this baby weakness of pagan 
 Titans our civilisation puts in presence! In the 
 memory of a middle-aged man, one passed over this 
 wild expanse with a pen in his hand. He paused at 
 these pillars. He stood in the sombre shadow of their 
 great mystery. He marvelled at them with all the 
 wonder they have excited in the thoughts of successive 
 generations. How were they lifted out of their beds in 
 the sides of distant hills? What force of brute and 
 human sinews brought them hither and raised and 
 crowned them in such order? He was awe-struck at 
 this monument of heathen mightiness. There were 
 giants in those days, whenever those days were linked 
 to the chain of time. Giants ! they were the merest 
 babies to him and his pen. He went out, and in 
 sight of that temple, in sight of those grave-mounds, 
 
 L2
 
 148 A Walk from London 
 
 he erected a structure that will overtop and outlive 
 all the pagan edifices standing now on earth. With 
 that pen of his he built up a human life endowed 
 with more energetic vitality than ever pulsed in all 
 the aboriginal races of the British isle. He built up 
 a human life with his pen, of such faculties and 
 symmetries of truth, that the Spirit of Grod owned 
 its divinity and breathed into it an ubiqitous im- 
 mortality, working now and working ever upon the 
 hearts and hopes and upon the inner life-shaping of 
 millions of different race and tongue, scattered the 
 wide world around. In nearly all the alphabetted 
 languages of the earth the missionaries ojf the Gospel 
 have, as it were, linked to the lids of the Holy 
 Evangel the life of "THE SHEPHERD OF SALISBURY 
 PLAIN." Millions speaking those multifarious tongues 
 in central regions of remote continents, who never 
 will hear of Stonehenge, will read of him as one 
 of the permanent guide-lights to a better being.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 OLD SAKUM; SALISBURY CATHEDRAL; WILTON; THE HERBERT FAMILY; 
 AXMINSTER CARPETS; SHAFTESBURY; BLACKMOOR VALLEY ; ENGLISH 
 AND AMERICAN DAIRIES; WAGES OF FARM LABORERS IN DORSET- 
 SHIRE J FARM-HOUSES J BRIDPOHT, ITS BUSINESS AND SCENERY J 
 CHARMOUTH AND ITS HISTORICAL ASSOCIATIONS. 
 
 |T was about seven in the evening when 
 I left Stonehenge and made for Salisbury, 
 following the direction of the cathedral 
 spire, visible in the distance. Had a long and late 
 walk, of about ten miles, before I reached the city, 
 having seldom seen in one day so many scenes and 
 objects of interest and wonder. 
 
 Salisbury is a venerable city, with a very unique 
 history, including that of famous Old Sarum in the 
 immediate vicinity. Indeed the one is virtually the 
 continuation of the other. When Old Sarum had 
 burnt itself down to the socket, Salisbury was 
 lighted at the expiring flame, by the wick of its 
 cathedral candle. Still Sarum was no fiction in its 
 time, though but little more is left on its site than
 
 150 A Walk from London 
 
 one finds on that of John O'Grroat's House. Its 
 name comes up so generally with the memory of 
 political corruption before the passage of the Reform 
 Bill; it has such a bad fame as the peopleless con- 
 stituency of some peer's member of the House of 
 Commons, that, doubtless, many reading Americans 
 may have been tempted to believe that it was as 
 much a nonentity in the society of English towns 
 as ever was that standard authority and personage 
 of Mrs. Gamp's creation, the famous " Mrs. Harris." 
 But this impression is all wrong. It was a real, living 
 city set upon a hill and a very remarkable hill in the 
 time of the Romans. At their evacuation of the island, 
 they doubtless left their fortifications and buildings on 
 this hill intact to the Britons, who would have 
 every motive to preserve and occupy them. The 
 fortress was captured about the middle of the 
 sixth century, and held and strengthened by them. 
 Toward the end of the ninth century it is supposed 
 that Alfred added the outer entrenchment. Later, 
 about the middle of the tenth century, Edgar con- 
 vened here a council, or wittengemote, to devise 
 measures for repelling the invasion of the Danes. 
 A century later, in 1086, William the Conqueror 
 assembled here all the barons of the kingdom. The 
 city seems to have grown steadily in population,
 
 to Land's End and Back. 151 
 
 and in military and ecclesiastical importance up to 
 the middle of the thirteenth century, when, owing 
 it is said to a difference between the castle and 
 cathedral, the latter was removed to Salisbury. But 
 a cause more serious than this difference contributed 
 to the transplantation not only of the cathedral but 
 of the whole town. It is a saying current and 
 credited among the people of this part of the 
 country that the petition for permission to make 
 this change contained the grave statement that beer 
 in Salisbury was cheaper than water in Sarum, which 
 one may easily believe, considering the character of 
 the hill on which the latter was built. Thus Old 
 Sarum was really a living and growing city, on 
 its own bottom, for 800 years, to say nothing of 
 its Roman history. The worst for its reputation 
 was the fact, that it had a name to live when it 
 was dead as a stone. It traded on its shadow, and 
 made it a political power in the country long after 
 it had ceased to move and breathe as a living 
 community. When there was not enough of it 
 left to be called the skeleton of a town, it still 
 clutched the political prerogative it had enjoyed for 
 500 years of sending two members to Parliament. 
 And two it sent, many a year, when not a single 
 house stood upon the site of the ancient city, and
 
 152 A Walk from London 
 
 when there was no other living constituency to 
 represent than the sheep and cattle that grazed 
 upon the hill. These creatures, bought but not 
 bribed, honored the British Parliament with many 
 a distinguished member. They sent up to its councils 
 for the first time the elder Pitt, or the great Earl 
 of Chatham, in 1735. Later, in 1801, they and the 
 land they grazed were represented by the celebrated 
 John Home Tooke. These unfavorable associations 
 of Old Sarum, attaching to the closing years of its 
 history, have besmeared its name with a bad repu- 
 tation, making it the synonym and measure of the 
 " Rotten Borough " system of politics. That term 
 of current coinage, so well known in America, 
 " Gerrymandering," was never guilty of half the 
 political obliquity that brands the memory of this 
 ancient English city, which else would have been 
 held in veneration. 
 
 Salisbury is a goodly and venerable city for its 
 age and history, in its own right. Without its 
 celebrated cathedral, and its ecclesiastical influence, 
 it has played a brave part in the annals of England, 
 if to suffer is to be brave as well as to dare and do. 
 Seated on the trysting place of three or four little 
 rivers in a fertile valley, and surrounded by the 
 serene quietudes of Nature, one can hardly work
 
 to Land's End and Back. 153 
 
 up his imagination to the stern and stormy reali- 
 ties that have swept over the city in ages gone. 
 The Barons bruised it savagely in their wars. The 
 Roses made many a red blossom by night in its 
 burning buildings. All the subsequent Revolutions 
 and Rebellions, with their fire-brands and hammers, 
 made their marks upon it. Thus its own history, 
 without including that of old Sarum, would make a 
 small library of volumes, if all its doings and 
 experiences were written out in consecutive narration. 
 But the cathedral is the great fact of the city, 
 and as much overtops all its other celebrities as does 
 its lofty spire the two-story houses sleeping on its 
 shadow. It is an edifice probably better known to 
 the American public than any other ecclesiastical 
 structure in England except Westminster Abbey. 
 Its famous spire makes it rank with Strasburg and 
 the tower of Pisa in all the old pictures so familiar 
 to our childhood. Internally it is not so grand and 
 beautiful as Ely cathedral, nor externally as awe- 
 inspiring as York Minster. Still it has its own 
 salient individuality of design and structure, thanks 
 to the better inspiration of a darker age than ours. 
 When these magnificent cathedrals were built, archi- 
 tecture had not come to be a dry, scientific profession. 
 The monks and ecclesiastics of that day put as
 
 154 A Walk from London 
 
 much religious fervor and sentiment into them as 
 into their best prayers. They built at them with 
 the same steady enthusiasm of genius as their fellow- 
 artists painted at the form and face of the Virgin 
 Mary. Books of models had not yet been published, 
 and architectural plagiarisms were held as sacrilegious 
 thefts. Thus you find no cathedral in England the 
 copy of another. Even the features of resemblance 
 in every particular seem to be fortuitous or accidental. 
 Salisbury cathedral was commenced, according to 
 well-authenticated history of the building, in 1220, 
 and was completed in less than forty years, with 
 the exception of the spire, which was erected two or 
 three centuries later. Like nearly all the other 
 English cathedrals, it is in process of renovation, or 
 almost re-production literally. In addition to these 
 improvements, many interesting pictures that took 
 the white veil from the white-washer's swab in a 
 past age are now being brought to view again. The 
 delicate pillars and columns of Purbeck marble are 
 being cleansed from the plebian wash, and the 
 paintings on the lofty ceiling over the chancel re- 
 covered from the white eclipse of lime. It is a 
 peculiarity of this grand edifice that it was made 
 to mark times and seasons in their minute and 
 manifold subdivisions. Thus there are as many
 
 to Land's End and Back. \ 5 5 
 
 windows as days and as many pillars as hours in 
 the year, and "as many gates as moons," as an 
 old rhyme has it. Two or three relics of the age 
 in which it was built are especially interesting "if 
 true." A round table is shown on which the laborers 
 employed in the erection were paid at night, each 
 receiving a penny a day ; a fact which proves in 
 itself how so small a population was able to build 
 such edifices in the thirteenth century. Another 
 interesting souvenir of those early times is an 
 enormous clothes-chest or semicircular drawer of 
 solid oak, with a lid so large and heavy that it was 
 raised by machinery. In this the Roman Catholic 
 priests kept their robes unfolded. 
 
 The Chapter House, in which the clerical parlia- 
 ment of the cathedral authorities transact their 
 business, is an octagonal building with all its lofty 
 roofage gathered up at the top and supported by 
 a single, graceful column, arising from the centre 
 of the mosaic floor, and spreading out a score 
 delicate fingers to bear the gorgeous burden. This 
 hall is a gem of the first water of architectural 
 genius and taste, exceeding in beauty of design and 
 finish anything I have yet seen of this order in 
 England. It is a renovation which I was told 
 faithfully reproduces, without innovation, all the
 
 156 A Walk from London 
 
 original features of this senate chamber of ecclesi- 
 astics. The sum expended upon this recent work 
 was about 10,000, or nearly 50,000 dollars ! The 
 main window is a memorial to the late bishop, and 
 cost 1,000 ; all raised by subscription among those 
 who held him in great reverence and esteem for 
 his virtues and labors. 
 
 The spire of the cathedral is to my mind the 
 most perfect in pose and proportion ever raised in 
 Christendom. Although not so lofty by seventy- 
 four feet, it is more symmetrical than that of 
 Strasburg, and towers up into the still, blue sky 
 with more delicate and graceful stature. Its height, 
 measured from the pavement, is 400 feet, or 30 feet 
 above the cross of St. Paul's. Like most of the 
 ecclesiastical buildings of the same age, this stands 
 on low ground. Indeed the nave has been frequently 
 flooded from the little valley rivers. If it had as 
 high a footing as Lincoln or Durham, its lofty and 
 unequalled spire would excite a wider admiration 
 than it does on its present depressed foundation. 
 
 On entering the vestibule or porch of the cathedral, 
 I was struck with the apparition of a monkish-looking 
 young man, with a veritable cowl on his head and 
 clad in the long, close, lank habiliments of his order. 
 He was a foreigner, and had lodged at the same
 
 to Land's End and Back. 157 
 
 hotel with myself; but no one could divine the 
 object of his visit. He had just been shown over 
 the building as I entered, and was now standing 
 with a pale and meditative countenance in the porch, 
 seemingly thinking of the transmutation of that and 
 of all the other magnificent edifices in England which 
 once belonged to the Roman Catholic dominion. In- 
 deed, I could not but fancy him busy with such 
 thoughts ; for unless human nature has been emas- 
 culated out of them, or subdued to a dead calm, 
 the antecedents of these buildings must frequently 
 come up in fresh and unpleasant memory. He stood 
 so silent, so pensive, pale, and so long and darkly 
 draped in his monkish costume, that he looked the 
 very ghost of the old monastic regime, allowed to 
 " revisit the glimpses of the moon," and to see by 
 its light the great changes wrought in the realm 
 of human sentiment and opinion. 
 
 Having passed through the whole county of Wilts 
 from north to south, I now faced westward to make 
 a diagonal walk through Dorset. Stopped for a couple 
 of hours in Wilton, the ancient capital of the Saxon 
 kingdom of Wessex, and the scene of important events 
 in English history. It gave the name of Wilts to 
 the county of which it was once the most populous 
 and important town. It is now distinguished for a
 
 158 A Walk from London 
 
 business which, in the reach of reputation, eclipses 
 all its collateral and antecedent celebrities. It is 
 the great seat of the Axminster carpet manufacture. 
 About thirty years ago, Messrs. Blackmore and Lap- 
 worth bought out the Axminster establishment and 
 removed it to Wilton, and here under their direction 
 it has assumed dimensions and attained to a reputation 
 well known to the world. There are two or three 
 peculiarities that distinguish this carpet from all other 
 kinds manufactured in different countries. In the first 
 place, it is made whole, without stitch or seam. There 
 are twenty Axminster looms in the factory, the longest 
 of which is forty-live feet. That is, on this loom a 
 carpet may be wrought forty-five feet in width, and 
 in length ad infinitum. No private apartment in the 
 world has ever been carpeted of a greater breadth 
 than this without seam. I visited the factory a year 
 previously, when they were at work upon a carpet 
 for the Prince of "Wales, twenty-four feet by fifty- 
 eight. In every square inch of it there were sixty- 
 four tufts or perfect knots. One hand could work 
 only thirty-six, square inches in a day, or one foot 
 in length and three inches in width. Thus it would 
 take one person eighteen years to make the 1392 
 square feet ordered for the great drawing-room of 
 the Prince of Wales' city residence, the Marlborough
 
 to Land's End and Back. 159 
 
 House. Including the charge for designing the pattern, 
 it cost 3 10s. or about seventeen dollars per yard. 
 They had now on the looms several carpets for wealthy 
 nabobs in India, who are not only beginning to order 
 mansions built by English architects, but to be fitted 
 up with English furniture. The two largest were to 
 cost 700, or $3,360 each. The thickness of the 
 carpet on the loom is full three-fourths of an inch, 
 it being reduced a little by dressing. As every tuft 
 or knot is a perfect tie, each is plainly seen on the 
 inside or bottom surface ; and this is an infallible 
 proof of the genuineness of the Axminster carpet, 
 which will enable any one to detect an imitation. 
 Every knot is made by hand. No machinery has 
 been, or probably will ever be introduced to facilitate 
 the operation. There are employed in the factory 
 420 hands, of which about three-fourths are girls ; 
 and all work for a specified sum per foot. 
 
 Here, then, in this quiet village on the confluence 
 of two little rivers, is a manufactory which has not 
 its equal or even competitor in the world in furnishing 
 the palaces of princes of the blood and princes of 
 money with the costliest article of household furniture. 
 Seemingly with hardly noise and stir of general 
 business enough to drown the chirrup of a cricket, 
 the little town is known to the extremest Inde for 
 the production of this luxurious fabric.
 
 160 A Walk from London 
 
 The manager of the establishment took me to see 
 a small, one-story, thatched cottage in the centre of 
 the town, in which the first carpet ever made in 
 England was wrought. It is said that one of the 
 earls of Pembroke smuggled the weaver into the 
 country from the continent, somewhat after the manner 
 in which " Box Brown " was freighted out of slavery, 
 in a box, which was not always "kept right side 'up 
 with care," but the reverse, so that his head was 
 often downward. But the captured artisan, notwith- 
 standing this terrible muddling of the brains on the 
 way, did great and loyal service to his captor's country, 
 introducing an article for which England had thitherto 
 been dependent upon foreign manufacture. Few read- 
 ing and thinking people can hardly realise the short 
 distance backward one has to travel in this land of 
 luxury to reach the time when the drawing-rooms of 
 princes were carpeted with sand or rushes. 
 
 The other great lion of the town is the Wilton 
 House and its architectural affiliations. This baronial 
 mansion is one of the numerous monuments of the 
 astute policy of Henry VIII., in making to his sway 
 powerful supporters and " friends of the mammon of 
 unrighteousness." Never did the Turks smite to ruin, 
 huge and haggard, more magnificent edifices of Grecian 
 architecture in the fiercest moments of their fanaticism,
 
 to Land's End and Back. 161 
 
 than smote this English Cyrus grand abbeys and 
 monasteries under the pretence that they bore the 
 mark of Babylon. Never before in modern history- 
 did a sovereign come into such ready funds for 
 buying the loyalty of his nobles and for binding 
 them and their posterity to his throne and succession. 
 After the abbeys and other religious houses had been 
 unroofed and nearly destroyed, the lands attached 
 to them were ample, fertile and highly cultivated, 
 and one of these estates was a rich assignat to bestow 
 upon a favorite of the crown, for service rendered 
 and service promised. Henry YIII. gave this eccle- 
 siastical holding to Sir William Herbert, the first 
 Earl of Pembroke ; and it has been the seat of 
 that family ever since. Take them all in all, from 
 the first to last head and representative, they have 
 made a name and reputation which few noble families 
 in England have equalled. The name of Herbert 
 has a kind of classical sound, and is honorably asso- 
 ciated with literature, fine arts and philanthropy ; 
 with brave men and fair women, and, what is better, 
 with good and pure of both sexes. Men of brilliant 
 chivalry and brighter genius married into the family, 
 and all its personal affiliations, connections and pre- 
 dilections contributed to give it an hereditary character 
 of high mental cultivation. They were generous,
 
 1 62 A Walk from London 
 
 appreciating and unpatronwng patrons of poets, 
 painters, sculptors and architects. A wife of one of 
 the Herberts was the sister of Sir Philip Sidney, 
 who, it is said, wrote part of his "Arcadia" here 
 at her request. The late Lord Sidney Herbert seemed 
 to embody in his life and character all the talents 
 and virtues attaching to each of the names he bore. 
 He stood, at his untimely death, in the front rank 
 of English statesmen for these high qualities. With 
 Sir Philip Sidney's refined taste and sentiment, he 
 had the practical and solid erudition of a profound 
 scholar, the power of an accomplished orator, and the 
 purity and patriotism of a conscientious statesman. 
 He had reached the height at which many ambitious 
 legislators culminate, and was still ascending, when, 
 at the meridian of common manhood, he was stricken 
 down suddenly, to the sorrow of the nation. He 
 had begun to follow closely after Lord Shaftesbury 
 in the career of philanthropy, and, had he lived, 
 would doubtless have become almost as distinguished 
 as that noble man for deeds of beneficence. He 
 left a monument to his religious sentiment, artistic 
 taste and large-hearted munificence in Wilton, which 
 has no equal in England as the thought and gift 
 of one man. This is a church, erected at his own 
 expense and costing 20,000. It is quite un-English
 
 to Land's End and Back. 163 
 
 in its style, being of the Romanesque or Lombard 
 order of architecture. But nothing in the west of 
 Europe can exceed its interior scenery. Never, I 
 should think, did high art have such a carte Handle 
 for fitting up a house of worship with exquisite 
 embellishments. Stone of as different grain and 
 tint as Washington's Monument can show, has been 
 wrought to every artistic device in this building. 
 But I will not venture upon any detailed description 
 of it. I would advise all American tourists visiting 
 Stonehenge and Salisbury, to take in Wilton on their 
 way, and be sure to spend a few minutes in this 
 church, which will ever stand as a monument to 
 the mind, heart and life of Lord Sidney Herbert, 
 as well as a building erected by him to the service 
 of religion. 
 
 The castle was not opened on the day I happened 
 to be in Wilton, so that I had to forego the pleasure 
 of seeing the treasures and trophies of art it contains. 
 These, as described elaborately by different visitors, 
 are very rare, numerous and valuable. 
 
 After dinner, made a walk of about twenty miles 
 to Shaftesbury, one of the most remarkable towns 
 in England for its position. It is truly a city set 
 upon a hill, as upon a very tall candlestick, just 
 
 large enough to hold it and the dripping of its 
 M 2
 
 164 A Walk from London 
 
 candle. Mounted upon such an elevated shaft of 
 chalk, it was very properly called Shaftesbury. But, 
 although there is no spiral railway to elevate men 
 and beast by gently-diverging parallels to the summit, 
 nor any hydraulic contrivance nor pulleyed hoist to 
 facilitate the ascent, it pays well for the climbing 
 to see the surrounding country from this remarkable 
 burg-height. The fertile and picturesque vale of 
 Blackmoor stretches out far and wide in every 
 direction. After travelling in the treeless and hedge- 
 less down country for several days, it was pleasant 
 to look upon this rich scene of natural and artistic 
 beauty. From the Castle Walk or boulevard, the 
 deep valley extends twenty miles southward, pre- 
 senting the most delightful variety and alternation 
 of all the colors and tints belonging to the wardrobe 
 of June. The young summer month sticks in its 
 teens to the fancy of another ambitious maiden, 
 that green suits her complexion best. So she dons 
 no silver-edged ribbons nor girdle of harvest gold. 
 But leaving out these sunny lights, I think I never 
 saw Nature dressed out with more exquisite taste 
 in the virgin moon of the year than from this 
 remarkable stand-point of observation. 
 
 Shaftesbury has an eminent history of its own as 
 well as an elevated position in the material world.
 
 to Land's End and Back. 165 
 
 A city set upon such a hill could not have been 
 hidden in the vicissitous experiences of a nation. 
 One -writer, with a Welch affectation of antiquity, 
 gravely dates the founding of the town as far back 
 as 1000 B.C. Though perhaps of the order of those 
 minute chroniclers who give you the name of the 
 man who sold Hanibal the vinegar with which 
 he melted a pathway for his army through the Alpine 
 rocks, this author makes the age of the town a round 
 thousand years before Christ, not giving fractions or 
 odd numbers. The founder, according to the tradition 
 he consulted, was King Lud, contemporary with Joshua. 
 Other historians have not ventured so far back in 
 the primeval periods of creation for the day when 
 Shaftesbury began to be. A couple of facts stand 
 to its account pretty well authenticated. Canute, as 
 he was called in England, but Kmit in Denmark, 
 fought a great battle in this neighborhood, and 
 after having worn the crown four years in peace, 
 died here in 1035, and was buried in Winchester, 
 about two centuries before Salisbury Cathedral was 
 built for the praying of the living for the dead. 
 The town is the joint "holding" of two English 
 noblemen, by a rather singular division of the 
 inheritance. One owns its name, the other its body 
 corporate. The Shaftesburys have carried that name
 
 1 66 A Walk from London 
 
 through the world of literature, politics and philan- 
 thropy. He who wears it now has brought it to 
 the brightest and most irradiant lustre it ever received 
 or emitted. In a certain sense, it clings to the skirt 
 of his reputation, and his good name bears it in 
 the hollow of his hands through every region of 
 either hemisphere peopled by readers of the English 
 tongue. That is his ownership, for which the 
 whole population pay him the tribute of their best 
 esteem. The Marquis of Westminster, on the other 
 hand, is a different proprietor. He owns the town 
 itself, or enough of it to call it all his own. He 
 makes a very good landlord, too, I understand, and 
 if a whole town, churches and all, is to be owned 
 by one man, perhaps such as he may as well as 
 any one else put his private mark upon it. But 
 here I must caution my American readers not to 
 give our common meaning to mark, used in this 
 connection. Far be it from me to say or suggest, 
 that a nobleman, like the Marquis of "Westminster, 
 puts his private mark upon an old and venerable 
 town, founded by King Lud in Joshua's day, as a 
 farmer would put his upon a sheep, by a dab of 
 tar, or by cutting a peculiar slit in its ear. Away 
 with such a vulgar imagination! He hangs upon 
 its gateways and public buildings his coat of arms,
 
 to Land's End and Back. 167 
 
 and a very gorgeous embellishment it is, which few 
 medium-sized towns in England are ashamed to wear. 
 A very unique and interesting custom, honored for 
 a great number of years in its observance, not only 
 made a kind of annual holiday and a Lord Mayor's 
 Show, but illustrated one quality of the condition 
 of a town thus located. The difficulty that besieged 
 Old Sarum and brought it down from its high perch 
 to the well-watered valley, also assailed Shaftesbury. 
 The hill on which it was built was a solid structure 
 of chalk to a depth never fathomed. To look for 
 a spring of fresh water in it, would be like digging 
 into an ash-heap for one. The people had many 
 privileges of an elevated nature. They could see 
 the sun rise earlier and set later every day by several 
 minutes than the valley folk. They had air as cheap 
 and free as ever breathed, and scenery of the widest 
 horizon, wrought in beautiful pictures out to the very 
 rim on every side. But one of the prime elements 
 of human necessity was wanting. They had no water. 
 This was brought on horses' backs for a long time 
 from the distant parish of Gillingham. As a kind 
 of annual thanksgiving that such a source of supply 
 was accessible, "the mayor," says the chronicle of 
 the custom, " proceeded to Enmore Green on the 
 Monday before Holy Thursday, with a large fanciful
 
 1 68 A Walk from London 
 
 broom, or byzant as it was called, which he presented 
 as an acknowledgement for the water to the steward 
 of the manor, together with a calf's head, a pair 
 of gloves, a gallon of ale, and two penny loaves of 
 wheaten bread. This ceremony being concluded, the 
 byzant, which was usually hung with jewels and 
 other costly ornaments, was returned to the mayor 
 and carried back to the town in procession." There! 
 how few imaginations of modern ingenuity could 
 extemporise a more interesting ceremonial than that 
 for an annual holiday ? What a softly-meshed haze 
 of mysteries envelopes the real, inner meaning of all 
 these tribute offerings, except the beer ! 
 
 The town itself, speaking only of the part made 
 by man, is quite interesting, and when you have 
 withdrawn your eyes from the broad and magnificent 
 surrounding of valley scenery, you may treat them 
 to the sight of several monuments of early history 
 of great note in their day. I should think no building 
 ever erected in England could have commanded such 
 a view and such admiration as the Abbey of Shaftes- 
 bury, when it was in its glory. It stood on the 
 southern battlement or butment of the bluff, which 
 was walled up on that side to a great height. An 
 edifice as large as Westminster Abbey erected on 
 such a site, must have been a wonder in the ecclesi-
 
 to Land's End and Back. 169 
 
 astical architecture of that time. The massive wall 
 that made the precipitous declivity secure still remains ; 
 but hardly one stone upon another may be found of 
 the abbey building itself. Lately several excavations 
 have been made in the area it covered, and many 
 relics of it have been discovered. It is said to have 
 been the most richly endowed religious house in 
 England. It was the resort of pilgrims who flocked 
 hither to the shrine of Edward the Martyr, and at 
 one time had twelve churches according to some 
 doubtful historical records, which always seem to have 
 a leaning to exaggeration in describing the magnitude 
 of ancient cities. It now numbers four churches, of 
 which St. Peter's is the most ancient and interesting 
 for its position and external ornamentation. 
 
 Monday, June 13th. Having spent the sabbath with 
 a friend at Shaftesbury, I set my face southward 
 towards Bridport. From one to eight p.m. I walked 
 in this grand valley without reaching its southern 
 wall. Stopped frequently on the way to talk with 
 farmers and laborers, especially on the condition of 
 the latter. There is an impression abroad that the 
 farm servants in Dorset are reduced to the lowest 
 stage of depression, receiving the smallest wages and 
 living on the hardest fare. Several conversations with 
 different parties this day led me to believe that this
 
 1 70 A Walk from London 
 
 impression comes from a misapprehension, or rather 
 exclusion of one important element in the estimate. 
 The laboring men in this county, as in Wiltshire, 
 receive generally only eight shillings per week ; but 
 there is this very considerable difference. Here every 
 man with a family not only has a cottage and garden 
 rent free, but frequently an additional patch of land 
 for growing potatoes ; and sometimes he is gratuitously 
 supplied with the fuel he needs, in the wood grubbed 
 up in removing or trimming hedges ; and sometimes 
 in coal itself. There is also a very general agreement 
 that the farm-laborers shall have the small or imperfect 
 wheat, called grysons, at five shillings a bushel, what- 
 ever the market price of good wheat may be. Thus, 
 by these little perquisites and gratuities, their condition 
 seems to be equalised with that of the same class in 
 the northern counties of England. A singular custom 
 prevails in Dorset, which illustrates the universal 
 penchant for fun and frolic which produces so many 
 holidays in this country. Candlemas, or the 14th of 
 February, is set apart as a grand hiring-day. It is 
 celebrated in Dorchester, and is the occasion of a 
 regular jollification and rollicking carnival of the 
 yellow-top boots and the smock frocks. Thither all 
 who wish to hire or be hired resort. Even if a 
 farmer wishes to re-hire all his old hands, and if
 
 to Land's End and Back. 171 
 
 they prefer to take service under him another year, 
 both parties must go to Dorchester to make the 
 bargain, instead of doing it quietly at home. There 
 master and servant meet on the same footing of 
 freedom, fun and merriment ; inaugurating a new 
 term of service with mugs of ale of prodigous tally, 
 and with all the jollilities of the public-house and 
 squad-dances in the public street. 
 
 This great Blackmoor Vale is a celebrated dairy 
 region, and is almost entirely devoted to the production 
 of milk, butter and cheese. I saw from thirty to forty 
 cows in one field several times in my afternoon's walk. 
 The landlord of the little wayside inn where I found 
 lodgings for the night, gave me much interesting 
 information on the subject. A few years previous 
 he had taken the whole management of a dairy 
 of fifty cows, doing all the work with the help 
 of his wife, two children and a young hired man. 
 His little daughter, when only nine years of age, 
 had often milked ten cows at one sitting. The fifty 
 averaged each four pounds of butter a week, and 
 about 150 pounds of skimmed cheese in the season. 
 Another dairy of forty cows, feeding on upland 
 pasture, had produced six pounds of butter a week. 
 In estimating the production of a dairy, the farmers 
 of this section do not make much account of the
 
 172 A Walk from London 
 
 breed, size or color of the cows, but look entirely 
 to the quality and extent of their pasturage. 
 
 I spent a very pleasant evening with this simple, 
 honest, kind-hearted and worthy family. They gave 
 me an insight into the life and customs of these 
 rural communities which was very interesting. The 
 little daughter, who had performed such feats on the 
 milking-stool, now, with all her eleven happy and 
 hopeful years upon her, after instructing me in the 
 minute details of butter and cheese-making, under- 
 took the more difficult task of initiating me into the 
 mysteries of a game she called, I think, dominoes, 
 and which I never before essayed to explore. For 
 a full hour long, she labored to overcome my ignorance 
 of the play, correcting all my blunders and darkened 
 understanding of the matter with a patience, a per- 
 severing sweetness of face and voice and kindliness 
 of disposition which would make a model school- 
 mistress. At last she succeeded in beating into my 
 head some faint notion of the first principles of the 
 game, and she concluded her elaborate instructions 
 with a look which seemed to say, "You were rather 
 dull to begin with, but if I had you a week, I 
 think I could make something of you." 
 
 In the meantime, there was a little side-play going 
 on in the tap-room, which I overheard with rich
 
 to Land's End and Back. 173 
 
 amusement. On relieving my pockets of a load 
 of miscellaneous matters, I had taken out a small 
 Hebrew psalter. This opened itself as I laid it 
 down on the table, so that the little girl, standing 
 near me, had noticed the strange-looking letters 
 with an exclamation of wonder. So I let her take 
 it to gratify her curiosity, and she had run to her 
 father with it; to whom it was a greater wonder 
 still. Later in the evening, while his daughter and 
 myself were seated at the dominoes, he came in to 
 ask for the strange book to show some neighbors 
 and customers in the tap-room. A regular discussion 
 ensued, which I partly overheard, as to what the 
 book was, which was the beginning and which the 
 end; which was the right side up of the letters, 
 what they looked like, and other questions put and 
 discussed in the richest Dorset dialect. If that unique 
 conversation could have been taken down in short- 
 hand, and given to Tennyson, with all its minute 
 peculiarities of pronunciation, wording and accent, he 
 could have made something of it as rich as the soliloquy 
 of his " North-Country Farmer." On the whole, I have 
 seldom spent a more enjoyable evening at any country 
 inn than at this little wayside house in Blackmoor Yale. 
 Bidding my host and his family good-bye, and 
 receiving their best wishes for a prosperous journey,
 
 1 74 <A Walk from London 
 
 I resumed my staff, and walked on in a south-westerly 
 direction. Made only seven miles this day, on account 
 of the rain. Stopped for shelter at two or three 
 little inns within this distance. One of these was 
 peculiarly unique and interesting for its capacity of 
 entertainment. It was an old, thatched, cottage build- 
 ing with a fire-place nearly ten feet wide at the 
 back. And there was a regular, old-fashioned, wood 
 fire on the hearth, made of hedge-trimmings. In 
 each corner there was a seat, entirely within the 
 jambs, and in front, a circular bench with a back 
 to it reaching almost to the ceiling, called the settle, 
 a good, old Saxon institution of old English homes 
 that our New England forefathers used to speak of 
 with fond remembrance in their traditions of the 
 old country. Several small farmers and farm-laborers 
 with the landlord formed the circle ; and while the 
 "raindrops from eves of reeds" fell fast outside, we 
 had a long and pleasant talk about the leading 
 interests and questions of that section of country. 
 The landlord gave me a full and detailed account 
 of a system or division of labor and capital which 
 I had not heard of before. That is, the letting 
 of dairies, which is quite common in this district. 
 He himself hired a dairy of fifty-six cows, paying 
 11 5s., or $54, per head. The owner finds pasturage
 
 to Land's End and Back. 175 
 
 for them in summer, housing and fodder for them 
 in winter, and has all the manure they make. This 
 is all. He does not supply a dairy-house, or tenements 
 for the dairymen. What must be a wonder to a 
 New England farmer, the feed of these milch cows 
 through the winter is almost entirely straw. The 
 dairyman has to attend them through the year. 
 He has all the produce of the milk, and makes 
 the most of it. The first item here is cheese, and 
 the best quality of this is generally made of the 
 night and morning milkings. The first is the 
 largest, and is set for cream for full twelve hours, 
 then skimmed and mixed with the new milk of 
 the morning. Thus the largest part is laid under 
 contribution to butter on its way to the cheese-tub. 
 The best article produced in this celebrated section 
 is the result of this half-and-half mixture. I have 
 heard of none made of entirely new milk, Then 
 there is a certain quantity of the genuine, old- 
 fashioned, skimmed cheese, made of milk which has 
 given up to the butter-churn every iota of cream 
 in it, before it goes to the press. This is an article 
 well known in New England, and is generally 
 called in my own neighborhood white-oak cheese, 
 owing to its solidity. Softer missiles have been 
 fired with great effect from cannon, when iron
 
 176 A Walk from London 
 
 balls were exhausted. The third and last source 
 of revenue is the feed which the sour milk and 
 whey make for pigs. A man with fifty cows will 
 raise and feed from sixty to a hundred pigs in the 
 milking season. A gentleman in the same parish 
 lets 110 cows in this way for about ten guineas, 
 or fifty dollars, each. This certainly must be a 
 profitable and easy source of revenue for a farmer. 
 In this great valley I should think that every 
 acre of pasturage would feed one cow through the 
 season, and another would yield fodder, in grain or 
 grass, sufficient to keep her well through the winter. 
 Thus 250 of such acres would probably furnish suffi- 
 cient rations for a dairy of 110 cows, provided the 
 whole production were given to them. At a long 
 lease, the occupant must pay for such land at least 
 1 per acre annual rent ; making in all 250. All 
 he has to do is to provide fodder enough of some 
 sort to carry the cows through the winter; to grow, 
 cut, cure and rick it for the dairyman, who feeds 
 it out and takes the whole charge of the herd. 
 For this hay and straw, for the pasturage, or virtu- 
 ally for the whole production of his farm, and for 
 the annual rent of his 110 cows he receives 1,110; 
 or S5,328. Then he has probably a hundred calves 
 yearly, which will doubtless average 2 a head,
 
 to Land's End and Back. 177 
 
 adding 200 to the income of his herd ; making in 
 all 1,310. Deduct 250 for rent of his farm, and 
 1,060 remain against the interest of the money 
 invested in his cows and the cost of providing fodder 
 for them in the winter. This shows a very large 
 balance of profit. I have assumed the least land 
 admissible for the feed of such a dairy, provided 
 every spire of grass and grain were given to 
 it. But as the owner or occupant feeds the herd 
 with straw instead of hay, he must, of course, have 
 more than 250 acres. He must put down' to grain 
 or roots a space which shall yield, in straw and 
 turnips, an amount of fodder equal to 200 tons of 
 good hay, which would be a prime crop for 150 
 acres of excellent meadow land. Thus, probably, a 
 letter of a hundred cows will farm an estate of five 
 or six hundred acres, with ample pasturage for such 
 a herd, and land enough to furnish straw and roots 
 to keep them well through the winter, and have 
 three or four thousand bushels of wheat to sell in 
 course of the year. Thus his dairy will only be 
 one source of his revenue, and one branch of his 
 business. 
 
 I have dwelt upon this subject thus minutely, as 
 it shows strikingly the difference between English 
 and American dairies in cost and production. I
 
 178 A Walk from London 
 
 believe that the annual product of the dairies in the 
 Black River country, and in other cheese-making 
 sections of New York State, is put down at the 
 average of forty dollars, or eight guineas, for each 
 cow. The owner performs all the labor involved 
 in pasturing her in summer, foddering and attending 
 her in winter, milking, making and marketing the 
 cheese, &c. Besides, he cannot keep her on straw 
 or roots, or both. He must at least have a ton 
 of good hay to each cow, whatever quantity of straw, 
 corn-stalks and turnips he may rick or house for winter. 
 Thus the English dairy farmer gets ten guineas 
 annual rent for each cow, while the American only 
 gets eight, as the whole return from the pasture 
 bars to the market ; for feeding her summer and 
 winter, for milking, for making the cheese, and 
 carting it to the railway or to some distant town. 
 Then, if he fattens her calf, allowing it all the 
 Tm'lk she gives for five or six weeks, he gets only 
 from twenty to twenty-five English shillings for it; 
 while the English farmer sells his of the same age 
 for three times that amount. There is a compensation 
 for this difference however in the fact, that the 
 American farmer owns the estate he occupies, and 
 pastures, mows and cultivates land that does not, 
 at the outside, pay or demand more than the interest
 
 to Land's End and Back. 179 
 
 of 10 per acre. Whereas, the English fanner occu- 
 pies a holding that would fetch any day from 60 
 to 100 an acre. 
 
 Thus far, in travelling up and down this country, 
 and noticing the different and improved systems of 
 agriculture, I have seen nothing which our American 
 agriculturists could more profitably imitate than the 
 great care given here to pasture lands. I have heard 
 of many an acre lying near a large town, renting at 
 from twenty-five to thirty dollars for the season. 
 As a general thing, in well-farmed sections in Eng- 
 land, the pastures are as fertile and productive as the 
 meadows or mowing lands; indeed, they are both 
 alternately, being fed this year and mowed the next. 
 Now with us, especially in New England, it is a 
 matter of great satisfaction and even pride with a 
 farmer to cut two tons of hay to the acre on his 
 choicest field. This quantity will keep a cow through 
 the winter. To raise this amount, he top-dresses his 
 meadow heavily, and bestows much extra labor upon 
 it. It is a large yield, and his neighbors congra- 
 tulate him upon it. But what is the net result, 
 after all ? Why, it fodders one cow from grass to 
 grass, or from the middle of November to the middle 
 of May. But he pastures her through the other 
 
 months of the year on swamp, or stony upland, 
 
 N 2
 
 180 A Walk from London 
 
 which yields such poor, thin grazing that it takes 
 three or four acres of it to feed her passably well. 
 I am more and more persuaded that this is the 
 greatest improvement that remains for us in New 
 England to adopt. We can and do cut as much 
 hay per acre on our best meadows as English 
 mowing lands yield. But, on an average, we do 
 not get more than one third of the feed per acre 
 from ours that English pastures produce. 
 
 Wednesday, June \5th. I had a long walk this 
 day over a wild, grand country to one with an eye 
 for bold scenery. For twenty miles it was a succession 
 of lofty, treeless hills, and deep, dark valleys, resem- 
 bling the counties of Wyoming and Alleghany in 
 New York, with exception of woods and forests. 
 Through this section, I noticed the ill-construction 
 and arrangement of the farm-houses. They need as 
 much radical reformation as the oldest cottages of 
 the poorest farm-laborers. In some cases, the barn- 
 yard fronts the house broadside on, but more fre- 
 quently flanks the door-yard with only a low hedge 
 or wall between. I saw occasionally a long, low 
 building thatched with damp and mouldy straw, one 
 half of which was the dwelling of the family, the 
 other, the stabling for cattle and horses. The land- 
 lady of the inn where I lodged the night preceding,
 
 to Land's End and Back. 181 
 
 complained of this annoyance, saying that some of 
 them were always ill from the odors of the cow-yard 
 under their bed-room windows. Many of the best 
 farm-houses are built on low ground, even when a 
 desirable elevation, with good natural drainage, is 
 just behind them. An American will be struck with 
 this singular custom, even in reference to the best 
 mansions of the gentry, especially of the olden school. 
 They are often erected at the very foot of a rising 
 ground, as if following the fashion of the old abbeys 
 built in sequestered vales or on the banks of streams. 
 
 Beached Bridport about the middle of the afternoon. 
 This is a very comfortable and good-looking town, plan- 
 ted near the sea on one side, and on the other walled 
 with a semicircle of grand hills of remarkable aspect 
 and construction. They look like Nature's barrows, 
 in which she buried the skeletons of some small, 
 experimental creations of her " 'prentice hand" before 
 Adam's day. They are to the mounds of Salisbury 
 Plain what Grulliver was to the pigmies, the same 
 in form, but enlarged mountainously ; rounded up 
 to a lofty height, each wearing a skull-cap of gorse. 
 Two or three of the highest, about a mile west of 
 the town, will pay the climbing though it may take 
 an hour. From their summits you look off upon 
 the blue plain of the sea, like a horizontal sky basking
 
 1 82 A Walk from London 
 
 in the sun, then inland upon a basin full of hills of 
 wonderful diversity of shape and stature, with inter- 
 vening valleys seemingly 200 feet below the level 
 of the ocean. It was really a grand and beautiful 
 scenery, both landward and seaward, which I hardly 
 saw equalled on the Highland coast of Scotland. 
 It was worth the long ascent to the top of one of 
 these great cones called Colmers Hill, to see what 
 Nature could do with the tints or shades distilled 
 from only two colors, blue and green. The first, 
 with every nuance it could emit, was given to the 
 sea; the other, to the verdure of the hill and valley, 
 fields, hedges and trees. Such was the exquisite 
 alternation and grouping of the tints that smile out 
 of green upon the sun-lit landscape of June, that 
 you hardly missed a shade in the scenery ; you 
 hardly noticed that Nature had painted it by dipping 
 her pencil into only one color of the rainbow that 
 great semi-annular easel hung in the heavens for 
 her artistry in the morning of creation. Nothing was 
 ripening ; nothing turning yellow, silvery or red. 
 There were scarcely any daisies or buttercups, or 
 even the vermin-footed charlock, or the cinque-foil or 
 clover, white or red, in blossom to diversify the 
 scene. From the sole to the crown of the high- 
 rounded hills all was green, but of so many changing
 
 to Land's End and Back. 183 
 
 shades of wheat, oats, barley, beans, lowland grass and 
 upland grass, of hawthorn hedge, and fir plantation 
 and elm copse, and all these arranged in alterations 
 varying at every furlong, that you did not miss 
 any of the absent Pleiads of color from the scenery. 
 A word or two about Bridport itself before leaving 
 it. It is noted now, but to especial distinction in 
 earlier times, for the manufacture of hempen cord 
 and twine of every size and use ; for the necks of 
 murderous criminals at Newgate and for raising cod 
 and halibut on the coasts of Newfoundland. It has 
 turned out a prodigious quantity of fishing-line for 
 the anglers of both hemispheres. A large amount 
 of sail-cloth is also made here. I went through an 
 establishment that produced weekly 160 pieces of this 
 article, each containing forty yards, or over 1,000 
 yards a day. The navy gets the best quality, which 
 is made of pure flax and looks very dark and as 
 hard as sheet iron. The sail cloth for merchant 
 vessels is made of flax tow, and is nearly as white 
 as cotton. I was surprised to learn that this heavy 
 cloth was all woven by hand in the weaver's own 
 cottage until within a few years. It was truly hard 
 work, and a man could only turn off from his 
 hand-loom three yards a day, whereas a small girl 
 measures off ten yards now from her machine.
 
 184 A Walk from London 
 
 Went on to Charmouth, a long, tidy, white-faced 
 village which is slowly climbing a very high hill 
 by a single street. It is close to Lyme Regis, a 
 sea-port which has played a pretty stirring part in 
 English annals. But this small, one-story village 
 also has made or witnessed much important and 
 interesting history. In the everlasting wars between 
 the Saxons and Danes, they fought two sanguinary- 
 battles here. Then, in a later century, Charles 
 II. came within an ace of being caught here. It 
 was arranged that he should escape to France from 
 this point. He rode hither with a small company 
 of trusty friends and waited at the inn for the 
 arrival of the vessel at the beach. But it did not 
 make its appearance ; so he was obliged to pass the 
 night in the village. His horse had cast a shoe, 
 and it was taken to the blacksmith to be re-shod. 
 The man of the forge, who seems to have had some 
 of the traits of Longfellow's hero of the hammer, 
 eyed the make of the remaining shoes, the heads 
 of the nails, and their fitting to the hoof with some- 
 thing more than a professional curiosity. They 
 aroused his suspicion. Something extraordinary was 
 in the wind. They came from the north of England. 
 He knew their mark. With the hoof of the over- 
 ridden horse in his lap, he "linked fancy to fancy"
 
 to Land's End and Back. 185 
 
 as he struck the nail-heads. That horse had run 
 a race of life and death to the sea to the sea 
 facing Trance. He clinched that conclusion with 
 every nail he drove through the shoe. And when 
 the conclusion was firmly clinched in his mind, he 
 revealed it to the hostler of the inn, who brought the 
 horse to the smithy. The hostler was a man like 
 the smith, full of thought and full of the stirring 
 opinion and sentiment of the times, though there 
 was no daily newspaper known to that day and 
 generation. He was a Republican soldier with a 
 touch of Cromwell in his will. He told the black- 
 smith's thought to the Puritan minister of the village, 
 and he to the magistrate, who passed it to the 
 captain of a band of troopers in the neighborhood ; 
 and they were in the saddle in a moment, and came 
 swooping down the deep-cut road toward the village, 
 They got into a divergent lane, and missed the direct 
 way, so that the king just escaped by the skin of 
 his teeth, That is something for a small village to 
 tell of, and it is told as if it were no mean record 
 in the annals of the country. The " King's Bed- 
 room," which he occupied on that night of peril, 
 is still pointed out in a small cottage house next 
 to the chapel.
 
 CHAPTEK VI. 
 
 DEVONSHIRE SOIL AND SCENERY ; HONITON AND ITS LACE-MAKERS ; 
 OTTERT CHURCH ; BICTON AND ITS ARBORETUM ; LADY ROLLE, 
 HER TASTE AND ACHIEVMENTS J EXETER, ITS CATHEDRAL AND 
 MEN OF MARK. 
 
 \UNE 16th. From Channouth I diverged 
 from the sea-coast and continued my walk 
 in a north-westerly direction. A fog lay 
 heavy and thick upon hill and valley, obscuring both, 
 though allowing short and sudden glimpses of beauti- 
 ful scenery by the way. Soon I crossed the boundary 
 of Dorset into rich and picturesque Devonshire, the 
 most remarkable county in England for several salient 
 characteristics. Not the least of these. is the circum- 
 stance of its having a northern, eastern, southern 
 and western sea-coast, without being an island. 
 Passed through Axminster, famous for giving an 
 everlasting name to the carpets of royal palaces and 
 mansions of nobility and gentry. The first specimen 
 of this luxurious fabric was made here in 1755, by 
 a Mr. Whitty, who received the medal of the Society
 
 to Land's End and Back. 187 
 
 of Arts for his taste and skill in the production of 
 an article which has come to such wide celebrity. 
 It was manufactured here for eighty years, when, 
 in 1835, the establishment was closed, and the business 
 transferred to Wilton. Axminster is a little, sedate, 
 but not sleepy town, though it looks like one 
 pensioned off and living on the annuity of an 
 ancient reputation. It is pleasantly situated on a 
 rising ground overlooking the valley of the Axe, 
 a quiet little river sauntering leisurely through a 
 rich and meandering savannah, with its green vest 
 well studded with butter-cup buttons. 
 
 About half way to Honiton I passed along the 
 rim of a vale of wonderful beauty, presenting the 
 peculiar characteristics of Devonshire in bold relief. 
 And these are many and strikingly variegated. In 
 the first place, the soil itself is a vivid peculiarity 
 of the county. It might be called the precipitate 
 of red sandstone held in solution by the Flood. 
 Nothing could contrast more vividly with the soil 
 and scenery of Wiltshire. There white fields, inter- 
 spersed with crops red and green, were the striking 
 feature. In Devon, fields as red as brick-dust, 
 alternate with the green mosaic that covers hill 
 and valley. When a strip of this soil is ploughed, 
 harrowed, rolled and moistened by dew or rain, it
 
 1 88 A Walk from London 
 
 takes a deeper red, like varnished mahogany. Put 
 a dozen strips of this background among fifty patches 
 of wheat, oats, barley, beans and white clover, and 
 you have a picture spread out before you which 
 you will see nowhere else in England. Then in no 
 other county do you see such unique figures in the 
 great Axminster carpet of verdure. Euclid himself, 
 with square and compass, could not parcel out such 
 queer allotments. They baffle geometry altogether. 
 It affords no measurements nor dimensions applicable 
 to these odd morsels of land. In some sections you 
 will not find a rectangular field in a mile ; neither 
 square, nor parallelogram, nor triangle, nor any shape 
 belonging to circles or their segments. If the hedge 
 had followed the path of a snake bewildered with 
 excitement, it could hardly be more irregular. Now 
 when you look off diagonally from the rim of one 
 of these grand, green amphitheatres, you see a mosaic 
 work of extraordinary variety and vividness. The 
 valley you look down upon, as you descend into 
 Honiton from the north, is one of the most beauti- 
 ful in England. Bight in the centre of it apparently 
 arises Dumpdon, a remarkable hill panelled to the 
 crown with these infinitely-varied patches of verdure 
 and red soil. The name seems to suggest a down 
 "dumped" bolt upright in the middle of the great valley.
 
 to Land's End and Back. 189 
 
 I had diverged a dozen miles from my direct 
 course to see Honiton, where the fine and costly lace 
 which bears its name is manufactured. It is a pleasant 
 and comfortable town, mostly built on one long street. 
 A note of introduction admitted me to the oldest 
 and largest lace establishment, which has supplied 
 royalty, nobility, gentry and the rich and fashionable 
 world generally with these fine white blossoms of the 
 needle for half a century. It is indeed an exquisite 
 fabric, perhaps the finest ever wrought for the adorn- 
 ment of human grace and beauty. Queens have 
 worn it with pride at the bridal altar, and on the 
 coronation days of their grandeur and glory. Still, it 
 is the handiwork of "fingers weary and worn," of 
 women hungry, lean and thinly clad ; of women 
 working on the clay floors of low, damp cottages, 
 whose coarse, patched garments show their poverty 
 all the more vividly against the slowly- wrought tissues 
 of the beautiful fabric they bend over from day to 
 day. How little do the brides of princes and nobles 
 and the prima donnas of fashion and luxury think 
 of the domestic history of the delicate foliage and 
 vine-work of their flounces, mantelets, collars, cuffs 
 and caps! 
 
 To begin with, the thread is a marvel for fineness 
 and strength. The finest costs about 4 or nearly
 
 190 A Walk from London 
 
 $20 a pound; the next quality, 3. The lace 
 flounces of Queen Victoria cost about 40, measuring 
 about eight yards. A flounce of six-and-a-half yards 
 had just been completed for a titled lady at the cost 
 of 20. The venerable proprietress of the establish- 
 ment showed me a great number of specimens of the 
 art in different articles, all wrought with the greatest 
 delicacy of design and execution. As some of my 
 fair American readers, who appreciate as highly as 
 any other ladies in the world "loves" of lace veils 
 and caps, may be curious to know the prices of such 
 articles at the factory, before they are loaded with 
 duties, the following rates may give them a little 
 information : 
 
 s. d. $ c. 
 
 A Vandyke, 4 5 = 20 40 
 
 AVeU, 250 10 80 
 
 A Pair of Sleeyes, 1 7 6 48 
 
 A Collar, 10 6 2 52 
 
 I do not give the factory prices of these articles to 
 stir up any discontent in the minds of American 
 ladies at the difference they have to pay for the 
 elegancies at Stewart's or Lord's. If the profits and 
 duties charged upon them bring them up to nearly 
 double the figures given here, the additional cost, 
 doubtless, enhances their intrinsic value in the esti- 
 mation of the fair purchasers.
 
 to Land's End and Back. 191 
 
 I wished much to see how this delicate fabric was 
 wrought, and by what kind of fingers and in what 
 kind of houses. So the proprietress of the warehouse 
 sent one of her assistants with me to a small cottage 
 on a back street, where three women were at work 
 on a floor of cement spread upon the natural earth. 
 It was a small apartment, hardly high enough for a 
 man to stand upright with his hat on, which he never 
 ought to do in such a presence. I felt impelled to 
 lower mine with unusual reverence at the sight. Two 
 of the women, the occupants of the cottage, were 
 sisters between sixty and seventy years of age. The 
 third was a neighbor who had dropped in with her 
 working pillow, and was plying her needle with her 
 bonnet on ; just as is in the olden time neighbors 
 in New England would make a morning call, taking 
 their spinning-wheels with them. I sat down on a 
 stool and had a long talk with them on their art 
 and occupation. The eldest of the sisters wore 
 spectacles and a long, still, solemn face, which seldom 
 took on the sunshine of a smile in the course of the 
 conversation. She had worked on lace for more than 
 fifty years. She had wrought on the wedding-dresses 
 of three generations of queens, Adelaide, Victoria 
 and Alice. She worked the royal arms, with the 
 lion and the unicorn and the motto, put up before
 
 192 A Walk from London 
 
 the window of the sales' depot an exquisite specimen 
 of taste and art. The business was now very much 
 depressed. She could hardly earn a penny an hour. 
 Many of the young women had been obliged to 
 abandon it altogether, and seek service as common 
 house servants, scrubbing floors, and handling pots 
 and kettles with fingers that had worked white tissues 
 of flowers and foliage which queens were proud to 
 wear on their coronation days. She had heard of 
 some of the causes that made the trade so low ; but 
 she had understood them dimly. She did not read 
 the newspapers ; but she had heard of the war in 
 America. They had told her it was something about 
 exchange that hindered the sale of lace. Poor woman ! 
 I looked into her still and solemn face, at her worn, 
 lean fingers, as she spoke of these things in such a 
 subdued and unmurmuring tone. She little knew 
 the long-reaching and ruinous sweep of. war, the 
 infinite ramification of its destructive issues. She had 
 not vigor of mental vision to see, though she felt it 
 to the core of her hungry wants, how the invisible 
 sirocco of war blows with unbated breath over the 
 widest oceans and continents, and blights the humble 
 industries of the poor in distant lands. 
 
 The process of lace- working is exceedingly interest- 
 ing, requiring the nicest judgment of the eye and
 
 to Land's End and Back. 193 
 
 a finger-skill of the greatest felicity. Although it is 
 wrought in clay-floored cottages, and in the one room 
 that serves as parlor, kitchen, cellar and sometimes 
 sleeping apartment, the lace, worked in the most 
 elaborate and varied patterns, is delivered- at the 
 sale-room as pure and unsullied as the thread at 
 its giving out. It is wrought on round, plump 
 cushions or pillows, and as fast as the figure pro- 
 gresses, it is covered with a thin belt, or veil of 
 oiled silk, so that only a very narrow slip or space 
 is exposed at one time to any subtile dust, or accidental 
 touch of the finger. Of course, the Honiton lace 
 is all wrought by hand, and has to compete with 
 a very elegant article made by machinery in Not- 
 tingham, and other towns that manufacture it in vast 
 quantities for the markets of the world. In face of 
 such almost overpowering competition, this slowly- 
 worked fabric of the fingers struggles to hold its 
 own. It still "rules" as the most perfect and 
 durable, as well as the most elegant embroidery of 
 bridal dresses of princesses and ladies of high nobility 
 and fashion. It is a pity, when they are so proud 
 to wear it, that the artistes who clothe them with 
 such flower-work should be so poorly paid. Some- 
 how or other, this inequality between the wearer 
 and the maker is the widest and worst in articles
 
 194 -^ Walk from London 
 
 of luxury. Diamond-diggers and pearl-divers and 
 ermine-hunters have always had a harder time of 
 it than even the Honiton lace-workers. The "blunt- 
 fingered men who follow the plough and wield the 
 sickle fare better. 
 
 After a long talk with the lace workers, I left 
 them with a little more sunny expression on their 
 faces than they showed at the beginning. Whether 
 a shilling an hour dropped into their hands for 
 the information they gave me, or the words of 
 cheer I dropped into their ears at parting, or 
 both together, produced the change, it was doubt- 
 less as pleasant to one party as the other. 
 
 I now faced directly southward, and walked down 
 a beautiful valley to Ottery St. Mary, a most unique 
 and acute-angular town. Indeed, the streets make 
 a very maze of angles, if that term may be applied 
 to any other lines than circles. Here is one of 
 the most beautified churches in the kingdom, internally. 
 It is really a bijou of a cathedral, worth a long journey 
 to see. Still it is better to see it without expectation; 
 to come upon it accidentally, as I did, without knowing 
 before-hand of such an edifice in an out-of-the-way 
 village like Ottery. The interior embellishment is 
 as full an illustration of what modern taste, art and 
 wealth can effect, as anything you will find in England
 
 to Land's End and Back. 195 
 
 outside the Temple Church in London. It has a 
 long and interesting history, including a century or 
 two when it was the appanage of the .hierarchy of 
 Normandy, and belonged to the Church of Rouen. 
 Oliver, the Cathedral-bruiser, smote its monumental 
 statuary and interior sculpture with some bad blows 
 in his day, and it has run the gauntlet of five hundred 
 years of peril and difficulty. But it has come up 
 out of the ashes of its former self, a very phoenix 
 of broad and beautiful plumage. In this quiet, antique 
 little town the poet Coleridge was born; and thanks 
 to the spirit of his verse, as well as to the large 
 means and munificence of the Coleridge family, the 
 church in which he was baptised has been renovated 
 and embellished to such admiration. 
 
 Friday, June 17th. Went on to Bicton, the cele- 
 brated residence of Lady Eolle. This lady is a 
 remarkable woman, without equal or like in England, 
 in one vigorous, well-developed individuality of will 
 and genius. She is a female rival of Alexander the 
 Great. If Yirgil had lived in her day, he might 
 have been tempted to substitute "Arbores dominamque 
 cano" for his famous introductory line, "Anna virum- 
 que cano." The world that the Grecian conqueror 
 subjugated was a small affair in space compared with 
 
 the two hemispheres which this English lady has 
 o 2
 
 196 A Walk from London 
 
 taken by the hair of the head and bound to her 
 chair of state. It seems to have been her ambition 
 for nearly half a century to do what was never done 
 before by man or woman, in filling her great park 
 and gardens with a collection of trees and shrubs 
 that should be to them what the British Museum 
 is to the relics of antiquity and the literature of 
 all ages. And whoever has travelled in dine rent 
 countries and climates and visits her arboretum, will 
 admit that she has realised that ambition to the 
 full. Let the most scientific and enthusiastic of 
 American arboriculturists travel from the Rio Grande 
 to the St. Lawrence, and from the Atlantic to the 
 Pacific sea-board, and he will find here at Bicton 
 more varieties of American trees and shrubs than 
 he named and noted on the Western Continent. 
 When he has seen the pines of California, of the 
 Rocky Mountains, of Michigan, Canada and Maine, 
 and heard the solemn sough and murmur of their 
 branches in the forest breeze, he will indulge the 
 self-complacent sentiment that no one can tell or show 
 him anything new in the race of conifers. He may 
 boast that he has seen twenty, perhaps even fifty 
 kinds of that tree in his explorations. Let such a 
 man visit Bicton and run down its tree-roll and read 
 its record after this rate :
 
 to Land's End and Back. 197 
 
 Pine Two "hundred, varieties. 
 
 Oak Two hundred nearly. 
 
 Willow Three hundred. 
 
 Elm One hundred and twenty. . 
 
 Ash Sixty 
 
 Poplar Thirty 
 
 Maple Twenty 
 
 Hickory Fifteen 
 
 Thorn One hundred and sixty 
 
 Bramble Forty-six 
 
 Holly Twenty-six 
 
 The whole number of varieties of trees and shrubs 
 in this wonderful collection is nearly three thousand. 
 Now take any one country or continent, and select 
 a specimen of every distinct variety of tree and shrub 
 to be found within its area, and then place the 
 whole side by side with the Bicton arboretum, and 
 the disparity will indicate the unparalleled assiduity, 
 effort, taste, genius and pecuniary means brought to 
 bear upon this British Museum of nearly every wooded 
 trunk, branch and bush that fans its foliage in the 
 breath of heaven. To make climates, and soils and 
 genial surroundings for these productions of all the 
 zones, so that they shall be at home and thrive as 
 in their native lands, requires an insight into their 
 habits and wants, and a genius to cater to them, 
 which must rank with the inspiration of the artist 
 as well as the science of the savant. This genius, 
 science, and devotion in the gardener of Lady Eolle,
 
 198 A Walk from London 
 
 Mr. James Barnes, work out lier taste, mind and 
 will to their best conceptions and conclusions. He 
 gave me a most cordial reception, and took me 
 through all the glass-roofed conservatories, and plant 
 and flower houses, then over the park grounds, and 
 showed me all the striking features of the establish- 
 ment. 
 
 The park is very extensive, most pleasantly undu- 
 lated and presenting the happiest variety of surface 
 for picturesque embellishments and views. It is well 
 studded with fine old English oak, beech, elm, chestnut, 
 sycamore and thorn. One striking feature is a long 
 avenue of auricaria imbricata, to use the ugly Latin 
 name given to a South American pine, which would 
 lose all its comeliness and value if it were as common 
 as white birch with us. Here it is esteemed among 
 the rarest of the pine tribe, so that an avenue lined 
 with it for a long distance is a sight peculiar to 
 Bicton. It is a very porcupine among trees; the 
 trunk and branches being tiled with ear-shaped scales, 
 pushing out their outer ends, as a hen ruffles her 
 feathers, and looking very rough and shabby. There 
 is an artificial lake with its blue bosom brooched 
 with islets studded with trees and shrubbery, which 
 flower and breath and blush at their faces in the 
 water. Aquatic birds of every form and plumage
 
 to Land's End and Back. 199 
 
 swim about on their shadows, mingling these with 
 the reflections of the blossoms drooping to the silvery 
 mirror from overhead. This lake is not a wide and 
 shallow pool, but deep enough to float the Great 
 Eastern at the lower end, if it does not draw more 
 than 40 feet without its ballast. There is another 
 pond forty feet above the level of this lake, beauti- 
 fully formed and ornamented, and mirroring another 
 group of interesting features. Of these, nothing I 
 ever saw in the same department of art and ingenuity 
 equals a Swiss cottage, designed and made by a 
 rustic, unlettered artist among the common laborers 
 employed at the establishment. I doubt if anything 
 of the kind ever produced in Switzerland could 
 approach this unique specimen of architecture. It 
 is an infinitessimal cathedral in shape, wrought in 
 the most graceful gothic, out of trunks, branches and 
 leaf-stems of young trees of every species known to 
 this country. The rural architect embroidered and 
 painted the interior and external walls of the little 
 edifice with these little split segments of green wood 
 with the bark on them, with a delicacy of design 
 and execution truly wonderful. If the small bits had 
 been globules of various colors on an artist's easel, 
 and he had taken them up with an artist's pencil, 
 he could have hardly painted more pleasant and
 
 200 A Walk from London 
 
 perfect pictures, inside and out. What is very re- 
 markable, he could not read nor write his own name. 
 He signed the receipt, on being paid for his work, 
 with a cross as his mark. Yet, among other pictures 
 he embroidered with barked bits of wood, were the 
 arms of the Rolles family, with the usual show of 
 wild animals and scrolls and allegories and hiero- 
 glyphics that characterise a Norman heraldry. The 
 most delicate lines and tints were drawn by the 
 artist with the ligneous colors on the point of his 
 penknife. Then, unlettered as he was, and unable 
 to write his own name, he wrote on the scroll of 
 the arms, in beautifully-formed letters, the motto of 
 the family NEC POPTJLO, NEC REGI, SED UTROQTJE 
 a most excellent motto, by the way, the best I ever 
 saw interpreting devices of British heraldry: "Not 
 for People, not for King, but for both." The flooring 
 of this miniature palace was more unique and extra- 
 ordinary still. To say that the apartments were 
 paved with ivory would not come up to the actual 
 fact, in the eccentricity of the achievment. The 
 whole space is paved with the knee-bones of sheep, 
 with the half joints uppermost, making a delicately- 
 sculptured surface of great beauty. They are fitted 
 together so compactly that 400 of them only make 
 a square foot. Now as there are 190 square feet
 
 to Land's End and Back. 201 
 
 of flooring to the cottage, it required 76,000 sheep- 
 shanks to pave it with these fluted and scrolled 
 joints of ovine ivory. 
 
 North of the park is a great pine plantation, with 
 carriage drives diverging in different directions, and 
 lined and overarched with foliage and flowers that 
 were never seen in England when Thomson wrote 
 his "Seasons." I mean the aerial blossoms and the 
 leaves of glistening green which the American rhodo- 
 dendron gives to the shrubberies of this country. 
 I doubt if Thomson ever saw this garden queen of 
 beauty, or dreamed of such tinting as suffuses the 
 cheek of its summer glory. Nine miles of this Juno- 
 shrub among flowering plants line the drives through 
 this great plantation ; and, when in bloom, they both 
 perfume and illumine the quiet pathways among the 
 tall pines, whose protecting shade and shield prolong 
 the blossoming, holding out their broad palms against 
 the unfriendly winds. 
 
 Bicton House is almost as distinguished for its 
 aviary as for its arboretum. Birds of every imaginable 
 feather and family are housed here in kingly and 
 queenly state, and watched and tended with the 
 greatest care. A drawing-room orangery, designed 
 entirely by Lady Bolle herself, is the most charac- 
 teristic feature of the mansion. It is far more grace-
 
 2O2 A II a Ik from London 
 
 ful and picturesque than the one at Chatsworth. 
 The trees do not stand in tubs or pots, but in squares 
 of soil, enclosed with marble slabs, and divided by 
 aisles beautifully paved with mosaic work. On festive 
 occasions, this parlor orange-grove is hung with colored 
 lamps at night, which light up the scenery with a 
 glory all its own, making the yellow and luscious 
 fruit look like "apples of gold in pictures of silver." 
 Having taken me over the grounds and showed 
 me the most interesting features of Bicton, Mr. Barnes 
 set me on the road to Exeter, and I continued my 
 walk toward that city, well pleased with my short 
 visit at an establishment well worth a long journey 
 to see. I think it must be but little known, even 
 by reputation, to American travellers, as I know of 
 none of them who have alluded to it in their descrip- 
 tions of English localities and sceneries. For many 
 miles, my way passed over one of those wide, cold, 
 waste lands which occupy, in their aggregate, such 
 remarkable spaces of this otherwise highly-cultivated 
 country. It is called Blackheath Hill, and its aban- 
 doned barren looks all the more poverty-stricken and 
 desolate from its fertile and picturesque surroundings. 
 But then these surroundings are brought out in more 
 vivid grace and beauty to the eye by the contrast. 
 Indeed, these heaths and waste places in England
 
 to Land's End and Back. 203 
 
 seem to stand as way-marks by which to measure 
 the improvements which centuries of art, industry 
 and wealth have made upon all the rest of the 
 country. 
 
 Exeter, taking it all in all location, scenery and 
 history is hardly surpassed by any city in Eng- 
 land. In all these attributes or accidents it is unique 
 and very interesting. In age it is quite venerable. 
 The first centuries of its townhood, like the narrow 
 upper waters of a river hidden among the blue- vested 
 hills pillowing the sky at the extremest limit of 
 vision, mellow off under the horizon of the past and 
 lose themselves and their records among obscure and 
 fanciful legends and traditions which counterfeit his- 
 tory. The very name, which is but moderately long, 
 comes down to us with the sediment of half a dozen 
 languages sticking to its letters and syllables, showing 
 the impress of as many races upon it. It is situated 
 at the head of navigation on a pleasant little river 
 now called the Exe, at the end of many modifications. 
 This evidently comes out of the Celtic word Isc, or 
 the Q-aelic Uisge, meaning water. Thus the aboriginal 
 Britons called the town Caer Isc, the "city on the 
 river." The Romans came and gave the British 
 name a twist in the Latin direction, and called it 
 Isca Danmoniorum, thus retaining the Celtic word
 
 204 A Walk from London 
 
 for the river almost intact. Next came the Saxons 
 and added a little in their peculiar way, after building 
 a fort or castle, and called it Exanceaster, or fortified 
 town on the Exe. The Danes changed it but little ; 
 and soon after the Norman Conquest, it assumed its 
 present appellation; following pretty much the same 
 course of mutation as Manchester, Lancaster, Don- 
 caster, &c. 
 
 The city is very picturesquely situated on a nill 
 surrounded by hills, presenting a very interesting 
 aspect on the river side. It is in the way of churches 
 what Oxford is in the show of colleges and temples 
 of learning. Indeed the ecclesiastical features not 
 only predominate over all other aspects when seen 
 from a distance, but when you walk the streets in 
 different directions. A churchy atmosphere pervades 
 its busiest walks with a quieting influence, and you 
 feel that you are moving in the midst of a conservative 
 and sedate community, living pensively but not sleepily 
 under the shadow of a sober and most respectable 
 antiquity. The city contains twenty-one parish, or, 
 what we should call in America, episcopal, churches, 
 besides many other places of worship belonging to 
 different denominations bearing the name of chapels 
 in this country. In the midst of this large sisterhood 
 of Sions arises the beautiful old cathedral with its
 
 to Land's End and Back. 205 
 
 two massive towers, and all the statuary of its muti- 
 lated saints niched in its outer walls. It is tnily 
 a noble monument of the stone age of art and 
 architecture ; of that age of enthusiastic religious 
 sentiment that produced the Crusades and other splen- 
 did fanaticisms, that read like the romance of human 
 history. It is not one of the first class of English 
 cathedrals injsize, but in many ex^uisrle touches of 
 beauty, it rivals the best of them. The gracefulness 
 of its roofage, the delicacy of its carved work in 
 wood and stone, the sculptured records of by-gone 
 ages, the histories it holds in the marble type and 
 monuments centuries old, all inspire one with a kind 
 of reverential admiration on walking down the lofty 
 aisles. The most striking characteristic of the edifice 
 is the conversion of the two massive towers that stand 
 precisely opposite each other, with the main body 
 of the cathedral between them, into transepts. The 
 inner walls of each, to half its height from the 
 ground, was removed some five centuries ago, and 
 the whole " hollow square " of the tower was let 
 into the nave as a part of its space. It must have 
 been an extraordinary feat of skill and labor at that 
 day, to cut away the whole side of a lofty, massive 
 tower, half way to the top, and then arch the super- 
 incumbent wall so strongly that it has not deflected
 
 206 A Walk from London 
 
 an inch for several hundred years. The great bell 
 in the north tower is also a wonder, considering the 
 age in which it was made. Before America was 
 discovered, it was brought from Llandaff, in Wales, 
 and mounted in this massive and lofty belfry. It 
 is said to weigh 12,500 Ibs., measuring from lip 
 to lip over six feet. It is never swung on its axis, 
 the hours being struck on it by a 
 
 I* * * * Heavy sledge, 
 With measured beats and slow. 
 
 The old clock, too, is a curiosity, made before Galileo's 
 telescope, under the old astronomical regime, which 
 made the earth the fixed centre of the universe and 
 the sun and planets its satellites. The old arrange- 
 ment of that system is illustrated and preserved for 
 coming ages of science on the dial plate or disk of 
 this clock. The relationships and companionships 
 of the heavenly bodies are placed on the same footing 
 as they appeared to Adam, Noah, Solomon, all the 
 prophets and the Popes up to the sixteenth century. 
 The earth is the all in all of the system as well as 
 the centre, and the sun and moon are made to walk 
 around it, one with its blazing torch by day, the 
 other with its o'ne glass-faced lantern by night, as 
 if nothing in the wide universe needed or received 
 light but its own great solitary self.
 
 to Land's End and Back. 207 
 
 There is one circumstance attaching to the latest 
 history of this venerable edifice which must give it a 
 special interest to all who visit it on the Sabbath. 
 It is no longer, what most of the cathedrals of England 
 have been for two or three centuries, a grand exhibition 
 building for the show of lofty Grothic arches, painted 
 windows, carved canopies, and sculptured monuments 
 of the great celebrities of by-gone ages. It is the 
 first English cathedral, so far as I know, restored 
 to its primitive use as a place of popular worship. 
 Up to within a very late date, the religious services 
 performed in these grand buildings have been confined 
 to the choir the small, inner sanctum, fitted up with 
 a few rows of carved stalls and common seats facing 
 each other, and which will admit but a small company 
 besides the clergy and men and boys in white surplices. 
 Thus, generally, up to within a year or two, these 
 vast buildings had not had half the congregations on 
 the Sabbath that have assembled in the common 
 parish churches in the same city. But the ecclesiastical 
 authorities of Exeter cathedral have changed all this. 
 The great nave has been matted and chaired from 
 one end to the other, a reading desk, pulpit and 
 singers' seat erected ; and, what is more, every foot 
 of the immense space is filled on the Sabbath by a 
 worshipping congregation. It is an impressive spec-
 
 208 A Walk from London 
 
 tacle as well as service which I have twice witnessed 
 and enjoyed. Here, twice on Sunday, a sea of 
 serious faces, of every age and aspect, overspreads 
 the pillared area. The voice of prayer, and hymns 
 winged with the devout suspiration of human lips, 
 soar up into the lofty arches, and the great organ 
 thrills the groined and graven roofage, and the very 
 statuary and monuments of the illustrious dead inter- 
 spersed with the living congregation, with sympathetic 
 vibrations of the holy melody. I understood that 
 the chancellor of the cathedral did this great work 
 at his own expense, and from the motion of his 
 good- will. I hope it is true, and believe it so; and 
 that others of like means and like heart will go 
 and do likewise, until every cathedral in England 
 shall present a like spectacle and perform a like 
 service on the Sabbath. The Established Church could 
 not do a better thing to begin with, than to pcopleise 
 these magnificent edifices committed to its trust. I 
 cannot say popularise, because a kind of flashy signi- 
 ficance attaches to that word. I mean, to open their 
 widest doors and their widest spaces to the people, 
 that they may sit on the freest seats, and listen 
 gladly to the freest gospel, and to the most glorious 
 earthly music of Christian faith on the Sabbath 
 without money and without price. There are a great
 
 to Land's End and Back. 209 
 
 stir and pressure in London and other large towns 
 in favor of opening the British Museum, the National 
 Grallery, and other public institutions on Sunday, and 
 an equal stir against such a dangerous innovation. 
 Let the Church open St. Paul's and Westminster 
 Abbey as widely and freely as it has done Exeter 
 Cathedral, and it may turn this current of the popular 
 mind Zionward. Mat and seat the rotunda of St. 
 Paul's, and the nave of Westminster, to every foot 
 of their magnificent roomage ; pulpit at the central 
 column of the great buildings such men as her preach- 
 ing-rolls may supply ; let her grandest anthems swell 
 forth with ascending sweep until the remotest and 
 coldest column and arch shall palpitate to the pulse 
 of the music, and few would be found to knock at 
 the door of the British Museum in holy hours. The 
 people should be made to feel that they have a 
 vested interest in these great edifices the heirlooms 
 of past ages. No more of the like will probably 
 ever be built on earth. The age is gone forever 
 that could produce them. But the age is here and 
 now that will preserve what remains with religious 
 watch and ward. No Charles Martel nor Oliver 
 t Martel will ever arise again to lift the sledge-hammer 
 of vindictive zeal against their sculptured frontals or 
 marble statuary. It is interesting to notice the
 
 2io A Walk from London 
 
 widening sentiment, not only of admiration but owner- 
 ship manifested in them by persons of all denomi- 
 nations in England, even by those most opposed to 
 the Established Church. The people have, as it were, 
 graven over their arched doorways, Propriete Nationale, 
 a property held in trust for the whole nation. I 
 doubt if you would find a Plymouth Brother or a 
 Primitive Methodist of the severest views, who would 
 like to see one of these cathedrals go down to ruin. 
 Nothing would so warm and expand this feeling as 
 opening every one of them for public worship to 
 its largest capacity. Few are the churches and chapels 
 that can give free seats to the poor of the people. 
 In many of them the poor are not expected to come 
 in perceptible number or distinction. Nay, more, it 
 is to be feared that in many cases their presence 
 would be repugnant if it broke up the high level 
 and even aspect of respectability in the aggregate 
 attendance. But the Cathedral might and should 
 be made a glorious free church for the poor. The 
 revenues that reared the structure in centuries past, 
 and that renovate its youth from age to age, and 
 pay all the preaching men and singing men that 
 fill it with their Sabbath voices, come mostly from 
 lands that the labor of poor men through generations 
 gone has made thus productive. It is meet that
 
 to Land's End and Back. 211 
 
 poor men should congregate beneath their high-span- 
 ning and gilded arches and feel that they are half-way 
 houses on the poor man's road to heaven, where he 
 can weekly get gratuitously new grace and guidance 
 for the rest of the journey. 
 
 Exeter has produced her share of distinguished men 
 in church and state, hut never of either class more 
 eminent and marked than those still living in or near 
 the city. It never had a bishop of higher intellectual 
 stature than " Henry of Exeter," nor a commoner of 
 more extensive learning, versatile genius and talent 
 than Dr. Bowring, whose poetical and other literary 
 productions have had their place in American school- 
 books for a third of a century. Nor does the city 
 lack philanthropists of the first spirit of benevolence. 
 Their names stand in the highest places in her birth- 
 roll, and they are the names of living men. Perhaps 
 no community ever showed a higher appreciation of 
 such qualities of heart and life. One testimonial of 
 this regard is very striking. I never saw or heard 
 the like. Great warriors frequently are honored 
 with statues while living, but men leading only quiet 
 lives, of evenly-shining goodness, generally lie in their 
 graves many a year before marble monuments are 
 erected to their memory. But on the picturesque 
 boulevard, or beautifully-shaded promenade called the
 
 212 A Walk from London 
 
 Northern/My, running around the foot of the old 
 castle, IKere stands a most benign and life-like man 
 in marble, looking at you with a light and glow 
 of good feeling which seem to warm the very stone 
 with a pulse of breathing being. I never saw eyes 
 before inspired with such vivid and pleasant specu- 
 lation by the sculptor's chisel; nor so much speaking 
 soul, so much kindly-moving heart shining out of a 
 marble face. The form and pose and dress are 
 equally expressive and happy. The cloven foot of 
 classical paganism protrudes no incongruous point to 
 the eye from sole to foot. The very costume of the 
 statue is the dress of a living man, living to-day 
 and living near Exeter, and hundreds of the city 
 would know whom the statue meant by that dress, if 
 they did not see the face. It means good Sir Thomas 
 Acland, and the chisel of Stevens, a native of Exeter, 
 gave it this significance. And this is the public motive 
 of the monument. This expresses what the people 
 think of the good baronet now, while he himself is 
 still thinking of them in their midst and busy with 
 good works for their benefit. The words are written 
 deep and large in the brow of the pedestal: 
 
 Erected as a tribute of affectionate respect for private worth 
 and public integrity, and in testimony of admiration for the . 
 generous heart and open hand which have been ever ready 
 to protect the weak, to relieve the needy, and to succour 
 the oppressed, of whatever party, race, or creed.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 A WEEK-DAY HOUR IK EXETER CATHEDRAL VEITCH's NURSERY 
 
 DAWLISH AND ITS SCENERY A SABBATH PICTURE TEIGNMOUTH ; 
 
 NEWTON ABBOT, AND ASHBURTON THE AMERICAN FLAG UNFURLED 
 
 ACROSS THE STREET WALK OVER DARTMOOR AND THOUGHTS BY 
 
 THE WAY TAVISTOCK ; NORTH MILTON, AND BRENTOR DUKE OF 
 
 BEDFORD'S MODEL FARM. 
 
 j|N my way out of the city southward, I 
 entered once more the open door of the 
 old cathedral, and, laying down my travel- 
 ling bag at the foot of the first column, went forward 
 to the screen of the choir and listened to the morning 
 service performed daily. There is something indes- 
 cribably interesting in the blending of human voices 
 in prayer and hymn in the inner heart of a cathedral 
 when the worshippers are all shut in from sight. 
 You see no human lips moving with these sounds > 
 They flood up heavenward in melting harmonies 
 among the thickly-studded pillars, and flow in and 
 out among the lofty arches, niches and alcoves ; and 
 it all seems the spontaneous music of the building 
 itself, singing its own morning psalm of " Glory to
 
 214 
 
 God in the highest on earth, peace, goodwill to 
 men ! " Then anon the great organ, as if moved 
 by the unexhausted thrill of the last Sabhath's pulse, 
 speaks out its Tc Deum to " the young-eyed cherubim," 
 that seem to listen on the staying beat of tireless 
 wings against the loftiest painted window, as if the 
 songs of paradise were not perfect without the music 
 of human lips, and they had come down to hear 
 it in Heaven's New Jerusalem on earth. These be 
 vagaries of fancy, doubtless ; but I love at such times 
 and places to give them play and let them run on 
 to the farthest end of their will and way. The 
 strongest pinions of faith are feathered with fancies, 
 and they beat against the headwinds and tempests 
 of trial and doubt not less steadily and stoutly for 
 such aerial plumage. 
 
 A little way out of the city is Yeitch's Nursery, 
 a famous establishment, one of the oldest and most 
 successful in England. Here I spent an hour very 
 pleasantly, being shown over the grounds by one 
 of the managers, who was very affable and ready 
 to answer all kinds of questions in reference to the 
 art of tree-culture. No enterprise nor occupation 
 seems to keep more even pace with the times than 
 this. As soon as a hitherto-sealed region of the 
 globe is opened wide enough for a civilised man
 
 to Land's End and Back. 2 1 5 
 
 to get into it, the tree-hunter is sent to penetrate 
 its forests and thickets in search of anything new 
 or odd that has root and leaf, whether it he palm, 
 pine or hramhle. The proprietors of this nursery 
 keep such tree-hunters in Chili and Japan, and in 
 nearly all the countries that lie between. While 
 these are seeking and sending them such distant and 
 diverse exotics, they themselves at home are making 
 genial climates and soils in their conservatories and 
 gardens for the strange trees, shrubs and plants. 
 As specimens of the lineage and variety of these, 
 two foreign families may be noticed. Two of the 
 largest and oldest California pines to be found in 
 England are growing most thriftily in these gardens. 
 They were planted eight years ago. They were 
 then two feet high ; they now measure twenty-five. 
 At this rate, next century England may show trees 
 overtopping by fifty feet any ever grown on the 
 island before. By the way, the English arboricul- 
 turists have made our California pine the hero as 
 well as monarch of the forest, giving it the first 
 name in their nomenclature of martial glory. They 
 have called it Wdlingtonia Gigantica. This may be 
 a playful infringement of the "Munroe Doctrine," 
 if it is not an anachronism. They must be looked 
 to a little in this matter by our patriotic American
 
 216 A Walk from London 
 
 botanists. They are getting into the habit of writing 
 British names on the bark and leaves of American 
 trees and plants. See what they did to the grandest 
 water-lily ever grown on the American continent. 
 They gave it a royal christening in botanical Latin, 
 and called it Victoria Regina ! And they made no 
 mention of the godmother of the flower at this 
 christening not even writing the initials of her 
 name in a corner of one of the white flounces of 
 the flower, or even a private mark on the broad, 
 green coverlet of its cradle, to hint that it first saw 
 the light of life under an American sun. There 
 is no telling how far they may carry this propensity. 
 Next they may transplant and acclimatise our shag- 
 bark Walnut and give it a Latin name, signifying 
 The Prince of Wales' Oicn, or they may Anglicise our 
 Sugar Maple and christen it, with its own sweet 
 fluid, Alexandra Helliflua. 
 
 Among the numerous families of foreign plants, 
 the Cape of (rood Hope was represented by three 
 hundred varieties of heather common to that end 
 of Africa. They presented a truly gorgeous show, 
 all in full blossom, in every concievable tint and 
 form of flower, though trumpet-shape predominated. 
 Some of them were covered with a blossom that 
 seemed newly vanished, so that it would stick to
 
 to Land's End and Back, 2 1 7 
 
 the fingers when touched. There was a specimen of 
 the auricaria imbricata of great size and reputed beauty. 
 It was nearly a foot in diameter at the butt, with 
 a spread, taper and top to its branches as symmetrical 
 as the most enthusiastic connoisseur could desire. 
 It has been considered such a peerless specimen of 
 this scaly tribe of conifers, that a hundred guineas 
 have been offered for it as it stands ; the purchaser 
 running all the risk of its transplantation. Such 
 a price shows the value attached to rare exotics by 
 the tree-fanciers in this country. 
 
 Continued my walk down the Exe, and crossed 
 it by the Countess' Weir Bridge, built originally, 
 according to tradition, not for accommodation but for 
 vindictive obstruction. As the story goes, a fair, 
 fiery Countess of Devon, many centuries ago, fell 
 into an angry mood towards the people of Exeter, 
 and to pay them off for some real or imagined affront, 
 had the trees on her estate near the river cut down 
 and thrown into it, so as to dam up the channel 
 completely against the ascent of vessels from the 
 sea to the city. One of her successors sought to 
 utilise this act of her revenge to the benefit of his 
 house, by building a quay, and opening up a com- 
 mercial port and town at Topsham, in order to 
 monopolise the trade that previously went up to
 
 218 A Walk front 'London 
 
 Exeter. After a long and arduous campaign at the 
 law, the people of the city obtained permission to 
 construct a ship canal to Topsham, and once more 
 had free communication with the sea, after having 
 been barricaded from it for the space of more than 
 two hundred years. This canal, having been enlarged 
 several times, is now about five miles in length, 
 fifteen feet in depth, and thirty feet in width, 
 affording space for two vessels of considerable size 
 to pass each other. On the west side of the river 
 I passed through Exminster and Starcross, pleasant 
 little towns that look out with sunny faces upon the 
 bay. Passed the Earl of Devon's seat, a grand 
 old establishment with towers and turrets, showing 
 nobly in a large, undulating park full of oaks des- 
 cending to the very rim of the sea. Beached Dawlish 
 early in the evening, and, for the third time, became 
 the guest of a friend in that interesting town over 
 the Sabbath. 
 
 Sabbath scenes in rural English villages have em- 
 ployed many a pencil and supplied many a picture 
 as familiar as household words in America. The 
 parish church, so unique and olden, with its gray 
 walls peeping out in patchwork through the meshes 
 of the green ivy ; the converging walks through the 
 church-yard, lined with white monuments, and walled
 
 to Land's End and Back. 219 
 
 on either side by turfed graves of the dead, the 
 processions of young and old, rich and poor, in every 
 variety of dress, moving from different directions 
 towards the gate of the little, sequestered Zion 
 all this has been painted, and said, and sung so 
 often that it has become almost a hackneyed subject, 
 which it would be somewhat pretentious in a tourist 
 to touch with Jiis pen. I am not going to make 
 any elaborate essay in this direction now, but merely 
 to say, that, taking every circumstance and aspect 
 into account, the best original of this Sabbath picture 
 that I have yet seen, may be found in Dawlish. 
 It possesses all the elements that an artist could 
 wish for such a piece, and all that is necessary to 
 realise the beau ideal of an amateur when painted. 
 The village is just large enough to be rural, cosy 
 and romantic. It lies in the bosom of a beautiful 
 valley meandering far back among the green and 
 glorious hills of Devonshire in one direction. In the 
 other, its high, red walls expand in a circular sweep 
 and embrace a sea- view which can hardly be matched 
 on the English coasts. The railroad crosses the mouth 
 of this valley close to the water's edge, on a sea- 
 wall of great strength, built to stand the beating 
 of the billows when the ocean roars and rushes upon 
 the land under the lash of the winds. Gigantic
 
 220 A Walk from London 
 
 bastions of red sand-stone, gnawed into all shapes 
 by the biting storms of centuries, stand with their 
 worn feet in the sea on either side. Through these 
 the locomotive engine, with its long, twisting train, 
 thunders and disappears through the aperture in the 
 opposite wall which looks like the mouth of a mere 
 burrow. A bright, broad, shallow stream comes down 
 laughing and chattering and chirping over the white 
 pebbles to the sea, right through the middle of this 
 valley, which widens out into a level green or common 
 at its debouchement. The village is built on each 
 side of this .brook-threaded common, ascending in 
 parallel streets the high hills that wall it in on 
 the north and south. Narrow roads and winding 
 lanes run up the hills at uneven intervals, crossing 
 these parallel streets. Both are frequently cut deep 
 into the red sandstone. At some of the intersections 
 the walls at the four corners are from ten to fifteen 
 feet in height. It is not really stone when you 
 come to examine it, though it looks at first strong 
 enough to be quarried for door-posts. It is a kind 
 of Devonshire cobble, like that of which the people 
 build their barn and cottage walls. It is a compo- 
 sition of coarse sand and small pebbles stuck together 
 by some clayey element which makes a conglomeration 
 looking like red freestone of a coarse grain. But
 
 to Land's End and Back. 221 
 
 it is still so porous that trees and shrubs can penetrate 
 it with their roots, and grow to a full stature over 
 it, with but a slight covering of soil. Thus all these 
 high-walled lanes are crested with sweet-breathing 
 hedges and over-arched with trees that let in the sun 
 and sky in mellowed light through their leaf-thatched 
 roofage. The old parish church is the very beau 
 ideal of the familiar picture in itself and all its 
 surroundings. It stands a good way up the valley 
 with its gray tower half hidden among the branches 
 of the great elms and oaks, that seem to be walking 
 in sober and stately files to the house of (rod side 
 by side with the human congregation. Through the 
 white churchyard, studded with monuments of a dozen 
 dead generations, the various pathways converge to 
 the arched gate of the earthly Zion. There is a 
 clear, deep, bubbling stream of water running on its 
 way to a mill near by, but a few steps from the 
 sanctuary, and this is crossed by a little foot-bridge 
 opening into the churchyard through a stile. By 
 night and day, through all the seasons of many a 
 century, that stream has bubbled with the pulses of its 
 laughing life along by the still graves of a thousand 
 sleepers, some of whom went down to dust ere 
 Columbus was born. What streams of human life 
 lie congealed in that Grod's acre, while this flows
 
 222 A Walk from London 
 
 by its sacred dust through meadows brooched with 
 golden daisy-stars rimmed with silver, and sung over 
 all day long by happy larks and pattered and laughed 
 over by happy children ! And now, high up in the 
 old tower, the bells with silver tongues break the 
 sunny silence of the valley. Down, down to the 
 sea and over its blue disk many a mile, pours the 
 widening flood of their Sabbath voices. Up it ascends 
 to the highest tree-tops on the lofty hills on either 
 side, and into the blue skies above them all. Tide 
 on tide, surge on surge, the thrilling, palpitating 
 inundation overspreads and fills the green world 
 around, running up and down the deep, steep lanes 
 in rivulets of joyful music, and touching the primrose 
 and thehawthorn's white blossom on either side, and 
 the uppermost leaves on the tree-tops overhead with 
 a sympathetic tremor of the general gladness of, the 
 Sabbath morning. And, winding down these lanes 
 by twos, threes, and fours, by family groups and 
 spontaneous companionships, come the fathers and 
 mothers, the sisters and brothers, and all the walking 
 ages of the village with the Sabbath light of heaven 
 on their faces. The cross rivulets of the hill pour 
 into 'the main avenues one by one their contributions 
 of life, and the streams thicken as they approach 
 the church into a continuous procession. My friend
 
 to Land's End and Back. 223 
 
 was an artist, with an eye of quick perception, and 
 as I walked by his side with his little family, in 
 a long, winding, high-arched lane leading to the 
 church, he thought it a sight allowed to the enjoy- 
 ments of the hour, to notice the moving tableaux 
 vivants formed by the variously-dressed groups under 
 different lights, as the shade thickened or thinned 
 overhead, or at different turnings of the walk. Every 
 thing that could make the picture perfect contributed 
 its element of interest; and I even felt that no 
 artist had yet given to us in America a full idea 
 of the Sabbath scene at an old parish church in an 
 English country town. 
 
 Dawlish is becoming not a fashionable, but an 
 enjoyable watering-place, where persons who love 
 quiet and the gentle moods and sceneries of nature 
 can spend the summer months in happy content and 
 comfort. The sea-view is delightful and the country 
 around a very picture of rural beauty. For bathing, 
 riding and walking, and for every -requisite for 
 healthy recreation or rest, it is a highly-favored 
 retreat. My third Sabbath in it impressed me more 
 than ever with the pleasant features of interest which 
 nature and a nature-loving community have imparted 
 to it. 
 
 Monday, June 20th. Resumed my walk and passed
 
 224 A Walk from London 
 
 through Teigmnouth, a pleasant town embosomed 
 in a picturesque valley, opening upon the sea. The 
 river is wide and shallow, overflowing at high tide 
 a broad space extending a considerable way back 
 into the country. At low water it becomes a great 
 barren of sand, threaded by a narrow and winding 
 channel. About two miles from the mouth of the 
 
 river the scenery was beautiful in every aspect. 
 
 . 
 
 The mountainous ridge or chain of hills on either 
 
 side, was decked out in the best colors of June 
 and presented a wonderful variety of tinting for the 
 season. The deep red background of the vegetation 
 gave the different shades of green a setting which 
 made them all the more vivid and striking. Oat 
 fields, which always seem to catch more sunlight 
 than other crops, lying side by side with the bright 
 purple-faced acres sown to turnips, presented the most 
 salient contrasts of the landscape. I was glad to 
 see the country in this peculiar aspect, when all 
 the fields of grain were at their most vivid glow 
 of growth, interspersed with corresponding spaces 
 of the natural soil full of germinating seed, but 
 not yet showing on its crimson surface a single 
 leaf or spire of herbage. 
 
 Beached Newton Abbot and dined with a friend 
 in that goodly and growing town, which is putting
 
 to Land's End and Back. 225 
 
 in its claims as a pleasant and eligible residence 
 by the sea for those who are seeking retirement in 
 such localities. A kind of new town is growing 
 up around a small park or common near the railway; 
 so that the community will be divided into a triad 
 of Newtons. One part is now called Newton Bushel 
 another Newton Abbot, and it is not yet decided, 
 I believe, what surname the new division shall bear. 
 And here it may be proper to notice this peculiar 
 characteristic in the nomenclature of English towns 
 and villages. Scores, perhaps hundreds of them 
 apparently have their Christian and surnames, just 
 like individual men and women, given at as full 
 length as Jack Eobinson or Betsy Baker; and for 
 the same reason, to distinguish them from a number 
 of other Robinsons and Bakers.. "Budleigh Salter- 
 ton," "Ottery St. Mary," "Newton Abbot," "Newton 
 Bushel," "Newton Poppleford," are Devonshire spe- 
 cimens of these town and parish names. 
 
 The scenery from the hills around Newton Abbot 
 will well repay one for climbing them. Landward 
 and seaward it presents a charming vista, embracing 
 almost every feature that can interest the eye. The 
 town has its history, and holds the record of an 
 event of great moment enacted in its midst. Here 
 William of Orange issued his first declaration after
 
 226 A Walk from London 
 
 landing at Torbay, and on the pivot of that "pro- 
 nunciamento " civil and religious liberty in these 
 realms swung out of the cold shadow of the system 
 that was emasculating its life and power. 
 
 Ended my walk for the day at Ashburton, a rather 
 large and goodly town situated on the skirts of that 
 great, cold, granite Sahara of England, Dartmoor. 
 I had put down the trajet of this wild desert in the 
 programme of my tour; so that I was delighted 
 to find on the following morning that the weather 
 promised favorably for the enterprise. I set off in 
 good season, furnished with all the verbal directions 
 the inn porter could give me or that I could remember. 
 Just before diverging from the long street on which 
 the town is built, I was struck with the apparition 
 of " the Stars and Stripes," as large as life, suspended 
 over the road by a cord from a cottage window on 
 one side and fastened to a tree on the other. All 
 the stars of the old flag of the Union were swaying 
 to and fro as the broad folds waved before the sweet 
 breath of June. The Lucifer of rebellious pride had 
 not plunged into the gulf of guilty secession, and 
 dragged down with him one third of the lights of 
 that blue firmament. Here, close upon the edge 
 of this wild desert, it held out upon the air of heaven 
 all the glorious astrals of our growth and greatness
 
 to Land's End and Back. 227 
 
 as a nation, as if to show the passing world what a 
 constellation the suicides of the South were seeking 
 to disrupt, darken and destroy. It was a sudden, 
 startling sight to flash before the eyes of an American 
 at such a time and place. How came it there ? Who 
 hung it across the street from his outer wall ? What 
 were the motives stirring his inner heart to this 
 manifestation? "What was Hecuba to him or he 
 to Hecuba?" I would have given much and gone 
 far to know; but I feared to ask the wrong person, 
 so, after some hesitation, went on my way. I heard 
 the old familiar click of a blacksmith's hammer behind 
 the cottage whence issued the cord. Did he own 
 the bunting ? Had his strong heart of hope a vested 
 interest in the bands of our American Orion in 
 the undimmed and indissoluble companionship of our 
 thirty-three stars, that they might make but one 
 lustre forever? Had he a son? had he a brother 
 in the struggle to stay the red, mad hands lifted 
 against the life and light of the Union ? When 
 I had gone on for a considerable distance, I was 
 almost tempted to return to inquire out the author 
 and cause of this expression of sympathy with the 
 North in this tremendous conflict. A telegram had 
 just reached the town announcing the sinking of the 
 
 Confederate Alabama off the coast of France; and 
 Q 2
 
 228 A Walk from London 
 
 doubtless that had called out this demonstration of 
 the blacksmith's sentiment and opinion on the great 
 question at issue in America. 
 
 I turned off in the direction of the moor with 
 something of the feeling I once had on entering 
 the mouth of the Mammoth Cave in Kentucky; 
 especially as I was to cross it alone. I had heard 
 that the roads or pathways were few and faint, and 
 that travellers were liable to many serious mishaps ; 
 that storms came suddenly down upon the cold waste 
 and that there was but little shelter on the best- 
 beaten track. Indeed under the influence of these 
 stories of hair-breadth escapes, of benighted or hail- 
 pelted wanderers over trackless miles of wilderness, 
 I really wished for a companion to make the crossing 
 with me. But no one else was walking the same 
 way, so I addressed myself to the journey, taking a 
 road which I was told would bring me out at Tavis- 
 tock, about twenty miles distant from Ashburton. 
 It wound around lofty hills. The valleys were grand, 
 deep and dark, and the premonitory symptoms of a 
 wild region thickened as I proceeded. Still, on 
 ascending a mounting billow from the dark trough 
 of the sea, the great rolling ocean of the waste was 
 patched with cultivated fields, looking like flashes 
 of colored light upon the brow of night. The scene
 
 to Land's End and Back. 229 
 
 from Pound Orate, as you turned your face eastward, 
 was a grand picture. The great round waves of 
 civilisation were beating up against the "barbarous 
 wilderness, lapping on and upward further and higher, 
 cresting one rough, heather-bearded hill after another 
 with the verdure of husbandry. Soon this green, 
 bright-lighted world of beauty disappeared, like the 
 shore of a fair and well-peopled land to one outward 
 bound on the broad sea. The great wild closed 
 in behind with its gray rocks and I was surrounded 
 with its rude scenery. This embraced shapes and 
 features which might well have set the imagination 
 of the aborigines of this region at play in vivid 
 vagaries. A better cultivated fancy could hardly 
 be kept from running off into fantasies of almost 
 equal extravagance. 
 
 Some one has described the moor as "a huge 
 mountain squeezed down, and split asunder, till the 
 whole was one hilly wilderness, showing ever and 
 anon strange, half-buried shapes striving to uplift 
 themselves towards the. sky." Here and there a human 
 habitation might be seen nestling in the steep side 
 of a ravine, and you might detect the finger-prints 
 of man's labor, faith and hope on some of these 
 " half-buried shapes." Here, for example, was a 
 corpulent bishop of the hills, wearing a mitre of
 
 230 A Walk from London 
 
 rocks called a tor, and a patch of oats full of charlock 
 like a great daisy stuck in his button-hole. Here, 
 a little further on and higher up, is Scotland, with 
 its clouds and mist, ferns and heather. Here are 
 colts with hair as rough as the moss upon the rocks, 
 and sheep lacking the black faces and curly horns 
 of the Scotch breed ; otherwise you might fancy 
 yourself in the Highlands. Slowly you make your 
 way across this amphitheatre and reach the summit 
 of its western wall, eager for the view the other 
 side will command. Here a new landscape bursts 
 upon the sight; one of the striking contrasts that 
 human industry has wrought on the face of this 
 expanse. Another amphitheatre stretches out to the 
 blue rim of a distant horizon ; enclosing a town with 
 its churches and public buildings overlooking the 
 whole undulating area. Cultivated fields of every 
 shape and size are interspersed with nature's tillage. 
 This little Tadmor of the desert is Prince's Town, 
 though it might more properly be called Prisoner's 
 Town. The wide-famed Dartmoor Prison is a name 
 held in repulsive remembrance by thousands in 
 America. It was built in 1809 for French prisoners 
 of war, and occupies the space of thirty acres, encircled 
 by a double line of lofty walls. At one time it 
 is said 10,000 prisoners were confined within the
 
 to Land's End and Back. 231 
 
 grim enclosure. Here, far away from sunny France, 
 they looked out upon this wild, swollen sea of cold 
 desolation, over which the sun's visits were chill and 
 pale and rare. No home-stars nor hearth-lights of 
 human dwellings, scattered here and there over the 
 waste, glimmered "through the rain and the mist" 
 to cheer them with a sense even of the invisible 
 companionship of their kind. Many American pri- 
 soners taken in the " Last War," as it is called with 
 us, shared the hard experience of this huge prison- 
 house and left their bones in its churchyard. I 
 looked through the railing and saw the green rows 
 of their graves, a forgotten contingent to the bloody 
 sacrifices offered by Christian nations to War. 
 
 Since those dark days of evil this penal establish- 
 ment has become one of the State Prisons of England 
 for domestic criminals, of which there are sometimes 
 a thousand and more confined within its walls. Many 
 are employed in subduing these granite hills and 
 rough valleys. Never was a conquest over Nature's 
 worst spaces more striking and complete. They 
 have, to a certain extent, created one hundred acres 
 bodily and made them a garden of beauty and ferti- 
 lity. At least, they dug between the granite boulders 
 for the soil, just as the excavators of Pompii dig 
 through the superincumbent lava for Eoman pavement.
 
 232 A Walk from London 
 
 The fields thus reclaimed are enclosed by walls full 
 six feet high, which absorb most of the stone cleared 
 away from their surface. These walls are made up 
 with alternating layers of turf, after the Devonshire 
 custom ; and a hedge is planted on the top. 
 
 It is a beautiful idea, worth the working out 
 the world over. It promises to become the idea 
 of the age, and to distinguish it from all the ages 
 past. Here are several hundred victims of the 
 appetites and passions that flesh is heir to. Some 
 rushed head-long into crime; some stood the brunt 
 of several temptations, slipped, tried to rally, put 
 out their hands for help, but finally fell over the 
 precipice into deep sin. Every one had his own 
 special experience on the down-hill road to guilt 
 and shame. Here they are, on this wild, savage 
 moor. If the parallel will hold, the nature within 
 them and the nature without them are on . an equal 
 footing of waste and desolation. Both are weedy 
 and stony. Both grievously need reclaiming. And 
 here both these undertakings are set on foot at once, 
 and go on hand in hand together. The religious 
 teacher and the schoolmaster go to work upon those 
 uncultured human natures, laboring upon them with 
 great faith and patience digging around and tug- 
 ging out strong-rooted habits, clearing away the
 
 to Land's End and Back. 233 
 
 briers and brambles of hard-hearted dispositions, 
 softening and warming the thin, lean soil beneath 
 with the dew and light of gracious thoughts and 
 hopes sunned with faith, reaching upward and taking 
 hold of the bright immortalities of the Hereafter, 
 reaching outward and taking hold of new human 
 sympathies and fellowships in the Here and To-day. 
 And the men thus wrought upon by night, go out 
 by day and put their sin-scarred hands to those 
 rough places of nature, that look reprobate, hopeless 
 and abandoned that the very sun as it passes glances 
 coldly at them with averted face. Through all the 
 working days of the year, they toil upon the stony 
 waste. One by one they lift out the gray granite 
 rocks and boulders, and belt with them the fields 
 they are taken from in a wall that seems to crown 
 as well as enclose the new-found land. What a picture 
 frame is that! What a painting it holds against 
 the black brow of the wilderness ! It alone is worth 
 a walk to the middle of Dartmoor to see, to him 
 who will look at it with due appreciation of these 
 aspects. But it is not alone. The artists of the 
 prison-house work on, now as unconscious sculptors, 
 now as painters. Next year, following the order of 
 the Royal Academy of Artists, they hang up a new 
 picture, on the sides of these cold hills; a picture
 
 234 ^ Walk from London 
 
 full of life and light and beauty. How it shows 
 against its rude, shaggy, craggy surroundings ! How 
 silky-soft and fine the June verdure of its grain and 
 grass, and roots of more deeply-tinted leafage, smi- 
 ling in a surrounding sea of stinted, briery heather, 
 roughened with black, weather-beaten rocks shocked up 
 in tors, or lying broad-cast among the weeds and 
 brambles ! How glowingly the sun looks upon these 
 deep-framed pictures ! Each of them seems to catch 
 more of his rays than he gives to any ten miles 
 square of the natural moor. 
 
 Commend me to the artistry of the Eoyal Academy 
 of Dartmoor. I wish the Lord Mayor of London 
 and all the City Council would visit it in state. The 
 sight of it revived an old hobby-thought that has had 
 its run in my mind for nearly twenty years. Within 
 this space I have walked much in the streets of 
 London at all seasons of the year ; looking into 
 narrow and crowded courts and alleys that had but 
 one entrance to them, and small circulation of air. 
 I have seen what manner of poverty and wretched- 
 ness pinches thousands in a great city, even under 
 the best laws and with the best dispositions to help 
 them. No humane man could see all this without 
 having his sympathy take the definite shape of thought 
 on the great problem. What could be done ? What
 
 to Land's End and Back. 235 
 
 would you do, if you had the requisite ability, to 
 drain the miry bog of this wretchedness ; to lift out 
 of these low, pent lanes and sewers of ignorance, 
 sin and suffering the multitudes that sink and flounder 
 in them? What would you do with these begging 
 men and women and boys asking alms with such 
 a woful tone, look and form ? What would you do 
 to stay the fall of those that stand see-sawing on 
 the balance-rope of a most desperate chance, trying 
 to reach the shore of a better condition over a quag- 
 mire of crime strewn with flowers? The answer 
 came to this query in my mind eighteen years ago; 
 and it comes with new faith and proof in sight of 
 this beautiful oasis in the desert of Dartmoor. I 
 thought then and I think now what I would do 
 to these ends, if I had the power. I would make 
 every beggar that showed his face in London a 
 member of the Royal Academy of Agricultural Art, 
 and every year, when the British Canvas Artists 
 opened their Exhibition in the National Gallery, this 
 Academy should open its new show of pictures on 
 some of the wide, wild, ragged heaths within an 
 hour's ride of London. There are thousands and 
 tens of thousands of acres of this waste lying in 
 solid blocks, some of them lapping over upon the 
 very skirts of the metropolis. The areas remaining
 
 236 A Walk from London 
 
 in this shabby condition are amazing to the mind 
 of an American, though accustomed to cheap land 
 at home. The sweepings of the streets of London 
 to say nothing of the sewage that goes in floods 
 to the sea, would supply the fertilising material to 
 make all these acres garden-ground for luxuriant 
 production. The beggars who walk those streets, 
 and the men and boys who follow a worse occupa- 
 tion, and a larger number seeking employment to 
 keep them out of both these pit-falls of poverty, 
 would supply the labor necessary to work out this 
 beautiful transformation. 
 
 Nations own and open picture galleries. Cities 
 and corporations and clubs buy and hold, as corporate 
 property, works of art. The City of London and its 
 guilds have been famous for more than two centuries 
 for owning estates and plantations in distant countries. 
 See what a sweep of valuable territory is held by 
 them still in the North of Ireland, with the whole 
 city of Londonderry as its centre and capital ? What 
 money, what care, watch and ward the incorporated 
 merchants of London gave to that plantation, and 
 the town they called after their own great metro- 
 polis; especially in that ever-memorable year of siege 
 when their Londonderry stood a battered, invincible 
 bulwark for the civil and religious freedom of the
 
 to Land's End and Back. 237 
 
 empire ! The London merchants who now constitute 
 the Irish Society still hold that "plantation" and 
 the ground of that famous walled town of grand 
 name and history on the northern shore of Ireland. 
 Does the balance-sheet of the year bring to the 
 individual members of the corporation any dividends 
 to swell their personal income ? Do they not profess 
 and promise, and perform what they promise, to 
 expend on that plantation all they receive in rentage? 
 Let us then put away this balance-sheet question 
 altogether. Let us believe and say it, that the 
 Lord Mayor of London and all the members of 
 both houses of the city parliament are men of taste, 
 and that they represent the largest municipal con- 
 stituency in the world, and one that claims to be 
 the most wealthy, business-like, educated and bene- 
 volent. Having said and fully believed all this, 
 let us aver that the corporation, saying and believing 
 the same, has a great eye and heart for paintings 
 and other works of art, and that they have the 
 mind and will and means to gratify this taste 
 pretty largely without reference to the balance-sheet 
 result. Not having room in Guild Hall for such 
 new and large pictures, they have them painted on 
 the great brown canvas of Wimbledon Common or 
 of some other wide heathland in the neighborhood of
 
 238 A Walk from London 
 
 London. Then make a thorough inquisition through 
 the metropolis for beggars, vagrants and the most 
 dangerous and 'exposed candidates for crime and 
 send them thither to work on these out-door pictures, 
 paying them in wholesome food and comfortable 
 raiment and housing and good schooling of heart 
 and mind. Set at the head of them centurions of 
 the John Howard band and of the Elizabeth Fry 
 sisterhood men and women of imperturbable patience, 
 faith and hope, with kind voices and eyes, but firm 
 and even will and judgment. On the first of May 
 of every year let the Lord Mayor and the Corpora- 
 tion open the Exhibition of the Agricultural Academy 
 and invite the public to see the new field pieces 
 painted by these cheaply-extemporised artists from 
 the lanes and courts of London. It would grace 
 the dignity of their position as well as the annual 
 barging up the Thames to mark the swans of the 
 river. Doubtless it would please the Lord Mayor 
 not a little, and do him not a little honor, to point 
 out to the Prince of Wales a ten-acre piece painted 
 and framed by the reclaimed thieves and beggars 
 of the Seven Dials. Such a piece done in garden 
 colors or in the May tints and shadings of wheat, 
 oats, barley or ruta baga, when hung in its flower- 
 dashed frame of hawthorn against a wall of brown,
 
 to Land's End and Back. 239 
 
 brambly, humpy, bumpy heatherland, would show 
 in a capital light. Seeing it in these self-contrasting 
 perspectives and aspects, and seeing the men and 
 women and children that worked the picture out of 
 a barren waste, and looking at them, too, in the 
 self-contrasting perspectives and aspects of their con- 
 dition, past, present and future, I do not believe 
 that the Prince of Wales, or the Lord Mayor, or 
 the most rigid utilitarian of the Corporation, or of 
 the general public looking on, would have room in 
 his heart for a single thought on the balance-sheet 
 question, any more than he would ask, with his 
 rapt eyes on Raphael's best, "Will it pay?" 
 
 Will it pay ! Open the London Academy of 
 Misery in Bethnal Green or Spitalfields on the first 
 day of the Happy New Year, and let the same 
 spectators see what paintings the same artists make 
 when left in their lairs of poverty ! See the tinting, 
 the lights and shades, the framework and the back- 
 ground of these pictures ! Will they pay ? Do they 
 pay ? Can they pay ? Look at the tableaux vivants 
 of these filthy and fetid lanes; at the involuntary 
 and naked sculpture of humanity in these garret 
 galleries of poverty ! Apply the brass measure of 
 the balance-sheet to them. Do they pay ? Will 
 they pay ? Have they paid for half a century back ?
 
 240 A Walk from London 
 
 But do not despond as to the verdict of the 
 balance-sheet. A generous humanity pays in the 
 long run. The "balance-sheet would show against 
 the expense a good if not equal per contra in favor 
 of such an economy of " the vulgar forces of vigor." 
 These field pieces thus painted on Wimbledon Common 
 or Bagshot Heath are done in no transient nor 
 sterile colors. They are the blended and changing 
 tints of grain and grass and roots for man and 
 beast ; the shading of growing crops yellowing or 
 ripening to large harvests of human food ; of crops 
 and harvests augmenting in production from year 
 to year, until they shall not only feed all that 
 work upon them, but leave a surplus for invalid 
 indigents and young and sickly orphans left behind 
 in London, who are incompetent to out-door toil. 
 I will say nothing on the honor or duty of going 
 into co-partnership with Divine Providence in the 
 work of creation, by thus making these home wil^ 
 dernesses blossom as the rose. That in itself would 
 present an honorable balance-sheet which posterity 
 would thank the present generation for. But to 
 turn these Mara streams of poverty and wretched- 
 ness out upon those great spaces of country equally 
 poor and wretched, and, by " the providence of 
 goodness," to make both good, happy, sunny and
 
 to Land's End and Back. 241 
 
 useful, this would be a beautiful and blessed work 
 for the Corporation of London, the best "plantation" 
 they have as yet established in either hemisphere. 
 
 0, Lord Mayor of the Great City, and Aldermen 
 and Councilmen all, on this gray boulder in the 
 middle of Dartmoor, I pencil these thoughts on my 
 knee to you. The waif breezes that blow over this 
 high, mountainous plain will convey but a little way 
 youward the breath of thyme they take up from 
 these rough hills and valleys. These thoughts of 
 mine may have a shorter flight; but there is some 
 pleasure in thinking them out and putting them upon 
 the chance breezes of benevolent speculation. 
 
 After stopping to dine at the one large inn 
 of the town, I called at the great gate of the 
 prison with the hope of being permitted to go 
 over the establishment. But I found that an order 
 from the Home Office in London was necessary to 
 admit a visitor; so, after asking a few questions of 
 the warder or porter, I continued my walk towards 
 Tavistock. Passed the immense quarries which furnish 
 huge blocks of granite for the public works at Ply- 
 mouth and Devonport. Indeed the whole of Dartmoor 
 seems to be a storage of this valuable stone laid up 
 for the uses of the nation in all coming generations. 
 Enough to make a small-sized mountain has already
 
 242 A Walk from London 
 
 been taken down to the sea-board for break-waters, 
 bridges and docks. The scenery as I proceeded west- 
 ward grew more and more magnificent. The tors 
 looked liked rockbergs, once floating on the great 
 revolving drift, until brought up suddenly against 
 an anchored mountain, having some of their top 
 layers toppled over head foremost at their feet by 
 the concussion. They stand up under the horizon 
 in every direction, mounted on high hills, like watch- 
 towers from which the sentinel-spirits of the moor 
 keep watch and ward over the inferior genii of the 
 wold. Some might see in them a resemblance to 
 the little black castles on the Rhine, and people them 
 with graphic fancies of Druid priests and knights 
 of old. There is an interesting mystery about the 
 very name tor; not in reference to its derivation or 
 meaning, for it evidently belongs to the genealogy 
 of turris, tor, tour, tower. Thus it bears more of 
 the Spanish cast of countenance as a word, and however 
 and whenever it found its way into the Cornish or 
 Celtic language, it was doubtless first introduced into 
 Britain by the Spanish copper-diggers and tin-miners 
 in Cornwall and Devonshire. These singular struc- 
 tures of nature have their names significant of different 
 characteristics ; such as Mis Tor, Yes Tor, Fox Tor, &c. 
 The moor, desolate and barren as it seems to the
 
 to Land's End and Back. 243 
 
 eye, is still a productive elaboratory of tlie elements. 
 Here clouds are generated over the wet waste. Here 
 more rain falls weekly than on any other equal space 
 in England. Here rivers well out in every direction 
 from granite-bottomed morasses. It has a copious 
 lore of wild legends which would make many a stirring 
 tale in prose or poetry, and much of it has been 
 given to the public in this way; and, what is more, 
 there are minds of such wide and easy grasp of faith as 
 to take in these strange fancies with the greatest relish 
 of enjoyment, and make them veritable fact and history. 
 About the middle of the afternoon, the curtain lifted 
 upon a new vista of exceeding beauty. A vale of 
 apparently twenty miles in diameter opened suddenly 
 to view. It was a glorious little world of Devonshire 
 scenery, carpeted to the rim with the picturesque 
 patchwork of Devonshire verdure. Far away in the 
 middle of the wide valley there was seemingly an 
 acre of smoke-mist, pierced here and there by a tower 
 or turret. It was Tavistock, lying in the bosom of 
 the Tavy Yale. What a contrast with the scenery 
 through which I had travelled for sixteen miles ! A 
 tall, copper-colored North American Indian standing 
 with bare, brawny arms, and shaven head tufted with 
 hawk's feathers before the Empress Eugenie in her 
 
 coronation robes! 
 B 2
 
 244 A Walk from London 
 
 Tavistock is a thriving town living pleasantly on 
 the banks of the Tavy, one of the score of rivers 
 hatched up in the great moor. It all belongs to 
 the Duke of Bedford, who owns vast estates besides 
 in this section. It is the seat or stead of one of 
 the very first and most famous abbeys founded in 
 England, and built by the old Saxon Ordgar, Earl 
 of Devonshire and father of the beautiful Elfrida, 
 whose marriage with King Edgar makes one of the 
 most romantic stories in English history. One of 
 the abbots of the establishment laid his consecrating 
 hands upon both Harold and William the Conqueror 
 and set them apart for royal dignity. Of course, he 
 did not sprinkle holy water upon them standing side 
 and side before him, like twin princes; nor could he 
 have divined when he performed the service upon 
 them separately, that they would ever come to such 
 fearful blows. Cromwell I. smote the abbey all the 
 way to the fifth rib at the Dissolution, and this 
 splendid heritage of the pretended saints was handed 
 over to the first Lord John Eussell that ever made 
 any history in England. Tavistock Abbey and 
 Woburn Abbey, I believe, were the principal gifts 
 wherewith the Bedford-Russell family were rewarded 
 for their loyalty to Henry YIIL, at the great Con- 
 fiscation of Church property in Britain. The Bedford
 
 to Land's End and Back. 245 
 
 Hotel occupies part of the site of the old edifice, 
 and presents an aspect of antiquity like a full-sized 
 castle arising phoenix-like out of the ruins of a cathedral. 
 Detached portions of the abbey stand here and there, 
 some of which are occupied for various purposes. The 
 conservators of its history and fame claim for it the 
 honor of having the second printing-press set up in 
 England. At any rate, a copy of Boethius printed 
 here in 1525, is to be found in the Exeter College, 
 Oxford, which gives a very laudable date to Tavistock 
 in the genealogy of English literature. It has turned 
 out some remarkable men also, who have made a 
 name and fame in the world. Among other infants 
 brought to the font of the old parish church in ages 
 past, was one who became Sir Francis Drake, who 
 outsailed Columbus by two thirds of the earth's cir- 
 cumference, and performed other illustrious feats. 
 Browne, the poet, who lived and sang in the days 
 of Shakespeare and Spenser, is said to have been born 
 here. Mrs. Bray is the latest celebrity produced by 
 the town, and to her works I would commend all 
 my American readers who would like to know some- 
 thing of the sceneries and romances of this romantic 
 district of Devonshire. 
 
 It must ever strike an American traveller with a 
 singular impression to walk up and down a large
 
 246 A Walk from London 
 
 English town, a thousand years old, with streets named 
 before the Crusades, and churches holding the cross- 
 legged effigies of Crusaders, to thread back its history 
 to William the Conqueror, and thence backward into 
 Saxon legends, and yet to be told and to know that 
 it all belongs to one family ; and that it is, after 
 all, only one portion of their estate. Still if one 
 person is to own it, perhaps no better could have 
 been selected for the proprietorship than the late 
 Duke of Bedford. Having the taste and means for 
 improvements, he made many of great value to the 
 town. The new market building is the best thing 
 in that line that I have seen in England, in all its 
 arrangements. The hall for public meetings, concerts, 
 &c., and the reading-room and other apartments are 
 of the happiest construction and aspect. 
 
 Copper-mining is the great distinctive industry of 
 Tavistock and its vicinity. The works near the town 
 are perhaps the most productive in Europe, and even 
 rival those on Lake Superior. I was told that they 
 were first opened in December, 1844, at the cost 
 of only about 500 to the discoverers. In January 
 of 1845 the ore on sale was valued at 20,000, and 
 the mine at 450,000. At the latter end of the 
 same year the 1024th part of one share was worth 
 700, which would make the value of a whole share
 
 to Land's End and Back. 247 
 
 nearly 720,000. It is doubtful if the records of 
 mining can furnish a parallel to this ratio of valuation. 
 Having heard much of the Duke of Bedford's 
 Model Farm at North Milton, about seven miles 
 from Tavistock, I made 'a special walk that distance 
 to see it. It was made up of several contiguous farms 
 and contains in all about 1,600 acres, and is said 
 to be the largest holding in Devonshire. It is occupied 
 and conducted by Mr. James Horswell, one of the 
 most thorough and successful agriculturists in England. 
 He received me with great cordiality and took me 
 through all the farm buildings and showed me his live 
 stock both housed and pastured. These buildings are 
 excellent, constructed on the most scientific and econo- 
 mical principles. The piggery itself must have cost 
 at least 400. The manure house is a long, stone 
 building with a basement story in the rear into which 
 all the manure of the stables is deposited and kept 
 away from the sun and the out-door atmosphere, 
 until it is carried out upon the land. The drainage 
 of the uplands in one direction supplies the water- 
 power for grinding all the grain used in fatting cattle, 
 sheep and swine. Every arrangement is seemingly 
 as perfect as possible ; the Duke himself having super- 
 vised even the details of the construction, that it 
 might serve as a model establishment. A large number
 
 248 A Walk from London 
 
 of little holdings belonging to him were thrown into 
 one farm, and a multitude of small, irregular fields 
 into large, rectangular enclosures. The land has 
 been well drained up to the summit of a range of 
 quite elevated hills. Mr. Horswell, I believe, is the 
 largest breeder of Shorthorns in Devonshire, or in 
 the "West of England. He winters 270 head, mostly 
 of this breed, including sixty milking cows. He 
 prefers Shorthorns both for beef and milk ; and they 
 eat no more and thrive on coarser fodder, such as 
 long straw, &c. He keeps from 1300 to 1400 sheep, 
 but few swine, as American pork and bacon are now 
 imported at such a cheap rate that he prefers to 
 make beef and mutton of his corn. He has not yet 
 had annual or public sales of his Shorthorns, as he 
 has not cleared out of his herd other breeds introduced 
 to assist in rearing that stock. He has some of the 
 best families of it in the kingdom. He showed me 
 two or three calves, only three weeks old, which he 
 valued at 50 each. Several yearlings were of the 
 very finest quality and would probably bring from 
 100 to 200 each at auction. He is decidedly 
 opposed to the public exhibition of stock, unless it 
 be of animals on the way to the butcher ; being per- 
 suaded that the present system of feeding for Shows 
 is most hurtful and unwise for the farming interest.
 
 to Land's End and Back. 249 
 
 The animals are destroyed for use by this cruel 
 practice. He is determined to set his face against it; 
 and on several occasions has sent beasts for exhibition 
 in their everyday form and dress, which have been 
 highly commended by practical farmers, but laughed 
 at and rejected by amateurs and judges who measure 
 the merits of an animal by the load of tallow or 
 lard it can carry and still live and move a rod or 
 two at a time. He showed me the grandest stallion 
 I have yet seen in England a mighty Bucephalus, 
 fully realising the ideal of the war-horse described 
 in the Book of Job. 
 
 Having spent a few hours very pleasantly and 
 profitably in going over this model farming establish- 
 ment, and partaken of the genuine English hospitalities 
 of the family, I set off on my return to Tavistock, 
 as I had to pass through that town again on my way 
 to Plymouth. Mr. Horswell accompanied me for a 
 couple of miles on horseback, and gave me much 
 additional information in reference to the district. 
 I passed by Brentor, an eminence with a crowning 
 worth many miles of walking to see ; and indeed you 
 may see it for a long distance in any direction. It 
 is one of the natural rock towers that lift up their 
 hands on high in this section of the country. They 
 seem to be constructed by the reverse process imagined
 
 250 A Walk from London 
 
 in the formation of Dartmoor. If that is a vast 
 mountain squeezed out or razed, with its summit 
 surface undisturbed, a regular Devonshire tor may be 
 likened to a single granite hill squeezed upward with 
 a force that pressed out at the top the pith of the mass 
 in the form of long stones that stand or lie upon 
 each other at different angles of inclination. Brent 
 is a head taller than all the other tors in this section ; 
 and on the very top of the cone stands a gray church 
 centuries old, with its tower tall and full of silvery 
 bells. It is the most remarkable sight in its way 
 that you will meet in England. It would be worth 
 a sojourn in the hamlet near by for a week or two, 
 to get the different aspects and impressions of this 
 little Zion perched, like an angel with folded wings, 
 on the topmost pinnacle of one of nature's temples. 
 When the low mists from the moor veil all the steep 
 slopes of the pedestal-hill from the door-step down, 
 it would be a sight unique, grand and beautiful, a 
 very epic of silent eloquence, to see that church from 
 some commanding point, standing on the clouds, with 
 all its Sabbath bells flooding the upper air and calling 
 to the people below to " Come up higher ! " There is 
 a delightful mist of history enveloping this structure, 
 which enhances and varies its interest. The best 
 account is this legend :
 
 to Land's End and Back. 251 
 
 A long time ago, which no one hereabouts pretends 
 to guess within a century, a certain wealthy merchant 
 returning to England with his argosie from Inde, 
 was overtaken by a terrible storm when approaching 
 the coast, and his heavily-laden vessel threatened to 
 go down with him and his treasures in its desperate 
 struggle with the wind and waves. In the midst of 
 the tempest, he made a vow that if he were brought 
 safe to land, he would erect a church for praise and 
 thanksgiving to God on the first hill top he should 
 descry. Brentor was the first to lift its head above 
 the lowering billows of the sea; and on its highest 
 pinnacle he built this church. And here for several 
 ages its bells have sent down upon the cottagers who 
 dwell at the base and in the valley its Sabbath music, 
 calling them up to prayer and praise in that almost 
 cloud-capt house of God. It was a good and beautiful 
 thought, to build such a Bethel and set a congregation, 
 for so many centuries, singing their psalms of thanks- 
 giving on the first hill-top of his native land seen 
 by the sea-tost man as a perpetual thank-offering for 
 his escape from shipwreck. 
 
 The Duke of Bedford, who owns all the country 
 hereabout, has endowed the church, so that provision 
 is made for public worship in it once a day on the 
 Sabbath for generations to come. In the morning,
 
 252 A Walk from London 
 
 the people old and young climb the steep eminence, 
 which at a distance looks as if it could only be 
 ascended by a ladder, or by steps cut in the rock. 
 In the evening the same congregation assemble in a 
 small church in the valley. 
 
 Beached Tavistock at early tea-time, and then has- 
 tened on to Plymouth, where I arrived at about ten 
 at night, having made a long and interesting walk 
 during the day, and feeling well repaid for my 
 digression from Tavistock to see North Milton.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 PLYMOUTH ; ITS POSITION, 8CBNERY AND HISTORY ALBERT BRIDGE ST. 
 GERMANS : ITS BARONIAL MANSION, PARK, DAIRY, CLOTTED CREAM 
 
 LOOE, POLPERO AND FOWEY AND THEIR CHARACTERISTICS ST. 
 
 AUSTELL CHINA-CLAY WORKS AND THEIR VALUE TRURO, AND 
 
 ITS BIRTH-ROLL THE STORY OP A DOG AND HIS AFFECTION. 
 
 PLYMOUTH! Old Plymouth! Mother of 
 full forty Plymouths up and down the 
 wide world, that wear her memory in 
 their names, write it in baptismal records of all their 
 children, and "before the date of every outward letter! 
 This is the Mother Plymouth sitting by the sea. 
 Not two centuries and a half ago, the Mayflower 
 lay on its shadow blossom out there among the small 
 fishing smacks of the bay. The people then living 
 in these low, checker-windowed houses in the Old 
 Town went down to the water-side to see the strange 
 little vessel outward-bound for the unexplored Western 
 "World, a far-off dream-land to their imagination, 
 lying somewhere in their thought between time and 
 eternity. England then was small for her years as 
 a nation ; and this little vessel had scanty roomage
 
 254 A Walk from London 
 
 including the hold; but it carried between and above 
 decks, more than " Csesar and his fortunes," the 
 parent stock of a mightily-peopled hemisphere. As 
 Noah took in with him all that was worth preserving 
 of the old world before the Flood, not only of animal 
 but of mental and moral life, so that little ruddered 
 ark, with its sky-lights looking upward to the face 
 of God by night and day, and filled with the ascending 
 voice of prayer by those who trusted in His guidance, 
 bore across the wide wild of waters the life-germs 
 of all that was worth planting in the New "World 
 or that could grow in its soil. "What a growth ! 
 Compare it with the French and Spanish ~ scions 
 planted at the same time in the Western Hemisphere. 
 Look at this yellow-faced house, with the very case- 
 ment through which it peered out upon the Mayflower. 
 It is a good and comfortable home still, and full of 
 young and happy children who play the same plays 
 and have the same ways as the children of the Pilgrim 
 Fathers who looked over the sides of that vessel from 
 their parents' arms. Now, full forty millions, speaking 
 the same language, gone or going up through the 
 same childhood's sports, and questioned at the outset, 
 "Who killed Cock Itobin?" people the continent of 
 North America and its adjacent islands. Already the 
 balance of population, in commercial phrase, is against
 
 to Land's End and Back. 255 
 
 the Mother Country. The English-speaking race bid 
 fair to shift their numerical centre to the Western 
 World. The American branch of it now exceeds 
 by full five mill inn a the other division of the family 
 in Europe, Asia, Africa and Australia. 
 
 With these thoughts uppermost and busy in my 
 mind, I was struck and taken down a peg in my 
 speculations by a dry remark of a friend who was 
 taking me to the first Plymouth Rock in the world, 
 called The Hoe, or, as the Danes, who gave the name, 
 spelt it -Mcei, or Height. I was dilating upon the 
 sailing of the Mayflower and its mission to the New 
 World, and asked him if he thought the people of 
 Plymouth generally realised the importance of that 
 event to mankind, and put it in the first rank of 
 occurrences recorded in the history of the town. He 
 replied with the utmost non-chalance, as if the question 
 referred only to the small distinction between a hun- 
 dred transactions of nearly even significance, and 
 almost confounded with each other : " No ; we have 
 been sending out so many expeditions to all parts 
 of the world, that no particular one of them makes 
 a special impression. Why, I myself," he continued 
 with the greatest coolness, " sent out' the first English 
 woman to Australia to settle there as a voluntary 
 resident." I turned and looked at him full in the
 
 256 A Walk from London 
 
 face. He was not forty-five years of age, and yet 
 lie was older than the young Anglo-Saxon nation 
 planted on the "continent of New Holland" and 
 neighboring islands, already numbering nearly as 
 large a population as the Thirteen United Colonies 
 of North America when they set up for themselves 
 as an independent Power. So little have the incidents 
 of this nation-planting impressed themselves upon the 
 mind of the Plymouth people, that it is doubtful 
 if one of a thousand of them could tell you the 
 name of the vessel that conveyed the first English 
 wife and mother to Australia, who went out to make 
 a voluntary and permanent home in that antipodean 
 region. It might have been the Primrose, or Haicthorn, 
 or Robin Redbreast, or some name belonging to the 
 Mayflower genus. It is quite possible my friend has 
 forgotten it in the multitude of business transactions. 
 He took me to Devonport, then across the bay to 
 Mount Edgcombe, a baronial park and residence 
 which, for varied and vivid scenery, can hardly be 
 surpassed by any other nobleman's establishment in 
 England. It is an elevated ridge with its steep 
 butments rounding out into the sea in one direction 
 and extending far back with every variety of surface, 
 and wooded beautifully in the most artistic and inter- 
 esting manner. Here are some of the grandest cedars
 
 to Land's End and Back. 257 
 
 in the kingdom and trees of every order of architecture 
 and leafage. The house is a veritable palace, of several 
 centuries' growth and adornment. The site and the 
 mansion and all their embellishments were so delightful 
 as far back as Elizabeth's day, that it is said the 
 admiral of the Spanish Armada, on coming in sight 
 of the place, selected it in advance as his share of 
 the spoil of England, after the conquest he anticipated. 
 If it was such a seeming elysium to his eye at that 
 early date, it may be conceived what it is now, 
 beautified with all that the taste and genius and 
 wealth which a dozen generations of a noble family 
 have expended upon it. There are zig-zag and spiral 
 walks up and down the densely-wooded slopes, with 
 arbors, seats, temples, cottages, lodges and towers , 
 counterfeiting ruins of ancient date, all arranged to 
 command for each a peep or coup d'ceil of special 
 interest. And, what speaks generously for the baronial 
 proprietor, this little world of beauty is thrown open 
 to the public every Monday in summer, as a people's 
 park, where all classes and ages may luxuriate in the 
 freest enjoyment of these delightful shades, walks and 
 views. 
 
 But it was not to see Mount Edgcombe first but 
 Plymouth that we crossed over to that baronial height. 
 In~the front view from the facade of the house, you
 
 258 A Walk from London 
 
 see Plymouth, Stonehou.se and Devonport spread out 
 before you in one continuous city, divided into three 
 blocks by arms of the sea called rivers. Here you 
 see England's strength, noiseless from this point of 
 view, though near at hand. On the left, looking 
 northward, is Devonport, the great naval arsenal, 
 where the mighty men-of-sea are put to cradle and 
 reared for service. In the winding river that divides 
 it from Cornwall, or the Tamar, lie the mastless 
 hulks of giant ships that will walk the waves no 
 more, superannuated men-of-war that have poured out 
 of those black holes in their sides the thunder of 
 fiery battle, and have wrestled with wind and wave 
 on many an angry sea. Some of the men who stood 
 at the wheel and manned the yards when the battle 
 or the tempest was on, are in the naval hospital 
 yonder, garrulous over those feats and fields ; more 
 of them are silent in their last sleep in the earth 
 or sea. On the right are huge forts and batteries, 
 high and low, on island, cliff and beach ; with broad- 
 sides pointed in every direction, to rain a thousand 
 cross-streams of shot and shell upon an advancing 
 foe; just as if any foe would be foolish enough to 
 run his head into such a furnace of fire, when there 
 are a thousand points on the coast where he could 
 land with no other batteries to oppose him than a
 
 to Land's End and Back. 259 
 
 farmer's cow-barracks, thus putting invasion and de- 
 fence on the same footing the open field. 
 
 It is estimated that the government has 100,000,000 
 worth of public property, including the ships of war, 
 under the protection of these guns. Vast fortifications 
 are in process of construction which will cost half 
 that sum when completed. Their building will pro- 
 bably occupy a score or two of years, with the 
 expectation of their being continued and finished 
 by the next generation. In this spectacle you have 
 one of the incongruities of the age a government 
 planting forts and arsenals for centuries to come, as 
 if war was as" natural and normal an industry as 
 seed-time and harvest, and preparations for it must 
 increase just in proportion to the spread of Christian 
 civilisation, free-trade and the social intercourse of 
 nations. 
 
 As you raise your eyes gradually from these busy 
 and solid towns, they rest upon the slopes of Dartmoor, 
 with its tors standing like giant sentinels of nature 
 to keep watch and ward over its solitudes. Then 
 at every rod you have a sea- view of peculiar interest. 
 From this window cutting through the deep green 
 foliage, you have it blue and boundless ; from another, 
 you see an arm of it folded around a small island, 
 
 with the cultivated hills beyond. Along the walks 
 s 2
 
 260 A Walk from London 
 
 or drives, such windows and openings are made in 
 the trees to command particular vistas, and you look 
 through them as if they were so many dioramic 
 glasses put up for the purpose of delighting the eye 
 each with its own picture. Sometimes a broad, soft- 
 ened aspect is caught through the thinner lace-work 
 of the leaves, and you see town, sea, moorland, ship 
 masts, fort, flag-staff, foliage and cordage, as through 
 a fluttering veil. It is the blending of all these 
 contrasts in one view, that gives the picture of this 
 triad of towns, as seen from Mount Edgcombe, an 
 interest which, perhaps, no other view of equal sweep 
 in England can command. Thomson, the great poet 
 of out-door nature, appreciated this picture, and traced 
 its beautiful lineaments with his pen. One of the 
 arbors overlooking the scene is dedicated to his memory 
 and called Thomson' 's Scat. 
 
 Towards the close of the fourteenth century, Ply- 
 mouth was the fourth town in England in population 
 and importance, London, York and Bristol only 
 standing before it in these respects. It was at first 
 called South Town, which was soon compressed into 
 Button; and sometime in the fifteenth century it 
 assumed the name of the river on which it is 
 situated, and was called Plymouth. The French made 
 a descent upon it about this time and left the scars
 
 to Land's End and Back. 261 
 
 of their depredations on what is still called the Briton 
 or Breton Side. From the beginning of the sixteenth 
 century its importance as a harbor increased rapidly. 
 The brave sea-captains it produced made a glorious 
 history for England in the reign of Elizabeth, a 
 history which is the common heritage of the English- 
 speaking race the world over ; for when it was made 
 not a man who spoke that tongue had built a cabin 
 in the "Western World. Drake, first of England's 
 vikings as a sailor, went out with his little fleet of 
 schooners from this port on the 15th of November, 
 1577, to plough with their small keels a track through 
 all the seas that surround the globe. The pluck and 
 daring, faith and will of the dauntless seaman and 
 his crews seem astonishing when measured against 
 modern expeditions. Who would now venture around 
 the world with such a squadron ? with half a dozen 
 Erie Canal boats in masts and sails! Here are the 
 names and tonnage of his fleet : " The Pelican," a 
 hundred tons; " Elizabeth," eighty tons; "Marygold," 
 thirty tons; "Swan," fifty tons, and the "Christopher," 
 of fifteen tons. Thus the whole put together made 
 up a total of 275 tons, which would hardly equal 
 the girth and burthen of a single brig of modern 
 dimensions. To think of setting a sea-lapdog like 
 the " Christopher," of fifteen tons, to run the race
 
 262 
 
 of all the stormy oceans of the world! It was just 
 like Drake and his men, and the men of that day. 
 The "Marygold," too it may have been the twin 
 vessel of the " Mayflower," reared in the same cradle, 
 and christened by the same master's daughter, who 
 delighted in the idea of sending these meek-eyed 
 stars of England's garden homes across the sea to 
 the wide, silent solitudes of the Western World 
 whereon no human hands had ever nursed or fondled 
 a flower. The birth-roll of Plymouth is rich and 
 illustrious with names of seamen who wrote them on 
 the far-off islands and rough capes of continents they 
 discovered. Drake, Hawkins, Raleigh, Oxenham and 
 Cook sailed on their memorable expeditions from this 
 port. Among the artists born here, are Sir Joshua 
 Reynolds, Haydon, Eastlake, Prout and Mitchell, 
 whose productions have become almost classical in 
 the modern literature of the pencil. 
 
 The growth of the Plymouth triplet of towns has 
 been quite American in its expansion. Already the 
 population of the three and their village adjuncts 
 numbers 300,000. The naval works at Devonport are 
 on a prodigous scale. The Dockyard alone covers a 
 space of ninety-six acres, and in time of peace employs 
 about 2,600 persons. The Victualling Yard itself 
 cost 1,500,000, or over 7,000,000 dollars, covering
 
 to Land's End and Back. 263 
 
 about fourteen acres. Doubtless this is the largest 
 establishment in the world for the manufacture and 
 storage of naval provisions. It proves that govern- 
 ments can "run the machine" of competitive industry 
 neck and neck with private enterprise occasionally. 
 The Bakehouse that makes wheaten loaves for all 
 these ships and barracks is a Titanic power in itself. 
 Of course, it goes by steam at a strong head. Two 
 engines grind the wheat, knead the dough, "roll it, 
 prick it and toss it up and down" ready for the oven 
 at the rate of a sack of flour in two and a half minutes. 
 Ajrangements and machinery for watering ships supply 
 them at the rate of three tons in two minutes. The 
 New North Dock is the most remarkable work of the 
 group. It was excavated out of the solid rock, to 
 receive vessels with their masts standing. It is 234 
 feet in length, 64 feet in width and 20 feet in depth. 
 The Breakwater is the great work of Plymouth proper. 
 Before its construction, the harbor was at the mercy 
 of the wildest waves and winds. This now wards 
 them off with a massive wall, one mile in length, 
 120 yards in width at the base s and 16 at the top. 
 It was commenced in 1812 and completed in 1840. 
 It was a slow and difficult work. The sea smote 
 it with its fiercest wrath on several occasions, as if 
 spurning any control short of the natural shore.
 
 264 A Walk from London 
 
 Once it tore up 200 yards of the foundation, carrying 
 away blocks of twelve and fourteen tons weight. A 
 lighthouse 126 feet in height stands on the outer 
 end of the breakwater, holding out its lantern by night 
 to guide incoming ships to the gateway of a peaceful 
 and commodious haven thus walled in from the sea. 
 The total cost of the work has been estimated at 
 1,500,000. 
 
 After a couple of days in Plymouth, my friend 
 accompanied me as far as St. Germans, the seat of 
 the Earl of the same name. We crossed into Cornwall 
 on the famous Albert Bridge, tEat spans the Tamar. 
 This is_ as yet probably the most graceful structure 
 of the kind in the world. Seen from a distance, it 
 is really a beautiful work of mechanical art, with its 
 great dimensions softened to almost delicate tracery 
 against the sky and the blue scenery above and below. 
 The view from it is full of every pictorial element of 
 interest. The mastless two-deckers and three-deckers 
 that lie basking below, and the Hudson-like bends 
 and bays of the river above, winding and brightening 
 among wooded hills and slopes overlooked by Dart- 
 moor in the distance, all these features and others 
 that set them in bold relief, make up a vista from 
 this magnificent bridge worth a special journey to 
 see. And the structure itself is one of the most
 
 to Land's End and Back. 265 
 
 extraordinary feats of mechanical science, genius and 
 labor that the age has produced. Take all the diffi- 
 culties encountered and overcome into consideration, 
 it must be held as Brunei's master-work, exceeding 
 that oT the Britannia Bridge. And what is written 
 in Si Paul's in memory of Sir Christopher Wren, 
 might be engraven as a memorial of Mr. Brunei in 
 the frontlet of this structure ; and a noble monu- 
 ment it is. Its erection was distinguished by this 
 peculiarity. As the space could not be spanned by 
 one arch, like the Suspension Bridge below Niagara 
 Falls, it was necessary to raise a vast central pier, 
 on which the tubes or iron roadway might rest. And, 
 what was a unique and extraordinary operation, the 
 piers_and tubes were made to grow up together at 
 about the rate of sugar-cane stalks. When the granite 
 pedestals of the piers had emerged above the surface 
 of the river, one of the elliptical tubes was floated 
 out at high water, and lodged upon them. Both struc- 
 tures now began to ascend as it were by the principle 
 of vegetation. Twice a week the tube was raised 
 by hydraulic presses three feet, and the piers built 
 up to it. It was nearly six months growing to its 
 full height. Each of these tubes weighs about 1,200 
 tons. The erection of the great central pier was a 
 prodigious undertaking. The water was seventy feet
 
 266 A Walk from London 
 
 deep, and the river bed of mud and gravel twenty 
 more, making ninety before they came down to the 
 solid rock. The coffer-dam was made on the English 
 principle. It was a cylinder of wrought iron 100 
 feet in height and 37 in diameter, weighing 300 
 tons. This was sunk on the place selected, and the 
 water pumped out, the air forced in, and the poor, 
 plucky fellows sent to the bottom of the iron well 
 to grub, chisel and scrape for a firm and level foun- 
 dation for the vast superstructure. Here, under a 
 pressure of thirty-eight pounds to the inch upon their 
 bended backs, they toiled from day to day, slowly 
 ascending on the huge granite pillar growing beneath 
 them, until it and they, one fine morning, lifted their 
 heads above the blue surface of the river, and showed 
 their work to the sun. The total length of the 
 bridge is 2,240 feet, its greatest width 30 feet, and 
 its height from the foundation to the top of the 
 tubes, 200 feet. 
 
 My friend took me to the mansion of Earl St. 
 Germans, which stands on the site of the old Priory, 
 and includes some portions of that edifice. The Earl 
 and his family were in London, a circumstance which 
 allowed me a larger liberty in visiting the different 
 apartments than I might otherwise have enjoyed. 
 The lady in charge of the house took me through
 
 to Land's End and Back. 267 
 
 the library, gallery and other rooms, and showed 
 me the paintings and other works of art, which were 
 very numerous and valuable. Among these there 
 were portraits of two of the grandest moral heroes 
 England ever produced. The name of one of them 
 is as familiar as a household word in America John 
 Hampden. While he was still alive, New England 
 christened some of her infant villages by that name, 
 and gave it to counties after his death. But they 
 know little of Sir John Eliot who stood shoulder to 
 shoulder with Hampden in the great and memorable 
 struggle for constitutional right and freedom. Indeed, 
 I doubt if well-read people in England knew much 
 of him until the recent appearance of Forster's history 
 of the man. If I were a painter and wished to put 
 on canvass the most thrilling passage in the history 
 of England, or in the history of constitutional govern- 
 ment, I would select that scene in the House of 
 Commons when two members held the Speaker in his 
 chair by main force, while Sir John Eliot uttered his 
 stern and solemn remonstrance against the arbitrary 
 usurpations of Charles I. Mr. Forster's magnificent 
 biography of the old hero will of course be widely 
 read in America, and then his memory will be raised 
 to its place beside that of Hampden. He was the 
 ancestor of the present Earl, whose family name is
 
 268 A Walk from London 
 
 Eliot; and his portrait hangs upon the wall, taken 
 in his prison dress, and but a short time before he 
 died in the Tower. There was the marble bust of 
 another man, more familiar to the American public, 
 young and old Lord Cornwallis, whose capture at 
 Torktown closed the Revolutionary War. He was 
 the father of the late Countess of St. Grermans, a 
 remarkable man in his day ; although but little more 
 than the American half of his history is known among 
 us. It was a singular coincidence in the visit of 
 the Prince of Wales to America, that he, a great- 
 grandson of George III., stood side by side at the 
 grave of Washington with the grandson of Cornwallis, 
 who surrendered to Washington in Virginia. The 
 brewer of the establishment showed me the cellars 
 and the beer cisterns or vats. About one hundred 
 hogsheads are kept constantly on hand, and about 
 one hogshead a week is drunk by the house and its 
 guests. This would be called in America pretty large 
 swigging for one family. The gardener drove me 
 ab"out the park and grounds, which are very extensive 
 and picturesque, and well utilised withal. Instead 
 of herds of deer and other ornamental or fancy animals, 
 sheep and cattle of the best breeds feed on the luxu- 
 riant pasturage. In the stables I saw about forty 
 bullocks stalled for beef, averaging 20 each in value.
 
 to Land's End and Back. 269 
 
 The dairy is a very interesting establishment, a 
 model of neatness and convenience. It is supplied 
 with a fountain of pure, cold water, throwing up a 
 beautiful spray and making the most congenial atmos- 
 phere for such a place. The tables on which the 
 milk is set are broad stone slabs. The pans are nearly 
 three times as large as those used in America, holding 
 full twelve quarts, with iron handles to them. They 
 resemble in size and shape those used with us for 
 washing dishes and vegetables. Here I saw the 
 process of making that most delectable of luxuries, 
 Devonshire or clotted cream. There is a good deal 
 of discussion and difference of opinion between Devon- 
 shire and Cornwall on the point which of the two 
 counties has the best claim to the honor of originating 
 this delicious delicacy. But as St. Germans is a kind 
 of border town between them, I will here notice for 
 the first time the elaboration of this beautiful produc- 
 tion of the dairy. Its history comes down from a 
 very early date. Some antiquaries affirm that the 
 Phoenicians introduced it when they came to Cornwall 
 for tin ; and quote the authority of modern travellers 
 who say that the same kind of clotted cream is now 
 very common in Syria. I remember meeting with an 
 old musty volume many years ago, containing a learned 
 disquisition in Latin on the question whether the
 
 270 A Walk from London 
 
 butter which Abraham placed before the angels was 
 really butter or this very cream. He could not have 
 set Tbefore them a greater delicacy ; as all will attest 
 who have ever tasted it. Up to the present time it 
 has been almost entirely confined to these two counties, 
 although it is known out of them only by the name 
 of Devonshire Cream. Indeed, the impression seems 
 to have prevailed generally that it cannot be made 
 to perfection in any other part of England, for lack 
 of the peculiar pasturage that produces it. But I 
 am sure that the Orange County dairy- women of New 
 York could rival those of Devonshire in the making 
 of it ; and that it would find a large and eager 
 market in all our large towns and cities. The process 
 of its elaboration is simply this : The night's milk 
 is set in the ordinary way for cream; and the next 
 morning the pan is placed over a fire or in boiling 
 water and scalded. The whole secret of its perfection- 
 ment lies in applying to it just the right degree of 
 heat. The cream must not boil nor bubble, and 
 must be watched with great care. Here, a cylinder 
 or steam-chest passed the whole length of the cooking 
 range, with several places for the pans to be set in 
 the boiling water. This is the safest process, for if 
 placed over a slow fire or on a hot plate of iron, the 
 milk is liable to " burn," and give an unpleasant
 
 to Land's End and Back. 271 
 
 flavor to the cream. But a simple, singular criterion 
 is produced by the cream itself, which decides the 
 point at which it should be removed from the fire. 
 A ring arises distinctly above the surface, of precisely 
 the circumference of the bottom of the pan. When 
 this is fully developed all the way around, it proves 
 that the process is perfect. I hope this brief descrip- 
 tion may suffice to enable some of our American 
 housewives to try their hands upon the luxury with 
 a success that shall reward their efforts. 
 
 The head gardener has fifteen men, four boys and 
 three women in his department, as a regular force, 
 and sometimes puts on additional hands. One of 
 the labors belonging to his charge is to keep fifteen 
 miles of carriage road in the park in good order ; 
 and another to keep it well replenished with trees. 
 Once he planted 30,000 in four months, some for 
 use and some for ornament ; and all for the heirs 
 and posterity of the family. In this way each occu- 
 pant of the title and estate pays for what he possesses 
 and enjoys, by doing for his successors what his 
 predecessors have done for him plant trees and add 
 other improvements. The forester has five men with 
 him, who are paid entirely from the gleanings, pickings 
 and chippings of the wood. Every twig and root is 
 turned to use in this way. The game-keeper has a
 
 272 A Walk from London 
 
 large force under him, busily employed in rearing 
 birds for sport and watching over other game. Forty 
 hens are kept for hatching and nursing pheasants. 
 Nearly all these splendid birds are brought into the 
 world here and up to a certain age by the common 
 barn-yard fowl. The gamekeeper's men hunt up and 
 down the preserves for pheasants' eggs to be put 
 under hens. When little chicks they are fed with a 
 kind of paste made of boiled eggs and barley or wheat 
 meal. Until they reach a certain stage of growth, 
 they are as tame as common chickens, when suddenly 
 they assume the wild, untameable nature inherent in 
 them, and before their " mother knows they are out," 
 they are off in a tangent. In the shooting season, 
 the pheasants and partridges are beaten up by a 
 large squad of men and boys and shot as they arise 
 by the privileged gunners ; a sport which involves 
 considerably more exercise and excitement than Ameri- 
 cans would find in shooting common hens in a barn- 
 yard. I visited the gardens and conservatories, and 
 saw what genius and labor could do in reproducing 
 all the. climates, soils and productions of other zones 
 and regions. It was pleasant to see trees heavily 
 hung with large, luscious peaches in the middle of 
 June, all fully ripe, and breathing out that peculiar 
 savor so delicious to the sense. The gardener had
 
 to Land's End and Back. 273 
 
 sent their peaches perfectly ripe to the family in 
 London on the 24th of May. The old church, which 
 seemingly is a part of the establishment, is a kind 
 of half cathedral, having on its list nearly a dozen 
 bishops before the Conquest. 
 
 About two p.m., took my leave of these kind 
 people, and wended my way toward the sea, and 
 reached Looe, a strange-looking, wild, scrawny village 
 stuck in the throat of a high-walled glen, up which 
 the sea thrusts an arm for several miles to pull in 
 a little fresh water river. The houses were the most 
 un-English in appearance that I had ever seen in 
 England looking like a Mediterranean fishing village 
 broken off whole and transposed upon this Cornish 
 coast. The steep and lofty bluffs on either side were 
 hung a long way up with unique cottages shelved 
 in seemingly shallow gains cut in the rock, looking 
 like irregular rows of martin-boxes. Still this is now, 
 and has been in the remote past, an important town. 
 It was once a borough and sent a member to Parlia- 
 ment to represent and enforce its political dignity 
 and power. Yast quantities of ore are exported from 
 this little narrow bye-path to the sea. I crossed the 
 bridge at the head of the harbor, and found myself 
 on the wrong side for refreshment, which I felt quite 
 prepared for by a walk of nine miles. I called at
 
 274 -A Walk from London 
 
 two or three odd-looking houses with a show of 
 hospitable entertainment on their signboards outside, 
 but found inside they meant beer "only that and 
 nothing more." They could not get up tea and a 
 few slices of bread and butter on short notice, or 
 for uncertain guests. So I made a walk of four 
 miles farther, up some such hills as Bunyan must 
 have had in his mind when he described the one 
 he called Difficulty in "Pilgrim's Progress." The peeps 
 out upon the still blue sea through the glens dividing 
 these green heights were delightful however, and well 
 repaid me for these additional miles. Towards sunset, 
 I descended one of these winding gorges to Polpero, 
 another sea-port village, walled in by higher cliffs 
 and full of the romance of wild nature. Here, happily, 
 I found very comfortable quarters in apparently the 
 only inn, which gave me the best bed that I had 
 found in a hotel since I left London. 
 
 The next day I set off in good season, determined, 
 if possible, to end my week's stage at Truro. Had 
 a very enjoyable walk in and out, up and down 
 high hills along the sea- coast, passing two or three 
 hamlets with their old churches going to decay. In 
 the course of a couple of hours, came down upon a little 
 land-locked bay nearly surrounded by two of the most 
 unique villages you will find in England. They were 
 Palruan and Fowey. A photograph of them would be
 
 to Land's End and Back. 275 
 
 a curiosity of the first water of wonder. They would 
 show how grotesquely human habitations may be con- 
 structed and arranged without the thought of doing 
 anything extraordinary. This little harbor, and the 
 gray-bearded villages looking at their faces in it, 
 have figured in English history very prominently. 
 They have played an active part in all the wars 
 since the Ijforman Conquest. Vessels were fitted out 
 here for the Holy Land in the Crusades. In the 
 time of Edward III., Fowey contributed 47 ships 
 and 770 men to the fleet intended for the blockade 
 of Calais, a larger contingent than that of any other 
 port in the kingdom except Yarmouth. So says the 
 local history, which must be taken cum grano sails. 
 These vessels were called, by a large stretch of nautical 
 courtesy, ships; but they were probably of the burthen 
 of modern fishing smacks. Still the Fowey seamen 
 made a remarkable reputation in their day with their 
 little sea-terriers. They were called the Fowey gallants, 
 and did a large business of plunder on their own 
 bottoms and account. It was worse than unfortunate 
 for their fame, however, that this steady business of 
 their lives was called patriotism in war, and piracy 
 in peace. From free-booting " on their own hook," 
 on the coast of Normandy they became quite indis- 
 criminate in the exercise of their trade, and began to 
 T 2
 
 276 A Walk from London 
 
 prey upon the vessels of their own country. Having 
 brought upon the town several expeditions of the 
 French to pay them out for their depredations, they 
 were accused of piracy in the reign of Edward IV., 
 and their vessels were taken away from them and 
 given to their rivals of Dartmouth, who had evidently 
 acquired a better reputation. It is said that the town 
 never recovered from this punishment of its early 
 propensities. Still it has a goodly history, barring 
 these unfortunate chronicles. At the battle of Poictiers 
 a Fowey squire, by name of Treffry, was knighted 
 on the field by the Black Prince for capturing the 
 royal standard of France. That feat is recorded on 
 a tablet erected to the memory of the warrior in 
 the old parish church, which holds the records of 
 half a dozen centuries in monumental inscriptions por- 
 traying the virtues of knights and men and women 
 of gentle blood. These are frequently put . forth in 
 the quaintest diction of grave-stone poetry. I copied 
 this memorial of one of the early worthies of the place : 
 
 Here in this chancell I do ly, 
 Known by the name of John Trefiry, 
 Being made and born for to dye, 
 So must thou, friend, as well as I, 
 Therefore Good works be sure to try, 
 But chiefly love and charity, 
 And still on them with faith rely, 
 So be happy Eternally. 
 Soli dec Gloria. 

 
 to Land's End and Back. 277 
 
 Here is a faint dawning glimmer of the genius for 
 that peculiar rhyming which the author of " The 
 Ingoldsby Legends " carried to such a wonderful 
 development. Of course, the good knight, in pursuit 
 of rhyme under difficulties, could not make the theo- 
 logical thread of his creed very distinct or satisfactory 
 to many who read this posthumous essay, purporting 
 to come from him out of the vault beneath. There 
 is also a very large tablet of wood put up against 
 the church wall, containing a long and touching 
 address of Charles L, thanking the people of Corn- 
 wall for their loyalty to him and his cause at a 
 time when both seemed lost, and when their faithful 
 adhesion promised only hurt to them. It was a letter 
 of thanks which he requested should thus be entabled 
 and hung up in all the churches and chapels of 
 Cornwall " in everlasting remembrance of a people's 
 faithfulness and a sovereign's gratitude." It is done 
 in language really pathetic, breathing a spirit which 
 must touch the reader even to this day with an emotion 
 of sympathy. The castle overlooking the church, called 
 Place House, was rebuilt by the late John Treflry, 
 who made a grand mansion of it. On his death, 
 his successor assuming, like his immediate predecessor, 
 the old family name, came into possession of the 
 estate. He owns nearly every building in the town,
 
 278 A Walk from London 
 
 and is also the owner and vicar of the church, and 
 takes upon himself the cure of all the souls in the 
 parish with interests in their temporal and spiritual 
 well-being seldom exceeded or blended in one man's 
 mind. 
 
 After stopping a couple of hours in this interest- 
 ing little sea-port, I continued my walk to St. Austell. 
 This is one of the remarkable towns of" Cornwall, 
 with streets nearly as irregular as the cow-paths on 
 a furzy common, and running into each other often 
 with twists and angles rather perplexing to a stranger 
 at his first essay to reach a given point. There are 
 many substantial and elegant buildings here and there, 
 especially on the outskirts; but those of the olden 
 pattern are the offspring of an individuality of design 
 and execution which could not be matched in these 
 late days. The church is a large, rather imposing 
 structure, in a commanding situation, and command- 
 ing much admiration for the statuary niched in its 
 outside walls. All the apostles and some of the 
 Cornish saints figure in this array. Implements and 
 emblems of the Crucifixion are represented in rude 
 sculpture, which, it is said, the miners generally take 
 to refer to their tools and occupation. 
 
 St. Austell is the centre of a remarkable range 
 and variety of mining operations. Granite, in all
 
 to Land's End and Back. 279 
 
 stages and qualities of its composition, is quarried 
 here in vast quantities. There is a kind of it that 
 dissolves into a substance like mortar or paste, of 
 nearly the consistency of the Bath-brick clay when 
 taken from the river. This furnishes the China clay 
 which is used in such vast quantities in England 
 and France, not only in the manufacture of China 
 and the best kinds of earthenware, but in bleaching 
 paper and calico. It takes a long run for this 
 matter to get rid of the mica and other particles 
 which would render it worthless for the pottery. A 
 mass of it is placed upon an inclined platform under 
 a fall of water and stirred up until it is all carried 
 down through a series of catch-pits, or tanks, each 
 of which catches and retains some of the grosser 
 particles. The stream, like a rivulet of dissolved 
 chalk, runs over these reservoirs and falls into a 
 large basin or pond at the end of the race. When 
 these ponds are filled with the matter, the surface 
 water is drained off, and the residuum is the China 
 clay. It was first discovered in 1768, and has come 
 into such large use that about 80,000 tons of it are 
 exported annually, valued at 240,000. 
 
 These China Clay Works may be considered the 
 great distinctive industry of St. Austell, though the 
 tin and copper mines of the neighborhood are very
 
 280 A Walk from London 
 
 extensive. But these are common to nearly all other 
 parts of Cornwall. 
 
 After tea I pushed on to Truro, where I had 
 intended to spend the Sabbath. I had to make most 
 of the way in the evening ; so I saw the country 
 rather indistinctly. Passed through one of the famous 
 " rotten boroughs " of olden time, called Grrampound, 
 which once returned two members to Parliament. It 
 had the reputation of being the rottenest of them 
 all, for it was razed for its corruptibility to an un- 
 represented village before the Eeform Bill. Still, as 
 great oaks from little acorns grow, so great men 
 have been sent to Parliament by small constituencies. 
 It is a bad principle and worse practice to distribute 
 political representation and influence so unevenly 
 among local communities ; but perhaps they indi- 
 vidually lose more by this disparity than the nation 
 as a whole. The rare exceptions to the ill-working 
 of such a system should not modify our decided 
 condemnation of it. Still, it may be accepted as a 
 fortuitous concurrence of political entities with a 
 felicitous issue, when a ploughman and his wife, one 
 donkey and a dozen black-faced sheep send up a 
 Lord Bacon to the councils of the nation. Old 
 Sarum and Grampound, with all their corruption, did 
 not always grow weeds. This little Cornish village
 
 to Land's End and Back. 281 
 
 gave to the great John Hampden Ms first seat 
 in the British Parliament. It was something to lift 
 up such a man to that -place, even if the shoulders 
 of his constituency were bare and dirty. 
 
 Truro is the most rectangular and modern-looking 
 town in Cornwall, evidently laid out at first with 
 the presentiment of being something in its day. The 
 streets are of good width, clean and comfortable. And 
 they are beautifully watered with pearly, chirping, 
 rippling rivulets running in beds scooped in granite. 
 It is a delightful sight and a most pleasant sound, 
 to see and hear these bright streams of clear water 
 running close to the side-walk on each side of the 
 main street, glistening and bubbling in their mica- 
 grained channel ; pleasant and musical to man and 
 beast, especially in the sultry days of summer. Truro 
 has given birth to men of whose merits and memory 
 it is justly proud. Among these are Henry Martyn, 
 the Missionary; Thomas Harris, founder of the London 
 Missionary Society; the two Landers, Africa explorers; 
 and " Peter Pindar." A statue of Eichard Lander, 
 overlooking the town from the top of a tall Doric 
 column, testifies to the appreciation in which the 
 remembrance of that indefatigable hero is held by 
 the people generally, many of whom knew him in 
 his youth. The parish church is a large and elegant
 
 282 A Walk from London 
 
 structure, of modern aspect. The pillars and arches 
 are peculiarly light and graceful, being made of 
 Cornish granite, which is susceptible of elaborate 
 carving and high finish. 
 
 A little incident came to my knowledge here, which 
 is well worthy of a place among those long records 
 of touching affection and fidelity which dogs of all 
 ages and countries have given to mankind as helping 
 influences in the shaping of human lives and dispo- 
 sitions. I was sitting at the breakfast-table of a friend 
 who is a druggist, when he was called into the shop 
 by a neighbor who had come for medical advice and 
 aid in a very remarkable and affecting case. He 
 described it briefly and simply, but it would fill a 
 volume of beautiful meaning. 
 
 His family dog had incidentally made the acquain- 
 tance of a little, bandy-legged, sunny-haired todling, 
 the young darling of a neighbor on the other side 
 of the street. While lying on the door-stone, with 
 his dreamy eyes peering out this way and that in 
 short speculations, he had noticed this little thing, 
 sometimes at the chambers-window and sometimes on 
 the pavement extemporising those small entertainments 
 which infant minds enjoy. Now, from time imme- 
 morial, there has always been a spontaneous affinity 
 or fellowship between children and large, shaggy,
 
 to Land's End and Back. 283 
 
 honest-eyed dogs, generally commencing when both 
 go on all fours. Whoever has watched the countenance 
 of a great Newfoundlander or St. Bernarder while 
 looking from the hearth-side at a chubby, chirpy, 
 perky baby wriggling across the floor on its hands 
 and feet, in those frog-like hitchings which the first 
 and last children born into the world have begun 
 to walk it in ; whoever has thoughtfully looked into 
 such a dog's face at such a sight, so proud and 
 joyful to mothers young and old, must have noticed 
 an expression of intelligence and sympathy more 
 than human. That is the dog's day of honor and 
 gladness in the family circle. There he is on the 
 floor with his master's youngest child on an equal 
 footing. He sees and feels it ; let no one doubt 
 that. Here and now they are both quadrupeds in 
 faculties and manner of motion. He loves to see the 
 mother take the little being from her bosom and 
 place it back upward on the carpet, and bubble over 
 with inarticulate raptures to see it work itself along 
 from one figure to another. Don't put a selfish 
 thought into that dog's mind. Don't say that he 
 feels an unworthy pleasure in the proof that every 
 grand emperor, and every man that ever walked the 
 earth since' Adam, had to serve his babyhood's appren- 
 ticeship on the floor on all fours, and move over
 
 284 A Walk from London 
 
 it in a fashion which might well move the sympathy 
 of a puppy of the same age or any other little 
 quadruped of benevolent disposition. No, a real 
 Newfoundlander is too generous for comparisons so 
 derogatory to his master's humanity. It is not with 
 the sympathy of pity but of love that he watches 
 the movements of the little being on the carpet or 
 in its mother's arms. He longs and loves to take 
 part in bringing it on. He loves to feel its little, 
 short, fat arms buried in the long hair of his neck ; 
 its soft, white fingers clasping his long ears. What 
 tugging and touzling, and pinching and pulling at 
 the tail he will take all in the fun and frolic of the 
 daily gambol, and never whine or wince even with 
 a pain that would make the father of the child cry 
 out and put a bitten finger to his mouth ! And 
 what member of the family circle is prouder or happier 
 than he when that child finishes his long apprentice- 
 ship as a quadruped, and stands for the first time 
 upright on what were once its hind-feet, and makes 
 two steps forward before its limpsy body loses its 
 balance, and it comes down again to its original 
 condition in a squashy concussion with its forehead 
 against the floor ? Doesn't he, with all the intelligible 
 speech of eye and tail, say just what the father says 
 with more fun in his face : " Don't cry, Teddy ! up
 
 
 to Land's End and Back. 285 
 
 and try it again ! " With what tenderness and delight 
 he turns saddle-horse and carriage-horse for the little 
 thing when it is first taken outdoors to see the birds 
 and hear them sing, and be introduced to the old 
 Mully in her crumpled horns, to Jenny the pony, 
 and to the feathered bipeds of the barn-yard circle ! 
 Of all the eyes watching that child up to boyhood, 
 whose are fixed on him oftener, longer and fondlier 
 than those now beginning to look out dimly from 
 under the gray eye-brows of that old house-dog ? 
 The youth, full of life and vigor, does not remember 
 the time when he crept on his hands and feet across 
 the floor ; but that old dog, napping longer at the 
 fireside now than then, remembers it, and follows 
 him with all his first love and truthfulness; follows 
 him often, hesitatingly and wistfully at a distance, 
 even when told to go back in a tone that goes to 
 his heart. That eye follows him last as he recedes 
 from sight, and greets him first on his return. Its look 
 at its last closing is full of its first love ; and if it were 
 permitted to open again in paradise it would glisten there 
 in the light of that love unquenched by the grave. 
 
 This dog was endowed with the nature that does 
 honor to his kind and good to a higher race. Lying 
 there by the door-stone or making short morning 
 trots up and down the side walk, he espied this
 
 286 A Walk from London 
 
 little child on the other side of the street. If the 
 truth were known, I am sure that it would be found 
 that the child's father had no dog for his home, 
 and the dog's owner had no child for his. This was 
 probably tl^e secret of their first acquaintance. Their 
 sympathies and affinities worked in them to the same 
 impulse. The dog, on one of his walks on that side 
 of the street, met the baby turn-out, and looked over 
 the rim of the little basket carriage, and looked, as 
 a loving dog can look, straight into a pair of baby eyes, 
 peering upward with querying wonder at the blue 
 world above. It was the face he had seen against 
 the nursery window from the opposite side. Of course, 
 seeing such a hairy face with its tender eyes, come 
 suddenly between its own and the sun, the child 
 cocked up a fat foot, crowed, bit a thumb, smiled 
 and said "good morning!" as well as it could. 
 The dog understood it, any way. Human friendships 
 and loves as long as eternity have often commenced 
 on as small a beginning of incident ; and so began the 
 beautiful sympathy and companionship between this 
 intelligent, affectionate creature and the infant child of 
 his owner's neighbor just where the line of demarcation 
 between the two races of beings is the thinnest and 
 more obscure. Little by little, day by day, and week by 
 week, this companionship went on, growing with the
 
 THEIR FIRFT MEETING.
 
 to Land's End and Back. 287 
 
 growth and strengthening with the strength of the little 
 one. The dog, doubtless because his master had no 
 young child of his own, came at last to transfer fre- 
 quently his watch and ward to the door-stone on the 
 other side of the street ; to follow as a guard of honor 
 the baby's carriage on its daily airings, darting proud 
 and warning looks at all the breed of barkers on the 
 way that seemed impertinent or inquisitive. He assis- 
 ted at the inauguration of its first perpendicular footing 
 of two yards of the garden walk. He led the way 
 down the aisle, barking his great round barks of joy, 
 and waving the little one on with the proudly-curved 
 standard of his tail. With what delight he gave 
 himself up to all the pettings, pinchings and pullings 
 and little rude rompings, and rough-and-tumblings, 
 that those baby-hands could disport themselves with ! 
 Thus grew their mutual attachments. And to this it 
 had grown, when one day, as the dog lay in watch and 
 ward by the door-stone, the child, peering out of the 
 window above, lost its balance and fell head-foremost 
 upon the stone pavement below. It never breathed 
 again. It was taken up out of the puddle of blood 
 with fractured skull, motionless and dead. The red 
 drops of the young life had bespattered the feet and 
 face of the dog as he sprang to the rescue. Hi a heart 
 died out within him, in one long, whining moan of
 
 288 A Walk from London 
 
 grief. From that moment he had refused to eat. He 
 refused to be comforted by his master's voice and by 
 his master's home. Day by day, and night by night, 
 he lay upon the spot where the child fell, with his 
 shaggy throat pressed closely to the pavement, as if he 
 would warm to life again the blood that had stained it. 
 This was the neighbor's errand. He told it all in 
 few and simple words ; but opened to their full signi- 
 ficance, they meant the whole history of the incident I 
 have given. He had come to my friend the druggist 
 for a prescription for his dog something to bring back 
 his appetite, something to 
 
 Minister to a mind diseased, 
 
 ******** 
 
 Cleanse the stufFd bosom of that perilous stuff, 
 Which weighs upon the heart. 
 
 It may possibly be true. Some believe it. The Saint 
 of Patmos saw in his visions of the New Jerusalem 
 horses and other beasts taking part in the services and 
 adorations of the Heavenly City. Perhaps such dogs 
 as these will not be shut out of that happy immortality. 
 One would like to hope that they might be admitted to 
 it, if it were reverent to entertain such a wish. Doubt- 
 less there will be room enough in it, and scope and 
 verge enough on the banks of the river of life for 
 them to bask in without getting in the way, or 
 abstracting from the happiness of their saved and 
 sainted masters taken up to that heaven on a smaller 
 footing of personal merit.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 FALMOUTH A BIRD FRIEND AND HIS COMPANIONS HELSTON AND ITS 
 
 TRADITIONS MARAZION MOUNT MICHAEL PENZANCE, ITS LOCATION 
 
 AND SCENERY LOGAN ROCK LAND'S END BOTALLACK MINE ST. 
 
 PVES CAMBORNE. 
 
 \ONDAY, June 26th. After spending the 
 Sabbath in Truro, I resumed my walk, 
 accompanied by a friend residing there 
 as far as Falmouth. The country on both sides of 
 the river is very interesting, full of pictures of natural 
 beauty, arranged in the best lights. We crossed in 
 row-boats two creeks or arms of the long bay into 
 
 which the river expands, as you approach Falmouth. 
 
 f 
 Each of these creeks is a convenient and valuable siding 
 
 for vessels of considerable burthen, besides affording har- 
 bors for several quiet villages planted at their heads. 
 
 No other country has such a threading of short- 
 named rivers as England. Most of them mount only 
 a single syllable, and that rarely of more than three 
 letters ; e,g., Ex, Tor, Sid, Fal, &c. Falmouth is one 
 of the most safe and capacious harbors in the world, 
 extending upward from the entrance about four miles,
 
 290 A Walk from London 
 
 averaging one in width. A noted Cornish writer says, 
 "a hundred sail of vessels may anchor in it and not 
 one see the mast of another." Its capacity was pretty 
 well measured in 1815, when three hundred, including 
 several of large size, took refuge in it from a violent 
 gale. Yet the Hampton Roads in Virginia were 
 discovered and whitened with sails, before one ever 
 visited this magnificent harbor. Boston had a larger 
 population than Falmouth has now, when there were 
 not a dozen houses at this important sea-port. "When 
 Sir Walter Raleigh put in here in the reign of 
 Elizabeth, it is said he found only two. Still, the 
 town, built mostly on one long, crooked, narrow street, 
 looks old enough to be the great-grandmother of the 
 American Boston, especially in the most ancient part. 
 Pendennis Castle at the mouth of the harbor, is a 
 grand old structure which has stood the heaviest bruis- 
 ings of the last two centuries. A sturdy old partisan 
 of Charles, at the age of eighty seven, held it against 
 the Parliament forces for six months, until he and 
 his company were starved into capitulation; having 
 kept the royal standard floating over the castle, when 
 every other fort in England had lowered it to the 
 enemy. In the old sailing-packet times, this port 
 was more familiar and important to the American 
 public than it is now; still the stars and stripes
 
 to Land's End and Back. 291 
 
 frequently flutter among the flags in the harbor. 
 The leading men of the town, in business, science, 
 taste and benevolence, are members of the Fox 
 family, a name which must be quite familiar to many 
 New York merchants and shippers. The Cornish 
 Miner Poet, John Harris, who obtained the highest 
 prize for a poem commemorative of the late Ter- 
 centenary of Shakespeare's Birthday, accompanied me 
 to the residences of two brothers of this name, who, 
 with all the appliances of ample wealth and highly 
 cultivated taste, have made a joint elysium, with two 
 mansions in it, a little way out of the town. One 
 is called Pengerrick, the other Tregedna. Both well 
 embody and illustrate the tastes and habits of their 
 proprietors, and the difference between them, still 
 making a whole of exquisite symmetry. He of Tre- 
 gedna is a man of impressive individuality, resembling 
 the portrait of one of the old bards or sages of classic 
 history. His grounds, in their natural conformation, 
 were admirably fitted up for works of art and taste. 
 And he has filled them overflowing full of trees, 
 shrubs and flowering plants, until his mansion door 
 looks like the entrance into a grotto of living wood. 
 As a specimen or measure of the florid style of 
 embellishment which he has blended with graver 
 
 orders, he has planted over 100,000 rose-trees of 
 u 2
 
 292 A Walk from London 
 
 different kinds. But the great and distinguishing 
 attainment he has won, is in the feat of making 
 himself the Rarey of the bird- world; and as such 
 I would introduce him and his beautiful triumphs 
 especially to the younger portion of my readers. 
 
 At this advanced stage of Christian enlightenment, 
 when such triumphs of faith and patient kindness 
 have been won in the softening of the rough natures 
 of both man and beast; at a time when iron wire 
 enough to belt the globe with a netting a yard wide 
 is made yearly into cages for birds of different form 
 and feather, it is instructive as well as interesting 
 to see what the mild eyes, the kind voice and gentle 
 hand of this half-hermit of Tregedna have accom- 
 plished in securing a goodly companionship of the 
 free warblers of the grove for his deeply-embowered 
 home. He has proved by the happiest illustration 
 that any one with the law of kindness in his heart, 
 on his tongue, in his eye and in his hand, may 
 have the most intimate fellowship of these sweet 
 singers, and their best songs from morning till night, 
 without the help of snares, or cages. Every such 
 example is worth more to the world than the discovery 
 of any Artie explorer. It bridges the chasm between 
 two worlds, linking earth to the nearest heaven, and 
 bringing both into pleasant communion. It does
 
 to Land's End and Back. 293 
 
 away with the old hereditary alienation between man 
 and the creatures given to walk the earth in his 
 company for his help, or to fly the air and fill it 
 with their songs for his cheer. Thus, the day may 
 come when the natural dread and enmity which 
 have banished so many noble beasts and birds from 
 the habitations of man shall disappear; when his 
 dominion shall be complete, and the wildest of them 
 all shall yield him homage and service. 
 
 "What prettier out-door exercise for the kindly dis- 
 positions of gentle-spirited children could there be, 
 as a change from lessons of love to their own kind, 
 than this playing of the Rarey among the birds? 
 What a pleasant accentuation it would give to their 
 voices as a permanent habit, to talk to these birds; 
 to coax them down from the tree-tops, or out of 
 their hidings in the hedge with little calls and cooings 
 such as children can make ! How prettily it would 
 train their hands for gentle actions in after life, to 
 put them out with tempting crumbs on the palm 
 towards the little doubting flutterers overhead, eyeing 
 the movement with such keen speculation, as if ques- 
 tioning whether it meant bread or a stone ! Let any 
 boy or girl who thinks it cannot be done, or would 
 know how it can be accomplished, just see how 
 simply the Bird-friend of Tregedna did it.
 
 294 A Walk from London 
 
 It was all an incident to his benevolent disposition, 
 not a premeditated design. It commenced at the 
 time when he was laying out the grounds of his 
 little dell park. While at work upon the walks and 
 flower beds, and turning up the fresh earth with 
 his spade or rake, several of the little birds would 
 come down from the trees, and hop along after him 
 at a little distance, picking up the worms and insects. 
 By walking gently and looking and speaking kindly 
 when they were near, they came first to regard his 
 approach without fear, then with confidence. They 
 soon learned the sound of his voice, and seemed to 
 understand the meaning of his simple, set words of 
 caressing. Little by little they ventured nearer and 
 nearer, close to his rake and hoe, and fluttered and 
 wrestled and twittered in the contest for a worm or 
 fly, sometimes hopping upon the head of his rake 
 in the excitement. Day by day they became more 
 trustful and tame. They watched him in the morning 
 from the trees near his door, and followed him to 
 his work. New birds joined the company daily, and 
 they all acted as if he had no other intent in raking 
 the earth than to find them a breakfast. As the 
 number increased, he began to cany crusts of bread 
 in the great outside pocket of his coat, and to sprinkle 
 a few crumbs for them on the ground. When his
 
 
 THE FHIEND AND HIS BIRDS.
 
 to Land's End and Back. 295 
 
 walks were all finished, and he used the spade and 
 rake less frequently, the birds looked for their daily 
 rations of crumbs; and would gather in the tree-tops 
 in the morning and let him know, with their begging 
 voices, that they were waiting for him. He called 
 them to breakfast with a whistle, and they would 
 come out of the thick, green leaves of the grove and 
 patter, twitter and flutter around and over his feet. 
 Sometimes he would put a piece of bread between 
 his lips, when a bright-eyed little thing would pick 
 it out, like a humming-bird taking honey from a 
 deep flower-bell without alighting. They became his 
 constant companions. As soon as he stepped from 
 his door, they were on the look-out to give him a 
 merry welcome with their happy voices. They have 
 come to know the sound of his step, his walks and 
 recreations. Often when leaning upon his hoe or 
 rake, one of them will alight upon the head of it 
 and turn up a bright eye at his face. Even before 
 he gave up the practice of shooting birds of another 
 feather, one would sometimes hop upon the gilt guard 
 of the lock, and peer around upon the brass trigger 
 with a look of wonder, which he interpreted aright, 
 and left off killing birds susceptible of the same train- 
 ing. He leaves his chamber window open at night, 
 and when he awakes early in the morning, he often
 
 296 A Walk from London 
 
 finds a robin or goldfinch hopping about on the bed 
 posts or on the back of a chair close by, trying to say 
 or sing in the best articulation of its speech, "It is 
 time to get up; come and see the flowers; a dew 
 of pearl is on their leaves, and the sun is above 
 the sea." And, what is more beautiful still and full 
 of poetry full of the sweet life of those spontaneous 
 affinities and affections more beautiful than poetry 
 these birds follow him to the sanctuary on the 
 Sunday, a distance of more than a mile from his 
 house, as a kind of aerial escort singing their Sabbath 
 psalms of gladness and praise on the way. When 
 the indoor service is ended, they meet him on his 
 return, and escort him home with a new set of hymns. 
 Indeed, if they did not know that he belonged to a 
 denomination that eschew singing in their Sabbath 
 worship on earth, though they pray and hope to 
 sing as loudly and joyfully as any other Christians 
 in heaven, perhaps these little "street musicians of 
 the heavenly city" would follow him into the meeting- 
 house and sing a voluntary over " the ministers' 
 gallery." 
 
 Truly the grounds of the two brothers make an 
 earthly paradise of flowers, birds and bright water. 
 Pools, fountains, and cascades are interspersed like 
 so many mirrors to show the beauty of other embel-
 
 to Land 's End and Back. 297 
 
 lishments. In these you find carp and other fish 
 sporting and springing out for insects, as much at 
 home as in a mountain stream. While looking at 
 a large swan, swimming on its own shadow, careening 
 around with his grand curved neck, I caught a glimpse 
 of a sight which a glass mirror could never produce. 
 A prostrate trunk and branch of a tree for a moment 
 hid from sight the form of the living swan, but left 
 its shadow as distinct in the water as life itself. 
 The body, wings, neck, head, bill and eyes were as 
 perfectly developed as if they were the living, moving 
 swan itself, though inverted. I never saw a phenomenon 
 like it. A human face reflected in a mirror could 
 not approach it, because the substance could not be 
 dissevered from the shadow in this way. 
 
 After tea, bade my friends good-bye, and continued 
 my walk to a little village called Constantino, not 
 large and pretentious enough to attach polls to it as 
 an ending to its name. Here, by a very close rub, 
 I got a bed for the night, although both the little 
 inns refused to accommodate me with such unusual 
 entertainment at the first application. There are 
 immense granite quarries in this town and neighbor- 
 hood, and vast quantities of this valuable stone are 
 shipped yearly for the construction of government 
 docks and basins.
 
 298 A Walk from London 
 
 Beached Helston the next day at noon, passing 1 
 over a very interesting section of country. This is a 
 solid, substantial town, with a broad street in shape 
 of an L. The houses are of every order of con- 
 struction and material ; some with solid granite fronts ; 
 others of bright red brick, and more of cob, some 
 painted a yellowish color, others showing a cheery 
 whitewashed face. Cornwall is remarkable for its 
 legends, which are wilder fabrications of fancy than 
 any of the imaginations of North American Indians 
 given in Hiawatha. Every remarkable rock, cliff, 
 hill and crag has its fantastic history, which the 
 masses of the people seem to believe in with as much 
 confidence as better-read persons believe in the foun- 
 dation facts on which novels are constructed. There 
 is a queer and rather profane fancy attaching itself 
 to this town, and perhaps hundreds who can even 
 read the Bible have some mysterious faith in it. 
 A huge block of granite lay for centuries in the centre 
 of the village as the subject of many a weird specu- 
 lation. But the legend that carried the day over 
 other fancies held that this stone was once placed 
 against the mouth of hell, and was one day carried 
 away by the devil, on issuing to make a raid into 
 Cornwall ; that as he stalked over the country he 
 amused himself with this pebble, gambolling with it
 
 to Land's End and Back. 299 
 
 as a cat does with a spool of thread or a child's 
 marble on the floor. In the midst of these playful 
 antics, he encountered St. Michael, the guardian saint 
 of Helston, whereupon a combat ensued, in which 
 he was obliged to turn tail, and hoof it back to his 
 place, dropping the hell stone in his flight. It is 
 averred that the inhabitants stood by and watched 
 this set-to from beginning to end, and that they 
 instituted an annual festival or holiday in commem- 
 moration of the event, called the " Furry Day." And 
 this is kept with almost religious observance up to the 
 present time on the eighth of May. Other objects 
 and origins have been assigned to the festival, and 
 different dates to its institution, but they are almost 
 equally mystified and obscure. This is quite a moderate 
 fancy compared with many a legend you will find 
 circulating among the popular traditions in this most 
 profusely be-sainted and be-spirited county. The other 
 day I passed by a long block of granite which was 
 said to be the staff of one of the Cornish giants, 
 who dropped it one windy night, while running after 
 his hat, blown off and scudding before the storm. 
 A hundred names of localities and objects in this 
 county perpetuate the memory of the times when the 
 people really believed in these fantasies, and enjoyed 
 this legendary lore with as great a relish as now
 
 300 A Walk from London 
 
 seasons the most sensational novels to the readers of 
 fiction. I think all will admit that the Celtic mind 
 of Cornwall and "Wales rode longer-winged hobbies 
 of imagination than the Saxon of the same period, 
 and produced more sensational fictions for a population 
 who had never seen the alphabet of a written language. 
 
 Passing. Helston, the scenery was very unique, blend- 
 ing in the vista objects and aspects seldom grouped 
 in one coup d'ceil. A great semicircle of about ten 
 miles radius spread itself out before the eye, bounded 
 by a range of hills studded with mine elevators, to 
 use a term familiar in America. They looked like so 
 many fore-shortened churches, with their chimneys for 
 towers. AH the intervening space was covered with a 
 dark Scotch plaid of vegetation, looking rather sombre, 
 without the bright, contrasting colors and shades of 
 a Devonshire landscape. In the first place, the ground 
 of the picture is a dull gray soil. Then the meadows 
 and pasture fields were mostly in red-top grass, 
 looking brown and sun-burnt. The grain-fields were 
 in bluish green, interspersed with large tracts of gorse 
 or heather, not yet in blossom. So the whole wore 
 a rather heavy aspect. Turning in the other direction, 
 you caught sunny peeps of the still, blue sea over 
 the shoulders of the treeless hills. 
 
 Beached Marazion at about tea-time. The nomen-
 
 to Land's End and Back. 301 
 
 clature of Cornish towns is exceedingly unique, and 
 justifies the belief that the odds and ends of a good 
 portion of the earth and its races and ages drifted 
 hither and left each a memorial in the name or habit 
 of some locality. Here is Marazion, for instance. One 
 might think it was called after some suburb of Jericho, 
 for its Hebrew sound and significance. It is indeed 
 said to have been thus named by the Jews, who had 
 their market for tin here ; whether by the Jews of 
 Solomon's day or by a later family of the race, the 
 tradition saith not. And why either party should 
 call it "Bitter Zion" does not appear in any indi- 
 genous quality or circumstance of the place. It is 
 also very commonly called Market Jew, which gives 
 a more business air to the Hebrew appellation than 
 it should bear, unless the Jews retained the habit 
 of trading in their sanctuary, as in earlier times, 
 when they were once driven out of the temple for 
 the practice Still, the old Cornish Britons have their 
 partisans among the antiquaries who derive the name 
 from " marghas-ion," which means " markets." It 
 is an ancient-looking, irregular town on Mount's Bay ; 
 having for watcher and warder the famous St. Michael's 
 Mount. This is a regular sea-for, or seemingly a little 
 conical mountain arising out of the bay and crowned 
 with a castle. It is about a third of a mile from
 
 302 A Walk from London 
 
 the mainland and connected with it by a narrow 
 causeway, which is flooded to the depth of several 
 feet eight hours in twelve by the tide. It is another 
 Brentor in many respects, especially in abrupt height 
 and in its crowning. The layers of rock are piled 
 up at the top in the helter-skelter fashion of the 
 wildest tor on Dartmoor. The human masonry of a 
 thousand years has rectified the angles and patched 
 and supplemented these irregular walls of nature's 
 building, thus showing both portions of the structure 
 in striking contrast. The superstructure is centuries old, 
 and marks their several contingents to it in portions 
 of various styles. At the distance of a couple of miles 
 it shows at the top of the seeming cone only a church 
 with its tower, with its walls apparently " flush" with 
 the edges of the precipice ; and you wonder how one 
 is to get into it or up to it, as there seems to be 
 no possible ascent on the outside. But as you approach 
 it by the thin strip of strand that connects the mount 
 with the mainland, you find its base begins to widen 
 and to afford room for a village at its foot, and between 
 that and the steep slope, there is considerable space 
 including a grave-yard. The rocky height arises from 
 the sea by easy gradations, and developes its dimensions 
 and distinctive features more fully. You climb over 
 or around rude bastions and jutting walls of an old
 
 to Lands End and Back. 303 
 
 fortification. Higher up is a parapet with a row of 
 small cannon, that sometimes are made to speak in 
 salutes. Higher still is a castle or castellated mansion 
 with dwelling apartments roomy and comfortable, and 
 quiet, with windows looking out upon the sea in 
 different directions. I was taken through a suite of 
 rooms elegantly furnished, one containing a bedstead 
 three hundred years old, of English oak, black and 
 as shining as ebony. By it stood a chair two centuries 
 older still, yet good apparently for as many more. 
 This castle story is surmounted by a church, recently 
 renovated internally, and capable of seating a con- 
 siderable congregation. I descended by a narrow 
 passage in the side to a long vaulted cell, discovered 
 some years ago with a skeleton in it. As the entrance 
 of this cell had been closed from time immemorial by 
 mason work, the discovery seems to have added new 
 proof to previous evidence, that coffining a living man 
 or woman in the wall of a church was not confined to a 
 solitary case in the day of those religious houses. The 
 tower of the church measures 250 feet from its top to 
 the level of the sea, and commands a splendid view, 
 which will amply repay one for making the ascent. 
 The castle and the church perched upon it have each 
 its written and unwritten history, and both legend and 
 chronicle are fraught with the interest attaching to
 
 304 A Walk from London 
 
 such ctructures in England. In 1846 the Queen and 
 Prince Albert visited the Mount, and a brass foot-step 
 marks the spot on which she first placed her foot on 
 landing. They wrote their names in a book conse- 
 crated to the purpose, and the two quill pens they 
 used are preserved and shown with it, as souvenirs 
 which will be regarded with an increasing interest 
 as year after year widens the separation on earth 
 of the royal twain. After spending an hour in visiting 
 this distinguished " lion " of the Cornish coast, I 
 continued on to Penzance. 
 
 This is an interesting and important town a kind 
 of Montpellier of the island. Its climate is very mild 
 and agreeable, rendering it a very comfortable and 
 healthful residence to persons of delicate constitution. 
 It is situated on the western horn of the crescent shore 
 of Mounts' Bay, which may stand, in many respects, 
 as a pocket edition of the Bay of Naples. It is really a 
 beautiful sheet of water, well bound and lettered with the 
 best type and embellished with land-cuts of the Cornish 
 coast. The soil of the country immediately around is 
 self-fertilising and exceedingly productive. A thousand 
 acres of it rents at an average of 10 per acre, and 
 constitutes the kitchen garden of London. Some of 
 it yields three crops of vegetables in the year. Taking 
 up a local journal, I found these statistics, indicating
 
 to Land's End and Back. 305 
 
 the character and extent of these productions : In 
 six months, from January to June, 1864, there were 
 taken from the town by railway 
 
 2,122 tons of Brocoli, 
 1,299 tons of Potatoes, 
 1,870 tons of Fish. 
 
 It is an important station of the pilchard fishery, 
 in which a large fleet of little vessels is engaged. 
 One of these boats called "The Mystery," of only 
 fifteen tons, with a crew of five men, sailed all the 
 way from Penzance to Sydney, a plucky expedition 
 for such a cockle-shell. It has a proud birth-roll, 
 which it may put by the side of the baptismal records 
 of any town of its size in England. Sir Humphrey 
 Davy, Lord Exmouth, and Davies Gilbert were born 
 here. The great philosopher, who utilised his science 
 in an invention which has saved the lives of thousands 
 of miners, and which has been worth to the world 
 a hundred lamps of Aladdin, left a legacy to the 
 grammar-school here, which proves how he held its 
 associations in sunny memory to the last. He be- 
 queathed 100 to it on condition that the boys should 
 be allowed an annual holiday on his birth-day. A 
 very pleasant and beautiful thought inspired this gift 
 to link his childhood and its remembrance, by a 
 long happy day of enjoyment, to the fellowship of
 
 306 A Walk from London 
 
 all the boys that should be gathered from age to 
 age within those walls. 
 
 The town must look like the fairy fabric of a vision 
 when approached by water in the night. It slopes 
 upward from the shore of the bay to a crescent ridge, 
 ascending above the main street by terraces lined with 
 elegant houses, and commanding delightful views of 
 the sea and distant headlands. Large mansions em- 
 bowered in plantations and parks, beautify the back 
 ground, and give to the whole scenery of the place 
 and its surroundings a remarkable variety and group- 
 ing of interesting features. 
 
 Wednesday, June 29th. This was a memorable day 
 in my "Walk, like that I enjoyed when approaching 
 John O'Grroat's in September of the preceding year. 
 The weather was unfavorable, with considerable rain 
 in the morning and a heavy mist all the afternoon. 
 At two p.m., I set out on the last stage of my journey 
 southward. For several miles the country was delight- 
 fully picturesque. Beautifully belted hills, deep valleys, 
 and winding dells, and fields in the highest cultivation, 
 in every conceivable angle of inclination or pose in 
 the landscape, presented a new and charming view 
 at every turning of the road. It was the early- vege- 
 table district, and consequently fertilised to its utmost 
 capacity of production. The very pastures alternating
 
 to Land's End and Back. 307 
 
 with the potato-fields looked like uumown meadow 
 lands. I counted over forty cows and yearlings, mostly 
 graded Shorthorns, in one field of about six acres, and 
 still the grass was high enough for the scythe. Oue 
 of the great lions of the coast is the famous Logan 
 Stone, a block of granite estimated to weigh upwards 
 of sixty tons. The descriptions of this enormous, 
 rocking boulder would make a small library, if all 
 collected ; so I will pass over it with a brief notice, 
 designed especially for the American reader. On one 
 of the grand, wild headlands, thrusting out their 
 granite pates into the sea, this huge stone is so socketed 
 and balanced that it can be rocked by a very small 
 force. Some years ago I visited it with a couple of 
 friends, and, placing our backs to it, we gave it a 
 motion which threatened to send it overboard into 
 the sea. Indeed, I do not wonder that many persons 
 of certain mental temperament should have an "itching 
 palm" for tumbling it down the precipice with a 
 tremendous crash. Then another motive once existed 
 to strengthen this undefinable impulse. It was con- 
 fidently asserted by a pretentious authority that, 
 notwithstanding the ease with which the great mass 
 could be rocked in its socket, no lever power, nor 
 any mechanical force could lift it out of its place. 
 
 The glove of this defiance thus thrown down before 
 x 2
 
 308 A Walk from London 
 
 all comers, together with the movings of an eager 
 curiosity and love of adventure, so worked upon the 
 mind of the commander of a revenue cutter, cruising 
 ahout in those waters, that he pushed ashore with a 
 boat's crew of jack-tars, and, scaling the height at 
 their head, brought the united lever-power of their 
 strong arms to bear upon the great Logan. It first 
 moved into rapid and violent oscillation, then, as the 
 impetus of the motion increased, it made a lurch from 
 which it could not recover, and over it went with a 
 thundering crash that made the earth tremble all the 
 way to the sea. The feat was accomplished. The 
 young lieutenant, whose name was Goldsmith, nephew 
 of the author of the Vicar of Wakefield, at the head 
 of his pig-tails enjoyed a roystering but short-lived 
 triumph of their strength and daring. They had 
 broken the golden egg of the little community close 
 by, that had lived upon the money disbursed among 
 them by visitors to the celebrated stone. It had 
 brought them several pecks of silver and copper coins 
 yearly. It was a small mine of those precious metals 
 to them ; and there is no room for wonder that they 
 lifted up a cry against this destructive onslaught upon 
 their occupation, which, if not as classical was as 
 clamorous as the cry of the Ephesian silversmiths in 
 behalf of their goddess Diana and her worship. The
 
 to Land's End and Back. 309 
 
 Government yielded to this appeal, or to some other 
 motive, and ordered the lieutenant to put the stone 
 back into its place. It would have been a Sisyphus 
 job for him physically if the Admiralty had not lent 
 him competent machinery and other aid to accomplish 
 the work. Before the expiration of the year, the 
 stone was hoisted up the height and replaced in its 
 old socket, in which it is made to rock to the admi- 
 ration of visitors to this day. 
 
 Beached Land's End at just the same hour of the 
 day and on the same day of the month at which 
 I brought up at John O'Grroat's last year. For the 
 last three miles I heard the eternal roar and rush of 
 the ocean, with the pulse and sway of a thousand 
 leagues, heaving itself against the shore. And here 
 I was at last, at the extreme southern end of 
 England ! It was reached and realised the dream 
 of twenty years agone ! to walk the longest line 
 within the circuit of the British Isle from John 
 O'Grroat's to Land's End! There was pleasure in 
 the conceit of the undertaking; there was more now 
 in its accomplishment. A latent sentiment of self- 
 complacency perhaps mingled with better emotions of 
 satisfaction. I had performed what no American had 
 ever attempted before ; what few, if any, Englishmen 
 had effected. In all this long journey I had scarcely
 
 310 A Walk from London 
 
 lost a day by ill health or a whole one by ill weather. 
 It was a dream in conception, and a dream in execu- 
 tion. Now that I was looking off here upon the 
 sea, I could not make it a real, tangible fact that 
 I had so recently stood upon the shore of the Pentland 
 Frith, and measured the whole distance between the 
 two points step by step on foot. 
 
 The inn at Land's End is larger, more modern 
 and commodious than its widely-sundered fellow at 
 John 0' Groat's, fitted up very comfortably, and quite 
 a respectable hotel in the best sense of the term. It 
 stands on the most commanding point of the headland, 
 and the view from every window fronting the sea is 
 grand. Although no storm-wind was stirring up the 
 great wild of waters to its strength and thunder, the 
 scene was almost sublime, and the sound in its murmur 
 was like the breathing of a sleeping power whose softest 
 pulse gave proof and warning of its waking might. 
 The sea was serene and quiet a little way out ; 
 and its snow-white foam playfully climbed only to the 
 insteps of those grim old sea-beaten bastions built 
 to break and check its fury. But their huge granite 
 pillars showed the wrathful beating of tempest-tossed 
 waves for ages. The salt spray of centuries had eaten 
 out of their sombre fronts everything soluble, leaving 
 them honey-combed, distained and wild. Some of the
 
 to Land's End and Back. 3 1 1 
 
 columns looked " broomed " by the smitings of the 
 sea ; resembling the upright timbers planted at the 
 entrance of our American steam-boat landings. Just 
 under the windows of the inn, seemingly within a 
 stone's throw of the precipice, is a ledge pushing up 
 three or four rocks apparently about ten feet high. 
 From the middlemost and tallest arises what seems 
 to be a white stove-pipe. That is a lighthouse, and 
 though it looks like a mere chimney to the rock, 
 it towers above it fifty-two feet, and is sixty-two in 
 circumference at the base, and a mile and a quarter 
 from the shore. There are three men in it all the 
 yoar around, one being relieved monthly by another 
 on shore kept in reserve for changing guard in this 
 sentry-box in the sea. It must be a strange, caged 
 life for them out there, with the winter winds and 
 winter waves howling and thundering against the walls 
 of their tall and slender castle. 
 
 It would be difficult to conceive of any battle- 
 ground on the face of earth or ocean, where the clutch 
 and conflict of the elements could be more terribly 
 grand than at Land's End. And no point the globe 
 around, perhaps, presents deeper battle-scars, or deeper 
 foot-prints of the wrestlers. When the still blue sea 
 is in its sunniest mood, dropping the ermine fringes 
 of its summer robe with a musical murmur on the
 
 312 A Walk from London 
 
 shore ; when the great headland is covered with its 
 softest, greenest June herbage clear down to the rusty 
 edge of the precipice, and all around, above and 
 below is serene and quiet even then you see the 
 rough athletes of Nature only asleep, and you think 
 of the scene at their waking. You can scarcely keep 
 out of your mind's vision the apparition of a broken- 
 masted ship, drifting with lame rudder and rent sails 
 against these awful walls, that yawn upon it like the 
 long-teethed jaws of huge sharks eager for their prey. 
 How many a bold mariner has felt his heart quail 
 within him, when, tempest-beaten, chased by sea- 
 wolf waves howling after him for a thousand leagues, 
 he has seen, through the foam and the mist, the black 
 fins of these terrible land monsters, each like a Cerberus, 
 lying in the gateway of his native land ! I am 
 confident if Shakespeare or Byron had ever stood on 
 the tremendous verge of this cliff and witnessed the 
 scene when the mightiest Titans of Nature clinched 
 and wrestled here, we should have had even a grander 
 description of the ocean in its wrathful uprising than 
 either of the great masters has left us. It is said 
 that Wesley composed here his hymn, so often sung 
 on both sides of the Atlantic, beginning with the 
 lines
 
 to Land's End and Back, 313 
 
 Lo, on a narrow neck of land, 
 'Twixt two unbounded seas I stand, 
 Yet how insensible ! 
 
 The histories attaching to the locale are as wild 
 and strange as its natural features. Perhaps the 
 authors of the fantastic fictions had these propor- 
 tions in view, and suited their fancies to the physical 
 facts of the place. In clear weather the Scilly Islands, 
 nearly thirty miles distant, may be seen notching the 
 Western horizon, but, although the sky was cloudless, I 
 was not satisfied that I really saw that flock of islets 
 pastured so far out in the sea. One of the unscru- 
 pulous traditions hereabouts goes so far as to affirm 
 that these islands were once connected with the main- 
 land by a tract of country called the Lyonesse, which 
 Spenser and Tennyson have made a fairyland and 
 peopled with human heroes in mail, and aerial beings 
 fluttering among the flowers in robes woven of sun- 
 beams, moonlight and white mist. Here the laureate 
 made King Arthur fall, when 
 
 All day long the noise of battle roll'd 
 Among the mountains by the winter sea. 
 
 But the more unpoetical and statistical legend-makers 
 go into figures and gravely tell the world how this 
 unfortunate tongue of land contained one hundred and 
 forty parish churches, and was swept away by a sudden 
 inundation.
 
 314 -A Walk from London 
 
 Thursday, June 30th. An exceedingly beautiful 
 morning ; the sea like a still flood of pearly blue. 
 The wreaths of foam breaking against the feet of 
 the black sea-walls were as white as the flounces of 
 summer clouds basking in the sun. They made a 
 mirthful chipper and laugh under the song of the 
 soaring larks. A dozen vessels were in sight one 
 of them a large ship with all its sails spread as if 
 to catch the light instead of the breeze, and they 
 shone with it, and looked like white sheets let down 
 from heaven full of its pure and holy morning. 
 
 Having entered my name in the visitors' book, 
 with the fact that I had there and then completed 
 my proposed "Walk from Land's End to John 
 O'Grroat's," in two journeys from London as a centre, 
 I hung my travelling bag to the handle of my 
 umbrella over the shoulder, and resuming staff, faced 
 northward, having been just a month on the way 
 to this extreme point of my tour. Walked up and 
 down, in and out the great bold headlands for several 
 hours, leaving the public road altogether. The scenery 
 was grand and animating ; not so bold and wild as 
 that of the Scotch coast on approaching John O'Grroat's, 
 but much of the same general character. The lark 
 was here too, warbling over the sea, like the very 
 spirit of the bright June morning, singing its happiest
 
 to Land's End and Back. 315 
 
 songs between the two blue firmaments. Its note was 
 set to the same key as its sister songster's I heard 
 over Pentland Frith, and though the land sides of 
 their uprising circles were rough and furzy, their 
 voices were as merry as if singing over the fairest 
 fields of England. Came out suddenly upon the 
 headland that walls in Sennen Cove on the south. 
 Here was a little village directly under my feet, 
 stuck into the side of the high ridge a little com- 
 munity shut in here all complete, with church, school- 
 house and other central institutions of Christian society. 
 Here, too, was a remarkable work of nature worth 
 noticing. The old ocean in its freaks belts its shores 
 with singular doings. Here one would see how it 
 robs Peter to pay Paul. It goes around the island in 
 the hours of its wrath, smiting the walls of chalk, lime, 
 and granite. It sucks into its jaws large blocks of 
 every grain and grit; champs, grinds and grates 
 them like nutmegs into fine sand, then throws it 
 up in waves upon some shore, a kind of gritty flour 
 to dry in the sun to volatile dust. Then the wind 
 that has moved the ocean to this work, takes it 
 out of the palm of the wave and lifts it and drifts 
 it high up over the inland. Here it has been raised 
 hundreds of feet clear up to the granite brows of 
 these everlasting hills, making a circular slope of
 
 316 A Walk from London 
 
 many acres in surface. Little by little, it has taken a 
 soft thin coating of grass, yielding feed for cattle 
 and sheep; but the deep foot-paths threading it in 
 different directions are all as white as snow. Thus, 
 what the sea in its fury has ground to powder from 
 the granite columns of Land's End, it has brought 
 around to this quiet cove, and built it up in a 
 mighty earthwork, mountain high. From these 
 headlands you see in every direction, on the very 
 edge of the sea, and scattered over the dark, stony 
 inland hills, mines at work with all the jangle and 
 wrangle, banging and clanging of their machinery, 
 bringing up the treasures hidden in the earth from 
 its creation. There were fertile fields of luxuriant 
 vegetation interspersed with the sombre spaces covered 
 with furze and granite boulders. Crossed a large 
 farm in a high state of cultivation. There were 
 between twenty and thirty cows in one field, which 
 the owner told me he let to different persons at 9 
 a head, he finding pasturage in summer, and feed in 
 winter and having all the manure. This struck me 
 as a very good arrangement for both parties, and 
 I resolved to adopt it if I ever resumed farming in 
 America. A poor man, in this way, is not obliged 
 to make a desperate effort at earning and saving to 
 buy a cow that may die in a week, or prove a failure.
 
 to Land's End and Back. 317 
 
 He only pays the rent or use of her, as he would for 
 his cottage. Where he can do this weekly, it must 
 be of great advantage, and puts his milk bill on the 
 same footing as if he bought it of the regular milk- 
 man, with this great difference in his favor, that he 
 does not buy water at the rate of three-pence per 
 quart, and if he wants that cheap fluid, he can take 
 it out of his own well, and mix it to suit himself. 
 This Land's End farmer, who walked with me through 
 several fields to show me the way to the public road, 
 held his land at 100 per acre, which is above the 
 average in any other section of England that I 
 have seen, valued for its agricultural capacit} r . The 
 reason of this high figure is in the fact that producing 
 land is very scarce in this mining district, and the 
 population large, though mostly invisible in the 
 day-time. 
 
 Stopped an hour in St. Just; Cornwall being full of 
 Saints, human and angelic. This is one of the "church 
 towns" of the county, as a village is called which has 
 a regular church for its centre of attraction and 
 influence. It is an interesting place, very irregular 
 and antique, with houses built of very coarsely grained 
 granite, which takes a rusty, coppery shade, giving 
 the whole a grim or sombre aspect. The mines about 
 here are numerous and rich, and show indomitable
 
 318 A Walk from London 
 
 and daring enterprise. I stopped an hour to see a 
 little of the Botallack Mine, which is opened on the 
 very beetling edge of one of the greatest headlands on 
 the coast. It is one of the largest and most productive 
 in Cornwall, and shows what man will do, and whither 
 he will go in the hunt for valuable metals. Here he 
 has poached upon the domain of the sea, mining for 
 a full quarter of a mile under its bed, and sending up 
 ore to the surface. There it is beaten to powder by 
 heavy steam-hammers, then washed a dozen times by 
 different processes, to extract the metallic dust. The 
 operations performed upon it to this end are manifold 
 and ingenious. Water is applied in every possible 
 form and force. When the ore is pulverised under 
 the hammer it is of a slate-color, rather pale like 
 heaps of leached ashes. But as the water is brought 
 to bear upon it in different ways, it becomes red, 
 and all the pits, pools, tubs, vats, and troughs seem 
 to be full of a decoction of brick -dust. This comes 
 from the mixture of iron in the ore. Indeed three 
 metals are present in it. The manager put a spade 
 into a tub full of it, and, as it were, winnowed it 
 in clear water, when three distinct sediments were 
 perceptible on the blade tin, copper, and iron. The 
 first was the heaviest and most predominant. The 
 greatest care is exercised to catch every grain of tin
 
 to Land's End and Back. 319 
 
 or to prevent any of it running off and being lost 
 in the numerons washings. A large oval wooden 
 wheel, like a huge trencher bottom-side upward, about 
 six feet in diameter, is turned slowly by machinery. 
 The mineral solution, after running through nearly 
 a dozen other sieves or strainers, is let upon this 
 revolving disk, which is just oval enough to shed easily 
 the lighter fluid, but catches the gritty tin sediment 
 on the surface. The greatest skill and experience 
 are requisite to adjust the slope of these disks; for 
 if it were too steep, the metal would run off and be 
 lost with the water; if too flat, the operation would 
 be null and void of any practical effect. One process 
 was quite primitive and amusing. At a certain stage 
 of purification, the solution was put in large tubs, 
 and a great wooden hammer, like a beetle, was hung 
 by a cord suspended from a beam over-head. This 
 was swung by a girl against the tub, to assist the 
 settling of the metal at the bottom. Most of the 
 water used for these manifold washings is pumped up 
 out of the mine by an engine of great power, which 
 not only pumps but pounds the ore to powder, and 
 turns all the machinery used in the establishment. 
 The water, after running more gauntlets than any 
 that ever fell out of the clouds, rushes down into the 
 sea in swift, gurgling torrents, and reddens it for a
 
 320 A Walk from London 
 
 considerable space around. Indeed, in the classic 
 mythology of Greece, it would be described as a profane 
 Hercules, stabbing the bluest veins of ocean, and 
 staining its bosom with its own blood. 
 
 It seemed almost this without the fancy of the 
 ancients. Here human labor had bored through the 
 prison walls of the sea, far out under the pathway 
 of great ships and the play-ground of leviathan ; out 
 under the fishing-ground of the pilchard-catchers ; and 
 there, sweating in their approximation to the central 
 fires, scores of men were digging by candle-light, day 
 and night, summer and winter, year after year, not 
 for gold but for a more valuable and honest metal 
 for the common uses of society. 
 
 The mine employs about 500 men, women, and 
 children. Many of the young women were dressed 
 almost a la mode, with ringlets furled and clewed under 
 a band, ready for being shaken out upon the breeze 
 when their work was done. The men earn about 
 sixteen shillings, or four dollars a week; the women 
 eight pence per day. The mine produces about 430 
 tons of black tin annually; that is, the metallic dust 
 reduced to smelting condition, yielding from sixty to 
 seventy per cent, pure tin. In this state it is sold at 
 50 to 90 per ton. I came very near trying an ablu- 
 tion not set down in the programme of washings; an
 
 to Land's End and Back. 321 
 
 experiment which, no one would be likely to hazard 
 voluntarily. Having thrust my hands into the metallic 
 matter at a good many stages of its purification, until 
 they were well coated with it, I was just on the point of 
 dipping them into a large iron pan full of what I 
 thought was clear water, when the manager shouted 
 "Hold on there ! it's vitriol ! " I had my finger-tips almost 
 in the fluid, when the warning came just in time to 
 save me from a test which even the witches of Salem 
 were not subjected to. 
 
 Continued my walk in sight of the sea to St. Ives, 
 passing several broods of rusty-looking houses, squatting 
 here and there, with their faces together, so that the 
 road became lost between them in a series of crooked 
 paths. They looked sombre, ragged and uncomfortable. 
 It would be well if all the ministers of different deno- 
 minations in this part of Cornwall would preach a 
 special sermon on every Whit-Monday on the virtue 
 and duty of white-washing these dwellings of the 
 commoner people. One finds it difficult to see how the 
 Christian graces or common household virtues can thrive 
 in such habitations. To grow them in such homes 
 would seem like rearing delicate flowers among the 
 tangled furze-roots of the stony waste around them. 
 Still, they doubtless do grow there, and are all the more 
 admirable for their uncouth surroundings.
 
 322 A Walk from London 
 
 St. Ives is a queer-looking town, with all the seeming 
 of having been drifted in here whole, from some portion 
 of an olden world. As you endeavour to thread the 
 maze of its narrow, crooked streets, without side-walks, 
 and look at the strange houses from cellar to garret, 
 you wonder where they came from; whether it was a 
 small segment of some Spanish or Grecian headland, 
 broken off and brought here by some disruption of 
 nature. It consists of a rim of houses, thickening up in 
 the centre from each horn of the crescent ridge overlook- 
 ing a bay of the same name. I entered it on the convex 
 side, and was greatly interested in the unique aspect of 
 the place. The houses are of all kinds of building 
 material, but rough granite predominates. The oldest 
 and most ordinary have stone steps conducting up to 
 the living story, the first or basement being very low, 
 and apparently devoted to cellerage, and sometimes, I 
 fancied, to stabling. It enhances the enjoyment of a 
 tourist in -England to come upon such towns occasionally 
 on his travels. He walks through them with all his 
 mental faculties wide-awake; not as he would through 
 the excavated streets of Pompeii, but as if the dividing 
 line of two ages lay between his feet, and he were 
 
 o / 
 
 making foot-prints in each at every step. If he has 
 photographed upon his memory pretty vividly such 
 elegant, dashy, fashionable places as Buxton and East-
 
 to Land's End and Back. 323 
 
 bourne, and with their features distinct in his mind, 
 comes to walk the crooked pack-horse pathways of such 
 a town as this Cornish Saint names, the contrast will 
 give him all the exhilaration that any sudden aspect of 
 antiquity could produce. Indeed, the feeling is far 
 more satisfactory than the unexpected sight of any dead 
 or half-exhumed city could inspire. For this strange- 
 looking town, on one of the prettiest bays in the 
 world, is a live community. It is full of veritable 
 English men, women, and children, who are loyal, 
 patriotic, intelligent and virtuous ; and can sing " Rule 
 Britannia" with the best of them, and better songs 
 besides. You need not think, on looking at some of their 
 streets, lanes, and buildings, for man and beast, that they 
 who inhabit them speak the Basque, the Celto-Breton, 
 or even the Cornish tongue. Not a bit of it. Take 
 out the first hundred you may count in those streets, 
 and put them against the same number of well-dressed 
 tradesmen of London, and then apply the H shiboleth 
 to them, and, ten to one, the St. Ivonians would carry 
 the day in the mastery of that amphibious letter. 
 
 Friday, July 1st. Continued my walk ; now inland, 
 now seaward, each direction commanding a wonderfully- 
 varied scenery. The first town of any importance I 
 came to was Hayle, a busy, black, sooty little seaport, 
 
 where a large trade is carried on in coal and timber for 
 Y 2
 
 324 A Walk from London 
 
 the mines. On descending to the port, I wandered 
 out of the way to the ferry, which was hidden by the 
 dunes or drifts of sand, hetween which the narrow 
 channel meanders to the quay. A woman came out 
 of a cottage to put me on the right track. Indeed' she 
 seemed to make it her business to pilot strangers across 
 the little Sahara to the ferry. On parting she asked 
 me for a penny for the missionary box. She said she 
 put into it all that travellers gave her for showing them 
 over the sands to the boat. This was the way she 
 obtained her widow's mites to cast into the treasury of 
 a work she loved. It was a pleasant little out-gleaming 
 of a heart set on a great mission of Christian 
 philanthrophy, and I gave her something for both 
 services for guiding me over the drifted sands to the 
 skiff, and for guiding travellers more darkly astray 
 to the green shore of a better river. Hayle is really 
 a place of considerable importance, and of vigorous 
 and prosperous business. Once vast quantities of 
 copper were smelted here; but it was found cheaper 
 in the end to transport the ore to the coal, than the 
 coal to the ore; so, of late years, it is sent to 
 Wales to be felted. One of the principal sources 
 of income to the town is an iron-foundry, that turns 
 out cylinders of prodigious size, not only for the 
 mines in Cornwall, but for similar uses in other
 
 to Land's End and Back. 325 
 
 countries. I saw here what I never observed before, 
 not even in the blackest iron district. The slag from 
 the furnaces had been cast in moulds of different 
 forms; some in square blocks, some in coping for 
 walls. Not only garden walls were made of this 
 material, but entire houses. When they are white- 
 washed they look very well; but in their natural 
 shade, very ungainly, glassy and grim. 
 
 Beached Camborne to dinner. This is a good 
 specimen of a modern mining town. The streets are 
 long, mostly lined with low two-story houses of granite, 
 in which the subterranean families live when above 
 ground. Ascended Carn-brea, a rocky, lofty eminence, 
 a short distance from Camborne, and the very focus 
 and culmination of Cornish mythology. It is a capital 
 observatory from which to see the best aspects of 
 Cornwall in all its enterprise, and wealth, and wildness. 
 Here, in a vast circle the eye may sweep in a glance, 
 you have such a concentration of views as no other 
 point commands. "Within this circuit it may well 
 be said "The great globe itself, yea, all that it. 
 inhabit," are turned upside down. The whole region 
 is disembowelled, and the surface is piled thick and 
 high with mounds of the earth's vitals, still red and 
 reeking The entire district is studded with shafts, 
 looking like the grain-elevators at Chicago or Buffalo.
 
 326 A Walk from London 
 
 The clatter and chatter and hammering of machinery, 
 pumping water, drawing up ore, pounding it to dust, 
 and the squashy, splashy sound of the washing, all 
 unite to make it an area of the roughest and noisiest 
 industry. Within the circumference of a dozen miles, 
 there are twenty men, 100 fathoms below the surface, 
 facing downwards toward the central fires, where 
 there is one on the surface above looking erect on heaven 
 at the plough. Under this space there is more 
 Canadian and Norwegian timber propping up the 
 undermined earth, than ever grew at once upon the 
 same area in either country. Passing the eye beyond 
 this red, rough, noisy space, and you have a beautiful 
 vista of well-cultivated land, showing all the picturesque 
 patch-work of English crops. Beyond this again is 
 the still blue sea, where the fishermen are plying 
 their nets. Taking in the three departments of labor 
 and production at a glance, mining, farming, and 
 fishing, and you have three human industries in 
 remarkable collocation and contrast. Then there are 
 the grand, bold headlands of St. Ives and St. Agnes, 
 and the quiet bays shimmering between them, and 
 other features of natural scenery worth climbing this 
 Cornish Pisgah to see. No American nor English 
 traveller will see what Cornwall is and does from so 
 good a stand-point as Carn-brea.
 
 CHAPTEE X. 
 
 CARN-BREA, REDRUTH AND ST. AGNES P.ERAN-ZABULOE AND ITS BURIED 
 
 CHURCH TINTANGEL AND BOSCA8TLE AND THEIR LEGENDS 
 
 HARTLAXD HEAD AND VICINITY. 
 
 ARN-BKEA, independent of the scenery it 
 commands, is worthy of special notice. 
 It is an enormous tor, of the Devonshire 
 structure, or a mountainous hill crowned with granite 
 blocks and boulders of all shapes and sizes, piled up 
 fantastically by nature, as if there were "a method 
 in their madness" of grouping and pasture. No 
 furzy hill in the two counties wearing a stock of 
 rocks on its head for hair-pins, could be better fitted 
 to call out all the wild vigor of mythological imagi- 
 nation than this eminence, overlooking scores of mines. 
 It seems to have been the Olympus of Cornish deities, 
 druids, giants, genii, bogies, furies and fairies. The 
 legends centering here, in which these strange entities 
 of early fancy have played a startling part, are almost 
 endless. The feats they performed beat the exploits 
 of Grecian and Scandinavian legends all hollow. And 
 what is more remarkable still, the faith in these feats
 
 328 A Walk from London 
 
 lives in the honest hearts of many of the country- 
 people in this section, making the staple of those 
 stirring stories that often thrill the humble fire-side 
 circle of the poor with sensational entertainment. A 
 specimen of their credulity and of their traditions 
 may suffice to show the lengths to which they go 
 in these primitive fantasies. One of the large blocks 
 of granite is furrowed or indented into five ridges, 
 which, with a stretch of fancy, they make to resemble 
 fingers. Having established this likeness, the next 
 thing was to settle the question, whose fingers 
 they were before they were petrified. Evidently they 
 belonged to a giant of the tallest kind, and one, 
 too, of respectable antiquity ; one in whom even the 
 Christian world might believe. So, after inferring 
 his proportions from this isolated member, they came 
 to a conclusion, as well founded as the theory of many 
 a learned antiquary of modern times, that Groliah was 
 buried somewhat about this hill, and that his hand, 
 protruding out of the earth, was turned into this stone. 
 Then another legend has it, that there was once a terri- 
 ble scrimmage here between Satan and a platoon of 
 Cornish saints whose names are not given. The tradition 
 of the conflict rises almost to a Miltonian sublimity. If 
 the combatants did not " pluck up the seated hills " 
 to hurl at each other's heads, they tried "what virtue
 
 to Land's End and Back. 329 
 
 
 
 there is in stones." They seized these huge, black 
 boulders and threw them at each other with tremendous 
 force. The saints proved too many and too much 
 for his Satanic majesty ; and, coming to close quarters, 
 they bundled him over the heights, crest-fallen and 
 awfully bruised. This story is older than Milton's, 
 and, take it all in all, the locale, dramatis persona, and 
 all the possibilities of the case, has far more credible 
 foundation than his famous fiction. John Harris, the 
 Cornish Miner Poet, the Homer of this British 
 Olympus, in one of his Carnbrceads, has put many 
 of these traditions in the happiest verse, which I 
 would earnestly commend to all who would acquaint 
 themselves with the legendary lore of the locality. 
 
 The hill is not only crowned with tors of rocks, 
 of nature's masonry, but one of these is supplemented 
 and surmounted by a small, high castle or tower. 
 This unique structure has a singular and very un- 
 certain foundation. It is built upon the boulders just 
 as they lie, in their higgledy-piggledy positions ; the 
 spaces between them in two or three cases being 
 surmounted by arches. Indeed it is like a bird's 
 nest with some of the dead branches on which it is 
 raised protruding through it ; and looks as if it would 
 all come tumbling down if one of these were wrenched 
 out of its place. A column erected to the memory
 
 330 A Walk from London 
 
 of a local celebrity, the late Lord de Dunstanville, . 
 adds another object of interest to the eminence, and 
 establishes a kind of balance between the doings of 
 man and nature, which make Carn-brea one of the 
 first lions of Cornwall to a tourist, whatever be his 
 leaning of mind. 
 
 Passing this famous Cornish convexity, you may 
 soon come to one of the concavities of the county, of 
 better fame and history. It is a great excavation 
 in the hill-side of Cam Marth, which was once the 
 roofless tabernacle in which Wesley used to preach 
 to the Cornish miners. It is called The Pit, not after 
 any theatrical or more repulsive suggestion, but from 
 its formation and mere physical character. Here 
 the great and good man put, as it were, his 
 moulding hand upon the rough population of the 
 district, who arose under his ministering from almost 
 heathenism to the life and stature of a highly Christian 
 community. The impress of his spirit and teaching 
 is still deep and broad upon the masses of Cornish 
 miners. Could he revisit the scene of his indefatigable 
 labors, he would not have to share the sorrowful 
 experience of the great Apostle to the Gentiles, who 
 saw all his work in Asia Minor swept away. In 
 no section or country, either in England or America, 
 did Wesley get and retain a stronger hold upon the
 
 to Land's End and Back. 331 
 
 people than in Cornwall. The denomination he 
 founded seems to be the standing or predominate order 
 here. I have noticed that their churches or chapels 
 are the most capacious and numerous in the county. 
 Some newly-erected are splendid edifices, ornate with 
 the flowers of sculpture and architecture. Their 
 ministers make preaching stations in all the out-of-the- 
 way villages and hamlets; and you see placards posted 
 on the rusty boulders by the road-side, announcing 
 sermons to be delivered in such and such places. 
 
 Beached Eedruth to tea, and found it overflowing 
 full of people of all ages and occupations from far 
 and near, it being market-day. The long narrow 
 street on which the town is chiefly built, was crammed 
 with apparently 5,000 of them, all busy and bustling 
 with trading speculations. This is the very capital 
 and centre of the richest mineral district in the county. 
 Copper is the most productive of the metals raised 
 in this section, and vast quantities are taken from it 
 annually. The Dalcoath mine, in the immediate 
 neighborhood, is upwards of 1,400 feet deep, and was 
 considered the first in Cornwall in value half a 
 century ago. They took a large amount of silver 
 from it in 1810, and in 1815 it yielded copper ore 
 that was sold for nearly 70,000. 
 
 After tea, I faced westward, and walked on to St.
 
 33 2 A Walk from London 
 
 Agnes, where I spent the sabbath. This is an 
 interesting locality for a great variety of salient 
 features. In the first place it is a goodly little town 
 of what farmers or stock-breeders might well call 
 graded antiquity or a cross of the long past and the 
 living present. The most ancient parts of it look 
 more English than St. Ives, its neighbor on the 
 other horn of a grand crescent bay, each tipped with 
 a majestic headland. One of the celebrities of the 
 artistic world was born here, giving the place the 
 pleasant memory of his name and reputation, the 
 painter Opie, whose works rank high in the order of 
 genius. Another Opie of the same family is following 
 the footsteps of his distinguished predecessor. A 
 portrait painted by the young artist, when he was only 
 thirteen years of age, hung in the parlor of the inn 
 where I lodged, which would command some notice 
 in the National Grallery. 
 
 St. Agnes Beacon is one of the most commanding 
 heights on the Cornish coast, and the view from its 
 summit is magnificent in every direction. It rises 
 to the elevation of over 600 feet above the sea, and 
 projecting far into it, gives a vista of out-jutting 
 headlands and rock-ribbed coast, which will well 
 repay the tourist for the ascent, though it gives him 
 a taut breathing. When he has finished the sky-
 
 to Land's End and Back. 333 
 
 ward, sea-ward, and all the horizontal aspects, if he 
 is given to such investigations, he may study with 
 profit the structure of the hill itself. Here is another 
 of the master-pieces of nature. This grand eminence 
 is one of the savings'-banks of the ocean, in which 
 the Titan-handed monarch has been depositing the 
 champings of rocks eaten by him since the Flood. 
 With the aid of the wind, he has lifted them up the 
 height of 300 feet above its base and piled them there, 
 in sands and clay, forty feet in thickness in some places. 
 Monday, July kth. Set out immediately after break- 
 fast, following the coast northward, the first centre 
 of interest I reached was Perranzabuloe, a long, un- 
 English name, sounding you cannot give a reason for 
 it like some smothered village of huts on the desert of 
 Sahara. It is singular how a peculiar collocation of 
 a dozen letters suggests meanings which the syllables 
 do not justify or imply in any way. For instance, 
 how is it we attribute a mean, sneaky, hypocritical 
 mind to Nr. Pecksniff, on the first introduction of his 
 name, before his real character begins to develop 
 itself? There is nothing really suspicious or unmanly 
 in either syllable, when standing alone. But somehow, 
 put together, they suggest a double entendre, which 
 comes almost involuntarily to the mind at the first 
 sound. So with Perranzabuloe, even before you hear
 
 334 -A Walk from London 
 
 the story of the place. As you run the eye over the 
 letters, or the ear over the sounds they make, they 
 seem to read or say: Perished-in-the-sands-below. Now, 
 of course, they do not mean any such thing, any 
 more than a mournful sough of the wind at night 
 around the house means the articulate plaint of some 
 unhouseled spirit moaning for admission. However, 
 Perran-zabuloe is not too long a name for the place and 
 its history. A back-door having been left open to the 
 sea, which might have been bolted and barred very 
 easily, the winds and waves of the ocean blew inward 
 such volumes of sand as to cover a prodigious space 
 of inland with the white, hot, volatile drifts. Now, 
 at a certain distance from the mouth of this arenceduct, 
 there once stood a church of famous origin and sad 
 end; both of which give the locality a remarkable 
 celebrity. Among the sensational legends of early 
 times, a few centuries before the birth of the English 
 language, this tradition held good and strong in the 
 people's belief hereabouts : After St. Patrick had 
 driven all the snakes and frogs, and other unpleasant 
 creepers and jumpers from Ireland, he came over with 
 a new force of faith and miracle-power to drive out 
 the Druids from Cornwall; and, to his great joy, found 
 these evil-working spirits as subject to his influence 
 as the less injurious reptiles of the Emerald Isle. He
 
 to Land's End and Back. 335 
 
 thereupon returned to Ireland, consecrated and sent 
 over to the new field of Christian conquest twelve 
 bishops to complete the good work he had begun. St. 
 Piran was one of the twelve; and it is said, that either 
 in consequence of the scarcity or ill-construction of 
 sailing vessels at that early time, or in token of the 
 Divine approbation and aid of his mission, he crossed 
 the sea on a mill-stone, landed at St. Ives, then 
 travelled to this place, where he pitched his tent 
 immediately in the draught of this large crevice in 
 the sea-wall. A church was erected on the spot where 
 he was said to be buried, sometime in the 5th century. 
 This little edifice, according to some antiquaries, stood 
 the buffetings of the sand-storms for two or three 
 hundred years, when it succumbed, and was buried 
 out of sight in the drifts or dunes. Another and 
 larger building was erected, it is supposed, near the 
 site of the first, where it stood for several centuries. 
 The beating sands threatening to engulf this also, it 
 was taken down and removed two miles further inland. 
 The shifting dunes blowing hither and thither, in 1835 
 the body of the old church turned up to sight, like 
 a nugget of gold for the archaeologists, and the little 
 suffocated edifice was soon mined out in a good state of 
 preservation. But, most unfortunately, it was burnt 
 in about a fortnight after its exhumation. Notwith-
 
 336 A Walk from London 
 
 standing the suspicious incident, there is no reason to 
 disbelieve this Pompeian fact. The heads and a few 
 stones of the moulding may be seen in the Truro 
 Museum to this day. 
 
 To this little desert I wended my way, and reached 
 it in a few hours' walk. It is a small sea of sand, 
 with as many swells, ridges and hollows as mark an equal 
 space of ocean in a storm. A good portion of it is 
 covered with a tall reedy grass, the growth of which 
 is a mystery, quite as much as the vegetation of certain 
 plants on mere air. This strong and heavy grass pins 
 the surface down and prevents it blowing about like 
 snow before a winter's wind. But there are large, 
 hot craters of living sand here and there, from which 
 new dunes are scooped, to be grappled in their turn 
 and fixed by the reedy vegetation. The whole surface 
 is as full of rabbit-holes as ever was a meadow of 
 mole-walks. They were scampering and . bobbing 
 about in every direction. There must have been 
 hundreds of them burrowed in a single acre's space. 
 "What they live upon is as much a mystery as the 
 growth of such a covering of grass in that hot, gritty, 
 glistening sand. I wandered about among these dunes 
 and hollows to find the object of my search, and was 
 about to give up the exploration as a bad job, when 
 a flock of rooks, circling over a particular spot, put
 
 to Land's End and Back. 337 
 
 me in the right direction. I knew they were famous 
 and trusty antiquaries, endowed with fine instinctive 
 perception of the site of ruined abbeys and churches ; 
 and where they were gathered together, one might 
 be sure to find the remains of one of these old edifices. 
 Following their suggestions, I soon came in sight of 
 a deeply-corroded granite pillar, with a flattened head 
 perforated with several holes. Near it one could almost 
 believe he saw the foundations of the buried church ; 
 though it required much exercise of the imagination 
 to reach this conclusion. After a fatiguing walk in 
 different directions through this little drifting wilder- 
 ness, I was glad to plant my feet on terra firma again. 
 In a few hours I was out of the mining region. It was 
 quite a relief, after having travelled for a week in an 
 inverted section of the country, to find myself once 
 more where the earth was right side up, and where 
 the people lived and labored on its surface, facing 
 upward and breathing the fresh, free air of heaven. 
 
 Passed a regular amphitheatre sunk in the earth, 
 instead of raised on its surface, in the old Roman 
 fashion. With that penchant for Celtic origin or 
 Druidic rites which distinguishes the antiquaries and 
 archaeologists of the country, this pit, called Perran 
 Round, is honored with a hoary antiquity. Here it is 
 supposed the ancient Britons assembled at stated times
 
 338 A Walk from London 
 
 for grave or sportful purposes either as courts of 
 justice on matters pertaining to their laws, or as 
 spectators of wrestling matches between their trained 
 athletes. It does honor to all parties to this conception, 
 that these ancient Britons are not supposed to have 
 got so far on in the pathway of the high civilisation 
 of their successors as to have established the Prize 
 Ring in Perran Bound, as one of their " manly sports," 
 or even to have attained to the refinement of cock- 
 fighting in their day. In more modern times it is 
 said to have been used for theatrical performances, in 
 which Miracle Plays were the chief staple of enter- 
 tainment. The diameter of the pit is about 130 feet, 
 fitted up with ranges of turfed seats, with a green 
 rostrum or platform in the centre of the last tier. 
 Whatever its first origin and objects, it is now fre- 
 quently used for religious meetings, Sunday-school 
 celebrations and pic-nics. 
 
 Dined at St. Columb a straight-laced town, of 
 prematurely ancient appearance, with its main street 
 as narrow as if crowded into a cleft in a mountain, 
 although there was boundless space for spreading it 
 out in pleasant and healthy amplitude. For several 
 days I have been eating, drinking and sleeping with 
 Cornish Saints. Their name is legion, and the legion 
 is large. In fact, Cornwall seems to have more sainted
 
 to Land's End and Back. 339 
 
 towns than all the other counties in the kingdom. 
 After a walk of about thirty miles, reached Wadebridge 
 to tea. 
 
 This is a thrifty, modern-looking town, with a wide 
 street lined with large and elegant shops and other 
 buildings. It is situated on the Camel river, which 
 meandering through a picturesque valley, here enters 
 an arm of the sea, which has broken through the 
 great coast- wall, making a harbor further inland than 
 any other I have seen in Cornwall. The bridge 
 crossing this river is one of the longest and oldest 
 in the country. It is built on seventeen arches, and 
 is said to have been the work of a certain vicar of 
 the parish, who must have been a kind of Oberlin in 
 his way. 
 
 Tuesday, July 5th. This was a very warm day, and 
 the walk heavy, as it lay up-hill most of the way. 
 For several miles, however, the road passed through 
 picturesque plantations, or was lined by trees, and 
 skirted by clear-running streams that gave one the 
 cooling sense of shade, even if they did not really 
 diminish the heat. Dined at Camelford, a little, 
 angular Cornish town, which once was a place of 
 much political importance. It was a regularly incor- 
 porated borough, and sent a member to Parliament 
 until it was cut down to the level of common com-
 
 34-O A Walk from London 
 
 munities of the same size by the Beform Bill. Among 
 others who represented it from time to time, was 
 Macpherson, the author of Ossian. The name of the 
 place evidently stumbled down to a modern period 
 over successive mutations, until it fell into the form 
 of a homely Saxon word, with the meaning which its 
 early Saxon inhabitants thought to be clear and 
 straightforward enough. They were so sure of their 
 sense of it, that they mounted the figure of a camel 
 as a weathervane on the top of their town-hall, 
 although they had not the slightest reason to believe 
 that venerable animal ever set his hoof within their 
 precincts. Tracing the word back through these 
 corruptions, it may be recognised in Cmm licyle or 
 Crooked river. But the early townsmen ought not 
 to be laughed at for this little mistake in transmuting 
 a couple of Cornish words into one of English structure 
 and significance. It was not half so discrepant and 
 disloyal as the change in sound and sense which the 
 best educated cockneys of London wrought in the 
 name of their choicest locality. Let any well-read 
 American traveller go to Hyde Park about three p.m., 
 early in May, and see the liaut ton equestrians gallop- 
 ing in squadrons up and down that long, well-fenced 
 course, kept with such care for their favorite exercise. 
 Although made as perfect as possible, with most
 
 to Land's End and Back. 341 
 
 beautiful surroundings of greenest turf and trees, seen 
 against the background of an artificial lake or strait 
 of bluest water, it is called to this day, by the most 
 refined and fastidious ladies of quality and education, 
 Rotten Row ! To think of it ! What a word to mouth 
 by such lips ! Now guess, with your best New England 
 ingenuity of speculation, where that name came from; 
 what it was made of ; what transmutation has changed 
 its original form and significance. You give it up ? 
 Well you might, for you could not guess it out if you 
 knew a hundred dictionaries by heart. Well, you must 
 believe it, for it is the fact ; Rotten Row was made out 
 
 of Route-au-Roi, or the " King's Boute," or course. 
 
 fi, 
 Here is a specimen of Saxonising right under the eves 
 
 of St. James's Palace that should cover and excuse 
 a hundred mistakes in remote provincials in their 
 efforts to give an English face and sound to Cornish 
 words of unknown significance and difficult pronun- 
 ciation. 
 
 From Camelford I diverged toward the sea-coast 
 to see two of its chiefest lions, Tintagel Castle and 
 Boscastle. About three miles from the town, I 
 ascended a great down, or furzy hill crowned by a 
 barrow, which commanded the grandest view I have 
 seen in Cornwall. It was almost a perfect panorama, 
 half water and half land, with a radius of full twenty
 
 342 A Walk from London 
 
 miles. Inland, a circular wall of treeless hills, with 
 here and there a huge tor piercing the horizon, bounded 
 the vision. Sloping down into a vast basin, were 
 fields defined as vividly as the figures of a Scotch 
 plaid, of rather dark tints, owing partly to the colors 
 of the season, when the green of grass and grain is 
 taking on the blueish tinge of full-grown life, or 
 slightly yellowing to harvest. Here and there the 
 red soil of Devonshire alternated with the dull brown 
 of Cornwall. Patches of furze and ferns and wild 
 moorland varied the shades and figures. Plantations 
 hiding their diminished heads in narrow valleys and 
 dells from the salt, west winds of the Atlantic, 
 showed like little green islands brooching the broad 
 bosom of the landscape. Little villages nestling around 
 gray, low-towered churches scattered at irregular inter- 
 vals over the space, gave to it the crowning feature 
 of the vista the scenery of human life and society, 
 in their quiet aspects. It was a grand picture, though 
 done in sombre colors. But these brought out the 
 glory of the other half of the panorama all the more 
 vividly. There was the still, broad, blue sea making 
 no visible ripple against the feet of the great, bold 
 headlands that stood greaved with granite, with their 
 bald brows flushed as with the pride of their strength 
 and defiance. Away to the south-west, where the water
 
 to Land's End and Back. 343 
 
 view joined the landscape, the ocean was calm and 
 smooth as a sea of glass ; but at a point or two farther 
 north there was a scene of indescribable beauty. The 
 sun was but a little way above the horizon, half- veiled 
 in a deeply-dyed drapery of clouds. The eye lost the 
 line that divided them from the water, so that they 
 seemed a continuation of the sea, forming one vast 
 plain of glory sloping up to the sun's disk. From this 
 there welled a river of molten silver meandering 
 through purple banks touched to gold by its overflow. 
 Now it rounded into soft bays rimmed with azure 
 shores; now it burst through the crimson levies and 
 ran in a score of channels between emerald isles all 
 set a-glow like illuminated lamps of every hue ; now 
 the little rivers converged into a mountain torrent, and 
 poured down through a winding gorge into a broad 
 lake of golden glory, sending up a dazzling mist which 
 the eye could hardly bear. Among these islands there 
 were vessels sailing, with all their canvass spread, up 
 the shining rivers to the very edge and over-break of 
 the golden cataract. As their sails veered this way 
 and that, they looked each like a red- winged "eagle at 
 its sun." As I sat and looked off upon this scene of 
 beauty ineffable, and watched its changing features, an 
 incident of marvellous interest wound up the dissolving 
 view. Just as the sun dipped its great purple globe
 
 344 -A Walk from London 
 
 up to its diameter in the sea, a three-masted vessel 
 with all its sails set passed across the disk. It was 
 several minutes on that golden equator, with its masts 
 and spars showing in bold relief agaiust the red dome 
 of light. Who could have the cold heart to check the 
 fancy of such a moment ? Not I. It seemed the 
 vessel of some sky-faring Columbus circumnavigating 
 the sun. 
 
 Descending from this scene, I pursued my way 
 through the little village of Trevena to the Tintagel 
 Castle, the very fountain head and focus of Cornish 
 romance and legendary chivalry. It is just the spot 
 for such traditions; and no one visiting it could 
 reasonably think that the early legend-makers and 
 later poets could have fairly done less by the locality 
 than that they have attempted. It is wild enough 
 for the wildest stories. Grecian and Latin poets of 
 the old school of classic mythology would have made 
 it the scene of more doughty and dubitable exploits 
 than Tennyson has done. It would be pretentious in 
 me to essay a description, for it has been written upon, 
 engraved and photographed, and sung in noble rhyme, 
 until nearly every English and many an American 
 reader have become familiar with it. It is a bold 
 headland which the sea has been at work upon for 
 ages to make an island. With the side-beats of its
 
 to Land's End and Back. 345 
 
 sledge-waves, it has mined and thinned its neck to a 
 small girth, and made a great incision in it, into 
 which the wind and water rumble and gurgle with a 
 noise that a poetical imagination might turn to a good 
 account in the elaboration of a thrilling fancy. A wild, 
 haggard hollow descending from the village above, 
 deepens into a tremendous gorge, where it dashes its 
 little flashing, moorland stream into the foaming mouth 
 of the sea. It is a veritable fissure in the rock- wall, 
 and the bleak butments on the castle side are almost 
 perpendicular for a great height. Into this narrow 
 gateway, overhung by lofty cliffs huge and grim, little 
 vessels creep softly when the sea is asleep, and load 
 with slate. They look as small as miniature brigs from 
 the towering bluffs above. This is a little of nature's 
 part of the scene ; and it is truly a wild and grand 
 creation, which inspires awe as you look at it. With- 
 out any crowning of man's doings or of human history, 
 it would attract admiring visitors from a distance. 
 But it has these additional features of interest in the 
 boldest relief. The ruins of an old castle, like a 
 diadem with broken rim, crown the sundered cliff. 
 Straggling up and down, zig-zagging around the brow 
 of the bluff, run the black, uneven walls of a fortress 
 nobody knows how old, or by what race of men erected. 
 Some think it must have been built before the sea had
 
 346 A Walk from London 
 
 made such a terrible gash in the neck of the headland, 
 or when it had not gaped open so wide as now, and 
 could be spanned by a bridge. The remaining walls 
 of the castle look as if once they made a continuous 
 line across the chasm. 
 
 The history of Tintagel Castle conforms itself to 
 the natural features of the place. It is equally wild, 
 grand and incoherent. It is a headland standing 
 almost insulated in a sea of mystery. The narrow 
 neck of fact that connects it with the mainland of real 
 human life and authentic chronicle, is thinned almost 
 to a thread, and weak and knotty at that. But all the 
 better for the poet. It smoothed the pathway of his 
 fancy, and gave it full scope and play for an unfettered 
 romance. Where could he have made Prince Arthur 
 first see the light of life, or have laid the framework 
 of that splendid fiction more happily than at Tintagel ? 
 Where could he have instituted the Bound Table and 
 surrounded it with knights of gentlest blood and bravest 
 hearts with better conditions for the story, than within 
 the castle- walls crowning this lofty, sea-smitten height ? 
 As you look from the opposite bluff down into the 
 rough, roaring ravine, and pass the eye from chasm 
 to chasm, cliff to cliff, and listen to the screaming gulls 
 striking the blue bridge of sky between, the fascination 
 of the poet's dream takes hold of you with the force
 
 to Land's End and Back. 347 
 
 of a living faith. You first wish to believe in Prince 
 Arthur as a real human existence. There is room 
 enough for the play of such a life in ages gone. The 
 wish works on to the happy conclusion, that such a 
 hero must have lived and wrought upon the mind of 
 the world with a powerful influence ; that his being 
 could not have been "like the baseless fabric of a 
 vision," when so many visions grasped him in their 
 conceptions. You are in the midst of the most unro- 
 mantic community in the world, among miners for 
 all sorts of metals and stones, with the yellow rust 
 of their work upon them day and night. And they all 
 believe in him with as much confidence as in King 
 Greorge the Third. And, the wish being father of the 
 thought, you end your meditations in the same faith. 
 You re-construct the Bound Table, knight it and wine 
 it, and see the bowl go round again, and hear the toasts 
 to fair women and tales of brave men, and the music 
 between, and feel the glow and the flow of all that 
 chivalrous companionship which the poet has made to 
 stand out like a thrilling life. Ten to one he has made 
 the beginning and end of that wonder-begotten prince 
 more tangible and vivid to you than are half the well- 
 authenticated histories of modern heroes. Ten to one 
 you involuntarily peer over the cliff to see the beach, 
 and wonder if it was there where the white-necked gull
 
 348 A Walk from London 
 
 is sitting that the mysterious baby was cast ashore who 
 was destined for such kinghood. 
 
 For there was no man knew from whence he came, 
 
 But after tempest, when the long wave broke 
 
 All down the thundering shores of Bude and Boss, 
 
 There came a day as still as heavoti,- and then 
 
 They found a naked child upon the sands 
 
 Of wild Dundagil by the Cornish sea ; 
 
 And that was Arthur : and they fostered him 
 
 Till he by miracle was approven king ; 
 
 And that his grave should be a mystery 
 
 From all men, like his birth. 
 
 Wonderful are these sun-crowned creations of human 
 genius. The day may come when this tall, bald cliff, 
 already riven from the mainland, shall melt away with 
 its shattered castle-rim in the yeast of the eternal 
 waves, and be thrown back in sand upon some distant 
 shore. But the poet's work will survive this dissolu- 
 tion and stand the long beatings of the sea of time ; 
 bearing the name of Arthur high among the bright 
 immortalities of human memory. 
 
 From this place of remarkable interest, I made my 
 way back to the village of Trevena over the fields. 
 Many of its houses look as if they might once have 
 been inhabited by Prince Arthur's retainers. They 
 are mostly built of layers of slate, apparently without 
 mortar ; and the walls seem to have been convulsed 
 by an earthquake, as the strata pitch up and down at
 
 to Land's End and Back. 349 
 
 all angles. The salt sea-winds beating upon these 
 black, shabby tenements, spot them with a kind of 
 iron-rust, which gives them a bad, blotchy look. Still, 
 they are the homes of an honest, industrious folk, many 
 of whom worship in the massive, stately old church of 
 Tintagel, which stands almost by itself near the sea. 
 This is a remarkable edifice, out of all proportion to the 
 size of the village, and apparently built for a com- 
 munity that has disappeared. 
 
 Cornwall holds out well to the last acre of its space. 
 It has almost everything in its cellarage except coal. 
 This is a famous slate region, and immense quarries of 
 it are worked with great success. Those of Delabole 
 yield the best quality. About 1,000 men are employed 
 in these works, and they raise on an average 120 tons 
 of slate per day. This is made up on the spot into 
 roofing, cisterns and other articles, ready for exportation 
 to different countries. 
 
 From Tintagel I continued on to Boscastle, which 
 I found with considerable difficulty, owing to the 
 tortuous character of the streets. Taking it all in all, 
 it is the strangest-looking town I have yet met with 
 in my travels in England. As you look at the queerly- 
 built houses, and thread the stony lanes, and wander 
 from one patch of dwellings to another, you are sur- 
 prised to hear the children playing by the door-stones
 
 350 A Walk from London 
 
 speak the English language. A photograph of two or 
 three points for a stereoscopic view would excite 
 interest anywhere. I went up and down in search 
 of lodgings for the night; but in vain. The whole 
 town did not seem to have an inn, though half a dozen 
 signs of beer and ale, pale and mild, were visible at 
 different angles. On going to inquire what else they 
 indicated in the way of entertainment, I found they 
 meant nothing but what a small tap-room could supply. 
 It was already dark, and I had made a long walk, 
 scrambling up and down steep headlands, and was not 
 a little fatigued, and hungry withal. After looking 
 about for a long time for an inn mounted with a spare 
 bed, I found on inquiry that the basement story of the 
 town was its parlor and guest-room. So I descended 
 to it, not exactly through a trap-door, but down a 
 winding passage, which deepened into a great, black 
 crevice in the lofty, beetling sea-wall. Squeezed into 
 this gorge, there was one of the neatest, most romantic 
 little harbors in the world. Looking at it from a short 
 distance, it seemed but a little larger than one of the 
 locks on the Erie canal. Indeed it is a natural lock ; 
 partially gated near the sea end by a break- water to 
 ward off or deaden the heavy blows of the wrathful 
 waves, that must thunder into this deep rent in the 
 rock with terrible fury. It must be an exciting scene
 
 to Land's End and Back. 351 
 
 to witness when the great foaming surges of the ocean, 
 with the impetus of a thousand leagues, come roaring 
 in here to "confound and swallow up" this small berth, 
 especially if they caught a vessel napping in it. But 
 many vessels do venture into this steep, deep crack in 
 the coast, and do a brisk business in different branches 
 of commercial enterprise. And when you come to it, 
 you find more buildings than you thought possible a 
 little way off; indeed, all the surroundings and appur- 
 tenances of a small sea-port. I found a large and 
 comfortable inn, white-faced and clean, mounting a 
 great name which it tried to honor : the " Wellington 
 Family Hotel." This was my only chance for a bed 
 apparently within a circuit of ten miles. It was now 
 late in the evening, and what next, should my appli- 
 cation here be fruitless, was a painful mystery to me. 
 And I asked the momentous question with an accent 
 of doubt and despondency, as if not for information 
 but for confirmation of a foregone and despairing 
 conclusion. Not that the house lacked capacity for a 
 good number of guests, but from the number of 
 carriages, coachmen and servants about the doors, 
 that indicated that every apartment was pre-engaged. 
 The landlady answered with such a marked tone of 
 confidence, and looked at me with such an expression 
 of mild wonder and reproach at my little faith in
 
 352 A Walk from London 
 
 her establishment, that I felt half confused at it myself. 
 Still, I could not get over the notion that she had 
 taken me in out of sheer compassion ; and I ate, drank 
 and slept and went away next morning under that 
 impression. I rang for tea and breakfast very softly, 
 and paid my bill as if it were only a small recognition 
 of what I owed to her disinterested benevolence. 
 
 All these coast-towns have each its own peculiar saga, 
 as the Icelanders would call it, or a legend as wild and 
 romantic as any of the traditions of the Northmen. 
 Here at Boscastle is an old church, looking off upon 
 the sea from a great headland. Its tower was built for 
 bells, but no peal has ever sounded from it. The reason 
 is given in a tradition full of tragic interest. The 
 towns-people listened first with delight, then with envy 
 to the merry chimes of Tintagel, whose silvery, sabbath 
 music occasionally reached their ears. They were 
 determined their church tower should send back an 
 answering peal. The lord of the manor aided the 
 project. A set of bells was cast in London and sent 
 around by sea to the little harbor. When near the 
 coast the Tintagel bells poured out their evening 
 melodies that floated over the steep, grim headlands 
 and were heard by the pilot at his wheel. They were to 
 him a welcome home, and a greeting to the new bells 
 to be raised and swung on the rocky coast. " Thank
 
 to Land's End and Back. 353 
 
 God ! " said he, aloud and earnestly, " I shall be 
 ashore this evening ! " The rough captain, standing 
 by, exclaimed, " Thank the ship and the canvass ; thank 
 Orod ashore." "No," rejoined the pilot, we should 
 thank GTod on sea as well as on land." The captain 
 persisted in his view of the matter, and cursed and 
 swore vehemently as the pilot defended his sense of 
 duty and gratitude. The vessel neared the land, and 
 the people of the village flocked down to welcome its 
 arrival, full of joyful exultation at the prospect of 
 setting their silent church tower to the music of the 
 new bells. But all at once a black mountain arose out 
 of the sea against the western horizon, and spread its 
 darkness over the intervening sky. Out of it burst 
 a hurricane that lifted the waves into awful commotion. 
 The uprising billows fell with all their fury upon the 
 fated ship and smote it to its beam's end, and it went 
 down a little way out from the steep wall of the coast 
 with all on bdard. The pilot alone escaped on part 
 of the wreck. The storm raged on, and the waves 
 rolled the broken hulk hither and thither, raising it 
 and pounding it against the stony floor of the waters ; 
 so that, in short pauses of the gale, the bells moaned forth 
 a gloomy dirge from the ocean depths. And the inhabi- 
 tants to this day fancy they hear these bells tolling with 
 solemn sound when the storms are lashing the coast. 
 
 2A
 
 354 A Walk from London 
 
 Wednesday, July 6th. Continued northward, follow- 
 ing the high-walled coast. After a mile of winding 
 ascent, I turned around to see how Boscastle looked 
 from that distance; when, lo and behold, it had entirely 
 disappeared. There was no mark of the crevice in 
 which it lay concealed. The whole space was smoothed 
 over by a continuous surface. Had a long walk to 
 Bude Haven, another interesting little watering place. 
 For several miles before reaching it, the road lay along 
 the sea, up and down headlands. The tide was out, 
 and a busy scene presented itself on the long beach, 
 which was accessible to carts. Scores of them of all 
 sizes and forms, even to a kind of two-wheeled hod 
 drawn by a donkey, were employed in dragging sand 
 up these tremendous hills to be used as top-dressing 
 for farms at a distance. It was the first time that 
 I ever saw common sea-sand applied to such a purpose. 
 Some of the wagons were drawn by a team of four 
 horses, one before the other, although the load could 
 not have contained more than thirty bushels. The 
 collar of the leader must have been nearly three rods 
 from the forward axle. This singular distribution or 
 attenuation of working force will occasion an American 
 farmer or mechanic no little wonder. This inverted 
 principle seems to obtain in the law of muscular 
 dynamics in this country. I have observed it in many
 
 to Land's End and Back. 355 
 
 applications ; and cannot account for it, except as one 
 of the old unreasoned habits that have come down from 
 an earlier age which it is more easy and natural to 
 retain than to reject. I was told by a laborer that the 
 sand cost the farmer one shilling for five pecks when 
 delivered to him. He himself was bringing it up from 
 the beach to the roadside on the back of a donkey, to 
 which he had attached two wooden boxes, for panniers, 
 each of which would hold about a peck. On the cold, 
 clayey, moorland soil hereabouts, this sand seems to be 
 valued very highly for top-dressing. It costs them 
 more per bushel than we pay for oyster-shell lime as a 
 fertiliser. What would our Illinois or prairie-state 
 farmers say of such means and industries for enriching 
 their soil? Yet this sea-sand is a kind of Cornish 
 guano, and makes the principal business of the Bude 
 and Launceston Canal. It is stated that its mere con- 
 veyance costs about 30,000 per annum, or probably 
 more than the whole amount paid for fertilisers of all 
 kinds by the whole state of Connecticut. It is said 
 that 4,000 horse-loads have been taken from the beach 
 in one day. 
 
 Bude Haven is coming to be a favorite resort as a 
 watering place for the people of this section. Its sea- 
 views are delightful, and there is just wildness enough 
 
 of surrounding scenery to make it an interesting retreat 
 2A 2
 
 356 A Walk from London 
 
 and recreation ground. Its name has been rendered 
 illustrious by the invention of the famous Bude Light, 
 by Mr. Grurney, whose residence is opposite to the chief 
 hotel. After dinner, I pursued my way northward, 
 and soon got among the foot-prints of the Saxon, in 
 its radiation outward in this direction. Villages and 
 hamlets with names ending with stow show where it 
 overlapped upon the Cornish Briton, each successive 
 wave gaining a little upon the country of the Druids. 
 The coast was still grand with its high, hoary sea-cliffs 
 facing in different directions. Beached Kilkhampton, 
 a quiet, comfortable village, with a good show of white- 
 washed cottages on the main street. The church is a 
 noble old structure, with avenues of lime-trees arching 
 the walks among the graves. Here Hervey once 
 preached, and here he walked and thought in these 
 deep-shaded aisles. It is no wonder that his mind 
 took the leaning it did in such a place. Life and death 
 seemed put in their feeblest contrast here. The latter 
 had the majority to his eyes, and the former did not 
 compensate for the disparity by the common activities 
 of a living community. The census of the grave-yard 
 outnumbered the moving population of the streets ; and 
 these moved so quietly and slow that they seemed to 
 feel that the past was too much for them. Some such 
 influence may have given the particular bias to his
 
 to Land's End and Back. 357 
 
 thoughts that distinguished them. But if it did, the 
 world will not regret that they owed them to such an 
 incidental circumstance. It seemed a holy ground to 
 tread. No other God's-acre in England has ever pro- 
 duced such a volume as " Hervey's Meditations among 
 the Tombs." As I walked up and down among the 
 green mounds of the sleepers, the murmur of his 
 mournful thoughts seemed to stir the grass in the 
 moonlight. 
 
 Thursday, July 7th. Had a long and fatiguing walk 
 over a wild, dreary country, mostly covered with furze, 
 with here and there patches of cultivated land. At 
 about two p.m., reached Hartland Point, the Flam- 
 borough Head of the West of England. This crowning 
 headland of the coast was to be a turning point in my 
 journey; from which I was to face eastward for the 
 first time since leaving London. I had caught the 
 sight of it from cliffs jutting far out into the sea. The 
 green ribbon lying on the far-off wild of waters rounded 
 up slowly into a mountain ridge 350 feet in height. 
 It is the longest, strongest arm the mainland on this 
 coast thrusts into the breast of the ocean. No early 
 navigator could have passed it without particular notice, 
 or have confounded it with any other point. Ptolemy 
 called it the Promontory of Hercules ; and it suggests 
 the attitude and armor of a giant. It is virtually the
 
 358 A Walk from London 
 
 southern gate-post of the Bristol Channel, breaking the 
 onset of the Atlantic when, blinded with the storm, it 
 roars for the entrance of the old " Severn Sea." 
 
 The oldest Hartland in America is in Connecticut, 
 my own native state. It was, therefore, with peculiar 
 interest I visited this grandmother town, and walked 
 its crooked and narrow streets, and studied the features 
 of its unique old houses. If one of its queer, yellow- 
 faced, thatched cottages could be transported whole and 
 planted upon one of our Hartland's hills it would make 
 a seven days' wonder to young and old. The old 
 parish church is one of the most imposing structures in 
 the West of England. The tower is 111 feet high. 
 It is perpendicular in a steeper sense than that word 
 usually conveys when applied to turrets, trees or 
 steeples. Its four walls run up perfectly plain, without 
 a break, except a gain cut in one for a small stone 
 saint, called St. Nectan. This majestic tower was rusty 
 with the salt breathing of the ocean before America was 
 discovered. The reader will pardon me for using this 
 standard of measurement so often. It is the longest 
 chronometer I can handle conveniently, and serves as 
 well for measuring time as the earth's diameter does 
 for measuring space. The interior architecture is 
 unique and interesting. The screen reaches clear across 
 the chancel end of the church, and is the most elabor-
 
 to Land's End and Back. 359 
 
 
 
 ate piece of carved work that I ever saw of its date. 
 The tablets against the walls and the flooring of grave- 
 stones give one an idea of the age of the building. 
 These memorials of the dead present the most diver- 
 sified literature and records imaginable. The family 
 history of some scion of Norman or gentle blood for 
 several centuries is given in genealogical facts in some 
 of these tablets the name, birth, and death of the 
 ancestor, the number of his children, the line of descent 
 winding in and out of many intersecting threads, as if 
 the memorial were a marble certificate of good blood 
 and breeding, erected to the memory of the survivors 
 instead of the dead. One of these tablets, in honor 
 of an ancient squire, after stating that he left seven 
 sons and three daughters, bears the following toughly- 
 rhymed lines of exultation: 
 
 If long consuming sickness be a death 
 
 I was long dead before I gave my breath ; 
 
 But if in hopeful issue parents live 
 
 I am not half dead, my best part doth survive, 
 
 There's no life lost, my progeny hath this, 
 
 My soule a better life enjoys in bliss. 
 
 A date in this church has afforded a sweet morsel 
 of contentment to many an antiquary. It seems to 
 read 1055, and a great deal is made out of it as a 
 proof of antiquity. But evidently the o is the body 
 of a 5 or a 6 with its neck eaten off by the tooth of
 
 360 A Walk from London 
 
 
 
 time. But even at 1555 the antiquity of the date 
 is very respectable. 
 
 In the winding gorge or glen extending far inland 
 from the great door in the sea-wall, and planted with 
 trees that grow up on each side to the last inch at 
 which they can breathe, is Hartland Abbey, or the site 
 of it, now occupied by a noble mansion, which has 
 absorbed into itself a portion of the ancient edifice. 
 It stands across nearly the whole pathway of the 
 valley, fronting eastward upon a wide and sunny lawn 
 debouching into a meadow of almost equal softness of 
 verdure. On each side, clear up to Hartland Town, 
 trees of every leaf line the pleasant walk. Alderney 
 cows with their deer-like eyes and necks were lying 
 by the sparkling stream that chippered among the 
 ferns and rounded into pools in this romantic park. 
 
 After dinner, I walked on towards Bideford at 
 quickened pace, as it was thirteen miles distant, and 
 I had engaged to be there before night. The road was 
 hot and dusty, and the spaces between the milestones 
 seemed to lengthen from hour to hour. About a mile 
 from the town, my old friend, "The Bideford Postman 
 Poet," met me; and it was a pleasant meeting to us 
 both. He insisted on my making his house my home 
 for a few days, and I gladly accepted his genial hospi- 
 tality, and we had a season of social enjoyment which 
 will make one of the sunniest memories of my life.
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 THREE DAYS WITH THE BIDEFORD POSTMAN POET THE PEBBLE BEACH J 
 
 TORRINGTON SOUTH MOULTON VISIT TO MR. QUARTLEY; DEVON- 
 SHIRE BREED OF CATTLE WALK. TO DULVERTON EXMOOR. 
 
 HERHAPS few American readers have ever 
 seen any of the ballads, songs or sonnets 
 of Edward Capern, the "Bideford Post- 
 man Poet." But I am persuaded the day will come 
 when his genius will be widely known and appreciated 
 in the United States, where the uprising of a working- 
 man's mind ought ever to be held in high estimation. 
 If there be anything more salient than another in the 
 intellectual vitality of the English-speaking race in 
 both hemispheres, it is the self-elevation of men from 
 out of the lowest walks of humble life to a stature 
 of mental power and reputation which not only honors 
 the class from which they sprung, but actually raises 
 its toiling ranks to a higher footing in the esteem of 
 the world. In no other countries are such self-made 
 men held at higher value than in England and 
 America. In both the public mind loves to measure
 
 362 A Walk from London 
 
 such men to the last inch of that growth which they 
 owe to their own indomitable will, application, faith, 
 patience and hope in wrestling with adverse circum- 
 stances. This generous proclivity is sometimes carried 
 to excess in both countries ; insomuch that often there 
 is a seeming disposition to lower the original level of 
 a man who has thus risen by his own exertions; as 
 it were, to scrape away the earth under his feet and 
 let him down a little lower than he ever stood, in 
 order to stretch the measure of his actual ascent by 
 a few inches. Both Englishmen and Americans so 
 prize such examples that they glory in making the 
 most of them. You may notice this characteristic in 
 the almost universal habit of depressing the origin and 
 social status of these brave climbers to fame. Shake- 
 speare's father is made a little humbler and poorer than 
 he really was in his day ; Burns' parents and the 
 boy's beginning are more obscure and unfavored than 
 the positive history of them affirms. This interesting 
 propensity to give these, and all other men the nation 
 is proud of for their self- wrought elevation, their utmost 
 due, sometimes does injustice to well-favored positions 
 in society, lowering starting points from which it is 
 no extraordinary credit to a man to rise to a high 
 eminence. When it is said that Cardinal Wolsey was 
 the son of a butcher, or that Sir Eobert Peel's father
 
 to Land's End and Back. 363 
 
 was a cotton-spinner, or that Bloomfield was a farmer's 
 son, the comparison suggested between the condition 
 they started from and the one they attained lowers a 
 respectable occupation in order to elevate a man whom 
 it laddered to a lofty eminence. We carry this pro- 
 pensity to greater lengths in America than they do in 
 England, where it originated, and where it may be 
 accounted for by reasons that do not exist with us. 
 How we glory in the humble origin, as it is most 
 undemocratically called, of our great men ! How we 
 hang this origin to their necks as a diamond of the 
 first water! work it up into titles that express our 
 affection, admiration, and, it may be added, our 
 surprise ! Harry Clay, the "Mill-boy of the Slashes';'' 
 Tom Corwin, "the "Waggoner Boy;" Honest Abe 
 Lincoln, "the Rail-splitter." So we go on in the 
 exuberance of this admiration, unconsciously expressing 
 our wonder that, with all the scope and stimulus our 
 institutions can give to intellectual activity, farmers' 
 sons, and millers' sons and tradesmen's sons should 
 ever become statesmen, orators, writers, preachers and 
 poets of distinction. It is a generous admiration, but 
 it better becomes the English than the American mind. 
 For it suggests or implies that in America there is a 
 great hereditary class, as in England, who cannot be 
 included in the population called the people a large
 
 364 A Walk from London 
 
 landed aristocracy, Highly educated, with inexhaustible 
 means and abundant leisure to fit themselves for all 
 the positions that cultivated intellect, great wealth and 
 social status can command. Now, as no such class 
 exists, and probably never will exist among us, we 
 ought not to wonder but to expect that farmers, 
 carpenters, blacksmiths, shoemakers and other trades- 
 men would produce sons that should take the first 
 rank of literary and political eminence among us ; nay, 
 more and better, that they should go up themselves 
 to these positions with their trade-marks graven in 
 the palms of their hands ; thus not leaving but lifting 
 their several occupations to the level of the height they 
 have attained. Not to kick the ladder down after 
 reaching the summit, but to leave it standing for others 
 to mount its rounds. When, therefore, we affix to a 
 man's name, which we would honor, the title of 
 " Learned Carpenter," " Learned Blacksmith," or 
 " Learned " tradesmen of any other industry, it would 
 be specially becoming in an American to ask, Does 
 he still follow the occupation to which he was bred ? 
 or has he 'abandoned it merely because he deemed it 
 too low for his ambition or his elevation ? 
 
 Edward Capern, of Bideford, is a poet and he is a 
 postman, and both at once, and good at each. He is 
 as faithful and genial a postman as ever dropped a letter
 
 to Land's End and Back. 365 
 
 in a cottage door with an honest and welcome face, 
 itself a living epistle of goodwill and friendly cheer. 
 I can attest to that most confidently ; for I went with 
 him in his pony-cart two days on his rural rounds. 
 That he is a poet who has written songs that will live 
 and have a pleasant place among the productions of 
 genius, I am equally confident, though pretending to 
 be no connoisseur in such matters myself. Better 
 judges have awarded to them a high degree of merit. 
 Already a considerable volume of his songs and ballads 
 has gone to its second edition ; and he has sufficient 
 matter on hand to make another of equal size and 
 character. His postal beat lies between Bideford 
 and Buckland Brewer, a distance of rather more than 
 six miles. Up to quite a recent date, he walked this 
 distance twice a day, 'in all weathers; starting off on 
 winter mornings while it was yet dark. Having grown 
 somewhat corpulent and short-winded, he has mounted, 
 within a year or two, a pony-cart, that carries him 
 up and down the long, steep hills on his course. It 
 takes him till noon to ascend these to Buckland and 
 distribute letters and papers among the hamlet cottages 
 and roadside farm-houses on the way. Having reached 
 the little town on the summit-hill, and left his bag 
 at the post-office, he has three hours to wait before 
 setting out on his return journey. These are his
 
 366 A Walk from London 
 
 writing hours ; and he spends them in a little, antique, 
 thatched cottage on one of the village streets. Here, 
 seated at one end of a long deal table, while the 
 cottager's wife and daughters are plying their needles, 
 and doing all their family work at the other, he pens 
 down the thoughts that have passed through the flitting 
 visions of his imagination while alone on the road. 
 Here he wrote most of his first book of ballads, and 
 here he is working up his glowing, rollicking songs for 
 a new volume. Sometimes the poetic inspiration comes 
 in upon him like a flood on his way. He told me that 
 he once brought home with him six sonnets, on six 
 different subjects, which he had thought out and penned 
 in one of his daily beats. When the news of the 
 taking of the Redan reached England, the very inner 
 soul of his patriotism was stirred within him to the 
 proudest emotion. As he walked up and down the 
 long hills with his letter-bags strapped to his side, 
 the thoughts of the glory his country had won came 
 into his mind with a half-suffocating rush, and he 
 struggled, nearly drowned by them, to give them forms 
 of speech. The days were short, the road was long 
 and hard to foot, and the rules of his postal service 
 were rigid. He could not hold fast the thoughts the 
 event stirred within him until he reached the cottage. 
 Some of the best of them would flit away out of his
 
 to Land's End and Back. 367 
 
 memory if he delayed to pen them as they arose. So 
 he ran with all his might and main for a third of a 
 mile, then sat down by the hedgeside and, all panting 
 with the race for time, found he had caught enough of 
 it for pencilling on his knee a whole verse of his song. 
 Thus he ran and wrote, each stanza costing him a race 
 that made the hot perspiration fall upon the soiled and 
 crumpled paper, on which he brought home to a wife 
 prouder than himself of the song, " The Lion Flag of 
 England." Should any of my American readers ever 
 see that poem, they will enjoy it the more by remem- 
 bering the circumstances in which it was written. 
 
 The subjects of his song are mostly local, but treated 
 in a way that almost localises them in every community. 
 The hills, valleys, streams, glens, nooks, brooks, trees, 
 bees, birds and flowers on his postal beat, he has 
 celebrated in his verse. The sunny-faced homes bask- 
 ing on the banks of the little river ; the old mill that 
 strides the stream, the cottagers, the lads and lasses 
 of the village and the hamlet, and their loves, run 
 through the merry tenor of his song. Still, though 
 his rhymed thoughts may almost be said to be plaited 
 around the brows of these humbly-peopled hills like 
 bands of golden beads on a ground of pearl, he is 
 no more local than Burns; and Burns' localities were 
 vivid truths and lives that may stand for any rural
 
 368 A Walk from London 
 
 region of the civilised world. Let no one think me 
 irreverent to the genius of the great Scotch bard to put 
 his name in this connection. Devonshire is as poetical 
 a county as Ayrshire. Its daisies show as golden 
 pupils between their silver lids, and drink in as much 
 of heaven's sun of June. Its mice house their little 
 families beneath the knotted turf as tenderly and feel 
 the ploughshare's ruthless ruin as sadly. It has as 
 many Marys, worth each a poet's love and a poet's 
 song, as the cold county on the Scottish coast. Why 
 should not Devon have a bard as well as Ayr, and 
 of the same caste of thought and genius ? I think it 
 will. We shall see. 
 
 Friday, Juhj 8th. Early this morning my poet host, 
 the postman, harnessed his pony, and we started off 
 on his daily beat with the morning rations from the 
 post-office for the villagers on the way and at the end 
 of it. And we had a day of overflowing enjoyment, 
 to which the weather, the scenery and all the little 
 incidents of the journey gave an additional relish. The 
 pony had an instinctive perception of the mind of its 
 owner, and was evidently in the habit of taking 
 advantage of his abstraction. I held the reins while 
 my friend sang or recited songs he had written on 
 groves, dells, hills and valleys and streams and farm- 
 houses on the way. The pony, having heard these
 
 to Land's End and Back. 369 
 
 probably until they had become old stories to him, 
 reversed the action of our senses, shut his ears to the 
 song, and opened his eyes with hungry speculation at 
 the green banks beside the road, and when our eyes, 
 "with fine frenzy rolling," were lifted to some copse- 
 crowned hill the verse was climbing on the morning 
 air, the creature would dart off in a tangent and was 
 nibbling at the hedge-side with a graminivorous satis- 
 faction which at any other time and place it would 
 have been pleasant to witness. Being the lighter of 
 the two by one hundred Ibs. avoirdupois, I often sprang 
 out and delivered papers and other mail-Blatter at the 
 cottages and farm-houses, picking my way through 
 barn-yards to get at the doors. This I enjoyed with 
 all the gusto of a boy's frolic. To think of it ! here 
 I was, serving our Uncle John Bull in a post of honor 
 and trust ; knocking at the antique, low doors of these 
 old farm-houses ; having their wooden latches lifted to 
 me by a buxom wife or daughter with a curtsy ; 
 making the best salam I could manage, saying a word 
 or two about the weather, the geese, the ducks, the 
 flowers or anything that presented or suggested itself 
 at first sight in the moment's interview. I really 
 believe I did the thing with considerable acceptance, 
 
 though I feared that now and then some wayside 
 2B
 
 370 -A Walk from London 
 
 subject of his song may have fancied that the postman 
 was training a successor in me to take his place. 
 
 The first place we stopped at was a good, comfortable 
 old farmhouse, white-faced, festooned with roses, and 
 surrounded with tidy out-buildings of various kinds. 
 The wife was a capital specimen of a rosy, genial 
 Englishwoman, radiant with the richest tints of woman- 
 hood's Indian summer, and all this set off with bright- 
 eyed intelligence and easy and kindly manners. There 
 were two or three other members of the family present, 
 including a niece from London. She gave us a right 
 hearty welcome, and brought forth the delicious Devon- 
 shire cream and scalded milk for us. After partaking 
 of these luxuries which my friend seasoned with his 
 enthusiasms, we arose to go. The whole family 
 followed us out into the yard, when the mother pressed 
 the postman to sing a sonnet he had made on a niece 
 of hers, now married and residing in London. So, in 
 the midst of the circle formed around him, including 
 the farmer himself in his shirt-sleeves, with flowers of 
 every tint and odor breathing inward from all sides, 
 he sang " The Lass of "Watertown," his voice rolling 
 down the little river valley and echoing and re-echoing 
 from the sides of the wooded hills. The following 
 stanza will give the general spirit and tenor of the 
 song :
 
 to Land's End and Back. 371 
 
 When the Eve, in purple drest, 
 With her one star on her breast, 
 Leads up the young and modest moon, 
 To see her sire lie down ; 
 Or when the jewelled Night 
 Gives out her smiles of light, 
 I love to pace its margin 
 With the Lass of Watertown. 
 
 We said and received a hearty good-bye, and put 
 up the pony to a speed he could well afford for such 
 a satisfactory opportunity he had improved at the 
 green side of the hedge. He soon gained for us all 
 the time we had lost at this pleasant visit at the 
 farm-house on "the bonny Yeo." We passed mills, 
 streams, mansions and cottages which the postman 
 had celebrated in his ballads. On nearing Buckland, 
 a voice from behind the high- walled hedge called out 
 in Devonshire dialect, " Oi zay ! baint yur gwoin ter 
 stap an tak a drap?" We could see no one, as the 
 hedge was thick and full ten feet high. So we turned 
 back to an open gate and drove into a hayfield, where 
 half a dozen men and as many children were lying on 
 the grass in a circle, for a moment's rest and refresh- 
 ment. The farmer was a hard-working, simple-hearted 
 man, on the same footing apparently as the other 
 laborers around him. He held a large earthen jug 
 in one hand, and a few inches of a veritable wood- 
 bottomed cow's-horn in the other. This he filled with 
 2s 2
 
 37 2 -A Walk from London 
 
 his home-brewed and offered us as we came up to the 
 group. The greeting between the poet and these 
 rustics was most jovial, genial and hilarous. He took 
 the rude, unpolished horn in his left hand, and, suiting 
 the action to the words with his right, he sang a few 
 snatches of his "Merry Harvesters," with a voice 
 that stilled the singing larks above for a moment, and 
 gave pause and listening attitude to the cows and 
 sheep in a neighboring pasture. As he came to sing 
 of the "honest sweat" of the reaper's and mower's brow, 
 he patted the blushing, round-hatted farmer on his 
 red whiskers loaded with perspiration, waving the 
 while the horn of beer, as if it were incense he was 
 offering to the hay-scented air. It was a tableau vivant 
 that would make a capital subject for the painter's 
 canvass. Perhaps some artist who by chance may 
 happen to read this page will try his pencil upon it. 
 There stood the postman in the midst of this hay- 
 field circle with a glorious inspiration upon him, 
 expanding seemingly his very stature. His stalwart 
 form and ruddy face were swaying and glowing with 
 the spirit of the scene ; the men in smock frocks and 
 squat round hats, full of glee at the song he had 
 made to their honor; the little, flush-faced girls, half 
 rising on their hands as they lay upon the new-mown 
 grass, looking up with such puzzled and innocent
 
 to Land's End and Back. 373 
 
 wonder at the poet, as if they knew he meant fun, 
 but what kind was doubtful. The framework of this 
 life-picture and all its surroundings were in the 
 happiest harmony with its central figures and would 
 make a painting worthy to be hung by the side of 
 Landseer's best in the Eoyal Academy. 
 
 After exchanging "good lucks" and all kinds of 
 good wishes with these haymakers, in which the pony 
 might well have joined for a splendid bite at the 
 new hay while his master was holding the mowers at 
 bay with his song, we drove on to Buckland Brewer, 
 and arrived there in good postal time, with all our 
 episodes and way-odes on the journey. After putting 
 up the pony in a stable to his regular rations of 
 oats, and delivering the letters addressed to different 
 persons in the village, the postman took me to the 
 place in which he has written most of the poems 
 he has given to the public. This is an old thatched 
 cottage, with one low-jointed room, serving as parlor 
 and kitchen, with a broad, deep fire-place. The 
 cottager's wife is but little past middle age, and still 
 in her prime, though the mother of a grown-up family 
 of sons and daughters. This cottage kitchen, with all 
 its busy occupations and crowded holdings, is the poet's 
 sanctum. On a long, high-legged deal table, unpainted 
 and uncovered, he pens his thoughts and elaborates his
 
 374 A Walk from London 
 
 verse, occupying one end, while the mother and 
 daughters carry on at the other all the household 
 operations of baking, washing, ironing and sewing, 
 with the usual family conversations. They enter into 
 his thought-work with the liveliest interest, and are 
 the first generally to hear his ballads read. And they 
 may well be proud that they are written on their 
 humble table. The two blooming daughters may be 
 pardoned for a pride more personal to themselves, 
 for the poet guest has made each the heroine of a 
 song. One of these is entitled "Polly Lee," the 
 other, on the youngest of the twain, " The Blackberry 
 Girl." I give the first verse of this, which will 
 suffice to show some of the characteristics of these 
 ballads on local subjects : 
 
 I saw her like the virgin Moon, 
 
 A beauty half in shade, 
 The angel of some poet's dream, 
 
 The spirit of the glade. 
 Her voice was sweeter than the brook 
 
 That warbled through the vale, 
 And every linnet came to woo 
 
 The maid of Cherry Vale. 
 
 He has put several laddies and lassies of the village 
 into verse, and many of the cottagers know his songs 
 by heart and sing them at their own firesides and 
 at their, rustic pic-nics and other social gatherings. It
 
 to Land's End and Back. 375 
 
 was exceedingly interesting to me to sit down at this 
 cottage table by his side, and ply my pen in company 
 with his, making a social scratching on widely-diverg- 
 ing lines of thought. Then he unbasketed our dinner, 
 which his good wife had put up for us ; and he set 
 it out on his end of the table, and the mother and 
 daughter laid theirs on the other, and would insist 
 that we should share of it what ours did not include, 
 especially a cup of tea which they intimated they 
 had made expressly for myself, as a special guest. 
 And we had a half-hour's talk of the first water of 
 mutual entertainment. Then we went out .for a walk 
 in the village, to get the post-bag at the office, and 
 prepare for our homeward journey. Called at a black- 
 smith's shop, who was shoeing a donkey when we 
 entered. Like Longfellow's knight of the hammer, 
 
 His hair was black and crisp and long, 
 His face was like the tan. 
 
 But he not only "heard his daughter singing in the 
 village choir," but he could sing himself, and did 
 to us over his anvil at our earnest request. He sang 
 one of the postman's songs, in a tune of his own 
 composition, and brought out the life of it in a glow 
 of happy notes. We also called upon the parson of 
 the village, a man of genial habits and dispositions, 
 who could relish rural songs, and make them too.
 
 376 A Walk from London 
 
 We next went to two or three of the large farm-houses, 
 and had a talk on matters in that line of interest, then 
 around the old church that looked off upon the uplifted 
 waste of Dartmoor. At three p.m. we set off for 
 Bideford, diverging by another road from our morning's 
 route. Descended a long hill down a narrow winding 
 lane hedged ten feet high with hawthorn, ferns, wild 
 roses and honeysuckles. In some places the hedge 
 trees and shrubbery formed a complete arch overhead, 
 letting in the sun here and there as do the skylights 
 in a railway tunnel. While looking at these dissolving 
 views of light and shade, and all the spontaneous 
 pictures of the scene, a human object came slowly into 
 view which changed the spirit of the dream. A poor, 
 thin old man came struggling up the long, steep hill, 
 apparently bent to the ground under a heavy burden. 
 His knees knocked together as he walked, and his 
 steps were short, weak and unsteady. My friend 
 recognised him at the second glance. It was " Old 
 Blind Tom," he said. He was indeed an old man, 
 not only blind, but so deaf he could not hear the 
 wheels of our cart as we approached him. His sense 
 of feeling however had been so quickened by use and 
 necessity that he knew by the very pulse of the earth 
 under his feet that a horse's hoofs were near him, and 
 he sidled off against the hedge. He had half a
 
 to Land's End and Back. 377 
 
 hundred weight of coal in a sack, high up on his 
 shoulders, almost saddled across his neck. The weight 
 and position of the load tent him almost double, so 
 that his face was quite invisible. This was his daily 
 task ; to stagger up these long, pebbly ascents with 
 a sack of coals on his back, which he carried to a little 
 hamlet on the summit. He received three ha'pennies 
 or three cents for carrying this load three miles. He 
 usually made two trips a day, sometimes three. Still 
 he was cheerful, even contented and happy. He knew 
 the poet's voice, who sprang out of the cart and shouted 
 some pleasant words in the blind man's ear, asking 
 him to sing one of his own songs. He had learned 
 several of the postman's ballads by heart, and set 
 them to tunes of his own making. "Without endeavor- 
 ing to straighten himself, but with his face still bending 
 to the ground under his load, he sang one of Oapern's 
 "entire" with a fine, mellow, musical voice which he 
 modulated beautifully, although it was doubtful if he 
 could hear much of it himself. There he stood, turning 
 up sideways a serene and sightless face, his neck and 
 cheek begrimed with coal-dust moistened with the per- 
 spiration that hung in drops to his long, iron-grey 
 beard and thin hair. He sang so mirthfully and the 
 merry tune he had set to the words gave such impulse 
 to the poet, that he "tripped the light fantastic toe"
 
 378 A Walk from London 
 
 most hilarously across the lane from hedge to hedge, 
 his large genial face radiant with the joy of his 
 thoughts. It was a picture I wished I could paint. 
 The poor old blind man got a better supper for his 
 song that night than the shoulder-carting of several 
 sacks of coal would pay for at his price for the work. 
 Never before did I see such a desperate pursuit of 
 happiness under difficulties, nor ever saw so much 
 caught by a human heart in a handful of thorns. 
 Inasmuch as neither of us could do anything on canvass 
 with pencil, I made Capern promise that he would 
 put Old Blind Tom in verse, which might attract to 
 him the goodwill and friendly help of those able to 
 furnish him a better livelihood than carrying coal on 
 his back at the rate of a penny per mile for a hundred 
 weight. This he has done since, and I hope and 
 believe the deaf and blind old man will be cheered 
 to sing the postman's songs with greatly increased 
 satisfaction. 
 
 Making the best of it, and we made a good deal, 
 this was an incident that came like the shadow of a 
 human sorrow across the bright landscape of our 
 imaginations. It called us suddenly down and back 
 to the earth and its thick-set realities of common life. 
 Then we let the flowers go, and the birds, bees and 
 breeze go their ways; we pulled in our kited fancies
 
 to Land's End and Back. 379 
 
 soaring so high among the aerial spiritualities of beau- 
 ideal but unreal being, and talked away on the low 
 levels of the actual world around, on the condition of 
 the poor, their wrestlings for the coarsest food, raiment 
 and shelter ; the courage of hopeless hearts ; the quiet 
 and even content of men with wives and children they 
 love, who glean among the golden sheaves of others' 
 happiness, and bring home with smiles of faith a few 
 grains gathered from the dust, from the very hoof- 
 prints of well-fed horses sleek and fat and housed 
 with care. He told me of a little incident which he 
 had made the theme of one of his pathetic songs. A 
 decrepid old man, who could not walk upright, used 
 to break stones for the road, week in week out, in all 
 weathers, for which he only received twopence a day. 
 The postman was wont to drop him a word of cheer 
 or salutation as he passed him from day to day. One 
 bitterly cold morning at Christmas time, he found the 
 old man at his work, though the snow had covered 
 his heap of stones and was beating into his bosom, 
 and whitening his grey hair and beard. With his bony 
 fingers, red, numb and swollen, he was slowly plying 
 his hammer upon the frosty, slippery pebbles ; which 
 shot out from the blow at nearly every stroke. It was 
 a sight that moved the poet deeply, and he stopped to 
 commiserate his condition. "Why," he asked with
 
 380 A Walk from London 
 
 surprise "why don't you go into the Union-house ? 
 There you would have shelter, food and clothes at 
 least. This is not the work for old men like you." 
 "Ah ! " said the old man in a low tremulous voice, 
 " I never thought I should live to be so old. I have 
 earned my support with my own hands till now; 
 and I had rather break stones here for twopence a day 
 than go to the Union if its walls were made of gold." 
 These were his very words, and they are worthy of 
 being written in letters of gold in " the simple annals 
 of the poor." Capern put them or their meaning in 
 a short poem, which excited sympathy and brought 
 help to the old man, and he was taken from the 
 stone-heap by the road and put into comfort until he 
 died. 
 
 When we reached the postman's home in Bideford, 
 the day seemed to me a whole week long, measured by 
 enjoyment of every kind. 
 
 Saturday, July 9th. My poet Mend persuaded me 
 to stay with him over the Sabbath. Indeed I felt it 
 a great pleasure to be with him at his daily labors 
 and duties. Breakfasted about seven, and set off again 
 on the same route to Buckland. Arriving there, he 
 took me to his favorite foot-paths in the fields, the 
 stiles, nooks and corners, where he had elaborated 
 many of his poems. We then returned to his cottage
 
 to Land's End and Back. 381 
 
 sanctum, where we enjoyed our ample spread of eatables 
 brought from home in his basket, the good woman 
 urging upon us something from her end of the table 
 to vary our repast. We then walked down to a deep 
 thickly-shaded glen, which he had named in one of 
 his ballads " Ferny Dell." Hither he had taken his 
 London and other guests, and given them the treat 
 of a sylvan pic-nic, in which his hamlet heroines and 
 other cottage girls had taken part with their best 
 grace. It was a beautiful bower for nature's fairies, 
 full of wild shrubbery, shade, tall and crimpled ferns, 
 with a bright brook chirping down among the twisted 
 roots, now eddying into little green-framed mirrors 
 for the young hazels to make their toilets by, now 
 dancing over pebbles like a broad, rippling flash of 
 light, then hiding away under bush and bramble and 
 twittering in a frolic of glee, as if playing hide and 
 seek with the sun. 
 
 Returned to the village, and after another pleasant 
 talk with the cottage-circle, bade them good-bye, 
 feeling that their little thatched house would, some 
 day or other, be ranked among the celebreties of 
 English locales. On our way back to Bideford, we 
 met Old Blind Tom again. This time he was without 
 his load of coal. But his face was bent as low as 
 when he was bearing his heavy burden. It had grown
 
 382 A Walk from London 
 
 earthward, and he seemed quite unable to straighten 
 himself upright. He was as hopeful and cheerful as 
 ever. I sprang out of the cart, and tried to utter a 
 few words of kind greeting in his ear. He was 
 conscious that some one was speaking to him, but he 
 could not understand what I said. He knew Capern's 
 voice, though it was no louder than mine ; perhaps it 
 was a mysterious sense of sympathy or some instinct 
 that a deaf man could only exercise or understand. 
 He put his hand gently under the old man's chin 
 and raised his face so we could see it. He was between 
 sixty and seventy, with iron-grey hair and beard ; and 
 as the sun shone over the brim of the green hedge upon 
 his countenance, it looked as if the very light of heaven 
 and its hopes kindled his features into a glow. Such a 
 serene, contented, peaceful face I never saw before. For 
 a whole year long it had not been raised so high. 
 He could not lift it skyward himself ; and when the 
 poet's hand, with a little of the touch of His that 
 helped the despairing cripple into the healing pool, 
 turned it up softly towards the bright, blue face of 
 heaven, it took on a light that seemed as nearly the 
 smile of the Eternal Father as any radiance I ever saw 
 on a human countenance. 
 
 On our return, Capern, after leaving his bag at the 
 post-office, came in and threw down upon the table
 
 to Land's End and Back. 383 
 
 his week's wages a half-sovereign in gold, two shilling 
 pieces, and two sixpences. It sounded and looked 
 small for six days' labor of a stalwart man at his 
 meridian of life, endowed with the finest poetic sensi- 
 bilities. It was not only the pay for himself but for 
 his pony and cart which he had to support out of it. 
 But the Government has appreciated his genius and 
 his literary labors while rendering such assiduous and 
 cheaply paid service. Lord Palmerston, not upon 
 mere hear-say or solicitation of some influential friend, 
 but after perusing personally many of the poems of 
 the Devonshire postman, has granted him a pension 
 of 40 a year. He could doubtless obtain a better 
 position pecuniarily, but he dislikes to leave his old 
 haunts where his muse breathes so full and free. I 
 urged him strongly to continue in his present occupa- 
 tion that he might give an example to working men, 
 by showing what might be done in the way of mental 
 growth and production, without leaving their manual 
 toil. 
 
 After tea, we went out to see the celebrated Pebble 
 Beach, which is a wonder of the most curious structure. 
 It is the most unique of all the Ocean's doings on the 
 English coast. Here that old omnigerent worker has 
 turned lapidary and stretched a necklace of blue, white- 
 veined cornelians two miles in length, fifty feet wide
 
 384 A Walk from London 
 
 and twenty feet deep upon a broad-waisted inch as 
 level as the sea, and looking like a bay congealed into 
 sand, and covered with a carpet of emerald while it 
 slept in the sun. There are millions of these blue 
 ovals piled up in this thick belt of sea-beads, which 
 the Ocean and the green plain seem to wear by turns ; 
 for when the tide is in, its white neck appears to wear 
 the wampum; when it recedes, the land puts on the 
 thickly-plaited bracelet. The stones are of all sizes, 
 from two feet to six inches in circumference, all of the 
 same general form that of an egg flattened lengthwise. 
 They are all of blue slate, many of them with white 
 veins running around them. How long they were in 
 the invisible laboratory of the sea before they were 
 wrought to such shape and polish, no one can tell 
 or conjecture. How their sharp angles were filed 
 down by the waves against the granite rasps of the 
 rocky coast, or how long it took the submarine white- 
 smiths to burnish them to such a smooth and shining 
 surface is a mystery which no one can explore or 
 divine. It is the very chef d'oeuvre of the sea, and 
 will pay any one well for a long journey to see. 
 
 Sunday, July Wth. Attended two religious services 
 with Capern; and between the two, he took me to 
 the cemetery and showed me the little grave of his 
 only daughter the pet and joy of his life. No father
 
 to Land's End and Back. 385 
 
 could have mourned over the lost darling of his heart 
 with deeper sorrow. Returning to his house, he read 
 me a touching poem on the death of his little "Millie." 
 It was written with pencil on the blank leaves of his 
 pocket-book, and at my earnest solicitation, he subse- 
 quently sent me the first copy of them written with 
 ink. 
 
 Monday, July \\th. After three days of rich enjoy- 
 ment with my poet friend, again shouldered my 
 travelling bag, and set out on my journey in a different 
 direction from that I had contemplated. I had purposed 
 to follow around the north coast of Devonshire, and visit 
 Ilfracombe and other places in that neighborhood of 
 great interest. But hearing that the chief raiser of the 
 Devonshire breed of cattle resided at South Moulton, 
 I felt constrained to forego the sight of some very 
 highly admired natural sceneries, in order to see the 
 best specimens of that peculiar stock so prized in 
 America. I therefore faced southward instead of 
 northward, following the Torridge for several miles. 
 My course lay in the same direction as the postman's 
 beat for some distance; so I walked by the side of 
 his cart about a couple of miles, then bade him good- 
 bye, diverging towards Torrington, and passing through 
 a rich and picturesque section, which presented a 
 
 striking contrast with the country I had been 
 2c
 
 386 A Walk from London 
 
 travelling in for two or three preceding weeks. Felt 
 much interest in visiting Torrington, as the first 
 town called by that name in America was in my own 
 native State, and near to my birthplace. It has a 
 very pleasant and comfortable look, with several clean, 
 bright and airy streets, with houses and shops quite 
 elegant. The old church is a venerable building with 
 a- venerable history, including a terrible incident, 
 enough in itself to give celebrity to a building. A 
 fierce and decisive battle was fought here in 1646 
 between the Parliamentary forces and the Royalists, 
 in which the latter were totally defeated. Two hundred 
 prisoners taken in the engagement were confined in 
 this church ; when it and them and those who guarded 
 both were blown up by the explosion of about eighty 
 barrels of gunpowder. 
 
 On reaching South Moulton, I found that Mr. 
 Quartley, the celebrated breeder of Devonshire cattle, 
 resided full seven miles beyond, at a place called 
 Holland. So, the next morning, I went on to his 
 establishment, planted on a lofty hill, and overlooking 
 some of the most picturesque valleys in Devonshire. 
 Leaving the main road, I ascended to it by a winding 
 path among the trees, which, if they broke the scorch- 
 ing force of a July sun, also seemed to bate the breath 
 of the breeze, so that no air circulated under their thick
 
 to Land's End and Back. 387 
 
 branches. It was the hottest day I had seen on my 
 journey, and I was glad to reach the summit, and 
 find, after all, there was a little refreshing air breathing 
 still at that height. Mr. Quartley was at dinner, and 
 invited me to a seat at the table with that easy and 
 genial hospitality which one associates with the good 
 old-fashioned farmers of this country. The house was 
 just like his hospitality, a kind of old English mansion 
 or manor-house, being divided by a broad hall, with 
 one door opening upon the road, the other upon a 
 green lawn, well belted with shrubbery. After dinner, 
 he took me over his fields and showed me a herd of 
 cows, all of the purest Devon blood. He winters from 
 seventy to eighty head, including about twenty milking 
 cows. He sells calves from six to eight months old 
 at from thirty to seventy guineas, averaging 40 each. 
 The cows produce on an average five pounds of butter 
 a week in the pasture season. They were truly 
 beautiful animals, and I was glad to see how the 
 breed we so much prize in America looked at home, 
 in the purest form and aspect of the blood. It was 
 well worth a long and special journey to see them. 
 Take them all in all, putting form against form, 
 and feature against feature, I think no hoofed and 
 horned animal equals the pure Devonshire for delicate 
 
 symmetry of shape and structure, and for a variety of 
 2c 2
 
 388 A \Valk from London 
 
 graces which you can find in no other blood. Every- 
 thing is perfect in them, and all things in happy 
 proportion. In a Devonshire heifer you do not see 
 a high'y-bred lady in a coarse salt-and-pepper suit, 
 with a pair of rough, short, twisted hair-pins curling 
 at unlevel curves inward upon her forehead, as is often 
 the case with the Shorthorn. There is a delicacy about 
 her form that beautifies animal life, and means some- 
 thing more than beef. Her deep-red robe of silky 
 softness fits her body -and limbs without pucker or 
 wrinkle, and shows the grace of their make and 
 movement as under a veil of gossamer. Then her eyes, 
 so honest, round and pure under their lashes with 
 the light of good dispositions so full of tender and 
 intelligent expression that one, looking into them as 
 a man with a heart in him should look, is inclined to 
 believe that this very blood existed in the mythological 
 ages, and these very eyes were the ones the ancients 
 had in their minds and put between the lids of Juno, 
 as the most distinguishing grace and measure of her 
 beauty. Then there are her incomparable horns, 
 fitting and befitting her head like a diadem. None 
 ever worn by any other bovine race, of higher preten- 
 sions, are so perfect and beautiful. They crown and 
 embody all her other symmetries. They measure and 
 seemingly regulate their development. They outgrow
 
 no proportion, nor fall short of any ; but are to each 
 in parity what the pupil is to the human eye. Their 
 downward, outward and winding curves show a grace, 
 from root to tip, which could never be given them by 
 human hand or art on a forming block. Then their 
 peculiar transparency illumines this grace of form, 
 adding a feature that completes their beauty as a 
 pearly crowning for the head and protecting shield and 
 ornament for the face. For more than half a century 
 the Devonshire oxen, or cattle graded with the blood, 
 have stood the test of our stony New England hills. 
 Their patient, intelligent, enduring toil at the plough, 
 cart and sled has been more intimately associated with 
 farm-labor with us in all seasons than that of any 
 other race. For all these years they have bent their 
 breasts to the bow and dragged the hot ploughshare 
 over hill and valley, often with the mercury at ninety 
 degrees in the shade. They have sunk in the mire of 
 our swamps to the hips and there lay, without fractious 
 floundering, with quiet and hopeful eyes fixed upon 
 their master, until they were unyoked, and could rise 
 to a footing on the surface, one by one. They have 
 wallowed through the deep and drifting snows, making 
 paths for men and more impatient animals, and hauling 
 down loads of oak, walnut and maple from the moun- 
 tains for the fuel of our winter fires. What New-
 
 390 
 
 England man at home or abroad, who ever drank in 
 the air of his country's hills or shared or saw its 
 industrial life, can dissociate from its pleasant memories 
 the Old Red Oxen of Massachussetts and Connecticut ! 
 Not I. The whole vista of my boyhood is full of 
 their forms and remembrances ; and here, on this 
 Devonshire hill, with the purest specimens of the race 
 before me, I would offer a small tribute to their 
 memory and their worth. 
 
 Mr, Quartley showed me the prima donna of his 
 herd with a satisfaction I could well appreciate. She 
 was twelve years of age, and a creature of the highest 
 order of feminine beauty. She had had ten calves, 
 worth from sixty to seventy guineas each. His famous 
 bull Napoleon sired thirteen calves, all of which 
 obtained first prizes. His present bull, "Warrior," is a 
 very superior animal. He and his brother, " King of 
 the Bretons," took the first prizes at the Exhibition of 
 the Royal Agricultural Society at Canterbury, in two 
 different classes, while a third brother, an ox exhibited 
 in Birmingham, also won a first prize there a very 
 remarkable distinction to be gained by three members of 
 the same family. We had a long conversation on the 
 relative merits of the Devons and Shorthorns. His 
 main reasons for preferring the former are these : That 
 three Devons will thrive on the feed requisite for two
 
 to Land's End and Back. 391 
 
 Durhams : That the Devon, taking the whole carcase, 
 will fetch at the butcher's a half-penny per pound 
 more than the Durham, because it has more back beef, 
 or beef above the ribs ; that it is finer, and always 
 preferred by the nobility and gentry ; that a roast of 
 it looks better on the table than a piece of Durham of 
 the same weight; that where a joint of two ribs of 
 the one would serve half a dozen persons, a far wider 
 piece of the other would grace the dinner ; that it is 
 safer to have the value of two Durhams in three 
 Devons ; for in case of disease the loss of an animal 
 would not be so heavy. But the reason that weighed 
 most immediately with him was in the fact that the 
 Devons were better adapted to light, upland soils, 
 where Durhams could not thrive. His sheep are of 
 the Exmoor breed, which he has also greatly improved 
 and made them valuable for mutton, whereas in his 
 father's day they were kept and prized only for their 
 wool ; their flesh being hardly eatable. 
 
 Although I was nearly an hour in ascending a steep, 
 wooded eminence to his house, and his farm was made 
 up mostly of hills and valleys, he has contrived to 
 irrigate all his highland meadows by trenches on 
 different levels, the upper one reaching almost to the 
 summit. The water falls from one level to another, 
 passing through a succession of fields. We had a good
 
 392 A Walk from London 
 
 deal of discussion on the fertilising properties of water, 
 independent of the simple irrigation and of the sedi- 
 ment it leaves behind it. The question was, which was 
 best for the land, hard or lime water, brackish or peaty 
 water, or rain-water. He inclined to water impregnated 
 with lime, I to what came directly from the clouds. 
 
 After an hour or two with this eminent stock-raiser, 
 I took my leave, feeling it a privilege . to have seen 
 such a man at his home, partaken of his genuine, open- 
 handed, English hospitality, and to have talked with 
 him on the system and success which have given him 
 so much celebrity. He, his brother, Mr. Davis of a 
 neighboring town, and Mr. Turner, near Exeter, stand 
 at the head of the Devon stock-raisers of the country. 
 They hold up the standard of their county race with 
 local pride and national credit, and deserve well of the 
 world for their faith in a blood which, for many 
 excellent qualities, will probably never be surpassed. 
 Although a large man, and a little lame, he walked 
 with me above a mile to put me on the right track over 
 the southern border of Exmoor. For nine miles I 
 followed this track along the edge of the wide, wild 
 waste. On one side was a cold, rocky region covered 
 with furze, ferns and heather, on the other, a fertile, 
 smiling world of beauty, all bright, warm and glad 
 with the glow of life and cultivated nature. Toward
 
 to Land's End and Back. 393 
 
 sunset, I descended from the rough, stony foot-paths 
 of the moor to the turnpike road, which wound its way 
 down among the high, heavily-wooded hills to the 
 village of Dulverton, in Somerset, as romantic a place 
 as I ever saw. The winding glen was narrow and 
 deep, walled in by lofty heights and mostly covered 
 with trees. But here and there, new-shorn meadows, 
 soft and smooth as lawns, flashed out of the thick 
 shade like patches of green sunlight. Through the 
 pent valley bending around the bases of these towering 
 heights, there rippled, dashed, flashed and ran a little 
 river, gurgling and giggling under moss and ivy- 
 netted bridges and arches of over-branching trees. Here 
 and there a mill, quaint and olden, straddled the 
 swift-footed stream, and dipped its dripping wheel 
 into it. There were cottages that would sit well to 
 an artist some fronting hard upon the narrow road, 
 some hung up, or shelved in niches cut in the sides 
 of the steep and lofty hills. Some were so completely 
 webbed and covered with ivy to the chimney-top, that 
 only an eye or two looked out through an aperture in 
 the thick mass of foliage. All the natural elements 
 were present to make it an interesting locale for a 
 romance, if any human experience were found in the 
 village to match the uniqueness of the scenery. Indeed, 
 a novelist stopping in Dulverton a week, would hardly
 
 394 -A Walk from London 
 
 fail to lay down the airy beams of a fiction founded 
 on fact. It is the very focus of radiation for a tourist 
 bent on recreation and invigorating exercise and bold 
 adventure. If he wishes to come out strong in that 
 line, he may try his hand and feet on an excursion up 
 into the ragged waste of Exmoor. I was almost 
 tempted to give a couple of days to the exploration of 
 this strange, cold and gloomy region; not merely to 
 see again, as from the outer rim of Dartmoor, the 
 contrast between nature in its rudest aspect and 
 landscapes made as beautiful as human labor could 
 work them, but to see how the very heart of this 
 wilderness had been made to blossom as the rose by 
 the will and working of man. The moor includes the 
 space of fourteen square miles. About 20,000 acres 
 right in the centre once comprised the Exmoor Forest. 
 Some fifty years ago this was purchased by a gentleman 
 by the name of Knight, of Worcestershire, who enclosed 
 the whole area, and commenced the erection of a kind 
 of castle-mansion at a point called Simonsbath. This 
 house was a failure, but the land was not. Several 
 thousand acres of it have been subdued and brought 
 under cultivation. Many farms are now in productive 
 tillage, showing the economy and duty of gathering up 
 the fragments that nothing be lost of this small loaf 
 of land in the sea on which so many mouths must feed.
 
 to Land's End and Back. 395 
 
 The resident agent of the proprietor has introduced a 
 system for making water-meadows in the midst of 
 this wild moor, which has attracted much notice. 
 
 In 1851 a specimen of iron ore found on Exmoor 
 was sent to the Great Exhibition, which led to further 
 investigations. These resulted in large mineral opera- 
 tions by three of the principal iron companies in the 
 kingdom. Their united steam machinery, it is esti- 
 mated, will raise about 300,000 tons of iron-ore 
 annually.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 EXMOOR GLEN SCENERY DUNSTER AND ITS CASTLE THE BLUE ANCHOR 
 
 WALK BY THE SEA LAND AND WATER-VIEWS THE WEATHER AND 
 
 CROPS ST. AUDRIES BRIDGEWATER AND ITS CHURCH GLASTONBURY 
 
 ABBEY WELLS CHEDDER. 
 
 \EDNESDA Y, July 13th. Resumed my walk 
 towards the sea-coast, from which I had 
 diverged twenty miles to see Mr. Quartley's 
 establishment. Passed along the eastern edge of 
 Exmoor, ascending and descending hills all the day 
 long. I am persuaded that the impression generally 
 prevails among Americans who have never visited this 
 country, that moors are an English edition of our 
 prairies, bound in heather, gorse and ferns, instead of 
 our prairie-grass; that they present the same surface, 
 sometimes a dead level, and occasionally rolling into a 
 gentle ground-swell like the sea, when no wave on it 
 arises high enough to don a white crest. This idea 
 is a mistaken notion. Although there are moors in 
 England as level as some of our Western prairies, there 
 are more, if the figure will hold, like a sea of mountains. 
 Exmoor, for example, is piled cloud-high with dark,
 
 to Land's End and Back. 397 
 
 sullen hills, some of which are called beacons. Whether 
 any warning fires were ever kindled on their grim 
 and ragged summits, or whether they took the name 
 from serving as guide-posts over the waste, the local 
 history does not decide. One of these beacons is 1668 
 feet above the sea; a second, 1610, and a third, 1540. 
 The valleys correspond with these bleak and lofty 
 elevations in wildness, which the lonely streams make 
 more impressive with their dash, splash and gurgle 
 in their crooked channels among the rocks. This moor 
 has been the pasture and roaming-ground of a peculiar 
 set of aborigines, which have retained their primitive 
 characteristics in face of modern improvements. The 
 old red forest-deer still run as wild in some parts as 
 if they had the range of the Adirondack Mountains. 
 The " Exmoor pony," too, represents a breed of horses 
 that the Druids lassoed before Julius Caesar was born, 
 and the " Exmoor sheep " doubtless are natives of 
 equal antiquity. . 
 
 The scenery on approaching Timberscombe was the 
 most delightful of the kind I ever saw. For full 
 three miles I descended a winding glen by a regular 
 Devonshire lane ; and realised more vividly than ever 
 before the meaning of the term. It was very narrow, 
 occasionally not wide enough for two donkey-carts to 
 pass each other. In some places the lane was cut
 
 39 8 ^ Walk from London 
 
 into the rock to the depth of several feet. This solid 
 wall was supplemented by another of earth and stones 
 in alternate layers. The top was planted with all kinds 
 of bushes and shrubbery, which had not been trimmed 
 for years. Out of this high and motley bank towered 
 a thick growth of trees of great height. The bushes 
 grew inward until they completely arched the pathway, 
 and the trees formed another arch or vault far above. 
 Here and there an opening in this green roofage would 
 let in a patch of light, that gave a remarkable vividness 
 to the sides of the hedge and set all kinds of fantastic 
 shadows playing upon the ground before you. Once 
 in a while you caught a glimpse of a heather-crowned 
 hill through the branches of the trees ; but frequently 
 for many rods the side scenery would be entirely shut 
 out. Then you came to a portal in the wall and looked 
 through it, as through a window in a long-vaulted 
 gallery, when a scene of indescribable loveliness met 
 your eye. Through one of these green, wicker-work 
 casements you saw fields as soft and green as lawns 
 lying up against the lofty hills, all framed with hedges, 
 like so many nests of new-born verdure ; from another, 
 a basin deep and beautiful, holding in the sun, within 
 its daisy-flecked rim, a bright stream rounded into a 
 pool ; and on beyond, where the leaping brook, laugh- 
 ing at the shallow dam, ran between level banks,
 
 to Land's End and Back. 399 
 
 mottled cows lay ruminating with quiet eyes, looking 
 complacently at their faces in the water. Take it all 
 in all, this was the longest natural gallery I ever 
 walked through, with more dioramic views or vista- 
 posterns opened in each side. 
 
 At about dusk, I came out upon the sea at Dunster, 
 an old-fashioned town crowned with a castle, and sleep- 
 ing under the watch and ward of several tall and 
 stalwart hills standing around it, like gigantic sentinels 
 in bear-skin caps. It is an interesting place altogether. 
 The superincumbent strata of modern civilisation are 
 rather few and thin here. England of the feudal ages 
 crops out in their characteristic aspects. The castle is 
 as large and strong as life. It not only crowns but 
 seems to rule the town. The main street appears to 
 belong to it like its shadow. The houses are drawn up 
 in a row on each side, like a well-disciplined band of 
 retainers, to present arms and touch their hats when 
 the great baron passes. This castle was erected in 
 Elizabeth's day, and ran the gauntlet of the stirring 
 events that filled the succeeding century. It stood a 
 siege and a severe bruising in the Civil War. It 
 entertained Charles II., in its best guest and banquet 
 room, and William Prynne with coarser roomage and 
 fare, a member of the Long Parliament, whom Crom- 
 well shut up here for penitential meditation and
 
 400 A IV a Ik from London 
 
 political improvement of mind. It now belongs to the 
 Luttrett family, which has absorbed several genealogical 
 rivulets of ancient nobility into itself, and represents 
 and enjoys their dignities and estates. An American, 
 even well-read in English history, will come upon 
 many an establishment of this territorial extent and 
 social position with a kind of surprise tinctured with 
 sadness. This has been my own experience frequently. 
 How is it that a name of such all-absorbing local 
 influence has made so little history outside the circum- 
 ference of a family estate, or a memory of so short 
 a radius ! One feels somewhat at a loss to decide at 
 the first, unexpected sight of such a baronial castle, 
 whether it comes from his own ignorance of noted 
 celebrities, or from the owner's want of personal merit, 
 that he has to inquire, " Who lives in that mansion in 
 the park yonder ?" He asks this self-deprecatingly as 
 if he ought to know ; and, ten to one, he is answered 
 as if he ought to know ; and the villager thus ques- 
 tioned looks at him with an expression half wonder and 
 half pity, as if he said, or would like to say, "I thought 
 everybody knew the Squire." In Time's great sifting 
 of the generations, how few thoughts and deeds and 
 memories its sieve retains to the credit and remem- 
 brance of names that were promised immortality and 
 expected it from the local homage and influence they
 
 to Land's End and Back. 401 
 
 commanded ! How much higher than a castle set 
 upon a hill, how much more lasting than a mausoleum 
 of marble with engraven arms of Norman device, is 
 the memory of two lines, or two words, or two acts 
 the world has learned by heart, and repeats as guide- 
 thoughts for human life ! 
 
 After tea, faced directly eastward again, and walked 
 on by the sea to Blue Anchor, a quiet, cosy, little 
 watering-place with a large and comfortable inn, and 
 a few lodging-houses for visitors who prize rest and 
 retirement while drinking at the blue fountains of sea 
 air. Both the land and water views from this point 
 are truly delightful and interesting from their remark- 
 able contrasts. 
 
 Thursday r , July I4:th. Continued eastward along the 
 sea-coast most of the day. The country was rich with 
 the most striking varieties of scenery. The grand hills 
 came down near to the sea in some places, showing 
 their dark moor-crests. In other sections, valleys broad 
 and deep intervened, richly robed in a plaid vesture of 
 green and gold. The sunny fields ripening to harvest 
 showed vividly against a background of furze or heather. 
 For several weeks there had not been a shower of rain. 
 English farmers could never have had a more favorable 
 season for getting in their hay. Three-fourths of it 
 were already ricked, and looked as green and breathed 
 
 2D
 
 4-O2 A Walk from London 
 
 as sweetly as under the rake in the meadow. There 
 had not even been dew enough to brown the outer 
 surface of the stacks, and they stood shelved by the 
 roadside like so many great bottles of Nature's Eau-de- 
 Cologne, filled to their very stopples to scent the 
 morning dews and the evening airs that fanned the 
 still face of the blue sea. The wheat, oats and barley, 
 which had not headed out when I was walking south- 
 ward on the eastern coast, were now berrying full 
 and plump, and taking on the yellow flush of mid- 
 summer. 
 
 The most remarkable establishment I passed this day 
 was St. Audries, the seat of Sir Alexander Hood. It 
 covers a large extent, with park, preserves, lawns, 
 gardens and all the other appurtenances and embellish- 
 ments of a baronial mansion. But what gives it a 
 peculiar charm is its location by the sea. The grounds 
 are beautified to the very edge of the grand and 
 beetling cliffs, which make a high winding wall of 
 headlands, gorges, and jutting crags, like so many 
 bastions, salients and sallying-ports of a fortress. The 
 lofty Quantock Hills lifted their heather-haired heads 
 far up in the still summer blue all through this day's 
 walk, and at night they seemed almost as nigh as 
 when I was abreast of them. Eeached Bridgewater at 
 dusk, having travelled through a section full of interest,
 
 to Land's End and Back. 403 
 
 marked with every variety of scenery, landward and 
 seaward. 
 
 Friday, July 15th. This was an anniversary to me 
 of special interest. This day, a year ago, I set out 
 on my Walk from London to John O'Groat's. During 
 the year I have measured the distance on foot between 
 that extreme and Land's End, and from the latter to 
 this point on my way back to London. In addition to 
 this pedestrianism, I have written a book of four 
 hundred pages, travelled several thousand miles by 
 railway, lectured about sixty times, and performed 
 other labors with foot, tongue and pen. So, on the 
 whole, it has been one of the busiest as well as most 
 enjoyable years of my life. 
 
 I must say something of Bridgewater to my American 
 readers that shall set that goodly town right in their 
 estimation. As Esau sold his birthright for a mess 
 of pottage to a brother who ought to have given him 
 the cheap meal without charge, so Bridgewater trans- 
 ferred to an elder and more elegantly dressed sister 
 a fame which she ought to have retained as an heirloom 
 and a most extraordinary legacy of Nature. Indeed 
 I know of no other town, on either side of the Atlantic, 
 that has been favored with a gift so completely special 
 and isolated. That family must live beyond the out- 
 side rim of civilisation; and almost of humanity itself, 
 2o 2
 
 404 -A Walk from London 
 
 that has not heard of Bath Brick. Well, will you 
 believe it? not one of these famous bricks was ever 
 made in Bath, or within fifty miles of that town. 
 They are all made here in Bridgewater; and the reason 
 why they do not bear its name I understood to be a 
 notion of temporary expediency on the part of the 
 first manufacturers. Bath was then in the full blossom 
 of its glory as a fashionable watering-place, with a 
 name and a fame that stood high at court. Her 
 phylacteries and flounces were made broad and gor- 
 geous with the luxury and wealth of royalty and 
 nobility. Now, when the two sisters were on a more 
 even footing, Bath made buns and Bridgewater made 
 bricks, and both articles were, in appearance, consider- 
 ably alike up to a certain stage of elaboration. The 
 buns of course got the start of the bricks in general 
 use and reputation. Still, the latter were a kind of 
 unleavened bread, made of a species of dough which 
 the sea brought in and kneaded and shelved against 
 the steep banks of the Parret River, on which Bridge- 
 water is mounted with much grace of pose. The 
 composition and deposition of this gritty dough are a 
 marvel among the mysterious sciences of Nature. It 
 is only perfect within a certain segment or section of 
 the river. Above or below this space it is worthless 
 for the brick. Within this the sediment is of the
 
 to Land's End and nack. 405 
 
 right mixture, and the sea never fails of sending in 
 daily rations all ready for the sun-ovens. Thus the 
 manufacture of these bricks has become a large and 
 important business. About 8,000,000 of them, valued 
 from 12,000 to 13,000, are made every year. Well, 
 as I was saying, before this business had been well 
 established on its own intrinsic merits, it was thought 
 politic to introduce it to the public under the patronage 
 of some high connection. So, reverting to our figure, 
 the comely but country maiden on the Parret, in 
 language of similar significance to the address of the 
 "seven women to one man" in Scripture, said to her 
 brilliant and highly-favored sister on the Avon," I ask 
 nothing but your name"; and the name was given; 
 and to this day the productions of the kneading-troughs 
 of the sea at Bridgewater and of all its sun-bakeries 
 have been called Bath Bricks. Whenever the American 
 reader inquires for that article, or hears it mentioned in 
 his kitchen, I hope he will remember how it acquired 
 its name, and do what he can to rectify the mistake. 
 I wonder the bun-bakers of Bath did not object at 
 the time to an association which to over-sensitive fancies 
 might give a presentiment of grittiness to their cakes. 
 
 The parish church of Bridgewater is an impressive 
 structure, inside and out, from bottom to top. It has 
 one of the most beautiful spires in England ; one of
 
 406 A Walk front London 
 
 the order of tlie Glover's Needle, which, distinguishes the 
 spires of Worcester, where gloves are made as a great 
 distinctive business, and where the church architects 
 would seem to have been needle-makers by trade. 
 The Bridgwater steeple rivals the best of them in its 
 taper from the belfry-eye to its fine and delicate point, 
 a height of about 120 feet. I doubt if any needle- 
 maker of Worcestershire could beat it with anything 
 he could shape in steel. But it is not this graceful 
 taper of the spire alone that will attract one's notice. 
 It is made of red sandstone, the same as the whole 
 edifice at the beginning. But the body of the church 
 has been renovated with a greyish stone, which, by 
 contrast, makes the steeple look redder than when 
 first erected. Thus it has the appearance of a tall, 
 tapering wax candle set upon a stately church tower 
 and reddened all the way down by the flame at its 
 wick. The interior of the building presents many 
 features which amateurs of church architecture would 
 study with interest. There is also a large altar-piece, 
 representing the Descent from the Cross, an Italian 
 painting of superior conception and execution, the 
 most impressive that I have yet seen in any church 
 in England. As one looks at the sublime expression 
 of sorrow and love on the face of the central figure, it 
 seems to rise above the aspect of personal pain and
 
 to Land's End and Back. 407 
 
 grief, and to mean the sorrow of a God for the sin, 
 miseries and griefs of mankind in past and coming 
 ages. The very history of the painting is darkened with 
 these experiences. It was taken as a prize in the 
 French war and mounted over this Christian altar. 
 Doubtless it was torn from some continental church in 
 in the sacking of a village, and borne away by a squad 
 of powder-begrimed soldiers with the blood of its 
 defenders on their hands and faces. If the painter 
 were a devout, white-hearted man, and had forseen 
 the end of his picture, he could not have added another 
 lineament which would have made the expression of 
 the central face more speechful of sadness for the woes 
 which human wrath, sin and folly would still work in 
 the world. 
 
 From Bridgewater I continued eastward to G-laston- 
 bury, passing over a space as full of English history 
 as any other of the same circuit that you may find in 
 the country. The natural scenery, too, is equally 
 remarkable and fits the history like an express setting 
 to show off its facts impressively. The road passes 
 over Sedgemoor on a natural causeway, and you have 
 the site of that sanguinary conflict for a throne spread 
 out before you. The view near Sutton Church is one 
 of the most interesting in England for certain features 
 that delight the eye. In the first place it is the most
 
 408 A Walk from London 
 
 complete and extensive panorama that can be found 
 from the same degree of elevation. On a ridge just 
 wide enough for a turnpike road, formed apparently by 
 the opposite beatings of two thinly-divided seas, this 
 grand and beautiful scene unfolds itself with a radius 
 of full twenty miles. Westward the Quantock Hills 
 pillow the horizon with their rough, round and furzy 
 heads capped in the silk velvet with which the blue 
 distance always drapes the ragged and jagged moun- 
 tains. Southward there bends to the circumferential 
 sky-line a circular range of lower hills, like layers of 
 undulating clouds edged with silver. Eastward, follow- 
 ing the horizon, tor-hills, dark, wild and abrupt, look 
 over each other's shoulders into the great valley. 
 Northward the Mendip range lift their grey battle- 
 ments and bald bastions, the very Eedans and Malakofis 
 of Nature in the outer walls of this great and quiet 
 vale. Within this blue and purple hedging on which 
 the summer clouds alight at morn and eve with their 
 lace fringes dipped in harvest moons and the red ray 
 of setting harvest suns, a hundred village-nests are 
 scattered among the trees, with their sunny rims peep- 
 ing out from the shade here and there. It is a vast 
 level sea of verdure, with its soft waves climbing its 
 engirdling walls and dashing their green foam half 
 way up to the over-beetling rocks. Still it is so
 
 to Land's End and Back. 409 
 
 variegated with trees in park, grove and copse and 
 hedgerow ; there is such a picturesque interspersion of 
 church towers, villages, hamlets, and the half-revealed 
 faces of stately mansions ; the large and level fields are 
 so full of motley herds feeding against a background 
 of ripening grain ; and the eye can so easily rise from 
 the fertile expanse to its grand surroundings, that you 
 do not think of a plain as you glance from side to side, 
 nor more of monotony than you would at looking at a 
 great landscape painting however wide the canvass 
 within the frame. From the point that commands this 
 magnificent view in its best aspect, one looks down 
 upon the scene of that bloody battle by which the Duke 
 of Honmouth lost both head and crown in his ambition 
 to mount the English throne. He must be a bolder 
 man than I to touch that scene and act and their issues 
 after Macaulay's description. 
 
 Dined in Street, a town-wing of Grlastonbury, with a 
 name that well describes even the present aspect and 
 character of the place. It is a busy, thriving two-story 
 town of itself, built on one long street, throwing out 
 short spores on either side well budded with cottages 
 all in a blow of garden foliage and flower. Three 
 brothers Clark, of the Society of Friends, have been the 
 chief upbuilders of the place in its industrial enterprise. 
 They have made it almost another Massachusetts Lynn
 
 41 o A Walk from London 
 
 as to the manufacture of shoes ; employing several 
 hundred men, women and children in the business. 
 The principle on which they conduct their establish- 
 ment is worthy of all commendation, and I would 
 advise American travellers to acquaint themselves 
 thoroughly with it when visiting Grlastonbury. It 
 may be a long time before we shall feel or recognise 
 the necessity of such a system with us ; but with the 
 steady and ever-widening inpouring of emigration 
 from Europe, we may find a condition creeping in upon 
 us which our educational institutions will be unable to 
 meet and overcome. I have noticed that, within the 
 last fifteen years, the school-room is becoming more and 
 more frequently the vestibule or receiving room of the 
 factory ; a part of the very building itself, or planted 
 on the path to the spindles and looms. In these the 
 young children are not only taught the rudiments of 
 English education, but frequently adult men and 
 women. This factory school-room often expands to a 
 higher grade of institution, embracing lectures, concerts, 
 and other instructive entertainments. Some time ago 
 I was present at a morning exercise in the assembly- 
 room of the Messrs. Clark's shoe-factory. On returning 
 from breakfast, all the hands seated themselves in this 
 apartment, constituting quite a congregation. One of 
 the brothers, standing behind a desk, read to them a
 
 to Land's End and Back. 4 1 1 
 
 chapter from a great Bible, and explained different 
 passages with remarks of his own, to make them more 
 impressive and instructive. A minute or two of devo- 
 tional silence, after the manner of Friends, closed this 
 morning exercise of the family circle of the factory, and 
 they all went to their work, one might believe, with a 
 feeling of unity very pleasant and profitable to master 
 and men. 
 
 Street is one of my dating-places in England; a 
 point of departure for a new line of life and labor. 
 Here in September, 1846, I spent a week or more with 
 the Clarks. I had started on the pedestrian tour which 
 had filled my dreams in America before leaving for 
 England. I had made the distance from Birmingham 
 to this place on foot, enjoying the scenery and every- 
 thing I saw and heard as only an American can do in 
 Our Old Home. I had written articles by the score 
 on the way for the paper I was conducting in New- 
 England; and the zest and relish of penning these on 
 little, round, three-legged tables in quaint, cosy, ivy-netted 
 inns by the roadside, with the breath of English home 
 flowers coming in upon me with the twitter and chipper 
 of birds through the open casements, all these sunny 
 experiences had wrought up a veritable enthusiasm in 
 me for the peregrination which I had so long dreamed 
 of at home, but which I had to postpone for nearly
 
 412 A Walk from London 
 
 twenty years. Well, here in Street, in the quiet 
 parlor of one of the Clarks, softly lighted with sun- 
 beams caught in the green meshes of the creeper 
 curtains of the windows, I wrote my first article on 
 "Ocean Penny Postage." For the ten following years, 
 I rode that idea up and down the United Kingdom 
 and the United States with all the persistent hope and 
 faith of any enthusiastic hobby-rider. The scheme 
 embraced nothing but this simple proposition : That 
 the postal charge for the mere transportation of a single 
 letter across the sea in any direction or to any distance 
 from Great Britain should only be one penny. Thus if 
 all other countries should establish an inland penny 
 postage like England, we should have a uniform 
 international postage of threepence ; that is, a penny 
 for each inland charge, and a penny for the sea-service 
 on a letter. After about ten years agitation of the 
 idea, the British Government conceded about half of 
 what was asked, with the intimation that they would 
 yield the rest when they saw their way clear to make 
 the further reduction. This concession extinguished 
 the "agitation," as it satisfied the public mind, and 
 took away all cause of continued appeal and effort in 
 behalf of the reform. It was quite interesting to me 
 to sit down in the same room again, in which I first 
 launched a project which cost me so many years of
 
 to Lands End and Back. 413 
 
 hobby-horseman service. It was a good place for 
 passing the mind around the circle of this equitation, 
 alighting upon some of the incidents by the way. And 
 these were manifold in the wide range of experience the 
 memory could roam over. There were 150 public 
 meetings I had addressed on the subject in as many 
 towns in England, Scotland and Ireland. There were 
 travels over nearly the whole circuit of the United 
 States mounted on the idea. There was a burning day 
 in Charleston, in going from warehouse to warehouse 
 soliciting, from under an umbrella, signatures to a 
 petition to the American Grovernment ; there was can- 
 vassing in Toronto, and other Canadian towns for names 
 to a similar memorial to the British Grovernment for 
 the same boon. 
 
 From Street I went on to Grlastonbury, a remarkable 
 centre of ecclesiastical architecture and history. Take 
 it all in all, it is the best standpoint in England from 
 which to apply the measuring reed to that stupendous 
 religious system that overspread, illumined, and 
 ruled Europe with its grandeurs in the middle ages. 
 Nature had erected a tower of observation well fitted 
 for such a standpoint. Just behind this little town arises 
 one of the most lofty and symmetrical tors in England. 
 Seen from the wide, level valley by which you approach 
 it from the west, it appears a perfect cone, too steep
 
 414 A Walk from London 
 
 for man or beast to climb. Its apex is pointed by a 
 high tower, with the history of half a dozen centuries 
 niched in its interior walls. To this tower a church it 
 is said was once attached, and even a monastery; both 
 of which were thrown headlong from their perch by an 
 earthquake. Let a man of "believing and attentive 
 faculties" ascend that steepled tor, and look off from 
 its blue height, and he will see something worth 
 remembering. If his imagination is moderately gifted 
 with the faculty of individuality, so that it can flesh 
 the skeletons of past history, and fill up before his 
 eyes three or four by-gone centuries with their most 
 actual and vivid realities, let him look down first upon 
 the roofs and embattled eves of the church which that 
 tower once crowned, then upon the magnificent abbey 
 at the foot of the tor, as it stood in all its pristine 
 glory, then northward a few miles, and bring the 
 towers and turrets of Wells Cathedral into the same 
 view. Then let him consider the wonder-inspiring 
 fact, that both these grand edifices, with half a dozen 
 other ecclesiastical structures within the circuit of as 
 many miles, were probably in process of erection at 
 the same moment. Let him remember that at that 
 time, the whole population of England was less than 
 that of London to-day; that Giastonbury and "Wells 
 were merely peasant villages, and the surrounding
 
 THE CHOIR OF GLASTONBURY ABBEY, IF RESTORED. 
 
 (After a Design by Mr. G. Gilbert Scott J
 
 to Land's End and Back. 415 
 
 country thinly settled by poor and ignorant serfs to 
 a half-civilised and unlettered aristocracy; that there 
 was not a carriage road in the kingdom; that all the 
 stone of these mighty structures and the other building 
 material had to be conveyed on the backs of horses 
 from considerable distances; that there were no com- 
 mon weights, measures, money, nor language, but as 
 many dialects as divided the builders of Babel; that 
 but a tithe of the country was under cultivation; that 
 the forests and woods were full of the dens of thieves 
 and the lairs of wild beats ; that half the region around 
 about as far as the eye could reach was a dead sea of 
 stagnant water for half the year and an impassable 
 bog for the other half; let him reproduce before Him 
 these actual facts of the time when these grand and 
 beautiful edifices were erected, and his mind will be 
 vividly impressed with the mighty faith and enthusiasm 
 that built up such stupendous monuments to the 
 memory of a religious age. If an earthquake or some 
 other catastrophe should throw down Westminster 
 Abbey and St. Paul's, great London itself, with its 
 immeasurable wealth, would hardly essay to raise again 
 those edifices at once and simultaneously to their 
 present stature and glory. But there are half a dozen 
 men in London whose united annual income doubtless 
 exceeds the whole rental of England at the time when
 
 416 A Walk from London 
 
 Grlastonbury Abbey and Wells Cathedral were rising 
 on their foundations within modern cannon-shot of 
 each other. And between and around them there 
 were other religious houses going up at the same 
 moment. It is a wonder of the first water of mystery 
 and admiration. The pyramids of Egypt are the 
 monuments of slave-labor, and they hardly honor their 
 origin. Many stand on the necks of these ruined 
 edifices and call them the works of a superstition- 
 labor. Still it seems almost dangerous to give such 
 tremendous working energy to error. 
 
 The ruins of no ecclesiastical building in England have 
 more deeply impressed me with a sense of grandeur than 
 these of Grlastonbury Abbey. There are just enough 
 fragments of wall, column and arch standing here and 
 there to indicate the area the edifice covered and the 
 height to which it towered. Perhaps if the ruins were 
 less complete, or like those of Tintern, one. would not 
 get such an impression of the magnitude of the building 
 as it stood before the "Reformation." In filling up the 
 outline which these widely-sundered fragments suggest, 
 the imagination has perhaps too much play, and 
 runs to exaggeration. Still, ere the sledge-hammer of 
 demolition was lifted upon the great central .edifice and 
 its adjuncts, they must have covered a larger space than 
 any other religious establishment in the kingdom.
 
 to Land's End and Back. 4 1 / 
 
 The vast nave of the main building seems to have 
 been prolonged by St. Joseph's Chapel, a picturesque 
 ruin of itself, with most of its walls still standing and 
 enough of carved work in stone of exquisite execution 
 to show what it was in its day. Two of the arched 
 piers or columns that supported the great central tower 
 of the cathedral or abbey stand high and sublime with 
 their broken arms still outstretched that lifted up for 
 centuries the lofty superstructure which flooded the upper 
 air with the music of its Sabbath bells. The whole 
 would make a splendid picture of architectural grace 
 and beauty as well as magnificence if reproduced by 
 an artist capable of making the most of the elements 
 available for his pencil. Mr. Gilbert Scott has embodied 
 some of them in the sketch of the chancel here pre- 
 sented to the reader by his permission. It will serve 
 to give one a clearer idea of the dimensions and 
 symmetries of the .entire building when it stood intact. 
 The authenticated and legendary histories of Grlaston- 
 bury Abbey are both peculiarly interesting ; especially 
 the latter. Two remarkable and widely-severed per- 
 sonages tradition claims to have been interred within 
 the cemetery. Joseph of Arimathea was the patron 
 saint of the establishment according to this elastic 
 authority. Outrunning St. Paul as a missionary, he 
 first preached Christianity in Britain ; and preached 
 
 2E
 
 418 A Walk from London 
 
 it here. Ascending Weary-all Hill just outside the 
 town, he stabbed the staff he brought from Palestine 
 into the earth where it soon sprouted, and grew up 
 into a beautiful little tree called the Holy Thorn. It 
 put forth its white flower about Christmas, typifying 
 the blossoming of Life and Immortality out of a human 
 stalk at Bethlehem. For this divine token it was 
 held most precious for a score of ages. Thousands of 
 pilgrims came from afar and breathed in the breath 
 of the sacred blossoms. They were exported to other 
 countries for those of like faith in their meaning and 
 virtue. The spot where it stood is now marked with 
 a flat stone, bearing this latent belief in its origin : 
 I. A., A. P. P. D., XXXT. It was a pretty fantasy, 
 just the one to take hold of the spontaneous sympathies 
 of the human heart, and bud and blossom there for 
 ever without the favor or affection of reason and judg- 
 ment. The Holy Thorn seems to have perpetuated 
 itself without a break from the dawn of the Christian* 
 era to the present moment, and bids fair to go down 
 to the last ages of the world. Shoots and scions have 
 been transplanted from time to time, endowed with 
 some of the marvellous vitality latent in the dry staff 
 of the apostle. But never was one set in the earth 
 with such an interesting ceremonial as that planted on 
 Weary-all Hill on the day of the marriage of the
 
 to Land's End and Back. 419 
 
 Prince of Wales with Alexandra the Dane. The whole 
 population of the town came out en masse to mark the 
 occasion with a feasting. One thousand sat down to 
 a public dinner, and nearly fifteen hundred to tea. 
 Then they formed themselves into a procession, headed 
 by the mayor and corporation, escorting an open car- 
 riage conveying a hopeful scion of the Holy Thorn, with 
 two young ladies appointed to perform the interesting 
 office of setting it upright on its tendrils in the very 
 place that its ancient progenitor had made sacred. 
 The mayor delivered an oration at the close of the 
 ceremony, the Eifle Corps fired a volley over the 
 consecrated thornlet, and then descending, left it alone 
 in its young glory. Perhaps the population of Grlas- 
 tonbury, in some future century, will perform a similar 
 ceremony to celebrate the nuptials of some English 
 Prince with an anglicised Tycoon's daughter wooed in 
 Japan. 
 
 Next in the rank of tjiese facile faiths, founded in no 
 historical authority and needing none, is the belief that 
 Prince Arthur, that apocryphal flower of kinghood, was 
 laid here. Tennyson to the contrary notwithstanding. 
 He was believed in as a veritable being of flesh and 
 blood, and no fiction at all, as far back as the day 
 of Henry II. That sovereign believed in him, and 
 
 caused search to be made for his grave here, and it 
 2 E 2
 
 420 A Walk from London 
 
 was said to be found, with a leaden cross bearing the 
 inscription : "Hie jacet sepultus inclytus Rex Arthurus 
 in insula Avalonia." The rude oak coffin contained a 
 gigantic skeleton, but not the famous Excaliber, other- 
 wise accounted for. Side by side with his lay the 
 remains of his fair Gruinever, whose yellow hair was 
 " apparently perfect in substance and colour," says an 
 old chronicler, " but on a monk's eagerly grasping and 
 raising it up, it fell to dust." Here is a circumstan- 
 tiality of authority which seems to take King Arthur's 
 entity out of the rainbowed mist of poetic fiction and 
 to set him among the real princes of the land. 
 
 There are several other buildings in Glastonbury, 
 contemporary with the Abbey and connected with it, 
 which are worth looking at and studying. The 
 Abbott's Kitchen is a unique structure, having for a 
 roof a hollow octagonal pyramid set upon four massive 
 walls. Internally the space between these walls was 
 made octagonal by a huge chimney at each corner, 
 each fitted up with a prodigous capacity of cookery. 
 Indeed if such beef had been indigenous and digestible, 
 they might have roasted an elephant whole within each 
 pair of jambs. Nor could this kitchen have been too 
 large, for the service put upon it. Like all the abbeys 
 of that time, it was a splendid hotel as well as a 
 college and a cathedral. It is said that at the
 
 to Land's End and Back. 421 
 
 zenith of its grandeur the abbot's permanent house- 
 hold numbered three hundred persons, and that often 
 five hundred strangers were entertained within its walls. 
 After tea went on to "Wells, where I found comfort- 
 able lodgings in one of the oldest inns I have seen 
 in the country. It did service in the days of the 
 pilgrims, when nearly every abbey and cathedral was 
 a little Mecca of itself to a large number of simple 
 enthusiasts. This is a nice, clean, quiet little city, with 
 its widest streets set to the perpetual music of bubbling, 
 chirping, twittering rivulets of clear, flashing spring 
 water, which seems to make a border of fluent pearl 
 ta the sidewalks. "Wells"! How often has that 
 word been outspoken with reverence in the village- 
 choirs of New-England on the Sabbath, and in humbler 
 places "where prayer was wont to be made"! What 
 American, with Sabbath memories in his heart, can 
 hear it without remembering how it sounded from 
 "the singers' seat," when the chorister pronounced it 
 with a devout face and voice, put the vibrating tuning- 
 fork to his ear, raised his eyes to the ceiling, and 
 pitched the first note of that solemn tune ! Eighteen 
 years ago, when walking across the oak-shaded fields 
 to this cathedral, I essayed to quicken these souvenirs 
 by singing "Wells" to a score of large, sedate and 
 ecclesiastical-looking sheep, in long flowing surplices, 
 who raised their bald faces at me with sober surprise.
 
 422 
 
 Every cathedral in England has some special 
 individuality of architecture or embellishment which 
 distinguishes it from the rest. York, Ely, Canterbury 
 and Salisbury have each its own speciality, and these 
 peculiar features are so salient that you hardly know 
 how to institute a comparison between the edifices to 
 which they belong. It is like putting a pair of 
 beautiful eyes in one person's face against a handsome 
 nose in another's. But I believe that the best con- 
 noisseurs of ecclesiastical architecture must and do 
 give the palm to Wells Cathedral as the most perfect 
 specimen, in its tout ensemble, of these venerable struc- 
 tures. Internally and externally it is distinguished 
 from all others of the order by very striking peculi- 
 arities. Longfellow ought to describe its west front. 
 Some of the features of his "Springfield Arsenal" may 
 be recognised in it : 
 
 From floor to ceiling, 
 Like a huge organ, rise the burnished arms, 
 
 would need but little change to fit this grand fagade. 
 From pavement to topmost turret rise the niched 
 ranks of apostles, kings, queens, princes and knights 
 in stone. The census of this mutilated statuary 
 numbers full three hundred human forms, half being 
 of life size. What a perpendicular Louvre it must 
 have showed in its best days, when all those diademed
 
 to Land's End and Back. 423 
 
 sovereigns and haloed saints were fresh from the chisel 
 of the sculptor, before the dark genius of coal smoke 
 had begun its modern . work of turning milk-white 
 marble into lamp-blacked cast-iron, sooting, with indis- 
 criminate evenness of depth and dun, the queenliest 
 faces ever done in stone, and the chimney-pots of 
 factory towns ! One looking at these grand walls of 
 statuary, and remembering that many of the sculptured 
 figures must have been wrought fall six hundred years 
 ago, must wonder at the perfection the art had 
 attained at that early age. The interior corresponds 
 happily with the exterior aspects. Some one has said 
 that the first Napoleon was wont to take off his hat 
 to an artist on looking at his works, not out of mere 
 politeness but of respect for his art. So a man with 
 appreciating sensibilities must be inclined to raise his 
 hat on walking up the nave of Wells Cathedral in 
 the presence of such grandeur, evea if no religious 
 sentiment prompts the act. The peculiar feature of 
 the interior structure is the inverted arches that support 
 the great central tower, like a human forehead and 
 crown resting upon a pair of wide-opened eyes. Then 
 there is the famous old clock made by a Grlastonbury 
 monk and removed to Wells at the Dissolution. The 
 spontaneous clockmaker wrought out a great many 
 ingenious devices and illustrations, seasoning useful
 
 424 A Walk from London 
 
 knowledge with amusing entertainment. He set several 
 celestial and terrestial bodies into interesting movement 
 and relationship, showing the hours of the day, the 
 age of the moon, and the position of the planets, with 
 a little martial by-play to spice these astronomical facts. 
 "When the clock strikes the hour, a file of horsemen, 
 booted, saddled and armed cap-a-pie, dash out and 
 charge furiously, whether upon the Past or Future the 
 original design is not clear. On the outside a couple 
 of knights in heavy helmets and stout armor strike the 
 quarters, each with his halberd, like two woodmen 
 keeping stroke upon the tree of Time. 
 
 After attending the morning service in the choir, at 
 which about half a dozen persons were present besides 
 the clergy and choristers, I resumed my walk, and 
 reached Chedder about the middle of the afternoon. 
 This is a 'focus of remarkable interest, to which nature, 
 industrial art and philanthropy have contributed each 
 its contingent. To begin with the first, that great sleep- 
 ing crocodile, the Mendip range, which lies slightly coiled 
 across the Avalonian Yalley, with its ridgy back high in 
 the sun, here opens its tremendous jaws wide enough for 
 two camels to walk through abreast between them. 
 Indeed the cliffs that teeth the rift look as if they 
 would shut into each other like those of a trap if they 
 should close. It is an awe-inspiring gap, and you
 
 to Land's End and Back. 425 
 
 feel a grander presence than that of "forty centuries 
 looking down" upon you, as your eyes climb from 
 steep to steep, crag to crag up the huge precipice on 
 either side. The perpendicular butment at one point 
 rises to the height of over four hundred feet. Here 
 and there the steep slopes are turfed with a fine green 
 herbage, and flecked with sheep, looking like snow 
 flakes scattered up and down, now and then showing 
 a speck of white on the very beetling edge of the 
 topmost crag. It is the very place of all I ever 
 saw to make all human and animal forms and forces 
 look like pigmies in stature and strength. A man 
 cannot often get near enough to a mountain to dwarf 
 him to an atom in the contrast of size. But walking 
 up the narrow road between these dark, jaggy, craggy 
 heights, seemingly overhanging him. just under the 
 twilight sky which the sun never warms, he feels 
 himself about the smallest and weakest particle of 
 creation. All the lofty butments, rock and sky and 
 cloud are shaded with the cold sublimity of the place. 
 Before you enter this unroofed cavern, you will be 
 sure to visit one of Nature's curiosity-shops, discovered 
 by sheer accident about thirty years ago near the 
 mouth of this great aperture in the Mendips. A Mr. 
 Cox broke into this singular treasury one day while 
 exploring out a hole in the wall opening upon the
 
 426 A Walk from London 
 
 public road. In delicacy of execution, versatility of 
 genius, in works of fancy, its water-sculpture far 
 surpasses anything that I saw in the Mammoth Cave 
 in Kentucky. From the domestic character of the 
 subjects here revealed, it might be taken for one of 
 the small back-kitchens of nature, with a well-furnished 
 pantry done in stone. Here are turkeys hanging by 
 the legs as if just from or for the market, a good 
 stout loaf of brown bread with the baker's thumb- 
 marks upon it, translucent curtains partly folded, a 
 chime of bells with a sharp, steely ring to them; in 
 fact a very pattern-shop filled with pre-historic proto- 
 types or models of human householdry of all shapes 
 and uses, as well as of artistic sculpture for public 
 galleries. But of all the exquisite work of the water- 
 drops in this elaboratory, nothing struck me so forcibly 
 as the ticking and the telling of a little watch that 
 Nature had wound up and set agoing here, perhaps 
 before Adam was created. It is a century-glass made 
 for Time to tick off the Earth's ages ; and it keeps 
 the reckoning with a precision that an astronomer 
 would covet for his chronometer. Its construction and 
 action are simple. In the plain, clear Saxon of boys' 
 language, it is the dripping of an icicle of stone, 
 which freezes as it falls and forms another icicle 
 pointing upward. Boys know how these points near
 
 to Land's End and Back. 427 
 
 each other until they join and make one column of 
 ice from bottom to top. With this in their eyes, they 
 will see how this century- glass works in the cave. 
 From the fine tip of a stone icicle called a stalactite, 
 there falls, once or twice in five minutes, a tiny drop 
 of water, which has a little dash of lime in it. 
 Perhaps a pint of it may fall in the space of twenty- 
 four hours. This continual dropping makes a good 
 deal of wet on the rocky bottom for a considerable 
 space around. I believe no one has tested the water, 
 but perhaps what falls in a week contains a teaspoonful 
 of lime sediment. This hardens into stone, looking like 
 layers of candied sugar. Then gradually a little point 
 arises out of the centre of a wide foundation of these 
 layers. Every drop falls and splits on this sharp 
 point, just moistening it anew once a minute. Yet 
 there is lime in this little moisture, and it hardens 
 and builds up the tiny horn of stone ; but how slowly ! 
 It would be an interesting sight and instructive too 
 for children to stand by and see that clock-work 
 go on. When Mr. Cox first broke into this dark, 
 low-roofed clock-factory of Nature, and held his torch 
 up to see what was going on there, among other 
 sights was this ticking time-piece two icicles of stone 
 trying to make their points meet, as hundreds standing 
 about the cave had already done centuries ago. The
 
 428 A Walk from London 
 
 lower one had arisen about a foot from the foundation. 
 It was climbing up slowly. He had watched it for 
 nearly twenty years, and could see hardly the difference 
 of an inch in its height ; yet it was climbing, perhaps 
 at the rate of six inches a century. Just so many 
 drops a day it receives upon its point from the one 
 above ; just so many millimetres in a decade it makes 
 in its upward progress. With a good microscope one 
 perhaps might see how much it grows in a single year. 
 It is one of Nature's chronometers hung up in the 
 thousand-and-one caverns of the earth, whose minute- 
 hand tells off her centuries. For myself I never before 
 looked at a time-piece and heard it tick with such 
 thoughts in such contrast with the scant measure- 
 ments of human life. 
 
 Chedder is gifted with the rich inheritance of a 
 blessed memory. Here Hannah More and her sisters 
 set on foot the working out of her best thoughts in 
 an enterprise of practical philanthropy. Here in hope 
 and faith and love, she planted the germs of those 
 institutions for the education and elevation of the 
 children of the poor, which are now expanding to 
 such a reach of beneficence among the masses of the 
 country. 
 
 It was after five p.m. when I left Chedder, and 
 after a long, hot and dusty walk, reached Bristol a 
 little before midnight.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 BRISTOL THE VALLEY OP THE WYB ROSS MALVERN WORCESTER AND 
 
 ITS CATHEDRAL PERSHORB OXFORD THE QUEEN'S DAIRY END 
 
 OF MY WALK. 
 
 EISTOL is a city worth going to see and 
 to study. It was the seat and point of 
 departure of the English vikings and vigors 
 when the old Norse spirit had only begun to be slightly 
 softened by a Christian civilisation. For just such men 
 and for just such an age nature had formed a port 
 suited to every phase and faculty of their character. 
 It was at the head of a little river that ran crookedly 
 at the bottom of a tremendous furrow ploughed to the 
 sea through the rocks, nearly as deep and wide as the 
 rift below the Niagara Falls. It faced the western 
 world of waters, and its plucky old sea-kings turned 
 their prows in that direction by natural impulse. One 
 of them, the elder Cabot, frosted his in the icy breath 
 of Labrador before Columbus touched the main con- 
 tinent of America. One hundred years before Cabot 
 sailed from Bristol, it had its guild of "Merchants
 
 43 -A Walk from London 
 
 Royal," and veteran sailors as daring and dauntless 
 as the hyperborean tars of Eric the Eed. There 
 were the two Canynges, as their names if spelt 
 correctly in old Saxon would imply, kings in their 
 way as shipbuilders. They were two stalwart Williams 
 whose lives and labors gave a shaping to the character 
 and history of the town. The monument of the 
 younger records the names of the vessels he built, 
 as if they were children whose memory should be as 
 lasting as is his other virtues. The birth-roll of the 
 city is rich with names of the first water of merit. 
 Perhaps no other town of its size in the kingdom can 
 show a larger array of celebrities in every department 
 of 'distinction. The list of large-hearted benefactors 
 and philanthropists counts up well, and best as we 
 approach the present day. Coming down from the 
 munificent Colston, the names of Richard Reynolds, 
 Joseph Eaton, George Thomas, and other, members 
 of the Society of Friends, will have an everlasting 
 memory, not petrified in cold marble, but breathing in 
 the self-expanding life of benevolent institutions, carry- 
 ing comfort and blessing down through generations 
 of sick and the broken in body and mind. There too 
 is George Muller, with his Orphan's Home, a great 
 human prayer spired with faith and towering heaven- 
 ward a very temple for over a thousand sweet little
 
 to Land's End and Back. 431 
 
 voices of fatherless and motherless children to sing 
 their morning hymns of thanksgiving in. George 
 Muller is a German, and he studied his classics in 
 Halle ; and he studied something better there,* too 
 the life of August B. Francke and the upbuilding of the 
 unparalleled institution of benevolence the good man 
 founded in that city. And when the name of George 
 Muller comes to be written in marble at the end of 
 his work, Francke's simple epitaph will be the best that 
 can be found for him "He trusted in God." Never 
 in modern times, perhaps, was there an institution so 
 entirely built up on prayer and faith as this of George 
 Mailer's founding at Bristol. Here are over a thousand 
 little human beings homed, clothed, fed, instructed and 
 fitted for both worlds, and all from spontaneous, 
 unsolicited charity ! The angels of these young 
 orphans not only seem to stand before their Heavenly 
 Father, but before hundreds of human fathers scattered 
 all over the country, who think of them kindly as they 
 look upon their own happy children. So the ravens 
 that fed the prophet hundreds of them come flying 
 all about with gifts in their beaks for these little boys 
 and girls. George Muller prays, and the mason builds, 
 and the ravens breed, and there is a new beak full of 
 food for every new orphan brought to the Home. 
 Francke used to beg like a monk for his fatherless, and
 
 43 2 A Walk from London 
 
 trudge about on foot over half of Grermany soliciting 
 aid for his institution. But Muller stays at home, and 
 does not beg even by letter. His faith is not without 
 works* on his principle. Only he reverses the axiom 
 and puts it thus, " Orare est Laborare." And his 
 experience justifies this belief and practice. An incident 
 recently came to my knowledge which may illustrate 
 the working of this faith. I met some time ago a 
 gentleman residing in a retired town in Kent, who told 
 me that he was recently confined to his house by indis- 
 position and inclement weather on a wintry Sunday. 
 When the rest of the family were at church, he took up 
 Greorge Muller's book, in which he describes " The 
 Lord's Dealings " with him. He became so much 
 interested in the author's life and labors, that he 
 promised his conscience then and there that if a certain 
 business transaction he had in hand resulted in a 
 certain amount of success, he would send the philan- 
 thropist 100 for his Orphan's Home. The success 
 was realised, and he was then just on the point of 
 sending off a cheque for the promised amount. I 
 would commend the same book to the perusal of all 
 who would like to know the rise and progress of the 
 institution. 
 
 Bishop "Analogy" Butler, Eobert Hall and John 
 Foster were numbered in the preaching-roll of the
 
 to Land's End and Back. 433 
 
 .Bristol pulpit, and Hannah More and her sister 
 among the school-teachers of the town. Poets, painters 
 and sculptors grace its annals. Poor young Chatter- 
 ton ! he asked bread and they gave him a stone a 
 beautifully carved stone, after he had died of hunger. 
 It stands within the most prominent angle of the 
 church-yard of St. Mary Redcliffe. It was all that 
 lay within the gift of the givers. They would have 
 given bread as well as the stone if the young man 
 had lived in their day. It is thus one generation often 
 pays the debts of another. 
 
 Burke once represented Bristol in Parliament, and 
 some of his best speeches were made at the hustings 
 here. The city abounds in old churches of continental 
 aspect of antiquity, and in streets walled high with 
 houses jutting out story above story until the windows 
 of the uppermost on either side seem within hand's 
 reach of each other. Many of these unique buildings 
 look as if they had seen Sebastian Cabot's day and 
 wear the air of his age. Bristol was once the second 
 town in the kingdom for population and commercial 
 importance. If the Avon had been a little wider and 
 deeper at all tides, and if the policy of the corporation 
 had not been narrower, perhaps, than the river, doubtless 
 the port would have retained a good deal of the 
 business that went to Liverpool.
 
 434 -d- Walk from London 
 
 After spending the Sabbath in Bristol, I continued 
 northward up the celebrated valley of the Wye, which 
 has been painted, photographed, said and sung, and 
 put in all forms of poetry and prose so often that a 
 tourist must be a bold man to essay any new descrip- 
 tion of it. Many insist who have seen it, and more 
 believe who have not, that it presents the most delight- 
 ful scenery in England. It is a pocket edition of the 
 Rhine, beautifully bound, with illustrations that improve 
 upon the German volume. The little Wye is a jewel 
 of a river, set delightfully in emerald. In 1846 I 
 made the same walk up the wide, winding glen; saw 
 for the first time an English castle at Chepstow; 
 climbed the Wind-Cliff, and looked off upon the counties 
 beyond the Severn, and studied Tintern Abbey by 
 moonlight. Yivid and enthusiastic descriptions had 
 produced the foregone conclusion that the scenery and 
 all its associations were as delightful as possible. I 
 had then seen less of the country than at the time 
 of this second visit, and the impression I fancied would 
 be modified by another view. Still I was happily dis- 
 appointed in not being disappointed at all on seeing it 
 again from these various points. The view from Wind- 
 Cliff especially can hardly be surpassed in England, and 
 can never lose any of its interest as a point of observa- 
 tion. Tintern Abbey could not have been ruined more
 
 to Land 's End and Back. 435 
 
 picturesquely if an artist had tried his hand at the 
 work as a subject for his studio. It is a beautiful and 
 delightful site for such a building, and one wishes that 
 it of them all might have been spared alive, just to 
 show the world what they were in their day and 
 generation. Indeed it stands with less breakage than 
 any other "dissolved" abbey that I have seen. Its 
 walls, windows and arches look as if they might be 
 done up again, and the whole edifice reproduced 
 without excessive labor or expense. There is plenty 
 of material, almost as good as new, lying about in 
 heaps, for such a renovation disjointed columns, arches, 
 keystones, fluted, foliated and carved after every device. 
 Although one of the smaller structures of the kind, 
 it must have been the very lijou of them all for 
 symmetry and the delicate graces of the Gothic order. 
 
 After dinner, pursued my walk up the valley to 
 Monmouth. The scenery all the way was delightful. 
 The heights were wooded on each side, with houses 
 set in over against each other to the very summits. 
 The bright, winding Wye held in its curves now a 
 little field of yellow wheat full of sunlight, and now 
 a small new-shorn meadow as green and soft as a 
 lawn. As I ascended this romantic glen, I suddenly 
 caught a glimpse of a remarkable phenomenon. It 
 
 appeared to be a great human eye looking down the 
 2F 2
 
 436 A Walk from London 
 
 valley with a serene expression of enjoyment. The 
 first moment of the sight perfectly produced this 
 impression. There was the large, blue, expanded pupil ; 
 there were the eyelids and eyelashes all to the life. 
 It took half a minute to explain the apparition. A 
 bridge spanned the river with a single, arch at a bend 
 which brought it directly before me. The trees that 
 shut down on each side closely to the bridge and 
 overshadowed it, so concealed this arch that I saw 
 its inverted image in the water first. It made the 
 lower lid of the great blue eye perfectly for a delicious 
 moment. Its ends curved up to the corners of the 
 upper lid in a complete elipsis. The clear, glistening 
 river above for a moment stood upright and looked 
 down upon the level river below with a smile like 
 light upon the morning dew. It was a pleasant 
 illusion which I wished to prolong. It seemed like 
 the eye of Nature gazing down one of her sweetest 
 valleys with loving pride and satisfaction. 
 
 Tuesday, July 19th. Monmouth is the most con- 
 siderable town owned by the Duke of Beaufort. It 
 is cleanly and comfortable, wearing an air of sedate 
 and quiet dignity, as if it had been something in its 
 day in the line of history. It once gave a birthplace 
 to a king, and a name subsequently to a very ambitious 
 and very unsuccessful aspirant to the English throne.
 
 to Land's End and Back. 437 
 
 It has attached itself forever to the memory of a 
 monkish writer who manufactured a great deal of 
 interesting history that reads like fact here and there 
 in his chronicles ; and, as no one else of his day put 
 more fact in his romances, (reoflry of Monmouth has 
 been recognised as an authority of higher rank of 
 credibility than the heterogenous legends afloat. There 
 is indubitable proof that such a man lived and wrote, 
 and was not a myth. His very study is pointed out 
 to you, and you go away believing in him more 
 distinctly than before. Here I found one of the oldest 
 inns I have yet seen in this country, and had a 
 bed-room full twenty feet square all to myself. It 
 was wainscotted with old English oak, black as ebony, 
 with great beams of that hearty timber overhead. 
 
 Had a hot and dusty walk from Monmouth to 
 Ledbury. Never saw such a rainless summer in 
 England before ; not a drop having fallen for a full 
 month. Followed the beautiful little Wye up to 
 Boss, the Richmond of the river in the best respects. 
 This is truly a city set upon a hill, with a grand old 
 church set upon the city like its diadem. The church- 
 yard is planted upon a high cliff, jutting out like a 
 double-buttressed bastion to command the view of 
 the winding valley and all its far-reaching loveliness 
 both above and below. It is safe to say no other
 
 438 A Walk from London 
 
 resting-place of the dead in England is held up so 
 high towards heaven as this precious acre. The town 
 itself is pleasant, comely and comfortable, with a lively 
 show of thrift and contentment. Its crowning glory is 
 the venerated memory of one citizen, who honored it 
 with the reputation of his goodness of heart. " The 
 Man of Ross " ! Who has not heard of that name ? 
 It is worth a dozen ruined abbeys to the town, with 
 a Stonehenge thrown into the bargain. At Eoss I 
 diverged in an easterly direction towards "Worcester. 
 Lodged in Ledbury, a quiet, quaint, rural town with 
 many old skeleton houses, or houses that wear their 
 bones outside their skins. The church is a good edifice, 
 with an enormous spire and tower standing detached 
 from the main building. In walking about the streets 
 and admiring the unique aspects and architecture of 
 the houses, I fancied it would be interesting to spend 
 a month or two in such a place to see something of 
 its real, everyday life. 
 
 Wednesday, July 20fh. The weather hot, and not 
 a breath of air astir. Continued eastward ; passed 
 Eastner Castle, Lord Somers' seat. It is a building 
 well-pointed with towers and turrets, but distinguished 
 by a smart look, as if it were a modern building or 
 recently renovated. It was not the day of admission 
 to the public, so that I was not able to see the interior.
 
 to Land's End and Back. 439 
 
 Walked through a great park, well-stocked with deer, 
 extending a long way towards Malvern. At noon 
 I reached the base of the Herefordshire Beacon, a 
 grand, round, bald-headed hill, girdled with a series 
 of earthworks or trenches one above the other to the 
 very top, which has a surface of about half an acre 
 apparently. It is called the British Camp, and must 
 have been capable of entrenching a least half the 
 adult male population of England proper in Caesar's 
 day. One would think that such defences were 
 designed to resist fire-arms and cannon of large calibre. 
 Whether Briton, Roman, Saxon or Dane dug them, 
 or whether each race had a hand in the work, they 
 must have been the stronghold of one of the largest 
 armies ever marshalled by either in the country. The 
 view from the crown of this grand ward-and-watch- 
 tower is just magnificent. You see a great bowlful of 
 counties on either side, full of every element that can 
 give beauty to a landscape. I saw it in all its quiet 
 summer glory, and thought it unsurpassed by anything 
 I had beheld before in any country. Wheat-fields in 
 their best gold brooched the broad bosom of either 
 valley with a sheen as soft and fluent as colored light. 
 Patches of the Severn gave to the emerald robe a few 
 well-set pearls here and there. Tillages peeped out 
 of their green nests and showed their sunny faces half
 
 44 -A Walk from London 
 
 hidden and half revealed ; the spaces between being 
 so foreshortened to the eye, that they seemed to be 
 sown broadcast over the expanse so thickly that they 
 linked together their ascending smoke- wreaths a little 
 way overhead. I am inclined to think that an American 
 traveller will find no stand-point from which his eye 
 can take in a fairer sample of English scenery than 
 from this bald, round-headed Herefordshire Beacon. 
 
 Descending from this grand watch-tower of Nature, 
 I pursued my walk along the western side of a moun- 
 tainous ridge to Malvern. The road is cut through the 
 thinnest section of this ridge, passing between the 
 loftiest walls I ever saw made by pick and powder. 
 For many miles the whole of Worcestershire was shut 
 out from view. Herefordshire showed a glorious spread 
 of landscape, and monopolised the whole vista. For 
 a long distance you were to see nothing else ; and the 
 sight was truly beautiful. The genius of the wide- 
 expanded valley seemed to say, " Look your fill of all 
 this glory, then see if you can find anything better on 
 the other side." It was a question of beauty between 
 Juno and Yenus. Tou face short about, pass through 
 the hole cut in the dividing ridge, and look off upon 
 Yenus, arrayed in her best drawing-room dress. For 
 the life of you, when you have taken your first eye- 
 sweep, you cannot say which goddess is the fairest.
 
 io Land's End and Back. 441 
 
 They are both beautiful exceedingly and lovely, and 
 full of the happiest life of nature's glory. 
 
 Malvern is a kind of Saratoga shelved into the 
 sunniest brow of the White Mountains. It is a 
 pleasant place in every way, and a favorite resort for 
 hundreds affected with mild ailments of body and 
 mind. Its springs have proved very helpful to people 
 of easy faith in their medicinal virtues. Its history 
 is spiced with a pleasant flavor of romance ; its old 
 abbey church has a good and venerable air about it, 
 and seems well calculated to exert a softening influence 
 upon the smart and pretentious parvenues of modern 
 architecture which stand terrassed one above the other, 
 up the steeps of the bald-pated mountain. This is a 
 kind of miniature Mont Blanc, and furnishes quite a 
 satisfactory trial-height for the training of climbers of 
 the second rank of aspiration. A kind of Alpine staff 
 for the exercise is supplied at the inns for tourists and 
 other guests ; and you may see scores of young ladies in 
 broad-brimmed hats of different patterns equipped with 
 these well-pointed poles, setting out for an ascent. 
 
 Descended from Malvern into the wide valley of the 
 Severn, and had a long, hot, dusty walk to old Worcester. 
 
 Thursday, July 21st. Went about " The Faithful 
 City," as it is called and calls itself, for the faithful 
 adhesion and stoutly-defended refuge it gave to King
 
 44 2 A Walk from London 
 
 Charles. On each side of the door of the noble old 
 
 *** 
 
 Guildhall stands the effigy of one of the Charles's which 
 has been most faithfully preserved, and looks every 
 inch a king. Worcester to me has been the most 
 interesting town in England. Having lived many 
 years in New England's Worcester, this brave old 
 city seemed like a grandmother, and I used to visit 
 it with a filial reverence. In 1846 I brought over 
 from our American town a friendly address to this 
 its venerable mother on the subject of the Oregon 
 controversy a manuscript letter signed by a thousand 
 of our citizens, full of good and pleasant words of 
 peace and amity and tender recollection. When it 
 was unrolled from the platform, at a public meeting, 
 it reached nearly the whole length of the hall, and 
 the audience noticed with surprise that nearly every 
 name it bore had its counterpart or homonym among 
 themselves. For several subsequent years I used to 
 go to Worcester to keep Christmas, just as a New 
 England boy would go back to the old home of his 
 childhood to keep u Thanksgiving." Worcester Cathe- 
 dral was the first of those grand old edifices I ever 
 saw, and the sight of it almost overwhelmed me with 
 wonder and admiration. I saw the ages of English 
 history put in sculptured records that I read with a 
 kind of awe. The like chronicles have become familiar
 
 to Lands End and Back. 443 
 
 to me now, but at that first, sudden glance they were 
 full of thrilling language to my thoughts. It all burst 
 upon me at once the marble forms of kings, and 
 knights, and bishops, and ladies lying on their backs 
 as large as life, with their hands folded on their 
 breasts as in prayer; the lofty arches^ the columns 
 and pillars of every stature, the leaves, flowers and 
 vine-work all wrought in stone centuries agone, yet 
 so fresh, and delicate ; the painted windows, the grand 
 roofage, the history standing out from a legendary mist 
 of antiquity. I had seen Liverpool, Manchester and 
 Birmingham ; towns large and vigorous, teeming with 
 the young life of this modern age ; full of industries 
 of all sizes and complexions; full of the roar, the 
 scream, the chirrup and buz of the lions, eagles, wrens, 
 crickets and bees of human labor. The bared arms 
 of those towns showed the American sinews of New 
 York, Lowell, and Pittsburgh. They wore the same 
 face and made the same din at their toil as those 
 centres of American thrift and enterprise. But here 
 in Worcester, I saw the old England of my boyhood's 
 imagination looking as natural as life. 
 
 Although not of the first class of cathedrals in size,, 
 this has its own peculiar grace and grandeur. Like 
 many others, it is in process of renovation from bottom 
 to top, and it is coming out with an entirely new
 
 444 -A Walk from London 
 
 face, which, when complete, will show well, but during 
 the process, presents a rather singular appearance. 
 The material of the original building was a soft red 
 sandstone, which made a very toothsome nibble for 
 Time. They are now facing the outer walls with a 
 greyish stone, which, for awhile, makes the edifice 
 look like a blood-beet topped out with a Swede turnip. 
 After a few hours in Worcester, I continued east- 
 ward, intending to take in Oxford on my way to 
 London. Eighteen years before, I passed over the 
 same road as far as Pershore on foot. About midway, 
 from a green, soft upland field, I saw and heard, 
 for the first time in my life, the English sky-lark. 
 The impressions I then received from its song and 
 sight I have endeavoured to embody in my chapter 
 on English and American Birds, which those who 
 read the notes on my last year's walk will perhaps 
 remember. I passed the same field this .day, and 
 recognised it easily. And a lark was still hovering 
 and warbling over it, pouring forth the same twittering 
 ecstacy that delighted me in 1846. Perhaps it was 
 the great-grand-daughter of the one I listened to then, 
 lying flat on my back while my eyes hunted out 
 the little palpitating mote of music among the netted 
 sunbeams. If the genealogy and title-deeds of that 
 bird could be brought into probate, doubtless it would
 
 to Land's End and Back. 445 
 
 be found that the dozen green acres below and the 
 dozen blue acres above had been the inheritance of the 
 family for twenty generations. 
 
 Dined at Pershore, a quiet, little rural town, with 
 several inns putting forth on their signs pleasant 
 suggestions to quiet-loving people. Of these, " The 
 Quiet Woman" invites you to step in and take a 
 quiet cup of tea. Then another of the same sex and 
 of far higher pretensions, called " The Angel," offers 
 to entertain you. I went to the latter, because I had 
 experienced its entertainment in 1846. I sat down in 
 the same bay window, and indulged in a long reverie 
 over the events that had come in the intervening space 
 of time. Pershore had been a new dating-point to me. 
 In this little out-of-the-way town, I set on foot a move- 
 ment which carried me in directions and into enterprises 
 I had never dreamed of. I was then on my way from 
 Worcester to London on foot. I stopped here two or 
 three days partly for rest and partly for bringing up a 
 long arrearage of writing which I could not perform 
 while the guest of friends. In this same bay window I 
 wrote out the creed principles or basis for an international 
 association called " The League of Universal Brother- 
 hood." This basis was virtually a pledge of total absti- 
 nence from all war, and an agreement to unite in the 
 effort "to abolish all institutions and customs that do not
 
 446 A Walk from Londo/i 
 
 recognise and respect the image of Grod and a human 
 brother in every man, of whatever country, color or 
 condition." Two or three young men of the village, 
 sauntering past the window as I was writing out this 
 bond and covenant, recognised me from a portrait that 
 had recently appeared in a popular journal. They 
 came in on the strength of this introduction, and we 
 had a long conversation on the plan and principles of 
 the association proposed ; and it was arranged that I 
 should meet a small company they would get together 
 at the house of one of their number in the evening. 
 So I went with the first draft of this league and 
 covenant of peace and universal brotherhood, and 
 found a room full of young, thoughtful-minded men. 
 For three hours I went over all the principles, objects 
 and efforts embraced and contemplated in the pledge. 
 Just before midnight seventeen of the company attached 
 their names to it. Then all knelt down, and there 
 was an earnest prayer that the doing of that night 
 might be the beginning of an effective movement for 
 the good of mankind. It was the beginning of a new 
 life of labor to me, and the end of that long pedestrian 
 tour I had intended, before leaving America, to make 
 in England. In the hopefulness and enthusiasm of 
 the hour, I believed that the germ of an organisation 
 had been planted which might expand to an inter-
 
 to Land's End and Back. 447 
 
 national area of action and influence, and work power- 
 fully for the brotherhood of men and the sisterhood 
 of nations. I must have some little printed exposition 
 of the principles and objects of this new compact and 
 covenant for distribution among persons I could not 
 reach viva wee. So I went directly back to Bir- 
 mingham and laid the whole subject before Good 
 Joseph Sturge, whom my soul revered with the 
 greatest affection. He approved of the pledge and 
 of the name proposed for the association, and also of 
 some printed and periodical exposition of the doctrines 
 on which it was to be based. The next week a small 
 four-paged periodical was brought out called " The Bond 
 of Brotherhood," which has just entered upon its 
 nineteenth year. A large registry-book was procured 
 for entering the names obtained to the pledge. Ten 
 thousand from different parts of the United Kingdom, 
 and an equal number from the United States were 
 attached to it during the first year. The League of 
 Universal Brotherhood took its place among philan- 
 thropic societies on both sides of the Atlantic. Its 
 basis of belief and practice was very broad, affording 
 room and motive for a great many different operations 
 of a benevolent tendency. And these were set on 
 foot one after the other. First came Friendly Inter- 
 national Addresses, to stir up a kindly feeling between
 
 448 A Walk from London 
 
 the three great peoples of England, France and 
 America. Next was inaugurated a series of Peace 
 Congresses on the Continent ; then a movement for 
 Ocean Penny Postage, then the Olive-Leaf Mission 
 over Continental Europe, followed by several other 
 enterprises designed to promote universal peace and 
 brotherhood among men. The fresh memory of these 
 things gave this second visit to Pershore a special 
 interest to me, which some of my readers, who are 
 familiar with these circumstances, will easily under- 
 stand. 
 
 The intervening country being rather monotonous, 
 I hastened on from Pershore to Oxford, without 
 diverging to see or seek any special objects of interest. 
 
 Oxford is the right lobe of the great heart of 
 Educational and Ecclesiastical England. Cambridge 
 is the other, and both have beaten with a common 
 and even pulse for many centuries. A New Englander 
 will visit both with equal interest, and thread back 
 their long-reaching histories, and the influences they 
 have brought to bear upon the intellectual shaping 
 of the Anglo-Saxon race without instituting any 
 comparison between them favoring one above the 
 other. They have both had their work and performed 
 it, separately in process but one in result. If Cam- 
 bridge took hold of the young heart of New England
 
 to Land's End and Back. 449 
 
 with the force and fervor of stronger associations than 
 did Oxford, it was not so much from the different 
 character of the two seats of learning, as from the 
 fact, that the Puritan and Pilgrim Fathers were mostly 
 from the Eastern Counties of England, and their 
 Cottons, Hookers and Wilsons and Stones were Cam- 
 bridge scholars ; and it was natural that they should 
 call the seat of the first college they erected in the 
 New World, Cambridge. Still, I will not attempt to 
 account for the fact that no Oxford university has ever 
 been established in America. Reasons for this which 
 we have forgotten may have operated upon the first 
 generations of our ancestors. The history of this famous 
 city of colleges had not been softened to them as it is 
 now to us. The purifying dews of heaven had not 
 fallen long enough to blanch the blackened and blistered 
 earth on which Cranmer, Ridley and Latimer were 
 burnt at the stake. The memory of Wolsey, Laud, 
 Pole, and their like in Church and State, was fresher 
 in the minds of our forefathers and foremothers than 
 it is in ours. But, whatever were the reasons why we 
 have no seat of learning called after this venerable and 
 stately mother of high English education, no well-read 
 American can visit it without feeling his mind taken 
 hold of by the fascination of a peculiar interest. Here 
 he will see where the intellectual life and stature of a
 
 45O ^ Walk from London 
 
 mother of nations were cradled. Here, when our great 
 English tongue was lisping for a place among living 
 speeches, schools of thatched roof and wattled walls 
 were planted by monkish missionaries of popular 
 education. Here the classics and higher branches of 
 learning passed through their log-cabin era. Here 
 the more polished Norman built his Latin structures 
 upon the homely Saxon strata. Here their different 
 orders of intellectual and scholastic architecture may 
 be seen intermixed but not interfused. Here you 
 may read in the frontlets of a score of colleges the 
 records of an enthusiasm as fervid in its way as that 
 which produced the Crusades. To build a temple of 
 learning, which should bear the donor's name down 
 through all generations, was equal to the capture of 
 Graza, Acre or Jerusalem itself to many a wealthy 
 aspirant to a lasting memory. So, as the walls of 
 Jerusalem were rebuilt piece by piece by the princes 
 of the Hebrew tribes under Nehemiah, Oxford has 
 been filled with these grand collegiate structures by 
 munificent individuals, who coveted a good remem- 
 brance in the heart of a remote posterity. 
 
 The University embraces nineteen colleges, consti- 
 tuting a federal republic of letters outnumbering the 
 old thirteen United States under Washington, in 
 individual members of the commonwealth. It has its
 
 to Land's End and Back. 45 i 
 
 own federal parliament and president, cabinet, council 
 and senators, and exists and acts with much of the 
 organism of a little compact nation by itself. It is 
 not only to this extent imperium in imperio, but it is 
 empowered with a political influence upon the outside 
 world which probably few Americans are aware of. 
 Now all the faculty and fellows of the University 
 resident in Oxford, and all the graduates who have 
 attained to the degree of M.A., form a great, powerful 
 and unique political constituency. They elect a 
 member to represent them in Parliament. This almost 
 invisible, intangible and inapproachable constituency is 
 diffused over the length and breadth of the United 
 Kingdom. It is mostly made up of clergymen in 
 country towns, villages and parishes, who have lately 
 been allowed to vote at Oxford by proxy, or by 
 sending in their certified ballots by post. It was this 
 constituency of Oxford scholars, of the first grade, 
 numbering over five thousand, that the brilliant Glad- 
 stone had represented for many years, until, at the 
 last election, they threw him out under the suspicion 
 that he was wavering in his fidelity to the National 
 Church. It is a significant fact that the majority of 
 those who voted against him were the M.A.'s resident 
 in rural districts. 
 
 The very Capitol of this Republic of Colleges, to 
 
 2a 2
 
 452 A Walk from London 
 
 my mind, is the Bodleian Library. This was founded 
 by the munificent Sir Thomas Bodley, and opened with 
 great eclat in 1602, when it numbered more than two 
 thousand volumes, says the historian with a sentiment 
 of pride and admiration. It was doubtless on that 
 day the largest collection of books in England; and 
 the art of printing had been in operation for more 
 than a hundred and fifty years. It is interesting to 
 an American to strike into the pathway of England's 
 literary history at this point. It brings our New 
 England experience almost parallel with hers just at 
 this stage. Not a great many years after the Bodleian 
 Library, with its two thousand volumes, was opened 
 with great circumstance and ceremonial, a number of 
 Connecticut ministers met, and brought each a few 
 books as a contribution to the founding of Yale 
 College and Library at New Haven. I believe their 
 united donations produced two hundred volumes. But 
 the Bodleian Library has had 'a more productive source 
 of augmentation than the incidental accession of private 
 libraries and smaller voluntary contributions. When 
 it had reached a certain growth from these sources, an 
 act of Parliament came in to give it a constant and 
 grand expansion. It was the levying of a simple 
 tax in its behalf upon every publisher in the kingdom. 
 A copy of every book, great or small, entered at
 
 to Land's End and Back. 453 
 
 Stationers' Hall, London, for copyright, was to be 
 deposited there for this great Oxford library, and 
 another for the British Museum. These two institu- 
 tutions, therefore, preserve the minutest lives and 
 records of English books, pamphlets, &c. The most 
 insignificant and weak-minded of them all has its 
 place and number here. So nothing put in type and 
 cover can drop from the press into oblivion without 
 its record. .What a pity our young nation did not 
 found a similar institution a great central Record 
 Office that should preserve the title-pages of all our 
 literary productions with as much care as we treasure 
 up the title-deeds of our landed estates ! Notwith- 
 standing our national and natural self-complacency 
 over our doings past, present and prospective, in 
 different departments of activity, we have no one 
 library which preserves a copy of every book and 
 pamphlet published in America, nor could we show 
 the world how many we have produced from the 
 Pilgrim Fathers' day to our own. Many American 
 writers have been received into the goodly fellowship of 
 the Bodleian Library, which has accepted their contri- 
 butions to its great treasury of the literature of the 
 English language. While walking up and down the 
 aisles of this dim wood of letters, I plead guilty to a 
 thought of pride myself at the fact that I had four
 
 454 -A Walk from London 
 
 books somewhere or other in the forest; and conse- 
 quently had contributed the one-hundred-thousandth 
 part of the whole collection numerically. If the 
 English press continues to produce books at the present 
 ratio, the Bodleian Library must number a million of 
 volumes in the course of a century. 
 
 The city of Oxford presents a good setting for this 
 magnificent University. Its site, like that of Cam- 
 bridge, is very unfavorable for showing, a town to 
 advantage. Both are almost on a dead level. If 
 Oxford had been built on Richmond Hill, or on the 
 site of Windsor, it would have stood almost unequalled 
 in the world for a splendid appearance. Still it shows 
 itself impressively. If the ground it stands upon is low 
 and level, the upper surface of the town is so varie- 
 gated and picturesque, that you hardly notice that 
 it is not built upon a hill. Grand and lofty domes, 
 church and college towers, turrets and spires, towering 
 roofs and imposing structures of every stature, so range 
 themselves in the view as to cancel the worst dis- 
 advantage of the natural position, and to give to 
 the city a little of that " ridgy back, piled thick and 
 high" of which Edinburgh boasts. 
 
 From Oxford I faced once more directly southward. 
 Passed through Abingdon, a small town brim full of 
 variegated history a thousand years old by written
 
 to Latid's End and Back. 455 
 
 chronicle. Here was founded one of the earliest and 
 richest of English abbeys. Here Saxon palaces and 
 parliaments, kings, bishops, abbots centuries before the 
 Norman Conquest, figured and filled the annals of 
 Church and State in those days. The records of later 
 centuries are replete with interest. One wonders, on 
 walking up and down the still town, that it can 
 sleep so peacefully over such a brood of stirring 
 histories. 
 
 A little beyond Abingdon I came out upon the 
 line of my walk /row London ; thus virtually completing 
 the tour. I therefore proceeded directly to Windsor to 
 visit the Queen's Dairy, the only remaining object of 
 interest that I was desirous of referring to in my 
 notes. I had obtained a ticket of admission through 
 the good offices of our minister at St. James's, and 
 was highly gratified at being thus enabled to see an 
 establishment of which I had often heard. 
 
 "The Queen's Dairy"! How saxon and homelike 
 sounds that term ! The Queen's cows " with crumpled 
 horns;" brindled cows, spotted, red-faced, white-faced, 
 mottled, brown and dun, coming in from pasture at eve 
 with whisking tails, and eyes soft, gentle, round and 
 honest. The Queen's milk-maids, with rosy cheeks, pat- 
 ting the meditating mullies with white, soft hands and 
 voices of kindly accent. The Queen's milk-pails, with
 
 456 A Walk from London 
 
 her crown mark upon them all, so pure and sweet in 
 their polished hoops. The Queen's milk-pans, shelved 
 in long rows, with the cream-lily's golden leaf, like 
 another Victoria Regina, overlaying the luscious deep 
 an inch or two below the brim. The Queen's churns, 
 so surpassing all that Dutch housewifery ever dreamed 
 of in purification and polish of wood and brass. The 
 Queen herself, in straw bonnet and thick-soled shoes, 
 walking up and down the dairy-room, dropping happy 
 and smiling looks into pails and pans of milk and 
 cream ; perhaps anon stamping a roll of- new-made 
 butter with her wife's seal manual for the royal table; 
 thinking the while of dairies and pastures far and near, 
 of Alderneys, Devonshires, Herefords and Shorthorns, 
 and of their comparative graces and merits. The 
 Queen's Dairy! The very name seems to link her 
 queenhood to the happiest and homeliest experiences 
 of rural life ; to attach her, by a sensible lien of 
 industrial sympathy, to all the farmers' wives in the 
 British Empire ; to introduce her into the daily 
 fellowship of their feelings and interests ; to morning 
 and evening walks on their rustic levels of care, learn- 
 ing what milk, butter and cheese mean, and all the 
 minute details of their production. 
 
 The milk-room of the Dairy is represented, in the 
 accompanying sketch, in the one-story wing of the
 
 to Land's End and Back. 457 
 
 main building. For its uses, and for the associations 
 attaching to them, it is perfection itself. Its internal 
 structure and arrangements are exquisite in every 
 feature and fitting. To say that it is a little marble 
 temple polished after the similitude of a palace, would 
 convey a sense of its cool whiteness and purity, but 
 not its aspect of softness. The walls, the long marble 
 tables, the fountains, the statuary of rustic life, and 
 all the finely-sculptured allegories look as if wrought 
 from new milk petrified just as the cream began to 
 rise to the surface. Or as if, looking into the 
 basined pools of the soft white fluid circling around the 
 interior, like great fluent pearls strung for a bracelet, 
 they had gradually assimilated themselves to the 
 medium that reflected their faces, and had taken up 
 'both its softness of look and sweetness of savor. 
 It was truly a beautiful sight, that would dazzle and 
 delight the eyes of our Orange County dairy-women. 
 The pans or dishes are of oblong shape, with a lip 
 to them, which saves many an unlucky splash in 
 pouring their contents into other vessels. Then they 
 are all made of the finest stone china, with gilt 
 edges, each holding two gallons and costing a guinea 
 or five dollars. There were ninety-two of them, placed 
 in double rows on the long marble tables, which run 
 around the room over a flowing sheet of clear spring
 
 458 A Walk from London 
 
 water rippling in its wide marble channel. Thus the 
 milk-pans alone cost full 2,500 dollars. 
 
 No description I could give would convey any 
 adequate idea of the refined taste, fertile genius and 
 exquisite art brought to bear upon this little palace. 
 In no other structure he left behind him can you see 
 so much of Prince Albert's entire as in this. It is 
 his last and best. And for this reason Americans will 
 regard it with peculiar interest. It is a pleasant 
 impression current with us, that his last work with 
 the pen was to soften some rather severe and energetic 
 expression in a diplomatic communication addressed to 
 our Government by his own. Whether that be true 
 or not, a great portion of our people believe it to ba 
 so, and treasure his memory in that belief. This 
 beautiful dairy was a fitting work to end the active 
 and wide-reaching utilities of his useful life. He 
 gave to it the full swing and sway of his taste and 
 genius; and the best conceptions of both are blended 
 here in the happiest harmonies. I was told that in 
 the minutest detail of the structure and its adornments, 
 the design was his own. The seasons of the year 
 and their occupations are put in sculptured pictures, 
 chaste, delicate, simple and natural as life. The 
 family record is mounted in the porcelain walls in 
 medallion faces by twos and by ones ; first, the happy
 
 to Land 's End and Back, 459 
 
 couplets of the royal circle, beginning with the Queen 
 and Prince, followed by those of their two eldest 
 daughters with their husbands, succeeded by the 
 younger and unmarried children. It seemed to me 
 a happy thought and full of pleasant illustration of 
 his character, thus to link their lives to the beautiful 
 economies of nature and to the every-day industries of 
 a toiling world, typified in the pictures of these 
 interests so delicately graven in the same walls. 
 
 It is no wonder that this is a favorite resort to the 
 Queen, not only because it was the last work of her 
 husband, but also because it best reflects the most 
 cherished features of his character. She visits it very 
 frequently with her children, who look with lively 
 wonderment at all the processes that produce butter. 
 I was told by the head dairy- woman that the youngest 
 were delighted at the permission to turn the crank of 
 the barrel-churn, and would tug at it for full fifteen 
 minutes at a time, till their faces were hot and flushed 
 with the exercise and their hair flashed over their eyes 
 at every round. I was rather surprised to find the 
 pails, tubs, &c., so common and simple. They were 
 very solid and heavy, and thoroughly English in their 
 shape and weight. The milk-pails especially were of 
 this character; being about as heavy when empty as 
 ours when full. They seemed to be made of solid
 
 460 A Walk from London 
 
 English oak, nearly half an inch thick, with iron bails, 
 apparently wrought on the anvil, like the old-fashioned 
 bails of our brass-kettles. But, with all this solidity of 
 wood and iron, they were pearly pure and neat. Still, 
 a New-Englander would naturally wish that some of 
 our mountain-town factories would send Her Majesty a 
 set of their beautiful, seamless, white-cedar pails, so 
 light and pretty in face and form. I am sure she 
 would appreciate and approve the difference in their 
 favor. 
 
 Of the cows there were ten Alderneys in milk ; the 
 rest were pure or graded Shorthorns. The difference 
 in the richness of their milk may be seen in the fact, 
 that two gallons of the former produce one quart of 
 cream, while the same quantity of the latter yields 
 only one pint. The whole dairy produces twenty-seven 
 pounds of butter daily. I was a little surprised to 
 learn, on questioning the mistress of the establishment, 
 that they always mixed the milk of the cows, and that 
 she had never sent to the Queen's table a single roll 
 of pure Alderney butter. Thus, with ten cows of that 
 lineage milked daily, it is doubtful if they have ever 
 been allowed to present her a luxury which thousands 
 of her liege subjects enjoy. 
 
 The Aviary is as perfect in its way as the Dairy, 
 and is opposite to it on the other side of the roadway.
 
 to Land's End and Back. 461 
 
 It gives the most elegant and comfortable housing to 
 almost every kind of feathered biped known to ornitho- 
 logy. The pipers and paddlers of all countries are 
 represented by elite delegates in the flutter and splutter 
 of this happified convention. The provision for the 
 paddlers is delightful and delicious to them. The 
 large basin in front of the Aviary, with the fountain 
 playing in the centre, is the very elysium of spoon-bills 
 of every name, shape and size, ranging from the state- 
 liest swan to the little tufted duckling trailing its 
 shadow across the water, as if he had caught it at 
 a dive and was afraid he would lose it.. It is a 
 constitutional monarchy of birds, in happy, and perhaps 
 instinctive, harmony with the British Constitution. The 
 royal family, the different orders of the aristocracy, the 
 peers, commons and plebs all seem to have been 
 taught their places and prerogatives, and to move on 
 together pleasantly like a well-regulated human society, 
 of the European pattern. 
 
 Prince Albert did not play at farming, merely to 
 follow the fashion of agricultural amateurs, or to kill 
 time with an occupation for some of its tedious hours. 
 He put a downright earnest and honest heart into it, 
 as a business which gives full scope to science, art 
 and enthusiasm. He was a prince among farmers, 
 as well as among peers, in practical leadership, as his
 
 462 A Walk from London 
 
 many agricultural addresses and experiments clearly 
 show. The model farms he established at Windsor 
 are the result of the principles and improvements he 
 advocated carried out to their best working. Ordinary 
 farmers may not be able to erect such stabling and 
 housing for cattle as the Home Farm provides, in which 
 the cows of the Queen's Dairy are watched and tended 
 in winter. But no farmer can walk up and down the 
 pavement between the stalls, look at their construction, 
 and all the arrangements for feeding, bedding, watering 
 and ventilating, without carrying away ideas that may 
 be turned to good account, though on a smaller and 
 cheaper scale. For myself, I can hardly conceive of 
 anything more perfect than these arrangements. And 
 they are all practical, solid and utilitarian, with little 
 expended on mere show. The cows were nearly all 
 in the pasture when I visited their stabling ; but a 
 good number of calves were in the stalls or boxes, of 
 different breeds and ages, all looking as bright and 
 sleek as possible. I was struck with the eclectic 
 character of the names they bore. The floral and 
 fairy kingdoms of nature, heroes and heroines of ancient 
 mythology, history and poetry supplied most of this 
 interesting nomenclature ; and this made it all the 
 more interesting to me to see that Uncle Tom's Cabin 
 had furnished two or three names, and that "Eva"
 
 to Land's End and Back. 463 
 
 and " Topsy " had their place in the rank of chosen 
 celebrities. 
 
 After a few hours at Windsor, I reached London on 
 the 23rd of July, having accomplished my wait thence 
 to Land's End and back much sooner than I had 
 expected or even wished when I set "out on the journey 
 at the beginning of June. One reason for this was in the 
 fact, that I had not been delayed by rain six hours from 
 beginning to end. Then I had made on an average 
 over twenty miles a day, which was a much "befter 
 pace_than my last year's Walk to John O'Groat's. 
 And thus terminated a pedestrian tour in Great Britain 
 which had filled the dreams of my boyhood on the other 
 side of the Atlantic. I can say that I have realised 
 from it all that I anticipated, even in those days of 
 eager expectation. I do not know if any other 
 American has ever measured the length of the island 
 and doubled it half way back on foot. Should any 
 one ever attempt such a journey, perhaps the notes 
 I have made by the way will be of some interest to 
 him. I hope they may contribute to the entertain- 
 ment of that numerous class of readers who use the 
 feet and eyes of others in the travels they make in 
 their own and foreign lands while remaining at home. 
 
 I could not be willing to take leave of my English 
 readers without another reference to the great personal
 
 464 A Walk from Lonaon 
 
 comfort with which I have made these long journeys. 
 From Land's End to John O'Grroat's, though often 
 lodging at small wayside inns, I have never experienced 
 any disagreeable treatment, nor have been subjected to 
 any inconvenience worth mentioning. On the other hand, 
 I have found the commonest people with whom I have 
 tarried for the night attentive, obliging and even kind 
 in their disposition and deportment. What I have 
 seen and known of them will constitute one of the 
 pleasant memories of my Walks. 
 
 Robinson and Waitt, Printers, 6a, Dowgate Hi'l, London .
 
 DATE DUE 
 
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