BREAKFAST AT THE INN.—A TALE OF HIGH LIFE.—THE GARDEN OF THE
INN.—AN OLD FARM-HOUSE.—TIMBER HOUSES.—LABOURERS’ COTTAGES.—WATTLES
AND NOGGIN WALLS.—A “FERME ORNEE.”—A LAWN PASTURE.—COPPER-LEAVED
BEECHES.—TAME BLACK CATTLE.—APPROACH TO CHESTER.
I returned to my room in the inn, and had written a page or two of
this before any one was stirring. Then I heard the mistress waking the
servants, and soon after “John the boots” came to my door to call me,
as I had requested him to.
After with difficulty prevailing upon the landlady and her daughter
to breakfast with us, we had a very sociable time with them over the
tea and eggs which they had prepared for us. They were interested to
hear of the _hard_ coal we burned (anthracite) that made no smoke, and
of _wood_ fires, and of our peculiar breakfast dishes, griddle-cakes,
and Indian bread. They told us of other members of their family—two or
three in Australia—and of the clergy and gentry of the neighbourhood.
They spoke kindly and respectfully of the vicar—“a sporting man, sir,
and fond of good living,” the old lady added, after mentioning his
charity and benevolence. In speaking of the gentry, it was difficult
for her to believe that we did not know the general history of all the
families. We asked about a park we had passed. It was —— Park, and
had a remarkable story to be told of it; but so constantly did she
anticipate our knowledge, taking for granted that we knew all that had
occurred until within a short time, that it was long before we could
at all understand the _news_ about it. As you are probably equally
ignorant, I will tell you the tale connectedly, as we finally got it.
[Sidenote: _A TALE OF HIGH LIFE._]
It had been the property of Sir T——, who occupied the hall in it
until his death, a year or two ago, and had been in his family many
hundred years. The estate included several villages—the whole of them,
every house and shop, even the churches—and was valued at £800,000
($4,000,000). On the death of Sir T., Sir W., his son, inherited his
title and estate. But Sir W. was a sporting man, and had previously
gambled himself in debt to Jews in London £600,000. He came to the
hall, however, and remained there some time, keeping two packs of
hounds. He was a good landlord, and the family were beloved. Lady M.
had established and maintained a national (church) school; and in the
winter was in the habit of serving out a large quantity of soup every
day to the poor of the estate. But at length the bailiffs came, and Sir
W. went to France, and his family dispersed among their relatives all
over the kingdom. Lady M. last winter had been very ill, and nothing
ailed her, the physicians said, but sorrow.
And now they were going to sell it—they did not know how they could—but
they showed us a considerable volume, illustrated with maps and
lithographs, of “plans and particulars” of the estate, on the first
page of which, “Messrs. —— had the honour to announce that they had
been instructed by the honourable proprietor, to sell at auction, on a
certain six days, upwards of fifteen hundred acres of very fine rich
land, let to an old and respectable tenantry, including the whole of
the town of ——, together with several manors and manorial rights,
which have been commuted at £500 _per annum_.” They showed us also
another volume, containing in one hundred and twelve quarto pages,
descriptions of the furniture, plate, library, paintings, wines, &c.,
with many engravings—a strange exposure of noble housekeeping to our
republican eyes. Seeing that we were much interested in this, the
landlady offered to give it to us; it was of no use to her, she said,
and we were quite welcome to it. It was really of some value in several
ways, and we offered to pay for it, but she would not sell it.
Before we left, they showed us through the little garden of the inn;
it was beautifully kept, and every thing growing strongly. Then,
after buckling on our knapsacks, and bringing us another mug of
_home-brewed_, our kind entertainers took leave of us with as much
good-feeling and cordiality as if we were old friends, who had been
making them a short visit, following us out into the street, with
parting advice about the roads and the inns, and at last a warm shaking
of hands.
The country we walked over for a few miles after leaving the village,
was similar to that we saw yesterday—flattish, with long, low
undulations—the greater part in pasture, and that which was not, less
highly cultivated than I had expected to find much land in England,
the stock upon it almost altogether cows, and these always looking
admirably well; the fields universally divided by hedges, which,
though they add much to the beauty of the landscape, when you are in a
position to look over it, greatly interrupt the view, and always are
ill-trimmed, irregular, and apparently insecure. We met no one on the
road, saw very few habitations, and only two men at work, ploughing,
for several miles; then a cluster of cottages, an inn, and a large
old _timber-house_. As I had been informed (very wrongly) that these
were getting rare in England, and it was very peculiar and striking, I
stopped to sketch it.
[Sidenote: _OLD TIMBER FARM-HOUSE._]
Imagine a very large, old-fashioned New England farm-house with the
weather-boarding stripped off and all the timber exposed. Fill up the
intervals with brick, and plaster them over even with the outer surface
of the beams; then whitewash this plastered surface and blacken the
timber, and you have the walls of the house. A New England house,
however, would have three times as many windows. The roof is mostly
of very small old slates, set with mortar, and capped (ridged) with
thick quarried stones. It is repaired with large new slates in several
places, and an addition that has been made since the main part was
erected, which is entirely of brick in the walls, with no timber, is
heavily thatched with straw, as are also all the out-buildings.
[Illustration: THE TIMBER HOUSE (_old farm-house_)]
The rear of the farm-house probably contains the dairy, and is covered
with thatch to secure a more equable temperature.
All the other buildings in the hamlet were similarly built—timber and
whitewashed walls, and thatch roofs. While I was sketching, the farmer,
a great stout old man, and the first we have seen in top-boots, came
out and entered into conversation with us. He was much amused that I
should think his house worth sketching, and told us it had been long
(rented) in his family. He had no idea how old it was. He described the
cottages, which were certainly very pretty to look at, as exceedingly
uncomfortable and unhealthy—the floors, which were of clay, being
generally lower than the road and the surrounding land, and often wet,
and always damp, while the roofs and walls were old and leaky, and full
of vermin. The walls of these cottages were all made by interlacing
twigs (called _wattles_) between the timbers, and then _plashing_ these
with mud (_noggin_), inside and out, one layer over another as they
dried, until it was as thick as was desired; then the surface was made
smooth with a trowel and whitewashed.
A few miles further on we came to a large, park-like pasture, bounded
by a neatly trimmed hedge, and entered by a simple gate, from which
a private road ran curving among a few clumps of trees to a mansion
about a furlong distant. We entered, and rested ourselves awhile at
the foot of some large oaks. The house was nearly hidden among trees,
and these, seen across the clear grass land, were the finest groups of
foliage we had ever seen. A peculiar character was given it by one or
two _copper-leaved_ beeches—large, tall trees, thickly branched from
the very surface of the ground. (These trees, which are frequently used
with great good effect in landscape gardening in England, are rare in
America, though they may be had at the nurseries. There are two sorts,
one much less red than the other.) The cattle in this _pasture-lawn_
were small and black, brisk and wild-looking, but so tame in reality,
that as we lay under the tree, they came up and licked our hands like
dogs. The whole picture completely realized Willis’s beautiful ideal,
“The Cottage _Insoucieuse_.”
[Sidenote: _APPROACH TO CHESTER._]
The country hence to Chester was more elevated and broken, and the walk
delightful. We saw many beautiful things, but have seen so many more
interesting ones since, that I can hardly remember them. The road, too,
was more travelled. We met a stage-coach, with no inside passengers,
and the top overloaded, and a handsome carriage and four, the near
wheeler and leader ridden by postilions in bright livery, and within,
an old gentleman under a velvet cap, and young lady under a blue silken
calash. The fields, too, were more tilled; and one of fifty acres,
which was ridged for some root crop, was the most thoroughly cultivated
piece of merely farming ground I ever saw. There were several women at
work in the back part of it. I could not make out what they were doing.
About the middle of the forenoon, we came to the top of a higher hill
than we had before crossed, from which we looked down upon a beautiful
rich valley, bounded on the side opposite us by blue billowy hills.
In the midst of it was the smoke and chimneys and steeples of a town.
One square, heavy brown tower was conspicuous over the rest, and we
recognised by it the first cathedral we had seen.
As we approached the town, the road became a crooked paved street,
lined with curious small antique houses, between which we passed,
stopping often to admire some singular gable, or porch, or grotesque
carving, until it was spanned by a handsome brown stone arch, not
the viaduct of a railroad, as at first seemed likely, nor an arch of
triumph, of the pictures of which it reminded us, but one of the four
gateways of the city. Passing under it, we found on the inner side a
flight of broad stone stairs leading on to the wall, which we ascended.
At the top, on the inside of the wall, was a printer’s shop, in which
guide-books were offered for sale. Entering this we were received by
an intelligent and obliging young man who left the press to give us
chairs, and with whom we had an interesting conversation about the town
and about his trade. Printers’ wages, if I recollect rightly, were
about one quarter more in New York than in Chester. After purchasing a
guide-book and a few prints of him, we accepted his invitation to leave
our knapsacks in his shop, and take a walk on the walls before entering
the town.