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IMPRESSIONS OF ENGLAND;
Or,
Sketches of English Scenery and Society.
by
A. CLEVELAND COXE,
Rector of Grace Church, Baltimore.
When I travelled, I saw many things; and I understand more than I can
express.
Ecclus. xxxiv. 11.
Second Edition.
New York:
Dana and Company, 381 Broadway.
1856.
* * * * *
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1855,
By Dana & Company,
In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States for the
Southern District of New York.
R. C. Valentine,
Stereotyper and Electrotypist,
17 Dutch-st., cor. Fulton,
New York.
Geo. Russell & Co., Printers
61 Beekman-street, N. Y.
* * * * *
To
THE REV. JOSEPH OLDKNOW, M. A.,
OF CHRIST’S COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE,
PERPETUAL CURATE OF HOLY TRINITY CHAPEL,
BORDESLEY, BIRMINGHAM,
IN GRATITUDE FOR HIS FRIENDSHIP,
AND AS A MEMORIAL
OF HAPPY DAYS AND NIGHTS AT BORDESLEY
I DEDICATE THESE SKETCHES.
A. C. C.
_Baltimore_, 1855.
PREFACE.
The following sketches pre-suppose, on the part of the reader, a
familiarity with English subjects, and with the geography, history and
literature of England. The writer has endeavored to avoid the
common-places of travel, and has made no allusion to topics which are
generally understood, such as the petty annoyances one meets at hotels,
and the coldness and phlegm of fellow-travellers. He has also forborne
to dwell on the greater evils of English society, because these have
been thoroughly discussed and exposed, as well by Englishmen as by
foreigners. Besides, our countrymen are kept constantly in view of that
side of the matter, and there would be no relish of novelty to excuse
him for treating them afresh to whole pages made up of the untrustworthy
statistics of Dissenting Almanacs, and the rant of Irish members of
Parliament. Although English travellers have often dealt unfairly with
us, he prefers to show his dislike of such examples, by forbearing to
imitate them. Nor does he regard a different course as due to his love
of country. A clergyman who devotes his life to the holiest interests of
his native land, and who daily thinks, and prays, and toils, and exhorts
others, in behalf of her wants—alike those which are purely religious
and those which pertain to letters, to education and to society in
general—may surely excuse himself from vociferous professions of
patriotism. He freely avows his love of country to be consistent with a
perception of her faults and deficiencies, and mainly to consist in a
high appreciation of her many advantages; in a sense of responsibility
for the blessings of which she has made him partaker; and in a studious
desire always to remember what is due to her reputation, so far as his
humble share in it may be concerned. Whether at home or abroad, he would
endeavour so to act as never to disgrace her; but he cannot sympathize
with the sort of patriotism which rejoices in the faults of other
countries, or which travels mainly to gloat over them. Least of all, can
he share in any petty comparisons of ourselves with our mother country.
If there be Englishmen who take any pleasure in our defects, he is sorry
for their narrowness; if any American finds satisfaction in this or that
blemish of English society, he cannot comprehend it. He considers a
sacred alliance between the two countries eminently important to
mankind; and he who would peril such interests, for the sake of some
trivial matter of personal pride, must be one of the most pitiable
specimens of human nature, be he American or Briton.
He has aimed, therefore, to present his countrymen with a record of the
pleasures which travel in England may afford to any one pre-disposed to
enjoy himself, and able to appreciate what he sees. He confesses, also,
that he has though rather confined himself to an exhibition of the
bright side of the picture, because he fears that many of his countrymen
are sceptical as to its existence. He suspects that Americans too
commonly go to England prepared to dislike it, and soon cross the
channel determined to be happy in France.
As a great measure of his own enjoyment depended upon the fact, that he
mingled freely with English society, he thinks it proper to say that he
owed his introductions chiefly to a few English friends with whom he had
corresponded for years beforehand. He supplied himself with very few
introductions from his native land, and even of these he presented only
a part; and in accepting civilities he was careful to become indebted
for them, only when he had a prospect of being able, in some degree, to
return them. As the inter-communion of the Churches tends to make the
interchange of hospitalities more frequent, he was the rather desirous
in nothing to presume on the good-will at present existing; the abuse of
which will certainly defeat the ends for which it has been so generously
promoted.
Having given years to the study of the British Constitution, and to the
Literature and Religion of England, he has for a long time been
accustomed to watch its politics, and its public men. He has, therefore,
spoken of several public characters, both Whigs and Tories, in a manner
which their respective admirers will hardly approve, but, as he
believes, without prejudice, and as a foreigner may do, with more
freedom than a fellow-subject. In such expressions of personal opinion
he has given an independent judgment, and he is very sure that many of
his English friends will be sorry to see some of his criticisms on their
leading statesmen. It is but just to them to say, that in remarks on the
Sovereign, and her amiable Consort, the writer has spoken entirely for
himself, and with a freedom, in which their loyalty and affection never
allow them to indulge. He believes that an impartial posterity will,
nevertheless, sustain the views with respect to political matters which
he has expressed, and he considers it part of the duty of a traveller,
in detailing his impressions, to be frank on such subjects, in avowing
“how it strikes a stranger.”
He desires also to confess another purpose, in preparing and publishing
this little work. He has aimed to present, prominently, to his readers,
the distinguishing and characteristic merits of English civilization.
Innumerable causes are now at work to debase the morals of our own
countrymen. With the contemporaries of Washington, that high social
refinement which was kept up amid all the evils of our colonial
position, has well-nigh passed away. The dignity of personal bearing,
the careful civility of intercourse, and the delicate sense of propriety
which characterized the times of our grandfathers, have disappeared. The
vulgarizing influences of a dissocial sectarianism are beginning to be
perceived. The degrading effects of sudden wealth; the corruptions bred
of luxury; the evils of a vast and mongrel immigration; and not least,
the vices communicated to our youth, by contact with the Mexican and
half-Spanish populations contiguous to our southern frontier; all these
corrosive elements are operating among us with a frightful and rapid
result. The contrast with such tendencies, of the sober and
comparatively healthful progress of society in our ancestral land, the
writer supposes, cannot but be acceptable at least to those of his
countrymen who deprecate this deterioration, and who, for themselves and
their families, are anxious to cultivate an acquaintance with those
domestic, educational and religious institutions which have given to
England her moral power and dignity among the nations of the civilized
world.
These sketches were originally contributed to the New-York _Church
Journal_, but are here given in a revised and complete form. They are a
record of the memorable year 1851—a year to which English history will
look back as the last, and the full-blown flower of a long peace. The
revival of the imperial power in France, at the close of that year, has
opened a new era in Europe, the effects of which upon the British Empire
can hardly be foreseen.
A. C. C.
_Baltimore_, 1855.
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
Holyhead—Incidents of the Voyage—Oxford stage-coach and
Stratford guide-post—Easter-bells and Easter solemnities—An
Elizabethan Mansion—A Roger-de-Coverley picture in real life—A
Fancy Chapel—An old fashioned Vicarage.
CHAPTER II.
Aspect of a Cathedral-town—Lichfield Cathedral, its injuries
and restorations—St. Chad, and Stowe-Church—Lord Brooke, his
sacrilege and retribution—Dr. Johnson and his penance—The
Three-Crowns Inn—Evening Service at the Cathedral—A
Midland-county custom.
CHAPTER III.
Brummagem Bishops—American oak in King Edward’s
School—New-England in Deritend—Oscott—Italian
Catholicity—Pugin and the Papists—The Oratory and Mr.
Newman—An Oratorian Sermon—Romish Methodism.
CHAPTER IV.
Scene at a London Railway Station—A drive to
Pall-Mall—Whitehall and Hungerford Bridge—The new Bishop of
Lincoln—The S. P. G. House—Nell Gwynne—Westminster Abbey—The
Jerusalem Chamber—Lord John Thynne—The Coronation Vestments.
CHAPTER V.
Historic Scenes in Westminster Hall—The Scene it presents in
our days—The New Palace and Victoria Tower—The silent
Highway—Lambeth Palace—Chelsea, and Martin the
painter—Whitehall Palace and Garden—Oratorio at Chelsea—Sara
Coleridge and other members of the poet’s family.
CHAPTER VI.
Bury Street, St. James—The Lungs of London—Riding in
Rotten-Row—First view of the Crystal-palace—The venerable S.
P. G.—The Bishop of Oxford—First glimpse of Oxford—Cuddesdon
Palace—A Sermon at St. Ebbe’s—A country Church—Bishop Lowth’s
Epitaph on his daughter.
CHAPTER VII.
Forest-hill—A walk in the country—Miltonian scenery—Mary
Powell’s birth-place—A dame’s School—Milton’s Well—A
neat-handed Phillis—Elucidations on the spot—Sir William
Jones.
CHAPTER VIII.
Oxford—William of Wykeham—New College and its
Gardens—Magdalen—Addison’s Walk—Scene in the
Convocation-house—May-morning hymn on Magdalen Tower—Scenery
of the surrounding country—Morning-bells and a walk in the
College-grounds.
CHAPTER IX.
The Queen’s Progress to the Crystal-palace—The mob in the
Park—The Queen’s return—Her appearance at Buckingham
Palace—Americans at a discount—The interior view of the Great
Exhibition—A high-priced day and a low-priced day—The end of
the bubble—Jack in the Green.
CHAPTER X.
The Chapel Royal of St. James—The Duke of Wellington at his
prayers—The Sermon—The Duke at the Holy Communion—St. Paul’s
Cathedral—How it compares with St. Peter’s—Effect of the
Choral Service—Dean Milman—St. Barnabas’, Pimlico, and its
Mediævalisms—Fashion at St. George’s—The Bishop of
Nova-Scotia.
CHAPTER XI.
Ramblings in London—All-hallows, Barking—First view of the
Tower—The Sovereigns on horseback—Historical relics—The
Armada and its cargo—The block and the axe—The
jewel-room—Laud and Strafford—Prisoners’ inscriptions—The
graves in the Tower-Chapel—The Traitors’ gate.
CHAPTER XII.
House of Commons—Message from the Lords—D’Israeli—Lord
John—The Speaker—The Abbey and Whitehall at dead of night—The
Papal Aggression—The course of the Whigs with the Papists—The
Irish Brigade—Lord John and D’Israeli in a personal
debate—Feebleness of Ministerial measures.
CHAPTER XIII.
Decorations of the House of Lords—Their wholesome moral—The
future of the new Chamber—The Aristocracy—Manners in
Parliament—The Lord Chancellor Truro—The London Police—Their
impartiality.
CHAPTER XIV.
Exhibitions of Art—Westminster Bridge—Lambeth—A wherry on the
River—Temple Gardens and Church—Twelfth-Night—To the ball on
the dome of St. Paul’s—Descent to the Crypts—Nelson’s
Tomb—The Thames Tunnel—Shipping.
CHAPTER XV.
The Cries of London—Covent Garden Market—The Savoy—St.
Clement Danes and Dr. Johnson—Anecdote of Johnson at
Temple-bar—Lincoln’s Inn—Heralds’ College—The Times—The Old
Bailey—A Trial for Murder—A Visit to the Dead—Milton’s
Grave—Grub-street—Chaucer’s Tabard.
CHAPTER XVI.
Charms of Society in London—The London
Season—Breakfast-parties—Dining out—Children at the
Dessert—Evening-parties—Historical Costumes—A literary party
at Lady Talfourd’s—Influence of high refinement on individual
character—Pronunciation—A breakfast at Samuel Rogers’.
CHAPTER XVII.
Exeter College, Oxford—A Sunday at Oxford—Common-room of
Oriel—Visit to Nuneham Courtenay—Parish-school—Society in
Oxford—Life of an Oxonian Fellow—A visit to Dr. Routh—Relics
of Laud—Oxford Martyrs—Libraries and Museum—Chapel of
Merton—A boat-race.
CHAPTER XVIII.
Iffley Church—Radley, and a walk through Bagley Wood—Making a
Doctor of Divinity—A drive through the
country—Parish-stocks—Incidents of the journey—Old
villages—Descent into the Vale of Gloucester—A picture in real
scenery.
CHAPTER XIX.
Worcester Cathedral—Coaching to Malvern—Great and Little
Malvern—Tewksbury—Wars of the Roses—Bredon—Sunday at
Kemerton—May’s Hill—The Cuckoo—Gloucester—The Church at
Highnam—Architectural beauty of Gloucester Cathedral—Effect in
twilight.
CHAPTER XX.
The Old Palace of St. James—Preparations for going to
Court—The procession of carriages—The Presentation—The Queen
and Prince Albert—A drawing-room—The Ladies—Decorations of
the royal apartments—Portraits in the Corridor—Reflections.
CHAPTER XXI.
A visit to Harrow Weald—Ascension Day—Oak-leaves in honor of
the Restoration—Cricket—Evening Service, and a remarkable
Sermon—Coventry—Peeping Tom and Lady Godiva—Kenilworth—The
ruins—Guy’s Cliff—Piers Gaveson—Warwick Castle.
CHAPTER XXII.
Stratford-upon-Avon—The Red-Horse Inn—Geoffrey Crayon—The
Birth-place of Shakspeare—New-Place—Walk to Shottery—The
Churchyard—The Church and Tomb—The Epitaph of Shakspeare’s
daughter—Influence of the Church on the mind of Shakspeare.
CHAPTER XXIII.
Nottingham—Lord Byron’s reputation—The Castle—Derby—The
Wye—Haddon
Hall—Gallery—Chapel—Chatsworth—Matlock-Bath—Shrewsbury—A
Sedan-chair—Welsh Emigrants—Chester—Eaton-Hall.
CHAPTER XXIV.
St. Winifred’s Well—The Vale of Clwyd—Rhuddlan—St. Asaph—A
Welsh Inn—Welsh hospitality—The Welsh service in a rural
Church—The Holy Clerk of Llanerch—Mrs. Hemans—St. Mary’s
Well—Conway Castle.
CHAPTER XXV.
Bangor—Menai Straits, and a Trip to Caernarvon—Llanberis and
Dolbardan—Caernarvon Castle—The Eagle tower—Nant
Ffrancon—Capel Curig—Corwen—Valle Crucis—Llangollen—Miss
Ponsonby and Lady Eleanor Butler.
CHAPTER XXVI.
Gypsies—The Man of Ross—Market day—Monmouth—Tintern Abbey in
a storm—A Vicar’s children—The Wind-cliff—Tintern in
sunshine—The Severn—Clifton, Bristol and St. Mary
Redcliffe—Chatterton—Bristol Cathedral—Mrs. Mason’s tomb—A
dissenting minister—His charity.
CHAPTER XXVII.
Glastonbury—King Arthur’s coffin—Restorations at
Wells—Ordination at Bradfield—Solemnities of the
Jubilee—Willis’s Rooms—A Centenarian—Speeches at St. Martin’s
Hall—The Archbishop in his Study—The Jubilee Sermons—Samuel
Warren.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
Jubilee-service at the Cathedral—A Lord Mayor’s Feast—Lord
Glenelg—Eton College—St. George’s Chapel and Windsor Castle—A
Dame’s House—A swim in the Thames—Hampton Court—Pictures and
Cartoons—Hursley Church, and the Poet Keble—Winchester
School—St. Cross Hospital—Relics.
CHAPTER XXIX.
Winchester Cathedral—Wykeham and Wayneflete—Cardinal
Beaufort—Bishop Fox—Stephen Gardiner—The Altar—Reliquary
chests—Izaak Walton—An American Vicar—His
ingenuities—Salisbury Plain and Stonehenge—George
Herbert—Netley Abbey—The Isle of
Wight—Portsmouth—Chichester—Brighton.
CHAPTER XXX.
St. Augustine’s, Canterbury—Queen Bertha’s Church—The
Patriarchal Cathedral—Becket—The Black Prince—Archbishop
Howley—The Dane John—Drive to Borne—The Judicious Hooker—One
of the Squirearchy—Rochester—Westminster Archives—Chapel of
Henry VII.—Grave of Addison—British Museum—Richmond
Hill—Thomson’s grave—Pope’s skull.
CHAPTER XXXI.
The Encænia at Oxford—The uproar—Bedford and John
Bunyan—Fourth of July—The gates of Caius—Comparison of the
two Universities—Chancellor Albert—Old Hobson—The Isthmus of
Sues—Milton’s Mulberry—The small Colleges—The
Fitzwilliam—King’s College—Trinity.
CHAPTER XXXII.
Ely Cathedral—Its beautiful restorations—Peterborough—The
graves of two Queens—A King of Spades—Lincoln and Bishop
Grostete—The Cathedral—Jews’ House—The City of
Constantine—York Minster—Ripon—Fountains’ Abbey—Durham—The
Bishop of Exeter—The University—Newcastle—Amen Corner.
CHAPTER XXXIII.
Return from Scotland—Gretna Green—Carlisle—The
Lakes—Windermere—Dr. Arnold’s enthusiasm—An American Sunday
and an English one—Grassmere—A Poet’s Widow—A walk to
Keswick—Cockney rhetoric—Derwentwater—A Poet’s
Sepulchre—Penrith—The Countess’ Pillar—Dotheboys
Hall—Rokeby—Kirkstall Abbey.
CHAPTER XXXIV.
A pilgrimage to Olney—Cowper’s services to
Literature—Anti-Snobbery—Cowper’s pedigree—A
lace-maker—Olney bridge—The
Summer-house—Weston-Underwood—The Wilderness—Cowper’s
Autograph and Adieu—The Greek Slave—White-bait at
Greenwich—The Prime Meridian—The pensioners—Good-night.
CHAPTER XXXV.
Return from the Continent—Despatches—England and Southern
Europe—The Sepulchre of Andrewes—Westminster by
Candlelight—St. Bartholomew’s, Moor-lane—The Anglican
Reformers—Superficial views of travellers—Dissent in
England—Tithes—The late Recusancy—Newman and the Dublin
Review—The English Bible—Conclusion.
IMPRESSIONS OF ENGLAND.
CHAPTER I.
_First and Second Thoughts—A Warwickshire Welcome._
About noon, one hazy April day, I found myself approaching the British
coast, and was informed by the Captain of our gallant steamer, that in a
few minutes we should gain a glimpse of the mountains of Wales. Instead
of rushing to the upper-deck, I found myself forced by a strange impulse
to retire to my state-room. For nearly thirty years had my imagination
been fed with tales of the noble island over the sea; and for no small
portion of that period, its history and its institutions had been a
favorite subject of study. To exchange, forever, the England of my fancy
for the matter-of-fact England of the nineteenth century, was something
to which I was now almost afraid to consent. For a moment I gave way to
misgivings; collected and reviewed the conceptions of childhood; and
then betook myself, solemnly, to the reality of seeing, with my own
eyes, the land of my ancestors, in a spirit of thankfulness for so great
a privilege. I went on deck. There was a faint outline of Snowdon in the
misty distance; and before long, as the mist dispersed, there, just
before us, was the noble brow of Holyhead.
It reminded me of the massive promontory opposite Breakneck, as we
descend the Hudson, towards West Point: but the thought that it was
another land, and an old as well as an ancestral one, strangely mingled
with my comparative memories of home. There is something like dying and
waking to life again, in leaving one’s home, and committing one’s self
to such a symbol of Eternity as the Ocean, and then, after long days and
nights, beholding the reality of things unknown before, and entering
upon new scenes, with a sense of immense separation from one’s former
self. Oppressive thoughts of the final emigration from this world, and
descrying, at last, “the land that is very far off,” were forced upon
me. We doubled the dangerous rocks of Skerries, and began to coast along
the northern shore of Anglesea: and then, with my perspective-glass, I
amused myself contentedly, for hours, as I picked out the objects
presenting themselves on the land. Now a windmill, now a village, and
now—delightful sight—a Christian spire! It was night-fall when our
guns saluted the port of Liverpool, and our noble steamer came to anchor
in the Mersey.
Our voyage had been a very pleasant, and a highly interesting one.
Extraordinary icebergs had been visible for several successive days, and
had given us enough of excitement to relieve the tediousness of the
mid-passage. Our two Sundays had been sanctified by the solemnities of
worship; and the only mishap of our voyage had been such as to draw
forth much good feeling, and to leave a very deep impression. One of the
hands had been killed by accidental contact with the engine, and had
been committed to the deep with the Burial Service of the Church, in the
presence of all on board. A handsome purse was immediately made up for
the surviving mother of the deceased; and the painful event tended
greatly to the diffusion of a fraternal sympathy among the entire
company. We became as one family: and now, before retiring for the
night, I was requested, by those who remained on board, to offer a
solemn thanksgiving to Almighty God, for our safe deliverance from the
perils of the sea. This it gave me pleasure to do; and the words of the
Psalmist rose in our evening devotions, “Then are they glad because they
are at rest; and so he bringeth them unto the haven where they would
be.” The noble vessel in which we had accomplished our voyage now lies
many fathoms deep in the sea. It was the Arctic.
On landing, in the morning, I inwardly saluted the dear soil, on which I
was permitted at last to place my feet, and on which I could not feel,
altogether, a foreigner. I ran the gauntlet of tide-waiters, and the
like, without anything to complain of, and, after a bath at the Adelphi,
made my way to St. George’s Church. Here, for the first time, I joined
in the worship of our English Mother; though it was difficult to
conceive myself a stranger, until the expression—“Victoria, our Queen
and Governor”—recalled the fact that I was worshipping with the
subjects of an earthly Sovereign, as well as among my brethren of the
glorious City of God.
A letter awaited me at the Post Office, which invited me to spend my
rest-days with a dear friend. So, after a hasty survey of Liverpool,
which I did not care to inspect minutely, I took an early evening train
for Warwickshire, and was soon speeding athwart highways, and through
hedges, towards my friend’s abode. Even my glimpses of England, from the
flying carriage, were enough to occupy my mind delightfully: and often
did some scene upon the road-side, or in the sprouting fields, recall
incidents of history, or passages of poetic description, which filled me
with emotion, and greatly heightened my preconceptions of the pleasures
before me, in the tour which I thus began.
So it happened that my first night on shore was passed beneath the roof
of a pleasant English parsonage. My host had been, for years, my
correspondent, and though we had never met before, we counted ourselves
old friends. My bed-room had been prepared for me, and furnished with
such things, in the way of books and the like, as, it was fancied, would
suit my tastes. One window overlooked the Church; and another, over the
churchyard, and its green graves, commanded a pretty view of the fields.
It was the Holy Week. I was waked every morning by the bell for early
prayers. The Bishop of W—— had sent me his permission to officiate,
and when I went to Church, it was always as a priest of the One
Communion. I was at home: as much so as if I had lived, for years, in
the house where I was a guest. We kept the holy time together, and
limited our diversions to pleasant and somewhat professional walks. We
visited, for example, a parochial establishment, in which some twenty
widows were lodged, by the benevolent charity of an individual. Every
widow had her own little cottage, and the entire buildings enclosed a
square, in which was their common garden. There was also a small chapel;
and in each little home there was a text inscribed over the fire-place,
encouraging charity, forbearance, and love to God. Here was a quiet
Beguinage, built many years ago, and never heard of: but there are many
such, in England, dear to God, and the fruits of his Church. I visited
also a school founded by King Edward Sixth; and having, on my first
landing at Liverpool, paid a visit to its Blue Coat Hospital, founded by
a prosperous seaman of the port, and furnishing a noble example to all
sea-port cities, I had seen not a little to charm me with the religion
of England, before I had been a week on her shores. Our quiet walks
through lanes and by-paths, were not less gratifying in their way. The
hedges and the fields, gardens and residences, the farms and the very
highways, were full of attractions to my eye, and the more so, because
my companion seemed to think he could find nothing to show me! He knew
not the heart of an American, fond of his mother country, and for the
first time in his life coming into contact with old-fashioned things. A
heavy wagon, lumbering along the road to market, and inscribed, “John
Trott, Carrier, Ashby-de-la-Zouche”—was enough to set me thinking of
past and present, of the poetry of Ivanhoe, and the prose of a
market-wain; and when I saw a guide-post, which for years had directed
travellers “To Stratford,” only twenty miles off, I could almost have
bowed to it. A stage coach came along, bearing “Oxford” on its panels;
and the thought that it had started that very morning from the seat of
the University, and had raised the dust of Stratford-on-Avon, made its
wheels look dignified. To enjoy England one must be an American, and a
hearty and earnest member of the Anglican Church. Even the cry of “hot
cross buns,” which waked me on Good Friday morning, reviving the song of
the nursery, and many more sacred associations with the day, made me
thankful that I was no alien to the spirit of the solemnities, which
even a traditionary cry in the streets tends to fasten upon the heart
and conscience of a nation.
Easter morning came at last, and I was up with the sun, and out for a
walk. It came with a bright sunrise, and many cheerful notes from
morning birds. I was confident I heard a lark singing high up in the
air, for though I could not see the little fellow, I could not mistake
the aspiring voice. His Easter Carol was a joyous one, and I set it to
the familiar words—
Christ, our Lord, is risen to-day,
Sons of men and angels say!
The hedges were just in leaf: here and there the hawthorn had blossomed,
but the weather was too cold for its silvery beauty; and one almost
pitied the few adventurous flowers, that, like good Churchmen, seemed
only to have come out in conscientious regard to the day. I finished my
morning walk by a turn or two through the church-yard, every grave of
which was sparkling with dews, illuminated by the Easter sun. How
forcibly the scene represented the resurrection: “The dew of thy birth
is of the womb of the morning.”
As I entered the parsonage, I heard the bells chiming from a distant
parish church. My reverend friend met me with the salutation—“the Lord
is risen;” to which I could not but fervently respond in the same
primitive spirit. We had a festal breakfast, after family prayers, and
soon it was time for service. I could willingly have been a worshipper
in private, but submitted to the authority of the parson, and became one
of his curates for the day. We emerged from the Vestry in due order of
the Psalmist—“the singers going before,” men and boys alike in
surplices; the latter with red cheeks, and white ribbons to tie their
collars, looking like little chubby cherubs, and when they lifted their
voices, sounding still more like them. The chancel was neatly decorated;
a few flowers placed over the altar, and an inscription on its cloth, “I
am the Bread of Life.” With the choral parts of the service I was
surprised, as well as delighted. Boys and men all did their parts, in a
manner which would have done honor to the authorities of a Cathedral,
and I observed that the congregation generally accompanied the choir,
especially the children in the galleries. I had never before heard the
Athanasian Hymn as part of the regular Service, and I was greatly
impressed by its majestic effect. After the Nicene Creed, I ascended the
pulpit, and preached “Jesus and the Resurrection,” and then, returning
to the Altar, celebrated the Holy Eucharist, according to the English
rite, administering to my reverend brethren and the lay-communicants. To
this high privilege I was pressingly invited by the pastor himself, in
token of entire communion with the Church in America; and thus I was
able to join my personal thanksgivings for the mercies of a voyage, and
my prayers for my absent flock and family, to a public exercise of the
highest functions of my priesthood, at the altar of an English Church.
The many incidents of the day, which afforded me ever fresh delight,
might lose their charm, if reduced to narration, or might strike the
reader as proofs of my facility to be gratified. But I cannot but
mention that, strolling away, in the afternoon, to see how service was
performed at another Church, I was gratified to find it filled with
devout worshippers of the plainer sort, attentively listening to a very
excellent sermon, appropriate to the day. While the preacher was warmly
enlarging upon the promise of a glorious resurrection, and I was quite
absorbed in his suggestions, I suddenly caught a glimpse, among the
crowd of worshippers, of a figure which startled me, as forcibly
illustrative of the words of the preacher, “thy dead men shall live.” It
was the recumbent effigy of an old ecclesiastic of the fifteenth
century, which I had not observed before. As if listening to the
preacher, in joyful hope, there it lay upon the tomb, hands clasped
placidly together, and looking steadfastly towards heaven! How it seemed
to join the hopes of the dead with those of the living, and to give
force to every word which fell from the pulpit concerning the glory
which shall be revealed in all those who sleep in Jesus!
With Easter-Monday our holidays, in the school-boy sense, began. My
reverend friend proposed a visit to the Vicar, to whose patronage he
owed his own incumbency of the Chapel of the Holy Trinity, in B——. Off
we started on foot, passing through the suburbs of a populous town, and
finally emerging into the open country. We came suddenly in sight of the
old Church of A——; its beautiful spire and gables admirably
harmonizing with the surrounding view, and telling a silent story of
long past years. Beyond it, a majestic avenue of elms disclosed at its
extremity a mansion of Elizabethan architecture and date; not the less
reverend in my associations for the fact that Charles the First slept in
it just before Edgehill fight, and that a cannon-ball, still lodged in
the stair-case, attests the perilous honor which his Sacred Majesty was
thus pleased to bestow on its occupant. The solemn dignity of an old
English residence of this kind, had heretofore been to me a thing of
imagination; now it was before my eye, not a whit less pleasing in its
reality. The rooks were chattering in its venerable trees, which seemed
to divide their predilections about equally with the steeple; and I am
told that they are such knowing birds, that whenever you see a rookery,
you may be sure that there is both orthodox faith, and at least one sort
of good-living in the neighborhood.
Had I challenged my friend to show me a genuine Roger-de-Coverley
picture in real life, as the entertainment of my holiday, I must have
admitted myself satisfied with this scene at A——. Not only did the old
hall, and the church, in all particulars, answer to such a demand; not
only did a river run by the church-yard; not only were fields beyond,
with cattle grazing, corn sprouting, and hedges looking freshly green;
but when I entered the church-yard gate, lo! a rustic party, in holiday
trim, were hanging about the old porch, awaiting the re-appearance of a
bridal train, which had just gone in. It wanted but the old Knight
himself and his friend the Spectator, to make the whole scene worthy of
the seventeenth century.
I entered the church, and found it in all respects just such an interior
as I had longed to see; apparently the original of many a pleasing
print, illustrating Irving’s “Sketch-Book” and similar works, the
delight of my childhood, and still affording pleasure in recollection.
Its ample nave, widened by rows of aisles, terminated in the arch of a
long chancel, at the altar of which stood not only one matrimonial
couple, but actually five or six, whom two curates were busily uniting
in the holy bonds of wedlock. When the procession returned from the
altar, they passed into the vestry to register their names, and one of
the curates coming to the door of the church, found another group of
villagers, at the font, presenting a child for baptism. Following my
friend into the vestry, I was presented to the Vicar himself, who seemed
the _genius loci_ in all respects; a venerable gray-haired old
gentleman, in his surplice, full six feet in stature, and worthy to sit
for a portrait of Dr. Rochecliffe, in Woodstock. It was now time for
service, and I was desired to robe myself, and accompany him into the
chancel, two curates, the clerk, and some singers leading the way. I was
put into a stall, marked with the name of some outlying chapelry of the
parish, and appropriate to its incumbent when present. The chancel was
filled with monuments, of divers ages and styles. At my left hand lay
the effigies of a knight and his good dame, in Elizabethan costume;
beyond were a pair of Edward III.’s time; opposite were figures of the
period of Henry VI. and much earlier; the knights all in armor, and some
with crossed legs, as a token that they had fought in Palestine. The
service was intoned by one of the curates, in a severe old tone,
authorized in Archbishop Cranmer’s time, which the Vicar afterwards
assured me was very ancient, and the only genuine music of the Church of
England. When the service was concluded, there was a churching to be
attended to, at the south porch of the church, and to this duty one of
the curates was deputed, while the Vicar himself detained us in the
chancel with an enthusiastic antiquarian illustration of the monuments,
to which I was a most willing listener. Here slept the _de Erdingtons_,
and there the _Ardens_: such and such was their story; and such and such
were the merits of the sculpture. Chantrey had visited these figures,
and assured him that they were the finest in the kingdom; and if I
imagined, at the time, that such was merely Sir Francis’ courtesy to the
worthy Vicar, I hope I may be forgiven, for some subsequent acquaintance
with such things inclines me to believe the sculptor was sincere. On the
walls were the heavy tablets of the Hanoverian period, and our attention
was directed to the marked decline of art, from the period of the
Crusades down to the Georges, growing worse and worse till George
Fourth’s time, which improved the existing style, and was succeeded by a
period of rapid return to correct taste and principle. Of all this the
Church itself bore witness. Here the worthy man pointed out marks of its
various stages of decline: here were barbarous repairs; there a sad
blunder of old Church-wardens; here a wanton mutilation of Hanoverianism
in 1790, when the very worst things happened to the holy and beautiful
house; and there, at last, was a fine restoration of our own times.
We were next conducted to the church-yard, the Vicar having doffed his
surplice, and assumed his usual habit, which partook of the dignity and
taste of its wearer in a pleasing degree. His hat was specially
ecclesiastical, and turned up at the sides, and over his cassock and
bands he wore a clerical surtout, so that as he strode over the graves,
in his small-clothes, displaying a finely proportioned leg, his entire
figure might have been thought contemporary with that of his brother of
Wakefield. We now learned the history of the Church, its great tithe,
and its various plunderings under successive bad kings. We viewed the
tower and spire from every possible point of vantage, and then went
round the walls to see where a window had been blocked up, or a doorway
broken through, or a pointed arch displaced for a square-headed
debasement of the Tudor period. I never found before so good a “sermon
in stones.” An ancient yew-tree was pointed out as having afforded
boughs, before the reformation, for the celebration of Palm-Sunday. We
adjourned to the Vicarage, where luncheon was served in the Library, a
room filled with the choicest volumes; and then we were dismissed for a
walk, promising to return, for our dinner, at five o’clock.
Our road soon brought us to E ——, where a Romish Chapel had been
lately erected, by a man of fortune, in minute and extravagant
reproduction of Mediævalism. It was a thing for a glass case; a piece of
admirable art; a complete Pugin; and no doubt in the middle ages would
have been a very suitable thing for its purposes; but, in our day, it
seemed as little suited to Rome as to Canterbury. The Pope himself never
saw such a place of worship, and would scarcely know how to use it; and
it was chiefly interesting to me as enabling me to see, at a glance,
what the finest old Parish Churches of England had been in the days of
the Plantagenets. At any rate, they were never Tridentine, and they were
always Anglican. This beautiful toy had a frightful Calvary in the
church-yard; but the interior was adorned with the finest carvings in
Caen stone, and brilliant colorings and gildings _à la Froissart_. The
pulpit was adorned with the story of Becket, in very delicate sculpture,
and around the Church were stations, or representations of the different
stages of the Passion, carved elaborately in wood, and beautifully
colored. The Virgin’s Altar and Chapel were gems of art; and, of course,
replenished with striking proofs that they “worship and serve the
creature more than the Creator.” I turned away heart-sick, that such
unrealities of a dead antiquity could be employing the whole soul of any
Englishman, and even tempting some into apostacy from the simple but
always dignified Church of their ancestors. Let taste be the handmaid of
religion, and all is well: but here was religion led captive by
antiquarian fancy.
Many other objects of interest filled up our day. We made a complete
circuit, crossing green fields, leaping ditches, and breaking through
hedges. Up hill and down dell, and through fragrant country lanes; here
a river, and there a pool; now a farm, and then a mill. Yellow gorse was
in flower by the road-sides. We met many parties of village people
enjoying their Easter sports, and dressed in holiday attire. This day,
at least, it seemed merry England still. We came to Witton Manor-house,
and thence caught a distant view of the spire, towards which it grew
time to return. Immense elms, of darker look than those of New-England,
beautified the view in every direction; and the landscape was
diversified by many smaller trees, marking the water-courses. We came
out, at last, by the old Hall, the exterior of which we closely
examined, imagining the scene around its gates when the royal Stuart
came to be its guest. Like many other mansions of the olden time, it is
deserted now; and the deepening twilight in which we viewed it,
harmonized entirely with the thoughts which it inspired. So we returned
to the Vicarage, and again were warmly welcomed. At dinner we were
presented to Mrs. ——, the Vicar’s wife, who seemed to take the
liveliest interest in my country and its Church, and kindly to
appreciate my own enjoyment of the events of the day. After dinner the
Vicar lighted his long pipe, and continued his exceedingly interesting
discourse about the olden time. I could see that he was no admirer of
the Crystal Palace, and all that sort of thing. I had met a _laudator
temporis acti_, whose character and venerable appearance gave him a
right to lament the follies of our own age; and seldom have I enjoyed
more keenly any intellectual treat than I did his arm-chair
illustrations of past and present, as compared together. On his favorite
topics of Church-music and Architecture he was very earnest and
intelligent. The Northamptonshire Churches, he assured me, were the
finest in England; and kindly introducing me to the _summa fastigia
rerum_, he took me to the very garret, to hunt up some superb plates of
his favorite localities. When I bade adieu to this Vicarage, it was as
one leaves an old friend. Such hospitality, and such heart afforded to a
stranger! Thus early had I found that old English manners are not yet
extinct, and that the fellowship of the Church admits even a foreigner
to their fullest enjoyment. It was eleven o’clock when we reached the no
less hospitable home from which I started in the morning.