Produced by Petra A, Suzanne Shell and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
[Transcriber's Notes: All footnotes have been moved to the end of the
text. Italics in the original are represented by _underscores_. The
original is richly illustrated; the illustration captions have been
preserved in this text version. To view the full illustrations,
please see the HTML version.]
GRAY DAYS AND GOLD
[Illustration: The MM Co.]
[Illustration: YORK CATHEDRAL]
GRAY DAYS AND GOLD
_IN ENGLAND AND SCOTLAND_
BY
WILLIAM WINTER
[Illustration]
New Edition, Revised, with Illustrations
New York
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
LONDON: MACMILLAN & CO., LTD.
1896
_All rights reserved_
COPYRIGHT, 1892,
BY MACMILLAN AND CO.
_Illustrated Edition_,
COPYRIGHT, 1896,
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY.
Set up and electrotyped June, 1892. Reprinted November, 1892; January,
June, August, 1893; April, 1894.
Illustrated edition, revised throughout, in crown 8vo, set up and
electrotyped June, 1896.
Norwood Press
J. S. Cushing & Co.--Berwick & Smith
Norwood Mass. U.S.A.
TO
Augustin Daly
REMEMBERING A FRIENDSHIP
OF MANY YEARS
I DEDICATE THIS BOOK
"_Est animus tibi
Rerumque prudens, et secundis
Temporibus dubiisque rectus_"[1]
[Illustration]
PREFACE TO THE ILLUSTRATED EDITION OF GRAY DAYS AND GOLD
_This book, containing description of my Gray Days in England and
Scotland, has, in a miniature form, passed through several editions,
and it has been received by the public with exceptional sympathy and
abundant practical favour. Its publishers are, therefore, encouraged
to present it in a more opulent style, and with the embellishment of
pictorial illustrations. Its success,--and indeed the success which
has attended all my books,--is deeply gratifying to me, the more so
that I did not expect it. My sketches of travel were the unpremeditated
creations of genial impulse, and I did not suppose that they would
endure beyond the hour. If I had anticipated the remarkably cordial
approbation which has been accorded to my humble studies of British
scenery and life, I should have tried to make them better, and,
especially, I should have taken scrupulous care to verify every date
and every historic statement set forth in my text. That precaution,
at first, I did not invariably take, but as my mood was that of
contemplation and reverie, so my method was that of the dreamer, who
drifts carelessly from one beautiful thing to another, uttering
simply whatever comes into his thoughts. In preparing the text for
this edition of _Gray Days_, however, and also in preparing the text
of _Shakespeare's England_ for the pictorial edition, I have carefully
revised my sketches, and have made a studious and conscientious
endeavour to correct every mistake and to remove every defect. The
chapters on Clopton and Devizes have been considerably augmented,
and the record of Shakespearean affairs at Stratford-upon-Avon has
been continued to the present time. A heedless error in my chapter
on Worcester, respecting the Shakespeare marriage bond, has been
rectified, and in various ways the narrative has been made more
authentic, the historical embellishment more complete, and, perhaps,
the style more flexible and more concise._
_Eight of the papers in this volume relate to Scotland. My first
visit to that romantic country was made in 1888, and was limited to
the lowlands, but since that time I have had the privilege of making
several highland rambles, and, in particular, of passing thoughtful
days in the lovely island of Iona,--one of the most interesting places
in Europe,--and those readers who may care to keep me company beyond
the limits of this work will find memorials of those wanderings and
that experience in my later books, called _Old Shrines and Ivy_ and
_Brown Heath and Blue Bells_._
_W. W._
JULY 15, 1896.
PREFACE
_This book, a companion to _Shakespeare's England_, relates to the
gray days of an American wanderer in the British islands, and to the
gold of thought and fancy that can be found there. In _Shakespeare's
England_ an attempt was made to depict, in an unconventional manner,
those lovely scenes that are intertwined with the name and the memory
of Shakespeare, and also to reflect the spirit of that English scenery
in general which, to an imaginative mind, must always be venerable
with historic antiquity and tenderly hallowed with poetic and romantic
association. The present book continues the same treatment of kindred
themes, referring not only to the land of Shakespeare, but to the land
of Burns and Scott._
_After so much had been done, and superbly done, by Washington Irving
and by other authors, to celebrate the beauties of our ancestral
home, it was perhaps an act of presumption on the part of the present
writer to touch those subjects. He can only plead, in extenuation
of his boldness, an irresistible impulse of reverence and affection
for them. His presentment of them can give no offence, and perhaps it
may be found sufficiently sympathetic and diversified to awaken and
sustain at least a momentary interest in the minds of those readers who
love to muse and dream over the relics of a storied past. If by happy
fortune it should do more than that,--if it should help to impress his
countrymen, so many of whom annually travel in Great Britain, with the
superlative importance of adorning the physical aspect and of refining
the material civilisation of America by a reproduction within its
borders of whatever is valuable in the long experience and whatever is
noble and beautiful in the domestic and religious spirit of the British
islands,--his labour will not have been in vain. The supreme need of
this age in America is a practical conviction that progress does not
consist in material prosperity but in spiritual advancement. Utility
has long been exclusively worshipped. The welfare of the future lies in
the worship of beauty. To that worship these pages are devoted, with
all that it implies of sympathy with the higher instincts and faith in
the divine destiny of the human race._
_Many of the sketches here assembled were originally printed in the New
York Tribune, with which journal their author has been continuously
associated, as dramatic reviewer and as an editorial contributor,
since August, 1865. They have been revised for publication in this
form. Part of the paper on Sir Walter Scott first appeared in Harper's
Weekly, for which periodical the author has occasionally written.
The paper on the Wordsworth country was contributed to the New York
Mirror. The alluring field of Scottish antiquity and romance, which
the author has ventured but slightly to touch, may perhaps be explored
hereafter, for treasures of contemplation that earlier seekers have
left ungathered. [This implied promise has since been fulfilled, in
_Brown Heath and Blue Bells_, 1895.]_
_The fact is recorded that an important recent book, 1890, called
_Shakespeare's True Life_, written by James Walter, incorporates into
its text, without credit, several passages of original description and
reflection taken from the present writer's sketches of the Shakespeare
country, published in _Shakespeare's England_, and also quotes, as his
work, an elaborate narrative of a nocturnal visit to Anne Hathaway's
cottage, which he never wrote and never claimed to have written. This
statement is made as a safeguard against future injustice._
_W. W._
1892.
CONTENTS
PAGE
PREFACE TO ILLUSTRATED EDITION 9
PREFACE TO FIRST EDITION 11
CHAPTER I
CLASSIC SHRINES OF ENGLAND 25
CHAPTER II
HAUNTED GLENS AND HOUSES 36
CHAPTER III
OLD YORK 53
CHAPTER IV
THE HAUNTS OF MOORE 66
CHAPTER V
THE BEAUTIFUL CITY OF BATH 84
CHAPTER VI
THE LAND OF WORDSWORTH 94
CHAPTER VII
SHAKESPEARE RELICS AT WORCESTER 112
CHAPTER VIII
BYRON AND HUCKNALL-TORKARD CHURCH 122
CHAPTER IX
HISTORIC NOOKS OF WARWICKSHIRE 141
CHAPTER X
SHAKESPEARE'S TOWN 150
CHAPTER XI
UP AND DOWN THE AVON 172
CHAPTER XII
RAMBLES IN ARDEN 181
CHAPTER XIII
THE STRATFORD FOUNTAIN 188
CHAPTER XIV
BOSWORTH FIELD 198
CHAPTER XV
THE HOME OF DR. JOHNSON 209
CHAPTER XVI
FROM LONDON TO EDINBURGH 223
CHAPTER XVII
INTO THE HIGHLANDS 230
CHAPTER XVIII
HIGHLAND BEAUTIES 238
CHAPTER XIX
THE HEART OF SCOTLAND 248
CHAPTER XX
SIR WALTER SCOTT 265
CHAPTER XXI
ELEGIAC MEMORIALS IN EDINBURGH 287
CHAPTER XXII
SCOTTISH PICTURES 297
CHAPTER XXIII
IMPERIAL RUINS 305
CHAPTER XXIV
THE LAND OF MARMION 314
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
York Cathedral _Photogravure_ _Frontispiece_
Edinburgh Castle _Vignette_ _Title-page_
Stoke-Pogis Churchyard 26
Gray's Monument 28
Portrait of Thomas Gray 29
All Saints' Church, Laleham 31
Arnold's Grave _Photogravure_ face 33
Portrait of Matthew Arnold 34
Hampton Lucy 37
Old Porch of Clopton 39
Clopton House _Photogravure_ face 44
Warwick Castle, from the Mound 46
Warwick Castle, from the River 48
Leicester's Hospital 51
From the Warwick Shield _Tailpiece_ 52
Bootham Bar 54
York Cathedral--West Front 57
York Cathedral--South Side 60
York Cathedral--East Front 62
Portrait of Thomas Moore 67
The Bear--Devizes 70
St. John's Church--Devizes 73
Hungerford Chapel--Devizes 75
The Avon and Bridge--Bath 85
Portrait of Beau Nash 86
Bath Abbey 88
High Street--Bath 91
A Fragment from an Old Roman Bath 92
Remains of the Old Roman Bath _Tailpiece_ 93
Penrith Castle _Photogravure_ face 94
Ullswater 95
Lyulph's Tower--Ullswater 101
Portrait of William Wordsworth 103
Approach to Ambleside 104
Grasmere Church 106
Rydal Mount--Wordsworth's Seat 108
An Old Lich Gate _Tailpiece_ 111
Worcester Cathedral, from the Edgar Tower 113
The Edgar Tower 117
Portrait of Lord Byron 123
Hucknall-Torkard Church _Photogravure_ face 128
Hucknall-Torkard Church 131
Hucknall-Torkard Church--Interior 135
The Red Horse Hotel 142
The Grammar School, Stratford 146
Interior of the Grammar School 147
Trinity Church 152
The Shakespeare Memorial Theatre 154
An Old Stratford Character: George Robbins 158
Anne Hathaway's Cottage 165
The Gower Statue _Photogravure_ face 168
Tailpiece 171
Evesham 173
Clopton Bridge 174
Charlecote, from the Terrace 176
The Abbey Mills, Tewkesbury 179
Wootton-Wawen Church _Photogravure_ face 183
Beaudesert Cross 186
Tailpiece 187
Portrait of Henry Irving, 1888 191
The Stratford Fountain _Photogravure_ face 193
Mary Arden's Cottage 196
Tailpiece 197
Bosworth Field _Photogravure_ face 200
Higham-on-the-Hill 207
Tailpiece 208
Dr. Johnson 210
Lichfield Cathedral--West Front 211
Lichfield Cathedral--West Front, Central Doorway 213
House in which Johnson was born 217
The Spires of Lichfield 220
Peterborough Cathedral _Photogravure_ face 224
Berwick Castle 228
Stirling Castle 231
Loch Achray 234
Loch Katrine 235
Tailpiece 237
Oban 240
Loch Awe _Photogravure_ face 246
Corbel from St. Giles _Tailpiece_ 247
The Crown of St. Giles's 249
Scott's House in Edinburgh 252
The Maiden 255
Grayfriars Church 256
High Street--Allan Ramsay's Shop 257
The Canongate 260
Holyrood Castle, and Arthur's Seat _Photogravure_ face 262
St. Giles's, from the Lawn Market 263
Portrait of Sir Walter Scott 266
Edinburgh Castle 271
The Canongate Tolbooth 277
Grayfriars Churchyard 292
The Forth Bridge 298
Dunfermline Abbey 300
Northwest Corner of Dunfermline Abbey 303
The Nave--Looking West--Dunfermline Abbey 304
Loch Lomond 306
Loch Lomond 308
Dunstaffnage 312
Tantallon Castle 316
Norham Castle, in the Time of Marmion 321
"_Whatever withdraws us from the power of our senses, whatever makes
the past, the distant, or the future predominate over the present,
advances us in the dignity of thinking beings.... All travel has its
advantages. If the passenger visits better countries he may learn to
improve his own, and if fortune carries him to worse he may learn to
enjoy it._"
DR. JOHNSON.
"_There is given,
Unto the things of earth which time hath bent,
A spirit's feeling; and where he hath leant
His hand, but broke his scythe, there is a power
And magic in the ruined battlement,
For which the palace of the present hour
Must yield its pomp, and wait till ages are its dower._"
BYRON.
"_The charming, friendly English landscape! Is there any in the world
like it? To a traveller returning home it looks so kind,--it seems to
shake hands with you as you pass through it._"
THACKERAY.
GRAY DAYS AND GOLD
CHAPTER I
CLASSIC SHRINES OF ENGLAND
London, June 29, 1888.--The poet Emerson's injunction, "Set not thy
foot on graves," is wise and right; and being in merry England in the
month of June it certainly is your own fault if you do not fulfil the
rest of the philosophical commandment and "Hear what wine and roses
say." Yet the history of England is largely written in her ancient
churches and crumbling ruins, and the pilgrim to historic and literary
shrines in this country will find it difficult to avoid setting his
foot on graves. It is possible here, as elsewhere, to live entirely
in the present; but to certain temperaments and in certain moods the
temptation is irresistible to live mostly in the past. I write these
words in a house which, according to local tradition, was once occupied
by Nell Gwynn, and as I glance into the garden I see a venerable acacia
that was planted by her fair hands, in the far-off time of the Merry
Monarch. Within a few days I have stood in the dungeon of Guy Fawkes,
in the Tower, and sat at luncheon in a manor-house of Warwickshire
wherein were once convened the conspirators of the Gunpowder Plot. The
newspapers of this morning announce that a monument will be dedicated
on July 19 to commemorate the defeat of the Spanish Armada, three
hundred years ago. It is not unnatural that the wanderer should live in
the past, and often should find himself musing over its legacies.
[Illustration: _Stoke-Pogis Churchyard._]
One of the most sacred spots in England is the churchyard of
Stoke-Pogis. I revisited that place on June 13 and once again
rambled and meditated in that hallowed haunt. Not many months ago it
seemed likely that Stoke Park would pass into the possession of a
sporting club, and be turned into a race-course and kennel. A track
had already been laid there. Fate was kind, however, and averted the
final disaster. Only a few changes are to be noted in that part of the
park which to the reverent pilgrim must always be dear. The churchyard
has been extended in front, and a solid wall of flint, pierced with a
lych-gate, richly carved, has replaced the plain fence, with its simple
turnstile, that formerly enclosed that rural cemetery. The additional
land was given by the new proprietor of Stoke Park, who wished that
his tomb might be made in it; and this has been built, beneath a large
tree not far from the entrance. The avenue from the gate to the church
has been widened, and it is now fringed with thin lines of twisted
stone; and where once stood only two or three rose-trees there are now
sixty-two,--set in lines on either side of the path. But the older part
of the graveyard remains unchanged. The yew-trees cast their dense
shade, as of old. The quaint porch of the sacred building has not
suffered under the hand of restoration. The ancient wooden memorials of
the dead continue to moulder above their ashes. And still the abundant
ivy gleams and trembles in the sunshine and in the summer wind that
plays so sweetly over the spired tower and dusky walls of this lovely
temple--
"All green and wildly fresh without,
but worn and gray beneath."
[Illustration: _Gray's Monument._]
[Illustration: _Thomas Gray._]
It would still be a lovely church, even if it were not associated with
the immortal Elegy. I stood for a long time beside the tomb of the
noble and tender poet and looked with deep emotion on the surrounding
scene of pensive, dream-like beauty,--the great elms, so dense of
foliage, so stately and graceful; the fields of deep, waving grass,
golden with buttercups and white with daisies; the many unmarked
mounds; the many mouldering tombstones; the rooks sailing and cawing
around the tree-tops; and over all the blue sky flecked with floating
fleece. Within the church nothing has been changed. The memorial window
to Gray, for which contributions have been taken during several years,
has not yet been placed. As I cast a farewell look at Gray's tomb,
on turning to leave the churchyard, it rejoiced my heart to see that
two American girls, who had then just come in, were placing fresh
flowers over the poet's dust. He has been buried more than a hundred
years,--but his memory is as bright and green as the ivy on the tower
within whose shadow he sleeps, and as fragrant as the roses that
bloom at its base. Many Americans visit Stoke-Pogis churchyard, and
no visitor to the old world, who knows how to value what is best in
its treasures, will omit that act of reverence. The journey is easy. A
brief run by railway from Paddington takes you to Slough, which is near
to Windsor, and thence it is a charming drive, or a still more charming
walk, mostly through green, embowered lanes, to the "ivy-mantled
tower," the "yew-trees' shade," and the simple tomb of Gray. What a gap
there would be in the poetry of our language if the _Elegy in a Country
Churchyard_ were absent from it! By that sublime and tender reverie
upon the most important of all subjects that can engage the attention
of the human mind Thomas Gray became one of the chief benefactors of
his race. Those lines have been murmured by the lips of sorrowing
affection beside many a shrine of buried love and hope, in many a
churchyard, all round the world. The sick have remembered them with
comfort. The great soldier, going into battle, has said them for his
solace and cheer. The dying statesman, closing his weary eyes upon
this empty world, has spoken them with his last faltering accents,
and fallen asleep with their heavenly music in his heart. Well may we
pause and ponder at the grave of that divine poet! Every noble mind is
made nobler, every good heart is made better, for the experience of
such a pilgrimage. In such places as these pride is rebuked, vanity is
dispelled, and the revolt of the passionate human heart is humbled into
meekness and submission.
[Illustration: _All Saints' Church, Laleham._]
There is a place kindred with Stoke-Pogis churchyard, a place destined
to become, after a few years, as famous and as dear to the heart of the
reverent pilgrim in the footsteps of genius and pure renown. On Sunday
afternoon, June 17, I sat for a long time beside the grave of Matthew
Arnold. It is in a little churchyard at Laleham, in Surrey, where he
was born. The day was chill, sombre, and, except for an occasional low
twitter of birds and the melancholy cawing of distant rooks, soundless
and sadly calm. So dark a sky might mean November rather than June;
but it fitted well with the scene and with the pensive thoughts and
feelings of the hour. Laleham is a village on the south bank of the
Thames, about thirty miles from London and nearly midway between
Staines and Chertsey. It consists of a few devious lanes and a cluster
of houses, shaded with large trees and everywhere made beautiful with
flowers, and it is one of those fortunate and happy places to which
access cannot be obtained by railway. There is a manor-house in
the centre of it, secluded in a walled garden, fronting the square
immediately opposite to the village church. The rest of the houses
are mostly cottages, made of red brick and roofed with red tiles. Ivy
flourishes, and many of the cottages are overrun with climbing roses.
Roman relics are found in the neighbourhood,--a camp near the ford,
and other indications of the military activity of Cæsar. The church,
All Saints', is of great antiquity. It has been in part restored, but
its venerable aspect is not impaired. The large low tower is of brick,
and this and the church walls are thickly covered with glistening ivy.
A double-peaked roof of red tiles, sunken here and there, contributes
to the picturesque beauty of this building, and its charm is further
heightened by the contiguity of trees, in which the old church seems
to nestle. Within there are low, massive pillars and plain, symmetrical
arches,--the remains of Norman architecture. Great rafters of dark oak
augment, in this quaint structure, the air of solidity and of an age at
once venerable and romantic, while a bold, spirited, beautiful painting
of Christ and Peter upon the sea imparts to it an additional sentiment
of sanctity and solemn pomp. That remarkable work is by George Henry
Harlow, and it is placed back of the altar, where once there would have
been, in the Gothic days, a stained window. The explorer does not often
come upon such a gem of a church, even in England,--so rich in remains
of the old Catholic zeal and devotion; remains now mostly converted to
the use of Protestant worship.
[Illustration: ARNOLD'S GRAVE]
The churchyard of All Saints' is worthy of the church,--a little
enclosure, irregular in shape, surface, shrubbery, and tombstones,
bordered on two sides by the village square and on one by a farmyard,
and shaded by many trees, some of them yews, and some of great size
and age. Almost every house that is visible near by is bowered with
trees and adorned with flowers. No person was anywhere to be seen,
and it was only after inquiry at various dwellings that the sexton's
abode could be discovered and access to the church obtained. The poet's
grave is not within the church, but in a secluded spot at the side of
it, a little removed from the highway, and screened from immediate
view by an ancient, dusky yew-tree. I readily found it, perceiving a
large wreath of roses and a bunch of white flowers that were lying
upon it,--recent offerings of tender remembrance and sorrowing love,
but already beginning to wither. A small square of turf, bordered
with white marble, covers the vaulted tomb of the poet and of three
of his children.[2] At the head are three crosses of white marble,
alike in shape and equal in size, except that the first is set upon a
pedestal a little lower than those of the others. On the first cross is
written: "Basil Francis Arnold, youngest child of Matthew and Frances
Lucy Arnold. Born August 19, 1866. Died January 4, 1868. Suffer little
children to come unto me." On the second: "Thomas Arnold, eldest child
of Matthew and Frances Lucy Arnold. Born July 6, 1852. Died November
23, 1868. Awake, thou, Lute and Harp! I will awake right early." On the
third: "Trevenen William Arnold, second child of Matthew and Frances
Lucy Arnold. Born October 15, 1853. Died February 16, 1872. In the
morning it is green and groweth up." Near by are other tombstones,
bearing the name of Arnold,--the dates inscribed on them referring to
about the beginning of this century. These mark the resting-place of
some of the poet's kindred. His father, the famous Dr. Arnold of Rugby,
rests in Rugby chapel,--that noble father, that true friend and servant
of humanity, of whom the son wrote those words of imperishable nobility
and meaning, "Thou, my father, wouldst not be saved alone." Matthew
Arnold is buried in the same grave with his eldest son and side by side
with his little children. He who was himself as a little child, in his
innocence, goodness, and truth,--where else and how else could he so
fitly rest? "Awake, thou, Lute and Harp! I will awake right early."
[Illustration: _Matthew Arnold._]
Every man will have his own thoughts in such a place as this; will
reflect upon his own afflictions, and from knowledge of the manner
and spirit in which kindred griefs have been borne by the great heart
of intellect and genius will seek to gather strength and patience to
endure them well. Matthew Arnold taught many lessons of great value to
those who are able to think. He did not believe that happiness is the
destiny of the human race on earth, or that there is a visible ground
for assuming that happiness in this mortal condition is one of the
inherent rights of humanity. He did not think that this world is made
an abode of delight by the mere jocular affirmation that everything
in it is well and lovely. He knew better than that. But his message,
delivered in poetic strains that will endure as long as our language
exists, is the message, not of gloom and despair, but of spiritual
purity and sweet and gentle patience. The man who heeds Matthew
Arnold's teaching will put no trust in creeds and superstitions, will
place no reliance upon the transient structures of theology, will take
no guidance from the animal and unthinking multitude; but he will "keep
the whiteness of his soul"; he will be simple, unselfish, and sweet; he
will live for the spirit; and in that spirit, pure, tender, fearless,
strong to bear and patient to suffer, he will find composure to meet
the inevitable disasters of life and the awful mystery of death. Such
was the burden of my thought, sitting there, in the gloaming, beside
the lifeless dust of him whose hand had once, with kindly greeting,
been clasped in mine. And such will be the thought of many and many a
pilgrim who will stand in that sacred place, on many a summer evening
of the long future--
"While the stars come out and the night wind
Brings, up the stream,
Murmurs and scents of the infinite sea."