[Illustration: SOUTHAMPTON BAR IN THE OLDEN TIME.]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
GLIMPSES OF NATURE,
AND
OBJECTS OF INTEREST DESCRIBED,
DURING
A VISIT TO THE ISLE OF WIGHT.
DESIGNED TO ASSIST AND ENCOURAGE YOUNG PERSONS IN FORMING
HABITS OF OBSERVATION.
BY MRS. LOUDON,
AUTHOR OF
“THE LADIES’ COMPANION TO THE FLOWER GARDEN,”
“FACTS FROM THE WORLD OF NATURE,” ETC.
Second Edition
WITH ADDITIONS AND FORTY-TWO ILLUSTRATIONS.
LONDON:
GRANT AND GRIFFITH,
SUCCESSORS TO
JOHN HARRIS, CORNER OF ST. PAUL’S CHURCH-YARD.
-------
M.DCCC.XLVIII.
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PREFACE.
On the 21st of August, 1843, Mr. Loudon, my little daughter Agnes, and
myself, set out, from Bayswater, to make the tour through the Isle of
Wight which is recorded in the following pages.
That tour has since acquired a melancholy importance in my eyes, from
being the last I ever took with my poor husband, whose danger I was
quite unconscious of when I wrote the book, though his death took place
in less than a month from the day of its publication. This circumstance
made the book painful to me, and I never looked at it again till now I
have been reading it over for revision; and it is impossible to
describe the vivid interest with which I recall every incident that
took place, and every word that was uttered.
In preparing this second edition, I have added a chapter on shells and
sea-weed, but in other respects I have made no alteration, save a few
verbal corrections; as the principal object I had in view, in writing
down all we saw and heard during this excursion, was to show how much
may be observed and learnt while travelling, even through a well-known
country and under ordinary circumstances. I think it of the utmost
importance to cultivate habits of observation in childhood; as a great
deal of the happiness of life depends upon having our attention excited
by what passes around us. I remember, when I was a child, reading a
tale called “Eyes and No Eyes,” which made a deep impression on my
mind; and which has been the means of procuring me many sources of
enjoyment during my passage through life. That little tale related to
two boys, both of whom had been allowed half a day’s holiday. The first
boy went out to take a walk, and he saw a variety of objects that
interested him; and from which he afterwards derived considerable
instruction, when he talked about them with his tutor. The second, a
little later, took the same walk; but, when his tutor questioned him as
to how he liked it, he said he had thought it very dull, for he had
seen nothing; though the same objects were still there that had
delighted his companion. I was so much struck with the contrast between
the two boys, that I determined to imitate the first; and I have found
so much advantage from this determination, that I can earnestly
recommend my young readers to follow my example. The use of travelling
is, that it affords us more opportunities of observation than we could
have at home; but, if we do not avail ourselves of these opportunities,
we may travel over the whole globe without reaping any advantage. I
trust the young people who may read these pages will so far profit by
them as to notice all they see, and, particularly, to look for objects
of natural history in their walks, whether at home or by the sea-side;
and, in return, I promise them that they will find a thousand sources
of amusement that before they had no idea of.
J. W. L.
BAYSWATER,
_March 9, 1848._
CONTENTS.
PAGE
CHAPTER I.—Terminus of the Southampton Railroad at
Vauxhall.—Truth and Falsehood.—Reaping.—Flint in Straw.—The river
Mole.—The Wey.—Canals and Locks.—Poppies and Opium.—Limestone and
Chalk.—Gleaners.—Ruins at Basingstoke.—Southampton Bar.—Sir Bevis
and the Giant Ascabart. 8
CHAPTER II.—Passengers down the River.—Sea-nettles.—Netley Abbey
and Fort.—View of the Isle of Wight.—Adventure of the
Portmanteau.—Landing at West Cowes.—Crossing the Medina.—Salt
Works at East Cowes. 28
CHAPTER III.—Morning Walk through West Cowes.—Ride to
Newport.—Carisbrook Castle.—Children of Charles I.—Donkey
Well.—Chapel of St. Nicholas.—Boy Bishop.—Archery
Meeting.—History of the Isle of Wight.—Bows and Arrows. 53
CHAPTER IV.—Departure from Carisbrook.—Road to
Freshwater.—Yarmouth.—House where Charles II. was entertained by
Admiral Sir Robert Holme.—Freshwater.—Rocks.—Roaring of the
Sea.—Birds.—The Razor-bill and Guillemot.—Sea-weed. 75
CHAPTER V.—Young Londoner and Neptune.—Disobedience of the Young
Fisherman.—Fossils.—Fine Water.—Alum Bay.—The Needles.—Old
Couple.—Dull Road.—Fertility of the Isle of Wight. 97
CHAPTER VI.—Management in Household
Affairs.—Undercliffe.—Alexandrian Pillar.—Light-house of St.
Catherine.—Little Church of St. Lawrence.—Churchyard.—St.
Lawrence’s Well.—Ventnor.—Wishing Well, and Godshill.—Beautiful
Butterflies.—Pulpit Stone.—St. Boniface.—Arrival at Shanklin. 135
CHAPTER VII.—Consequences of Carelessness.—Beach at Shanklin
.—Lobster-pots.—Planorbis.—Marsh Snail.—Sea
Rocket.—Starfish.—Crabs and Lobsters.—Sea-weed:—Mode of drying
it.—Mussels.—Shanklin Chine.—The split Shoe.—Shops at Shanklin. 155
CHAPTER VIII.—Shanklin continued.—Siphonia or Sea-
Tulip.—Zoophytes.—Sponges.—Corals.—Shells: Anomia; Scallop-shell;
Cockle-shell; Whelk; Solen, or Razor-shell; Mactra or Kneading
Trough; Mya. 177
CHAPTER IX.—Sandown Bay.—Culver Cliff.—Sandown Fort.—High
Flood.—Girl and Dog.—Poultry.—Hares.—Butterflies.—Ichneumon
Fly.—Myrtles.—Brading.—Bembridge.—St. Helen’s.—Arrival at Ryde. 198
CHAPTER X.—Ryde.—Handsome Shops.—Binstead.—Wootton
Bridge.—Newport.—East Cowes.—Horse Ferry.—Steam Boat.—Arms of the
German Empire.—Return home. 213
ILLUSTRATIONS.
PAGE
SOUTHAMPTON BAR IN THE OLDEN TIME 25
CARISBROOK CASTLE 59
ARCHED ROCK AT FRESHWATER 84
GUILLEMOT 92
BLACK GANG CHINE 133
-------
FIG. PAGE
1. MEDUSA, OR SEA-NETTLE 30
2. SEA-JELLIES 32
3. THE PORTUGUESE MAN-OF-WAR 37
4. TORTOISE 55
5. CARISBROOK GATE 59
6. KING CHARLES’S WINDOW 60
7. GROUND-IVY 83
8. THE SPOTTED MEDICK 83
9. WINGED FUCUS; BLADDER FUCUS; TANGLE 88
10. BURROWING MOLLUSCS 113
11. SECTION OF ALUM BAY 115
12. GRAMPUS 116
13. THE BEE ORCHIS 120
14. PLANT OF CROSSWORT 124
15. THE KITTIWAKE GULL 146
16. THE AZURE BLUE BUTTERFLY 152
17. THE HORNY SNAIL 159
18. THE MARSH SNAIL 160
19. THE STAR-FISH, OR FIVE-FINGERS 162
20. IRISH MOSS, OR CARRAGEEN 167
21. DUCK’S FOOT CONFERVA 168
22. FRESHWATER MUSSELS 171
23. MASS OF FOSSILS CONTAINING THE SIPHONIA, OR SEA-TULIP 179
24. SPONGES 183
25. CORALS 185
26. SADDLE-SHAPED ANOMIA 186
27. SCALLOP SHELL 188
28. WHELK (BUCCINUM) 190
29. TRUNCATED GAPER; SOLEN, OR RAZOR-SHELL; COMMON COCKLE; THE 192
KNEADING-TROUGH
30. THE MARBLED-WHITE BUTTERFLY, OR MARMORESS 203
31. THE CLOUDED-YELLOW BUTTERFLY 205
32. ICHNEUMON FLY ON A FLORET OF THE FLOWERING RUSH 206
33. RYDE-PIER 214
34. RIBBED MUSSEL 215
35. TIGER BEETLES 219
36. HELIX VIRGATA; BULIMUS ARTICULATUS 222
37. ARMS OF GERMANY 228
------------------------------------------------------------------------
GLIMPSES OF NATURE;
OR,
A VISIT TO THE ISLE OF WIGHT.
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INTRODUCTION.
Agnes Merton was one day sitting in rather a melancholy mood on the
swing in her garden, without swinging, and apparently lost in thought.
It was a very odd place for meditation, but little girls do choose
strange places sometimes; and Agnes at this moment felt very sad and
uncomfortable on various accounts. Her papa had been in a bad state of
health for some time, and Mrs. Merton’s attention had been so entirely
occupied by him, that Agnes had been comparatively neglected by her
mother. Her papa also could not be troubled with her, although he was
very fond of her when he was well; sick people cannot bear the fatigue
of children. Agnes had no sisters, and only a daily governess, who
stayed with her but a short time, so that during the greater part of
the day the poor child was left entirely to her own resources, and
children so young as Agnes cannot always be reading. Agnes was at this
time particularly unfortunate, as even her favourite cat, Sandy, had
gone away about three weeks before, and nobody knew what had become of
him. In this state of things every amusement seemed to have lost its
zest, and after swinging a short time with the air of a person who was
performing a task, rather than one who was enjoying a pleasure, Agnes
sat, as we have before said, on her swing, apparently quite lost in
thought, and, indeed, so absorbed that she started when her mother laid
her hand upon her shoulder, and asked her if she would like to go to
the Isle of Wight?
It is impossible to describe what a change these few words produced in
the feelings of the little girl, and she replied with her countenance
beaming with delight, “Oh yes, mamma, very much indeed!”
“Your papa,” resumed Mrs. Merton, “has been ordered to try change of
air for the benefit of his health, and he has determined to go to the
Isle of Wight for a week. At first he intended leaving you at home, but
at my earnest desire he has consented to take you with us, upon
condition of your giving no trouble.”
“Oh, mamma,” interrupted Agnes, “I will not give any trouble at all.”
“Perhaps you are hardly aware of what you are promising,” said Mrs.
Merton, smiling; “your papa has determined on taking no servant with
him, so that you must dress and undress yourself, and take care of your
own clothes.”
“But, mamma,” said Agnes, “shall we not have poor little Susan?”
“No,” replied Mrs. Merton; “there will only be your papa, besides you
and me: and as my time will be principally occupied in attending on
him, you must contrive to take care of yourself.”
Agnes laughed; “I think I am quite old enough to do that,” said she.
“We shall see,” replied her mother. “You must also dine and take all
your meals with us; as it will probably not be convenient for us to
stay to take any refreshment at the time you have been used to dine.”
This, so far from being a hardship, Agnes thought the most delightful
part of the whole, as she had long considered dining at six o’clock as
one of the great desiderata of life; but Mrs. Merton continued: “You
must also never complain of being hungry or thirsty; but act as much as
possible as if you were really a woman, since we are going to treat you
like one.”
“I am afraid, mamma,” said Agnes, “that will be very hard.”
“If you do not think you can undertake to do all I wish, you must stay
at home; and I have no doubt your aunt Jane will be so kind as to take
care of you while we are away. But I think you are quite capable of all
that will be required of you. You are now ten years old, and you knew
how to pack up a trunk when you were only seven. You shall have a
pretty little black portmanteau entirely to yourself, and you shall
have a list of everything that is put into it, so that you may know
when all your things are right.”
Agnes was delighted with the idea of taking care of her own trunk;
particularly as her mamma consented, at her earnest request, to leave
the choice of what clothes she would take entirely to herself. Agnes
was very fond of managing, and of giving directions to her maid, Susan,
who was called immediately; for as this was Saturday, and they were to
set out on Monday, there was no time to be lost. Susan was almost as
much delighted as her little mistress with the task; and both felt of
extraordinary importance when they found themselves alone with the open
portmanteau before them, and close to the wardrobe from which it was to
be filled. Both Susan and her young mistress were, however, soon very
much puzzled to know what to decide on. Agnes at first had looked out
nearly all the clothes she had, but it was soon found that the pretty
little black portmanteau would not hold half the things that had been
laid out. A fresh selection was therefore necessary, and several of the
pretty frocks were put back into the drawer.
“Oh, I must have that, Susan,” said Agnes, stretching out her hands
after her favourite blue, which was being taken away.
“Very well, miss,” said Susan. “Then suppose you take that, and leave
this,” laying down the blue and taking up an equally favourite pale
pink.
“Oh no,” cried Agnes; “I must have that, it is so prettily made.”
“Suppose you take all your coloured frocks,” said Susan, “and leave
your white ones?”
“But, mamma says she always likes me best in white,” said Agnes.
“Well, then, we will take the whites,” said Susan, “and leave the
coloured ones.”
Agnes sighed deeply. “Oh dear,” cried she, after a short pause; “I wish
mamma were here to decide for me. I thought it would be so delightful
to have everything my own way, but now the time is come I do not like
it at all. I see it saves a great deal of trouble to have some one to
direct, and to tell one what to do. I am sure I wish mamma would come
and tell me, for I am quite tired of being my own mistress;” and as she
spoke Mrs. Merton entered the room; for she had been in an adjoining
apartment, and, overhearing the wishes of her little daughter, had come
to her assistance. Under Mrs. Merton’s directions the box was soon
packed, and Agnes was astonished to see how rapidly her difficulties
had vanished.
“I cannot think how it is, mamma,” said she, “that you have been able
to arrange in a moment what gave me so much trouble and vexation. You
have done everything just as I wished, and as I would have done it
myself, if I could have made up my mind; and yet my governess often
tells me that I am self-willed, and like to have my own way; now, it
appears to me that I actually did not know what my own way was, till
you came and showed me.”
“The reason you had so much difficulty in deciding,” said Mrs. Merton,
“was that your judgment required to be guided by experience, a quality
in which young people are necessarily deficient. When you are as old as
I am, and have travelled as much, you will be able to decide as rapidly
as I did in this matter; as you will know by experience what things are
likely to be most useful.”
CHAPTER I.
Terminus of the Southampton Railroad at Vauxhall.—Truth and
Falsehood.—Reaping flint in straw.—The river Mole.—The
Wey.—Canals and Locks.—Poppies and Opium.—Limestone and
Chalk.—Gleaners.—Ruins at Basingstoke.—Southampton.—The Bar.—Sir
Bevis and the Giant Ascabart.
On Monday morning Agnes did not fail to awake in time, and after an
early breakfast the party proceeded to the railroad. It was a very long
ride from Bayswater to the station at Nine Elms, and Agnes thought it
longer than it really was. At length, however, they arrived, and Agnes
watched with considerable anxiety her black leather portmanteau taken
off the carriage with the rest of the luggage. She was once going to
tell the porter to take particular care of it, but observing that her
mother did not speak she also remained silent, and followed Mrs. Merton
into a large room, in which a man stood behind a kind of counter,
receiving money and giving tickets. When it was Mrs. Merton’s turn, the
man fixed his eyes on Agnes, and said abruptly, “How old are you?”
“I was ten last October,” replied Agnes, very much surprised at this
question. Mrs. Merton then laid three sovereigns on the counter, which
the man took up, giving her three tickets in return, with which she
walked away in silence, and joining Mr. Merton they both walked to the
railway carriages followed by Agnes, who could not at all understand
the meaning of what had taken place. She did not like to ask any
questions, as she had promised not to be troublesome, but she could not
help thinking of the man’s strange behaviour; and when her mamma, who
saw her puzzled look, asked what she was thinking about, she ventured
to inquire what the man meant by speaking to her only, and why he took
any interest in knowing her age. “I suppose,” said she, “he must have
some little girls of his own, and that he wanted to know if I were the
same age; but I wonder whether he thought me short or tall.” Mrs.
Merton smiled, and replied that she really believed the man had never
thought about it.
“Why did he ask my age, then?” inquired Agnes, rather vexed at her
mamma’s indifference.
“To know how much you were to pay for your place,” replied Mrs. Merton.
“If you had been under ten, I should have paid only half price for you.”
“But why did he not ask you such a question as that?”
“He was probably afraid that I should not tell him the truth.”
“But surely, mamma,” cried Agnes, her face flushing, and her eyes
sparkling with indignation, “the man could never think you would demean
yourself so much as to tell a falsehood for the sake of ten shillings.”
“If he had known me,” replied Mrs. Merton quietly, “I hope he would not
have suspected me of telling a falsehood for the sake of any sum.”
An old gentleman who was their fellow-traveller, was very much amused
at Agnes’s indignation, and began to tease her by telling her that her
mamma was in the habit of telling stories every day; and when Agnes
indignantly denied his assertion, he asked her if she thought her mamma
had never written “your humble servant” at the end of a letter, without
meaning that she was ready to act as a servant to the person she
addressed; and whether she did not often say she was glad or sorry to
hear some particular piece of news, when she did not, in fact, care
much about it. Agnes began to look puzzled, and Mrs. Merton, not liking
this mocking style of conversation, as she knew the necessity of
keeping a strict line in a child’s mind between truth and falsehood,
tried to turn her daughter’s attention to the objects they were
passing. It is very strange that sensible and well-informed men should
often take as much pleasure in confusing the thoughts of a poor
innocent child, as vicious boys do in tormenting a harmless dog. This
gentleman, whose name they afterwards found was Mr. Bevan, was a
well-intentioned, good-hearted man, who would have been shocked at the
thought of hurting Agnes by treading on her foot, or pushing her down;
and yet, while he would have shrunk from wilfully inflicting on her a
trifling bodily hurt which could only have caused a temporary
suffering, he had no hesitation in doing a serious injury to her mind.
It is true he only wished to amuse himself by watching the play of her
countenance, without thinking of the consequences; and that if she had
been his child he would have been the first to correct her for telling
a falsehood: but his mocking strain roused the first doubt that had
ever crossed the mind of Agnes as to whether it was possible to tell a
falsehood without meaning any harm. Hitherto she had been truth itself,
and still nothing would have induced her to tell a falsehood wilfully:
but she was puzzled, as she was not old enough to distinguish between
positive assertions, and mere conventional phrases, to which nobody
attaches any precise meaning; and that perfect confidence in the
holiness and power of truth, which is so beautiful a feature in the
youthful mind, was shaken. Mrs. Merton wished to prevent her daughter’s
mind from dwelling on the subject, and pointing to a corn-field, she
asked Agnes, if she knew what corn it was. Before, however, the child
could answer, a young man who sat opposite told her with a patronizing
air, that it was wheat.
“You may know it,” continued he; “by its close heads. Barley and rye
have long bristles, and oats have loose heads.”
Agnes now began to be interested in the wheat-fields they were passing;
and her mamma made her observe the curious curved knife called a
sickle, which is used in reaping corn; and the manner in which the corn
was tied up in sheaves after it was cut, and the sheaves afterwards
placed together in shocks, with their heads leaning towards each other,
and a sheaf reversed over the top to keep the grain dry.
“But why do women reap?” asked Agnes; “you told me mowing was too
difficult for them, and surely it is nobler to cut corn than grass.”
“Reaping requires less strength than mowing, as the sickle is neither
so heavy nor so cumbrous as the scythe.”
“What part of the wheat produces the flour?”
“Can you not guess?”
Agnes hesitated, and then said, timidly and blushing, “I am not quite
sure, but I think it is the seed.”
“Right,” cried Mr. Merton, who, being an excellent botanist himself,
was always glad to turn his daughter’s attention to the peculiarities
of plants. “Now tell me if you know any thing particular about the
straw.”
“I believe it is hollow and jointed.”
“It is; and, what is more, it is not composed entirely of vegetable
matter, but partly of stone; for every wheat straw contains enough
flint to make a glass bead.”
“Oh, papa,” cried Agnes, “now you must be joking.”
“Indeed I am not. If a wheat straw be held in the flame of a candle, it
will first turn to white ashes; and, if these ashes be still exposed to
the flame, they will gradually melt into an imperfect sort of glass.
When hay-ricks are burnt, there is always left a mass of dark, flinty
matter, which closely resembles the dross sometimes thrown out of a
glass-house.”
“How very curious!” cried Agnes.
“Did you ever see wheat in flower, my dear,” asked Mr. Bevan.
“Never, sir,” replied Agnes; and then, turning to her father, she said:
“I suppose the gentleman wishes to make game of me; for wheat has no
flowers,—has it papa?”
“Certainly, it has flowers, for it has perfect seeds; and all plants
that have perfect seeds must have flowers. The flowers of the wheat
are, however, inconspicuous, as they have no petals.”
While this conversation was passing, the train had kept whirling on,
and Mrs. Merton had remarked two or three things that she thought
worthy of the notice of her little daughter: she now called her
attention to the windings of the river Mole, which has received its
strange name from the manner in which it creeps along, and occasionally
appears to bury itself under ground, as its waters are absorbed by the
spongy and porous soil through which it flows. Agnes was very anxious
to hear more of this curious river.
“It is remarkable,” said Mrs. Merton, “that it is not navigable in any
part of its long course of forty-two miles; and that occasionally when
the weather has been dry a long time, it disappears altogether. At the
foot of Box-Hill, near Dorking, with regard to this phenomenon, it is
supposed that there are cavities, or hollow places, under ground, which
communicate with the bed of the river, and which are filled with water
in ordinary seasons, but, in times of drought, become empty, and absorb
the water from the river to refill them. When this is the case, the bed
of the river becomes dry, and Burford bridge often presents the odd
appearance of a bridge over land dry enough to be walked on. The river,
however, always rises again about Letherhead, and suffers no further
interruption in its course.”
While Mrs. Merton was speaking, the train had continued whirling on,
and they had long passed the sluggish Mole, and had caught a glance of
the more useful Wey; a river of about the same length as the Mole, but
which has the advantage of being navigable for a great part of its
course; and Agnes had watched the inhabitants of the little cottages
which bordered the line of the railway trimming their gardens, and
spreading their seeds out to dry in the sun. She had been amused, in
one place, observing the careful manner in which a stack of faggots had
been thatched, to keep it from the rain; and, in another, by observing
the delight of a number of pigs, which had been turned into a stubble
field, from which the corn had just been carried; and which ran about,
grunting and capering, in a manner which none but pigs could ever
accomplish. The train now passed another stream; and Agnes asked what
river it was. “It is not a river,” said Mrs. Merton, “but the
Basingstoke canal.”
“How do you know it is a canal, mamma?” asked Agnes.
“Its banks are straight and regular,” said Mrs. Merton, “which shows
that they have been formed artificially; and the water is as deep close
to the bank as it is in the centre: whereas, in rivers, the banks are
generally irregular, and the water is shallower near them. Besides,
there can be no doubt about this being a canal, for there, you see, is
a lock.”
“Now, mamma,” said Agnes, “you have told me a great many things that I
do not understand. I thought a canal had been only to supply the place
of a river; and, if that is the case, I do not see why its banks should
be different; and I do not know what you mean by a lock.”
“It is true,” said Mrs. Merton, “that a canal is intended to supply the
place of a river, in as far as it is useful for carrying boats; but
most rivers are only deep enough in the centre for this purpose, and a
great deal of ground is lost on both sides: but, when a canal is dug,
it is an object to save as much ground as possible; and, therefore, the
trench that is dug is equally deep in all its parts, and perfectly
level at the bottom. Now, when a country is hilly, the only way in
which the canal can be kept level at the bottom is, by having it in two
or more parts, of different levels, each one distinct from the other;
as, otherwise, all the water from the high part would run into the low
part: and these little canals are joined together by means of what are
called locks. Each lock is a kind of oblong well, with a pair of
strong, water-tight gates at each end; the lock being just the same
depth as the difference between the higher and lower parts of the
canal. When a boat comes along the higher part of the canal, the gates
at that end of the lock are opened, and a sufficient quantity of water
flows in, to allow the boat to float in at the same level. As soon as
the boat is completely within the lock, the upper gates are closed, and
the gates which communicate with the lower level of the canal are
opened, when the water flows out, and the boat sinks gradually down to
the lower level.”
“See, mamma,” cried Agnes, “there is a boat coming close to a lock; but
it is in the lower part of the canal: what will they do now?”
“They will open the lower gates of the lock till the water has
descended to the level of that part of the canal which contains the
boat, which will then float in; and, I suppose, you can guess what will
then take place.”
“Oh yes,” said Agnes, “the lower gates will be closed as soon as the
boat is completely within the lock, and the upper ones opened.”
“You are quite right,” said her mother: “and, in this way the boat will
be raised to the higher level of the canal.”
“I do declare, they are opening the gate now,” cried Agnes, leaning out
of the window of the railway carriage as far as she possibly could.
“How I do wish the train would stop a moment, and let me see the boat
float in.”
But it was of no use: the train whirled on; and poor Agnes, instead of
watching the machinery of the lock, was obliged to sit down, and listen
to a lecture from her mamma, on the impropriety of hanging out at the
windows of any carriage, and of those belonging to rail-roads more
particularly. Some time passed almost in silence, till at last Mr.
Bevan asked Agnes if she did not admire the pretty flowers in the
corn-fields they were passing.
“Those poppies are very pretty, certainly,” said Agnes; “and I should
admire them very much in a garden; but I do not like them in a corn
field, because papa says they are a proof of bad farming.”
The old gentleman laughed at this, and asked Agnes if she knew the use
of poppies, and that opium was made from them.
“Not from that kind, I believe, sir,” said Agnes. “It is the white
poppy, is it not, mamma, that produces the opium?”
“Yes,” returned Mrs. Merton; “and it requires a hotter and drier
climate than that of England to produce it in perfection. The best
opium,” continued Mrs. Merton, “is obtained from Turkey; and, in that
country, there are whole fields covered with poppies; and there are
people whose principal business it is to watch when the petals of the
flowers are falling, and then to wound the unripe capsule of each
flower with a double-bladed lancet, so that the milky juice may exude.
This milky juice becomes candied by the heat of the sun; and, being
scraped off the following morning, forms what is called opium.”
They now passed through a deep cutting of a grey, partially-shining
rock, which Mrs. Merton told Agnes was limestone. A little further the
rocks became chalky, with narrow rows of flints embedded in them; which
looked as though the high bank had been originally a chalk wall, with a
row of broken bottles along the top, on which other chalk walls of a
similar description had been built. Farther on, the banks of the
cutting were formed of more crumbly materials, and appeared to consist
entirely of loose sand and powdered chalk.
“What a variety of soils we are going through!” said Agnes.
“Not so great as you imagine,” returned her mother. “Chalk is but
another form of limestone, and flint but another form of sand; and
these two earths are almost always found together.”
They had now reached the Basingstoke station; and, while some of the
passengers were getting down, Agnes amused herself in counting the
number of gleaners in a field from which the corn had just been carried.
“There are eighty-two,” said she, after a short pause.
“Eighty-two what?” asked her mother.
“Gleaners,” said Agnes, directing her mother’s attention to the field,
which, indeed, was nearly filled with people. The attention of the
other passengers was now turned towards the field; and they all agreed
that the corn must have been carried in a very careless manner to have
left so many ears behind.
“It is a good thing for the poor people in the neighbourhood,” said Mr.
Bevan.
“But,” said Mr. Merton, “it is hard for the farmer, who has been at the
expense of ploughing and manuring, harrowing and sowing, and who is now
deprived of his just profits by the negligence of his servants.”
The train soon moved on a little, and Agnes’s attention being attracted
by the ruins of a church which stood on a little eminence near the
road, she eagerly asked what it was.
“Those,” said the old gentleman, “are the ruins of a chapel, dedicated
to the Holy Ghost, which is said to have been erected in the reign of
Edward IV., and to which a school was formerly attached; but the school
was shut up during the Civil Wars, and the building reduced to the
state in which you now see it.”
“It is a fine ruin,” said Mrs. Merton.
“Yes,” returned the old gentleman; “and there is some fine carving
about it, (if you were near enough to see it,) which was added in the
reign of Henry VIII.”
“Was it not at Basingstoke,” asked Mr. Merton, “that Basing-House
stood, so celebrated for its defence against Cromwell?”
“That was at Old Basing,” replied Mr. Bevan, “which was formerly a
town, and a larger place than this: the word stoke signifying a hamlet.
But things are reversed now; for Old Basing has become a hamlet, and
Basingstoke a town.”
Agnes was very much interested in this conversation; as she had seen
Mr. Charles Landseer’s beautiful painting of the taking of Basing
house; and she now found how much a little knowledge of the subject
adds to the interest you feel in a picture.
“Is the population of Basingstoke large?” asked Mr. Merton.
“There are about four thousand inhabitants, I think,” said the old
gentleman, “rather less than more.” He then added, “I believe we are
now only about thirty miles from Southampton.”
“Only thirty!” The distance is nothing on a rail-road,—an affair of
about an hour or so; but how different it would be to a feeble mother,
carrying a heavy child! How different to an exhausted wanderer,
struggling to reach his longed-for home! Then, indeed, a distance of
thirty miles would seem an undertaking almost heart-breaking, and
scarcely to be accomplished; but time and space are always relative,
and, in measuring them, we are apt to judge by our feelings, rather
than by the reality.
After leaving Basingstoke, the train proceeded with great rapidity.
Andover was the next station; and here numerous carriages were waiting
to convey passengers to Salisbury, Exeter, and all the intermediate
towns. Winchester next appeared in sight; and soon that ancient city,
with its fine cathedral and antique cross, lay below them. Then they
reached, and passed, the river Itchen, which winds backwards and
forwards, like a broad riband floating in the wind. They were now
within a few miles of Southampton; and, as they rapidly advanced, they
began to feel the fresh breeze from the water. They still hurried on,
and soon the masts of the shipping appeared in sight. The train now
stopped, that the passengers might give up their tickets. This was soon
done; and the train whirled on again to Southampton. They descended at
the terminus; and having their luggage conveyed to the pier, they had
it placed on board one of the steam-packets, which, they were told,
would sail in about an hour. Having finished this business, Mr. Merton
sat down on one of the seats on the pier, while Mrs. Merton and Agnes
walked back to take a glance at the town.
The town of Southampton consists principally of one long, broad street,
which ascends from the sea up a hill. This street is divided nearly in
the middle by a curious old gate, called the bar; and which was, in
fact, one of the gates of the ancient town. Towards this monument of
antiquity, Mrs. Merton and Agnes bent their steps; and Mrs. Merton
explained to her daughter, that bar was the Saxon name of gate.
“Oh, yes,” cried Agnes, “you know we say Temple Bar; and I remember
that the gates in York are called bars: but mamma, what are those
curious figures in front?”
“They are said to be the figures of a knight, renowned in romance,
called Sir Bevis, of Hampton, and of Ascabart, a giant whom he slew.”
“This giant was mighty, and he was strong,
And feet full thirty was he long;
His lips were great, and hung aside;
His eyes were hollow, his mouth was wide:
Loathly he was to look upon,
And liker a demon than a man:
His staff was a young and torn-up oak;
And hard and heavy was his stroke.”
“The giant Ascabart is alluded to in the first canto of Scott’s _Lady
of the Lake_; and many legends are told of his conqueror Sir Bevis, who
appears to have resided near Southampton, at a place still called Sir
Bevis’s Mount.”
“I suppose these figures below are Sir Bevis’s arms,” said Agnes; “if
there ever was such a person.”
“I do not wonder that you have not full faith in Sir Bevis,” said Mrs.
Merton, smiling; “but for my own part, I believe that all the heroes of
romance we hear about in different places are real personages, though
their deeds have been so exaggerated as to make us doubt their
existence.”
“But the arms, mamma,” repeated Agnes,—“whose do you think they are?”
“Most of them are probably those of the persons who have repaired the
gate, at different times; and I think those of Queen Elizabeth are in
the centre. The queer-looking animals that sit below, however, most
probably belonged to Sir Bevis, as they appear of the same date as his
figure.”
They now took a rapid glance at the very handsome shops which lined the
High-street on both sides, and returned to the pier, where they found
the steam-packet just ready to start.