and also knew that the reality was going to dwindle wofully within my
ideal, as almost everything else does. When we reached the spot, we
found a picnic-party just finishing their dinner, on one of the
overthrown stones of the druidical temple; and within the sacred circle
an artist was painting a wretched daub of the scene, and an old shepherd
--the very Shepherd of Salisbury Plain sat erect in the centre of the
ruin.
There never was a ruder thing than Stonehenge made by mortal hands. It
is so very rude that it seems as if Nature and man had worked upon it
with one consent, and so it is all the stranger and more impressive from
its rudeness. The spectator wonders to see art and contrivance, and a
regular and even somewhat intricate plan, beneath all the uncouth
simplicity of this arrangement of rough stones; and certainly, whatever
was the intellectual and scientific advancement of the people who built
Stonehenge, no succeeding architects will ever have a right to triumph
over them; for nobody's work in after times is likely to endure till it
becomes a mystery as to who built it, and how, and for what purpose.
Apart from the moral considerations suggested by it, Stonehenge is not
very well worth seeing. Materially, it is one of the poorest of
spectacles, and when complete, it must have been even less picturesque
than now,--a few huge, rough stones, very imperfectly squared, standing
on end, and each group of two supporting a third large stone on their
tops; other stones of the same pattern overthrown and tumbled one upon
another; and the whole comprised within a circuit of about a hundred feet
diameter; the short, sheep-cropped grass of Salisbury Plain growing among
all these uncouth bowlders. I am not sure that a misty, lowering day
would not have better suited Stonehenge, as the dreary midpoint of the
great, desolate, trackless plain; not literally trackless, however, for
the London and Exeter Road passes within fifty yards of the ruins, and
another road intersects it.
After we had been there about an hour, there came a horseman within the
Druid's circle,--evidently a clerical personage by his white neckcloth,
though his loose gray riding pantaloons were not quite in keeping. He
looked at us rather earnestly, and at last addressed Mrs. ------, and
announced himself as Mr. Hinchman,--a clergyman whom she had been trying
to find in Salisbury, in order to avail herself of him as a cicerone; and
he had now ridden hither to meet us. He told us that the artist whom we
found here could give us more information than anybody about Stonehenge;
for it seems he has spent a great many years here, painting and selling
his poor sketches to visitors, and also selling a book which his father
wrote about the remains. This man showed, indeed, a pretty accurate,
acquaintance with these old stones, and pointed out, what is thought to
be the altar-stone, and told us of some relation between this stone and
two other stones, and the rising of the sun at midsummer, which might
indicate that Stonehenge was a temple of solar worship. He pointed out,
too, to how little depth the stones were planted in the earth, insomuch
that I have no doubt the American frosts would overthrow Stonehenge in a
single winter; and it is wonderful that it should have stood so long,
even in England. I have forgotten what else he said; but I bought one of
his books, and find it a very unsatisfactory performance, being chiefly
taken up with an attempt to prove these remains to be an antediluvian
work, constructed, I think the author says, under the superintendence of
Father Adam himself! Before our departure we were requested to write our
names in the album which the artist keeps for the purpose; and he pointed
out Ex-President Fillmore's autograph, and those of one or two other
Americans who have been here within a short time. It is a very curious
life that this artist leads, in this great solitude, and haunting
Stonehenge like the ghost of a Druid; but he is a brisk little man, and
very communicative on his one subject.
Mr. Hinchman rode with us over the plain, and pointed out Salisbury
spire, visible close to Stonehenge. Under his guidance we returned by a
different road from that which brought us thither,--and a much more
delightful one. I think I never saw such continued sylvan beauty as this
road showed us, passing through a good deal of woodland scenery,--fine
old trees, standing each within its own space, and thus having full
liberty to outspread itself, and wax strong and broad for ages, instead
of being crowded, and thus stifled and emaciated, as human beings are
here, and forest-trees are in America. Hedges, too, and the rich, rich
verdure of England; and villages full of picturesque old houses,
thatched, and ivied, or perhaps overrun with roses,--and a stately
mansion in the Elizabethan style; and a quiet stream, gliding onward
without a ripple from its own motion, but rippled by a large fish darting
across it; and over all this scene a gentle, friendly sunshine, not
ardent enough to crisp a single leaf or blade of grass. Nor must the
village church be forgotten, with its square, battlemented tower, dating
back to the epoch of the Normans. We called at a house where one of Mrs.
------'s pupils was residing with her aunt,--a thatched house of two
stories high, built in what was originally a sand-pit, but which, in the
course of a good many years, has been transformed into the most
delightful and homelike little nook almost that can be found in England.
A thatched cottage suggests a very rude dwelling indeed; but this had a
pleasant parlor and drawing-room, and chambers with lattice-windows,
opening close beneath the thatched roof; and the thatch itself gives an
air to the place as if it were a bird's nest, or some such simple and
natural habitation. The occupants are an elderly clergyman, retired from
professional duty, and his sister; and having nothing else to do, and
sufficient means, they employ themselves in beautifying this sweet little
retreat--planting new shrubbery, laying out new walks around it, and
helping Nature to add continually another charm; and Nature is certainly
a more genial playfellow in England than in my own country. She is
always ready to lend her aid to any beautifying purpose.
Leaving these good people, who were very hospitable, giving tea and
offering wine, we reached Salisbury in time to take the train for
Southampton.
June 18th.--Yesterday we left the Castle Hotel, after paying a bill of
twenty pounds for a little more than a week's board. In America we could
not very well have lived so simply, but we might have lived luxuriously
for half the money. This Castle Hotel was once an old Roman castle, the
landlord says, and the circular sweep of the tower is still seen towards
the street, although, being painted white, and built up with modern
additions, it would not be taken for an ancient structure. There is a
dungeon beneath it, in which the landlord keeps his wine.
J----- and I, quitting the hotel, walked towards Shinley along the
water-side, leaving the rest of the family to follow in a fly. There are
many traces, along the shore, of the fortifications by which Southampton
was formerly defended towards the water, and very probably their
foundations may be as ancient as Roman times. Our hotel was no doubt
connected with this chain of defences, which seems to have consisted of a
succession of round towers, with a wall extending from one to another.
We saw two or three of these towers still standing, and likely to stand,
though ivy-grown and ruinous at the summit, and intermixed and even
amalgamated with pot-houses and mean dwellings; and often, through an
antique arch, there was a narrow doorway, giving access to the house of
some sailor or laborer or artisan, and his wife gossiping at it with her
neighbor, or his children playing about it.
After getting beyond the precincts of Southampton our walk was not very
interesting, except to J-----, who kept running down to the verge of the
water, looking for shells and sea-insects.
June 29th.--Yesterday, 28th, I left Liverpool from the Lime Street
station; an exceedingly hot day for England, insomuch that the rail
carriages were really uncomfortable. I have now passed over the London
and Northwestern Railway so often that the northern part of it is very
wearisome, especially as it has few features of interest even to a new
observer. At Stafford--no, at Wolverhampton--we diverged to a track
which I have passed over only once before. We stopped an hour and a
quarter at Wolverhampton, and I walked up into the town, which is large
and old,--old, at least, in its plan, or lack of plan,--the streets being
irregular, and straggling over an uneven surface. Like many of the
English towns, it reminds me of Boston, though dingier. The sun was so
hot that I actually sought the shady sides of the streets; and this, of
itself, is one long step towards establishing a resemblance between an
English town and an American one.
English railway carriages seem to me more tiresome than any other; and I
suppose it is owing to the greater motion, arising from their more
elastic springs. A slow train, too, like that which I was now in, is
more tiresome than a quick one, at least to the spirits, whatever it may
be to the body. We loitered along through afternoon and evening,
stopping at every little station, and nowhere getting to the top of our
speed, till at last, in the late dusk, we reached