about which, as I have already recorded a visit to it, I need say little
here. But I was again impressed with the stately grandeur of Wolsey's
great Hall, with its great window at each end, and one side window,
descending almost to the floor, and a row of windows on each side, high
towards the roof, and throwing down their many-colored light on the stone
pavement, and on the Gobelin tapestry, which must have been gorgeously
rich when the walls were first clothed with it. I fancied, then, that no
modern architect could produce so fine a room; but oddly enough, in the
great entrance-hall of the Euston station, yesterday, I could not see how
this last fell very much short of Wolsey's Hall in grandeur. We were
quite wearied in passing through the endless suites of rooms in Hampton
Court, and gazing at the thousands of pictures; it is too much for one
day,--almost enough for one life, in such measure as life can be bestowed
on pictures. It would have refreshed us had we spent half the time in
wandering about the grounds, which, as we glimpsed at them from the
windows of the Palace, seemed very beautiful, though laid out with an
antique formality of straight lines and broad gravelled paths. Before
the central window there is a beautiful sheet of water, and a fountain
upshooting itself and plashing into it, with a continuous and pleasant
sound. How beautifully the royal robe of a monarchy is embroidered!
Palaces, pictures, parks! They do enrich life; and kings and
aristocracies cannot keep these things to themselves, they merely take
care of them for others. Even a king, with all the glory that can be
shed around him, is but the liveried and bedizened footman of his people,
and the toy of their delight. I am very glad that I came to this country
while the English are still playing with such a toy.
Yesterday J----- and I left Blackheath, and reached Liverpool last night.
The rest of my family will follow in a few days; and so finishes our
residence in Bennoch's house, where I, for my part, have spent some of
the happiest hours that I have known since we left our American home.
It is a strange, vagabond, gypsy sort of life,--this that we are leading;
and I know not whether we shall finally be spoiled for any other, or
shall enjoy our quiet Wayside, as we never did before, when once we reach
it again.
The evening set in misty and obscure; and it was dark almost when J-----
and I arrived at the landing stage on our return. I was struck with the
picturesque effect of the high tower and tall spire of St. Nicholas,
rising upward, with dim outline, into the duskiness; while midway of its
height the dial-plates of an illuminated clock blazed out, like two great
eyes of a giant.
September 13th.--On Saturday my wife, with all her train, arrived at Mrs.
B------'s; and on Tuesday--vagabonds as we are--we again struck our tent,
and set out for