_To W. D. B. and A. B._
LIVERPOOL, October 26, 1846.
MY DEAR SONS: Thank God with me that we are once more on _terra firma_.
We arrived yesterday morning at ten o’clock, after a very rough voyage
and after riding all night in the Channel in a tremendous gale, so bad
that no pilot could reach us to bring us in on Saturday evening. A
record of a sea voyage will be only interesting to you who love me, but I
must give it to you that you may know what to expect if you ever
undertake it; but first, I must sum it all up by saying that of all
horrors, of all physical miseries, tortures, and distresses, a sea voyage
is the greatest . . . The Liverpool paper this morning, after announcing
our arrival says: “The _Great Western_, notwithstanding she encountered
throughout a series of most severe gales, accomplished the passage in
sixteen days and twelve hours.”
To begin at the moment I left New York: I was so absorbed by the pain of
parting from you that I was in a state of complete apathy with regard to
all about me. I did not sentimentalize about “the receding shores of my
country;” I hardly looked at them, indeed. Friday I was awoke in the
middle of the night by the roaring of the wind and sea and _such_ motion
of the vessel.
The gale lasted all Saturday and Sunday, strong from the North, and as we
were in the region where the waters of the Bay of Fundy run out and meet
those of the Gulf of St. Lawrence, afterwards we had a strong cross sea.
May you never experience a “cross sea.” . . . Oh how I wished it had
pleased God to plant some little islands as resting-places in the great
waste of waters, some resting station. But no, we must keep on, on, with
everything in motion that your eye could rest on. Everything tumbling
about . . . We lived through it, however, and the sun of Sunday morn rose
clear and bright. A pilot got on board about seven and at ten we were in
Liverpool.
We are at the Adelphi. Before I had taken off my bonnet Mr. Richard
Rathbone, one of the wealthiest merchants here, called to invite us to
dine the next day . . . Mrs. Richard Rathbone has written that beautiful
“Diary of Lady Willoughby,” and, what is more, they say it is a perfect
reflect of her own lovely life and character. When she published the
book no one knew of it but her husband, not even her brothers and
sisters, and, of course, she constantly heard speculations as to the
authenticity of the book, and was often appealed to for her opinion. She
is very unpretending and sweet in her manners; talks little, and seems
not at all like a literary lady.
I like these people in Liverpool. They seem to me to think less of
fashion and more of substantial excellence than our wealthy people. I am
not sure but the existence of a higher class above them has a favorable
effect, by limiting them in some ways. There is much less show of
furniture in the houses than with us, though their servants and equipages
are in much better keeping. I am not sorry to be detained here for a few
days by my illness to become acquainted with them, and I think your
father likes it also, and will find it useful to him. Let me say, while
I think of it, how much I was pleased with the _Great Western_. That
upper saloon with the air passing through it was a great comfort to me.
The captain, the servants, the table, are all excellent. Everything on
board was as nice as in the best hotel, and my gruels and broths
beautifully made. One of the stewardesses did more for me than I ever
had done by any servant of my own . . . Your father and Louisa {7} were
ill but three or four days, and then your father read Tacitus and talked
to the ladies, while Louisa played with the other children.
The Adelphi, my first specimen of an English hotel, is perfectly
comfortable, and though an immense establishment, is quiet as a private
house. There is none of the bustle of the Astor, and if I ring my
bedroom bell it is answered by a woman who attends to me assiduously.
The landlord pays us a visit every day to know if we have all we wish.
LONDON, Sunday, November 1.
Here I am in the mighty heart, but before I say one word about it I will
go on from Wednesday evening with my journal. On Thursday, though still
very feeble, I dined at Green Bank, the country-seat of Mr. William
Rathbone. I was unwilling to leave Liverpool without sharing with your
father some of the hospitalities offered to us and made a great effort to
go. The place is very beautiful and the house full of comfortable
elegance.
[Picture: Aston Hall (Bracebridge Hall)]
The next morning we started for Birmingham, ninety-seven miles from
Liverpool, on our way to London, as I am unable to travel the whole way
in a day. On this railway I felt for the first time the superiority of
England to our own country. The cars are divided into first, second, and
third classes. We took a first-class car, which has all the comforts of
a private carriage.
Just as we entered Birmingham I observed the finest seat, surrounded by a
park wall and with a very picturesque old church, that I had seen on the
way. On enquiring of young Mr. Van Wart, who came to see us in
Birmingham (the nephew of Washington Irving), whose place it was, he said
it was now called Aston Hall and was owned by Mr. Watt, but it was
formerly owned by the Bracebridges, and was the veritable “Bracebridge
Hall,” and that his uncle had passed his Christmas there.
On arriving here we found our rooms all ready for us at Long’s Hotel,
kept by Mr. Markwell, a wine merchant. The house is in New Bond Street,
in the very centre of movement at the West End, and Mr. Markwell full of
personal assiduity, which we never see with us. He comes to the carriage
himself, gives me his arm to go upstairs, is so much obliged to us for
honoring his house, ushers you in to dinner, at least on the first day,
and seats you, etc., etc.
Do not imagine us in fresh, new-looking rooms as we should be in New York
or Philadelphia. No, in London even new things look old, but almost
everything _is_ old. Our parlor has three windows down to the floor, but
it is very dark. The paint is maple color, and everything is dingy in
appearance. The window in my bedroom looks like a horn lantern, so thick
is the smoke, and yet everything is scrupulously clean. On our arrival,
Boyd, the Secretary of Legation, soon came, and stayed to dine with us at
six. Our dinner was an excellent soup, the boiled cod garnished with
fried smelts, the roast beef and a _fricandeau_ with sweet breads, then a
pheasant, and afterwards, dessert.
This morning Mr. Bates came very early to see us, and then Mr. Joseph
Coolidge, who looks very young and handsome; then Mr. Colman, who also
looks very well, Mr. Boyd and a Mr. Haight, of New York, and Mr. Gair,
son of Mr. Gair of Liverpool, a pleasing young man.
Monday Evening.
This morning came Mr. Aspinwall, then Captain Wormeley, then Dr. Holland,
then Mrs. Bates, then Mr. Joseph Jay and his sister, then Tom Appleton,
Mrs. and Miss Wormeley, and Mrs. Franklin Dexter. Dr. Holland came a
second time to take me a drive, but Mrs. Bates being with me he took your
father. Mrs. Bates took me to do some shopping, and to see about some
houses. They are very desirous we should be in their neighborhood, in
Portland Place, but I have a fancy myself for the new part of town. I
have been so used all my life to see things fresh and clean-looking, that
I cannot get accustomed to the London dinge, and some of the finest
houses look to me as though I would like to give them a good scouring.
Tell Cousin M. never to come to England, she would be shocked every
minute, with all the grandeur. A new country is cleaner-looking, though
it may not be so picturesque.
I got your letters when I arrived here, and I wish this may give you but
a little pleasure they gave me. Pray never let a steamer come without a
token from both of you . . . With love to Grandma and Uncle Thomas,
believe me, with more love than ever before,