fine, massive bridges which span the Thames, and are so crowded with
foot passengers and carriages. Every boy who has read much has had his
head full of notions about London Bridge; that is, old London Bridge,
which was taken down about thirty years ago. The old bridge was
originally a wooden structure, and on the sides of the bridge were
houses, and the pathway in front had all sorts of goods exposed for
sale, and the Southwark gate of the bridge was disfigured with the heads
and quarters of the poor creatures who were executed for treason.
The new bridge was commenced in 1825, and it was opened in 1831 by
William IV. and Queen Adelaide. The bridge has five arches; the central
one is one hundred and fifty feet in the clear, the two next one hundred
and forty feet, and the extreme arches one hundred and thirty feet. The
length, including the abutments, is about one thousand feet, its width
eighty-three feet, and the road for carriages fifty-five feet.
The great roads leading to London Bridge have been most costly affairs;
and I was told that a _parish and its church_ had been destroyed to make
these approaches. The men of different generations, who, for almost one
thousand years, looked at the old bridge, would stare at the present one
and its present vicinity, if they were to come back again. Southwark
Bridge was commenced in 1814, and finished in 1819. It has three arches,
and the central arch is two hundred and forty feet, which is the
greatest span in the world. In this bridge are five thousand three
hundred and eight tons of iron. Blackfriars Bridge was commenced in
1760, and opened in 1770. It has nine elliptical arches, of which the
middle one is one hundred feet in width. Recently this bridge has been
thoroughly repaired. I think this is my favorite stand-point for the
river and city. Nowhere else have I obtained such a view up and down the
river. Here I have a full prospect of the Tower, St. Paul's Cathedral,
Somerset House, the Houses of Parliament, Westminster Abbey, and perhaps
twenty-five other churches! But the great bridge of all is the Waterloo
one, commenced in 1811, and opened in 1817, on the 18th of June, the
anniversary of the battle of Waterloo. Of course, the Duke of Wellington
figured upon the occasion. At this point the river is one thousand three
hundred and twenty-six feet wide; and the bridge is of nine elliptical
arches, each of one hundred and twenty feet space, and thirty-five feet
high above high water, and its entire length two thousand four hundred
and fifty-six feet. It is painful to hear the sad stories which have a
connection with this magnificent structure. It seems the chosen resort
of London suicides, and very frequent are the events which almost
justify its appellation--"the Bridge of Sighs." I love to walk this and
the other bridges, and look at the mighty city, and think of its
wonderful history and its existing place in the affairs of the world;
and I cannot help thinking of the reflection of the wise man--"One
generation passeth away, but the earth remaineth." I have never felt my
own insignificance so much, Charley, as when walking in one of these
crowded streets. I know no one; I am unknown; I am in solitude, and feel
it more, perhaps, than I should if alone upon a mountain top or in a
wilderness. I am sure I have told you enough for once, and perhaps you
are as tired of my letter as I was in going over the places I have
written to you about; so I will relieve your patience.
I am yours always,
WELD.
Letter 6.
LONDON.
DEAR CHARLEY:--
All round London there are the most exquisite villages or towns, full of
charming retreats, boxes of wealthy tradesmen, and some very fine rows
of brick and stone residences, with gardens in front. I am amused to see
almost every house having a name. Thus you find one house called, on
the gateway, Hamilton Villa, the next Hawthorne Lodge, whilst opposite
their fellows rejoice in the names, Pelham House, Cranborne Cottage; and
so it is with hundreds of neat little domiciles. I think the road up to
St. John's Wood is one of the prettiest I have seen; and there are in it
perhaps two hundred habitations, each having its _sobriquet._ Since
writing to you last we have been to Camberwell, a very pretty place, two
or three miles from the city. We called on a gentleman who had a party
that night, and we were politely invited, and spent an agreeable
evening. The supper was elegant, and the ladies were quite inquisitive
as to our social manners. One gentleman present had a son in Wisconsin,
and he seemed to fancy that, as that state was in the United States, it
was pretty much like the rest of the country. We told him that Wisconsin
was about as much like New York and Massachusetts as Brighton, in 1851,
was like what it was one hundred years ago. When we talk with
well-educated persons here, we are much amused at their entire
unacquaintedness with American geography and history. I think an
importation of Morse's School Geography would be of great service. We
very often lose our patience when we hear about the great danger of life
in America. I find very intelligent and respectable persons who fancy
that life is held by a slight tenure in the Union, and that law and
order are almost unknown. Now, the first week we were in London the
papers teemed with accounts of murders in various parts of England. One
newspaper detailed no less than eleven oases of murder, or executions on
account of murders. Poison, however, seems just at present the
prevailing method by which men and women are removed.
As to accidents in travel, we, no doubt, have our full share; but since
our arrival in England the railroad trains have had some pretty rough
shakings, and the results in loss of life and limb would have passed for
quite ugly enough, even had they happened in the west. I very much wish
you could have been with us on Easter Monday, when we passed the day at
Greenwich, and were at the renowned Greenwich Fair, which lasts for
three days. The scene of revelry takes place in the Park, a royal one,
and really a noble one. Here all the riff-raff and bobtail of London
repair in their finery, and have a time. You can form no notion of the
affair; it cannot be described. The upper part of the Park, towards the
Royal Observatory, is very steep, and down this boys and girls, men and
women, have a roll. Such scenes as are here to be witnessed we cannot
match. Nothing can exceed the doings that occur. All the public houses
swarm, and in no spot have I ever seen so many places for drinking as
are here. The working-men of London, and apprentices, with wires and
sweethearts, all turn out Easter Monday. It seems as though all the
horses, carts, chaises, and hackney coaches of the city were on the
road. We saw several enormous coal wagons crammed tightly with boys and
girls. On the fine heath, or down, that skirts the Park, are hundreds of
donkeys, and you are invited to take a halfpenny, penny, or twopenny
ride. All sorts of gambling are to be seen. One favorite game with the
youngsters was to have a tobacco box, full of coppers, stuck on a stick
standing in a hole, and then, for a halfpenny paid to the proprietor,
you are entitled to take a shy at the mark. If it falls into the hole,
you lose; if you knock it off, and away from the hole, you take it. It
_requires,_ I fancy, much adroitness and experience to make any thing at
"shying" at the "bacca box." At night, Greenwich is all alive--life is
out of London and in the fair. But let the traveller who has to return
to town beware. The road is full of horses and vehicles, driven by
drunken men and boys; and, for four or five miles, you can imagine that
a city is besieged, and that the inhabitants are flying from the sword.
O, such weary-looking children as we saw that day! One favorite
amusement was to draw a little wooden instrument quick over the coat of
another person, when it produces a noise precisely like that of a torn
garment. Hundreds of these machines were in the hands of the urchins who
crowded the Park. Here, for the first time, I saw the veritable gypsy of
whose race we have read so much in Borrow's Zincali. The women are very
fine looking, and some of the girls were exquisitely beautiful. They are
a swarthy-looking set, and seem to be a cross of Indian and Jew. Those
we saw were proper wiry-looking fellows. One or two of the men were
nattily dressed, with fancy silk handkerchiefs. They live in tents, and
migrate through the midland counties, but I believe are not as numerous
as they were thirty years ago. You will not soon forget how we were
pleased with the memoirs of Bamfield Moore Carew, who was once known as
their king in Great Britain. I wonder that book has never been reprinted
in America. I am pretty sure that Greenwich Park would please your
taste. I think the view from the Royal Observatory, and from whence
longitude is reckoned, is one of the grandest I have ever seen. You get
a fine view of the noble palace once the royal residence, but now the
Sailor's Home. You see the Thames, with its immense burden, and, through
the mist, the great city. As to the Hospital, we shall leave that for
another excursion: we came to Greenwich at present merely to witness
Easter Fair, and it will not soon be forgotten by any of us.
Yours, &c.,
JAMES.
Letter 7.
BRISTOL.
DEAR CHARLEY:--
As we had a few days to spare before the exhibition opened, we proposed
to run down to Bristol and Bath, and pass a week. We took the Great
Western train first-class ears, and made the journey of one hundred and
twenty miles in two hours and forty minutes. This is the perfection of
travelling. The cars are very commodious, holding eight persons, each
having a nicely-cushioned chair. The rail is the broad gage; and we
hardly felt the motion, so excellent is the road. The country through
which we passed was very beautiful, and perhaps it never appears to more
advantage than in the gay garniture of spring. We left Windsor Castle to
our left, and Eton College, and passed by Beading, a fine, flourishing
town; and at Swindon we made a stay of ten minutes. The station at this
place is very spacious and elegant. Here the passengers have the only
opportunity to obtain refreshments on the route; and never did people
seem more intent upon laying in provender. The table was finely laid
out, and a great variety tempted the appetite. The railroad company,
when they leased this station, stipulated that every train should pass
ten minutes at it. But the express train claimed exemption, and refused
to afford the time. The landlord prosecuted the company, obtained
satisfactory damages, and now even the express train affords its
passengers time to recruit at Swindon. This place has grown up under the
auspices of the railroad, and one can hardly fancy a prettier place than
environs the station. The cottages are of stone, of the Elizabethan and
Tudor style, and are very numerous; while the church, which is just
finished, is one of the neatest affairs I have yet seen in England. The
town of Swindon is about two miles from the station, and I expect to
visit it in the course of my journey. You know, my dear Charley, how
long and fondly I have anticipated my visit to my native city, and can
imagine my feelings on this route homewards. We passed through Bath, a
most beautiful city, (and I think as beautiful as any I ever saw,) and
then in half an hour we entered Bristol. The splendid station-house of
the railroad was new to me, but the old streets and houses were all
familiar as if they had been left but yesterday. The next morning I
called on my friends, and you may think how sad my disappointment was to
find that a dangerous accident had just placed my nearest relative in
the chamber of painful confinement for probably three months. It was a
pleasant thing to come home to scenes of childhood and youth, and I was
prepared to enjoy every hour; but I soon realized that here all our
roses have thorns. Of course, in Bristol I need no guide; and the boys
are, I assure you, pretty thoroughly fagged out, when night comes, with
our perambulations through the old city and neighborhood.
Bristol has claims upon the attention of the stranger, not only as one
of the oldest cities in England, but on account of its romantic scenery.
The banks of the Avon are not to be surpassed by the scenes afforded by
any other river of its size in the world. This city was founded by
Brennus, the chieftain of the Gauls and the conqueror of Rome, 388 B.C.,
and tradition states that his brother Belinus aided him in the work. The
statues of these worthies are quaintly carved on the gateway of John's
Church, in Broad Street, and are of very great antiquity. In the
earliest writings that bear upon the west of England--the Welsh
Chronicles--this city is called _Caer oder_, which means the city of the
_Chasm_. This the Saxons called _Clifton_. The Avon runs through a
tremendous fissure in the rocks called Vincent's Rocks; and hence the
name given to the suburbs of the city, on its banks--Clifton. Of this
place we shall have much to tell you. Another Welsh name for the city
was _Caer Brito_, or the painted city, or the famous city. Bristol, like
Rome, stands on seven hills, and on every side is surrounded by the most
attractive scenery. It has made quite a figure in history, and its
castle was an object of great importance during the civil wars between
Charles I. and his Parliament. This city stands in two counties, and has
the privileges of one itself. It is partly in Gloucestershire and partly
in Somersetshire. The population of Bristol, with Clifton and the Hot
Wells, is about two hundred thousand. My first excursion with the boys
was to Redcliffe Church, which is thought to be the finest parish church
in England. This is the church where poor Chatterton said that he found
the Rowley MSS. No one of taste visits the city without repairing to
this venerable pile. Its antiquity, beauty of architecture, and the many
interesting events connected with its history, claim particular notice.
This church was probably commenced about the beginning of the thirteenth
century; but it was completed by William Cannynge, Sen., mayor of the
city, in 1396. In 1456, the lofty spire was struck by lightning, and one
hundred feet fell upon the south aisle. The approach from Redcliffe
Street is very impressive. The highly-ornamented tower, the west front
of the church, its unrivalled north porch, and the transept, with flying
buttresses, pinnacles, and parapet, cannot fail to gratify every
beholder. The building stands on a hill, and is approached by a
magnificent flight of steps, guarded by a heavy balustrade. In length,
the church and the Lady Chapel is two hundred and thirty-nine feet;
from north to south of the cross aisles is one hundred and seventeen
feet; the height of the middle aisle is fifty-four, and of the north and
south aisles, twenty-five feet.
The impression produced on the spectator by the interior is that of awe
and reverence, as he gazes on the clustered pillars, the mullioned
windows, the panelled walls, the groined ceilings, decorated with ribs,
tracery, and bosses, all evincing the skill of its architects and the
wonderful capabilities of the Gothic style.
The east window and screen have long been hidden by some large paintings
of Hogarth. The subjects of these are the Ascension, the Three Marys at
the Sepulchre, and the High Priest sealing Christ's Tomb.
On a column in the south transept is a flat slab, with a long
inscription, in memory of Sir William Penn, father of William Penn, the
great founder of Pennsylvania. The column is adorned with his banner and
armor.
The boys, who had so often read of Guy, Earl of Warwick, and of his
valorous exploits, were greatly pleased to find in this church, placed
against a pillar, a rib of the Dun cow which he is said to have slain.
You may be very sure that we inquired for the room in which Chatterton
said he found old Monk Rowley's poems. It is an hexagonal room over the
north porch, in which the archives were kept Chatterton's uncle was
sexton of the church; and the boy had access to the building, and
carried off parchments at his pleasure. The idea of making a literary
forgery filled his mind; and if you read Southey and Cottle's edition of
the works of Chatterton, or, what is far better, an admirable Life of
the young poet by John Dix, a gifted son of Bristol, now living in
America, you will have an interesting view of the character of this
remarkable youth.
[Illustration: Thomas Chatterton.]
At the east end of the church is the Chapel of the Virgin Mary. A noble
room it is. A large statue of Queen Elizabeth, in wood, stands against
one of the windows, just where it did thirty-seven years ago, when I was
a youngster, and went to her majesty's grammar school, which is taught
in the chapel. I showed the boys the names of my old school-fellows cut
upon the desks. How various their fates! One fine fellow, whose name yet
lives on the wood, found his grave in the West Indies, on a voyage he
had anticipated with great joy.
I am glad to say that a spirited effort is now making to restore this
gorgeous edifice. It was greatly needed, and was commenced in 1846. I do
wish you could see this church and gaze upon its interior. I have
obtained some fine drawings of parts of the edifice, and they will
enable you to form some faint idea of the splendor of the whole. We have
to dine with a friend, and I must close.
Yours affectionately,
J.O.C.
Letter 8.
BRISTOL.
DEAR CHARLEY:--
You have so often expressed a desire to see the fine cathedral churches
and abbeys of the old world, that I shall not apologize for giving you
an account of them; and as they are more in my way, I shall take them
into my hands, and let the lads write you about other things. The next
visit we took, after I wrote you last, was to the cathedral. This is of
great antiquity. In 1148, a monastery was dedicated to St. Augustine.
This good man sent one Jordan as a missionary in 603, and here he
labored faithfully and died. It seems, I think, well sustained that the
venerable Austin himself preached here, and that his celebrated
conference with the British clergy took place on College Green; and it
is thought that the cathedral was built on its site to commemorate the
event. The vicinity of the church is pleasing. The Fitzhardings, the
founders of the Berkeley family, began the foundation of the abbey in
1140, and it was endowed and dedicated in 1148. The tomb of Sir Robert,
the founder, lies at the east of the door, and is enclosed with rails.
Some of the buildings connected with the church are of great antiquity,
and are probably quite as old as the body of the cathedral. A gateway
leading to the cloisters and chapter-house is plainly Saxon, and is
regarded as the finest Saxon archway in England. The western part of the
cathedral was demolished by Henry VIII. The eastern part, which remains,
has a fine Gothic choir. This was created a bishop's see by Henry VIII.
It is interesting to think that Secker, Butler, and Newton have all been
bishops of this diocese, and Warburton, who wrote the Divine Legation of
Moses, was once Dean of Bristol. The immortal Butler, who wrote the
Analogy of Natural and Revealed Religion, lies buried here, and his
tombstone is on the south aisle, at the entrance of the choir. A
splendid monument has been erected to his memory, with the following
inscription from the pen of Robert Southey, himself a Bristolian:--
Sacred
to the Memory of
JOSEPH BUTLER, D.C.L.,
twelve years Bishop of this Diocese,
afterwards of Durham, whose mortal remains
are here deposited. Others had established
the historical and prophetical grounds of the
Christian Religion, and that true testimony of Truth
which is found in its perfect adaptation to the heart
of man. It was reserved for him to develop its
analogy to the constitution and course of Nature;
and laying his strong foundations
in the depth of that great argument,
there to construct another and
irrefragable proof; thus rendering
Philosophy subservient
to Faith, and finding
in outward and
visible things
the type and evidence of those within the veil.
Born, A.D. 1693. Died, 1752.
We noticed a very fine monument by Bacon to the memory of Mrs. Draper,
said to have been the Eliza of Sterne. We hastened to find the
world-renowned tomb of Mrs. Mason, and to read the lines on marble of
that inimitable epitaph, which has acquired a wider circulation than any
other in the world. The lines were written by her husband, the Rev.
William Mason.
"Take, holy earth, all that my soul holds dear;
Take that best gift which Heaven so lately gave.
To Bristol's fount I bore with trembling care
Her faded form; she bowed to taste the wave,
And died. Does youth, does beauty read the line?
Does sympathetic fear their breasts alarm?
Speak, dead Maria; breathe a strain divine;
E'en from the grave thou shalt have power to charm.
Bid them be chaste, be innocent, like thee;
Bid them in duty's sphere as meekly move;
And if so fair, from vanity as free,
As firm in friendship, and as fond in love,--
Tell them, though 'tis an awful thing to die,
(Twas e'en to thee,) yet, the dread path once trod,
Heaven lifts its everlasting portals high,
And bids the pure in heart behold their God."
In the cloisters we saw the tomb of Bird the artist, a royal
academician, and a native of Bristol. We were much interested with a
noble bust of Robert Southey, the poet, which has just been erected in
the north aisle. It stands on an octangular pedestal of gray marble,
with Gothic panels. The bust is of the most exquisitely beautiful
marble. The inscription is in German text.
Robert Southey,
Born in Bristol,
October 4, 1774;
Died at Reswick,
March 21, 1843.
[Illustration: Robert Southey]
The cloisters contain some fine old rooms, which recall the days of the
Tudors. Here we saw the apartments formerly occupied by the learned and
accomplished Dr. Hodges, now organist of Trinity Church, New York. This
gentleman is a native of Bristol, and is held, we find, in respectful
and affectionate remembrance by the best people of this city.
Opposite to the cathedral, and on the other side of the college green,
is the Mayor's Chapel, where his honor attends divine service. In
Catholic days, this was the Church and Hospital of the Virgin Mary. This
edifice was built by one Maurice de Gaunt in the thirteenth century.
Under the tower at the east front is a small door, by which you enter
the church, and on the north another, by which you enter a small room,
formerly a confessional, with two arches in the walls for the priest and
the penitent. In this room are eight niches, in which images once stood.
The roof is vaulted with freestone, in the centre of which are two
curious shields and many coats of arms. In 1830, this chapel was
restored and beautified. A fine painted window was added, and the altar
screen restored to its former beauty, at the expense of the corporation.
The front of the organ gallery is very rich in Gothic moulding, tracery,
crockets, &c. It is flanked at the angles with octagonal turrets, of
singular beauty, embattled, and surmounted with canopies, crockets, &c.
The spandrils, quatrefoils, buttresses, sculptures, and cornices are
exceedingly admired. The pulpit is of stone, and the mayor's throne, of
carved oak, is of elaborate finish. Here are two knights in armor, with
their right hands on their sword hilts, on the left their shields, _with
their legs crossed,_ which indicates that they were crusaders.