fellow, dressed in uniform, from 8.30 to 9.30, as he sends the
gentlemen and ladies away from the hotel, mostly to the theatres. The
hansoms and four-wheelers, as they call them, fill the square. The
porter has a whistle,--one whistle for hansom, two for a four-wheeler.
The drivers respond instantly to the call. You tell the porter what you
want, and you will be packed into your carriage and sent on your way to
your destination before you have time to think about it. He told me he
had frequently shipped three hundred in an hour.
I think the best thing to do is to take our trip into Scotland, and on
our return finish up London the last thing before sailing for New York.
The train we want leaves Euston Station at 10 A.M., due in Edinburgh
at 6.30, a run of four hundred and forty miles in eight and one-half
hours. It makes four stops, besides stopping twenty minutes for lunch
at Preston. So any school-boy can figure out about how fast we have got
to run. When the steam is on, the word “hustle” does not express it. We
just went flying, and had to average about one mile a minute; and some
of the way they claim to run seventy miles an hour.
We soon left London at our backs, passing through Bletchley, Rugby,
Stafford, Crewe, Preston, etc., going through the north of England.
This is an old country and under thorough cultivation, with its old
English oaks, beeches, etc., and much fine scenery.
After two hours’ run, we find we are passing over and among the great
coal fields; and we begin to see at our right and left the tall
chimneys rolling out their dense volumes of smoke, and we soon learn
that the great marts of manufacturing have located in this region.
Off at our right is Manchester with her great cotton mills. Beyond
are Huddersfield and Leeds, turning out the fine woollens. In another
direction is Birmingham, with her great iron-works. Farther on we see
at our left a beautiful valley; and we learn on inquiry that it is
Windermere, or what is called the English Lakes, and is a fine resort
of much gayety and a great place for coaching.
At 4.30 we found ourselves at Carlisle. When we leave there, we enter
Scotland, and the picture changes. We find ourselves in a farming
country, and everything looks charming: the small white cottages, neat
and tidy, and from appearance love reigns within; even the dogs in the
front yard smile when we go by, the chickens flap their wings for joy;
the cattle in the field are sleek and lazy, either clipping the green
grass or chewing their cuds with composure; the horses are willing and
strong, as they put their shoulders into the collars, and draw in the
large loads of grain and new-mown hay.
You will be delighted with the laddies and lassies of Scotland. The
latter can grace the parlor or perform the duties of the kitchen, and,
if necessity demands, can help their brothers in the field. It will do
you good to look at them. The rose and peach have left their impress
on their cheeks. The lass is one of those artless, light-hearted girls
that think it is no harm to be kissed when coming through the rye; and,
if I were one of the laddies, I should miss no opportunity in walking
through the rye with her.
The laddie soldiers are very attractive, with their caps with drooping
plumage, white waists and leggings and the Highland plaid skirt, and a
sash of the same material coming around under the left arm and up on to
the right shoulder, where it is fastened, then hanging down about to
the knee. This, with ruddy, fresh, healthy countenance, makes a fine
picture; and, if I were an artist, and wished to copy manhood in its
fulness, I would certainly go to Scotland.
But you see I have been loitering by the way, and have said many
things that might have been deferred until we reached Edinburgh, where
we arrived about on time, and took carriages for the Royal Hotel on
Princes Street, which is one of the main streets of the city and the
hotel one of the best.
Here we found Carnegie, who is the great iron king of America, and
wife. He has done much for Edinburgh. We saw one public building into
which he had put two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.
Some think Edinburgh the finest city in Europe. While I do not care to
risk my judgment or reputation in the matter, yet I am willing to say
that we were delighted with the place and its suburbs.
Lord Lytton has said that it is a divine pleasure to admire, and that
there are but few cities in Europe where the faculties of admiration
can be so cultivated as in the grand old capital of Scotland. Whether
it be antiquarian, romantic, picturesque, or scholarly, whatever is
sought for, the tourist will find plenty of food in Edinburgh.
The city of itself has a population of two hundred and thirty-six
thousand. While it is a seaport town, it seems to be dropped down upon
the Highlands of Scotland, and has its ups and downs, and is very
picturesque.
The first thing to attract your attention as you enter the city is
the castle. This is a summit of rock some four hundred feet above the
level of the sea. The top has a space of seven acres, and is a military
fortress. It reminds one of the Acropolis of Athens. This place was
used as a stronghold long before the authentic records of Scottish
history; but none of the present buildings, with the exception of the
little Norman chapel of Queen Margaret, date farther back than the
fifteenth century. At one time it had a tower on it sixty feet high,
called the tower of David II., erected about the year 1370.
In 1573 the gallant Kirkcaldy held the fortress for Queen Mary when it
was attacked by Sir William Drury, who had five batteries playing on
one point nine days, and David’s tower was battered completely down, so
that egress or ingress was impossible; and after thirty-three days the
gallant Kirkcaldy surrendered, and had to be let down, he and his men,
with ropes.
To-day the Highland laddies have their quarters there.
Calton Hill, farther north on a line with Prince Street, with an
elevation of three hundred and forty feet above the sea, is another
place of interest. On this is Dugald Stewart’s monument and the royal
observatory.
Here your curiosity will be excited when you see twelve stone columns
forming the end of a building, looking like the Parthenon at Athens.
You will ask some of the Scotch boys or girls that are playing about
there the name of the structure, and they will say it is Edinburgh
Folly. On further investigation we found that George IV. in 1822
commenced a monument to the Scotchmen that had fallen in the land and
sea battles of Napoleon’s time, and erected these twelve pillars at a
cost of one thousand pounds each, when the funds gave out; and there
it stands as a curiosity of the nineteenth century.
The finest thing on this elevation is Nelson’s monument, in circular
form, one hundred and two feet high, with winding staircase inside, and
battlemented summit, erected in 1815. On the flag-staff a huge ball is
rigged, and is moved by mechanism adjusted to the observatory, that
drops daily at one o’clock, Greenwich time, and communicates with and
discharges instantaneously a gun at the castle. You can pay threepence,
and go to the top of this monument, if you wish.
Scotland owes much to Sir Walter Scott. His Highland chief and other
works have thrown a beautiful picture of Scotland broadcast to the
world, and have attracted many tourists to the land so much admired by
the great author.
In front of the Royal Hotel stands a beautiful monument, about two
hundred feet high, costing some seventy-five thousand dollars, its
cruciform, Gothic spire supported on four early English arches, which
serve as a canopy for the marble statue of Sir Walter as he sits there
upon a granite pedestal, with a book in his hand, and beside him lies
his favorite dog, Maida. In the niches above the several arches are a
great number of statuettes of leading characters of Scott’s works, and
there are many medallion likenesses of national poets.
I think the symmetry and beauty of this monument are wonderful. Every
time I saw it I stopped and admired its beauty. The architect was
a self-taught genius by the name of George Meikle Kemp, who was
accidentally drowned in the Union Canal before this work was fully
completed.
A little west of this monument is a bronze statue of Adam Black, Lord
Provost and M.P. for the city, who was publisher of the Encyclopædia
Britannica.
East, there are many other statues, those of Livingstone, Christopher
North, Allan Ramsay, and Professor Simpson. These are all located in
Princes Street Gardens, a beautiful place for a ramble at twilight,
which at this season of the year in Edinburgh comes at a late hour. The
chickens here retire about ten in the evening; and the mother can begin
to scratch for them as early as three in the morning, if she wishes to
do so. There are virtually only some four hours of darkness. In the
winter this is reversed. Daylight is dealt out in small doses, darkness
in quantity. The only objection to Edinburgh is that it is too near
Norway, but I suppose our Scotch cousins think that what they lose in
winter they make up in the summer.
Burns, the poet, spent much of his time here. It was also the home of
John Knox, the great reformer. In the old part of the city you will see
the house where he wrote the History of the Reformation. This is where
he escaped the bullet of an assassin when it struck the candlestick
before him, while he was sitting in meditation. It is said to be one
of the oldest houses in the city. Knox died in this house in 1572, age
sixty-seven. You will be shown a balcony where he used to stand and
address the people. Near by the balcony are inscribed in Roman letters
the first and second great commandments.
In Parliament Square you will see a small surface bronze stone in the
ground, with the initials J. K. Here, Nov. 26, 1572, was placed all
that was mortal of John Knox. The nobles and citizens were gathered
there at that time, and Regent Morton pronounced over him a memorable
eulogium, in which he used these words: “Here will rest the ashes
of him who never feared the face of any man.” Courage is one of the
characteristics of the Scotch people. John Knox no doubt had his share.
The Mercat Cross, in one of the squares of Edinburgh, with its history,
is worthy of your attention. It is as old as Edinburgh itself. It was
destroyed in 1577; but in 1885, through the efforts of Mr. Gladstone,
it was restored, and around it to-day are clustered the memories of
perilous days. Here the citizens celebrated the accessions of all the
Jameses, the blue blanket was unfurled, at the sound of the bells of
St. Giles the burghers gathered to fight the English or to defend the
town from hostile inroads. It was the place where the crier stood to
proclaim the laws or sale of goods. James VI. and Charles I. endeavored
here to impose laws which Scotland refused to obey. Charles II.
followed in the same foolish way, and many victims of the persecuting
times came to a martyr’s crown at the cross.
The Holyrood Palace and chapel and Parliament Building are places of
interest; but one of the largest buildings in Scotland is the Museum of
Art and Science, four hundred feet long, two hundred feet wide, ninety
feet high, lighted in the evening by horizontal rods in the roof,
studded with gas-burners. The number of jets is five thousand.
You, no doubt, would enjoy staying longer in Edinburgh; but the wheels
of time are moving rapidly, and we will take the train to-morrow
morning for Melrose. About one and a half hours’ ride will give us a
delightful day.
SCOTLAND TO AMERICA.
Melrose is one of the delightful spots of Scotland; for I believe that
Sir Walter Scott worshipped the god of nature, and his heart was full
when he revelled in the beautiful scenery around Melrose. On arrival we
will visit Melrose Abbey first. This is the ruin of an old church or
convent.
They will show you the stone on which Sir Walter used to sit in
meditation. Many of the rich and beautiful thoughts found in his works
might have originated here.
After looking over this historical relic, we will engage a jolly
Scotchman with his carriage to drive us to Abbotsford, some two and
one-half miles, the home of Sir Walter Scott. Here you leave your
carriage in the main road, take a pathway that leads down into a
beautiful dell embowered with trees, and you soon see the home of
Scott; and you will decide that the architect had a mind of his own,
and has reared a building with some oddities, yet which, with its
towers, angles, and surroundings, is a thing of beauty.
A little west of the house is the meandering brook with its silver
stream as it goes rippling and singing its way onward. It is said that
this little stream gave this noted Scotchman a great deal of enjoyment
as he listened to its music wafted by the breeze to his library and
study rooms where he spent so much of his time.
The place is owned by Sir Walter Scott’s granddaughter, and is kept
just as he left it, and must be yielding her a good return, as every
one that enters pays an English shilling for the privilege. You will
find a very pleasant young lady there that will show you through the
house, giving all the information wished for; and it is a perfect
museum of itself, filled with relics presented to the great author by
kings, princes, and nobles.
Here you can look over his library of twenty thousand volumes, here
you see his chair and desk just as he left them, also the last suit of
clothes he wore, with his white stove-pipe hat, Scotch plaid trowsers,
shoes, say No. 8, but with more breadth than length.
The swords and implements of war seem to have a large share in the
exhibition. Whether this was Sir Walter’s taste or the taste of his
friends that presented them, I am not able to say, but am of the
impression that the rod and gun, with his favorite dog, Maida, and in
company with his Highland chief, Rob Roy, spending his leisure hours
among the hills and valleys of Loch Katrine and Loch Lomond, is where
Sir Walter found his enjoyment and recreation, and relief from hours
of toil. Not only that, but in these simple amusements he found the
inspiration that is seen in his works that we are enjoying to-day.
After drinking our fill of the scenes and surroundings of a lifetime,
we will retrace our steps to the place where we left our carriage, and
return to Melrose. We then drive to Dryburgh, some four miles, where
rest the ashes of Sir Walter Scott and family.
After three-quarters of an hour’s drive you will halt on the bank of a
small river, where you find a suspension foot-bridge. You cross this,
turn to your right, and a walk of twenty minutes, and you will find
yourself in a meandering pathway, with the beautiful trees of Scotland
all about you. You will say at once that this is a retreat for lovers;
and you soon come to the ruins of an old abbey, in which is the tomb of
Sir Walter and others.
The keeper of the place will tell you that Scott used to spend hours in
this retreat with his wife, when she was his best girl; and no doubt it
became one of the dearest spots on earth to him, and was probably the
reason why his earth’s journey was ended here.
As the sun seems to be dropping down in the western sky, we will return
to Melrose and take the train for Edinburgh, where we spend the night,
and take an early start in the morning, June 28, for Glasgow, going
through the Trossachs. The train leaves about eight in the morning. So
we have time for breakfast, and bid our cousins at Edinburgh good-by,
and receive a cordial invitation to come again, to which our hearts say
Yea and Amen.
Our train is soon sweeping us through the beautiful scenery of
Scotland. We go through Stirling, a place of beauty, with its ruined
castle, where we might spend a day with profit; but time is limited,
and we pass on to where we leave the train at Callander, taking coaches
for Loch Katrine, some half-mile or more this side of the boat landing.
We stop at the charming Hotel Trossachs for lunch; and, if you have
the time, it will pay you to stop over a day.
Good fishing is near at hand, the scenery delightful, the hotel the
personification of neatness, the cuisine excellent. But our coach is
ready, and we bid good-by to one of the loveliest spots in Scotland,
and go to the landing, where we find “Rob Roy” waiting for us.
This is a nice little skipper, and will carry some seventy-five
persons, if necessary, and is a much better boat in fair than foul
weather. But we were fortunate, it being one of June’s bright, charming
days; and all went merry as a marriage bell.
Probably Loch Katrine and her surroundings were never more charming in
appearance than this day that we saw her. If you are expecting to see
high and rugged mountains along her shores, you will be disappointed.
The highest elevation is only little more than a thousand feet.
This, to a New Englander, is rather a tame affair; but, like Lake
George, the scenery fills your soul with admiration. The shores are not
abrupt, but gradually recede, with foliage to the top of the hills;
and in many places the slopes are so gradual that the Highlanders have
their dwellings near the shore, with their fields and flocks climbing
back upon the mountains.
There seems to be a great variety of trees and foliage upon these
mountains, which give different shades of coloring. This, as you go
sailing down the lake, passing Ellen Isle and Silver Strand, will give
you a charming picture. “Rob Roy” is about one and one-half hours in
reaching Stronach Lochar, near the lower end of the lake, where we find
coaches to take us to Inversnaid, where we take a larger steamer on the
waters of Loch Lomond.
Loch Katrine was the little sister with her coquettish beauty. Loch
Lomond is more stately and dignified, but comely in appearance. At
Inversnaid there is a fine hotel; but we had satisfied the inner man
at the Hotel Trossachs. Therefore, we spent our time in admiring the
beauties of Inversnaid and surroundings, which is near the upper end of
Loch Lomond.
In some forty-five minutes after our arrival by coach we find ourselves
on board of a very comfortable steamer, with her prow headed down the
lake, commencing a three hours’ ride for the lower end of the lake,
where we take a car-ride of twenty miles to Glasgow.
As we pursued our journey, we found the lake somewhat narrow, giving
us beautiful scenery on our right; and on our left we passed Rob Roy’s
cave, also his prison where he held his victims until he secured ransom
money. You will see at our left where the city of Glasgow has tunnelled
under the mountains, and taken their supply of water, a distance of
thirty-four miles, costing millions.
Queen Victoria attended the opening of this great enterprise. Farther
on Ben Lomond looms up to a height of over three thousand feet, and
is the Mount Washington of that region. Birch, ash, oak, and in many
places the heather cover the sides of the hills and mountains with
charming effect. As we pass on the last hour of our sail, Loch Lomond
is much wider and filled with beautiful islands. About four o’clock we
tie up at the pier, and take a train for Glasgow, reaching our hotel at
half-past five.
June 27, Thursday morning, we start out to investigate Glasgow, a
city of five hundred thousand inhabitants, with suburbs of nearly
another half million. The Clyde passes through the city. This river is
the promoter of Glasgow, or, if you prefer, you can call Glasgow the
offspring of the Clyde.
It is the great ship-building port of the world. The river is not wide,
but is deep, so they can slide in the largest boats that plough the
ocean, and steam them down into the Atlantic. We will now step on board
a small steamer that plies up and down the Clyde, and go down the river
some five miles. On your right and left the staging poles and masts
look like a forest; and, when you hear the clanging of hammers and
chisels upon the heavy steel plates as they are being fitted, you will
decide at once that the man that can make the most noise is the best
fellow, and that every man’s effort is crowned with success.
We pass the yard where they have been and are building yachts that have
competed, and are to continue to compete, for the national cup. We also
pass the abattoir where they butcher nothing but American cattle.
Before they turned the prow of the steamer up the river, they pointed
out to us the town of Paisley, where the famous Paisley shawls
originated; but the day of that article has gone by, and they are
making other goods now.
But what will surprise you in taking this trip is the hundreds of
acres of ship-yards on the banks of the Clyde. This has brought in an
immense amount of money, and made Glasgow what she is to-day, the great
manufacturing city of Scotland.
The sewerage of the city empties into the Clyde, and the impurities
are making them trouble; and they are devising ways to take care of it
elsewhere, which will be a blessing to those that are on or near the
river.
We enjoyed our stay in Glasgow, though it was a short one, leaving in
the afternoon for Manchester, where we spent the night, going through
to London the next day, feeling that our trip to Scotland was a decided
success.
Saturday night found us nicely located and everything in running order
at the Hotel Metropole in London.
Sunday we go to hear Joseph Parker preach his twenty-fifth anniversary
sermon, also to Westminster Abbey to hear Canon Farrar. There it was
Flower Sunday, and children took part in the services, and everything
was in keeping with the flowery kingdom. Monday morning we will put in
an appearance there again, as you will find it an immense building and
a perfect burying-ground of itself; and whoever preaches there preaches
to the dead and the living,--which class is the best listeners is a
question.
The crypt is full of dead men’s bones; and the main part is the last
resting-place of many heroes, princes, and nobles. You will see many
inscriptions speaking of their honors and gallant deeds. One of the
honored ones fell at Ticonderoga. Perhaps Ethan Allen could give us the
circumstances. Westminster Abbey is old and honored, and is one of the
great attractions of London.
From here you had better go to St. Paul’s cathedral. There is the last
resting-place of the late General Gordon. Many a noted man in silent
manner will speak to you there, and you will be interested in hunting
for the heroes of olden times.
The architecture of this building is grand. You can revel in churches
in London any length of time if your taste runs that way.
But you may weary of these things; and we will take up temporal and
material things, and go to the Bank of England, the great financial
institution of London. There you will see them dropping the bags of
gold into strong boxes, strapped with iron, then lifted with blocks
and pulleys to a platform, where they are shipped to the four corners
of the earth. They informed us that the week before they had shipped
twenty-five million to France. They seem to be doing business on a
large scale. You will see every day late in the afternoon one hundred
or more soldiers marching from the barracks to the bank, and they
remain in and on top of the building through the night.
From here you can go to the Thames. This will give you an idea of the
manufacturing of London, which is located on the banks of this river.
Then go some eight miles up the Thames, and you reach Hampton Court,
where you can visit the palace with all its fine paintings, and see
the regal splendor of the kings, see one of the largest grape-vines in
the world with its twenty-five hundred bunches of grapes to tempt your
palate, also a wistaria of about the same proportion.
From there take a carriage, and drive through the two-thousand-acre
park, strewn with English oaks and beeches and a variety of trees with
beautiful deer seen in all directions. In going through this park, you
will visit the mammoth conservatories, with tropical plants and flowers
in great variety.
You can return to your hotel by rail or boat, as you may choose. You
are probably weary, as all sight-seers usually are when the shades of
eve close in upon them.
We shall want to go to the Tower and prison, and see the relics and
implements of execution and torture of olden times.