LIVERPOOL--CHESTER--SHREWSBURY--WORCESTER--HEREFORD.
Steamers leave Dublin every week-night for Liverpool, as they do Fall
River for New York, and the distance is about the same. It involves a
trip of a few miles out of Dublin harbor and bay, across St. George's
channel, and four miles up the River Mersey at the other end. It is an
English custom to put the name of the river last, while Americans put
it first. It would sound very odd to an American to hear the remark
River Ohio or River Mississippi; and so it would to an Englishman, to
hear the expression Thames River.
Every wise tourist, on visiting New York for the first time, is on deck
early to see the approaches to the harbor, and the scenery below the
city. One visiting Liverpool will do likewise; for this is to be his
first view of the Mother Country. We were on our steamer's deck at 5
o'clock A. M., on Friday morning, May 3. In the distance, on
our right, towered up, though somewhat obscurely, the bold headland
of Holyhead, a part of Wales. As we approach it we discover the
great gorge in the rock, and the bridge over it, and also the white
lighthouse and long, substantial breakwater for the defence of the
harbor. Sweeping in a curved course to the southeastward we see the
Welsh high uplands, with their thrifty farms and many windmills. Behind
these, as a splendid background, the Welsh mountains loom up, and the
peaks of Snowden and other highlands show themselves.
We now pass an interesting object,--an assemblage of rocks called the
Skerries, three miles or so distant from the Welsh shore. They are
very dangerous, and are lighted, being directly in the way of passage
to the River Mersey. Next we arrive at Point Lynas, the pilot-station
for Liverpool. Near it is Orme's Head, a rough promontory on which is
a lighthouse, having a Fresnel light, one of the most powerful in the
world. To add to the picturesqueness of the scenery, here and there are
little Welsh villages, cosily situated, and nestling at the base of
the hills. Among them is Llandudno and the watering-places; and so we
anticipate a higher type of civilization, signs of which are on every
hand.
Not far from the mouth of the Mersey, fresh evidences of commercial
life present themselves. Steamers, pilot-boats, and tugs thicken,
and we know we are nearing a port of no ordinary importance. We pass
the Northwest Lightship, and soon after hear the bell-buoy on the
bar sending out its plaintive warning as it pitches and rolls. Like
faithful sentinels are Formby and Crosby lightships; and at the right
is Rock Light, at New Brighton.
This place is the end of the peninsula, which for five miles stretches
down the river, and is the shore opposite Liverpool and its suburbs.
It is a pleasant and cheap watering-place, and one much sought by the
common people. Steamboats from Liverpool run half-hourly between the
places. New Brighton has a good beach, and there are many restaurants
along the upper side. An old stone fort is one of the objects of
interest, and free to visitors. On any fair day may be seen thousands
of people promenading over the beach, or riding in teams or on Irish
donkeys, which are at various stations ready for hire, most of them
owned by aged men and women, and let for a single ride or by the hour.
Here are stands for the sale of round clams (_quahaugs_, as we call
them), muscles, periwinkles, and, it may be, a few poor oysters. There
are also cheap refreshment tables, and facilities for the entertainment
of children, such as Punch and Judy, swings, revolving horses. From
this place, along the right bank of the river, the landscape is
diversified with low hills, clean fields, woods, and groves, with
here and there a little settlement. Opposite the city proper lies
Birkenhead, a busy place, with docks and shipping, of its own, and a
population of 65,980. In 1818 Birkenhead had but fifty inhabitants, but
they have trebled since 1851, a rapidity seldom witnessed in the Old
World.
Up the Mersey on the left side, the landscape is picturesque and rural.
Along the river, on comparatively level land, with a slight rise at the
rear, and some especially elevated points at the extreme upper end,
lies the substantial and sombre city of Liverpool. It has literally
forests of masts. There are no wharves extending into the river, but
at stated intervals are openings into the famous docks. These are
controlled by oaken gates, of which there are eight in all, some of
them a hundred feet wide. They are opened and closed twice daily, at
turns of the tide. The docks are built of hewn stone, the oldest of a
perishable sandstone, but the newer of granite. They are built somewhat
in the rear of the outer or river docks, and open into each other.
The spaces between them are used like our wharves, as sites for large
warehouses and sheds of deposit. These docks and landing-places extend
five miles on the Liverpool side of the river, and two miles on the
Birkenhead side. In the aggregate, the docks cover 404 acres, or about
two thirds of a square mile. The aggregate length of the wharf space is
sixteen miles on the Liverpool side, and ten miles at Birkenhead. The
cost was $50,000,000, $35,000,000 of which was expended at Liverpool.
The Landing Stage, as it is called, where passage is taken to the
steamers, is an enormous floating platform, supported on iron tanks,
and is along the business centre of the city, outside of the main
street or sea-wall, which is five miles long, eleven feet thick, and
forty feet in average height from its foundations.
At the beginning of the eighteenth century Liverpool had but one dock;
but between 1830 and 1860, over twenty-five new ones were opened.
The place is of considerable antiquity, and is first spoken of, in any
authentic record, in a charter of Henry II., bearing date 1173, by
which document the privileges of a seaport were secured; and in 1207
King John granted it a municipal charter. Henry III. constituted it a
free borough in 1229. It made but little progress for centuries, and
was a scene of sanguinary conflict in 1644, for during the contest
between Charles I. and his Parliament, this place resisted the King.
After a month's determined opposition, it was taken by Prince Rupert,
and was soon afterwards largely reduced in population by pestilence and
famine. In 1699 it had not more than five thousand inhabitants.
There is no other foreign city so influenced by the United States. Its
condition, advancement, and progress have been in proportion to our
advancement; for upon the fluctuations of trade it has, for a third of
a century, been somewhat dependent. The general look of the city is
like that of the older parts of New York or Boston, which it resembles
more than it does any place in Europe.
Its streets are generally wide, clean, and are always well paved.
Its buildings are very substantial. They are of brick or stone; but
from the large amount of smoke from the bituminous coal, and the
damp, and--in winter--foggy atmosphere, they have an old and dingy
appearance. Particularly is this true of most of the churches, with
their square towers. The city proper has few very good church edifices;
but it has many old ones, some of them surrounded by burial-grounds, in
the very heart of the city. These churchyards are not only treeless,
but they are without shrubs, or even grass. An acre is sometimes
covered with slabs of stone, level with the ground. They are about
three feet wide and six long, set close together, with hardly a
crevice, and on them are cut the epitaphs.
St. George's Hall, a colossal and superb structure, has one of the
largest organs in the world, and exhibitions of it are given two or
three times a week for the small admission fee of a sixpence (twelve
cents). At the time of our visit, there were full one thousand people
present. It has a good art-gallery, in which are many fine paintings by
the Masters.
Drunkenness abounds. In no other place did we see so much drunkenness
or so many rum shops. A visit to the police court, and a stay of
a couple of hours there, exhibited more inebriation, poverty, and
destitution than we could imagine as existing as we walked through
the streets of the city. We were informed by the judge that he had on
his book one hundred and ninety-four cases for drunkenness alone, or
crimes growing immediately out of it; and that in some way all must
be disposed of that day, as to-morrow was likely to bring as many or
more. Some offenders had been before his court over sixty times. Such
victims were released, as would be so many wild animals or lepers, the
kind-hearted judge simply lecturing them, and expressing his sorrow
for what in these years he had been compelled to witness daily. He was
humane in all his considerations. We could but tell him that he was
a remarkable man, to be able for years to be in the presence of this
mass of evil and degradation, and not become hardened in feeling, but
retain a sympathetic yet judicious determination and manhood. Never did
a case occur where with more propriety the old remark might be justly
made, "the right man in the right place." We went away somewhat sad,
as we thought of the upright judge's remark, made so innocently, that
we intelligent Americans prohibited this evil and governed it better
than did the people of England. Said he: "Close up the rum shops as
your people do, and my occupation would end." Alas! Would that we
did thus close them, for so would most of our judges' occupations be
gone. But no! In enlightened Boston there are churches, schoolhouses,
and asylums,--and thousands of vile rum-holes sandwiched between,
making void the good done by the former, and furnishing inmates for
station-house and prison.
The suburbs of Liverpool are very fine, and in appearance much like
those of Boston. Horse-cars and omnibuses constantly ply between the
city and these places. Sefton Park is inexpressibly fine in itself, and
in its distant rural scenery; and Toxton (Brookline, we might consider
it) is of great rural beauty. The distant view of the old red church
tower, cathedral-like and grand, situated on elevated ground, peering
up out of shade-trees that obscured other parts of the building, and
even the larger portion of the village itself; small lakes gleaming
in the sun; the evidence of high civilization,--made us long to see
more of Old England,--of these "sweet Auburns," lovely villages of the
plain; and we were soon gratified, for at 2.20 o'clock P. M.,
Saturday, we took cars for the city of
CHESTER.
Who that travels would risk his reputation as a person of taste, and
not go to Chester? A fare of $1.50 each brought us to this Mecca; for
as the Jews of old must go to Mt. Zion, so must the England-visiting
American go to Chester. First, a few words about the city itself; and
here the brain acts sluggishly, and the pen rebels at the thought of
describing what has been described so many times before. We arrived
after an hour and forty minutes' ride from Liverpool.
Chester is the capital of Cheshire, and is situated on the River Dee,
with a population of 35,701. It was a Roman station known as Deva
Castra. It is nearly surrounded by the river, and the original portion
of the city is encompassed with an ancient wall having low towers at
special points. This wall is in perfect condition, and is the best
specimen of its kind in all England. The foundations are Roman, and
part of this work is visible, and is an item of much interest. The
upper portions, resting on the Roman base, date from the time of Edward
I., who was born at Westminster in 1239, and died 1307; and so the wall
is nearly six hundred years old. It is about eight feet thick at the
top, and varies in thickness at the bottom according to its height,
which, of course, is determined by the irregular surface of the land.
The space enclosed is a parallelogram, planned like all Roman camps,
with a gate or entrance in the middle of each of the four sides, the
main streets intersecting at the centre of the town.
There are at stated intervals stone stairs, leading up to the walk at
the top of the wall, and this is a common promenade for the public, and
more especially for strangers, as from this elevation, a large portion
of the entire city is seen, and the view of the outside scenery is most
enchanting.
There are streets, and a busy population of dwellers on both sides
of the walls. Here, too, is a noble field called Grosvenor Park,
many acres in extent, used as pleasure-grounds for the public, or
as a parade for soldiers, whose barracks are near. As a background,
bordering it, half a mile away, are the grounds of fine mansions,
half embowered with trees. As we pass around to the left, we see the
muddy banks and meadow-like borders of the River Dee. Opposite this,
making the other shore, is a dirty fishing-town, with its principal
street extending up from the river. This is called Sty Lane,--at least
by some people. Here we saw from the walls, where we were walking, a
Hogarthlike nest of dilapidated buildings and destitution. There were
the sights and sounds of a veritable Saturday-night row, in which men,
women, and children were promiscuously mingled. It was a good specimen
of a bad original. After a sight like this, we were inclined to give
Hogarth less credit as an inventor than we had before done; for he had
sights worthy his pencil at hand, without an effort of his imagination.
Continuing our walk along to where the river runs sluggishly beside the
walls, we extend our delightful tramp. Encircling the old town thus,
occupies us nearly an hour. On our way, just inside the walls, are
ruins of small lodges, antique and ivy-clad; and on the top of the wall
itself is a little tower, on which is an inscription, cut in a stone
tablet, telling that from its floor King Charles I. beheld the defeat
of Rowton Moor, in 1645. These walls are built of a dark-reddish stone,
well laid in white mortar, and have a very antiquated appearance.
There is a breastwork, or parapet, three feet high on each side for
protection, and capped with long, rough-cut stones. Having finished
our circuit we, much against our inclination, go down one of the
stairways, and into the street within the walls, where we continue our
explorations, confessing that our early dislike of the task of writing
up this city has about vanished. So marked was the early impression
of peculiar interest and novelty, and so fully satisfying to our
anticipations, that when we finally left the city we could not help
feeling as did one of old when he said, with the change of but one
word,--"If I ever forget thee O Chester, may my right hand forget her
cunning." We were not the first Americans who have thought and felt
thus; no one who has ever seen Chester will or can forget her. The cry
once was, "Great is Diana of the Ephesians." We ejaculate "Great is
Chester of the Britons."
The queer old streets are interesting in the extreme. Narrow and
short, but clean, they are said to be at right-angles with each other;
and perhaps they are. The buildings are quaint, antique, and of all
designs, the second story often projecting beyond the first, and the
third beyond the second, and the gable end out over that. Their general
appearance so attracts attention that nothing in particular is noted,
so far as relates to the arrangement of the city itself. The Rows,
as they are called, that is, the covered sidewalks in the older and
business streets, are built in under the second stories, and are paved.
The different store-sections are out of level, each with its neighbor,
though tolerably level through the length of the entire streets. Often
the ceilings of these walks are low enough to touch with the hand;
generally the floor, or pavement, is raised from two to four feet above
the grade of the street. Of course the shops are back of these. The
idea is not a bad one. In times of foul weather or of strong sun, the
Rows are protections. The entire width between the buildings being
given to teams, renders it much safer for pedestrians.
The majority of the buildings are built with their ends to the street,
showing gables with the high roof or attic ends, with elaborate
decorations, and these afford a fine opportunity for a display of
quaint finish. Many of these buildings have a framework of oak, more or
less carved, with brickwork fitted into the frame, and plastered and
painted, generally with subdued tints. The people are to be commended
for the good taste and judgment displayed in their rebuilding; for when
a new edifice takes the place of one removed, the new design, while it
may increase the height of the stories, and add other real improvements
and conveniences, yet preserves the old style. Chester is a lively,
bustling, and enterprising business place--a gem in its way.
Of course the cathedral comes in for early attention. So long as
Charles Kingsley--Canon Kingsley, for here he was made canon in
1869--is remembered, so long will the cathedral be of interest.
It is situated in the very centre of the city. Jammed in among
other buildings, with no quiet grass and aged trees about it, the
pavements lead up to its very doors. It is irregular in outline,
dark-reddish-brown in color, aged in appearance, with a massive low
tower, but no spire above it. The transept, choir, and nave windows
are of monstrous size, not much higher than wide, filled with elegant
perpendicular Gothic tracery, and divided into many compartments. The
interior is in good repair,--_restored_, as it is termed. Here, as in
all cathedrals, there is a stone floor, and hundreds of inscriptions
that tell of those who are quietly resting beneath.
"Their labors done, securely laid
In this, their last retreat,
Unheeded o'er their silent dust
The storms of life shall beat."
The building was originally the abbey of St. Werburgh, built for
the Benedictines,--begun in 1095 by Hugh Lupus, assisted by St.
Anselm,--and retains its original design.
The next object of interest, and one truly remarkable, is the church
of St. John, once the cathedral. It is situated about five minutes'
walk away from the cathedral proper, and, unlike that, stands in a
large green, or close, for centuries used as a burial-ground. The red
tower is very high, yet without a spire, and partly in ruins. It stands
almost alone in solitary beauty, with picturesque ivy-clad cloisters
and arches, presenting a striking and wonderful group, which tells of
the remote past. The old tower, colossal and grand, but in such decay
as to make it dangerous to ring the bells (and fallen since we saw it),
is connected with what was formerly the nave of the church; and this
is now, with slight additions for a chancel, all that is used, a new
end having years ago been put on at the line of transepts. St. John's
is of early English architecture in some parts, and late Norman in
others, having large, plain, round columns that carry the arches of the
clerestory. These columns lean outward from the perpendicular, making
the nave wider at the top, and the widening was thought to have been
caused by a settling of the old stone groining. On making repairs a few
years since, the height of the clerestory walls was foolishly reduced
some four feet, and a lower wood ceiling put in to lessen the weight
on the columns; but it was at length discovered that the original was
built for effect,--whether for good or for ill, we will not decide. In
picturesqueness never excelled, St. John's Church, with its grounds and
accompanying ruins, not only divides the honors with the cathedral, but
by many would be named first.
Chester is the seat of rare monuments of the past. The castle, built by
Lupus, Earl of Chester, seven hundred and more years ago, while it has
been largely re-constructed, is used as the shire hall, and contains
many portraits of noted men who have been distinguished in the city's
history. Near the castle is a fine old stone bridge crossing the Dee,
with a single arch of two hundred feet. There is, in the suburbs, a
curious manorhouse, once belonging to the abbey of St. Werburgh; Eaton
Hall, the seat of the Marquis of Westminster; and a ground where famous
races are held. Cheese fairs occur once a month, promiscuous fairs
three times a year, and markets twice a week; and the city gives the
title of Earl to the Prince of Wales.
At 10 A. M. we visited the military barracks, and in the
parade-ground, with thousands of other spectators, witnessed the usual
Sunday drill, and also the military evolutions, such as striking tents
and stacking arms. Some five hundred soldiers were engaged in these
operations on this Christian Sunday, made especially sacred by its
associations with the Prince of Peace. At this hour, amid the sound
of innumerable chimes of from three to five bells each, were the
intermingling sound of trumpets and the clamor of war,--so confused
yet each so prominent as to make one doubt which had the inside track,
church or army, God or Satan.
In the afternoon we were at the cathedral, and, the service being
intoned, the echoes made confusion worse confounded. We finally saw
more clearly than ever before the force of the remark of one of old,
when he said: "In the church I had rather speak five words with my
understanding, that by my voice I might teach others also, than ten
thousand words in an unknown tongue." We have thought, while enveloped
in this confusion, that it would be well for the managers of cathedral
services everywhere, to be thoughtful as St. Paul was, and say:
"Whether pipe or harp, except they give a distinction in the sounds,
how shall it be known what is piped or harped?"
There is one especial object of American interest. In the chapter-house
there hang over the doors two flags that were carried by the Cheshire
Regiment--the 22d--at the Battle of Bunker Hill in our American
Revolution; and they were also carried by General Wolfe at the taking
of Quebec in 1759, sixteen years before. It will thus be seen that
soldiers from this county were at Charlestown, June 17, 1775.
There are some very ancient houses of particular note. They are of the
old timbered and panel-plastered fashion, with very fine specimens of
profuse and sometimes grotesque carving. Among them is God's Providence
House. Its three stories and gable project over each other as before
described. The historical fact is that, when the plague prevailed,
there were deaths in every house on the street save this one, and after
all was over, the owner put this inscription upon it, which remains to
this day:
GOD'S PROVIDENCE IS MY SALVATION.
Of bold and high decoration, by carving of the wooden parts, is Stanley
House, with its three gables. This is one of the best specimens of
ancient timber and plaster-work to be found in England.
On Bridge Street there is an ancient Roman bath that well repays a
visit, for we are there permitted to look upon work a thousand years
old. Do we realize or comprehend the fact? No; but the impression, with
a photographic fidelity, has been made on the mind, and will never be
effaced. Let what will happen, so long as memory acts and intelligence
remains, the good influence of these impressions will endure. The mind
is truly, as the poet has expressed it,--
Like the vase in which roses have once been distilled,
You may break, you may ruin the vase, if you will,
But the scent of the roses will hang round it still.
In closing our description of grand old Chester, we will name the fact
that in Trinity Church are the tombs of the poet Thomas Parnell, who
was born at Dublin, 1679, and died at Chester in July, 1717; and of
the eminent commentator, Matthew Henry, born at Broad Oak, Flintshire,
1662, and died at Nantwich, June 22, 1714. He became pastor of a church
in Chester--perhaps Trinity--in 1687, and remained till 1702, a period
of twenty-five years. The Commentary was the result of his lectures in
exposition of the Bible, the whole of which is said to have been thus
passed in critical review during his ministry at Chester. He continued
the lectures at Hackney, to which place he removed in 1712. The first
collected edition was published at London, in five volumes, in 1710,
but to Chester really belongs the honor of being the place where this
work, so well known the Protestant world over, had its birth.
It would be pleasant to linger in this venerable place. We had enjoyed
so much antiquity at Chester that we could hardly endure the shock of
being suddenly dropped into some modern spot; and so the place set
down in our programme as next in order was the one, of all others,
admirably in keeping with our purpose. This was the good old domestic
town of
SHREWSBURY,
of well-known Cake notoriety. We took passage at 5.10 P. M.
this same Sunday evening; and while the sun was high above the horizon,
at 7 o'clock, we were safely landed at Station Hotel. Soon after
supper, as English people call it, we were out for a tramp. There's
always an indescribable impatience in the tourist to see the place.
There's a great deal of the can't-comfortably-wait condition, and
it generally has soon to be gratified. We were early in love with
the town. How comfortably we had been let down from Chester, and how
unharmed we felt! The quaintness discovered in the narrow streets and
the ancient buildings made it a second Chester; but we thought we saw
in the mansions more of stateliness, costliness, and evidences of a
substantial English aristocracy. The better class of houses were like
the first-class three-story brick mansions at Salem and Newburyport,
making one feel at home. Here and there were newer buildings of modern
style, which made a worthy connecting link between the old dispensation
and the new; for there were buildings as modern as are anywhere built,
and some as ancient as are to be found anywhere, almost equalling
those so justly adored at Chester. Shrewsbury is the shire town of
Shropshire, and has a population of 23,406. It has the remains of an
ancient castle, and some of the old walls of the city are yet standing.
The River Severn, a sluggish and muddy stream, some three hundred feet
wide, divides the town. The older portion is connected by two bridges,
and also by a cheap rope-ferry, with the other side, on which are rural
residences and public-entertainment grounds.
When we speak of the River Severn our interest is intensified by the
thought of a great historic fact. In 1428, by order of Clement VIII.,
the body of Wycliffe, which since 1415 had been buried in a dunghill,
to which it had been consigned by order of the Council of Constance,
was exhumed and burned to ashes, and these were thrown into the little
River Swift, a tributary of the Avon. This gave birth to the fine old
verse:--
The Avon to the Severn runs,
The Severn to the sea;
And Wycliffe's dust shall spread abroad
Wide as the waters be.
The river curves, and partly encircles the city; and on its banks we
found the public park, and near it St. Chad's circular stone church,
with its large square tower above a portico, crowned with a belfry,
under which are great clock dials. The park is simply an ordinarily
well-kept grass ground, of perhaps one third the size of Boston Common.
It has three or four superb avenues of old lime-trees, and Quarry Walk
is one of the finest in Europe. Tradition has it that all of these
linden-trees were set out by one man, more than a century and a half
ago. The ruins of Battlefield Church, now little appreciated, roofless
and dilapidated, are four miles away. This is famous as being the place
where _Sir John Falstaff_ "fought an hour by Shrewsbury Clock."
The town was an important one as early as the twelfth century, and
prominent at times as being the place of royal residence. Parliaments
were held here in 1283 and in 1398. In 1403--ninety years before the
discovery of America by Columbus--the famous Battle of Hotspur was
fought near here, in which that distinguished soldier was killed. In
1277 it was the temporary residence of Edward I., and to this place
he removed the King's Bench and Court of Exchequer during the Wars of
the Roses. The inhabitants took part with the House of York, and it
was the asylum of the queen of Edward IV. after having given birth
to the princes Edward and Richard, the two children who are supposed
to have been murdered in the Tower of London by Richard III. As will
be seen, the place is intimately connected with historic facts.
Remembrance of this contributes a charm not well expressed in words. As
we walked over these streets, through which distinguished personages
have walked, and by houses which intelligent people have occupied for
a thousand years,--as we thought of many generations who here lived,
labored, and died, their dust now mingling with the soil of its ancient
burial-grounds, or resting in the tombs of its venerable churches,
within sound of the same vesper bells to which we were listening at
the close of this pleasant Sunday evening,--as these reflections took
possession of our minds, the quiet sanctity of the Puritan New England
Sunday was about us, and we felt that we were in a befitting place to
end a day so well and interestingly begun at Chester.
Sunday night is passed, and Monday, May 5, is at hand. As usual we are
impatient for more experiences. Our thoughts are mingled with regrets,
tinted with righteous indignation, that American tourists so neglect
these places, and hurry to others of more metropolitan renown, but of
less real interest to any one who would see England in her best estate.
Their loss--a great one--is nobody's gain. A fine walk this of to-day,
through street after street of good business activity.
Now was the time to attend to another duty. In passing a store we saw
a notice, high up on a building, that here were made the original
Shrewsbury cakes. We found that the recipe had been in use for over one
hundred years, dating from 1760; that for as long a time the cakes had
been there manufactured, and were now enjoying an enviable reputation
the world over; and also that it was not an uncommon occurrence to send
them by express to the United States. They are put up in round, blue,
paper-covered, pasteboard boxes, about six inches in diameter and four
inches deep, the cakes being of a nature that will bear transportation.
We are soon in possession of them, but examination does not make us
over-enthusiastic. If at home we should be even less so. They are thin
cakes, say less than a quarter of an inch thick, and five inches in
diameter,--apparently made without spice, but very sweet, fat, and
crisp. As nearly as we could judge they are composed simply of flour,
sugar, eggs, and butter, the latter in generous proportions. There's a
deal in a name, and in the reputation gained through the sluggish lapse
of a century's advertising and vigilant attention to business. Our
young saleswoman is quite pert in her independence, and scorns the idea
of selling or even hinting at a recipe for their manufacture; and we go
away consoling ourselves with the idea that we have many times eaten
similar things at home, and shall again, and animated by the conviction
that,
"A rose by any other name would smell as sweet."
It may be our judgment is at fault, and that they are in possession of
a precious as well as a remunerative secret.
Continuing our walk, we met with St. Mary's Church, which has every
requirement of a cathedral except a bishop. Had we not seen churches
of the kind before, we should have gone deeply into enthusiasm now;
for here was a grand structure, thoroughly antique, with nave, choir,
transepts, chapels, ancient monuments, and fine windows,--one very
large, as good as any in all England, and six hundred years old. It is
an inclination of the tourist to ejaculate at every new place, "This is
the most interesting we have seen." We are at a loss to know why St.
Mary's is not oftener spoken of as among the favored few, for it is all
of that.
Shrewsbury, grand old town, full of interest, and antiquities we have
not time to name, is itself a museum of antiquity. We know much more
than we did when we first surveyed it, but travel and observation have
not at all dimmed our admiration. At 11.10 A. M. we move on to
our next place, which was the prototype of, and gave its name to, the
Heart of our Massachusetts Commonwealth,
WORCESTER.
We arrived at 2 P. M. in a mild rain, the first we had been
compelled to walk out in since our journey began. Valises deposited
at a hotel, we were, as usual, soon out to survey the place. Like
Shrewsbury, it is situated on the River Severn, which runs along the
rear part of the place. It contains 33,221 inhabitants, was once a
walled city, and vestiges of the walls remain. The Danes destroyed it
and rebuilt it about 894, and it was burned by Hardicanute, the last of
the Danish royal dynasty in England, in 1041. It suffered from frequent
incursions of the Welsh, and was one of the principal cities of the
ancient Britons. In the early period of the Saxon dynasty it became the
second bishopric of Mercia. Having espoused the cause of Charles I. it
was greatly troubled by the soldiers of Parliament; but on Sept. 3,
1651, the final battle, termed by Cromwell "a crowning mercy," was here
fought by the Royalists under Charles on the one side, and Cromwell on
the other, which resulted in routing the former, and ended in a defeat
from which he never recovered.
Samuel Butler the poet, of "Hudibras" celebrity, received the
rudimentary elements of his education in the schools here; and the
celebrated Lord John Somers was born here in 1651.
The city is built mostly of brick, and, from the number of gardens
and shade-trees, has a rural appearance. The river is crossed by an
old stone bridge of several arches, and along the bank next the city
proper, and below the land elevation, is a promenade, a mile or more
long, following the curve of the river. In portions of the place an
active business is done, and enterprise is everywhere manifest. Except
that the buildings are of brick or stone, it well reminds one of our
Massachusetts Worcester. A few of the houses are two or three centuries
old.
It is a marked place for antiquities, and foremost among them is the
cathedral, which is built of light-drab sandstone, in the form of a
double cross, having four transepts. It is 426 feet long; the western
transepts are 180 feet through, and the eastern, 128 feet. The tower
is at the centre, or at the junction of the nave, choir, and east
transepts, and is 193 feet high. It is very elaborately decorated,
ending with a rich battlement and lofty turrets. It was founded in
680, but the present edifice dates from the fourteenth century. It has
surrounding grounds, and is in most perfect repair, both the exterior
and interior having been lately restored.
A few words once for all are needed in relation to this word
_restored_. As will readily be conceived, buildings erected of a
somewhat perishable material are more or less in constant decay. The
degree depends on the nature of the stone, its exposure, and the extent
of its elaboration; but all stone is subject to disintegration, and the
buildings were so long in process of erection, that the older portions
were in need of repair before the newer were finished. In these latter
days, being more neglected, much dilapidation existed, and important
parts of the edifices were threatened with entire destruction. A new
spirit of enterprise has been infused into the people, and repairs have
been vigorously prosecuted. In some instances, large portions have been
refaced on the outside.
In the instance of Worcester Cathedral, the great tower was nearly
rebuilt ten years ago. More particularly has there been an interest
in the work of re-decorating the interiors. This has consisted, first
of all, in the removal of whitewash, which had been put on. A time
has been when the common judgment of all bishops approved its use.
It gave a clean look, but injured the general effect. Cathedrals are
generally finished over head with stone arches and ribs; and the
wooden roof is slated, tiled, or covered with metal. Sometimes the
stonework of the ceilings was plastered and blocked off in imitation
of stone. The present taste--without doubt largely induced by the late
Sir Gilbert Scott--is to clean off this wash and leave the stone as
nearly as possible in its natural condition. It was a common practice
in olden times to color and ornament stonework, and as the wash has
been removed, paintings, often grotesque, are found, and always left
as a memento of the past. Eventually, all cathedrals will probably be
decorated in high colors and fancy designs. Some such paintings are
already begun in unimportant parts by way of experiment. As the walls
now look somewhat bare, and as a love for display in service is on the
increase, there is a strong desire for new glass of the very highest
colors. It is to be expected that the same spirit will not rest till
the decoration is also in gorgeous hues. In a few cases the stone is
so well put together, and of such a tint, as to make it sacrilege to
interfere with it; but in a majority of churches such decorating would
harmonize well with the gay windows and rich interior stone finish, and
really be an improvement.
Another change is the removal of the organs from the choirscreens,
originally located at the line of choir and transepts. They have been
removed in a majority of cases to the side of the choir, and much to
the improvement of the edifice. All cathedrals that we visited have
been restored more or less as described, and a majority of them are
finished. When a restoration of stonework has been made of any especial
part, as new door-work or a window, the work has been done in the style
of the period. Of course all changes since the last period of Gothic
architecture--the perpendicular--have been made in that style; so that
at times we find in one structure all the styles, from the Norman down
through the whole four. This method of operation must receive general,
if not universal sanction, since we find it invariably pursued.
On cathedrals generally are chimes of bells, on which the quarter and
half hours are struck by a few notes; and in Worcester Cathedral is,
also, a large barrel, of music-box construction, by which at especial
times in the day, as at 9 A. M., 12 M., 3 and 6 P. M., an entire tune
is played on the bells. For every day of the month there is a new tune,
a list of the music being at the door. On the day of our visit was
played "The Harp that once through Tara's Halls."
It would be an impossibility to describe in detail these great works
of art, the cathedrals of England. Little more can be done than name
things of especial interest. So far as the interior of Worcester
Cathedral is concerned, it is very inviting, and has interesting
monuments. The impression is not quite what one would imagine as he
thinks of an edifice over four hundred feet long, for sight never
conveys an idea of its actual length; but the impression is that
you are looking at a colossal church--one larger than you have ever
before seen. You admire the lofty tower, think it of elegant design,
proportions, and finish, that it looks new,--as it really is,--but get
no impressions of the great age of the building.
From the bridge, looking back to the left, you see an elegant
picture--the river low down, a terraced walk at its side, the land
surface some ten or fifteen feet above. An eighth of a mile or so
distant, half embowered in fine trees, is the cathedral. The upper
parts loom high above the branches, and the tower rises still higher.
The rear end of the cathedral choir, with its great east window,
projects beyond the grove, and is in full view from our point of
observation. From this place the city has a rural rather than a
commercial or manufacturing appearance. Let one stand on the bridge
and view this scene, and listen to the sweet notes of the bells.
The mellow and refined sound--we had almost said the intellectual
demonstration--of the cathedral bells, as by an intuition of its own,
institutes a comparison between this day of civilization and that of
the rude savage, and then if ever, one sees and knows that the world
moves.
In the cathedral are monuments of marked and distinguished men. Here
reposes the dust of King John; and bedimmed with dust, in sombre repose
and ancient glory, is an effigy to his memory. He died in 1216, or more
than 667 years ago. Here lies the body of Bishop Stillingfleet, who was
made Bishop of Worcester in 1689, and died ten years later.
Adjoining the cathedral are fine cloisters, or covered and partly
enclosed corridors, for walking and meditation. These on the open side
are built with piers and arches, filled with stone tracery. They open
into the quadrangle, which is grassed over, but roofless, of which the
cloisters form the sides. On the grounds, and in those adjoining, are
the residences of the bishop and other dignitaries of the cathedral;
also, the Cathedral, or King's School. One can hardly imagine the
beauty of these great cathedral grounds,--the grouping of its
buildings; the finely kept lawns; the shady walks; the atmosphere of
repose, broken only by the sound of the rooks, that are in the ancient
tree-tops, or by the quarter-hour bells so sweetly disturbing it,
and solemnly proclaiming that a new division of time has been joined
to those before the flood. How admonitory the sounds are! Not to all
listeners are they thought-hardening, but the reverse. Now and then,
by night and by day, all do _think_, and so the inanimate bells preach
effectually, and as the living preacher cannot always do.
Among the many interesting churches here is St. Andrew's, with its fine
old tower and spire, 245 feet high,--a Bunker Hill monument in height,
with 25 feet added.
The pottery manufactories must be named, for their productions are
among the finest of our times, competing even with those of Sévres.
The management of these establishments kindly opens them to the public,
and all parts of the work may be inspected. Their warerooms present a
display that is interesting in the extreme. The results of many years
of experiment are here on exhibition, and they are remarkable triumphs
of mind over matter. The fine blending of tints, the high degree of
finish attained in representing fruits, landscapes, and flowers, are
truly wonderful. We were informed that our own Boston has its constant
share of these products.
Remaining over night, in the evening we are entertained by a
thunder-shower, the first we have experienced for the season. Heavy
thunder and vivid lightning, accompanied by warm and refreshing rain,
remind us of home.
We should have before stated that in this, as in all the English
cathedral towns, service is held in the cathedral at 11 A. M. and 3
P. M. daily. There is no sermon, but the regular morning and evening
prayers of the Church. We were present and enjoyed the grand organ
music and singing; but the intoned services and its accompaniment of
echoes, confused and neutralized the spirit of worship. A few persons,
perhaps twenty in all, were present, aside from the clergy and choir.
Most of them were strangers, as we were, drawn thither by curiosity,
but treated in the kindest manner, and every facility given for
enjoyment. We were even invited into the stalls, which are the chief
seats in the synagogue. We occupied them readily; at the expense of
being accused of Phariseeism we may say, in a whisper, that we desired
them. We went to the top of the tower and were delighted by the view
of highland, vale, river, grove, and the city itself. Here, as in all
cathedrals, men are in waiting to show persons over the edifice, and
call their attention to things of especial interest. They are dressed
in black, with white cravats and flowing black robes, which add much
dignity to their appearance. At 10 A. M., Tuesday, we left Worcester
for another cathedral town,
HEREFORD.
At 11.30 we have just arrived, and find our pronunciation at fault.
_Her_-e-ford, say the people, not _Here_-ford, as we had spoken it.
Well, thus corrected, we speak it as well as they to the manner born.
Our ride here, and in fact all the way from Liverpool, has been through
no very striking scenery. The land is well kept, and about one quarter
of it is under cultivation. We notice the absence of land divisions.
As few as possible are used, and those are hedges.
Here we call the reader's attention to the plan of travel we are
pursuing. We decided not to hurry to London, as most Americans
do,--stopping only at Chester, Stratford-on-Avon, and Oxford; we would
see Ireland and Scotland well, and England thoroughly. We therefore, on
leaving Ireland, went directly to Liverpool, which is on the extreme
western side of England, and about two thirds of the way north from its
lower coast. Thence we went southerly to Chester, then to Worcester,
and now we are at Hereford. It is our intention to work down to
Salisbury and Winchester, stopping at other cathedral towns on the way,
and thence to take a northerly route to London. This line of travel
carries us over the entire western part of the island.
Hereford is a substantial English town. It has many antique
buildings, of the jutting-story construction,--good examples of the
timber-and-plaster pattern,--and wide streets. There is a thrifty look
about the inhabitants, and their number is 18,335,--or was in 1871, for
that is the year from which date the statistics.
We could but think of some of the celebrated men who had looked upon
these identical scenes. We thought of the Kembles, who here managed the
theatre. They are of world-wide celebrity, beginning with old Roger,
born in this town in 1721, and dying in 1802,--the father of twelve
children, among whom are Sarah (Mrs. Siddons), and John Philip, the
eldest son, and Charles, the youngest, born, respectively in 1757 and
1775, and dying in 1823 and 1854. We thought also of David Garrick of
histrionic renown, born here in 1716, the personal friend of Dr. Samuel
Johnson of dictionary notoriety.
We walk to the River Wye, on which the town is situated, and which
is crossed by an ancient, six-arched bridge. The cathedral, as at
Worcester, is to the left, and on land rather elevated from the river.
Hereford strongly resembles that place, though without the river
promenade, and with less refinement.
The cathedral, of course, must have attention. Founded in 1072, it
was building during the next two hundred years. Mostly in the Norman
style, it is 325 feet long, 110 feet through the transepts, and has a
grand old central tower, 160 feet high, ending with a battlement and
corner turrets. The color of its stone is light drab, much resembling
that at Worcester. Every part is in good repair, and the interior
has a very imposing look. We were by no means prepared for the bold
finish and fine windows for the chapels and cloisters, and, above all,
for the well kept lawn and trees of the Bishop's Palace, and other
ecclesiastical houses. The Lady Chapel is one of the finest in England,
and the cathedral library has very valuable manuscripts, among them
one of Wycliffe's Bibles, very rare. The monuments date back to the
eleventh century. In what profusion are the antique slabs, with their
great brass crosses. How the very atmosphere of the place is fragrant
with the memory of the sainted dead! In visiting these cathedrals, in
looking on the ruins of ancient abbey or monastery,--so complete in
themselves, and exhibiting such evidence of former grandeur,--one is
inclined to feel that each is _the_ cathedral of all England,--the
Mecca of all the Church; for what is lacking? Not capacity or
costliness; not lack of graves of kings, earls, barons, or lords, for
here beneath our feet repose the dust of enough such for an entire
kingdom. Webster well said of another place: "I do love these ancient
ruins. We never tread upon them but we set our foot upon some revered
history."
The part the town has taken in the wars gives her renown. How often
the Welsh came here and made fearful devastation! Could the sleepers,
now at rest forever, speak again, they would tell of the invasions
of the Saxon era, and the strange Baronial wars; of the sanguinary
conflicts of the Plantagenets, and of the battles of the seventeenth
century; of the long siege, when a brave defence of the place was made
by the people, their town being one of the very last to submit to the
Parliament. All is peaceful now, and we, on this pleasant day, were
dreamily wandering along the lines dividing a great past from a greater
present, and both from a yet more remarkable future. Without ability to
comprehend all this, we were trying to get a little entertainment, if
we dared not hope for something greater. A wide door is opened when one
in meditative mood goes into a town like this, knows of the great past,
sees the present, and then, in spite of himself, projects his thoughts
into the future,--the near and the distant blending into one.
The sweet chimes on the bells proclaim the end of an hour; then the
short pause,--how still! and now how clearly marked is the new hour.
The great diapason bell of the tower solemnly pronounces its four
strokes, and we wend our way to the station for Gloucester.