GLOUCESTER--BRISTOL--BATH--SALISBURY--SARUM--AMESBURY--STONEHENGE--WILTON.
At 6 P. M., after a scant two hours' ride, we take rooms
at the Gloucester House, and are out on a walk in another beautiful
town, the River Severn running through it,--a town more like Worcester
than like Hereford, though in population (18,330) strikingly like the
latter. The city is of British origin, but is very ancient. It was once
a Roman station by the name of Colonia Glevum, and under the Emperor
Claudius received the name of Claudia Castra. The Saxons, after they
had taken it, gave it the name of Glean-ceaster; hence our modern word
Gloucester. It had its part in battles, and in the seventeenth century
was strongly fortified and took part with the Royalists. The place
was of so much importance that Henry VIII. made it a bishop's seat,
and so its great abbey church became a cathedral. The edifice is in
fine repair, and is noted for its elegant cloisters,--the finest of
any cathedral in the world. They are of very liberal dimensions, and
adorned with fanlike tracery of extraordinary finish; and the openings
into the great courtyard are filled with glass. The cathedral itself
is one of rare beauty. It is 423 feet long, and 147 feet wide at the
transepts; and the great central tower is 176 feet high to the base
of the corner pinnacles, which tower up 49 feet higher. The cloisters
are 148 feet long on each of their four sides. We shall not attempt a
closer description of this than of other cathedrals, though every part
is a study.
It has but a small number of noted monuments, but among them are some
of unusual interest. One, always attracting attention, is of Robert,
Duke of Normandy. It is a recumbent effigy of bog-oak, covered with
wire network. Being a Crusader, the legs are crossed, as is the
customary representation. Robert was imprisoned by his brother Henry,
his eyes were put out, and for twenty-eight years he continued in this
miserable condition till death came to his relief. Another monument
is to the memory of Edward II., who was murdered Sept. 21, 1327.
Another commemorates Bishop Warburton, who was made bishop of the
diocese in 1759, and died here in 1779. Near the entrance is a monument
to Dr. Edward Jenner, the discoverer of vaccination, or inoculation,
as a preventive of smallpox. He died at Berkley, in the county of
Gloucestershire, and was buried in this cathedral in 1823, at the age
of seventy-five.
In this city, in 1735, was born Robert Raikes, who in 1781 hired rooms
for Sunday-schools, and employed women at a shilling a day to teach
poor children, whom he found in the streets, the rudiments of common
education. The school was held from 10 A. M. to 12 M. An hour's recess
was followed by a lesson in reading, and then they went to church.
After service the catechism was repeated till 5 P. M., "when they were
charged to go home at once, and quietly." This was the origin of our
present system of Sunday-schools, that of Mr. Raikes being the first
of which we have any account. Here also, on the 16th of December,
1714, was born the celebrated preacher, George Whitefield, who died
at Newburyport, Mass., Sept. 30, 1770, and whose remains are entombed
under the pulpit of the Old South (Presbyterian) Church of that place.
One mural tablet was of especial interest to us,--a white marble slab,
high up on one of the transept walls, thought to be in memory of a
relative of the founder of the chimes on Christ Church at the North End
of Boston. It reads as follows:--
ABRAHAM RUDHALL BELL FOUNDER
FAM'D FOR HIS GREAT SKILL
BELOV'D AND ESTEEM'D FOR HIS SIGNAL
GOOD NATURE AND INTEGRITY
DIED JAN'Y 25TH 1785-6 AGED 78.
One of the bells at our Christ Church bears this inscription: "Abel
Rudhall of Gloucester cast us all, Anno. 1744." As Abraham would have
been about forty-two years old at the time, perhaps he was the son of
this Abel.
The organ in the cathedral is one of great power and brilliancy of
tone. It was built by the celebrated Renatus Harris of London, who
built many of the large organs of England.
Reluctantly we left these beautiful grounds, and entertaining a
regret unusually deep. The walks are kept scrupulously clean, and the
flowers in the vicinity of the student's precincts were charming. As
we sauntered about we could not but think of the great who have here
held court. Beneath the shadow of these very walls walked Edward the
Confessor, and many a Norman lord. In the old abbey Henry III. was
crowned three hundred years ago; and who can walk and meditate here and
not think of Richard III., Duke of Gloucester? We cannot refrain from
quoting the quaint description given of him by Sir Thomas More:--
Richarde, the thirde sonne of Richard, Duke of Yorke, was in witte
and corage equal with his two brothers, in bodye and prowesse far
under them both, little of stature, ill fetured of limmes, croke
backed, his left shoulder much higher than his right, hard favored
of visage, and such as in stater called warlye, in other menne
otherwise, he was malicious, wrathful, envious and from his birth
ever frowarde. It is for truth reported that he came into the world
with the feet forwarde, and also ontothed, as if nature changed her
course in hys beginnynge, which in the course of his lyfe manny
thinges unnaturallye committed.
Just outside the cathedral grounds, in a little park, stands a monument
to the memory of John Hooper, who, in the reign of Queen Mary, was one
of the first to suffer martyrdom, and was on this spot burned at the
stake Feb. 9, 1555. Over three hundred years are gone since the smoke
of the martyr arose from this spot. How changed the scene! Over the
vast domain, none now for conscience sake have power to destroy.
As reluctantly as can be imagined, we turned away. Very dear to us
already had become old Gloucester. With an indescribable feeling we
left the hallowed spot, and at 11 A. M., on Wednesday, May 8,
took cars for Bristol. Our people do not think enough of the Mother
Country. They hurry breathlessly and thoughtlessly, with but confused
perceptions, to yet more foreign lands; they do not rest by the way in
these fine old towns, drink in the inspiration which pervades their
very atmosphere, and so make themselves ever after able better to
interpret history. Another has well expressed it: "To him who is of a
mind rightly framed, the world is a thousand times more populous than
to the men to whom everything that is not flesh and blood is nothing."
BRISTOL.
Arrived at 2 o'clock P. M., after a ride of three hours
from Gloucester. First impressions of the place were much like those
one experiences at our American Pittsburg, for smoke prevailed, and
the dingy appearance of the buildings confirmed the belief, that
this condition of the atmosphere was not exceptional. The city is a
seaport, situated on both sides of the rivers Avon and Frome, at their
confluence, and eight miles from their entrance into the Severn, which
is the head of Bristol Channel. The population is 182,524, and the city
presents a bustling, hurried appearance. It is provided with docks
built in the time of George III., at a cost of $30,000,000, and in
commercial influence was long the second city in the kingdom. There are
five substantial bridges connecting the several portions of the city.
Tides rise very high,--those denominated spring tides forty-eight feet,
and the neap ones twenty-three feet, compelling the use of a floating
landing.
Our luggage left at the station, in anticipation of but a short
stay, we walked out in quest of the cathedral, and soon, as we
fancied, saw it in the distance. We entered, admiring much about
it, yet disappointed in its general appearance, for it looked old
but not cathedralish. It didn't seem to have the genuine antique
atmosphere. There were old monuments, but not old enough. The color was
dark-reddish brown, very sombre, and in places the building was decayed.
At the risk of showing our ignorance we asked the female verger--for
it was a woman this time--if this was the cathedral. Lo, our good
judgment had prevailed, and we were informed that it was St. Mary
Radcliff Church. We were glad of the mistake, for here the celebrated
Joseph Butler--author of the renowned "Analogy," who was made Bishop of
Bristol in 1738, and died at Bath, June 16, 1752--was buried. Before
us was a monument to his memory, the inscription written by the poet
Southey. There were other monuments of considerable antiquity, which
in number and interest greatly excelled those of the real cathedral.
Of most interest to the visitor is the fact that in one part of this
structure the wonderful young Thomas Chatterton--who died in this city
August 24, 1770, at the age of eighteen--wrote his astonishing literary
forgeries.
We were ushered up a flight of narrow stone stairs, from one of the
transepts, into a room where yet remains a dusty chest, formerly
belonging to a wealthy merchant in the reign of Edward IV. It was in
this that Chatterton said he found his manuscripts,--declaring that,
after being sealed up for centuries, these documents, among others,
were there in 1727 when the chest was opened. It was in this room,
with its unglazed openings, with the rooks as his companions, his only
light that of the moon,--for he claimed that by her illumination he
could write best,--were penned these remarkable impositions. History
says that during the entire Sundays he would wander in the fields of
Bristol, and lay for hours on the grass, gazing, rapt in meditation, on
the tower of this old church.
We can hardly forbear stating briefly the nature of his remarkable
deception. Let it be remembered that Chatterton died at the age of
eighteen. His father, who was one of the schoolmasters of Bristol,
died three months before his birth. At the age of five he was sent to
school; so obtuse was his intellect, that in a year and a half "he was
dismissed as an incorrigible dunce." His mother finally taught him to
read, and to the astonishment of all he became at once an intellectual
prodigy. At the age of eight he was again sent to school, and remained
till his fifteenth year. He took little interest in his associates, but
gave his attention to miscellaneous reading. In 1767, the year he left
school, he was apprenticed to a Bristol attorney. Very studious, but
remarkably eccentric, he kept his own counsel, employing his leisure
time in the study of theology, history, and especially the phraseology
of Old English. The next season, when in his seventeenth year, he
performed the work which immortalizes his name. The old chest was
opened by the proper authorities a half-century before. The parchments
were of no especial value, and they remained undisturbed, till
Chatterton's father used some of them as covers for schoolbooks. Some
of them his son obtained; their curious chirography and phraseology
excited his attention, and he conceived the idea of writing something
of the kind himself. He asserted that some were written by Canynge, the
original owner of the _cofre_, or trunk, and others by Thomas Rowley,
the ecclesiastic and poet. He carefully copied the style of writing,
followed the phraseology, and, by a process known only to himself,
succeeded in giving a stained and timeworn look to his parchments,
deceptive to all who examined them.
To Burgam, the celebrated pewterer, ambitious of obtaining the heraldic
honors of his family, he gave a full pedigree, tracing his descent
directly from the noble family of De Bergham. The historian of Bristol
was aided in his ecclesiastical researches, and put in possession of a
full account of the churches as they were three hundred years before,
according to Thomas Rowley. A theological student was presented with
part of a sermon by Rowley. One of the wealthy citizens of Bristol
received from him a poem, entitled "Romaunt of the Cnyghte," said
to have been written by the recipient's ancestor four hundred years
before. To the Town and Country Magazine he made contributions, and
Horace Walpole gratefully received anecdotes of eminent travellers
and painters. So he continued cultivating, in the singular atmosphere
of his temperament, this strange enthusiasm for the antique, and
felt most comfortable while deceiving the public; but at length more
critical eyes were turned toward him. Walpole, entertaining suspicions,
submitted the parchments to Gray, who unhesitatingly pronounced them
forgeries. They were returned to young Chatterton, who, indignant,
avenged himself by a bitter attack on his antagonist. He led next
a singular life of semi-seclusion and misery, writing articles for
the reviews, sermons for clergymen, and songs for beer-gardens; all
the time maintaining a gay exterior, though very poor, for he had an
unconquerable vanity. Confiding in no one, he declined a dinner offered
him by his landlady, even when he had been three days without food.
Finally he expended his last pennies for arsenic, and was found dead
in his room, August, 1770. He was buried in the pauper burial-ground
in Shoe Lane, Bristol, and afterwards some of the citizens erected a
monument to his memory.
Here, in 1495, and probably for some years before, lived John Cabot,
the discoverer of the North American Continent, and while living here,
March 5, 1496, he and his three sons obtained a patent from Henry
VII., authorizing them, and their heirs and assigns, to go on voyages
of discovery; and so we have it that a Bristol ship early touched
our shores. Newfoundland was colonized by people from this place in
1610, under the supervision of a merchant by the name of Guy, whose
colonists--while not successful in making a permanent settlement of
the island, being superseded in 1621 or 1623 by others--were the first
among foreigners to make this place their fixed residence.
Bristol was one of the first places in Great Britain, whence regular
steam communication was established with the United States. April 4,
1838, the steamship Sirius, of 700 tons burthen, and with engines of
250 horse-power, sailed from Cork for New York. Four days later, April
8, the Great Western, of 1,340 tons, having engines of 450 horse-power,
sailed from Bristol. Both arrived in New York on the 23d, the former
making the passage in eighteen, and the latter, in fourteen days,
arriving respectively on the morning and noon of the day named.
This city is the seat of manufacture of the well-known Bristol Brick,
so long used for domestic purposes throughout America. An operative
in one of the works visited the United States in 1820, and discovered
similar sand in South Hampton, N. H., since which period a brick of
equal value has been made in our own country.
The cathedral itself was next visited. It is on the other side of the
River Avon, and is not a large structure, but is in good repair within
and without. It is built of red sandstone, and has no grounds about it,
but is situated in the midst of a populous neighborhood. It was founded
in the time of King Stephen, who was born A. D. 1100, and died
in 1154. It is 175 feet long, 128 feet wide, and has a large, solid,
clumsy tower, 140 feet high. Here, as usual, we were entertained by
the three-o'clock service. As an inducement to stay, we were informed
by the verger that a new anthem was to be performed. We remained in
chairs near the door, and were soon greeted with the usual imposing
procession,--the verger with his elevated mace, followed by the robed
choir of twelve men and boys, the two canons, and the bishop. With much
order and becoming dignity they took their places before an audience
of twelve persons. The service was intoned, making an unintelligent
jumble of echoes and indistinct sounds, to us annoying in the extreme.
We venture to say: "We think it don't pay." At the risk of being dealt
with as were some of old for making a similar remark, we are inclined
to ask, "Why was this waste of ointment made?" There are some monuments
of interest in the cathedral, but none of great renown.
As we walked through the long and many streets, we were impressed with
the city's extent. The land rises abruptly from the rivers, making
many of the streets quite hard to climb. Very observable was the great
number of houses in which the first stories were occupied as shops, the
families of their keepers residing in the rooms above. A good idea,
and one not practised enough. There were several Tremont and Park
streets. Some of the buildings are modern in style, though for the most
part they have an old and substantial appearance. Many of the oldest
were originally so well built as to need no change, save for trading
purposes.
The immediate suburbs are elevated. There are hills, amphitheatre like,
on all sides; and on those adjoining the city proper are the fine
grounds and mansions of the merchants and wealthier families. It is a
place of manufactures and much commerce, and the central part, about
the rivers, has the appearance of an American city.
There are many old institutions, and they have venerable buildings.
We can only name a few. One of these is St. Stephen's Church, built
in 1470, twenty years before the discovery of America. Others are the
Old Guild Hall, built in the time of Richard II., who died A.
D. 1400; the Corn Exchange, of modern Corinthian architecture,
costing $250,000; the Royal Infirmary, which annually treats seven
thousand five hundred patients. The city supports six hundred schools,
educating twenty-five thousand pupils. Almshouses and hospitals,
charity institutions and infirmaries, abound. After a somewhat hurried
examination of the place, we took train at 5.30 P. M. for
BATH,
where, after an hour's ride, we arrived at 6.30 P. M. This
is situated on the River Avon, and has a population of 52,542. It is
one of the most ancient cities of Great Britain, was founded before
the Roman invasion, and was an important station on the Roman road,
leading from London to Wales. The remains of a Corinthian temple have
been found; also many ancient Roman coins, vases, and altars. The
city is chiefly built on level ground, or on a gentle slope; but it
has along its rear side very elevated land, arranged in terraces and
lawns, presenting, with its costly residences, an imposing background,
giving to the place an air of consequence and picturesqueness. The
city is principally built of brown stone, not at all dingy or sombre
in appearance. A short ramble satisfied us that this was one of the
aristocratic places of England. Substantial and clean was everything we
beheld. Nothing anywhere was new; but the old was of the very best.
It is a fashionable place of resort for invalids, and we saw in the
great thoroughfares carriages drawn by men and occupied by invalids of
all ages. We said then and say now: "Let all who go to London go also
to Bath." It is England's Queen City, and one of which she may well
feel proud.
The cathedral is a perpendicular Gothic structure, very old, but in
most perfect repair. It is 210 feet long, and has a tower 170 feet
high, and is made of the reddish-drab sandstone of which the city is
principally built. The stone ceiling of the church is of open fan-work,
the finest of the kind in England. The whiteness of the whole interior
is very striking, and accords with the neat exterior. There are no
grounds about it, or even a fence; the streets are paved with large
flagstones, reaching close to the building itself. The church and the
world are in intimate proximity.
Here again the cathedral chimes saluted us every fifteen minutes,
all day and all night. To the thoughtful their few notes speak with
living lips. Sometimes they have two notes, and it requires but slight
imagination to interpret them as saying "Quarter hour;" or three notes,
and then they say "Quarter hour gone;" or four, and then we have it
"Quarter hour more gone." The intervals are but short when the knell of
departing time is not thus sounded. The poet Young says,--
We take no note of time,
But from its loss. To give it then a tongue
Is wise in man.
The advice is good, and we gave it a tongue; but it makes a deal of
difference what the tongue says. If it waken regrets at the loss of
time, when an eternity remains, then it had better have no tongue.
These divisions of time are made by men, and are but incidentally a
part of the Creator's plan. These sweet sounds are fresh music-flowers,
strewn over the graves wherein are buried the new minutes of the
quarter-hour just departed.
The city takes its name from its famous hot baths, and was frequented
by the Romans for the purpose of using its waters, known to them by
the name _Aqua Solis_, (sun-water). Baths were erected here in the
time of Claudius, who died A. D. 54. These waters are saline
and chalybeate, but they also contain sulphur and iron. The principal
ones are called King's, Queen's, and the Cross baths, and the waters
are constantly boiling at a temperature of from 109 to 117 degrees
Fahrenheit. There are two others though of less note, called the Abbey
and the Hot baths. Rooms for drinking the water and for bathing are
constantly patronized, and at times the population of the city includes
14,000 visitors. King's Bath is the most popular. It is a fine old
classic structure, fronting on one of the principal streets, in which
is what is called the Pump Room, a saloon 85 feet long, 48 feet wide,
and 34 feet high, elegantly finished and well furnished, where every
convenience is provided the invalid for rest and refreshment, and for
drinking the water from a constantly flowing fountain. These rooms are
attended by matrons who for the small fee of a penny, furnish all the
water desired. It is not unpleasant to the taste, though unmistakably
impregnated with the materials named. It steams up well from the
goblet, and is so warm that one must drink it in separate swallows. The
old room was erected in 1760, and has been used by millions of people.
The baths connected with this building were the only ones we visited,
and are a sample of the others. The visitor pays his shilling (24
cents), and receives a ticket which admits him to another part of
the edifice, where he finds dressingrooms and toilet conveniences.
He presently passes out into a small room, about four feet wide by
eight feet long, closed on three sides; the fourth partly open, but
protected by a screen reaching two thirds up to the top of the opening.
The floor is covered with hot water, four feet deep, and stone steps
lead into it. The bather can remain inside, or he may enter the great
swimming-bath, filled with the same water. That is precisely what we
did. Opening the screen, we found the great reservoir to be perhaps
seventy-five feet square. Three sides were enclosed by rooms, similar
to ours; the fourth side was a very ancient wall of stone, reaching ten
feet or more above the water, in which were antique tablets telling of
the foundation of the baths. The space was open to the sky. The water
was so warm as at first to disincline one to enter it, but by degrees
the sensation became far from unpleasant. Steam was constantly arising.
The water was not clear, though clean, but had a dull clay-water,
yellowish look, and was quiet, except in a space of ten feet square
at the centre, where it constantly boiled up, at times with a rushing
noise. We remained there nearly an hour, admiring and wondering.
In the great pump-room is a statue of the celebrated Richard Nash,
familiarly known as Beau Nash, who died at Bath in 1761. He was at
one time the leader of fashion. At the entertainment given by members
of the Middle Temple to William III. he was employed to conduct the
festivities. So marked was his success that the king offered to knight
him, but conscious of his lack of means to support the honor, he
declined it. More than any other person he aided in making Bath a place
of fashionable resort. By his labors, propriety in dress and civility
of manners were enforced in public resorts, till at length he was
styled the King of Bath. He was an eccentric, and obtained his living
at the gaming-table. He lived in great style, travelled in a coach
with six outriders, and dispensed charity in a prodigal and reckless
manner. Near the close of his life an act of Parliament was passed
prohibiting gambling. Having depended entirely upon that, he afterwards
lived in comparative indigence, and died in poverty, Feb. 3, 1761.
Strange to say, he was ungainly in person, having coarse and even ugly
features, and dressed in a tawdry style. It is remarkable that such a
person could induce a system of public refinement, and be honored by
this statue. Goldsmith was so interested in his strange career, that he
anonymously published a biography of him in 1762, the year after his
decease.
We can readily imagine what the place was prior to the time of Nash.
Macaulay, quoting from Wood's "History of Bath," written in 1747,
says:--
A writer who published an account of that city sixty years after
the Revolution, has accurately described the changes which had
taken place within his own recollections. He assures us that, in
his younger days, the gentlemen who visited the springs slept in
rooms hardly as good as the garrets which he lived to see occupied
by footmen. The floors of the dining-rooms were uncarpeted, and
were colored brown with a wash made of soot and small beer, in
order to hide the dirt. Not a wainscot was painted. Not a hearth
or chimney-piece was of marble. A slab of common freestone, and
fire-irons which had cost from three to four shillings, were
sufficient for any fireplace. The best apartments were hung with
coarse woollen stuff, and were furnished with rush-bottomed chairs.
Samuel Pepys in his remarkably interesting diary, under date June 13,
1668, gives an account of his visit to the baths, and in his own quaint
way tells the story as follows:--
Up at four o'clock, being by appointment called up to the Cross Bath,
where we were carried one after another, myself and wife, and Betty
Turner, Willett and W. Hewer, and by-and-by, though we designed to
have done before company came, much company came; very fine ladies;
and the manner pretty enough, only methinks it cannot be clean to
go, so many bodies together in the same water. Good conversation
among them that are acquainted here and stay together. Strange to see
how hot the water is; and in some places, though this is the most
temperate bath, the springs are so hot as the feet are not able to
endure. But strange to see when women and men, here, that live all
the seasons in these waters cannot but be parboiled, and look like
the creatures of the bath! Carried away, wrapped in a sheet, and in
a chair home; and there one after another thus carried, (I staying
about two hours in the water) home to bed, sweating for an hour, and
by-and-by comes music to play to me, extraordinary good as ever I
heard in London almost, or anywhere.... _Sunday_, June 14: Up and
walked up and down the town, and saw a pretty good market-place and
many good streets, and fair storehouses, and so to the great church,
and there saw Bishop Montague's tomb; and, when placed, did there
see many brave people come, and among others, two men brought in,
in litters, and set down in the chancel to hear; but I did not know
one face. Here a good organ; but a vain pragmatical fellow preached
a ridiculous, affected sermon, and made me angry, and some gentlemen
that sat next me did sing well. 15th, _Monday_. Looked into the
baths, and find the King and Queen's full of a mixed sort, of good
and bad, and the Cross only almost for the gentry.
In 1768, Richard Brinsley Sheridan, the dramatist, removed here, where
his father's family had previously settled. At the age of nineteen,
in conjunction with his friend Hathead, he began his literary career.
In 1772, at the age of twenty-one, he fell in love with Miss Linley,
the popular singer of Bath. To save her from the persecutions of the
libertine Matthews, he fled with her to France, and they were secretly
married at Calais.
Delighted inexpressibly with this Queen City of the South of England,
the antipodes of everything in the South of Ireland, we left it at 2.30
P. M. for
SALISBURY,
where, after a ride of four hours, we arrived at 6.30 P. M. We
found this city possessing something of the look of old Chester, with
narrow streets, projecting stories, queer oriel windows, and having
12,903 inhabitants. The clean streets are drained by small brooks
running through them. The city was founded at Old Sarum, two miles
north of its present location, and removed to this spot in 1217. It
stands on a level and fertile plain, and is partially enclosed with
the remains of the old walls. Little manufacturing is done, nor is
trade followed to a great extent, the community being more inclined to
agricultural pursuits.
Of course the cathedral is the great object of attraction, for it is
very large and imposing, and has the highest spire in the kingdom, 404
feet in height. Spires are the exceptions on cathedrals, for of all
the twenty-nine, only six have spires above their towers,--Salisbury,
Litchfield, Norwich, Chichester, Oxford, and low ones on the front of
that at Peterboro. The others have towers without the spire, but from
association they are looked upon as finished, as in the case of King's
Chapel and the old Brattle Square Church in Boston. At Salisbury
we have the perfection of a central tower, and a spire, of charming
outlines and graceful proportions. The cathedral was erected between
the years 1220 and 1260, and is the only one in Great Britain where a
single style of architecture was employed, and the pure Early English
prevailed throughout. It was completely restored on the exterior in
1868, and the interior was in process of restoration at the time of
our visit. In plan it is a double cross, its extreme length being 442
feet. The stone is of a dark soapstone color, and, being partially
covered with very thin lichens, it has a dingy look; but the clean-cut
outlines and smooth surface of the stone, the unusual height of
the building, standing at the centre of a large close, furnishes
such a good opportunity for viewing it that it presents an imposing
appearance. It has many ancient monuments, and a beautiful altar-piece
of the Resurrection. The grounds are walled in, and a half square-mile
is within the enclosure. The English oaks are very large, the pathways
clean and hard, and the lawn elegant. Rooks were to be seen in large
numbers. Their circling flight as they wheeled from tree to tree; the
stillness, unbroken save by their incessant cries; the prevailing air
of repose; the aristocratic aspect of the Bishop's residence, and those
of the other functionaries; the memories that have clustered around the
spot, during the six hundred and sixty years since Bishop Poore founded
the cathedral,--all conspired to invest the place with sanctity. Here
again came the thought, "This is _the_ cathedral,"--as though all
England were but the diocese, and this the seat of the entire Church.
The great bourdon bell in the tower solemnly proclaims the hour of 8
P. M., and we wend our way over the dike, skirting the narrow
river, to get a moonlight view of the cathedral. How often we turn to
look anew on that symmetrical tower and lofty spire, and how satisfying
the gaze. We turn back again and admire the fields spread around us;
we are delighted with the hills, and with the winding river, narrow
and clear, whose banks we are treading. The little mill-village ahead
lures us on; but the cathedral is more potent. We turn again and gaze,
walk backwards and admire, till the little hamlet a half-mile away
is reached. We walk over the trembling footbridge and along the rude
milldam, and try to be entertained; but no, we must turn our footsteps,
for in full view is the "all in all." So we walk back, and think and
admire anew, till night comes over us, and we and the cathedral are
draped with a common pall. Through the night, as the chimes broke the
stillness, and the great bell set its heavy notes as milestones of
time, we felt the greatness of our surroundings.
OLD SARUM.
On Friday A. M., at nine o'clock, we took team at Salisbury
for this place. Few spots in history are of more interest than this
and its neighbor, Stonehenge,--the former two, and the latter a little
less than nine miles from Salisbury. Sarum was an important settlement
made by the early Britons, which afterwards became a Roman station, and
the residence of the West Saxon kings. King Alfred fortified it, and
in the eleventh century it was made a bishop's see. In 1217, however,
Bishop Poore removed two miles away, and there established what is now
Salisbury Cathedral, and so the city itself. As a matter of course,
Sarum declined. The people followed the bishop, and what was once a
place of note became almost extinct. Only one house remains on the
grounds, but there are yet traces of the walls, cathedral, and castle.
A more complete ruin is not to be found elsewhere in Great Britain, and
a strange enchantment hovers about the scene.
The ride from Salisbury is very pleasant. From the level land on
which the new city (though over 660 years old) stands we pass into a
very undulating country, a quarter of which is covered with groups of
shrubbery and trees. On the greenest of green grass, thousands of sheep
and many cows are grazing, but no houses are in sight. A rare beauty
exists everywhere, and many evidences of civilization. Salisbury is in
our rear. Above all we see the cathedral tower and spire, distinct in
outline, like a faithful sentinel standing there and guarding us.
We alight from our team, hitch the horse by the roadside, and turn to
our left into a path parallel with the main road, and running a short
distance across the field. We walk on along the edge of a grove, and
come upon a solitary house, which is the only human habitation at
Old Sarum. It is a stone house of moderate size, two stories high,
plastered and whitewashed, with a red tiled roof. It is situated back
some fifty feet from our path, is well fenced, and surrounded by
shade-trees and shrubbery. It has a very English appearance. A sign
over the gate informs the traveller that it is a place of transient
entertainment. It fronts on the main road, and we are now at the rear
entrance. Salisbury itself--or Boston, for a sixpence or a dime--can
at a moment's notice furnish better entertainment than can be provided
there. Yonder elevated land, in this same field, is our better
restaurant. We walk delightedly over the pathway thither. What thoughts
take possession of the mind. Here ancient Britons, conquering Romans,
and Saxon kings and queens walked a thousand years ago. The same sky
bent over them; the same soil was beneath their feet. Odors from
flowers and the same balmy atmosphere regaled them. The birds sang to
them as they sing to us now.
We approach the venerable enclosure. It is a vast circular enbankment
some twenty feet high, with here and there bushes and small trees. The
general symmetry suggests the work of human hands, but the abandoned
appearance tells of antiquity. Our road leads down over a depression,
the old moat,--and then up again, and in through an opening, on both
sides of which is ragged masonry of flint, cobble-stones, and white
mortar. We now discover that the huge mound is a mortar-wall, overgrown
with grass on both sides, this opening having been rudely broken
through it. Walls, a thousand and more years old! What desolation; what
strange fascination! We enter and go up to the top of the embankment.
What tongue or pen can adequately describe the emotions awakened?
The views in all directions are charming. No mountains are visible
to inspire awe; no great metropolis is to be seen; but "sweet fields
of living green" hills innumerable, pleasant groves, feeding sheep,
tinkling cow-bells, and air sweet with wild flowers and modest daisies
(crushed at every tread beneath the feet) are about us; but we leave
these, to study the grand old ruin. At the centre is a hollowed, though
comparatively level space, of five hundred feet in diameter, covered
with grass, bushes, and small mounds. The depression is not far from
twenty feet deep, the earth and grass sloping up to the walk, about ten
feet wide, which encircles it. The outer edge is irregularly hemmed in
by bushes. Outside of this is a mote fifty feet wide, and thirty feet
deep. Encircling all is a plateau two hundred feet wide, and another
mote, thirty feet wide and twenty feet deep. The motes were once filled
with water, but now grass has superseded it. Instead of being a barrier
against approaching foes, they have better uses. In the language of
Whittier, applied to an old New England burial-ground:--
There sheep that graze the neighboring plain
Like white ghosts come and go;
The farm horse drags his fetlock chain,
The cow-bell tinkles slow.
With variation of tense another verse of the same poem applies to it:--
It knows the glow of eventide,
The sunrise and the noon,
And sanctified and glorified
It sleeps beneath the moon.
The time has come to leave, and we return to our team. Old Sarum has
been seen, and is never to be forgotten. Where are they who here
thought and labored a thousand years ago? Gone, without a solitary
exception, gone to the silent mansions of the dead.
AMESBURY.
Three miles more and we are at Amesbury, the town for which our
Massachusetts Amesbury was named. One of us having been born within
five miles of the latter, we must of course see its prototype. We
found it to be remarkably neat but queer. The streets and avenues are
hard and smooth. There are no modern buildings. It is substantial, not
thickly settled, rural to a fault, but bears marks of high antiquity.
Here are the remains of a celebrated abbey, now used as the parish
church. The outline is varied but low. A mile or two away was born, at
Milston in 1672, Joseph Addison. One cannot help being reminded that
this was a fitting place for the beginning of such a career. In all
our wanderings we have seen no town resembling this,--odd in the plan
of the roads, peculiar in its fixed appearance, nothing suggesting
change or repair. Most of the buildings are brick, two stories in
height, and a market-place is at the centre. How admirable the
surroundings,--Salisbury, Sarum, Stonehenge, Wilton, Bemerton.
This ride was, all things considered, the most delightful in our
journey through England. The scenery was nowhere wild or romantic, but
the reverse. The landscape was undulating, with great valleys well
supplied with groves, the whole forming a panoramic view of unsurpassed
elegance.
STONEHENGE.
A ride of six miles, and we reach Stonehenge, on the Salisbury Plain.
The plain is three or four miles in extent, comparatively level, well
grassed, and surrounded with hills. No house could be seen, nor any
sign of civilization save the road and the sheep and the cattle so
quietly grazing. A sign at the left of the roadside directed us into a
cart-path over the field. Our driver, an old visitor, informed us that
yonder, a distance requiring a slow five minutes' ride, were the famed
ruins, in the midst of this vast field, without a tree for company.
Alighting there we found an elderly man in attendance to describe the
ruins, and see that tourists did no harm. We were informed that the
present owner of the domain, Lord----, was pleased to have visitors
come, and that all were welcome, but strictly prohibited from removing
fragments or defacing the stones. Two large ovals are inside of two
circles. On these, or lying about them, are large rough-squared oblong
stones, many of them four feet wide, two feet thick, and fifteen feet
long. While keeping the same general form, the others vary in size down
to half these dimensions. All have a blackened grayish appearance,
with spots of thin moss on them. Several of them are set like posts in
the ground, some perpendicular, others aslant. Some rest on the top
of these, reaching from one to another. Some stand alone; others have
fallen, and lie flat. Some of them are broken or lean against others.
To complete the scene is a flat stone called the altar, inside of the
inner oval. This is a slab about fifteen feet long and four feet wide.
The grass growing about them is well trodden down and cropped by the
sheep. There were originally one hundred and forty stones, and they
varied in weight from six to seventy tons. They are much weather-worn,
though many of them retain sharp angles; and on the top of the pillars
are small rude tenons, with corresponding mortices in those that once
rested upon them. The large ones appear to be about twelve feet high,
and they stand four or five feet apart. The outer circle has seventeen
stones remaining out of the original thirty; the inner has but eight
whole stones, and fragments of twelve others. The inner oval consisted
of twenty smaller stones, of which eleven are yet standing. The other
oval had ten stones, of which eight remain.
Scattered over the plain, in sight of these ruins, are about three
hundred mounds or tumuli, varying from six feet to forty in diameter.
They are conical in form, and well grassed over. Some of these have
been opened, and they prove to be places of sepulture; for in them
were charred human bones, fragments of pottery, and British and Roman
ornaments and weapons. On making excavations at the altar, remains of
oxen, deer, and other animals were found, mingled with burnt wood and
pieces of ancient pottery.
Evidence tends to show that this was a Druidic temple. Geoffrey of
Monmouth assumes that it was built by order of Aurelianus Ambrosius,
the last British king, in honor of four hundred and sixty Britons slain
by Hengist the Saxon. Polydore Vergil declares that it is a monument to
Hengist, who died about A. D. 488. The temple theory has more
evidence in its favor, and finds the largest number of supporters.
WILTON.
After a stay of an hour we ride on, not over the road we came by, but
first by a cart-path over the field among the mounds, and afterwards
for a half-mile out into another road. We now go back through the
nice little town of Wilton, where carpets of that name were first
manufactured. The excellent roads are at times very white, because
of the chalkstones which enter into this construction. Halfway from
Stonehenge lies Wilton, with a population of less than two thousand.
The carpet manufacture has declined till but comparatively few are
now made. Most of the houses are of brick, with tiled roofs, having
neat flower-gardens in front, and grapevines on the walls. It was
once a seat of monastic establishments, but the edifices are torn
down with a single exception,--the Hospital of St. John. One place of
antiquity yet remains, namely, the Wilton House, the seat of the Earl
of Pembroke, which contains a gallery of rare paintings, and stands
on the site of the abbey founded by a sister of King Egbert, A.
D. 800. The place is open to the inspection of the public on
certain days,--uncertain ones to us or our driver,--but we must drive
around it. On approaching we saw an old but rich Roman gateway, with
the usual porter's lodge, and a fine avenue, short but well shaded, as
an approach to the square in front. Alighting, we were informed that
this was not Admission Day, and the Noble Lord not being at home could
not be appealed to; so we reluctantly departed; but before going, we
had through the gateway a good view of the grounds, and of the mansion
itself, bowered in trees. Large, of Italian architecture, built of a
light-drab stone, it is said to have been designed by the celebrated
architect, Inigo Jones--who died in 1652--aided, it may be, by Holbein.
As we turned away we could but think of a similar experience which
took place just two hundred and ten years before, June 11, 1668. The
eccentric Pepys visited the ruins at Stonehenge, Wilton, and this very
spot, and with an experience like our own. The record in his Diary is
as follows:--
Went to the inne; and there not being able to hire coach horses, and
not willing to use our own, we got saddle-horses, very dear, give the
boy that went to look for them sixpence. So the three women behind,
W. Hewer, Murford, and our guide, and I, single to Stonehenge, over
the plain, and some great hills, even to fright us, come thither, and
find them prodigeous as any tales I ever heard of them, and worth
going this journey to see. God knows what their use was! they are
hard to tell, but yet we may be told. Gave the shepherd-woman, for
leading our horses, fourpence, so back by Wilton, my Lord Pembroke's
House, which we could not see, he being just coming to town; but the
situation I do not like, nor the house at present, much, it being in
a low rich valley.