YORKSHIRE--YORK--SHEFFIELD--LINCOLN.
We are now leaving Durham for a ride of sixty-seven miles to the city
of York, the other fashionable metropolis of England. The passage
is through the county of Yorkshire, which, for the combination of
good agriculture, population, manufactures, beauty of scenery, and
historical renown, is not excelled if equalled by any other county of
Great Britain. The people are peculiar, and have a dialect of their
own; they are tall in stature, shrewd at bargains, and are tenacious of
their own manners and customs. Here abound grand mansions, and large
tracts of land laid down as parks, and so we find less uncared land
than in any other part of England.
One cannot travel over this country and not think of the time when
William the Conqueror, by his hostility to the inhabiting Saxons,
caused destruction and ruin to prevail. History says:--
He wasted the land between York and Durham, so that for threescore
miles there was left in manner, no habitation for the people, by
reason whereof it laid waste and desert for nine or ten years. The
goodlie cities, with the towers and steeples set upon a statelie
height, and reaching as it were into the air; the beautiful fields
and pastures watered with the course of sweet and pleasant rivers; if
a stranger should then have beheld, and also knowne what they were
before, he would have lamented.
We do not stop here, but can hardly fail to think of the Conquerer
himself. As he lay in the agonies of death he cried out:--
Laden with many and grievous sins, O Christ, I tremble, and being
ready to be taken by Thy will into the terrible presence of God, I
am ignorant what I should do, for I have been brought up in feats
of arms even from a child. I am greatly polluted with the effect of
much blood. A royal diadem that never any of my predecessors did
bear I have gotten; and although manly greediness on my triumph doth
rejoice, yet inwardly a careful fear pricketh and biteth me when I
consider that in all these cruel rashness hath raged.
But we must leave these intervening lands and speak of the famed city
itself.
YORK.
This is _Old_ York, while our New Amsterdam that was, Manhattan Island,
is the _New_ one. It is the capital of Yorkshire, and situated on both
sides of the River Ouse, at its junction with the River Foss, and is
175 miles from London. Its population is 43,709. The river is crossed
by a fine stone bridge, while there are also several others of less
repute. The city is very compactly built. It is but three miles in
circuit, and was once entirely, and is now partly, surrounded by walls
originally erected by the Romans. It was entered by gates, four of
which remain as they were centuries ago. The streets are not very wide,
but are well paved and very neat, and the city presents a solid and
substantial appearance. It has a good commercial or trade aspect in
the market parts, and in the other portions has a homelike atmosphere,
and a very large number of hotels, for the place is one of resort for
fashionable winter life. It is the emporium of style for the northern
part of England, and in this respect is hardly inferior to London. The
buildings are mainly of brick, three or four stories high.
Its history reaches far back into antiquity. During the Roman dominion,
York was the seat of the general government, and was important while
London was yet rude and semi-barbaric. Are we fully prepared to realize
that the Roman Emperor Septimus Severus lived here, and here died in
the year 212, or but 179 years after the death of Christ? Here also
died in 306, Constantius Cholorus, the father of Constantine the Great.
1577 years are gone since the death of the distinguished individual
named! In the war with William the Conqueror, the citizens joined
with the Scots and Danes for his repulsion, but on their defeat they
razed their homes and city to the ground. It was rebuilt, and was
destroyed by fire in 1137. During the great massacre of the Jews, which
took place in England after the coronation of Richard I., several
hundred Jewish inhabitants of York, having in vain attempted to defend
themselves in the castle, slew their wives and children, set fire to
their houses, and themselves perished in the flames. Lord Fairfax
captured the place from the Royalists in 1644, and in 1688 James II.,
for its arbitrary measures in opposition to the crown, took away its
charter, and its fortunes and conditions then varied for more than two
thousand years. Indeed, its soil is classic ground. Here the Emperor
Hadrian, one of imperial Rome's distinguished ones, dwelt, more kingly
and regal than has since lived any king. Over these roads Severus, the
great Emperor, has passed, and on Stiver's Hill, west of the city, the
funeral obsequies over his mortal remains took place. Here Constantine,
the first great Christian of many who came out of paganism, also dwelt.
Everywhere there is a classic renown. Do we, as we are walking here
on this fine summer day, comprehend the scheme? The birds in these
trees sing as sweetly as in olden time; the sheep graze quietly on the
outlying plains as they did a thousand years ago. The shadows, made by
passing clouds, chase each other across our path as others did over
theirs. Here are the same sun and similar clouds, and birds and trees,
but the seasons of a thousand and a half of years intervene. Millions
of beings have lived and died. Their dust has mingled with parent soil;
it has been caught up, and transformed into plant and flower and tree;
and, passing through fruit, or flesh of animal, into humanity, has gone
back again and become mingled, and out into life yet again, and its
history has been repeated in new organizations and bodies and forms.
We talk not of transmigration of soul, but we may say that the
process has developed a better phase of humanity; and these last
productions are more imperial and royal than Hadrian, Septimus, or
Constantine; than William the Conqueror, Edward the Confessor, than
Cromwell, Jeffries, or Laud. Upward and onward has been the march. The
millennium has come in this way, and humanity has marched with steady
tread towards it. Queen Victoria and Dean Stanley and John Bright and
Gladstone are the blossoms, or a flowering-out,--a grand fruitage.
In them, also, are the seed and germs of a yet greater progress, and
another day is to gather fruit from these later trees, the leaves of
which "are for the healing of the nations."
York gave birth, May 8, 1731, to Beilby Porteus, a distinguished
prelate, who was chaplain to Secker, the Archbishop of Canterbury,
in 1762, chaplain to George III. in 1769, Bishop of Chester in 1776,
and Bishop of London, 1787, where he presided till his death, May 14,
1808. And she is also honored as being the birthplace of John Flaxman,
the renowned sculptor, who was born July 6, 1755, and died at London,
Dec. 9, 1826. Among his well-known productions are the monuments of
the poet Collins at Winchester Cathedral, of Lord Nelson and of Howe,
of Sir Joshua Reynolds, of Mansfield, and of Kemble. In early days he
supported himself by making designs for the Wedgewoods, manufacturers
of celebrated pottery and works of ceramic art; and by-and-by he
astonished the world by his artistic illustration of Homer and
Æschylus, and afterwards of Dante. He was also the author of Scriptural
compositions,--excelling in fine diction as well as in deep religious
fervor and pathos.
Here, A. D. 735, more than 1100 years ago, was born Flaccus
Albinus Alcuin, even for that early day an eminent scholar and
churchman, and a pupil of the Venerable Bede. He was a schoolmaster
and librarian at the cathedral; and later, by invitation of Emperor
Charlemagne, in 780, he went to France, probably to Aix la Chapelle,
and opened a school, where his instructions were attended by the
Emperor and his court; and this school is presumed to be the germ
of the present University of Paris. He was the intimate friend and
confidential adviser of the Emperor, and so even the destinies of
nations are traced directly to him. Although he was the most learned
man of his age, eloquent, pious, and renowned, yet his extreme modesty
and fineness of temperament and nature caused him to shrink from the
responsibilites of a bishop; and, though repeatedly urged to permit his
ordination as such, he peremptorily refused, and would accept no higher
office than that of deacon. He died lamented as few ever can be, May
19, 804, 1079 years ago.
Here was born in 1606, and died in 1682, Sir Thomas Herbert, the
renowned traveller. Anticipating Stanley two and a half centuries,
he published in 1634 his celebrated work, "Some Years' Travels into
Africa, and the Great Asia, especially the Territories of the Persian
Monarchy." He was made a baron by Charles II. Though a stanch and
avowed Presbyterian, so kind was he, and so courteous in disposition
and manner, that Charles I. retained him as one of his attendants to
the last, long after all the others had been dismissed. We close the
list of notable men by naming but one more of a vast number,--William
Etty, the painter, born here March 10, 1787. He was a pupil of Sir
Thomas Lawrence, and for a time unsuccessful; but in 1831 one of his
pictures was admitted to the exhibition given by the Royal Academy,
and this brought him before the public as an artist of ability. It
was his "Cleopatra's Arrival at Celicia," in which the nude female
form was depicted with remarkable correctness and voluptuous glow of
color. He is now considered to have been one of the chief artists of
the English school. He wrote his own biography, which was published in
the London Art Journal in 1849. He died at York, Nov. 13, of the same
year, at the age of sixty-two. The temptation is irresistible to add
that in Keighly, a near town, on the 8th of December, 1823, was born
that distinguished preacher and eminent lecturer, Rev. Robert Collyer,
late of Unity Church, Chicago, now of the Church of the Messiah, New
York; so that, by _personal_ ties, _Old_ and _New_ York are worthily
connected. Of the noble record of men of Yorkshire, there is none of
which she may entertain a juster pride, than that of our great American
divine.
We now leave York as a city, and her especial celebrities, to speak
of two things of great interest to all tourists, viz: the remains of
the abbey, and the famed York Minster. The Abbey of St. Mary, now a
mass of elegant ruins, is not far from the Minster. It was founded
by William Rufus, who was slain in the New Forest, Aug. 2, 1100. The
college connected with the abbey was founded by Henry VI., who is
believed to have been killed in the Tower of London in May, 1471. The
grounds are acres in extent, and are well kept as a choice park, with
great neatness and care. We enter them through a gate, at the side
of which is a lodge, where tickets are procured, and guide-books,
containing engravings, and an account of the premises from their
first use for the abbey and its collegiate purposes. Elegant lawns
and undulatory lands are here; grand old trees, large and vigorous;
finely graded avenues and paths; clumps of flowering shrubs, among
them the best of rhododendrons, which on the day of our visit were in
fine bloom; and to add to the beauty of the scenery, sheep, such as
England, and perhaps only Yorkshire, can boast; Jersey and Alderney
cows quietly grazing,--neither sheep nor cows noticing the visitors,
the best possible specimens of mind-their-own business-individuals
seen on our whole journey. These all combine to give a tranquillity
and finish to the landscape, such as befit the place now in use for
centuries,--glorious in age, and charming in its loveliness.
The ruins are of the choicest and most enchanting kind, with high
walls, columns, arches, mouldings, buttresses, and every detail in
full, of window and door; and such a carpet of nice low-cropped but
thick grass as is seldom seen. What finish everywhere! How little to
touch in the way of repair or amendment! Here, as on all ruins, is the
companion-like ivy, doing its good work. These ruins seem to be at
home. The others we have seen appeared to have a solitary beauty; but
here, so in the city, and surrounded by every-day life, finish, care,
and animation, they are not companionless.
There is a sweet and indescribably good influence about a place like
this. How one enjoys the odor of these flowers, the shade of these
venerable trees, and of the walls themselves. How easy it is to commune
in the extemporized reverie,--and it's no hard task here to extemporize
one; how easy it is to "call up spirits from the vasty deep."
We examine the great things, and then sit down and admire; next we walk
around and get new views. We think of novitiate, of nun, of monk, of
collegian, dead and gone five hundred years. Next we go to the museum,
a building on the grounds and part of the good premises. Between the
main ruins and this building are small ruins, or evidences of things
that were, but are not. We go in, and, as at the gate-lodge, a woman
is in attendance, and desires a shilling, and we are willing, for the
treat, to each give her one. We go in, and what interests are awakened!
Old Rome herself can do no better. Not works of Englishmen are now to
be examined, or of Briton even,--of Scot or of Celt, but of them of the
Eternal City bred and born.
A new station for the railway was built a few years ago, and in digging
for the foundation a large lot of things of Roman manufacture were
found, which, with others once belonging to the venerable abbey, are
now deposited here. Among the more noted objects of interest are stone
coffins, in which are bodies, covered by a coarse cloth, and as they
are imbedded in lime, it would appear that it must have been put about
them in a liquid form. Some of these date back fifteen hundred years.
Next are pieces of Roman pavement, into which are wrought various
devices; and there are also many common, red-clay, earthen pots and
jars, or vases of different sizes; a majority of them would hold about
three gallons each. These were filled with ashes and burnt bones. They
were nearly full, and the materials had either been forced in quite
compactly or this solidity came by reason of age. In a glass case, some
sixteen inches square and six inches deep, is the scalp of a Roman
lady, almost entire, showing the brown hair very perfect, and arranged
as it was at the time of her death. This was taken from a leaden coffin
in which were found the remains, the date showing that they were buried
full sixteen hundred years ago. There is also a display of pottery and
household implements, old Roman statuary and utensils; and monumental
stones and things of the kind are here in abundance.
Aside from these, and in addition, are many things once belonging to
the abbey,--the whole a befitting appendage to these ancient grounds.
It would seem that there is, in this famed enclosure alone, enough to
amply repay one for a journey from America to York. If these ancient
things could speak, they would want no more potent words put into their
mouths than those of Burns, when he says
O wad some pow'r the giftie gie us,
To see, oursels, as others see us.
We are depending a bit on punctuation to aid the thought and
application. Not so much as having heard of these ruins beforehand, we
were the more surprised; in plastic condition of mind the impression
was made, and it is indelible. "Forget what we may, let what will of
our thought become bedimmed,--let memories of St. Mary's remain and
be good and fresh as now," said we then, and repeat ever. Our first
visit to York Minster was made soon after our arrival. At 6 P.
M. the doors are closed, and as it was near or quite that hour,
we were content with the good and great privilege of examining the
elegant grounds and magnificent exterior. The former are quite large
and properly enclosed. The same carpet-like lawn-grass abounds, with
a few grand avenues and paths over it, and trees of good age. All was
cathedral-precinct-like, tranquil and sanctified; but even here sin and
its consequences were present in material form, and the manifestation
was quite what happens in Boston, where we have no venerable cathedral
nor such grounds.
Off a hundred or more feet from the building, reclining on the grass
and asleep, was a man beastly drunk. Two policemen came and aroused
him and led him away. As at home, boys and women were interested and
followed. To the credit of the policemen they did their work well, and
in a way befitting the place, they could not well use less force, and
they needed to use no more. As we saw the old, old sight, we thought of
the terse and comprehensive verdict of Boston's once famous coroner,
Pratt, who had held an inquest on one found not only dead drunk, as
this man was, but _drunk dead_; and the simple verdict was, "Rum did
it." Many instances occur where we have to repeat the old verdict.
It's a good safety-valve to our feelings, and having said a true, a
comprehensive, an all-the-ground-covering thing, we "rest the case."
Rum does it there and here and everywhere, the world over.
The great edifice is built of a yellowish and perishable sandstone;
parts of it are now in much decay, and the dust or sand lay in small
heaps, even about the threshold of the main entrance doors. It reminded
us of the yellow dirt we call powder-post, from a dry-rot decaying pine
timber. For the most part, however, the structure is in good repair,
and in a short time this great west front will be attended to. The
decorations of this part are very rich and elaborate. The whole is of
exquisite proportions and design, even to minute details. This is the
most highly wrought of all the cathedral churches of England. It is the
largest so far as extent of ground covered, though not the longest,
as it is excelled in length by Winchester, and perhaps by one or two
others. The history of the establishment begins in the seventh century;
but the present edifice was not begun till after 1150, and it was not
completed till 1472, and had been twenty years finished when Columbus
discovered America. It is in the form of a cross, with a magnificent
square central tower at the intersection, 213 feet high, or only seven
feet lower than Bunker Hill monument, though it has not that effect of
height. There are two other towers flanking the west front. These are
each 196 feet high. They end with an elegant light parapet, and turrets
at the four corners and centres. The extreme length is 524 feet. The
breadth at transepts is 247 feet. The great east window is 78 feet high
and 32 feet wide, filled with elegant stained glass representing about
200 historic events. The tower has a peal of 12 bells, one of which
weighs 11½ tons, and is with the exception of that on the great clock
tower at the Houses of Parliament, and the new one just placed on the
tower of St. Paul's at London, the largest bell in the kingdom.
We have spoken especially of its exterior, and are to speak of its
interior and its bishops; but before we do so, we are inclined to think
we shall once for all render a good service if we devote part of our
space to saying a few words in defining or explaining these terms,
_minster_ and _cathedral_, for as a general thing they are not well
understood. We have previously said something on the point, but at the
risk of being accused of repetition, will more definitely state the
case.
Till the time of Constantine no houses for Christian worship existed.
After his conversion to Christianity, or as soon as A. D.
325, they were not only tolerated but encouraged. Soon some of them
came to be large and imposing, and the assemblies were composed of
rich and influential persons. These congregations being able to well
support and appreciate preachers of ability and renown, such divines
were established at important stations. By and by assistants were
demanded; next, canons or special preachers; and yet again others, as
assistants in parish work. A place like this was called a cathedral,
and all such churches were known by that name. In process of time the
term came to denote only the one church in a diocese at which the
bishop presided, or was identified with, and is so used to this day.
There were of course other large churches or edifices quite equalling
in financial standing, or in social and general dignity and influence,
the cathedral itself, and these were not inclined to pay obedience to
the bishop, and they simply remained as they were,--in fellowship, if
we may use the expression, with the whole Church, but yet independent
of it so far as the bishop's, or any outside authority, was concerned;
so it is seen that Independency did not originate with the Puritans or
Dissenters. Westminster Abbey is of this class, and this accounts for
the independent condition of Dean Stanley, who from his office of Dean
of Westminster, owed no allegiance to the Bishop of London, although
the abbey is but a mile from, and in sight of, St. Paul's Cathedral.
An abbey like Westminster is, if we may so say, the church of an abbey
once at Westminster; while the abbey itself was destroyed, the church
has remained. A _minster_ like this at York, or that at Beverly, is the
church edifice, or place of religious worship, of a former monastery,
and so is called York minster.
Next a word in regard to the Archbishopric of York. An archbishop is
the head bishop, to preside at meetings of the house of bishops, and to
exercise some especial functions, like the president of an association,
but subject to rules and regulations in the performance of his work as
set forth by ecclesiastical laws made by the convocation of bishops.
Canterbury has from the first been the seat of the archbishop, and
of course great importance and dignity attach to the place where the
archbishop's seat is. York having for centuries been very important
in wealth and social standing, and possessing the grand old minster,
disputed this claim, and at times was influential enough to seriously
interfere with the ancient arrangement; and, as a sort of compromise,
York was advanced to a position second only to that of Canterbury. Its
bishop, or head official, is dignified with the title of Archbishop of
York, and is therefore the second primate of England; or, as we may
better express it, he is the vice-bishop of the entire English Church.
The principal seat of the Archbishop of Canterbury, and of the whole
Church, is at Lambeth Palace, on the Thames below Southwark, and
opposite the Houses of Parliament. Here are held all great convocations
of bishops, and the business of the Church is done here; but by ancient
usage Canterbury Cathedral is the seat of the archbishop, or, as he
is termed, the Primate of all England. Some years ago an arrangement
was made whereby some few places, or Sees, hereafter named, were given
into the charge of the Archbishop of York, so that he is an archbishop
by virtue of his office, though yet inferior to his lordship of
Canterbury. We next proceed, after the long digression, to speak of the
interior of the cathedral, or minster.
It is grand and imposing, and its great width and height impress the
beholder with a feeling of reverence and awe. The windows are of
painted glass. Most of them are ancient and dim-appearing, and probably
were never of rich design or very brilliant color. Every part of this
vast interior is in the best possible repair, and the utmost neatness
prevails. The cathedral has a crypt, or basement, and centuries ago
it was customary to hold services in it. By the payment of a sixpence
each, persons are permitted to visit it in company with the verger;
and at all cathedrals, and in waiting, are these guides. It should be
understood that visitors are freely and gratuitously admitted at any
time from sunrise to sunset to all the cathedrals, but for visiting
especial parts, such as the top of the tower, the crypt, if there is
one, or places where valuable relics are kept, this small fee named is
taken, first, as payment of salary for the guides, who are in constant
attendance, and next, the surplus goes for repairs of the cathedral;
and we may add that we visited none where workmen were not making
repairs.
We cheerfully paid our fee and went down into the grand old crypt,
now full one thousand years old. Indescribable are the sensations
experienced and the emotions awakened as one is here. The place is
but dimly lighted, and there are antique and grotesque columns and
arches, solid, prison-like masonry, and groined ceilings of stone.
It is not hard to imagine the former sound of sandal-footed monks or
nuns, of subdued voices engaged in prayer,--to know of the odor of
incense, wandering about the columns and arches as it did of old. All
is solid, fortress-like, and secure; but in spite of solidity and thick
stone walls, the aspirations of monks and nuns went out through them,
for their prayers were not confined. Centuries now are gone since
their spirits went out of their bodies, and the custom even of their
service here came to an end. The new dispensation has come, "a better
covenant, established on better promises." The race has advanced; and
now, nought but the grand and vast light room above, the incense of
an intelligent devotion, and the music of the great organ can render
the desired aids to devotion. We find here a superb reminder of a vast
antiquity, in a piece of Saxon work in stone, of the _herring-bone_
pattern. This was part of an ancient Saxon church, built before the
visit of the Normans. Do we comprehend the fact? No. We believe the
story, and admire the place; and next, as best we can, we try and know
the thing as no one can know it for us, but with only partial success.
At the rear of the altar is the tomb and monument of Tobias Matthew,
one of the early translators of the Bible into the English language,
who was the author of the address, or preface, to the King James
translation in present use. The chapter-house is entered from the north
transept, and is a room of remarkable elegance. All is of course built
of stone. The ceiling is strangely elaborate, and there is a wainscot
around the room, at the top of which is elegant flower and leaf work,
and vines, with a profusion of grotesque figures of nondescript animals.
At the right side of the choir is a chapel, in which are kept a few
things of unusual interest. Here is a Bible and Prayer Book, presented
by Charles I. to the cathedral; also a copy of the Bible, in two large
folio volumes, given by Charles II. Next, we have a fine old chair
in which sat at their coronation all the Saxon kings. There is also
a silver crozier of seven pounds' weight, and 200 years old. As at
Durham, here also are exhibited gold seal-rings once worn by bishops,
and each is nearly or quite seven hundred years old.
What as a whole was most entertaining was a drinking-vessel, in the
shape of a buffalo horn. It is over one thousand years old. The grant
of land on which this cathedral stands was made by Prince Ulpus, and,
according to the usage of the time, wine was put into this horn, and
in presence of the cathedral authorities was drank by the Prince, or
donor; and the horn was then presented, to be forever kept as evidence
of the grant. The last royal marriage solemnized in the minster was of
Edward III., of the Norman line, to Philippa, daughter of the Count of
Hainault, Jan. 24, 1328.
The elaborate choir-screen is of a light-tinted stone, and in niches
contains statuettes of all the kings of England from William the
Conqueror, who died at Rouen, Sept. 9, 1087, to Henry VI., who died
in 1471 in the Tower of London. The structure was injured by fire in
the roof in 1829, and again in 1840. The archbishop's palace is on
the north side of the cathedral. It was built near the close of the
twelfth century, and is used as the library of the dean and chapter.
The archbishop's present residence is at Bishopthorpe, a short distance
from the city. His ecclesiastical province includes the dioceses of
Carlisle, Chester, Durham, Manchester, Ripon, Sodor and Man, York, and
Newcastle-on-Tyne.
At 2 P. M. of this Saturday, June 8, we took train for
SHEFFIELD,
where we arrived at 5.30, after a ride of 3½ hours. It was our
anticipation of remaining here till dark, about 9 P. M.;
but, owing to an earlier departure of the train than we anticipated,
we were compelled to be satisfied with a stay of but one hour. Not
entertaining a desire for long tarries in these great manufacturing
centres, we found this visit answered our purpose well enough. The
city is situated at the junction of the River Sheaf, and three smaller
streams uniting with the River Don. These streams together form a grand
water-power, which is used in this great seat of manufactures. The city
is very compactly built on the side of a hill in amphitheatre form,
and open to the northeast. It has a dingy look, and is much smoked.
The streets are well paved, of good width, and are quite inviting. It
has a population of 261,019. Sheffield was one of the Saxon towns, and
received its charter as a market-town from Edward I. in 1296. Early in
the fifteenth century it was under control of the earls of Shrewsbury,
who had a castle here, and a manorhouse in a park a mile east. It was
in one of these that the greater part of the captivity of Mary Queen
of Scots was passed. The castle was demolished by order of Parliament
in 1648; and in 1707 the park of the manor was divided into farms.
The place is celebrated for its manufacture of cutlery, as well as
for a vast amount of other metallic goods, as steel wire, Britannia,
and German silver-work. The cutlery business was of very early date,
and a Cutler's Company was incorporated by statute of James I. in the
sixteenth century. It had a large monopoly, which, interfering with
the business of the place, was somewhat restricted in 1801, and wholly
abolished in 1814, after a use and authority of nearly 300 years. In
1864 the breaking away of the Bradfield reservoir in the hills above
the city, like the disaster at our Mill River, Massachusetts, destroyed
$5,000,000 worth of property, and caused the loss of 300 lives.
The town, by reason of neglect of proper drainage, is very unhealthy;
and in addition is the unhealthfulness of some of the occupations, so
that the bills of mortality are greater here than in any other place
of England. The railway stations being about a mile apart, we went on
foot, and so were able, aided by the amphitheatre-like form of the
place, to obtain a pretty correct judgment in regard to it; and then
our remaining ride out through it, and the view from the suburbs,
confirmed all; and so we felt that it was enough to say we had seen
the famed Sheffield,--a place where from time out of mind have been
made knives, bearing the stamp of Rogers & Sons. We had hoped to catch
a view of their famed manufactory, but did not. This name, and that
of Day & Martin, High Holborn, London, are familiar to every American
schoolboy. What civilized community has not at some time used things
from both places?
At 6.30 P. M. this Saturday night, when, as in any of our
great New England manufacturing places, thousands were released from
their week's labors, and were out on the streets for their Saturday
night purchases, and a great crowd of people were at the station, bound
somewhere,--amid this scene, and making two of the crowd, we took our
seats in the car for
LINCOLN,
and in two hours arrived there. Another cathedral town, and a grand
one, the capital of Lincolnshire and a county in itself. It is situated
on the River Witham, and has a population of 26,762. It has grand
elements of antiquity flavoring its history. It abounds with ancient
remains, including the castle of William the Conqueror, and traces of
town walls, a gateway of which, still standing, is one of the most
perfect relics of Roman architecture to be found in the country. It
has a fine old conduit; also the palace of King John of Gaunt, and
many antique houses. There is no single place of England where there
is a better blending of the very old and the very new than is to be
found here. After the departure of the Romans, Lincoln became the
capital of the Saxon kingdom of Mercia, and suffered much during the
struggles of the Saxons and Danes. It was at the time of the Conquest,
and long after, one of the richest places in England. It suffered
greatly during the baronial wars, and also in the civil ones, when its
grand cathedral was used for barracks. The city is well built. It has
an old and substantial look, though not one of antiquity like parts
of Chester and Shrewsbury. These two are the ones of all England
that carry us--by many of their houses, stores, public buildings, and
entire streets--far back into an exquisitely interesting antiquity.
Here we have all the marks of age, of good old-fashioned domestic life
and comfort,--whole streets of stores of a fair average grade, and a
busy population; and so it is a good place of residence, and a very
desirable spot to visit. The principal buildings are the county-hall
and jail, within the old castle walls; the ancient guildhall; a
session-house; city jail, and house of correction; and a grammar school
founded in 1583. There is a very old Roman canal called Fossdike,
connecting the city with the River Trent. The place is distinguished
for having given birth to the renowned King John of Gaunt, or Ghent,
the fourth son of Edward III., born in 1340, and died 1399.
The principal industries are breweries, tanneries, iron-foundries,
grist-mills, boat-yards, and rope-walks, and in the vicinity are good
nurseries, lime-kilns, and brick-yards. It may be said that this, as
well as most English cities, is built mainly of brick. The land is
level at the railroad station, and in a part of the business portions,
and then rises very abruptly and at an inclination quite hard to climb.
Full two thirds of the place are on this hill. The streets here are
much steeper than any in our Boston, at the West End, and a few of the
thoroughfares are so conditioned as to make it necessary to put iron
hand-rails on the sides of buildings, and even at the edgestones of
sidewalks. All is very clean, well paved and lighted, and thoroughly
supplied with water. At the top of the hill and surrounded by houses,
mansions, and stores, are the grounds of its grand and indescribably
fine cathedral.
As we have before said, when we approach one of these structures, so
imposing and wonder-inspiring,--so out of proportion with everything
else to be seen or imagined in the region,--when we suddenly come upon
one of these, we are inclined to consider this to be _the_ cathedral,
and as though there was, or could be, but one in all England, and this
enough for all, and that the remainder were simply parish churches.
We wonder every time anew, how they could have come into existence;
where the means for their erection came from, and what influence could
possibly have been brought to bear on any lot of mortals to induce the
required interest.
The later thought is that it was done centuries ago, when monastery
and abbey and priory and convent were in full action, church and state
one, Papacy powerful in the extreme, this life nothing, and the other
everything. A superstitious reverence was superior to an intelligent
Christian faith; and so time, labor, money, all were free to erect
these great centres of religion and faith.
Next, the country was divided into communities with interests of their
own, and composed, as it were, of tribes, often hostile to each other,
though entertaining a common superstition and reverence for what they
thought to be truth and divine things. There were few roads across the
country, and so comparatively little intercommunication or exchange
of thought. With no books and no newspapers, the people were shut
in and ignorant; and only was the condition disturbed and the lines
removed when by some invasion,--as of Saxons or Normans, of Danes or
of Scots,--or the result of civil war, the kingdom of Mercia or of
Northumbria became weakened and was absorbed by a stronger power. These
cathedral towns or provinces were then realms with an identity of their
own; and so cathedrals were not only possible, but necessities, and
were begun, and continued, and used for centuries, till by-and-by,
isolation being unnatural, the great laws of association acting,--for
"He made of one blood all nations of men, to dwell on all the face of
the earth,"--as enlightenment came, advancement came also; a union of
interest followed, which meant a division for use of the best things;
and then cathedrals became in a sense common property, not only to
people of England, but by-and-by to those of America as well.
Protestantism has not thus far been favorable to the production of
cathedrals equalling those of old; but it has of late begotten a new
spirit and desire for restorations and repairs, and is to-day, and for
a half-century has been, conscious of its responsibilities to care
for and preserve these great achievements of genius and taste; and so
this seed sown will germinate and bear its fruit, which will be in the
"good time coming." Those of that day, greatly advanced and advancing,
will build new ones outglorying even the old. This is sure to come.
The race does not recede. At times the work goes slowly, and seems to
be retarded. The march is yet on and up, despite appearances to the
contrary. As one in looking at a company of persons passing up the
inclined road of the tower of Pisa, when the company are in particular
positions would consider them at a standstill, so to observers of
humanity, inaction appears sometimes to be the condition; but it is
on and up, and when farther around on the great road, the whole is
seen at a flank view, and the entire procession is found to be grandly
advancing.
We are now back from a long detour, and speak of this elegant
cathedral. It is built of a drab-colored stone, and is in fine repair.
We pass through a large arched gateway, with keeper's lodge at the left
hand, and into the cathedral precincts. Not now have we a great lawn or
close, but nicely macadamized streets and roads in front of the great
structure, and along the right side and back around the rear. On these
borders are buildings belonging to the corporation,--schools, canons'
residences, and those of curates. On the other side of the building,
and at part of the rear end, is a fine old burial-ground, of some two
acres, and charming in the extreme. All is on a grand scale--cathedral,
streets, and grounds.
The great front has a peculiar construction, with two elegant towers
just back of it, each 180 feet high, of very elaborate finish. There
is another grand tower, at centre of building, 53 feet square, and 300
feet high, equalling Bunker Hill Monument in height, with a third of
another like it on its top! In this is the famous bell, Tom of Lincoln.
Cathedral bells have often had names,--that is, the large ones,--as Big
Ben at Westminster, Great Peter, Large David, and others. The cathedral
is 524 feet long, and 250 feet wide at the transepts. It is in all
respects one of the finest in the kingdom. The interior is very light,
having large windows; many of them are of elegant colored glass, and
superior to those at York Minster.
This cathedral, like the others, has a good history. In 1075 Remigius
removed the Episcopal see from Dorchester to Lincoln, and was the first
bishop. Immediately after his arrival he began to build this church.
It is known to have been nearly finished, or at all events ready for
use, in 1092. Remigius, feeling his end to be near, being then very
aged, invited all the prelates of the realm to be present at its
consecration, which was to take place on the 9th of May. Robert, Bishop
of Hereford, was the only one who refused the invitation, and his
excuse was that he foresaw that the cathedral could not be dedicated
in the lifetime of Bishop Remigius. In those days astrology was much
believed in, and its predictions were relied on as prophetic truth;
and strange to say, the Bishop of Hereford's casting was right, for
Remigius died May 8, 1092, the day before that set for the consecration.
Robert Bloet was the second bishop, and he completed the work and
dedicated it in 1124, which was not till thirty-two years after the
time originally set. Of course great repairs and restorations have
from time to time been made, and there have been large extensions
and additions. The interior has an unusual number of old and new
monuments. We are hoping that the few hints we throw out will induce
readers to investigate the cathedral question, and an abundance of good
information can be found in Winkle's "Cathedral Churches of England and
Wales."
It was indeed a hard blow to the Romish Church to lose these fine
buildings. There was, however, an advance made, but "the end is not
yet." The intelligence of this nineteenth century will not long be
satisfied with present conditions. Another and fresh Reformation is
sure to come. As in John Wesley's day, the great Church needs new life
infused into it. Rather than ask Methodists to come and be absorbed
by herself, as has of late been suggested, better that the venerable
Mother Church go and dwell with the Daughter; but neither will be done.
The grand old historic Church will in good time come into the ranks
of a more every-day and less formal life; and the Methodist, while
retaining a good per-cent of her activity, and the element that reaches
the common people, will drop some of her peculiarities; and as humanity
advances, both will move toward each other, and, acting in unison,
hasten the time when there will be but "one fold, and one shepherd."
At noon of this day we left for Boston; and, as ever, the step was
somewhat reluctantly taken, because we were in love with Lincoln; but
Boston also had charms, and so we wended our way there on this fine
Whitsunday. This is the paradise of the year for travel in England,
and this is an Eden-like portion of the old kingdom to go over.
How hallowed the hour is; what better one in which to go from this
cathedral town, almost celebrated for its hostility to all that savored
of non-conformity, to the one where New England Boston's John Cotton,
her early minister,--here not vicar nor even curate,--left, because of
his non-conformity, 243 years ago.