exhausted his news, the conversation was directed to the Abbey, the
boisterous night, and Mary's heroism; when a bet was at last made by one
of them, that she would not go and bring back from the nave a slip of
the alder-tree growing there. Mary, however, did go; but having nearly
reached the tree, she heard a low, indistinct dialogue; at the same
time, something black fell and rolled towards her, which afterwards
proved to be a hat. Directing her attention to the place whence the
conversation proceeded, she saw, from behind a pillar, two men carrying
a murdered body: they passed near the place where she stood, a heavy
cloud was swept from off the face of the moon, and Mary fell
senseless--one of the murderers was her intended husband! She was
awakened from her swoon, but--her reason had fled for ever." Mr. Southey
wrote a beautiful poem founded on this story, which will be found in his
published works. We spent nearly three hours in wandering through these
splendid ruins. It is both curious and interesting to trace the early
history of these old piles, which become the resort of thousands,
nine-tenths of whom are unaware either of the classic ground on which
they tread, or of the peculiar interest thrown around the spot by the
deeds of remote ages.
During our stay in Leeds, we had the good fortune to become acquainted
with Wilson Armistead, Esq. This gentleman is well known as an able
writer against Slavery. His most elaborate work is "A Tribute for the
Negro." This is a volume of 560 pages, and is replete with facts
refuting the charges of inferiority brought against the Negro race. Few
English gentlemen have done more to hasten the day of the American
slave's liberation, than Wilson Armistead.
* * * * *
We have just paid a visit to Newstead Abbey, the far-famed residence of
Lord Byron. I posted from Hucknall over to Newstead one pleasant
morning, and, being provided with a letter of introduction to Colonel
Wildman, I lost no time in presenting myself at the door of the Abbey.
But, unfortunately for me, the Colonel was at Mansfield, in attendance
at the Assizes--he being one of the County Magistrates. I did not
however lose the object of my visit, as every attention was paid in
showing me about the premises. I felt as every one must, who gazes for
the first time upon these walls, and remembers that it was here, even
amid the comparative ruins of a building once dedicated to the sacred
cause of Religion and her twin sister, Charity, that the genius of Byron
was first developed. Here that he paced with youthful melancholy the
halls of his illustrious ancestors, and trode the walks of the
long-banished monks. The housekeeper--a remarkably good looking and
polite woman--showed us through the different apartments, and explained
in the most minute manner every object of interest connected with the
interior of the building. We first visited the Monks' Parlour, which
seemed to contain nothing of note, except a very fine stained
window--one of the figures representing St. Paul, surmounted by a cross.
We passed through Lord Byron's Bedroom, the Haunted Chamber, the
Library, and the Eastern Corridor, and halted in the Tapestry Bedroom,
which is truly a magnificent apartment, formed by the Byrons for the use
of King Charles II. The ceiling is richly decorated with the Byron arms.
We next visited the grand Drawing-room, probably the finest in the
building. This saloon contains a large number of splendid portraits,
among which is the celebrated portrait of Lord Byron, by Phillips. In
this room we took into our hand the Skull-cup, of which so much has been
written, and that has on it a short inscription, commencing with--"Start
not--nor deem my spirit fled." Leaving this noble room, we descended by
a few polished oak steps into the West Corridor, from which we entered
the grand Dining Hall, and through several other rooms, until we reached
the Chapel. Here we were shown a stone coffin which had been found near
the high altar, when the workmen were excavating the vault, intended by
Lord Byron for himself and his dog. The coffin contained the skeleton of
an Abbot, and also the identical skull from which the cup, of which I
have made mention, was made. We then left the building, and took a
stroll through the grounds. After passing a pond of cold crystal water,
we came to a dark wood in which are two leaden statues of Pan, and a
female satyr--very fine specimens as works of art. We here inspected the
tree whereon Byron carved his own name and that of his sister, with the
date, all of which are still legible. However, the tree is now dead, and
we were informed that Colonel Wildman intended to have it cut down so as
to preserve the part containing the inscription. After crossing an
interesting and picturesque part of the gardens, we arrived within the
precincts of the ancient Chapel, near which we observed a neat marble
monument, and which we supposed to have been erected to the memory of
some of the Byrons; but, on drawing near to it, we read the following
inscription:--
"Near this spot
are deposited the remains of one
who possessed beauty without vanity,
strength without insolence,
courage without ferocity,
and all the virtues of man without his vices.
This praise, which would be unmeaning flattery,
if inscribed over human ashes,
is but a just tribute to the memory of
BOATSWAIN, a dog,
Who was born at Newfoundland, May, 1803,
and died at Newstead Abbey, November 18, 1808."
By a will which his Lordship executed in 1811, he directed that his own
body should be buried in a vault in the garden, near his faithful dog.
This feeling of affection to his dumb and faithful follower, commendable
in itself, seems here to have been carried beyond the bounds of reason
and propriety.
In another part of the grounds we saw the oak tree planted by the poet
himself. It has now attained a goodly size, considering the growth of
the oak, and bids fair to become a lasting memento to the Noble Bard,
and to be a shrine to which thousands of pilgrims will resort in future
ages, to do homage to his mighty genius. This tree promises to share in
after times the celebrity of Shakspere's mulberry, and Pope's willow.
Near by, and in the tall trees, the rooks were keeping up a tremendous
noise. After seeing everything of interest connected with the great
poet, we entered our chaise, and left the premises. As we were leaving,
I turned to take a farewell look at the Abbey, standing in solemn
grandeur, the long ivy clinging fondly to the rich tracery of a former
age. Proceeding to the little town of Hucknall, we entered the old grey
Parish Church, which has for ages been the last resting-place of the
Byrons, and where repose the ashes of the Poet, marked only by a neat
marble slab, bearing the date of the poet's birth, death, and the fact
that the tablet was placed there by his sister. This closed my visit to
the interesting scenes associated with Byron's strange eventful
history--scenes that ever acquire a growing charm as the lapse of years
softens the errors of the man, and confirms the genius of the poet.
* * * * *
_May 10_.
It was on a lovely morning that I found myself on board the little
steamer _Wye_, passing out of Bristol harbour. In going down the river,
we saw on our right, the stupendous rocks of St. Vincent towering some
four or five hundred feet above our heads. By the swiftness of our fairy
steamer, we were soon abreast of Cook's Folly, a singular tower, built
by a man from whom it takes its name, and of which the following
romantic story is told:--"Some years since a gentleman, of the name of
Cook, erected this tower, which has since gone by the name of 'Cook's
Folly.' A son having been born, he was desirous of ascertaining, by
means of astrology, if he would live to enjoy his property. Being
himself a firm believer, like the poet Dryden, that certain information
might be obtained from the above science, he caused the child's
horoscope to be drawn, and found, to his dismay, that in his third,
sixteenth, or twenty-first year, he would be in danger of meeting with
some fearful calamity or sudden death, to avert which he caused the
turret to be constructed, and the child placed therein. Secure, as he
vainly thought, there he lived, attended by a faithful servant, their
food and fuel being conveyed to them by means of a pully-basket, until
he was old enough to wait upon himself. On the eve of his twenty-first
year, his parent's hopes rose high, and great were the rejoicings
prepared to welcome the young heir to his home. But, alas! no human
skill could avert the dark fate which clung to him. The last night he
had to pass alone in the turret, a bundle of faggots was conveyed to him
as usual, in which lay concealed a viper, which clung to his hand. The
bite was fatal; and, instead of being borne in triumph, the dead body of
his only son was the sad spectacle which met the sight of his father."
We crossed the channel and soon entered the mouth of that most
picturesque of rivers, the Wye. As we neared the town of Chepstow the
old Castle made its appearance, and a fine old ruin it is. Being
previously provided with a letter of introduction to a gentleman in
Chepstow, I lost no time in finding him out. This gentleman gave me a
cordial reception, and did what Englishmen seldom ever do, lent me his
saddle horse to ride to the Abbey. While lunch was in preparation I took
a stroll through the Castle which stood near by. We entered the Castle
through the great door-way and were soon treading the walls that had
once sustained the cannon and the sentinel, but were now covered with
weeds and wild flowers. The drum and fife had once been heard within
these walls--the only music now is the cawing of the rook and daw. We
paid a hasty visit to the various apartments, remaining longest in those
of most interest. The room in which Martin the Regicide was imprisoned
nearly twenty years, was pointed out to us. The Castle of Chepstow is
still a magnificent pile, towering upon the brink of a stupendous cliff,
on reaching the top of which, we had a splendid view of the surrounding
country. Time, however, compelled us to retrace our steps, and after
partaking of a lunch, we mounted a horse for the first time in ten
years, and started for Tintern Abbey. The distance from Chepstow to the
Abbey is about five miles, and the road lies along the banks of the
river. The river is walled in on either side by hills of much beauty,
clothed from base to summit with the richest verdure. I can conceive of
nothing more striking than the first appearance of the Abbey. As we
rounded a hill, all at once we saw the old ruin standing before us in
all its splendour. This celebrated ecclesiastical relic of the olden
time is doubtless the finest ruin of its kind in Europe. Embosomed
amongst hills, and situated on the banks of the most fairy-like river in
the world, its beauty can scarcely be surpassed. We halted at the
"Beaufort Arms," left our horse, and sallied forth to view the Abbey.
The sun was pouring a flood of light upon the old grey walls, lighting
up its dark recesses, as if to give us a better opportunity of viewing
it. I gazed with astonishment and admiration at its many beauties, and
especially at the superb gothic windows over the entrance door. The
beautiful gothic pillars, with here and there a representation of a
praying priest, and mailed knights, with saints and Christian martyrs,
and the hundreds of Scriptural representations, all indicate that this
was a place of considerable importance in its palmy days. The once
stone floor had disappeared, and we found ourselves standing on a floor
of unbroken green grass, swelling back to the old walls, and looking so
verdant and silken that it seemed the very floor of fancy. There are
more romantic and wilder places than this in the world, but none more
beautiful. The preservation of these old abbeys should claim the
attention of those under whose charge they are, and we felt like joining
with the poet and saying:--
"O ye who dwell
Around yon ruins, guard the precious charge
From hands profane! O save the sacred pile--
O'er which the wing of centuries has flown
Darkly and silently, deep-shadowing all
Its pristine honours--from the ruthless grasp
Of future violation."
In contemplating these ruins more closely, the mind insensibly reverts
to the period of feudal and regal oppression, when structures like that
of Tintern Abbey necessarily became the scenes of stirring and
highly-important events. How altered is the scene! Where were formerly
magnificence and splendour; the glittering array of priestly prowess;
the crowded halls of haughty bigots, and the prison of religious
offenders; there is now but a heap of mouldering ruins. The oppressed
and the oppressor have long since lain down together in the peaceful
grave. The ruin, generally speaking, is unusually perfect, and the
sculpture still beautifully sharp. The outward walls are nearly entire,
and are thickly clad with ivy. Many of the windows are also in a good
state of preservation; but the roof has long since fallen in. The
feathered songsters were fluttering about, and pouring forth their
artless lays as a tribute of joy; while the lowing of the herds, the
bleating of flocks, and the hum of bees upon the farm near by, all burst
upon the ear, and gave the scene a picturesque sublimity that can be
easier imagined than described. Most assuredly Shakspere had such ruins
in view when he exclaimed--
"The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve--
And, like the baseless fabric of a vision,
Leave not a wreck behind."
In the afternoon we returned to Bristol, and I spent the greater part
of the next day in examining the interior of Redcliffe Church. Few
places in the West of England have greater claims upon the topographer
and historian than the church of St. Mary's, Redcliffe. Its antiquity,
the beauty of its architecture, and above all the interesting
circumstances connected with its history, entitle it to peculiar notice.
It is also associated with the enterprise of genius; for its name has
been blended with the reputation of Rowley, of Canynge, and of
Chatterton; and no lover of poetry and admirer of art can visit it
without a degree of enthusiasm. And when the old building shall have
mouldered into ruins, even these will be trodden with veneration as
sacred to the recollection of genius of the highest order. Ascending a
winding stair, we were shown into the Treasury Room. The room forms an
irregular octagon, admitting light through narrow unglazed apertures
upon the broken and scattered fragments of the famous Rowleian chests,
that with the rubble and dust of centuries cover the floor. It is here
creative fancy pictures forth the sad image of the spirit of the
spot--the ardent boy, flushed and fed by hope, musing on the brilliant
deception he had conceived--whose daring attempt has left his name unto
the intellectual world as a marvel and a mystery.
That a boy under twelve years of age should write a series of poems,
imitating the style of the fifteenth century, and palm these poems off
upon the world as the work of a monk, is indeed strange; and that these
should become the object of interesting contemplation to the literary
world, and should awaken inquiries, and exercise the talents of a
Southey, a Bryant, a Miller, a Mathias, and others, savours more of
romance than reality. I had visited the room in a garret in High
Holborn, where this poor boy died. I had stood over a grave in the
burial-ground of the Lane Workhouse, which was pointed out to me as the
last resting-place of Chatterton; and now I was in the room where it was
alleged he obtained the manuscripts that gave him such notoriety. We
descended and viewed other portions of the church. The effect of the
chancel, as seen behind the pictures, is very singular, and suggestive
of many swelling thoughts. We look at the great east window, it is
unadorned with its wonted painted glass; we look at the altar-screen
beneath, on which the light of day again falls, and behold the injuries
it has received at the hands of time. There is a dreary mournfulness in
the scene which fastens on the mind, and is in unison with the time-worn
mouldering fragments that are seen all around us. And this dreariness is
not removed by our tracing the destiny of man on the storied pavements
or on the graven brass, that still bears upon its surface the names of
those who obtained the world's regard years back. This old pile is not
only an ornament to the city, but it stands a living monument to the
genius of its founder. Bristol has long sustained a high position as a
place from which the American Abolitionists have received substantial
encouragement in their arduous labours for the emancipation of the
slaves of that land; and the writer of this received the best evidence
that in this respect the character of the people had not been
exaggerated, especially as regards the "Clifton Ladies' Anti-Slavery
Society."
LETTER XXIII.[A]
[A] This letter is rather out of its proper place here. I had mislaid
the MS., and my distance from the printer prevented the matter being
rectified. In another edition, the transposition can be effected.
_Aberdeen--Passage by Steamer--Edinburgh--Visit to the College--William
and Ellen Craft._
I have visited few places where I found more warm friends than in
Aberdeen. This is the Granite City of Scotland.
Aberdeen reminds one of Boston, especially in a walk down Union Street,
which is said to be one of the finest promenades in Europe.
The town is situated on a neck of land between the rivers Dee and Don,
and is the most important place in the north of Scotland. During our
third day in the city, we visited among other places the Old Bridge of
Don, which is not only resorted to on account of its antique celebrity
and peculiar appearance, but also because of the notoriety that it has
gained by Lord Byron's poem of the "Bridge of Don."
An engagement to be in Edinburgh and vicinity, cut short our stay in the
north. The very mild state of the weather, and a wish to see something
of the coast between Aberdeen and Edinburgh, induced us to make the
journey by water.
On Friday evening, the 14th, after delivering a lecture before the Total
Abstinence Society, in company with William and Ellen Craft, I went on
board the steamer bound for Edinburgh. On reaching the vessel, we found
the drawing-room almost entirely at our service, and prejudice against
colour being unknown, we had no difficulty in getting the best
accommodation which the steamer could furnish. This is so unlike the
pro-slavery, negro-hating spirit of America, that the Crafts seemed
almost bewildered by the transition. I had been in the saloon but a
short time, when, looking at the newspapers on the table, I discovered
the _North Star_. It was like meeting with a friend in a strange land. I
looked in vain on the margin for the name of its owner, but as I did not
feel at liberty to take it, and as it appeared to be alone, I laid the
_Liberator_ by its side to keep it company.
The night was a glorious one. The sky was without a speck; and the
clear, piercing air had a brilliancy I have seldom seen. The moon was in
its zenith--the steamer and surrounding objects were beautiful in the
extreme. The boat got under weigh at a little past twelve, and we were
soon out at sea. The "Queen" is a splendid craft, and without the aid of
sails, was able to make fifteen miles within the hour. I was up the next
morning before the sun, and found the sea as on the previous night--as
calm and smooth as a mirror. It was a delightful morning, more like
April than February; and the sun, as it rose, seemed to fire every peak
of the surrounding hills. On our left, lay the Island of May, while to
the right was to be seen the small fishing town of Anstruther, twenty
miles distant from Edinburgh. Beyond these, on either side, was a range
of undulating blue mountains, swelling as they retired, into a bolder
outline and a loftier altitude, until they terminated some twenty-five
or thirty miles in the dim distance. A friend at my side pointed out a
place on the right, where the remains of an old castle or look-out
house, used in the time of the border wars, once stood, and which
reminded us of the barbarism of the past.
But these signs are fast disappearing. The plough and roller have passed
over many of these foundations, and the time will soon come, when the
antiquarian will look in vain for those places that history has pointed
out to him, as connected with the political and religious struggles of
the past. The steward of the vessel came round to see who of the
passengers wished for breakfast, and as the keen air of the morning had
given me an appetite, and there being no prejudice on the score of
colour, I took my seat at the table and gave ample evidence that I was
not an invalid. On returning to the deck again, I found we had entered
the Forth, and that "Modern Athens" was in sight; and, far above every
other object, with its turrets almost lost in the clouds, could be seen
Edinburgh Castle. After landing, a pleasant ride over one of the finest
roads in Scotland, with a sprinkling of beautiful villas on either side,
brought us once more to Cannon's Hotel.
In a city like Edinburgh, there is always something to keep the public
alive, but during our three days' stay in the town, on this occasion,
there were topics under discussion which seemed to excite the people,
although I had been told that the Scotch were not excitable. Indeed all
Edinburgh seemed to have gone mad about the Pope. If his Holiness should
think fit to pay a visit to his new dominions, I would advise him to
keep out of reach of the Scotch.
In company with the Crafts, I visited the Calton Hill, from which we had
a delightful view of the city and surrounding country. I had an
opportunity during my stay in the city, of visiting the Infirmary, and
was pleased to see among the two or three hundred students, three
coloured young men, seated upon the same benches with those of a fairer
complexion, and yet there appeared no feeling on the part of the whites
towards their coloured associates, except of companionship and respect.
One of the cardinal truths, both of religion and freedom, is the
equality and brotherhood of man. In the sight of God and all just
institutions, the whites can claim no precedence or privilege, on
account of their being white; and if coloured men are not treated as
they should be in the educational institutions in America, it is a
pleasure to know that all distinction ceases by crossing the broad
Atlantic. I had scarcely left the lecture room of the Institute and
reached the street, when I met a large number of the students on their
way to the college, and here again were seen coloured men arm in arm
with whites. The proud American who finds himself in the splendid
streets of Edinburgh, and witnesses such scenes as these, can but behold
in them the degradation of his own country, whose laws would make slaves
of these same young men, should they appear in the streets of
Charleston or New Orleans.
After all, our country is the most despotic in the wide world, and to
expose and hold it up to the scorn and contempt of other nations, is the
duty of every coloured man who would be true to himself and his race.
During my stay in Edinburgh, I accepted an invitation to breakfast with
the great champion of Philosophical Phrenology. Few foreigners are more
admired in America, than the author of "The Constitution of Man."[B]
Although not far from 70 years of age, I found him apparently as active
and as energetic as many men of half that age. He was much pleased with
Mr. and Mrs. Craft, who formed a part of the breakfast party. It may be
a pleasure to the friends of these two fugitive slaves, to know that
they are now the inmates of a good school where they are now being
educated. For this, they are mainly indebted to that untiring friend of
the Slave, John B. Estlin, Esq., of Bristol, whose zeal and co-operation
with the American Abolitionists, have gained for him an undying name
with the friends of freedom in the New World.
[B] George Combe, Esq.
LETTER XIII.
_Edinburgh--The Royal Institute--Scott's Monument--John Knox's
Pulpit--Temperance Meeting--Glasgow--Great Meeting in the City Hall._
EDINBURGH, _January 1, 1851_.
You will see by the date of this that I am spending my
New-Year's-Day in the Scottish Capital, in company with our friend,
William Craft. I came by invitation to attend a meeting of the Edinburgh
Ladies' Emancipation Society.
The meeting was held on Monday evening last, at which William Craft
gave, for the first time, since his arrival in this country, a history
of his escape from Georgia, two years ago, together with his recent
flight from Boston.
Craft's reception was one of deep enthusiasm, and his story was well
told, and made a powerful impression on the audience. I would that the
slaveholders, Hughes and Knight, could have been present and heard the
thundering applause with which our friend was received on the following
evening. Craft attended a meeting of the Edinburgh Total Abstinence
Society, before which I lectured, and his appearance here was also
hailed with much enthusiasm. Our friend bids fair to become a favourite
with the Scotch.