[Illustration: 0016]
[Illustration: 0017]
|THE Thames, unrivalled among English rivers in beauty as in fame, is
really little known by Englishmen. Of the millions who line its banks,
few have any acquaintance with its higher streams, or know them further
than by occasional glances through rail way-carriage windows, at
Maidenhead, Reading, Pangbourne, or between Abingdon and Oxford.
Multitudes, even, who love the Oxford waters, and are familiar with
every turn of the banks between Folly Bridge and Nuneham, have never
thought to explore the scenes of surpassing beauty where the river flows
on, almost in loneliness, in its descent to London; visited by few,
save by those happy travellers, who, with boat and tent, pleasant
companionship, and well-chosen books--Izaak Walton's _Angler_ among the
rest--pass leisurely from reach to reach of the silver stream. Then,
higher up than Oxford, who knows the Thames? Who can even tell where it
arises, and through what district it flows?
There is a vague belief in many minds, fostered by some ancient manuals
of geography, that the Thames is originally the Isis, so called until
it receives the river _Thame_, the auspicious union being denoted by the
pluralising of the latter word. The whole account is pure invention. No
doubt the great river does receive the Thame or Tame, near Wallingford;
but a Tame is also tributary to the Trent; and there is a Teme among
the affluents of the Severn. The truth appears to be that Teme, Tame,
or Thame, is an old Keltic word meaning "smooth," or "broad;" and that
Tamesis, of which Thames is merely a contraction, is formed by the
addition to this root of the old "Es," water, so familiar to us in
"Ouse," * "Esk," "Uiske," "Exe," so that Tam-es means simply the "broad
water," and is Latinised into Tamesis. The last two syllables again of
this word are fancifully changed into Isis, which is thus taken as a
poetic appellation of the river. In point of fact, Isis is used only by
the poets, or by those who affect poetic diction. Thus, Warton, in his
address to Oxford:
"Lo, your loved Isis, from the bordering vale,
With all a mother's fondness bids you hail."
The name, then, of the Thames is singular, not plural; while yet the
river is formed of many confluent streams descending from the Cotswold
Hills. Which is the actual source is perhaps a question of words; and
yet it is one as keenly contended, and by as many competing localities,
as the birthplace of Homer was of old. Of the seven, however, only two
can show a plausible case. The traditional Thames Head is in Trewsbury
Mead, three miles from Cirencester, not far from the Tetbury Road
Station, on the Great Western Railway, and hard by the old Roman road of
Akeman Street, one of the four ** that radiate from Cirencester, or, as
the Romans called the city, Corinium. Here the infant stream is at once
pressed into service, its waters being pumped up into the Thames and
Severn Canal, whose high embankment forms the back-ground to the wooded
nook which forms the cradle of the river. It is an impressive comment
on the reported saying of Brindley the engineer, that "the great use of
rivers is to feed canals." Half-a-mile farther down, and when clear
of the great pumping-engine, the baby river issues again to light in a
secluded dell, and now has room to wander at its own sweet will. The cut
on the preceding page delineates its early course, and shows "the Hoar
Stone," an ancient boundary, mentioned in a charter of King Æthelstan,
a.d. 931.
The river now receives a succession of tiny rivulets, which augment its
volume and force until, near the village of Kemble, it is crossed by a
rustic bridge,--"the first bridge over the Thames," as depicted for us
in the charming volume of Mr. and Mrs. S. C. Hall, with its three narrow
arches, and its sides undefended by a parapet, with the solitary figures
of the labourer and his boy, wending their way home after work.
* "The Ouse, whom men do Isis rightly name."--Spenser,
Faerie Queen.
** The other three were the Fossway, or "entrenched road,"
running to the north-east, the Ikenild Street or "road to
the Iceni," nearly due east, and Ermine or Irmin Street,
passing through Cirencester, north-west to Gloucester, and
south-east to Silchester. Akeman Street is a continuance of
the Fossway, and runs south-west to Bath. Its name probably
means, "Oak-man," or Forester.
[Illustration: 8019]
What a contrast with the _last_ bridge that spans the river, with its
mighty sweep of traffic below and above!
But we must dally yet among scenes of rural quietude. A few miles beyond
Kemble, the Thames has acquired force sufficient to turn a mill. Hence,
leaving the highway, and taking our path through pleasant meadows,
we pass by one or two rural villages, and so to Cricklade, the first
market-town on the Thames. And here a considerable affluent joins the
stream--a river, in fact, that has come down from another part of the
Cotswold Hills, with some show of right to be the original stream.
[Illustration: 8018]
This is the Churn (or Corin; Keltic "The Summit"), which rises at "the
Seven Springs," in a rocky hill-side, about three miles from Cheltenham,
and runs by Cirencester (Corin-cester) down to Cricklade. I he claim of
the Churn is the twofold one, of greater height in its source than the
traditional meadows and beside quiet villages: much, to say the truth,
like other rivers, or distinguished only by the transparency of its
gentle stream. For, issuing from a broad surface of oolite rock, it has
brought no mountain débris or dull clay to sully its brightness, no town
defilement, nor trace of higher rapids, in turbid waves and hurrying
foam. It lingers amid quiet beauties, scarcely veiling from sight the
rich herbarium which it fosters in its bed, save where the shadows of
trees reflected in the calm water mingle confusedly with the forms of
aquatic plants. Meanwhile other streams swell the current. As an unknown
poet somewhat loftily sings:
"From various springs divided waters glide,
In different colours roll a different tide;
Murmur along their crooked banks awhile:--
At once they murmur, and enrich the isle,
Awhile distinct, through many channels run,
But meet at last, and sweetly flow in one;
There joy to lose their long distinguished names,
And make one glorious and immortal Thames."
Of the little streams thus loftily described, the most important are the
Coln and the Leche; as Drayton has it in his _Polyolbion_:
"Clere Coin and lovely Leche, so dun from Cotswold's plain."
[Illustration: 9020]
The confluence of these streams with the Thames at Lechlade makes the
river navigable for barges; and from this point it sets up a towingpath.
At this point also end may be seen--a distant glimmering circle--from
the other. Then the canal pursues a level course for some miles, and
descends about 130 feet to the Thames at Lechlade, having traversed in
all a distance of rather more than thirty miles.
Below Lechlade the river passes into almost perfect solitude. Few walks
in England of the same distance are at once so quietly interesting
and so utterly lonely as the walk along the grassy towing-path of the
Thames. A constant water-traffic was once maintained between London and
Bristol by way of Lechlade and the canal; but this is now superseded by
the railway, and the sight of a passing barge is rare.
[Illustration: 0021]
The river after leaving Gloucestershire divides, in many a winding, the
counties of Oxford and Berks. The hills of the latter county, with their
wood-crowned summits, pleasantly bound the view to the south; Farringdon
Hill being for a long distance conspicuous among them. Half-way between
Lechlade and Oxford is the hamlet of Siford, or Shifford--one of the
great historic spots of England, if rightly considered, although now
isolated and unknown. For there, as an ancient chronicler commemorates,
King Alfred the Great held Parliament a thousand years ago.
"There sat at Siford many thanes and many bishops,
Learned men, proud earls and awful knights,
There was Karl Ælfric, learned in the law,
And Ælfred, England's herdsman, England's darling,
He was King in England.
He began to teach them how they should live."
Not far off is New Bridge, the oldest probably on the Thames. But it was
"new" six hundred years ago. Its solid construction shows that it was
once a great highway; while its buttresses, pointed up the stream,
betoken the power of the floods which the careful draining of later days
has done so much to moderate.
A short distance farther, the Windrush flows down from the north, by
Bourton-"on-the-water," Burford and Witney, to unite with the broadening
river; then the Evenlode, which the traveller by the Oxford, Worcester,
and Wolverhampton Railway so often crosses and recrosses in his journey.
Throughout, the river is carefully adapted for the purposes of a
navigation now little needed. The occasional locks and the frequent
weirs break the level, and the latter especially--sometimes miniature
rapids or waterfalls--add picturesqueness to the scene. An expert
oarsman may descend them all with safety; but many prefer to lift the
boat on to the bank and drag it down to the lower level. These are
interruptions to the journey, which, on the whole, is very enjoyable.
Should the tourist have time at command, he may diverge to the right
hand or to the left, to scenes of rich beauty or historic interest.
Cumnor Hall, a name familiar to all readers of Sir Walter Scott from the
tragic fate of Amy Robsart, lies a little way to the right of Bablock
Hythe Ferry; Stanton Harcourt a short distance to the left. At the
latter place Alexander Pope once resided, in a tower of the old mansion,
which time or reverence has spared, in the ruin of almost all the rest.
A pane of glass, in one of the tower windows, bore an inscription from
the poet's own hand. "In the year 1718, Alexander Pope finished here the
Fifth Volume of Homer." The pane is now at Nuneham Courtney, the mansion
of the Harcourts. At Bablock Hythe Ferry the traveller is scarcely four
miles from Oxford by the direct road; but if he keep to his boat, which
he will not regret, he will find the distance fully twelve. The detour
leads him first past the lovely wooded slopes and glades of Wytham
Abbey, then to the scanty ruins of Godstow Nunnery, with its memories of
Fair Rosamond. But we must not linger now, though opposite to the ruins
a charming country hostelry offers its attractions, and the trout are
leaping in the stream; for we are on our way to Oxford.
The impression which the first sight of this fair and ancient city makes
upon the stranger is probably unique, in whatever direction he first
approaches it, and from whatever point he first descries its spires and
towers. True, of late years the accessories of the railway invasion, so
long resisted by the University authorities, have given a new aspect
to the scene; but nothing can quite destroy the stately dignity
and venerable calm. The traveller who approaches by the way we are
describing, receives the full impression. As he floats along the quiet
surface of the river, the stately domes and towers come suddenly in
sight, and the green railway embankment in the foreground scarcely
impairs the antique beauty of the picture.
Oxford is probably Ousenford--the ford over the Ouse or "Water." Its
waters indeed are many, and almost labyrinthine; but we get clear of
the river at Hythe Bridge, and care for awhile only to explore Colleges,
Halls, and Libraries; pausing before the Martyrs' Memorial, to breathe
the hope that "the candle" once lighted there may still brightly burn,
while Keble College, farther on, is a memorial of one, who though of
another school of thought from ourselves, has given musical and touching
expressions tu the deepest thoughts of devout hearts.
[Illustration: 0023]
But to describe this wonderful city is beyond our present scope. Let us
hurry down to Christ Church Meadows, where the Cherwell sweeps round to
join the Thames; then across to the Broad Walk, past Merton Meadow and
the Botanical Gardens, to Magdalen Bridge, where a splendid view of the
city is again obtained; thence up High Street to the centre of the city,
and down St. Aldate's Street to Folly Bridge, where boats of all sizes
are in waiting. This bridge may appear strangely named, as a main
approach to the renowned seat of learning.
[Illustration: 9024]
Various stories are told as to the origin of the name. Perhaps it may
be from some tradition of Roger Bacon, who had his study and laboratory
here, over the ancient gate. There was a saying, that this study would
fall when a man more learned than Bacon passed under it; so that the
name may be an uncomplimentary reference to the troops of students
entering Oxford by this thoroughfare. But such speculations need nut
hinder us. We are bound for London--a voyage of some 115 miles, though
only 52 by rail. Many boatmen will prefer to take the train for Goring,
saving six-and-twenty miles of water travelling, and avoiding the most
tedious and on the whole least picturesque part of the journey.
Still, in any case Nuneham must be seen, with Iffley Lock and Sandford
Lasher--familiar names to boating men!--upon the way.
[Illustration: 8024]
Nuneham is a charming domain, scene of picnic parties innumerable, yet
freshly beautiful to every visitor who can enjoy woodland walks and
verdant slopes, with gardens planned by Mason the poet, in which art and
taste have, as it were, only improved upon the hints and suggestions of
nature; and breezy heights from which the prospect, if less extensive
than some other far-famed English views, may surely vie in loveliness
with any of them.
The intending visitor must be careful to ascertain the days and
conditions of access to the grounds; and in his ramble must be sure to
include the old "Carfax" conduit, removed in 1787 from the "four ways"
(for the "Car" is evidently _quatre_, whatever the "fax" may be) in
Oxford, and set on a commanding eminence, the distant spires and towers
of the city, with Blenheim Woods in the back-ground, being seen in one
direction, and the view in another bounded by the line of the Chiltern
Hills.
[Illustration: 8025]
When the oarsman has once left behind the wooded slopes of Nuneham, with
the overhanging trees reflected in the silvery waters, he will find the
way to Abingdon monotonous. He will perhaps be startled by seeing picnic
parties in large boats, towed from the shore by stalwart peasants,
harnessed to the rope. Let us hope that the toil is easier than it
looks! On the whole, we do not recommend the long détour by Abingdon,
although Clifton Hampden is charming, and Dorchester, near the junction
of the Thame and the Thames--once a Roman camp, afterwards the see of
the first Bishop of Wessex, but now a poor village--is well worth a
visit. It is startling to find a minster in a hamlet.
Probably, however, the antiquarian may be more interested in the remains
of the Whittenham earthworks, which in British or Saxon times defended
the meeting-point of the rivers. The Thame Hows in on the left.
On the hill to the right is Sinodun, a remarkably fine British camp.
The whole neighbourhood, so still and peaceful now, tells of bygone
greatness, and of many a struggle of which the records have vanished
from the page of history. Not far, however, from Dorchester in another
direction is Chalgrove Field, where the brave and patriotic Hampden
received his death-wound. His name, and that of Falkland, to be noticed
farther on, awaken in these scenes now so tranquil the remembrance of
the stormy times when, in this Thames Valley, were waged those conflicts
out of which in so large a measure sprang the freedom and progress of
modern England.
At Dorchester we are still eleven miles by water from Goring; and though
the angler may loiter down the stream, we must hasten on, though ancient
Wallingford and rustic Cleeve are not unworthy of notice. At Goring the
chief beauties of the river begin to disclose themselves.
Ralph Waldo Emerson says of the English landscape, that "it seems to
be finished with the pencil instead of the plough." Our fields are
cultivated like gardens. Neat, trim hedgerows, picturesque villages,
spires peeping from among groves of trees, cottages gay with flowers
and evergreens, suggest that the landscape gardener rather than the
agriculturist has been everywhere at work. If this be true of England as
a whole, it is yet more strikingly true of the district through which
we are about to pass. A thousand years of peaceful industry have subdued
the wildness of nature; and the river glides between banks radiant
with beauty: "The little hills rejoice on every side; the pastures are
clothed with Hocks, the valleys are covered over with corn; they shout
for joy, they also sing."
Yet there is no lack of variety. The course of the river is broken up by
innumerable "aits" ("eyots"), or little islands; some covered with trees
which dip their branches into the stream, others with reeds and osier,
the haunts of wild fowl; on others, again, a cottage or a summer-house
peeps out from amongst the foliage. Sometimes these aits seem to block
up the channel, and leave no exit, so that the boat seems to be afloat
on a tiny lake, till a stroke or two of the oar discloses a narrow
passage into the stream beyond. Sometimes a line of chalk down bounds
the view, its delicately curved sides dotted over with juniper bushes,
the dark green of which contrasts finely with the light grey of the
turf. Then comes a range of hanging beech-wood coming down to the
water's edge, or a broad expanse of meadow, where the cattle wade
knee-deep in grass, or a mansion whose grounds have been transformed
into a paradise by lavish expenditure and fine taste, or a village, the
rustic beauty of which might realise the dreams of poet or of painter.
The locks, mill-dams, or weirs with their dashing waters, give
animation to the scene. Nor is that additional charm often wanting, of
which Dr. Johnson used to speak. "The finest landscape in the world,"
he would say, "is improved by a good inn in the foreground." True,
there are no great hotels, after the modern fashion; but a series of
comfortable homely village inns will be found, such as Izaak Walton
loved, and which are still favourite haunts with the brethren of "the
gentle craft." The landlord, learned in all anglers' lore, is delighted
to show where the big pike lies in a sedgy pool, where the perch will
bite most freely, or to suggest the most killing fly to cast for trout
over the mill-pond; and is not too proud, when the day's task is done,
to wait upon the oarsman or the angler at his evening meal.
* As we write, the following letter to the Times arrests our
attention; it is too graphic, as well as accurate, to be
lost:--
"I will not tell you where I am, except that I am staying at
an hotel on the banks of the River Thames. I hesitate to
name the place, charming as it is, because I am sure, when
its beauties are known, it will be hopelessly vulgarised.
Mine host, the pleasantest of landlords, his wife, the most
agreeable of her sex, will charge, too, in proportion as the
plutocracy invade us. I am surrounded by the most charming
scenery. Few know, and still fewer appreciate the beauties
of our own River Thames. I have been up and down the Rhine;
but I confess, taking all in all, Oxford to Gravesend
pleases me more. Herc, in addition to what I have described,
I am on the river's brink; I can row about to my heart's
content for a very moderate figure; excellent fishing;
newspapers to be procured, and postal arrangements of a
character not to worry you, and yet sufficient to keep you
_au fait_ with your business arrangements. What do I want
more? Prices are moderate, the village contains houses
suitable to all clashes, and the inhabitants are pleased to
see you. I can wear flannels without being stared at, and I
can see the opposite sex, in the most bewitching and
fascinating of costumes, rowing about (with satisfaction,
too) the so-called lords of creation. As for children, there
is no end of amusement for them--dabbling in the water,
feeding the swans, the fields, and the safety of a punt. We
have both aristocratic and well-to-do people here--names
well known in town; but I must not, nor will I, betray them.
On the towing-path this morning was to be seen the smartest
of our Judges in a straw hat and a tourist suit, equally
becoming to him as it was well cut.
"Let me advise all your readers who are hesitating where to
go not to overlook the natural beauties of our River Thames.
There are one or two steamers that make the journey up and
down the river in three days, stopping at various places,
and giving ample opportunity for passengers both to see and
appreciate the scenery.
"E. C. W."
To describe in detail all the points of beauty that lie before us, would
require far more space than we have at disposal; and a dry catalogue
of names would interest no one. We have started, as said before,
from Goring, where the twin village Streatley--bearing in its name a
reminiscence of the old Roman road Ikenild Street,--nestles at the foot
of its romantic wooded hill. The comfort of the little hostelry and
the charm of the scenery invite a longer stay, but we must press on.
Pangbourne and Whitchurch, also twin villages, joined by a pretty wooden
bridge, once more invite delay. On the right, the little river Pang
flows in between green hills; on the left, or the Whitchurch side,
heights clothed with the richest foliage shut in the scene. The cottages
are embosomed amid the trees; the clear river catches a thousand
reflections from hillside, and sky; the waters of the weir dash merrily
down; and the fishermen, each in his punt moored near mid-stream,
yielding themselves to the tranquil delight of the perfect scene,
are further gladdened by many an encouraging nibble. Surely of all
amusements the most restful is fishing from a punt! Most persons would
find a day of absolute idleness intolerable. But here we have just
that measure of expectation and excitement which enable even a busy and
active man to sit all day doing nothing.
[Illustration: 8027]
Into the question of the cruelty of the sport we do not enter; but its
soothing, tranquillising character cannot be denied. For ourselves, our
business is not to angle, but to observe. As we row past these grave
and solemn men, absorbed in the endeavour to hook a dace or gudgeon,
and recognise among them one or two of the hardest workers in London, we
feel, at any rate, that the familiar sneer about "a rod with a line at
one end, and a fool at the other," may not be altogether just.
Passing a series of verdant lawns, sloping to the river's brink, we
reach Mapledurham and Purley, on opposite sides of the river at one of
its most exquisite bends. The former place is celebrated by Pope as the
retreat of his ladye love Martha Blount; when
"She went to plain-work, and to purling brooks,
Old-fashioned halls, dull aunts, and croaking rooks."
The latter was the residence of Warren Hastings during his trial, and is
not to be confounded with the Purley in Surrey, where Horne Tooke wrote
his celebrated _Diversions_, on the origin and history of words.
The next halting-place is Caversham, sometimes magniloquently described
as "the port of Reading." Here the Thames widens out, as shown in the
view which prefaces the present chapter; the eel-traps, or "bucks,"
extending half across the river. On the occasion of our visit to the
spot, it was our intention to stop for the night at Caversham; but as
the inn was crowded and noisy, we resolved to push on to Sonning. The
evening was already closing in, and before we reached our destination it
had grown dark. The trees stood up solemnly against the sky, from which
the twilight had not wholly departed. Their shadows fell mysteriously
across the river, rendering the task of steering a difficult one.
[Illustration: 9028]
At length the welcome lights of the village were descried through the
deepening gloom; and we landed, having suffered no more serious mishap
than running into an ait, which our steersman mistook for a shadow,
in the endeavour to avoid a shadow which he mistook for the bank. Next
morning, after a plunge into the clear cool water of the pool at the
foot of Sonning Weir, a scamper round the village, a climb to the top
of the tower for the magnificent view, and a hearty breakfast, we were
ready for an early start, whilst the dew was yet on the grass, and
the air had not lost its freshness. Here the Kennet, "for silver
eels renowned," as Pope has it, flows in from the southwest, with its
memories of the high-minded and chivalrous Falkland, who fell at the
battle of Newbury, on the banks of this river. A little lower down the
Loddon enters the Thames from the south, between Shiplake and Wargrave.
The picturesque churches of these two villages were soon passed, and we
entered the fine expanse of Henley Reach, famous in boat-racing annals.
Here for many years the University matches were rowed before their
removal to Putney. No sheet of water could be better suited to the
purpose, and the change is regretted by many boating-men.
[Illustration: 0031]
About four miles below Henley, in one of the loveliest spots on the
river, are the ruins of Medmenham Abbey, notorious in the latter half of
the eighteenth century, as the scene of the foul and blasphemous orgies
of the "Franciscans." The club took its name from Sir Francis Dashwood,
its founder, and numbered amongst its members many who were conspicuous,
not only for rank and station, but for intellectual ability and
political influence. Its proceedings were invested with profound
secrecy; but enough was known to show that the most degrading vices
were practised, and the lowest depths of wickedness reached;--strange
profanation of one of Nature's loveliest shrines!
We are now approaching the point at which the beauty of the river
culminates. From Marlow, past Cookham, Hedsor and Cliefden, to
Maidenhead, a distance of eight or ten miles, we gladly suspend the
labour of the oar, and let the boat drift slowly with the stream. As we
glide along, even this gentle motion is too rapid, and we linger on the
way to feast our eyes with the infinitely varied combination of chalk
cliff and swelling hill and luxuriant foliage which every turn of the
river brings to view:
Woods, meadows, hamlets, farms,
Spires in the vale and towers upon the hills;
[Illustration: 8031]
The great chalk quarries glaring through the shade.
The pleasant lanes and hedgerows, and those homes
Which seemed the very dwellings of content and peace and sunshine." *
* Down Stream to London. By the Rev. S. J. Stone.
The "castled crags" of the Rhine and the Moselle,--the "blue rushing of
the arrowy Rhone,"--the massive grandeur of the banks of the Danube, are
far more imposing and stimulating; but the quiet, tranquil loveliness of
this part of the Thames may make good its claim to take rank even with
those world-famed rivers. There is something both unique and charming in
the dry "combes," or fissures in the chalk ranges, rapidly descending,
and garnished with sweeping foliage of untrimmed beech-trees. The
branches gracefully bend down to the slope of the rising sward; while,
from the steepness of the angle, the tree-tops appear from below as a
succession of pinnacles against the sky. Many a roamer through distant
lands has come home to give the palm for the perfection of natural
beauty to the rocks and hanging woods of Cliefden. That they are within
an hour's run of London does not indeed abate their claim to admiration,
but may suggest the reason why they are so comparatively little known.
The mansion on the height, designed by Sir Charles Barry, is now in the
possession of the Duke of Westminster.
[Illustration: 9032]
Maidenhead is on the other side of the river; Taplow opposite. The
bridge between them--one of Brunei's works, will be noted for its
enormous span; its elliptical brick arches being, it is said, the widest
of the kind in the world. From this point, if the beauty decreases, the
historical interest becomes greater at every turn. First we pass the
village and church of Bray. The scenery here is of little interest; but
it is impossible not to give a thought to the vicar, Symond Symonds,
commemorated in song. Let it be noted, however, that the lyrist has used
a poetic licence in his dates. The historian, Thomas Fuller, tells the
story: "The vivacious vicar, living under King Henry VIII., Edward VI.,
Oueen Mary, and Oueen Elizabeth, was first a Papist, then a Protestant,
then a Papist, then a Protestant again. He had seen some martyrs burnt
(two miles off), at Windsor, and found this fire too hot for his tender
temper. The vicar being taxed by one for being a turncoat and inconstant
changeling. 'Not so,' said he, 'for I always kept my principle, which is
this--to live and to die the Vicar of Bray.'" The type is but too true
to human nature, and not only in matters ecclesiastical. But instead of
staying to moralise, we will notice with interest that in this church
is preserved an ancient copy of Fox's _Book of Martyrs_, chained to
the reading-desk, as in the days of Oueen Elizabeth. It is better to be
reminded of "the faith and patience of the saints," than of the light
conviction and easy apostacy of politic "believers;" and so the old
church at Bray has taught us a refreshing and unexpected lesson.
Soon the towers of Windsor are seen rising above the trees; then Eton
College comes into view, with its
"distant spires, antique towers
That crown the watery glade."
[Illustration: 0033]
Perhaps the best view of the castle from the Thames is that from a point
just beyond the Great Western Railway bridge. When the queen is absent,
access is easy. St. George's Chapel, built by Edward IV., is the finest
existing specimen of the architecture of that period; and the view from
the North Terrace, constructed by Queen Elizabeth, is perhaps the most
beautiful on the River Thames.
A little lower down, and we are passing between Runnimede ("Meadow of
Council"), where the barons camped, and Magna Charta Island, where the
great charter of English liberty was signed; and a temporary struggle
between king and nobles laid the broad foundations of English freedom.
[Illustration: 9034]
As we sweep round the bend beneath the broad meadow and the wooded isle,
"while we muse the fire burneth,"--the ardour of grateful love to Him
who has shaped the destinies of our beloved land, and has never from
that hour withdrawn the trust then committed to the nation, of being the
guardians and pioneers of the world's freedom. A multitude of thoughts
and questionings throng in upon us, but we must not lose the opportunity
of impressing on our memory the outward features of the scene. There is
not much to see: if there be time to land upon the island, it will be
as well to do so, and enter the pretty modern cottage there erected,
containing the very stone--if tradition is to be believed--on which the
Charter was laid for the royal signature.
From Runnimede, it is but an easy climb to the brow of Cooper's Hill,
with its far-famed view of the river, of Windsor, and its woods. Dr.
Johnson speaks of Sir John Denham's poem, of which we have taken some
lines as the motto to this chapter, as "the first English specimen of
local poetry." Its subject, as well as its style, will preserve it
from the oblivion to which the greater number of the poet's works have
descended.
Another Coin falls into the river, to the left, a little farther
on--suggestive, in its name, of the Roman occupation; the "street" to
the west here crossing the Thames by a bridge. "London Stone," a few
hundred yards lower down, marks the entrance into Middlesex; then clean
and quiet Staines----"Stones," so termed, perhaps, from the piers of
the old Roman bridge, or, it may be, from the London Stone itself, comes
into view: but if the traveller has time to spare, he will rather pause
at Laleham, so well known to every Christian educator as the earliest
scene of Arnold's labours.
[Illustration: 0035]
"The first reception of the tidings of his election at Rugby," we are
told by his biographer, "was overclouded with deep sorrow at leaving
the scene of so much happiness. Years after he had left it, he still
retained his early affection for it, and till he had purchased his house
in Westmoreland, he entertained a lingering hope that he might return
to it in his old age, when he should have retired from Rugby. Often he
would revisit it, and delighted in renewing his acquaintance with all
the families of the poor whom he had known during his residence; in
showing to his children his former haunts; in looking once again on his
favourite views of the great plain of Middlesex--the lonely walks along
the quiet banks of the Thames--the retired garden with its 'Campus
Martins,' and its 'wilderness of trees;' which lay behind the house,
and which had been the scenes of so many sportive games and serious
conversations." *
[Illustration: 9036]
Chertsey, on the other side of the river, is next passed, the leisurely
traveller having the opportunity, if he so please, of visiting the
house of Cowley the poet, or of climbing to St. Anne's Hill, once the
residence of the statesman Charles James Fox.
Then, still on the right, the mouth of the Wey is seen, the pretty town
of Wey-bridge not being far off. Towns and villages now multiply: the
villas of city men begin to dot the banks, and the suburban railway
station appears, with its hurrying morning and evening crowds. The
chronicle of names now would be like the monotonous cry of the railway
porter: "Shepperton; Walton; Sunbury; Hampton." But as yet we need
not join with the throng. The "silent highway"--as the river has been
called--is also a retreat. Still we can leisurely survey the charm,
which, so long as the sky, the water, and the trees remain, no builder
can efface, although he may try his best, or worst.
A bend in the river between Shepperton and Walton is of historic
interest, as there Julius Cæsar with his legions forced the passage of
the Thames, and routed the British General Cassivelaunus. "Cæsar led
his army to the territories of Cassivelaunus, to the river Thames,
which river can be crossed on foot in one place only, and that with
difficulty. On arriving, he perceived that great forces of the enemy
were drawn up on the opposite bank, which was moreover fortified by
sharp stakes set along the margin, a similar stockade being fixed in the
bed of the river, and covered by the stream. Having ascertained these
facts from prisoners and deserters, Cæsar sent the cavalry in front, and
ordered the legions to follow immediately. The soldiers advanced with
such rapidity and impetuosity, although up to their necks in the water,
that the enemy could not withstand the onset, but quitted the banks and
betook themselves to flight." * The name Cowey, or Coway Stakes, to this
day commemorates the event.
* Stanley's _Life_ vol. i. p. 37. One of Arnold's Laleham
pupils, afterwards his colleague at Rugby, writes: "The most
remarkable thing which struck me at once in joining the
Laleham circle, was the wonderful healthiness of tone and
feeling which prevailed in it. Everything about me I
immediately felt to be most real; it was a place where a
new-comer at once felt that a great and earnest work was
going forward. Dr. Arnold's great power as a private tutor
resided in this, that he gave such an intense earnestness to
life. Every pupil was made to feel that there was a work for
him to do--that his happiness as well as his duty lay in
doing that work well. Hence, an indescribable zest was
communicated to a young man's feeling about life; a strange
joy came over him on discovering that he had the means of
being useful, and thus of being happy; and a deep respect
and ardent attachment sprang up towards him who had taught
him thus to value life and his own self, and his work and
mission in this world." September 23, 1872.
[Illustration: 0038]
"Who calls the council, states the certain day.
Who forms the phalanx, and who points the way."--_Pope_
[Illustration: 0039]
Two or three miles farther, and just past Hampton village, on the left
bank, the traveller will notice a little rotunda with a Grecian portico
with a mansion of some pretensions in the wooded back-ground. The house
was Garrick's residence, and in the rotunda there originally stood
Roubiliac's famous statue of Shakspere, now in the British Museum.
Bushey Park and Hampton Court next tempt us to the shore. Great names of
history again rise to memory--Wolsey, Cromwell, Williams. But the charm
of Hampton Court is, that its palace and gardens are free of access to
the people; a privilege which, all the summer through, is appreciated
by eager, happy throngs. But let us cross the river to the comparative
solitude of the two Dittons--"Thames," and "Long." An _impromptu_ of
poor Theodore Hook, lively and graceful, according to his wont, has led
many a tourist in search of a holiday to this pretty neighbourhood, and
the poet's memory is reverenced in the village accordingly. Here are the
first and last verses:
"When sultry suns and dusty streets proclaim town's 'winter season,'
And rural scenes and cool retreats sound something like high treason--
I steal away to shades serene which yet no bard has hit on,
And change the bustling, heartless scene for quietude and Ditlon.
Here, in a placid waking dream, I'm free from worldly troubles,
Calm as the rippling silver stream that in the sunshine bubbles;
And when sweet Eden's blissful bowers, some abler bard has writ on.
Despairing to transcend his powers, I'll-ditto-say for Ditton."
Then comes trim Surbiton with its villas, and Kingston--once, as its
name imports, a town of kings. Por here were crowned several Saxon
monarchs; is there not the coronation-stone in the market-place,
engraven with their names? Teddington Lock, a little lower down, is the
last upon the Thames; and here too the anglers of the river put forth
their chief and almost their final strength. The mile from Teddington to
Eel-pie Island off Twickenham will be a quiet one indeed, if the voyager
interfere not with the sport of one or other of these gentry, and draw
down their resentment accordingly. Strawberry Hill reminds us of Horace
Walpole, literary idleness, sham Gothic, and _bric-à-brac_. We glance
and pass on. Pope's Villa no longer exists; only a relic of his famous
grotto remains; but a monument to the poet is in Twickenham Church,
with an inscription by Warburton, setting forth that Pope "would not be
buried in Westminster Abbey."
Past wood-fringed meadows on either hand, the "Broadwater," now rightly
named--sweeps on to Richmond, where we must ascend the far-famed hill,
to gaze once more upon the finest river-view in Europe. A little
farther down, on autumn days, off lsleworth, may be descried flights of
swallows, preparing for their outward journey. "They arrive," writes the
artist who has depicted the scene, "in a mass, at the same hour,
without confusion, as it were in regiments, and in some of their oblique
evolutions resemble a drift of black snow. At dusk they all sink down
into the island or 'ait' opposite the church of Isleworth, where a large
bed of osiers affords them in its slender wands a settling-place for the
night."
[Illustration: 0041]
From this point, all Londoners know their river. The beauty of nature
is no longer present, but a new sentiment of wonder and interest takes
possession of us. We feel the stir and hear the roar of the great
Babel. What were once quiet suburban villages are now but a part of
the metropolis. Still, however, they retain something of the quaint
picturesqueness of the last century. In many a nook and corner we
come upon solid comfortable houses of red brick, where our
great-grandmothers, over a "dish of tea," may have discussed the "poems
of a person of quality," or "the writings of the ingenious Mr. Addison."
[Illustration: 8043]
These relics of the last century are rapidly disappearing.
Cheyne Walk at Chelsea, which now forms so striking an object from
the river, can hardly hold out much longer against the march of modern
improvement, and will probably ere long share the fate of the Lord
Mayor's barge, and disappear from view.
The noble embankments which now skirt so large a portion of the London
river, and the bridges old and new, afford every facility for the full
study of the Thames in all its aspects. Yet those who only cross with
the hurrying crowd miss half the picturesqueness of what many who
have travelled far feel to be among the most picturesque city views in
Europe. Wordsworth's sonnet, beginning--
"Earth has not anything to show more fair,"
was written on Westminster Bridge! But then it was on an early summer
morning, when the "mighty heart" of the city was "lying still," and the
"very houses seemed asleep." The blue sky, unobscured by smoke, hung
in the freshness of the dawn over the dwellings of men and the
heaven-pointing spires. The night airs had swept away every city taint,
and the atmosphere was pure as among the mountains or by the sea. The
experiment is worth making still at the cost of an hour or two's earlier
rising, to prove how exhilarating, fresh, and delightful the London air
may be.
Or perhaps the charm of the scene may be more deeply felt amid the
mystery of night, when the clouds have dispersed, and but for some rare
footfalls there is silence, and the countless lights stretch in long
lines, reflected by the gently rippling waters, while even the bright
glare of the railway lamps aloft only add colour and splendour to the
gleaming array, and the steadfast stars hang overhead. By night or in
early morning, perhaps through force of contrast, the full beauty of
these London river scenes are felt. Or, to vary the impression, we may
take boat, as did our fathers, from bridge to bridge, "from Westminster
to Rotherhithe," or farther down the broadening stream, with the
wealth of the world, as it almost seems, ranged on either hand in the
close-crowded vessels or the stupendous warehouses. Every such excursion
is a new revelation, even to minds accustomed to the scene, of what is
meant by English commerce, and of the ties which connect us with all
mankind. Yet there is much to remind us that the universal reign of
peace has not as yet set in. Grim preparations for defence and war
bespeak a nation prepared, if needs be, for strife. And as at length
we reach Tilbury Fort, and glow under the influence of the invigorating
sea-breeze, great memories rush in upon us of armaments once gathered
here; to lead, as it seemed, the forlorn hope;--to attain, as by God's
great mercy it proved, the triumphant victory, of British Protestantism
and liberty.
When King James I. threatened the recalcitrant corporation of London
with the removal of the court to Oxford, the Lord Mayor, with scarcely
veiled sarcasm, replied, "May it please your Majesty, of your grace, not
to take away the Thames too!" If the Upper Thames awakens our admiration
by its loveliness, the Lower Thames inspires us with wonder and almost
awe at the boundless wealth and world-wide commerce which it bears upon
its ample bosom. Other rivers may vie with it in beauty. In far-reaching
influence it stands alone. As we sail through its forest of masts, or
follow its course down to the sea, we feel that we are surrounded by
influences which stretch to the very ends of the earth. The stream whose
course we have traced from the tiny rivulet in Trewsbury Mead has become
the channel of communications which, for good or evil, are affecting
every nation under heaven. May He who has endowed us with such wealth
and power lead us to hold them both under a deep sense of responsibility
to Him who gave them!--"Then shall our peace flow like a river, and our
righteousness as the waves of the sea."