English Church to read a portion of the Scriptures, one chapter from the
Old Testament, and another from the New. In common parochial churches,
the whole of the service is performed by the officiating priest, and he
does this in his desk: but, in cathedrals, one of the minor priests
takes this part of the duty, and performs it in the middle of the choir:
here the bible is usually placed upon the outspread wings of a brazen
eagle, the handsomest of all their church ornaments. Such an eagle they
had in this cathedral, and a remarkably handsome one it was; but last
year the dean and chapter thought proper to sell it, for the sake of
applying the paltry sum which it would produce as old brass in ornaments
for the altar.—So the eagle went as the cross had gone before it. There
happened to be a man in the city whose humour it is to attend service
whenever it is performed in this cathedral: on week days this is
considered by the priests as a mere matter of form; and having few or
none to attend them, they omit parts of the liturgy, and hurry over the
rest, to get through their task as speedily as possible. During many
years it had been the main business of this person to watch them, and
endeavour to bring them to a sense of their duty; for which purpose he
wrote to them whenever he found them offending, and also to the dean and
to the bishop, calling upon them to interfere, and see that the service
of the church was duly performed. He missed the eagle, enquired for it,
traced it to the brazier's, and rescued it from the furnace. Here was a
fine subject for his zeal! He wrote a circular letter to all the
bishops, of which they took no notice; offered the eagle again to the
cathedral at the price which he had paid for it, which they refused,
being, as might have been expected, obstinate in their misconduct—and,
lastly, put it up to sale,[32] in the hope that it might be purchased
for some other church, and not utterly desecrated. What has been its
fate I know not; but it seems that the respect which the English pay to
their cathedrals is confined to the buildings, and does not extend to
any thing in them. At one time all the monumental figures and
inscriptions were cut in brass:—a large collection of these, which were
taken up from another cathedral while it was repaired, have gone the way
of the eagle, and been cast into candlesticks and warming-pans.
The monuments in the church are numerous; that nearest the entrance is
the finest and the most remarkable, as being Mrs Draper's, the Eliza of
Sterne and of the Abbé Raynal. The rhapsody about her, in the latter's
work, is as excellent a specimen of every thing that is absurd, as it
would be easy to find even in his Histoire Philosophique. Some parts of
the architecture are beautiful in their kind. At a little distance from
the church is a Saxon gateway: the upper part is in admirable
preservation—the bottom has been corroded by a practice as indecent as
it is sacrilegious—the more to be regretted, as this is one of the
finest specimens of the style.
The views in the neighbourhood of this city are singularly pleasing. The
adjoining village of Clifton was once the most beautiful village in
England, and may now be said to be the finest suburb. Here too, as well
as at Bath, is the dismal sight of streets and crescents which have
never been finished, the most dolorous of all ruins. It stands upon a
hill above the river, which runs between high rocks and a hanging wood;
a scene truly magnificent, and wanting nothing but clearer water; the
stream consists of liquid mud, and the banks are hideous unless the tide
be full, for the tide rises here not less than forty English feet. The
beauty of this scene is yearly diminishing; the rocks which formerly
rose so immediately from the river side, as only to allow room for a
path, are used as quarries. The people of Bristol seem to sell every
thing that can be sold. They sold their cross,—by what species of weight
or measurement I know not,—they sold their eagle by the pound, and here
they are selling the sublime and beautiful by the boat-load! One grand
crag which has been left untouched shows what mischief has already been
done. There is a cavern near the summit of this, of which the arch
appeared remarkably fine as we looked up to it from the side of the
river.
I tasted their famous medicinal water which rises at the foot of these
rocks; it is tepid, and so completely without any medicinal flavour, as
to be excellent water. In cases of diabetes it possesses some virtue;
for consumption, which it is usually prescribed for, none whatsoever.
Several unhappy patients, who had been sent here to die at a distance
from home, were crawling out upon the parade as if to take their last
gasp of sunshine. It was shocking to see them, and it is shocking to
hear how thoroughly the people here regard death as a matter of trade.
The same persons who keep the hotels furnish the funerals; entertain
patients while they are living, and then, that they may accommodate them
all through, bury them when they die. There came here a young man from
the North, dying, with his sister to attend him. The disease sometimes,
when it assumes its gentlest form, seems to terminate suddenly; and one
morning, when the sister rose to breakfast and enquired for him, she
found he was dead. He had expired during the night; the people of the
house said they thought they might as well not disturb her, so they had
laid out the body, dressed it in the shroud, measured it for the coffin,
and given all the orders—to take all trouble off her hands. You will
think it scarcely possible that this scene of disease and death should
be a place of amusement, where idlers of fashion resort to spend the
summer, mingle in the pump-room and in the walks with the dying, and
have their card-parties and dances within hearing of every passing bell.
Half a century ago Bristol was in size the second city in England.
Manchester now holds that rank, and several other towns have outstripped
it in population. There is less mercantile enterprise here than in any
other trading English city: like the old Italians, the Bristol merchants
go on in the track of their fathers, and, succeeding to enormous
fortunes, find the regular profits so great that they have no temptation
to deviate from the beaten way. The port is therefore yielding its
foreign trade to bolder competitors; but it will always remain the
centre of a great commerce with the Welsh coast, with Ireland, and all
those inland counties which communicate with the Severn, a river
navigable into the very heart of the kingdom.
There is in the streets nothing like the bustle of London, nor like the
business of Liverpool on the quays. The quay, however, is still a busy
as well as a striking scene, and remains a noble monument of the old
citizens, who made it in the thirteenth century. On one side, the
shipping, the bridges, the church-towers, and the neighbouring hill,
which overlooks the town of which it now makes a part, form a fine
picture; on the other, there is the cathedral with the old trees in its
front, and the distant country. A third view has a wider foreground,
with cranes and trees, and piles of goods intermingled, shipping of
larger size, a fine row of houses upon a high terrace on the opposite
side, and apart from them the church of St Mary Redclift, which is the
finest parochial church in the kingdom, and is indeed far more beautiful
than the cathedral. It is remarkable also, on this account, that it is
the place wherein certain poems were said to have been found, attributed
to a priest in the fifteenth century, which have occasioned as great a
controversy as the Granada Relicks, and with as little reason. It is now
admitted that they were the production of Chatterton, the son of the
sexton of the church, who poisoned himself at the age of eighteen, and
is considered by the English as the most extraordinary genius that has
ever appeared among them.
A few years ago, when Kosciusko came to this city on his way to America,
great marks of honour were shown him, and many presents made him, both
by the municipality, and by individuals.—Among others, an honest
gingerbread-baker thought, as he was going to sea, nothing could be more
acceptable to him than a noble plum-cake for the voyage: he made him the
very best which could be made, and a valiant one it was. It was as big
as he could carry; and on the top, which was as usual covered with a
crust of sugar, was written in coloured sugar-plums—To the gallant
Kosciusko. With this burthen the good man proceeded to the house of the
American consul, where Kosciusko was lodged, and enquired for the
general. He was told that he was lying on the sofa (for his wounds were
not at that time healed,) and was too much fatigued and too unwell to
see any one. "Oh!" said the gingerbread-baker, "he won't be angry at
seeing me, I warrant, so show me the way up;" and pushing the servant
forward, he followed him up stairs into the room. When however he saw
the great man whom he was come to honour, lying on a couch, with his
countenance pale, painful, and emaciated, yet full of benevolence, the
sight overpowered him; he put down his cake, burst into tears like a
child, and ran out of the room without speaking a single word.
Having set out on my return, a natural impatience hurries me forward; I
should else regret that I have not procured letters to Bristol, and
allowed myself sufficient time to see thoroughly a city which contains
many interesting objects of curiosity, and of which the vicinity is so
exceedingly beautiful.
[32] As the notice for this sale is not less curious than the occasion,
I have transcribed it from the city newspaper. One of the many
conveniences attending the English coffee-houses is, that the newspapers
are regularly filed in them, so that they may always be referred to:—
THE EAGLE,
FROM THE BRISTOL CATHEDRAL.
TO BE SOLD BY AUCTION,
At the Exchange Coffee-room, in this City,
On Thursday, the 2d of September, 1802, between the
hours of one and two o'clock in the afternoon,
(unless previously disposed of by private contract,)
A BEAUTIFUL
BRAZEN SPREAD EAGLE,
_With a Ledge at the Tail_,
Standing on a brass pedestal,
Supported by four lions, one at each corner.
This elegant piece of workmanship was sold, last June, by the dean and
chapter of the cathedral church of the Holy and Undivided Trinity of
Bristol, or their agents or servants, as old brass, and weighed 6 cwt.
20lb. or 692lb. and has since been purchased at an advanced price, by a
native of this city, in order to prevent it being broken up, and to give
the inhabitants a chance of buying it.
It was given to the cathedral, in the reign of Charles II. by one of the
prebendaries, who had been there 40 years; and is supposed, by the
following Latin inscription, (_which was engraved_ on the pillar or
pedestal,) to have stood in the choir 119 years:
"Ex Dono Georgij Williamson, S. T. B. Hujus
Ecclesiæ Cathedralis Bristoll: Vice-Decani, 1683."
That is,
"The Gift of George Williamson, Bachelor of Divinity, Sub-Dean of this
Cathedral Church of Bristol, 1683."
The whole of the inscription, except the figures 1683, has been taken
off the pedestal, without the consent of the buyer; which he has since
had re-engraved.
This piece of antiquity, which is of the most exquisite shape, is made
of the best and purest brass, and well worth the attention of _ministers
and churchwardens_, or any gentleman or lady who would wish to make a
present of it to their parish church: traders, also, to foreign parts,
may find it worth their while to purchase, _as a like opportunity may
never offer again_.
Such a handsome bird would be, as it has hitherto been, a very great
ornament to the middle aisle of a church. It for many years stood in the
choir of the Bristol cathedral, and _upheld with its wings the Sacred
Truths of the Blessed Gospel_. The minor-canons formerly read the
lessons on it, and in most cathedrals the custom is kept up to this day.
This superb image is _now_ at King-street Hall, and may be inspected
three days previous to the day of sale.
N. B. The purchaser offered, previous to any advertisement, to re-sell
the eagle at the price he paid for it, provided it were replaced in the
_choir_; which offer was rejected.
THOMAS KIFT, BROKER.
LETTER LXXVI.
_Journey from Bristol to Plymouth.—Advantages which the Army enjoys
more than the Navy.—Sailors.—Journey to Falmouth._
We took our seats on the coach roof at five in the morning, and before
we got out of the city received positive and painful proof that the
streets of Bristol are worse paved than those of any other city in
England. The road passes by the church of St Mary Redclift, which is
indeed wonderfully fine; it is built upon broken ground, and there are
steps ascending to it in several directions. I remember nothing equal to
the effect which this produces. Women were filling their pitchers below
it from a fountain, the water of which passes through the cemetery!—The
houses formed a continued street for nearly half a league; then the
views became very striking: behind us was the city, on one side the
rocks of Clifton, and as we advanced, we came in sight of the Bristol
Channel. We breakfasted five leagues on the way at Cross, a little
village of inns; and then entered upon the marshes, the great grazing
country of these parts.
Our next stage was to Bridgewater, where we crossed the Parrot by a
hideous iron bridge. This river is remarkable, because the tide, instead
of rising gradually, flows in in a head,—a phænomenon of which no
satisfactory explanation has yet been discovered. From hence we
proceeded to Taunton through a tract of country which for its fertility
and beauty is the boast of the island. "Ah, sir," said a countryman who
was on the coach beside us, and heard us admiring it, "we have a saying
about these western parts,
"Cornwall's as ugly as ugly can be;
Devonshire's better certainly;
But Somersetshire is the best of the three,
And Somersetshire is the country for me."
Taunton is a singularly pretty town, with a church of uncommon beauty.
It was the great scene of cruelty after Monmouth's insurrection against
his uncle James II., the greater number of the insurgents being of this
county. One of the prisoners who was noted for being fleet of foot, was
promised his life, if he would entertain Kirke the general with a
display of his speed. He stripped himself naked; one end of a rope was
fastened round his neck, the other round the neck of a horse, and they
ran half a mile together, the horse going full speed. When the general
had been sufficiently amused, and had gratified his curiosity, he sent
the man to be hanged. Judge Jefferies, whose name is become proverbially
infamous, went round to finish his work, and condemn all whom the
soldiers had spared. The rebel peasantry were hanged up by scores, their
quarters boiled in pitch, and set up in the streets and highways. James
would not perhaps so easily have lost his crown, if he had not alienated
the hearts of the people by these merciless executions. Kirke escaped
all other earthly punishment than that of having his name handed down
from father to son for everlasting execration, by abandoning the master
whom he had served so wickedly, and joining William. The judge received
a part of his reward in this world: after the flight of the king, he
attempted to escape in sailor's clothes, and the mob discovered him.
They were prevented from pulling him to pieces upon the spot, but before
he was rescued they had so handled him that he just lived to be three
days in dying. Popular fury has, like lightning, more frequently struck
the innocent than the guilty; but when it does strike the guilty it
comes like lightning, as God's own vengeance, and leaves behind a more
holy and wholesome awe, than any legal execution, how solemn soever it
be made.
After dinner we advanced a league and half to Wellington, where I saw a
fine lad who had lost both legs by the frost in 1798,—a melancholy proof
of the severity of the climate, even in the mildest part of England.
Collumpton, a poorer and smaller town, is three leagues farther, and
another stage of the same length brought me once more to Exeter.
* * * * *
Whoever has once travelled the straight road from Exeter to Falmouth
will have no inclination to travel it again. Plymouth lay about ten
leagues out of the way, and it would always have been a subject of
regret to me if I had not now lengthened my journey for the sake of
seeing so famous a place. The stage was full: luckily a naval officer
was enquiring for a place at the same time, so we took chaise together.
Chudleigh was the first stage: about three hundred French prisoners were
crowded here into a temporary prison, on their way to Bristol. We saw
them looking through some wooden bars at what was passing. Ashburton the
next. Devonshire is certainly a fine country, but by no means deserving
of the encomiums which are passed upon it; those travellers who praise
it so highly must either have come from Cornwall, or have slept through
Somersetshire. Its rivers indeed are beautiful, clear, vocal, stony
streams, with old bridges dangerously narrow, and angles in them, like
the corners of an English mince-pie, for the foot-passenger to take
shelter in. From Ashburton we reached Ivy Bridge by another easy stage:
this is a very celebrated spot for its picturesque beauty, but why it
should be so would be difficult to say.—A common little bridge, over a
beautiful brook, which runs down a little glen, on the banks of which
are town-looking houses instead of cottages,—that kind of scene, of
which, if you had never heard of it, you would just say it is
pretty,—but which, if it has been previously praised, cannot but be seen
with disappointment.
From hence to Plymouth was 11 miles, the latter part through a beautiful
country. There are two distinct towns here, Plymouth and Plymouth Dock,
connected by a causey, and both places as ugly as can well be imagined.
They are so called from the river Plym, which rises in the Devonshire
hills; and, as an English author says, baptizing Plymston and Plymstock
by the way, empties itself here into the sea. I know not whether there
be any more interesting anecdote connected with the neighbourhood than
the story of a dog, who daily carried food to an old blind mastiff which
lay hid in a thicket without the town, regularly on Sundays conveyed him
to his master's house to dinner, and as regularly afterwards escorted
him back to his covert.
I could not see the docks.—This jealousy on the part of government I
could not blame, though it deprived me of some gratification. The
streets are swarming with sailors. This extraordinary race of men hold
the soldiers in utter contempt, which, with their characteristic force,
they express by this scale of comparison,—Mess-mate before ship-mate,
ship-mate before a stranger, a stranger before a dog, and a dog before a
soldier.
There are however some things, as I learnt from our fellow-traveller, in
which the army enjoy advantages which are not extended to the navy.
Wherever the soldiers go, each regiment takes with it its paymaster; but
sailors and marines are never paid any where except in England, however
long they may be absent. Upon the marines this is particularly hard, as
there is a practice of drafting them out of vessels which are going home
into those which are to remain upon the foreign station. This is done to
keep up the complement, because no men are forced into this, as they are
into the navy service, and no addition is made to it abroad, unless any
prisoners should enter, which the Dutch soldiers frequently do. "I
knew," said this officer, "a private marine who had been nine years on a
foreign station, and never received one farthing of pay; and he would
have been drafted again into another ship still to remain there, if the
captain had not stated to the commander-in-chief that he was quite blind
at night, a common disease within the tropics." This is one reason why
so many men in those seas desert from the English ships to the American.
If a regiment loses its baggage, the officers are allowed a sum for it
in proportion to their rank; and the allowance is so liberal, that in
many instances their loss is a great gain. No such indulgence is granted
in the navy, though there is more cause for it, the baggage of a
navy-officer being far more valuable. The ship is his house and home; it
is not with him merely the loss of a travelling portmanteau; he has his
books, his charts, his instruments, and his cabin furniture, and it
would require many years of economy before these could be replaced from
the savings of his pay.
In another instance the English are strangely parsimonious to their
navy. Other nations supply their men of war with charts, made for the
express purpose; but when an English ship is ordered abroad, it not
unfrequently happens, that no good charts of the place where it is going
are on board, and the master is obliged to buy such as he can find, and
such as he can afford. Neither are time-pieces provided for ships of
war; though few valuable merchantmen are without them.—This is strange
parsimony in so enlightened a government;—assuredly it ought to provide
every thing which is necessary for the ship's safety.
The organization of this tremendous navy is a subject of great interest
to other maritime powers. No person can receive a commission till he has
passed six years in actual service as a midshipman, and gone through an
examination before a board of officers in London; who certainly reject
him, if he is not well acquainted with his duty. Of late years such
prodigious glory has been obtained in the English navy, and such large
fortunes rapidly accumulated, that the higher classes destine their
children to this profession, which was formerly left almost wholly to
the people, and have well nigh monopolized it. This is not detrimental
to the service in any other way than that they are appointed to a
command at too early an age. The severe education which is required, and
never dispensed with, makes them necessarily understand their
profession, and gives them, whatever may have been their former habits
of life, the true sailor character. Hence it is that they are so
infinitely superior to the army officers, who are in general ignorant of
any thing more than the common routine of the parade.
After the midshipman has passed his examination, if he has any interest,
(without which nothing is now to be obtained in England,) he is made
lieutenant; from this rank he may at any time be promoted to that of
commander, or of post-captain, without the intermediate step. The
post-captains become admirals according to seniority. This system of
seniority ought to be reversed, to hold good in the inferior steps, and
not above them. It should seem more equitable, and more wise, that every
officer should be sure of reaching the rank of commander, because,
having passed his youth in the service, the nation owes him the means of
a comfortable subsistence in his age. On the other hand, admirals should
be chosen from those only of distinguished ability.
Every body regrets the necessity of impressing men for the navy. I have
seen it asserted, that when Lord Keppel was at the head of the
Admiralty, it was officially calculated and ascertained, that every
prest man cost above 100_l._ such was the expense of press-gangs,
cutters, tenders, &c. Surely, if this statement approached even to
truth, the evil would have been remedied.