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PUTNAM’S
SEMI-MONTHLY LIBRARY.
WALKS AND TALKS OF AN AMERICAN FARMER IN
ENGLAND.
[Illustration: Person on horse riding through trees to a gate]
WALKS AND TALKS
OF AN
AMERICAN FARMER IN ENGLAND.
IN THE YEARS 1850–51.
_PART II._
NEW YORK:
GEORGE P. PUTNAM & CO., 10 PARK PLACE.
M.DCCC.LII.
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1859,
By G. P. PUTNAM & CO.,
In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States
for the Southern District of New York.
TO THE MEMORY OF
ANDREW JACKSON DOWNING:
WHATEVER OF GOOD, TRUE, AND PLEASANT THOUGHT THIS
VOLUME MAY CONTAIN, IS HUMBLY AND
REVERENTLY INSCRIBED.
PREFACE.
The kind and uncritical reception of my first volume, both at home and
abroad, leaves no occasion for a formal introduction of my second.
Sitting at the same broad old farm-house fireside, let me assume the
same friendly companionable relation with my readers, improved by
better acquaintance, and go on with my talk freely and unconstrainedly
as before.
To any stranger who may like to know what it is about, I will add,
that the volume is almost entirely descriptive of rustic and rural
matters, as they came in the way of a party of young Americans walking
through some of the western and southern parts of England, with such
observations upon them as a young democratic farmer would naturally
make.
I have added, in an Appendix, some information and advice to those
wishing to make a pedestrian tour in Europe at small expense.
FRED. LAW OLMSTED.
TOSOMOC FARM,
_Southside, Staten Island, Sept. 2, 1852_.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
An Irish-Englishman.—Shrewsbury Cakes and Brawn.—Shrewsbury
Show.—Angling in Curricles.—Sheep-walks.—Effect of Thorough Draining
on Dry Soils.—Gorse.—Church Stretton.—Churchyard Literature.—Encounter
with an Enthusiastic Free-trader. 9
CHAPTER II.
Country Carrier’s Cart.—Independent Breakfast.—Beauty.—Old Inn.—Jack
up the Chimney.—Bacon and Bread; Beer and Rum.—Ludlow.—An Apostolic
Church.—The Poor-house.—_Case_ of a Broken Heart.—Refreshment. 17
CHAPTER III.
Physical Education.—A Rustic Village.—Farm-house Kitchen.—An
Orchard.—Stables.—Leominster.—A Trout Brook.—Fruit Culture. 23
CHAPTER IV.
English Orchard Districts.—The most Favourable Soils and
Climate.—Lime.—Practical Deduction.—Diseases.—Prevention and
Remedies.—Suggestions. 27
CHAPTER V.
Decay of Varieties.—Two Theories: Knight’s, Downing’s.—English Theory
and Practice.—Practical Deductions.—Causes of Decay.—Remedies.—Hints to
Orchardists.—Special Manures.—Pruning.—Thorough Drainage.—A Satirical
Sketch.—Shooting the Apple-tree. 34
CHAPTER VI.
Roofs; Shingles; Tile; Thatch; the Advantages and Disadvantages of
each.—The Use of Thatch in America.—Hereford.—Christian Hospitality.—A
Milk Farm.—The Herefords—A Dangerous Man. 45
CHAPTER VII.
Warm Breakfast and Warm Hearts.—True Self-denial.—Primitive
Christianity.—A living Faith. 50
CHAPTER VIII.
The County Jail.—English Prison Discipline.—The Perfection of the
Present.—Education and Taxation.—What Next?—Captain Machonochie.—The
Mark System.—The Christian Idea of Punishment. 53
CHAPTER IX.
A Hit.—The Debtor’s Prison.—Utter Cleanliness.—“City” and
“Town.”—“Down” and “Up.”—Hereford Cathedral.—Church and State.—The
Public Promenade. 64
CHAPTER X.
A Stage-coach Ride.—Conversation with the Coachman.—A
Free-trader.—American and English Women.—Fair Play.—Woman’s
Rights.—Social Differences.—Frenchmen.—National
Vanities.—Democracy.—Free Trade.—Retaliation.—Aristocracy.—Natural
Laws.—The Law of Love.—Fraternity. 68
CHAPTER XI.
Shady Lanes.—Rural Sketches.—Herefordshire and Monmouthshire
Scenery.—Points of Difference in English and American
Landscapes.—Visit to a Farm-house.—The Mistress.—The Farm-house
Garden.—A Stout Old English Farmer.—The Stables and Stock.—Turnip
Culture.—Sheep.—Wheat.—Hay.—Rents.—Prices.—A Parting.—Cider. 88
CHAPTER XII.
Walk with a Rustic.—Family Meeting.—A Recollection of the
Rhine.—Ignorance and Degraded Condition of the English Agricultural
Labourer.—How he is regarded by his Superiors.—The Principles of
Government.—Duties of the Governing.—Education.—Slavery.—The Diet of
Labourers.—Drink.—Bread.—Bacon.—Fresh Meat. 99
CHAPTER XIII.
Tintern Abbey and the Wye.—English Screw-steamers.—Tide
Deluge.—St. Vincent’s Rocks.—Bristol-built Vessels.—The
Vale of Gloucester.—Whitfield “Example Farm.”—Hedge-row
Timber.—Drainage.—Buildings.—Stock.—Soiling.—Manure.—Wheat.—Beets
and Turnips.—Disgraceful Agriculture.—The Landed Gentry.—Wages of
Labourers. 110
CHAPTER XIV.
Bath.—Warminster.—Burly Postmaster.—A Doubtful Character.—Polite
Inn-keeper and Pretty Chambermaid.—The Tap-room Fireside.—Rustic
Civility.—Rainy Morning in a Country Inn.—Coming to Market.—The Road
in a Storm.—Scudding. 116
CHAPTER XV.
The South Downs.—Wiltshire Landscape.—Chalk and Flint—Irrigation.—The
Cost and Profit of Water-meadows.—Sewerage Water.—Irrigation in Old
Times. 123
CHAPTER XVI.
Flocks, Dogs, and Shepherds of Salisbury Plain.—Village
Almshouses.—Ostentation in Alms-giving.—A Forced March.—At Home in
Salisbury.—The Street Brooks.—The Cathedral.—Architectural Remark and
Advice.—Village Churches. 132
CHAPTER XVII.
Salisbury Plain.—Strange Desert Character of the
Scenery.—The Agriculture.—Sainfoin and Lucerne.—Large
Farms.—Effect on Labourers.—Paring and Burning.—When
Expedient.—Expense.—Sheep-folding.—Moveable Railways and Sheds. 139
CHAPTER XVIII.
An Arcadian Hamlet.—Out of the World, but not Beyond the Reach
of the Yankee Peddler.—The Cottages of the Downs.—Grout and
Cobble-stones.—Character of the Labouring Class of the Downs.—Want
of Curiosity.—Old Stockbridge, Winchester, William of Wykeham.—His
Legacy to Wayfarers.—The Cathedral.—Some Remarks on Architectural
Situation.—Search for Lodgings.—Motherly Kindness.—Railroad
Mismanagement.—Waterloo Day at Portsmouth. 146
CHAPTER XIX.
The Deceit of Descriptions of Scenery.—The Soul of a Landscape.—The
Isle of Wight, its Characteristics.—Appropriate Domestic
Architecture.—Genial Climate.—Tropical Verdure.—The Cliffs of
Albion.—Osborne.—The Royal Villa.—Country Life of the Royal
Family.—Agricultural Inclination and Rural Tastes.—The Royal
Tenantry.—A Rural Fête at Osborne. 154
CHAPTER XX.
The Queen’s Yacht.—Yachts of the R. Y. Club, their Build and
Rig.—Comparison with American Yachts and Pilot-boats.—Seamanship.—Cut
of Sails.—The Navy-yard at Portsmouth.—Gun-boats.—Steamers.—Naval Force
of Great Britain.—Evening at Portsea.—Curiosity.—About Boasting and
some English Characteristics.—Conversation with a Shopkeeper on the
“Glory of England.” 159
CHAPTER XXI.
Rural Police.—The “Anchor” Inn.—The Garden.—“Old Coaching Times.”—Heath
Land.—A Dreary Landscape.—Murder and a Highway Adventure.—Human
Vanity. 166
CHAPTER XXII.
London Lads.—Railway Ride.—Observations in Natural History. 170
CHAPTER XXIII.
Rural Labourers near London.—Our Mother
Tongue.—Cockneys.—Provincialists.—On the Naturalization of Foreign
Words.—Authorities.—Suburban London.—London.—The Thames.—“Saint Paul’s
from Blackfriar’s Bridge.” 173
APPENDIX. 181
Walks and Talks
OF AN
AMERICAN FARMER IN ENGLAND.
CHAPTER I.
AN IRISH-ENGLISHMAN.—SHREWSBURY CAKES AND BRAWN.—SHREWSBURY
SHOW.—ANGLING IN CURRICLES.—SHEEP-WALKS.—EFFECT OF THOROUGH
DRAINING ON DRY SOILS.—GORSE.—CHURCH STRETTON.—CHURCHYARD
LITERATURE.—ENCOUNTER WITH AN ENTHUSIASTIC FREE-TRADER.
“Can you tell us where the Post Office is?”
“The Post Office? Ye be strangers like?”
“Yes.”
“Was ye never in this town before?”
“Never.”
“It’s a fine old town, Shrewsbury. I know it well, every inch the same
as my hand. It’s like ye’ll be wanting to see the——”
“Can’t you tell us where the Post Office is?”
“The Post Office! Wouldn’t you now be havin’ your bit packs carried.
Ye’ll be _pedestarians_ like.”
“You are an Irishman like.”
“I believe it’s in England I am.”
“But you were born in Ireland?”
“I just disremember now.”
“Well, can you tell us which way to the Post Office?”
“It’s like I might—but, ye see, it’s mighty dryin’ work entirely to be
rememberin’ every thin’ for every body so all the whole time.”
“What do you want?”
“A pint’s tupence.”
Twopence acted on his memory like the spring upon a frozen stream, and
as he walked with us towards the Post Office he told us that he came to
England ten years ago—had found work near Liverpool, where he remained
several years—then went into Warwickshire, and had, a week ago, come
hither to see his brother, who was engaged on the railway. He said
that when he was in Warwickshire he had always passed himself off for
a Lancashire man, and no one ever _accused_ him of being an Irishman.
He explained that the local labourers would not let the farmers employ
Irishmen; if they did, they would burn their ricks. When Irishmen were
employed, it was at very low wages, but he got as good as any. The most
he ever earned was about three dollars a week at task-work. He had
another brother who was in America, “in the State of Baltimore,” and he
was minded to go after him next year.
[Sidenote: _CAKES AND BRAWN._]
“Fine old town” it was, Shrewsbury; delightful old town; we
found our first letters from home there. It is famous, says the
Guide-Book, “for its cakes and brawn.” The former we tasted at the
“Baker-of-Shrewsbury-Cakes-to-Her-Majesty,” for sixpence, with a sight
of the autograph of Lord ——, communicating the appointment, thrown in.
Dear at that. The taste is something like, but by no means equal to,
the _cookies_ we used to eat in country towns on “trainin’ day.” That
the English, in general, did not know what is good in that line, we had
before ascertained, and now discovered that their Queen was equally
unfortunate. Shall advise the princes to “run away.”
“_Brawn_, the flesh of boar or swine, collared so as to squeeze out
much of the fat, boiled and pickled.”—WEBSTER. Our host looked like a
“man of brawn,” but gave us nothing like that.
Shrewsbury was formerly celebrated also for a ridiculous annual
procession, mummery, masquerade, and play-spell, called “Shrewsbury
Show.” The Puritans put a stop to it, but lately this ancient glory has
been attempted to be restored “under the patronage of the mayor and
neighbouring gentry.” The effort, we are told, was entirely successful,
the “oldest inhabitant” not being able to recall any thing more
completely absurd. Our young democratic towns are sometimes equally
fortunate in their civic proceedings without aristocratic assistance.
We were much interested in the old houses, of the same general style
as those I described at Chester, but with every conceivable variation
of form, and each with something peculiar to itself, so that we could
not tire of rambling through the steep narrow streets to study them.
There are a great many old churches here, too; one remarkable for a
very light, tall, simply-tapering spire: another, the abbey church, has
a great mingling of styles, and in some parts is very rich and elegant.
There are several curious things about it—an old stone pulpit, battered
statues, &c. Near it I noticed that some old religious house, that had
been once connected with it, had been built upon, roofed over, and
converted into a brewery. The roofs are universally of flat tiles here;
a few miles north they entirely give way to slates.
On one of the bridges over the Severn, which here divides into two
small streams, between which most of the town is beautifully situated,
we saw a number of anglers with _curricles_, a light portable boat made
of hide stretched out like an umbrella-top by a wicker frame. It is
easily carried on one arm, and it forms a usual part of the angler’s or
salmonfisher’s equipment in Wales.
In the afternoon J. and I walked on to Church Stretton, thirteen miles;
our road, most of the way, through a level valley, with high, naked,
bleak hills on each side. A man joined us who had been most of his
life a miller, and had lately rented a sheep-walk of sixty-three acres
on one of these hill-tops, or, rather, mountain-tops. They are to all
appearance totally barren, except of _gorse_, and he said he could only
stock at the rate of one and a half sheep to the acre.
I have heard a strange story of the effect of draining on soils of
this sort. A considerable estate, mainly on the tops of such hills,
(but not in this county,) having come into possession of a gentleman,
he immediately commenced under-draining it in the most thorough and
expensive manner. The whole country thought him crazy: “Why! the hills
were too dry already; the man was throwing away his money;” and his
friends, in great grief, endeavoured by expostulation and entreaty to
get him off from his ruinous hobby. But he patiently carried it on,
and waited the result; which was, that the increased rental, in a very
short time, more than paid for the whole outlay, and the actual value
of the land was trebled. (This account I had from a friend of the
gentleman, and, though he could not give me the figures, he assured me,
from his personal knowledge of the circumstances, that it was to be
relied upon.)
GORSE, (_furze_ or _whins_,) is an evergreen shrub, growing about
three feet high, rough, thorny, prickly; flourishes in the poorest,
dryest land, where if it gets possession it is extremely difficult
to eradicate. It is sometimes used as a hedge plant, and for that
purpose is planted thickly on high ridges. In some parts of England,
fuel is made of it, and when bruised by powerful machines made for the
purpose, it forms palatable and nutritious food for horses and cattle.
Hereabouts, however, we could not learn that it was made of any use, or
regarded otherwise than as a weed.
[Sidenote: _CHURCHYARD LITERATURE._]
Church Stretton is a little village mostly made up of inns on the main
street. We chose the Stag’s Head, a picturesque, many-gabled cottage,
part of it very old, and, as we were told, formerly a manor-house of
the Earl of Derby, who spent one night (ever to be remembered!) in it.
It was close by a curiously-carved church and graveyard. From among a
great many “improving” epitaphs, I selected the following as worthy of
more extended influence.
I.
A “NON SEQUITUR.”
“Farewell, my wife
And children dear, in number seven,
Therefore prepare yourself for Heaven.”
II.
“AN HONEST MAN.”
“Erected by the Curate of Church Stretton.”
III.
“Farewell, vain world, I have seen my last of thee;
Thy smiles I court not, frowns I fear,
My cares are past, my head lies quiet here,
My time was short in this world, my work is done,
My rest I hope is in another,
In a quiet grave I lie, near my beloved mother.”
IV.
“A Friend so true,
There is but few,
And difficult to find;
A man more just,
And true to trust,
There is not left behind.”
V.
“You that are young, behold and see
How quickly death hath conquered me,
His fatal shaft it was so strong,
And cut me off while I was young,
But God above, He knew _for why_,
That in my youth I was to die.”
The following, or something like it, is to be found in almost every
churchyard in England, often several times repeated.
VI.
“Affliction’s sore
Long time I bore,
Physicians’ aid was vain;
Till God did please
To give me ease,
And free me from my pain.”
On the other side of the churchyard were two long rows of cottages
built closely together, and the street between them only nine feet wide.
[Sidenote: _AN ENTHUSIASTIC FREE-TRADER._]
After ordering supper, we were shown into a little room where there
was a fire and newspapers, and two men sitting. One of them was a
young, well-dressed farmer, stupid and boozy; the other, a travelling
mercantile agent, very wide awake; both drinking hot slings. The latter
almost immediately opened conversation, first asking us to join them at
their tipple, which we declined.
“Did you notice the white nag in the stables, gents?”
“No.”
“Ah, you should have done so. It’s not every day you’ll see such a
horse, let me tell you. It would be really worth your while, if I may
be permitted to advise, to step out and see him. Why! if you’ll believe
me, sir, we gave the stage-coach twenty minutes’ start and beat her two
and a half in eight, besides stopping—how many times?—a go of gin first
and—two of brandy afterwards, wasn’t it, Brom? Yes—we stopped _three
times_ and beat her _two and a half in eight_!—’pon my word it’s a
fact, sir!”
“A remarkable performance.”
“Oh, sir, if you could but see him now—eating his oats just like a
child!”
We showed no disposition to see this phenomenon, but putting our
knapsacks on the table, had commenced reading the papers, when he again
addressed us, suddenly exclaiming,
“Hem—wool’s heavy!”
“What, sir?”
“Eh—hops scarce?”
“What?”
“Sheffil line?”
“——!” (Stare of perplexity.)
“Tea?” glancing at our packs.
“Tea! oh no!”
“Oh, I thought it might be tea you were——Brummagem way?”
“We are—”
“Oh! Ah! Good market at Le’m’ster?”
“We are from New York—travelling merely to see the country; our packs
have—”
“Tea?”
“Only our wearing apparel.”
“Oh, I really thought it must be tea.”
“No, sir.”
“From New York? why, that’s in America.”
“Yes, sir; we are Americans.”
“What! Americans, are you? Hallo! why, this is interesting. Brom! I
say, Brom!—look! do you see? from America; you see? furriners! If you
will permit me, sir—your very good health, gentlemen. Brom! (damn it,
man,) your _health_—_their_ health.... Now look here! you’ll allow me,
sir—(and he caught my leg,) you brought this, I presume, from New York?”
“Yes.”
“Made there?”
“Probably.”
“And the wool?”
“Very likely from these hills.”
“Exactly, sir, _exactly_! You see now, Brom—what was I telling
you?—that’s FREE TRADE, Brom. Most happy to meet you, sir; (wonderfully
intelligent persons, Brom! first-class furriners;) you are welcome
here, sir; and, gentlemen—(your good health, sir)—and no one to molest
or make you afraid—(won’t you taste the gin? I can recommend it to
you as a first-rate article)—wandering up and down, seeking what you
may—eh?—_see_. _Yes, sir_, the _sea_ is the highway of nations—else
what is it mentioned in Scripture for? ‘the great sea—to bring nations
together—with ships thereon, stretching from Tiberia to Siberias, and
from Jericher to,’ eh?—hem—eh?—_somewhere_!”
“Your tea is ready, gentlemen,” said the waiter; and we hastily took
leave.