CHAPTER VII.

SAULT ST. MARIE.--ST. JOSEPH'S ISLAND.--THE LAND OF

MUSIC.--RAPIDS.--HOMEWARD.--GENERAL HULL.--THE BOOK TO THE READER.

Nine days I passed alone at Mackinaw, except for occasional visits

from kind and agreeable residents at the fort, and Mr. and Mrs. A. Mr.

A., long engaged in the fur-trade, is gratefully remembered by many

travellers. From Mrs. A., also, I received kind attentions, paid in

the vivacious and graceful manner of her nation.

The society at the boarding-house entertained, being of a kind

entirely new to me. There were many traders from the remote stations,

such as La Pointe, Arbre Croche,--men who had become half wild and

wholly rude by living in the wild; but good-humored, observing, and

with a store of knowledge to impart, of the kind proper to their

place.

There were two little girls here, that were pleasant companions for

me. One gay, frank, impetuous, but sweet and winning. She was an

American, fair, and with bright brown hair. The other, a little French

Canadian, used to join me in my walks, silently take my hand, and

sit at my feet when I stopped in beautiful places. She seemed to

understand without a word; and I never shall forget her little figure,

with its light, but pensive motion, and her delicate, grave features,

with the pale, clear complexion and soft eye. She was motherless, and

much left alone by her father and brothers, who were boatmen. The two

little girls were as pretty representatives of Allegro and Penseroso

as one would wish to see.

I had been wishing that a boat would come in to take me to the Sault

St. Marie, and several times started to the window at night in hopes

that the pant and dusky-red light crossing the waters belonged to such

an one; but they were always boats for Chicago or Buffalo, till, on

the 28th of August, Allegro, who shared my plans and wishes, rushed

in to tell me that the General Scott had come; and in this little

steamer, accordingly, I set off the next morning.

I was the only lady, and attended in the cabin by a Dutch girl and

an Indian woman. They both spoke English fluently, and entertained me

much by accounts of their different experiences.

The Dutch girl told me of a dance among the common people at

Amsterdam, called the shepherd's dance. The two leaders are dressed

as shepherd and shepherdess; they invent to the music all kinds of

movements, descriptive of things that may happen in the field, and the

rest are obliged to follow. I have never heard of any dance which gave

such free play to the fancy as this. French dances merely describe

the polite movements of society; Spanish and Neapolitan, love; the

beautiful Mazurkas, &c. are war-like or expressive of wild scenery.

But in this one is great room both for fun and fancy.

The Indian was married, when young, by her parents, to a man she did

not love. He became dissipated, and did not maintain her. She left

him, taking with her their child, for whom and herself she earns a

subsistence by going as chambermaid in these boats. Now and then, she

said, her husband called on her, and asked if he might live with her

again; but she always answered, No. Here she was far freer than she

would have been in civilized life. I was pleased by the nonchalance of

this woman, and the perfectly national manner she had preserved after

so many years of contact with all kinds of people.

The two women, when I left the boat, made me presents of Indian work,

such as travellers value, and the manner of the two was characteristic

of their different nations. The Indian brought me hers, when I was

alone, looked bashfully down when she gave it, and made an almost

sentimental little speech. The Dutch girl brought hers in public, and,

bridling her short chin with a self-complacent air, observed she had

_bought_ it for me. But the feeling of affectionate regard was the

same in the minds of both.

Island after island we passed, all fairly shaped and clustering in a

friendly way, but with little variety of vegetation. In the afternoon

the weather became foggy, and we could not proceed after dark. That

was as dull an evening as ever fell.

The next morning the fog still lay heavy, but the captain took me out

in his boat on an exploring expedition, and we found the remains of

the old English fort on Point St. Joseph's. All around was so wholly

unmarked by anything but stress of wind and weather, the shores of

these islands and their woods so like one another, wild and lonely,

but nowhere rich and majestic, that there was some charm, in the

remains of the garden, the remains even of chimneys and a pier. They

gave feature to the scene.

Here I gathered many flowers, but they were the same as at Mackinaw.

The captain, though he had been on this trip hundreds of times, had

never seen this spot, and never would but for this fog, and his desire

to entertain me. He presented a striking instance how men, for the

sake of getting a living, forget to live. It is just the same in the

most romantic as the most dull and vulgar places. Men get the harness

on so fast, that they can never shake it off, unless they guard

against this danger from the very first. In Chicago, how many men live

who never find time to see the prairies, or learn anything unconnected

with the business of the day, or about the country they are living in!

So this captain, a man of strong sense and good eyesight, rarely found

time to go off the track or look about him on it. He lamented, too,

that there had been no call which, induced him to develop his powers

of expression, so that he might communicate what he had seen for the

enjoyment or instruction of others.

This is a common fault among the active men, the truly living, who

could tell what life is. It should not be so. Literature should not be

left to the mere literati,--eloquence to the mere orator; every Cæsar

should be able to write his own commentary. We want a more equal, more

thorough, more harmonious development, and there is nothing to hinder

the men of this country from it, except their own supineness, or

sordid views.

When the weather did clear, our course up the river was delightful.

Long stretched before us the island of St. Joseph's, with its fair

woods of sugar-maple. A gentleman on board, who belongs to the Fort

at the Sault, said their pastime was to come in the season of making

sugar, and pass some time on this island,--the days at work, and the

evening in dancing and other amusements. Work of this kind done in the

open air, where everything is temporary, and every utensil prepared

on the spot, gives life a truly festive air. At such times, there is

labor and no care,--energy with gayety, gayety of the heart.

I think with the same pleasure of the Italian vintage, the Scotch

harvest-home, with its evening dance in the barn, the Russian

cabbage-feast even, and our huskings and hop-gatherings. The

hop-gatherings, where the groups of men and girls are pulling down and

filling baskets with the gay festoons, present as graceful pictures as

the Italian vintage.

How pleasant is the course along a new river, the sight of new shores!

like a life, would but life flow as fast, and upbear us with as full a

stream. I hoped we should come in sight of the rapids by daylight; but

the beautiful sunset was quite gone, and only a young moon trembling

over the scene, when we came within hearing of them.

I sat up long to hear them merely. It was a thoughtful hour. These

two days, the 29th and 30th of August, are memorable in my life;

the latter is the birthday of a near friend. I pass them alone,

approaching Lake Superior; but I shall not enter into that truly

wild and free region; shall not have the canoe voyage, whose daily

adventure, with the camping out at night beneath the stars, would have

given an interlude of such value to my existence. I shall not see the

Pictured Rocks, their chapels and urns. It did not depend on me; it

never has, whether such things shall be done or not.

My friends! may they see, and do, and be more; especially those who

have before them a greater number of birthdays, and a more healthy and

unfettered existence!

I should like to hear some notes of earthly music to-night. By the

faint moonshine I can hardly see the banks; how they look I have no

guess, except that there are trees, and, now and then, a light lets me

know there are homes, with their various interests. I should like to

hear some strains of the flute from beneath those trees, just to break

the sound of the rapids.

THE LAND OF MUSIC.

When no gentle eyebeam charms;

No fond hope the bosom warms;

Of thinking the lone mind is tired,--

Naught seems bright to be desired.

Music, be thy sails unfurled;

Bear me to thy better world;

O'er a cold and weltering sea,

Blow thy breezes warm and free.

By sad sighs they ne'er were chilled,

By sceptic spell were never stilled.

Take me to that far-off shore,

Where lovers meet to part no more.

There doubt and fear and sin are o'er;

The star of love shall set no more.

With the first light of dawn I was up and out, and then was glad I had

not seen all the night before, it came upon me with such power in its

dewy freshness. O, they are beautiful indeed, these rapids! The grace

is so much more obvious than the power. I went up through the old

Chippewa burying-ground to their head, and sat down on a large stone

to look. A little way off was one of the home-lodges, unlike in shape

to the temporary ones at Mackinaw, but these have been described by

Mrs. Jameson. Women, too, I saw coming home from the woods, stooping

under great loads of cedar-boughs, that were strapped upon their

backs. But in many European countries women carry great loads, even of

wood, upon their backs. I used to hear the girls singing and laughing

as they were cutting down boughs at Mackinaw; this part of their

employment, though laborious, gives them the pleasure of being a great

deal in the free woods.

I had ordered a canoe to take me down the rapids, and presently I saw

it coming, with the two Indian canoe-men in pink calico shirts, moving

it about with their long poles, with a grace and dexterity worthy

fairy-land. Now and then they cast the scoop-net;--all looked just as

I had fancied, only far prettier.

When they came to me, they spread a mat in the middle of the canoe; I

sat down, and in less than four minutes we had descended the rapids,

a distance of more than three quarters of a mile. I was somewhat

disappointed in this being no more of an exploit than I found it.

Having heard such expressions used as of "darting," or "shooting

down," these rapids, I had fancied there was a wall of rock somewhere,

where descent would somehow be accomplished, and that there would come

some one gasp of terror and delight, some sensation entirely new to

me; but I found myself in smooth water, before I had time to feel

anything but the buoyant pleasure of being carried so lightly through

this surf amid the breakers. Now and then the Indians spoke to

one another in a vehement jabber, which, however, had no tone that

expressed other than pleasant excitement. It is, no doubt, an act of

wonderful dexterity to steer amid these jagged rocks, when one

rude touch would tear a hole in the birch canoe; but these men are

evidently so used to doing it, and so adroit, that the silliest person

could not feel afraid. I should like to have come down twenty times,

that I might have had leisure to realize the pleasure. But the fog

which had detained us on the way shortened the boat's stay at the

Sault, and I wanted my time to walk about.

While coming down the rapids, the Indians caught a white-fish for my

breakfast; and certainly it was the best of breakfasts. The

white-fish I found quite another thing caught on the spot, and cooked

immediately, from what I had found it at Chicago or Mackinaw. Before,

I had had the bad taste to prefer the trout, despite the solemn and

eloquent remonstrances of the _habitués_, to whom the superiority of

white-fish seemed a cardinal point of faith.

I am here reminded that I have omitted that indispensable part of a

travelling journal, the account of what we found to eat. I cannot hope

to make up, by one bold stroke, all my omissions of daily record;

but that I may show myself not destitute of the common feelings of

humanity, I will observe that he whose affections turn in summer

towards vegetables should not come to this region, till the subject

of diet be better understood; that of fruit, too, there is little yet,

even at the best hotel tables; that the prairie chickens require

no praise from me, and that the trout and white-fish are worthy the

transparency of the lake waters.

In this brief mention I by no means intend to give myself an air of

superiority to the subject. If a dinner in the Illinois woods, on dry

bread and drier meat, with water from the stream that flowed hard by,

pleased me best of all, yet, at one time, when living at a house where

nothing was prepared for the table fit to touch, and even the bread

could not be partaken of without a headache in consequence, I learnt

to understand and sympathize with the anxious tone in which fathers

of families, about to take their innocent children into some scene of

wild beauty, ask first of all, "Is there a good, table?" I shall ask

just so in future. Only those whom the Powers have furnished with

small travelling cases of ambrosia can take exercise all day, and be

happy without even bread morning or night.

Our voyage back was all pleasure. It was the fairest day. I saw the

river, the islands, the clouds, to the greatest advantage.

On board was an old man, an Illinois farmer, whom I found a most

agreeable companion. He had just been with his son, and eleven other

young men, on an exploring expedition to the shores of Lake Superior.

He was the only old man of the party, but he had enjoyed most of any

the journey. He had been the counsellor and playmate, too, of the

young ones. He was one of those parents--why so rare?--who understand

and live a new life in that of their children, instead of wasting time

and young happiness in trying to make them conform to an object and

standard of their own. The character and history of each child may

be a new and poetic experience to the parent, if he will let it.

Our farmer was domestic, judicious, solid; the son, inventive,

enterprising, superficial, full of follies, full of resources, always

liable to failure, sure to rise above it. The father conformed to, and

learnt from, a character he could not change, and won the sweet from

the bitter.

His account of his life at home, and of his late adventures among the

Indians, was very amusing, but I want talent to write it down, and I

have not heard the slang of these people intimately enough. There is a

good book about Indiana, called the New Purchase, written by a person

who knows the people of the country well enough to describe them in

their own way. It is not witty, but penetrating, valuable for its

practical wisdom and good-humored fun.

There were many sportsman-stories told, too, by those from Illinois

and Wisconsin. I do not retain any of these well enough, nor any that

I heard earlier, to write them down, though they always interested me

from bringing wild natural scenes before the mind. It is pleasant

for the sportsman to be in countries so alive with game; yet it is so

plenty that one would think shooting pigeons or grouse would seem

more like slaughter, than the excitement of skill to a good sportsman.

Hunting the deer is full of adventure, and needs only a Scrope to

describe it to invest the Western woods with _historic_ associations.

How pleasant it was to sit and hear rough men tell pieces out of their

own common lives, in place of the frippery talk of some fine circle

with its conventional sentiment, and timid, second-hand criticism.

Free blew the wind, and boldly flowed the stream, named for Mary

mother mild.

A fine thunder-shower came on in the afternoon. It cleared at sunset,

just as we came in sight of beautiful Mackinaw, over which, a rainbow

bent in promise of peace.

I have always wondered, in reading travels, at the childish joy

travellers felt at meeting people they knew, and their sense of

loneliness when they did not, in places where there was everything new

to occupy the attention. So childish, I thought, always to be longing

for the new in the old, and the old in the new. Yet just such sadness

I felt, when I looked on the island glittering in the sunset, canopied

by the rainbow, and thought no friend would welcome me there; just

such childish joy I felt to see unexpectedly on the landing the face

of one whom I called friend.

The remaining two or three days were delightfully spent, in walking or

boating, or sitting at the window to see the Indians go. This was not

quite so pleasant as their coming in, though accomplished with

the same rapidity; a family not taking half an hour to prepare for

departure, and the departing canoe a beautiful object. But they left

behind, on all the shore, the blemishes of their stay,--old rags,

dried boughs, fragments of food, the marks of their fires. Nature

likes to cover up and gloss over spots and scars, but it would take

her some time to restore that beach to the state it was in before they

came.

S. and I had a mind for a canoe excursion, and we asked one of the

traders to engage us two good Indians, that would not only take us

out, but be sure and bring us back, as we could not hold converse

with them. Two others offered their aid, beside the chief's son,

a fine-looking youth of about sixteen, richly dressed in blue

broadcloth, scarlet sash and leggins, with a scarf of brighter red

than the rest, tied around his head, its ends falling gracefully

on one shoulder. They thought it, apparently, fine amusement to

be attending two white women; they carried us into the path of

the steamboat, which was going out, and paddled with all their

force,--rather too fast, indeed, for there was something of a swell on

the lake, and they sometimes threw water into the canoe. However, it

flew over the waves, light as a seagull. They would say, "Pull away,"

and "Ver' warm," and, after these words, would laugh gayly. They

enjoyed the hour, I believe, as much as we.

The house where we lived belonged to the widow of a French trader, an

Indian by birth, and wearing the dress of her country She spoke

French fluently, and was very ladylike in her manners. She is a great

character among them. They were all the time coming to pay her homage,

or to get her aid and advice; for she is, I am told, a shrewd woman of

business. My companion carried about her sketch-book with her, and

the Indians were interested when they saw her using her pencil, though

less so than about the sun-shade. This lady of the tribe wanted to

borrow the sketches of the beach, with its lodges and wild groups, "to

show to the _savages_" she said.

Of the practical ability of the Indian women, a good specimen is given

by McKenney, in an amusing story of one who went to Washington, and

acted her part there in the "first circles," with a tact and sustained

dissimulation worthy of Cagliostro. She seemed to have a thorough

love of intrigue for its own sake, and much dramatic talent. Like the

chiefs of her nation, when on an expedition among the foe, whether for

revenge or profit, no impulses of vanity or way-side seductions

had power to turn her aside from carrying out her plan as she had

originally projected it.

Although I have little to tell, I feel that I have learnt a great deal

of the Indians, from observing them even in this broken and degraded

condition. There is a language of eye and motion which cannot be put

into words, and which teaches what words never can. I feel acquainted

with the soul of this race; I read its nobler thought in their defaced

figures. There _was_ a greatness, unique and precious, which he who

does not feel will never duly appreciate the majesty of nature in this

American continent.

I have mentioned that the Indian orator, who addressed the agents on

this occasion, said, the difference between the white man and the red

man is this: "The white man no sooner came here, than he thought of

preparing the way for his posterity; the red man never thought of

this." I was assured this was exactly his phrase; and it defines the

true difference. We get the better because we do

"Look before and after."

But, from, the same cause, we

"Pine for what is not."

The red man, when happy, was thoroughly happy; when good, was simply

good. He needed the medal, to let him know that he _was_ good.

These evenings we were happy, looking over the old-fashioned garden,

over the beach, over the waters and pretty island opposite, beneath

the growing moon. We did not stay to see it full at Mackinaw; at two

o'clock one night, or rather morning, the Great Western came snorting

in, and we must go; and Mackinaw, and all the Northwest summer, is now

to me no more than picture and dream:--

"A dream within a dream."

These last days at Mackinaw have been pleasanter than the "lonesome"

nine, for I have recovered the companion with whom I set out from the

East,--one who sees all, prizes all, enjoys much, interrupts never.

At Detroit we stopped for half a day. This place is famous in our

history, and the unjust anger at its surrender is still expressed

by almost every one who passes there. I had always shared the common

feeling on this subject; for the indignation at a disgrace to our arms

that seemed so unnecessary has been handed down from father to child,

and few of us have taken the pains to ascertain where the blame

lay. But now, upon the spot, having read all the testimony, I felt

convinced that it should rest solely with the government, which, by

neglecting to sustain General Hull, as he had a right to expect they

would, compelled him to take this step, or sacrifice many lives, and

of the defenceless inhabitants, not of soldiers, to the cruelty of a

savage foe, for the sake of his reputation.

I am a woman, and unlearned in such affairs; but, to a person

with common sense and good eyesight, it is clear, when viewing

the location, that, under the circumstances, he had no prospect of

successful defence, and that to attempt it would have been an act of

vanity, not valor.

I feel that I am not biassed in this judgment by my personal

relations, for I have always heard both sides, and though my feelings

had been moved by the picture of the old man sitting in the midst

of his children, to a retired and despoiled old age, after a life

of honor and happy intercourse with the public, yet tranquil, always

secure that justice must be done at last, I supposed, like others,

that he deceived himself, and deserved to pay the penalty for failure

to the responsibility he had undertaken. Now, on the spot, I change,

and believe the country at large must, erelong, change from this

opinion. And I wish to add my testimony, however trifling its weight,

before it be drowned in the voice of general assent, that I may do

some justice to the feelings which possess me here and now.

A noble boat, the Wisconsin, was to be launched this afternoon; the

whole town was out in many-colored array, the band playing. Our boat

swept round to a good position, and all was ready but--the Wisconsin,

which could not be made to stir. This was quite a disappointment. It

would have been an imposing sight.

In the boat many signs admonished that we were floating eastward. A

shabbily-dressed phrenologist laid his hand on every head which would

bend, with half-conceited, half-sheepish expression, to the trial of

his skill. Knots of people gathered here and there to discuss points

of theology. A bereaved lover was seeking religious consolation

in--Butler's Analogy, which he had purchased for that purpose.

However, he did not turn over many pages before his attention was

drawn aside by the gay glances of certain damsels that came on board

at Detroit, and, though Butler might afterwards be seen sticking

from his pocket, it had not weight to impede him from many a feat of

lightness and liveliness. I doubt if it went with him from the boat.

Some there were, even, discussing the doctrines of Fourier. It seemed

pity they were not going to, rather than from, the rich and free

country where it would be so much easier than with us to try the great

experiment of voluntary association, and show beyond a doubt that "an

ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure," a maxim of the "wisdom

of nations" which has proved of little practical efficacy as yet.

Better to stop before landing at Buffalo, while I have yet the

advantage over some of my readers.

THE BOOK TO THE READER,

WHO OPENS, AS AMERICAN READERS OFTEN DO,--AT THE END.

To see your cousin in her country home,

If at the time of blackberries you come,

"Welcome, my friends," she cries with ready glee,

"The fruit is ripened, and the paths are free.

But, madam, you will tear that handsome gown;

The little boy be sure to tumble down;

And, in the thickets where they ripen best,

The matted ivy, too, its bower has drest.

And then the thorns your hands are sure to rend,

Unless with heavy gloves you will defend;

Amid most thorns the sweetest roses blow,

Amid most thorns the sweetest berries grow."

If, undeterred, you to the fields must go,

You tear your dresses and you scratch your hands;

But, in the places where the berries grow,

A sweeter fruit the ready sense commands,

Of wild, gay feelings, fancies springing sweet,--

Of bird-like pleasures, fluttering and fleet.

Another year, you cannot go yourself,

To win the berries from the thickets wild,

And housewife skill, instead, has filled the shelf

With blackberry jam, "by best receipts compiled,--

Not made with country sugar, for too strong

The flavors that to maple-juice belong;

But foreign sugar, nicely mixed 'to suit

The taste,' spoils not the fragrance of the fruit."

"'Tis pretty good," half-tasting, you reply,

"I scarce should know it from fresh blackberry.

But the best pleasure such a fruit can yield

Is to be gathered in the open field;

If only as an article of food,

Cherry or crab-apple is quite as good;

And, for occasions of festivity,

West India sweetmeats you had better buy."

Thus, such a dish of homely sweets as these

In neither way may chance the taste to please.

Yet try a little with the evening-bread;

Bring a good needle for the spool of thread;

Take fact with fiction, silver with the lead,

And, at the mint, you can get gold instead;

In fine, read me, even as you would be read.

PART II.

THINGS AND THOUGHTS IN EUROPE.

LETTER I.

PASSAGE IN THE CAMBRIA.--LORD AND LADY FALKLAND.--CAPTAIN

JUDKINS.--LIVERPOOL.--MANCHESTER.--MECHANICS' INSTITUTE.--"THE

DIAL."--PEACE AND WAR.--THE WORKING-MEN OF ENGLAND.--THEIR TRIBUTE TO

SIR ROBERT PEEL.--THE ROYAL INSTITUTE.--STATUES.--CHESTER.--BATHING.

Ambleside, Westmoreland, 23d August, 1846.

I take the first interval of rest and stillness to be filled up by

some lines for the Tribune. Only three weeks have passed since leaving

New York, but I have already had nine days of wonder in England, and,

having learned a good deal, suppose I may have something to tell.

Long before receiving this, you know that we were fortunate in the

shortest voyage ever made across the Atlantic,[A]--only ten days

and sixteen hours from Boston to Liverpool. The weather and all

circumstances were propitious; and, if some of us were weak of head

enough to suffer from the smell and jar of the machinery, or other

ills by which the sea is wont to avenge itself on the arrogance of

its vanquishers, we found no pity. The stewardess observed that she

thought "any one tempted God Almighty who complained on a voyage where

they did not even have to put guards to the dishes"!

[Footnote A: True at the time these Letters were written.--ED.]

As many contradictory counsels were given us with regard to going in

one of the steamers in preference to a sailing vessel, I will mention

here, for the benefit of those who have not yet tried one, that he

must be fastidious indeed who could complain of the Cambria. The

advantage of a quick passage and certainty as to the time of arrival,

would, with us, have outweighed many ills; but, apart from this, we

found more space than we expected and as much as we needed for a

very tolerable degree of convenience in our sleeping-rooms, better

ventilation than Americans in general can be persuaded to accept,

general cleanliness, and good attendance. In the evening, when the

wind was favorable, and the sails set, so that the vessel looked like

a great winged creature darting across the apparently measureless

expanse, the effect was very grand, but ah! for such a spectacle one

pays too dear; I far prefer looking out upon "the blue and foaming

sea" from a firm green shore.

Our ship's company numbered several pleasant members, and that desire

prevailed in each to contribute to the satisfaction of all, which, if

carried out through the voyage of life, would make this earth as happy

as it is a lovely abode. At Halifax we took in the Governor of Nova

Scotia, returning from his very unpopular administration. His lady was

with, him, a daughter of William the Fourth and the celebrated Mrs.

Jordan. The English on board, and the Americans, following their lead,

as usual, seemed to attach much importance to her left-handed alliance

with one of the dullest families that ever sat upon a throne, (and

that is a bold word, too,) none to her descent from one whom Nature

had endowed with her most splendid regalia,--genius that fascinated

the attention of all kinds and classes of men, grace and winning

qualities that no heart could resist. Was the cestus buried with her,

that no sense of its pre-eminent value lingered, as far as I could

perceive, in the thoughts of any except myself?

We had a foretaste of the delights of living under an aristocratical

government at the Custom-House, where our baggage was detained, and

we waiting for it weary hours, because of the preference given to

the mass of household stuff carried back by this same Lord and Lady

Falkland.

Captain Judkins of the Cambria, an able and prompt commander, is the

man who insisted upon Douglass being admitted to equal rights upon his

deck with the insolent slave-holders, and assumed a tone toward their

assumptions, which, if the Northern States had had the firmness, good

sense, and honor to use, would have had the same effect, and put

our country in a very different position from that she occupies at

present. He mentioned with pride that he understood the New York

Herald called him "the Nigger Captain," and seemed as willing to

accept the distinction as Colonel McKenney is to wear as his last

title that of "the Indian's friend."

At the first sight of the famous Liverpool Docks, extending miles on

each side of our landing, we felt ourselves in a slower, solider, and

not on that account less truly active, state of things than at home.

That impression is confirmed. There is not as we travel that rushing,

tearing, and swearing, that snatching of baggage, that prodigality of

shoe-leather and lungs, which attend the course of the traveller in

the United States; but we do not lose our "goods," we do not miss our

car. The dinner, if ordered in time, is cooked properly, and served

punctually, and at the end of the day more that is permanent seems to

have come of it than on the full-drive system. But more of this, and

with a better grace, at a later day.

The day after our arrival we went to Manchester. There we went over

the magnificent warehouse of ---- Phillips, in itself a Bazaar ample

to furnish provision for all the wants and fancies of thousands. In

the evening we went to the Mechanics' Institute, and saw the boys

and young men in their classes. I have since visited the Mechanics'

Institute at Liverpool, where more than seventeen hundred pupils are

received, and with more thorough educational arrangements; but the

excellent spirit, the desire for growth in wisdom and enlightened

benevolence, is the same in both. For a very small fee, the mechanic,

clerk, or apprentice, and the women of their families, can receive

various good and well-arranged instruction, not only in common

branches of an English education, but in mathematics, composition,

the French and German, languages, the practice and theory of the Fine

Arts, and they are ardent in availing themselves of instruction in

the higher branches. I found large classes, not only in architectural

drawing, which may be supposed to be followed with a view to

professional objects, but landscape also, and as large in German as

in French. They can attend many good lectures and concerts without

additional charge, for a due place is here assigned to music as to its

influence on the whole mind. The large and well-furnished libraries

are in constant requisition, and the books in most constant demand

are not those of amusement, but of a solid and permanent interest and

value. Only for the last year in Manchester, and for two in Liverpool,

have these advantages been extended to girls; but now that part of

the subject is looked upon as it ought to be, and begins to be treated

more and more as it must and will be wherever true civilization is

making its way. One of the handsomest houses in Liverpool has been

purchased for the girls' school, and room and good arrangement been

afforded for their work and their play. Among other things they are

taught, as they ought to be in all American schools, to cut out and

make dresses.

I had the pleasure of seeing quotations made from our Boston "Dial,"

in the address in which the Director of the Liverpool Institute, a

very benevolent and intelligent man, explained to his disciples and

others its objects, and which concludes thus:--

"But this subject of self-improvement is inexhaustible. If traced to

its results in action, it is, in fact, 'The Whole Duty of Man.' What

of detail it involves and implies, I know that you will, each and all,

think out for yourselves. Beautifully has it been said: 'Is not the

difference between spiritual and material things just this,--that in

the one case we must watch details, in the other, keep alive the high

resolve, and the details will take care of themselves? Keep the sacred

central fire burning, and throughout the system, in each of its acts,

will be warmth and glow enough.'[A]

[Footnote A: The Dial, Vol. I. p. 188, October, 1840, "Musings of a

Recluse."]

"For myself, if I be asked what my purpose is in relation to you, I

would briefly reply, It is that I may help, be it ever so feebly, to

train up a race of young men, who shall escape vice by rising above

it; who shall love truth because it is truth, not because it brings

them wealth or honor; who shall regard life as a solemn thing,

involving too weighty responsibilities to be wasted in idle or

frivolous pursuits; who shall recognize in their daily labors, not

merely a tribute to the "hard necessity of daily bread," but a field

for the development of their better nature by the discharge of duty;

who shall judge in all things for themselves, bowing the knee to no

sectarian or party watchwords of any kind; and who, while they think

for themselves, shall feel for others, and regard their talents, their

attainments, their opportunities, their possessions, as blessings held

in trust for the good of their fellow-men."

I found that The Dial had been read with earnest interest by some of

the best minds in these especially practical regions, that it had been

welcomed as a representative of some sincere and honorable life in

America, and thought the fittest to be quoted under this motto:--

"What are noble deeds but noble thoughts realized?"

Among other signs of the times we bought Bradshaw's Railway Guide,

and, opening it, found extracts from the writings of our countrymen,

Elihu Burritt and Charles Sumner, on the subject of Peace, occupying

a leading place in the "Collect," for the month, of this little

hand-book, more likely, in an era like ours, to influence the conduct

of the day than would an illuminated breviary. Now that peace is

secured for the present between our two countries, the spirit is

not forgotten that quelled the storm. Greeted on every side with

expressions of feeling about the blessings of peace, the madness and

wickedness of war, that would be deemed romantic in our darker land,

I have answered to the speakers, "But you are mightily pleased, and

illuminate for your victories in China and Ireland, do you not?" and

they, unprovoked by the taunt, would mildly reply, "_We_ do not, but

it is too true that a large part of the nation fail to bring home

the true nature and bearing of those events, and apply principle to

conduct with as much justice as they do in the case of a nation nearer

to them by kindred and position. But we are sure that feeling is

growing purer on the subject day by day, and that there will soon be a

large majority against war on any occasion or for any object."

I heard a most interesting letter read from a tradesman in one of the

country towns, whose daughters are self-elected instructors of the

people in the way of cutting out from books and pamphlets fragments on

the great subjects of the day, which they send about in packages, or

paste on walls and doors. He said that one such passage, pasted on a

door, he had seen read with eager interest by hundreds to whom such

thoughts were, probably, quite new, and with some of whom it could

scarcely fail to be as a little seed of a large harvest. Another good

omen I found in written tracts by Joseph Barker, a working-man of the

town of Wortley, published through his own printing-press.

How great, how imperious the need of such men, of such deeds, we felt

more than ever, while compelled to turn a deaf ear to the squalid and

shameless beggars of Liverpool, or talking by night in the streets of

Manchester to the girls from the Mills, who were strolling bareheaded,

with coarse, rude, and reckless air, through the streets, or seeing

through the windows of the gin-palaces the women seated drinking, too

dull to carouse. The homes of England! their sweetness is melting into

fable; only the new Spirit in its holiest power can restore to those

homes their boasted security of "each man's castle," for Woman, the

warder, is driven into the street, and has let fall the keys in her

sad plight. Yet darkest hour of night is nearest dawn, and there seems

reason to believe that

"There's a good time coming."

Blest be those who aid, who doubt not that

"Smallest helps, if rightly given,

Make the impulse stronger;

'Twill be strong enough one day."

Other things we saw in Liverpool,--the Royal Institute, with the

statue of Roscoe by Chantrey, and in its collection from the works

of the early Italian artists, and otherwise, bearing traces of that

liberality and culture by which the man, happy enough to possess them,

and at the same time engaged with his fellow-citizens in practical

life, can do so much more to enlighten and form them, than prince or

noble possibly can with far larger pecuniary means. We saw the statue

of Huskisson in the Cemetery. It is fine as a portrait statue, but

as a work of art wants firmness and grandeur. I say it is fine as a

portrait statue, though we were told it is not like the original; but

it is a good conception of an individuality which might exist, if it

does not yet. It is by Gibson, who received his early education in

Liverpool. I saw there, too, the body of an infant borne to the grave

by women; for it is a beautiful custom, here, that those who have

fulfilled all other tender offices to the little being should hold to

it the same relation to the very last.

From Liverpool we went to Chester, one of the oldest cities in

England, a Roman station once, and abode of the "Twentieth Legion,"

"the Victorious." Tiles bearing this inscription, heads of Jupiter,

and other marks of their occupation, have, not long ago, been detected

beneath the sod. The town also bears the marks of Welsh invasion and

domestic struggles. The shape of a cross in which it is laid out, its

walls and towers, its four arched gateways, its ramparts and ruined,

towers, mantled with ivy, its old houses with Biblical inscriptions,

its cathedral,--in which tall trees have grown up amid the arches, a

fresh garden-plot, with flowers, bright green and red, taken place

of the altar, and a crowd of revelling swallows supplanted the sallow

choirs of a former priesthood,--present a _tout-ensemble_ highly

romantic in itself, and charming, indeed, to Transatlantic eyes. Yet

not to all eyes would it have had charms, for one American traveller,

our companion on the voyage, gravely assured us that we should find

the "castles and that sort of thing all humbug," and that, if we

wished to enjoy them, it would "be best to sit at home and read some

_handsome_ work on the subject."

At the hotel in Liverpool and that in Manchester I had found no bath,

and asking for one at Chester, the chambermaid said, with earnest

good-will, that "they had none, but she thought she could get me

a note from her master to the Infirmary (!!) if I would go there."

Luckily I did not generalize quite as rapidly as travellers in America

usually do, and put in the note-book,--"_Mem._: None but the sick ever

bathe in England"; for in the next establishment we tried, I found

the plentiful provision for a clean and healthy day, which I had read

would be met _everywhere_ in this country.

All else I must defer to my next, as the mail is soon to close.

LETTER II.

CHESTER.--ITS MUSEUM.--TRAVELLING COMPANIONS.--A BENGALESE.--

WESTMORELAND.--AMBLESIDE.--COBDEN AND BRIGHT.--A SCOTCH

LADY.--WORDSWORTH.--HIS FLOWERS.--MISS MARTINEAU.

Ambleside. Westmoreland, 27th August, 1846.

I forgot to mention, in writing of Chester, an object which gave me

pleasure. I mentioned, that the wall which enclosed the old town was

two miles in circumference; far beyond this stretches the modern

part of Chester, and the old gateways now overarch the middle of long

streets. This wall is now a walk for the inhabitants, commanding a

wide prospect, and three persons could walk abreast on its smooth

flags. We passed one of its old picturesque towers, from whose top

Charles the First, poor, weak, unhappy king, looked down and saw his

troops defeated by the Parliamentary army on the adjacent plain. A

little farther on, one of these picturesque towers is turned to the

use of a Museum, whose stock, though scanty, I examined with singular

pleasure, for it had been made up by truly filial contributions

from, all who had derived benefit from Chester, from the Marquis

of Westminster--whose magnificent abode, Eton Hall, lies not far

off--down to the merchant's clerk, who had furnished it in his leisure

hours with a geological chart, the soldier and sailor, who sent back

shells, insects, and petrifactions from their distant wanderings, and

a boy of thirteen, who had made, in wood, a model of its cathedral,

and even furnished it with a bell to ring out the evening chimes. Many

women had been busy in filling these magazines for the instruction

and the pleasure of their fellow-townsmen. Lady ----, the wife of the

captain of the garrison, grateful for the gratuitous admission of the

soldiers once a month,--a privilege of which the keeper of the Museum

(a woman also, who took an intelligent pleasure in her task) assured

me that they were eager to avail themselves,--had given a fine

collection of butterflies, and a ship. An untiring diligence had

been shown in adding whatever might stimulate or gratify imperfectly

educated minds. I like to see women perceive that there are other

ways of doing good besides making clothes for the poor or teaching

Sunday-school; these are well, if well directed, but there are many

other ways, some as sure and surer, and which benefit the giver no

less than the receiver.

I was waked from sleep at the Chester Inn by a loud dispute between

the chambermaid and an unhappy elderly gentleman, who insisted that he

had engaged the room in which I was, had returned to sleep in it,

and consequently must do so. To her assurances that the lady was long

since in possession, he was deaf; but the lock, fortunately for me,

proved a stronger defence. With all a chambermaid's morality, the

maiden boasted to me, "He said he had engaged 44, and would not

believe me when I assured him it was 46; indeed, how could he? I did

not believe myself." To my assurance that, if I had known the room,

was his, I should not have wished for it, but preferred taking a

worse, I found her a polite but incredulous listener.

Passing from Liverpool to Lancaster by railroad, that convenient but

most unprofitable and stupid way of travelling, we there took the

canal-boat to Kendal, and passed pleasantly through a country of that

soft, that refined and cultivated loveliness, which, however much

we have heard of it, finds the American eye--accustomed to so much

wildness, so much rudeness, such a corrosive action of man upon

nature--wholly unprepared. I feel all the time as if in a sweet dream,

and dread to be presently awakened by some rude jar or glare; but none

comes, and here in Westmoreland--but wait a moment, before we speak of

that.

In the canal-boat we found two well-bred English gentlemen, and two

well-informed German gentlemen, with whom we had some agreeable talk.

With one of the former was a beautiful youth, about eighteen, whom I

supposed, at the first glance, to be a type of that pure East-Indian

race whose beauty I had never seen represented before except in

pictures; and he made a picture, from which I could scarcely take my

eyes a moment, and from it could as ill endure to part. He was dressed

in a broadcloth robe richly embroidered, leaving his throat and the

upper part of his neck bare, except that he wore a heavy gold chain.

A rich shawl was thrown gracefully around him; the sleeves of his robe

were loose, with white sleeves below. He wore a black satin cap. The

whole effect of this dress was very fine yet simple, setting off to

the utmost advantage the distinguished beauty of his features, in

which there was a mingling of national pride, voluptuous sweetness in

that unconscious state of reverie when it affects us as it does in the

flower, and intelligence in its newly awakened purity. As he turned

his head, his profile was like one I used to have of Love asleep,

while Psyche leans over him with the lamp; but his front face,

with the full, summery look of the eye, was unlike that. He was a

Bengalese, living in England for his education, as several others are

at present. He spoke English well, and conversed on several subjects,

literary and political, with grace, fluency, and delicacy of thought.

Passing from Kendal to Ambleside, we found a charming abode furnished

us by the care of a friend in one of the stone cottages of this

region, almost the only one _not_ ivy-wreathed, but commanding a

beautiful view of the mountains, and truly an English home in its

neatness, quiet, and delicate, noiseless attention to the wants of all

within its walls. Here we have passed eight happy days, varied by

many drives, boating excursions on Grasmere and Winandermere, and the

society of several agreeable persons. As the Lake district at this

season draws together all kinds of people, and a great variety beside

come from, all quarters to inhabit the charming dwellings that

adorn its hill-sides and shores, I met and saw a good deal of the

representatives of various classes, at once. I found here two landed

proprietors from other parts of England, both "travelled English,"

one owning a property in Greece, where he frequently resides,

both warmly engaged in Reform measures, anti-Corn-Law,

anti-Capital-Punishment,--one of them an earnest student of Emerson's

Essays. Both of them had wives, who kept pace with their projects and

their thoughts, active and intelligent women, true ladies, skilful in

drawing and music; all the better wives for the development of every

power. One of them told me, with a glow of pride, that it was not long

since her husband had been "cut" by all his neighbors among the gentry

for the part he took against the Corn Laws; but, she added, he was now

a favorite with them all. Verily, faith will remove mountains, if

only you do join with it any fair portion of the dove and serpent

attributes.

I found here, too, a wealthy manufacturer, who had written many

valuable pamphlets on popular subjects. He said: "Now that the

progress of public opinion was beginning to make the Church and the

Army narrower fields for the younger sons of 'noble' families, they

sometimes wish to enter into trade; but, beside the aversion which had

been instilled into them for many centuries, they had rarely patience

and energy for the apprenticeship requisite to give the needed

knowledge of the world and habits of labor." Of Cobden he said: "He

is inferior in acquirements to very many of his class, as he is

self-educated and had everything to learn after he was grown up;

but in clear insight there is none like him." A man of very little

education, whom I met a day or two after in the stage-coach, observed

to me: "Bright is far the more eloquent of the two, but Cobden is

more felt, just _because_ his speeches are so plain, so merely

matter-of-fact and to the point."

We became acquainted also with Dr. Gregory, Professor of Chemistry

at Edinburgh, a very enlightened and benevolent man, who in many ways

both instructed and benefited us. He is the friend of Liebig, and one

of his chief representatives here.

We also met a fine specimen of the noble, intelligent Scotchwoman,

such as Walter Scott and Burns knew how to prize. Seventy-six years

have passed over her head, only to prove in her the truth of my

theory, that we need never grow old. She was "brought up" in the

animated and intellectual circle of Edinburgh, in youth an apt

disciple, in her prime a bright ornament of that society. She had been

an only child, a cherished wife, an adored mother, unspoiled by love

in any of these relations, because that love was founded on knowledge.

In childhood she had warmly sympathized in the spirit that animated

the American Revolution, and Washington had been her hero; later, the

interest of her husband in every struggle for freedom had cherished

her own; she had known in the course of her long life many eminent

men, knew minutely the history of efforts in that direction, and

sympathized now in the triumph of the people over the Corn Laws, as

she had in the American victories, with as much ardor as when a girl,

though with a wiser mind. Her eye was full of light, her manner and

gesture of dignity; her voice rich, sonorous, and finely modulated;

her tide of talk marked by candor, justice, and showing in every

sentence her ripe experience and her noble, genial nature. Dear to

memory will be the sight of her in the beautiful seclusion of her home

among the mountains, a picturesque, flower-wreathed dwelling, where

affection, tranquillity, and wisdom were the gods of the hearth, to

whom was offered no vain oblation. Grant us more such women, Time!

Grant to men the power to reverence, to seek for such!

Our visit to Mr. Wordsworth was very pleasant. He also is seventy-six,

but his is a florid, fair old age. He walked with us to all his

haunts about the house. Its situation is beautiful, and the "Rydalian

Laurels" are magnificent. Still I saw abodes among the hills that

I should have preferred for Wordsworth, more wild and still, more

romantic; the fresh and lovely Rydal Mount seems merely the retirement

of a gentleman, rather than the haunt of a poet. He showed his

benignity of disposition in several little things, especially in

his attentions to a young boy we had with us. This boy had left the

Circus, exhibiting its feats of horsemanship in Ambleside "for that

day only," at his own desire to see Wordsworth, and I feared he would

be disappointed, as I know I should have been at his age, if, when

called to see a poet, I had found no Apollo, flaming with youthful

glory, laurel-crowned and lyre in hand, but, instead, a reverend old

man clothed in black, and walking with cautious step along the level

garden-path; however, he was not disappointed, but seemed in timid

reverence to recognize the spirit that had dictated "Laodamia" and

"Dion,"--and Wordsworth, in his turn, seemed to feel and prize a

congenial nature in this child.

Taking us into the house, he showed us the picture of his sister,

repeating with much expression some lines of hers, and those so famous

of his about her, beginning, "Five years," &c.; also his own picture,

by Inman, of whom he spoke with esteem.

Mr. Wordsworth is fond of the hollyhock, a partiality scarcely

deserved by the flower, but which marks the simplicity of his

tastes. He had made a long avenue of them of all colors, from the

crimson-brown to rose, straw-color, and white, and pleased himself

with having made proselytes to a liking for them among his neighbors.

I never have seen such magnificent fuchsias as at Ambleside, and there

was one to be seen in every cottage-yard. They are no longer here

under the shelter of the green-house, as with us, and as they used to

be in England. The plant, from its grace and finished elegance, being

a great favorite of mine, I should like to see it as frequently and of

as luxuriant a growth at home, and asked their mode of culture, which

I here mark down, for the benefit of all who may be interested. Make

a bed of bog-earth and sand, put down slips of the fuchsia, and give

them a great deal of water,--this is all they need. People have them

out here in winter, but perhaps they would not bear the cold of our

Januaries.

Mr. Wordsworth spoke with, more liberality than we expected of the

recent measures about the Corn Laws, saying that "the principle was

certainly right, though as to whether existing interests had been as

carefully attended to as was just, he was not prepared to say." His

neighbors were pleased to hear of his speaking thus mildly, and hailed

it as a sign that he was opening his mind to more light on these

subjects. They lament that his habits of seclusion keep him much

ignorant of the real wants of England and the world. Living in this

region, which is cultivated by small proprietors, where there is

little poverty, vice, or misery, he hears not the voice which cries so

loudly from other parts of England, and will not be stilled by sweet

poetic suasion or philosophy, for it is the cry of men in the jaws of

destruction.

It was pleasant to find the reverence inspired by this great and pure

mind warmest nearest home. Our landlady, in heaping praises upon him,

added, constantly, "And Mrs. Wordsworth, too." "Do the people here,"

said I, "value Mr. Wordsworth most because he is a celebrated writer?"

"Truly, madam," said she, "I think it is because he is so kind a

neighbor."

"True to the kindred points of Heaven and Home."

Dr. Arnold, too,--who lived, as his family still live, here,--diffused

the same ennobling and animating spirit among those who knew him in

private, as through the sphere of his public labors.

Miss Martineau has here a charming residence; it has been finished

only a few months, but all about it is in unexpectedly fair order, and

promises much beauty after a year or two of growth. Here we found her

restored to full health and activity, looking, indeed, far better than

she did when in the United States. It was pleasant to see her in this

home, presented to her by the gratitude of England for her course of

energetic and benevolent effort, and adorned by tributes of affection

and esteem from many quarters. From the testimony of those who were

with her in and since her illness, her recovery would seem to be of

as magical quickness and sure progress as has been represented. At

the house of Miss Martineau I saw Milman, the author, I must not say

poet,--a specimen of the polished, scholarly man of the world.

We passed one most delightful day in a visit to Langdale,--the scene

of "The Excursion,"--and to Dungeon-Ghyll Force. I am finishing my

letter at Carlisle on my way to Scotland, and will give a slight

sketch of that excursion, and one which occupied another day, from

Keswick to Buttermere and Crummock Water, in my next.

LETTER III.

WESTMORELAND.--LANGDALE.--DUNGEON-GHYLL FORCE.--KESWICK.--CARLISLE.--

BRANXHOLM.--SCOTT.--BURNS.

Edinburgh, 20th September, 1846.

I have too long delayed writing up my journal.--Many interesting

observations slip from recollection if one waits so many days:

yet, while travelling, it is almost impossible to find an hour when

something of value to be seen will not be lost while writing.

I said, in closing my last, that I would write a little more about

Westmoreland; but so much, has happened since, that I must now dismiss

that region with all possible brevity.

The first day of which I wished to speak was passed in visiting

Langdale, the scene of Wordsworth's "Excursion." Our party of eight

went in two of the vehicles called cars or droskas,--open carriages,

each drawn by one horse. They are rather fatiguing to ride in, but

good to see from. In steep and stony places all alight, and the driver

leads the horse: so many of these there are, that we were four or

five hours in going ten miles, including the pauses when we wished to

_look_.

The scenes through which we passed are, indeed, of the most wild and

noble character. The wildness is not savage, but very calm. Without

recurring to details, I recognized the tone and atmosphere of that

noble poem, which was to me, at a feverish period in my life, as pure

waters, free breezes, and cold blue sky, bringing a sense of eternity

that gave an aspect of composure to the rudest volcanic wrecks of

time.

We dined at a farm-house of the vale, with its stone floors, old

carved cabinet (the pride of a house of this sort), and ready

provision of oaten cakes. We then ascended a near hill to the

waterfall called Dungeon-Ghyll Force, also a subject touched by

Wordsworth's Muse. You wind along a path for a long time, hearing the

sound of the falling water, but do not see it till, descending by a

ladder the side of the ravine, you come to its very foot. You find

yourself then in a deep chasm, bridged over by a narrow arch of rock;

the water falls at the farther end in a narrow column. Looking up, you

see the sky through a fissure so narrow as to make it look very pure

and distant. One of our party, passing in, stood some time at the foot

of the waterfall, and added much to its effect, as his height gave a

measure by which to appreciate that of surrounding objects, and his

look, by that light so pale and statuesque, seemed to inform the place

with the presence of its genius.

Our circuit homeward from this grand scene led us through some

lovely places, and to an outlook upon the most beautiful part of

Westmoreland. Passing over to Keswick we saw Derwentwater, and near it

the Fall of Lodore. It was from Keswick that we made the excursion

of a day through Borrowdale to Buttermere and Crummock Water, which

I meant to speak of, but find it impossible at this moment. The mind

does not now furnish congenial colors with which to represent the

vision of that day: it must still wait in the mind and bide its time,

again to emerge to outer air.

At Keswick we went to see a model of the Lake country which gives an

excellent idea of the relative positions of all objects. Its maker had

given six years to the necessary surveys and drawings. He said that

he had first become acquainted with the country from his taste for

fishing, but had learned to love its beauty, till the thought arose of

making this model; that while engaged in it, he visited almost every

spot amid the hills, and commonly saw both sunrise and sunset upon

them; that he was happy all the time, but almost too happy when he saw

one section of his model coming out quite right, and felt sure at last

that he should be quite successful in representing to others the home

of his thoughts. I looked upon him as indeed an enviable man, to have

a profession so congenial with his feelings, in which he had been so

naturally led to do what would be useful and pleasant for others.

Passing from Keswick through a pleasant and cultivated country, we

paused at "fair Carlisle," not voluntarily, but because we could not

get the means of proceeding farther that day. So, as it was one in

which

"The sun shone fair on Carlisle wall,"

we visited its Cathedral and Castle, and trod, for the first time, in

some of the footsteps of the unfortunate Queen of Scots.

Passing next day the Border, we found the mosses all drained, and

the very existence of sometime moss-troopers would have seemed

problematical, but for the remains of Gilnockie,--the tower of Johnnie

Armstrong, so pathetically recalled in one of the finest of the

Scottish ballads. Its size, as well as that of other keeps, towers,

and castles, whose ruins are reverentially preserved in Scotland,

gives a lively sense of the time when population was so scanty, and

individual manhood grew to such force. Ten men in Gilnockie were

stronger then in proportion to the whole, and probably had in them

more of intelligence, resource, and genuine manly power, than ten

regiments now of red-coats drilled to act out manoeuvres they do not

understand, and use artillery which needs of them no more than the

match to go off and do its hideous message.

Farther on we saw Branxholm, and the water in crossing which the

Goblin Page was obliged to resume his proper shape and fly, crying,

"Lost, lost, lost!" Verily these things seem more like home than one's

own nursery, whose toys and furniture could not in actual presence

engage the thoughts like these pictures, made familiar as household

words by the most generous, kindly genius that ever blessed this

earth.

On the coach with us was a gentleman coming from London to make his

yearly visit to the neighborhood of Burns, in which he was born. "I

can now," said he, "go but once a year; when a boy, I never let a week

pass without visiting the house of Burns." He afterward observed, as

every step woke us to fresh recollections of Walter Scott, that Scott,

with all his vast range of talent, knowledge, and activity, was a poet

of the past only, and in his inmost heart wedded to the habits of a

feudal aristocracy, while Burns is the poet of the present and the

future, the man of the people, and throughout a genuine man. This is

true enough; but for my part I cannot endure a comparison which by a

breath of coolness depreciates either. Both were wanted; each

acted the important part assigned him by destiny with a wonderful

thoroughness and completeness. Scott breathed the breath just fleeting

from the forms of ancient Scottish heroism and poesy into new,--he

made for us the bridge by which we have gone into the old Ossianic

hall and caught the meaning just as it was about to pass from us for

ever. Burns is full of the noble, genuine democracy which seeks not

to destroy royalty, but to make all men kings, as he himself was, in

nature and in action. They belong to the same world; they are pillars

of the same church, though they uphold its starry roof from opposite

sides. Burns was much the rarer man; precisely because he had most of

common nature on a grand scale; his humor, his passion, his sweetness,

are all his own; they need no picturesque or romantic accessories to

give them due relief: looked at by all lights they are the same. Since

Adam, there has been none that approached nearer fitness to stand

up before God and angels in the naked majesty of manhood than Robert

Burns;--but there was a serpent in his field also! Yet but for his

fault we could never have seen brought out the brave and patriotic

modesty with which he owned it. Shame on him who could bear to think

of fault in this rich jewel, unless reminded by such confession.

We passed Abbotsford without stopping, intending to go there on our

return. Last year five hundred Americans inscribed their names in its

porter's book. A raw-boned Scotsman, who gathered his weary length

into our coach on his return from a pilgrimage thither, did us the

favor to inform us that "Sir Walter was a vara intelligent mon," and

the guide-book mentions "the American Washington" as "a worthy old

patriot." Lord safe us, cummers, what news be there!

This letter, meant to go by the Great Britain, many interruptions

force me to close, unflavored by one whiff from the smoke of Auld

Reekie. More and better matter shall my next contain, for here and

in the Highlands I have passed three not unproductive weeks, of which

more anon.

LETTER IV.

EDINBURGH, OLD AND NEW.--SCOTT AND BURNS.--DR. ANDREW COMBE.--AMERICAN

RE-PUBLISHING.--THE BOOKSELLING TRADE.--THE MESSRS. CHAMBERS.--DE

QUINCEY THE OPIUM-EATER.--DR. CHALMERS.

Edinburgh, September 22d, 1846.

The beautiful and stately aspect of this city has been the theme of

admiration so general that I can only echo it. We have seen it to the

greatest advantage both from Calton Hill and Arthur's Seat, and our

lodgings in Princess Street allow us a fine view of the Castle, always

impressive, but peculiarly so in the moonlit evenings of our first

week here, when a veil of mist added to its apparent size, and at the

same time gave it the air with which Martin, in his illustrations

of "Paradise Lost," has invested the palace which "rose like an

exhalation."

On this our second visit, after an absence of near a fortnight in the

Highlands, we are at a hotel nearly facing the new monument to Scott,

and the tallest buildings of the Old Town. From my windows I see

the famous Kirk, the spot where the old Tolbooth was, and can almost

distinguish that where Porteous was done to death, and other objects

described in the most dramatic part of "The Heart of Mid-Lothian." In

one of these tall houses Hume wrote part of his History of England,

and on this spot still nearer was the home of Allan Ramsay. A thousand

other interesting and pregnant associations present themselves every

time I look out of the window.

In the open square between us and the Old Town is to be the terminus

of the railroad, but as the building will be masked with trees, it

is thought it will not mar the beauty of the place; yet Scott could

hardly have looked without regret upon an object that marks so

distinctly the conquest of the New over the Old, and, appropriately

enough, his statue has its back turned that way. The effect of the

monument to Scott is pleasing, though without strict unity of thought

or original beauty of design. The statue is too much hid within the

monument, and wants that majesty of repose in the attitude and drapery

which a sitting figure should have, and which might well accompany the

massive head of Scott. Still the monument is an ornament and an honor

to the city. This is now the fourth that has been erected within two

years to commemorate the triumphs of genius. Monuments that have risen

from the same idea, and in such quick succession, to Schiller, to

Goethe, to Beethoven, and to Scott, signalize the character of the new

era still more happily than does the railroad coming up almost to the

foot of Edinburgh Castle.

The statue of Burns has been removed from the monument erected in his

honor, to one of the public libraries, as being there more accessible

to the public. It is, however, entirely unworthy its subject, giving

the idea of a smaller and younger person, while we think of Burns

as of a man in the prime of manhood, one who not only promised, but

_was_, and with a sunny glow and breadth, of character of which this

stone effigy presents no sign.

A Scottish gentleman told me the following story, which would afford

the finest subject for a painter capable of representing the glowing

eye and natural kingliness of Burns, in contrast to the poor, mean

puppets he reproved.

Burns, still only in the dawn of his celebrity, was invited to dine

with one of the neighboring so-called gentry (unhappily quite void

of true gentle blood). On arriving he found his plate set in the

servants' room!! After dinner he was invited into a room where guests

were assembled, and, a chair being placed for him at the lower end of

the board, a glass of wine was offered, and he was requested to sing

one of his songs for the entertainment of the company. He drank off

the wine, and thundered forth in reply his grand song, "For a' that

and a' that," with which it will do no harm to refresh the memories

of our readers, for we doubt there may be, even in Republican America,

those who need the reproof as much, and with far less excuse, than had

that Scottish company.

"Is there, for honest poverty,

That hangs his head, and a' that?

The coward slave, we pass him by,

We dare be poor for a' that!

For a' that, and a' that,

Our toils obscure, and a' that,

The rank is but the guinea's stamp,

The man's the gowd for a' that.

"What tho' on hamely fare we dine,

Wear hoddin gray, and a' that;

Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine,

A man's a man for a' that!

For a' that, and a' that,

Their tinsel show, and a' that,

The honest man, though, e'er sae poor

Is king o' men for a' that.

"Ye see yon birkie, ca'd a lord,

Wha struts, and stares, and a' that;

Tho' hundreds worship at his word,

He's but a coof for a' that;

For a' that, and a' that,

His ribbon, star, and a' that,

The man of independent mind,

He looks and laughs at a' that.

"A prince can make a belted knight,

A marquis, duke, and a' that;

But an honest man's aboon his might

Guid faith, he maunna fa' that!

For a' that, and a' that,

Their dignities, and a' that,

The pith o' sense and pride o' worth

Are higher ranks than a' that.

"Then let us pray that, come it may,

As come it will for a' that,

That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth,

May bear the gree, and a' that;

For a' that, and a' that,

It's coming yet for a' that,

That man to man, the wide warld o'er,

Shall brothers be for a' that."

And, having finished this prophecy and prayer, Nature's nobleman left

his churlish entertainers to hide their diminished heads in the home

they had disgraced.

We have seen all the stock lions. The Regalia people still crowd

to see, though the old natural feelings from which they so long lay

hidden seem almost extinct. Scotland grows English day by day. The

libraries of the Advocates, Writers to the Signet, &c., are fine

establishments. The University and schools are now in vacation; we are

compelled by unwise postponement of our journey to see both Edinburgh

and London at the worst possible season. We should have been here in

April, there in June. There is always enough to see, but now we find

a majority of the most interesting persons absent, and a stagnation in

the intellectual movements of the place.

We had, however, the good fortune to find Dr. Andrew Combe, who,

though a great invalid, was able and disposed for conversation at

this time. I was impressed with great and affectionate respect by

the benign and even temper of his mind, his extensive and accurate

knowledge, accompanied, as such should naturally be, by a large

and intelligent liberality. Of our country he spoke very wisely and

hopefully, though among other stories with which we, as Americans, are

put to the blush here, there is none worse than that of the conduct of

some of our publishers toward him. One of these stories I had heard

in New York, but supposed it to be exaggerated till I had it from the

best authority. It is of one of our leading houses who were publishing

on their own account and had stereotyped one of his works from an

early edition. When this work had passed through other editions and

he had for years been busy in reforming and amending it, he applied

to this house to republish from the later and better edition. They

refused. In vain he urged that it was not only for his own reputation

as an author that he was anxious, but for the good of the great

country through which writings on such, important subjects were to be

circulated, that they might have the benefit of his labors and best

knowledge. Such arguments on the stupid and mercenary tempers of those

addressed fell harmless as on a buffalo's hide might a gold-tipped

arrow. The book, they thought, answered THEIR purpose sufficiently,

for IT SELLS. Other purpose for a book they knew none. And as to the

natural rights of an author over the fruits of his mind, the distilled

essence of a life consumed in the severities of mental labor, they had

never heard of such a thing. His work was in the market, and he had

no more to do with it, that they could see, than the silkworm with the

lining of one of their coats.

Mr. Greeley, the more I look at this subject, the more I must

maintain, in opposition to your views, that the publisher cannot, if

a mere tradesman, be a man of honor. It is impossible in the nature of

things. He _must_ have some idea of the nature and value of literary

labor, or he is wholly unfit to deal with its products. He cannot

get along by occasional recourse to paid critics or readers; he must

himself have some idea what he is about. One partner, at least, in

the firm, must be a man of culture. All must understand enough to

appreciate their position, and know that he who, for his sordid aims,

circulates poisonous trash amid a great and growing people, and

makes it almost impossible for those whom Heaven has appointed as its

instructors to do their office, are the worst of traitors, and to be

condemned at the bar of nations under a sentence no less severe than

false statesmen and false priests. This matter should and must be

looked to more conscientiously.

Dr. Combe, repelled by all this indifference to conscience and natural

equity in the firm who had taken possession of his work, applied to

others. But here he found himself at once opposed by the invisible

barrier that makes this sort of tyranny so strong and so pernicious.

"It was the understanding among the trade that they were not to

interfere with one another; indeed, they could have no chance," &c.,

&c. When at last he did get the work republished in another part of

the country less favorable for his purposes, the bargain made as to

the pecuniary part of the transaction was in various ways so evaded,

that, up to this time, he has received no compensation from that

widely-circulated work, except a lock of Spurzheim's hair!!

I was pleased to hear the true view expressed by one of the Messrs.

Chambers. These brothers have worked their way up to wealth and

influence by daily labor and many steps. One of them is more the

business man, the other the literary curator of their Journal. Of this

Journal they issue regularly eighty thousand copies, and it is

doing an excellent work, by awakening among the people a desire for

knowledge, and, to a considerable extent, furnishing them with good

materials. I went over their fine establishment, where I found more

than a hundred and fifty persons, in good part women, employed, all

in well-aired, well-lighted rooms, seemingly healthy and content.

Connected with the establishment is a Savings Bank, and evening

instruction in writing, singing, and arithmetic. There was also a

reading-room, and the same valuable and liberal provision we had

found attached to some of the Manchester warehouses. Such accessories

dignify and gladden all kinds of labor, and show somewhat of the true

spirit of human brotherhood in the employer. Mr. Chambers said he

trusted they should never look on publishing _chiefly_ as _business_,

or a lucrative and respectable employment, but as the means of mental

and moral benefit to their countrymen. To one so wearied and disgusted

as I have been by vulgar and base avowals on such subjects, it was

very refreshing to hear this from the lips of a successful publisher.

Dr. Combe spoke with high praise of Mr. Hurlbart's book, "Human Rights

and their Political Guaranties," which was published at the Tribune

office. He observed that it was the work of a real thinker, and

extremely well written. It is to be republished here. Dr. Combe said

that it must make its way slowly, as it could interest those only who

were willing to read thoughtfully; but its success was sure at last.

He also spoke with, great interest and respect of Mrs. Farnham,

of whose character and the influence she has exerted on the female

prisoners at Sing Sing he had heard some account.

A person of a quite different character and celebrity is De Quincey,

the English Opium-Eater, and who lately has delighted us again with

the papers in Blackwood headed "Suspiria de Profundis." I had the

satisfaction, not easily attainable now, of seeing him for some hours,

and in the mood of conversation. As one belonging to the Wordsworth,

and Coleridge constellation, (he too is now seventy-six years of age,)

the thoughts and knowledge of Mr. De Quincey lie in the past; and

oftentimes he spoke of matters now become trite to one of a later

culture. But to all that fell from his lips, his eloquence, subtile

and forcible as the wind, full and gently falling as the evening dew,

lent a peculiar charm. He is an admirable narrator, not rapid, but

gliding along like a rivulet through a green meadow, giving and taking

a thousand little beauties not absolutely required to give his story

due relief, but each, in itself, a separate boon.

I admired, too, his urbanity, so opposite to the rapid, slang,

Vivian-Greyish style current in the literary conversation of the

day. "Sixty years since," men had time to do things better and more

gracefully than now.

With Dr. Chalmers we passed a couple of hours. He is old now, but

still full of vigor and fire. We had an opportunity of hearing a

fine burst of indignant eloquence from him. "I shall blush to my very

bones," said he, "if the _Chaarrch_"--(sound these two _rr_'s with

as much burr as possible and you will get at an idea of his mode of

pronouncing that unweariable word)--"if the Chaarrch yields to the

storm." He alluded to the outcry now raised against the Free Church by

the Abolitionists, whose motto is, "Send back the money," i.e. money

taken from the American slaveholders. Dr. Chalmers felt that, if they

did not yield from conviction, they must not to assault. His manner

of speaking on this subject gave me an idea of the nature of his

eloquence. He seldom preaches now.

A fine picture was presented by the opposition of figure and

lineaments between a young Indian, son of the celebrated Dwarkanauth

Tagore, who happened to be there that morning, and Dr. Chalmers, as

they were conversing together. The swarthy, half-timid, yet elegant

face and form of the Indian made a fine contrast with the florid,

portly, yet intellectually luminous appearance of the Doctor; half

shepherd, half orator, he looked a Shepherd King opposed to some

Arabian story-teller.

I saw others in Edinburgh of a later date who haply gave more valuable

as well as fresher revelations of the spirit, and whose names may be

by and by more celebrated than those I have cited; but for the present

this must suffice. It would take a week, if I wrote half I saw or

thought in Edinburgh, and I must close for to-day.

LETTER V.

PERTH.--TRAVELLING BY COACH.--LOCH LEVEN.--QUEEN MARY.--LOCH

KATRINE.--THE TROSACHS.--ROWARDENNAN.--A NIGHT ON BEN LOMOND.--SCOTCH

PEASANTRY.

Birmingham, September 30th, 1846.

I was obliged to stop writing at Edinburgh before the better half

of my tale was told, and must now begin there again, to speak of an

excursion into the Highlands, which occupied about a fortnight.

We left Edinburgh, by coach for Perth, and arrived there about three

in the afternoon. I have reason to be very glad that I visit this

island before the reign of the stage-coach is quite over. I have been

constantly on the top of the coach, even one day of drenching rain,

and enjoy it highly. Nothing can be more inspiring than this swift,

steady progress over such smooth roads, and placed so high as to

overlook the country freely, with the lively flourish of the horn

preluding every pause. Travelling by railroad is, in my opinion, the

most stupid process on earth; it is sleep without the refreshment of

sleep, for the noise of the train makes it impossible either to read,

talk, or sleep to advantage. But here the advantages are immense; you

can fly through this dull trance from one beautiful place to another,

and stay at each during the time that would otherwise be spent on

the road. Already the artists, who are obliged to find their home

in London, rejoice that all England is thrown open to them for

sketching-ground, since they can now avail themselves of a day's

leisure at a great distance, and with choice of position, whereas

formerly they were obliged to confine themselves to a few "green, and

bowery" spots in the neighborhood of the metropolis. But while in the

car, it is to me that worst of purgatories, the purgatory of dulness.

Well, on the coach we went to Perth, and passed through Kinross, and

saw Loch Leven, and the island where Queen Mary passed those sorrowful

months, before her romantic escape under care of the Douglas. As this

unhappy, lovely woman stands for a type in history, death, time, and

distance do not destroy her attractive power. Like Cleopatra, she has

still her adorers; nay, some are born to her in each new generation of

men. Lately she has for her chevalier the Russian Prince Labanoff, who

has spent fourteen years in studying upon all that related to her,

and thinks now that he can make out a story and a picture about the

mysteries of her short reign, which shall satisfy the desire of her

lovers to find her as pure and just as she was charming. I have only

seen of his array of evidence so much, as may be found in the pages of

Chambers's Journal, but that much does not disturb the original view I

have taken of the case; which is, that from a princess educated

under the Medici and Guise influence, engaged in the meshes of secret

intrigue to favor the Roman Catholic faith, her tacit acquiescence,

at least, in the murder of Darnley, after all his injurious conduct

toward her, was just what was to be expected. From a poor, beautiful

young woman, longing to enjoy life, exposed both by her position

and her natural fascinations to the utmost bewilderment of flattery,

whether prompted by interest or passion, her other acts of folly are

most natural, and let all who feel inclined harshly to condemn her

remember to

"Gently scan your brother man,

Still gentler sister woman."

Surely, in all the stern pages of life's account-book there is none on

which a more terrible price is exacted for every precious endowment.

Her rank and reign only made her powerless to do good, and exposed her

to danger; her talents only served to irritate her foes and disappoint

her friends. This most charming of women was the destruction of her

lovers: married three times, she had never any happiness as a wife,

but in both the connections of her choice found that she had either

never possessed or could not retain, even for a few weeks, the love of

the men she had chosen, so that Darnley was willing to risk her life

and that of his unborn child to wreak his wrath upon Rizzio, and after

a few weeks with Bothwell she was heard "calling aloud for a knife to

kill herself with." A mother twice, and of a son and daughter,

both the children were brought forth in loneliness and sorrow, and

separated from her early, her son educated to hate her, her

daughter at once immured in a convent. Add the eighteen years of her

imprisonment, and the fact that this foolish, prodigal world, when

there was in it one woman fitted by her grace and loveliness to charm

all eyes and enliven all fancies, suffered her to be shut up to water

with her tears her dull embroidery during all the full rose-blossom of

her life, and you will hardly get beyond this story for a tragedy, not

noble, but pallid and forlorn.

Such were the bootless, best thoughts I had while looking at the dull

blood-stain and blocked-up secret stair of Holyrood, at the ruins of

Loch Leven castle, and afterward at Abbotsford, where the picture

of Queen Mary's head, as it lay on the pillow when severed from the

block, hung opposite to a fine caricature of "Queen Elizabeth dancing

high and disposedly." In this last the face is like a mask, so

frightful is the expression of cold craft, irritated, vanity, and the

malice of a lonely breast in contrast with the attitude and elaborate

frippery of the dress. The ambassador looks on dismayed; the little

page can scarcely control the laughter which swells his boyish cheeks.

Such can win the world which, better hearts (and such Mary's was, even

if it had a large black speck in it) are most like to lose.

That was a most lovely day on which we entered Perth, and saw in full

sunshine its beautiful meadows, among them the North-Inch, the famous

battle-ground commemorated in "The Fair Maid of Perth," adorned with

graceful trees like those of the New England country towns. In the

afternoon we visited the modern Kinfauns, the stately home of Lord

Grey. The drive to it is most beautiful, on the one side the Park,

with noble heights that skirt it, on the other through a belt of trees

was seen the river and the sweep of that fair and cultivated country.

The house is a fine one, and furnished with taste, the library large,

and some good works in marble. Among the family pictures one

arrested my attention,--the face of a girl full of the most pathetic

sensibility, and with no restraint of convention upon its ardent,

gentle expression. She died young.

Returning, we were saddened, as almost always on leaving any such

place, by seeing such swarms of dirty women and dirtier children at

the doors of the cottages almost close by the gate of the avenue. To

the horrors and sorrows of the streets in such places as Liverpool,

Glasgow, and, above all, London, one has to grow insensible or die

daily; but here in the sweet, fresh, green country, where there seems

to be room for everybody, it is impossible to forget the frightful

inequalities between the lot of man and man, or believe that God can

smile upon a state of things such as we find existent here. Can any

man who has seen these things dare blame the Associationists for their

attempt to find prevention against such misery and wickedness in our

land? Rather will not every man of tolerable intelligence and good

feeling commend, say rather revere, every earnest attempt in that

direction, nor dare interfere with any, unless he has a better to

offer in its place?

Next morning we passed on to Crieff, in whose neighborhood we visited

Drummond Castle, the abode, or rather one of the abodes, of Lord

Willoughby D'Eresby. It has a noble park, through which you pass by

an avenue of two miles long. The old keep is still ascended to get

the fine view of the surrounding country; and during Queen Victoria's

visit, her Guards were quartered there. But what took my fancy most

was the old-fashioned garden, full of old shrubs and new flowers, with

its formal parterres in the shape of the family arms, and its clipped

yew and box trees. It was fresh from a shower, and now glittering and

fragrant in bright sunshine.

This afternoon we pursued our way, passing through the plantations

of Ochtertyre, a far more charming place to my taste than Drummond

Castle, freer and more various in its features. Five or six of these

fine places lie in the neighborhood of Crieff, and the traveller may

give two or three days to visiting them with a rich reward of delight.

But we were pressing on to be with the lakes and mountains rather, and

that night brought us to St. Fillan's, where we saw the moon shining

on Loch Earn.

All this region, and that of Loch Katrine and the Trosachs, which

we reached next day, Scott has described exactly in "The Lady of

the Lake"; nor is it possible to appreciate that poem, without going

thither, neither to describe the scene better than he has done after

you have seen it. I was somewhat disappointed in the pass of the

Trosachs itself; it is very grand, but the grand part lasts so

little while. The opening view of Loch Katrine, however, surpassed,

expectation. It was late in the afternoon when we launched our little

boat there for Ellen's isle.

The boatmen recite, though not _con molto espressione_, the parts of

the poem which describe these localities. Observing that they spoke of

the personages, too, with the same air of confidence, we asked if they

were sure that all this really happened. They replied, "Certainly; it

had been told from father to son through so many generations." Such

is the power of genius to interpolate what it will into the regular

log-book of Time's voyage.

Leaving Loch Katrine the following day, we entered Rob Roy's country,

and saw on the way the house where Helen MacGregor was born, and Rob

Roy's sword, which is shown in a house by the way-side.

We came in a row-boat up Loch Katrine, though both on that and Loch

Lomond you _may_ go in a hateful little steamer with a squeaking

fiddle to play Rob Roy MacGregor O. I walked almost all the way

through the pass from Loch Katrine to Loch Lomond; it was a distance

of six miles; but you feel as if you could walk sixty in that pure,

exhilarating air. At Inversnaid we took boat again to go down Loch

Lomond to the little inn of Rowardennan, from which the ascent is made

of Ben Lomond, the greatest elevation in these parts. The boatmen

are fine, athletic men; one of those with us this evening, a handsome

young man of two or three and twenty, sang to us some Gaelic songs.

The first, a very wild and plaintive air, was the expostulation of a

girl whose lover has deserted her and married another. It seems he is

ashamed, and will not even look at her when they meet upon the road.

She implores him, if he has not forgotten all that scene of bygone

love, at least to lift up his eyes and give her one friendly glance.

The sad _crooning_ burden of the stanzas in which she repeats this

request was very touching. When the boatman had finished, he hung his

head and seemed ashamed of feeling the song too much; then, when we

asked for another, he said he would sing another about a girl that was

happy. This one was in three parts. First, a tuneful address from a

maiden to her absent lover; second, his reply, assuring her of his

fidelity and tenderness; third, a strain which expresses their joy

when reunited. I thought this boatman had sympathies which would

prevent his tormenting any poor women, and perhaps make some one

happy, and this was a pleasant thought, since probably in the

Highlands, as elsewhere,

"Maidens lend an ear too oft

To the careless wooer;

Maidens' hearts are _always soft_;

Would that men's were truer!"

I don't know that I quote the words correctly, but that is the sum and

substance of a masculine report on these matters.

The first day at Rowardennan not being propitious for ascending the

mountain, we went down the lake to sup, and got very tired in various

ways, so that we rose very late next morning. Their we found a day

of ten thousand for our purpose; but unhappily a large party had come

with the sun and engaged all the horses, so that, if we went, it must

be on foot. This was something of an enterprise for me, as the ascent

is four miles, and toward the summit quite fatiguing; however, in the

pride of newly gained health and strength, I was ready, and set forth

with Mr. S. alone. We took no guide,--and the people of the house did

not advise it, as they ought. They told us afterward they thought the

day was so clear that there was no probability of danger, and they

were afraid of seeming mercenary about it. It was, however, wrong, as

they knew what we did not, that even the shepherds, if a mist comes

on, can be lost in these hills; that a party of gentlemen were so a

few weeks before, and only by accident found their way to a house on

the other side; and that a child which had been lost was not found for

five days, long after its death. We, however, nothing doubting, set

forth, ascending slowly, and often stopping to enjoy the points of

view, which are many, for Ben Lomond consists of a congeries of hills,

above which towers the true Ben, or highest peak, as the head of a

many-limbed body.

On reaching the peak, the night was one of beauty and grandeur such as

imagination never painted. You see around you no plain ground, but on

every side constellations or groups of hills exquisitely dressed in

the soft purple of the heather, amid which gleam the lakes, like eyes

that tell the secrets of the earth and drink in those of the heavens.

Peak beyond peak caught from the shifting light all the colors of the

prism, and on the farthest, angel companies seemed hovering in their

glorious white robes.

Words are idle on such subjects; what can I say, but that it was a

noble vision, that satisfied the eye and stirred the imagination in

all its secret pulses? Had that been, as afterward seemed likely,

the last act of my life, there could not have been a finer decoration

painted on the curtain which was to drop upon it.

About four o'clock we began our descent. Near the summit the traces of

the path are not distinct, and I said to Mr. S., after a while, that

we had lost it. He said, he thought that was of no consequence, we

could find oar way down. I thought however it was, as the ground was

full of springs that were bridged over in the pathway. He accordingly

went to look for it, and I stood still because so tired that I did not

like to waste any labor. Soon he called to me that he had found it,

and I followed in the direction where he seemed to be. But I mistook,

overshot it, and saw him no more. In about ten minutes I became

alarmed, and called him many times. It seems he on his side did the

same, but the brow of some hill was between us, and we neither saw nor

heard one another.

I then thought I would make the best of my way down, and I should

find him upon my arrival. But in doing so I found the justice of my

apprehension about the springs, as, so soon as I got to the foot of

the hills, I would sink up to my knees in bog, and have to go up the

hills again, seeking better crossing-places. Thus I lost much time;

nevertheless, in the twilight I saw at last the lake and the inn of

Rowardennan on its shore.

Between me and it lay direct a high heathery hill, which I afterward

found is called "The Tongue," because hemmed in on three sides by a

watercourse. It looked as if, could I only get to the bottom of that,

I should be on comparatively level ground. I then attempted to descend

in the watercourse, but, finding that impracticable, climbed on the

hill again and let myself down by the heather, for it was very steep

and full of deep holes. With great fatigue I got to the bottom, but

when about to cross the watercourse there, it looked so deep in the

dim twilight that I felt afraid. I got down as far as I could by the

root of a tree, and threw down a stone; it sounded very hollow, and

made me afraid to jump. The shepherds told me afterward, if I had, I

should probably have killed myself, it was so deep and the bed of the

torrent full of sharp stones.

I then tried to ascend the hill again, for there was no other way to

get off it, but soon sunk down utterly exhausted. When able to get up

again and look about me, it was completely dark. I saw far below me

a light, that looked about as big as a pin's head, which I knew to be

from the inn at Rowardennan, but heard no sound except the rush of the

waterfall, and the sighing of the night-wind.

For the first few minutes after I perceived I had got to my night's

lodging, such as it was, the prospect seemed appalling. I was very

lightly clad,--my feet and dress were very wet,--I had only a little

shawl to throw round me, and a cold autumn wind had already come, and

the night-mist was to fall on me, all fevered and exhausted as I was.

I thought I should not live through the night, or, if I did, live

always a miserable invalid. There was no chance to keep myself warm by

walking, for, now it was dark, it would be too dangerous to stir.

My only chance, however, lay in motion, and my only help in myself,

and so convinced was I of this, that I did keep in motion the whole

of that long night, imprisoned as I was on such a little perch of that

great mountain. _How_ long it seemed under such circumstances only

those can guess who may have been similarly circumstanced. The mental

experience of the time, most precious and profound,--for it was indeed

a season lonely, dangerous, and helpless enough for the birth of

thoughts beyond what the common sunlight will ever call to being,--may

be told in another place and time.

For about two hours I saw the stars, and very cheery and companionable

they looked; but then the mist fell, and I saw nothing more, except

such apparitions as visited Ossian on the hill-side when he went out

by night and struck the bosky shield and called to him the spirits of

the heroes and the white-armed maids with their blue eyes of grief. To

me, too, came those visionary shapes; floating slowly and gracefully,

their white robes would unfurl from the great body of mist in which

they had been engaged, and come upon me with a kiss pervasively cold

as that of death. What they might have told me, who knows, if I

had but resigned myself more passively to that cold, spirit-like

breathing!

At last the moon rose. I could not see her, but the silver light

filled the mist. Then I knew it was two o'clock, and that, having

weathered out so much of the night, I might the rest; and the hours

hardly seemed long to me more.

It may give an idea of the extent of the mountain to say that, though

I called every now and then with all my force, in case by chance some

aid might be near, and though no less than twenty men with their dogs

were looking for me, I never heard a sound except the rush of the

waterfall and the sighing of the night-wind, and once or twice the

startling of the grouse in the heather. It was sublime indeed,--a

never-to-be-forgotten presentation of stern, serene realities.

At last came the signs of day, the gradual clearing and breaking up;

some faint sounds, from I know not what. The little flies, too, arose

from their bed amid the purple heather, and bit me; truly they were

very welcome to do so. But what was my disappointment to find the mist

so thick, that I could see neither lake nor inn, nor anything to guide

me. I had to go by guess, and, as it happened, my Yankee method served

me well. I ascended the hill, crossed the torrent in the waterfall,

first drinking some of the water, which was as good at that time as

ambrosia. I crossed in that place because the waterfall made steps,

as it were, to the next hill; to be sure they were covered with water,

but I was already entirely wet with the mist, so that it did not

matter. I then kept on scrambling, as it happened, in the right

direction, till, about seven, some of the shepherds found me. The

moment they came, all my feverish strength departed, though, if

unaided, I dare say it would have kept me up during the day; and they

carried me home, where my arrival relieved my friends of distress

far greater than I had undergone, for I had had my grand solitude, my

Ossianic visions, and the pleasure of sustaining myself while they

had only doubt amounting to anguish and a fruitless search through the

night.

Entirely contrary to my expectations, I only suffered for this a few

days, and was able to take a parting look at my prison, as I went

down the lake, with feelings of complacency. It was a majestic-looking

hill, that Tongue, with the deep ravines on either side, and the

richest robe of heather I have seen anywhere.

Mr. S. gave all the men who were looking for me a dinner in the barn,

and he and Mrs. S. ministered to them, and they talked of Burns,

really the national writer, and known by them, apparently, as none

other is, and of hair-breadth escapes by flood and fell. Afterwards

they were all brought up to see me, and it was pleasing indeed to

observe the good breeding and good, feeling with which they deported

themselves on the occasion. Indeed, this adventure created quite an

intimate feeling between us and the people there. I had been much

pleased, with them before, in attending one of their dances, on

account of the genuine independence and politeness of their conduct.

They were willing and pleased to dance their Highland flings and

strathspeys for our amusement, and did it as naturally and as freely

as they would have offered the stranger the best chair.

All the rest must wait a while. I cannot economize time to keep up

my record in any proportion with what happens, nor can I get out of

Scotland on this page, as I had intended, without utterly slighting

many gifts and graces.

LETTER VI.

INVERARY.--THE ARGYLE FAMILY.--DUMBARTON.--SUNSET ON THE

CLYDE.--GLASGOW.--DIRT AND INTELLECT.--STIRLING.--"THE SCOTTISH

CHIEFS."--STIRLING CASTLE.--THE TOURNAMENT GROUND.--EDINBURGH.--JAMES

SIMPSON.--INFANT SCHOOLS.--FREE BATHS.--MELROSE.--ABBOTSFORD.--WALTER

SCOTT.--DRYBURGH ABBEY.--SCOTT'S TOMB.

Paris, November, 1846.

I am very sorry to leave such a wide gap between my letters, but I was

inevitably prevented from finishing one that was begun for the steamer

of the 4th of November. I then hoped to prepare one after my arrival

here in time for the Hibernia, but a severe cold, caught on the way,

unfitted me for writing. It is now necessary to retrace my steps a

long way, or lose sight of several things it has seemed desirable to

mention to friends in America, though I shall make out my narrative

more briefly than if nearer the time of action.

If I mistake not, my last closed just as I was looking back on the

hill where I had passed the night in all the miserable chill and amid

the ghostly apparitions of a Scotch mist, but which looked in the

morning truly beautiful, and (had I not known it too well to be

deceived) alluring, in its mantle of rich pink heath, the tallest and

most full of blossoms we anywhere saw, and with, the waterfall making

music by its side, and sparkling in the morning sun.

Passing from Tarbet, we entered the grand and beautiful pass of

Glencoe,--sublime with purple shadows with bright lights between, and

in one place showing an exquisitely silent and lonely little lake.

The wildness of the scene was heightened by the black Highland cattle

feeding here and there. They looked much at home, too, in the park at

Inverary, where I saw them next day. In Inverary I was disappointed.

I found, indeed, the position of every object the same as indicated

in the "Legend of Montrose," but the expression of the whole seemed

unlike what I had fancied. The present abode of the Argyle family is

a modern structure, and boasts very few vestiges of the old romantic

history attached to the name. The park and look-out upon the lake are

beautiful, but except from the brief pleasure derived from these, the

old cross from Iona that stands in the market-place, and the drone of

the bagpipe which lulled me to sleep at night playing some melancholy

air, there was nothing to make me feel that it was "a far cry to

Lochawe," but, on the contrary, I seemed in the very midst of the

prosaic, the civilized world.

Leaving Inverary, we left that day the Highlands too, passing through.

Hell Glen, a very wild and grand defile. Taking boat then on Loch

Levy, we passed down the Clyde, stopping an hour or two on our way at

Dumbarton. Nature herself foresaw the era of picture when she made and

placed this rock: there is every preparation for the artist's stealing

a little piece from her treasures to hang on the walls of a room. Here

I saw the sword of "Wallace wight," shown by a son of the nineteenth

century, who said that this hero lived about fifty years ago, and who

did not know the height of this rock, in a cranny of which he lived,

or at least ate and slept and "donned his clothes." From the top of

the rock I saw sunset on the beautiful Clyde, animated that day by an

endless procession of steamers, little skiffs, and boats. In one of

the former, the Cardiff Castle, we embarked as the last light of day

was fading, and that evening found ourselves in Glasgow.

I understand there is an intellectual society of high merit in

Glasgow, but we were there only a few hours, and did not see any one.

Certainly the place, as it may be judged of merely from the general

aspect of the population and such objects as may be seen in the

streets, more resembles an _Inferno_ than any other we have yet

visited. The people are more crowded together, and the stamp of

squalid, stolid misery and degradation more obvious and appalling.

The English and Scotch do not take kindly to poverty, like those of

sunnier climes; it makes them fierce or stupid, and, life presenting

no other cheap pleasure, they take refuge in drinking.

I saw here in Glasgow persons, especially women, dressed in dirty,

wretched tatters, worse than none, and with an expression of listless,

unexpecting woe upon their faces, far more tragic than the inscription

over the gate of Dante's _Inferno_. To one species of misery suffered

here to the last extent, I shall advert in speaking of London.

But from all these sorrowful tokens I by no means inferred the

falsehood of the information, that here was to be found a circle

rich in intellect and in aspiration. The manufacturing and commercial

towns, burning focuses of grief and vice, are also the centres of

intellectual life, as in forcing-beds the rarest flowers and fruits

are developed by use of impure and repulsive materials. Where evil

comes to an extreme, Heaven seems busy in providing means for the

remedy. Glaring throughout Scotland and England is the necessity for

the devoutest application of intellect and love to the cure of ills

that cry aloud, and, without such application, erelong help _must_ be

sought by other means than words. Yet there is every reason to hope

that those who ought to help are seriously, though, slowly, becoming

alive to the imperative nature of this duty; so we must not cease

to hope, even in the streets of Glasgow, and the gin-palaces of

Manchester, and the dreariest recesses of London.

From Glasgow we passed to Stirling, like Dumbarton endeared to the

mind which cherishes the memory of its childhood more by association

with Miss Porter's Scottish Chiefs, than with "Snowdon's knight and

Scotland's king." We reached the town too late to see the castle

before the next morning, and I took up at the inn "The Scottish

Chiefs," in which I had not read a word since ten or twelve years old.

We are in the habit now of laughing when this book is named, as if it

were a representative of what is most absurdly stilted or bombastic,

but now, in reading, my maturer mind was differently impressed from

what I expected, and the infatuation with which childhood and early

youth regard this book and its companion, "Thaddeus of Warsaw," was

justified. The characters and dialogue are, indeed, out of nature, but

the sentiment that animates them is pure, true, and no less healthy

than noble. Here is bad drawing, bad drama, but good music, to which

the unspoiled heart will always echo, even when the intellect has

learned to demand a better organ for its communication.

The castle of Stirling is as rich as any place in romantic

associations. We were shown its dungeons and its Court of Lions,

where, says tradition, wild animals, kept in the grated cells

adjacent, were brought out on festival occasions to furnish

entertainment for the court. So, while lords and ladies gay danced and

sang above, prisoners pined and wild beasts starved below. This, at

first blush, looks like a very barbarous state of things, but, on

reflection, one does not find that we have outgrown it in our present

so-called state of refined civilization, only the present way of

expressing the same facts is a little different. Still lords and

ladies dance and sing, unknowing or uncaring that the laborers who

minister to their luxuries starve or are turned into wild beasts. Man

need not boast his condition, methinks, till he can weave his costly

tapestry without the side that is kept under looking thus sadly.

The tournament ground is still kept green and in beautiful order, near

Stirling castle, as a memento of the olden time, and as we passed

away down the beautiful Firth, a turn of the river gave us a very

advantageous view of it. So gay it looked, so festive in the bright

sunshine, one almost seemed to see the graceful forms of knight and

noble pricking their good steeds to the encounter, or the stalwart

Douglas, vindicating his claim to be indeed a chief by conquest in the

rougher sports of the yeomanry.

Passing along the Firth to Edinburgh, we again passed two or three

days in that beautiful city, which I could not be content to leave

so imperfectly seen, if I had not some hope of revisiting it when the

bright lights that adorn it are concentred there. In summer almost

every one is absent. I was very fortunate to see as many interesting

persons as I did. On this second visit I saw James Simpson, a

well-known philanthropist, and leader in the cause of popular

education. Infant schools have been an especial care of his, and

America as well as Scotland has received the benefit of his thoughts

on this subject. His last good work has been to induce the erection

of public baths in Edinburgh, and the working people of that place,

already deeply in his debt for the lectures he has been unwearied

in delivering for their benefit, have signified their gratitude by

presenting him with a beautiful model of a fountain in silver as an

ornament to his study. Never was there a place where such a measure

would be more important; if cleanliness be akin to godliness,

Edinburgh stands at great disadvantage in her devotions. The impure

air, the terrific dirt which surround the working people, must make

all progress in higher culture impossible; and I saw nothing which

seemed to me so likely to have results of incalculable good, as this

practical measure of the Simpsons in support of the precept,

"Wash and be clean every whit."

We returned into England by the way of Melrose, not content to leave

Scotland without making our pilgrimage to Abbotsford. The universal

feeling, however, has made this pilgrimage so common that there

is nothing left for me to say; yet, though I had read a hundred

descriptions, everything seemed new as I went over this epitome of

the mind and life of Scott. As what constitutes the great man is more

commonly some extraordinary combination and balance of qualities, than

the highest development of any one, so you cannot but here be struck

anew by the singular combination in Scott's mind of love for the

picturesque and romantic with the plainest common sense,--a delight

in heroic excess with the prudential habit of order. Here the most

pleasing order pervades emblems of what men commonly esteem disorder

and excess.

Amid the exquisite beauty of the ruins of Dryburgh, I saw with regret

that Scott's body rests in almost the only spot that is not green, and

cannot well be made so, for the light does not reach it. That is not

a fit couch for him who dressed so many dim and time-worn relics with

living green.

Always cheerful and beneficent, Scott seemed to the common eye in like

measure prosperous and happy, up to the last years, and the chair in

which, under the pressure of the sorrows which led to his death, he

was propped up to write when brain and eye and hand refused their

aid, the product remaining only as a guide to the speculator as to the

workings of the mind in case of insanity or approaching imbecility,

would by most persons be viewed as the only saddening relic of his

career. Yet when I recall some passages in the Lady of the Lake, and

the Address to his Harp, I cannot doubt that Scott had the full share

of bitter in his cup, and feel the tender hope that we do about other

gentle and generous guardians and benefactors of our youth, that in a

nobler career they are now fulfilling still higher duties with serener

mind. Doubtless too they are trusting in us that we will try to fill

their places with kindly deeds, ardent thoughts, nor leave the world,

in their absence,

"A dim, vast vale of tears,

Vacant and desolate."

LETTER VII.

NEWCASTLE.--DESCENT INTO A COAL-MINE.--YORK WITH ITS MINSTER.--

SHEFFIELD.--CHATSWORTH.--WARWICK CASTLE.--LEAMINGTON AND

STRATFORD.--SHAKESPEARE.--BIRMINGHAM.--GEORGE DAWSON.--JAMES

MARTINEAU.--W.J. FOX.--W.H. CHARMING AND THEODORE PARKER.--LONDON

AND PARIS.

Paris, 1846.

We crossed the moorland in a heavy rain, and reached Newcastle late

at night. Next day we descended into a coal-mine; it was quite an odd

sensation to be taken off one's feet and dropped down into darkness

by the bucket. The stables under ground had a pleasant Gil-Blas air,

though the poor horses cannot like it much; generally they see the

light of day no more after they have once been let down into these

gloomy recesses, but pass their days in dragging cars along the rails

of the narrow passages, and their nights in eating hay and dreaming

of grass!! When we went down, we meant to go along the gallery to the

place where the miners were then at work, but found this was a walk

of a mile and a half, and, beside the weariness of picking one's steps

slowly along by the light of a tallow candle, too wet and dirty an

enterprise to be undertaken by way of amusement; so, after proceeding

half a mile or so, we begged to be restored to our accustomed level,

and reached it with minds slightly edified and face and hands much

blackened.

Passing thence we saw York with its Minster, that dream of beauty

realized. From, its roof I saw two rainbows, overarching that lovely

country. Through its aisles I heard grand music pealing. But how

sorrowfully bare is the interior of such a cathedral, despoiled of the

statues, the paintings, and the garlands that belong to the Catholic

religion! The eye aches for them. Such a church is ruined by

Protestantism; its admirable exterior seems that of a sepulchre; there

is no correspondent life within.

Within the citadel, a tower half ruined and ivy-clad, is life that

has been growing up while the exterior bulwarks of the old feudal time

crumbled to ruin. George Fox, while a prisoner at York for obedience

to the dictates of his conscience, planted here a walnut, and the tall

tree that grew from it still "bears testimony" to his living presence

on that spot. The tree is old, but still bears nuts; one of them was

taken away by my companions, and may perhaps be the parent of a tree

somewhere in America, that shall shade those who inherit the spirit,

if they do not attach importance to the etiquettes, of Quakerism.

In Sheffield I saw the sooty servitors tending their furnaces. I saw

them, also on Saturday night, after their work was done, going to

receive its poor wages, looking pallid and dull, as if they had spent

on tempering the steel that vital force that should have tempered

themselves to manhood.

We saw, also, Chatsworth, with its park and mock wilderness, and

immense conservatory, and really splendid fountains and wealth of

marbles. It is a fine expression of modern luxury and splendor, but

did not interest me; I found little there of true beauty or grandeur.

Warwick Castle is a place entirely to my mind, a real representative

of the English aristocracy in the day of its nobler life. The grandeur

of the pile itself, and its beauty of position, introduce you fitly

to the noble company with which the genius of Vandyke has peopled

its walls. But a short time was allowed to look upon these nobles,

warriors, statesmen, and ladies, who gaze upon us in turn with such a

majesty of historic association, yet was I very well satisfied. It

is not difficult to see men through the eyes of Vandyke. His way of

viewing character seems superficial, though commanding; he sees the

man in his action on the crowd, not in his hidden life; he does not,

like some painters, amaze and engross us by his revelations as to the

secret springs of conduct. I know not by what hallucination I forebore

to look at the picture I most desired to see,--that of Lucy, Countess

of Carlisle. I was looking at something else, and when the fat,

pompous butler announced her, I did not recognize her name from his

mouth. Afterward it flashed across me, that I had really been standing

before her and forgotten to look. But repentance was too late; I had

passed the castle gate to return no more.

Pretty Leamington and Stratford are hackneyed ground. Of the latter

I only observed what, if I knew, I had forgotten, that the room where

Shakespeare was born has been an object of devotion only for forty

years. England has learned much of her appreciation of Shakespeare

from the Germans. In the days of innocence, I fondly supposed that

every one who could understand English, and was not a cannibal, adored

Shakespeare and read him on Sundays always for an hour or more, and on

week days a considerable portion of the time. But I have lived to know

some hundreds of persons in my native land, without finding ten who

had any direct acquaintance with their greatest benefactor, and I dare

say in England as large an experience would not end more honorably

to its subjects. So vast a treasure is left untouched, while men are

complaining of being poor, because they have not toothpicks exactly to

their mind.

At Stratford I handled, too, the poker used to such good purpose by

Geoffrey Crayon. The muse had fled, the fire was out, and the poker

rusty, yet a pleasant influence lingered even in that cold little

room, and seemed to lend a transient glow to the poker under the

influence of sympathy.