It is a comparatively short ride from Chester to Liverpool, and of
course we went to the Adelphi Hotel, so frequently heard mentioned our
side of the water; and if ever an American desires a specimen of the
tenacity with which the English cling to old fashions, their lack of
what we style enterprise, let him examine this comfortable, curious,
well kept, inconvenient old house, or rather collection of old
residences rolled into a hotel, and reminding him of some of the
old-fashioned hotels of thirty years ago at the lower part of the city
of New York.
Upon the first day of my arrival I was inexperienced enough to come down
with my wife to the "ladies' coffee-room" as it is called, before
ordering breakfast. Let it be kept in mind that English hotels generally
have no public dining and tea rooms, as in America, where a gentleman
with ladies can take their meals; that solemn performance is done by
Englishmen in the strictest privacy, except they are travelling alone,
when they take their solitary table in "the coffee-room," and look glum
and repellent upon the scene around at intervals of the different
courses of their well-served solitary dinner. Public dining-rooms,
however, are gradually coming into vogue at English hotels, and at the
Star and Garter, Richmond, I dined in one nearly as large as that of the
St. Nicholas, Fifth Avenue, or Parker House, crammed with chattering
guests and busy waiters; but that was of a pleasant Sunday, in the
height of the season, and the price I found, on settling the bill, fully
up to the American standard.
But at the Adelphi I came down in the innocence of my heart, expecting
to order a breakfast, and have it served with the American promptitude.
Alas! I had something to learn of the English manner of doing things.
Here was the Adelphi always full to overflowing with new arrivals _from_
America and new arrivals _for_ America, and here was its ladies'
coffee-room, a small square parlor with five small tables, capable of
accommodating, with close packing, fifteen people, and the whole room
served by one waiter. The room was full on my arrival; but fortunately,
while I was hesitating what course to pursue, a lady and gentleman who
had just finished breakfast arose, and we sat down at the table they had
vacated.
In the course of ten minutes the waiter cleared the table and spread a
fresh cloth. "'Ave you hordered breakfast, sir?"
"No! Bring me mutton chops, coffee, and boiled eggs, and hot biscuit,
for two."
"Beg pardon, sir; chops, heggs, coffee--a--biscuits, aren't any
_biscuits_, sir; send out and get some, sir."
Biscuits. I reflected; these benighted Britons don't understand what an
American hot biscuit is. "No biscuits! Well, muffins, then."
"Muffins, sir; yes, sir;" and he hastened away.
We waited five, ten, fifteen minutes; no breakfast. One party at another
table, who were waiting when we came in, were served with their
breakfast; in five minutes more a fresh plate of muffins to another
party; five more, and the waiter came to our table, put on two silver
forks, a salt-cellar, and castor, and smoothed out some invisible
wrinkles in the table linen, and went away; five minutes more, and he
was hustling among some knives at a sideboard.
"Waiter!"
"Yes, sir."
"Are you going to bring my breakfast?"
"Yes, sir; d'reckly, sir; chops most ready, sir."
Chops, always call 'em chops; never call for a _mutton_ chop in England;
the word is superfluous, and stamps you as an untravelled, inexperienced
Yankee at once.
Five minutes more, and he appeared, bearing a tray with the breakfast,
just thirty-five minutes after the order had been given for it. How long
would a hotel in America be patronized that made its guest wait one half
that time for four times as elaborate a repast?
I soon learned how to manage this matter better, especially as there are
no printed bills of fare, and the list comprises a very few standard
dishes. My plan was, on first rising in the morning, to write my order
for breakfast on a scrap of paper, ring for the chambermaid, hand it to
her with instructions to have that breakfast ready in the ladies'
coffee-room directly.
The English "directly" signifies the "right away" of America, or, more
correctly, immediately.
In half an hour afterwards, when we descended, the waiter, whose memory
had been strengthened by the judicious investment of a shilling, had the
cloth laid, and met us with, "Breakfast d'reckly, sir; Number 19; yes,
sir."
The breakfast, when it _did_ come, was perfect; the coffee or tea
excellent, pure and unadulterated; the chops,--not those American
affairs with one bite of meat the size of half a dollar, tough and ill
cooked, but large as the palm of one's hand,--cooked as they can only be
cooked in England; the muffins hot and smoking; the eggs fresh and
excellent; so that the old-fashioned framed engravings, mahogany
furniture, cramped quarters, and style of the past were forgotten in the
appeal to that god of the Englishman, the stomach.
All the viands at the Adelphi were of the best description, and
admirably cooked, but the bill of fare was limited to very few articles.
A sight of one of the printed bills of our great American hotels would
have driven the waiter crazy, while the utter disregard of time, or
rather of the value of time, in an English hotel, is the first thing
that strikes a newly-arrived American and stirs up his irritability.
Eating, with a Briton, is a very serious and solemn thing, and the
dinner one of the most important social ceremonies in the kingdom. You
cannot, if you will, in England, precipitate yourself into dyspepsia
with the ease that it is possible to do it in America. First, because
people will not be hurried into eating at railroad speed, and next,
because there is better cooking of standard dishes and fewer knickknacks
at the hotel tables than in America.
That inevitable pork fat that flavors everything after one gets west of
Buffalo, and a little off the line of travel that leads you through the
great hotels in the great cities in America,--that saleratus bread,
hayey tea, clammy pie-crust, and great whity-gray, soury baker's
bread,--that we, who have travelled at home, are so familiar with, give
place in England to articles prepared in a very different style. I have
often thought, when travelling at the West, that it was a sin for people
in the midst of such luxurious plenty to abuse it so abominably in
preparing it for the table.
With all the prejudices of a raw tourist upon his first visit, I must
acknowledge that during two months' constant travel in England and
Scotland, I never sat down to a single ill-cooked or badly-served meal;
and I have tested humble roadside inns in the country, as well as the
more pretentious hotels of the great cities. The bread of all kinds is
close-grained, sweet, well baked, and toothsome; the chops served
sometimes on napkins in hot dishes; muffins hot, with fresh, sweet
butter; butter served in thin pats, ornamented with parsley; broiled
chicken garnished with thin slices of delicately broiled ham, so thin
and free from grease as not to make a spot upon the pure damask table
linen; the dropped eggs upon crisp toast, are a triumph of gastronomic
art, and I need say no word in praise of English roast beef.
But there is one dish which can be had in perfection only in America,
and that is an American beefsteak. It is almost impossible to get a
decent beefsteak in England, out of the city of London, and there only
at a few well-known restaurants celebrated for that specialty. They
would think it almost sacrilege to cut beef into what is known in
America as sirloin or tenderloin steaks; and, with the few exceptions
above named, the art of broiling a steak in the American style, and
serving it with the thin, dry-fried potatoes, is unknown. But a truce to
the department of _cuisine_.
The one thing we all have most heard of in Liverpool is its great docks,
which are the grand and characteristic feature, indicating forcibly its
great commercial activity and enterprise by their magnitude, solidity,
and extent. These immense receptacles of merchandise extend for six
miles along the river, and have an enclosure of two hundred and
fifty-four acres, a quay space of over eighteen miles; then upon the
other side of the river are the Birkenhead docks, enclosing one hundred
and sixty-seven acres, and having a quay space of over nine miles,--thus
giving to Liverpool four hundred and twenty-one acres of enclosed docks,
and twenty-seven miles of quay space.
The enormous heaps of every species of merchandise seen at these places,
great ships from every part of the world, the perfect forest of masts,
immense storehouses, cargoes that in the general mass seem but mounds of
tea-chests, hillocks of coffee-bags, heaps of grain, piles of lumber, or
fragments of machinery in these great areas, but which in reality would
provision an army, build a navy, and outfit a manufacturing city, give
one the impression that Liverpool is the _entrepôt_ of the world, and
some idea of the enormous commerce of Great Britain.
Each dock has a chief, or master, who directs the position of all ships,
and superintends the flood-gates at the docking and undocking of
vessels; and strict regulations are enforced for the prevention of fire
and the preservation of property. The sea walls in front of some of
these docks are magnificent specimens of masonry, and each dock is
designated by a name; our American ships, I believe, favor that known as
Waterloo Dock. All the docks are surrounded by huge bonding warehouses
and merchandise sheds.
The Free Museum, which we visited in Liverpool, contains the largest and
finest collection of ornithological specimens in the world. It was
indeed superb, and I never saw such splendid taxidermical skill as was
displayed in the mounting and arranging of this vast collection of
thousands and thousands of birds, of every species (it seemed), from
every country in the known world.
For instance, there was every species of eagle known to exist,--gray,
white, bald, harpy, &c.,--poised, at rest, in flight, and in various
positions, as in life; every species of owl,--the gigantic, judge-like
fellow, horned, snowy, gray, black, white, and dwarf; every falcon,--a
magnificent set of specimens of this kind, as there was also of the crow
family, which were represented not only by elegant black specimens, but
by light-blue, and even white ones; every species of sea bird, from the
gigantic albatross to the Mother Cary's chicken; rare and curious birds;
great cassowaries; the biggest ostrich I ever saw,--he could have
carried a full-grown African upon his back with ease; great emus; a
skeleton of the now extinct dodo; a collection of every species of
pheasant, including specimens of the Himmalayan pheasant, the most
gorgeous bird in the whole collection, whose plumage actually glistened
and sparkled with glorious tints, like tinsel or precious stones--a
gorgeous combination of colors. Over _one hundred different varieties_
of humming-birds were displayed, and the same of parrots, who were in
green, blue, yellow, white, pink, and every uniform of feather that
could be imagined; magnificent lyre-birds, with tall, erected tail, in
exact form of Apollo's fabled lyre.
Great condors from South America; a brilliant array of every species of
birds of paradise; a whole army of toucans; a brilliant array of
flamingoes and all the vulture tribe; in fact, every kind of a bird you
had ever heard, seen pictures or read of, and very many you never had
heard of, were presented in this most wonderful collection; and one
pleasing feature besides the astonishing life-like positions they were
placed in, was the admirable neatness and order of the whole; not a
stain marred the clear plate glass of the great cases, not a speck of
dust could be seen in or about them; and upon the pedestal of each
specimen was pasted a label, in good plain English characters, giving
the English name of it, the country it came from, and, in many
instances, its habits, &c., so much better than the presumption acted
upon in some museums, that all the visitors are scientific Latin
scholars.
Besides this collection in the Museum, was one of minerals and corals,
and another of preserved specimens of natural history. In this last we
saw the entire skeleton of a large humpback whale, an entire skeleton of
the gigantic Irish elk (species extinct) discovered in an Irish bog, a
two-horned rhinoceros's head as big as a common hogshead, an enormous
and splendidly-mounted specimen of the gorilla, larger than any, I
think, that Du Chaillu exhibited in America, and a vast number of other
interesting curiosities I have not space to enumerate, the whole of
which was open free to the public, for pleasure or scientific study.
St. George's Hall, Liverpool, occupies a commanding position, and
presents a fine architectural appearance; the eastern side of it is four
hundred and twenty feet long, and has fifteen elegant Corinthian
columns, each forty-five feet in height. Within the portico are some
fine specimens of sculpture; the great saloon is one hundred and
sixty-seven feet long by seventy-seven feet high, and, it may be
interesting to Bostonians to know, contains the great organ of
Liverpool, which is _not so fine_ a one as the Boston one. The hall is
used for public meetings, musical festivals, &c.,--very much for the
same purposes as Boston Music Hall. In the immediate vicinity of St.
George's Hall are the famous Liverpool lions, colossal stone monsters,
the equestrian statue of Prince Albert, and other objects of interest.
It was in Liverpool that I first saw that evidence of real, terribly
suffering poverty that we read so much of as prevailing in the streets
of some of the great cities of England. I don't know but as squalid
misery might be found in New York city; but there need be but very
little of suffering by any one in America who has health and strength
sufficient to do a day's work. In Liverpool I saw groups of poor
creatures in the street, with starvation written in their countenances;
and one evening, having occasion to go to the telegraph office from the
hotel, I found that the streets absolutely swarmed with women, who were
actually annoying to the stranger by their persistent importunities.
Upon one occasion, being awakened by the sound of voices at one o'clock
at night, I looked across the square from my window, and there, opposite
an illuminated gin-shop, stood a group of three poor children, droning
through a song, in hopes of extracting a penny or two from those in or
about it; the oldest of the three could not have been a dozen years old,
and the youngest a little ragged girl of six.
There are people that one meets here whose appearance is an anguish to
the aching heart. We saw a poor woman, in a sleazy calico dress, with a
colorless, wan face, walking wearily up an ascent in one of the streets,
one afternoon, looking as if hope were dead within her heart; and
thinking it a case of need, my friend thrust a half crown into her hand,
saying, "Here! I think you need that." The poor creature looked at him
for a moment, and, without saying a word, burst into a flood of tears.
My experience with a little youngster of six, whose whole clothing was a
sort of tow shirt, and who persistently begged for a penny, which I at
last gave him, was somewhat different, for he dashed off with a shout,
and, as I paused on the corner of the street, an army of young
ragamuffins seemed to start out from every nook and cranny, with
outstretched arms and rags fluttering in the breeze, and shrill cries of
"Gi' me one, gi' me a penny," so that I was glad to take refuge in the
cab I had signalled.
From Liverpool, instead of starting directly for London, I concluded to
go to Scotland, passing through the Lake district _en route_. If the
reader will look at a good map of England and Scotland, and find Solway
Firth, which is on the west coast, and then look at the country
immediately south of it, occupying a portion of the counties of
Cumberland, Westmoreland, and Lancaster, he will see that it is full of
lakes and mountains, and will find, on visiting it, that its picturesque
attractions are unequalled in any other part of England. Additional
interest is imparted to the Lake district from its being the haunt and
home of many of England's most celebrated modern poets; and inspired,
doubtless, by its lovely views and quiet beauty of landscape, from here
have emanated some of their best compositions.
We left the main road in our journey westward at a place called
Oxenholme, and there took a 'bus, which carried us down to Lake
Windermere. This lake is a beautiful, irregular sheet of water, eleven
miles in length and about a mile wide, and numerous little islands add
to its picturesque appearance, the scenery being soft and graceful; the
gentle slopes and eminences that surround it, and the numerous
country-seats and cottages peeping from the wooded slopes, combining to
render it one of those pictures of quiet beauty that English poets
delight to sing of. The hotel that we rested at was perched upon a
commanding eminence, from which a delightful view of the lake and
surrounding scenery was obtained.
The pretty village of Bowness, near by, attracted my attention, this
being my first experience in an English country village; and its
appearance was in many respects novel, and unlike what I had expected.
First, I was struck at the entire absence of wooden houses; wood is
scarce here; the houses are all built of stone, about the color of our
stone walls in the country towns of New England, the stones about two
feet square, and irregular in shape. A little rustic porch of wood, with
the bark on, is sometimes built before the door, and this is overrun
with ivy, or some climbing and flowering plant. Some of the more
pretentious houses had stone porches; but all round and about them was
twined the beautiful ivy, honeysuckle, or other plants, from in and out
of which hopped and twittered the sparrows.
The village streets were quite narrow, and some as crooked as the letter
S, but all scrupulously clean. There were no great brush heaps, chips,
dirt-piles, or worn-out tin ware about any of these charming little
cottages or their vicinity; the appearance is as if the place had just
been thoroughly swept up and put in holiday trim. One reason for this
is, I suppose, that everything here is utilized that a penny can be
realized upon, and what we make a litter with about an American house of
the kind, is here either sold, or turned to account in some other way;
but certainly this air of extreme neatness, which I noticed in many
English villages, must, in a degree, account for some of their tourists'
disgust in America. I have not seen a man spit on the floor here since I
set foot in England, and the floors even of the village ale-houses are a
striking contrast to those of our New England country taverns: spitting
appears to be an American national habit.
After a quiet rest at this charming spot, we chartered a "dog cart," and
started on a ride of twenty-three miles, for Keswick; and of the
charming drives I have had, this surpasses all. The road ran along Lake
Windermere to Ambleside, Grassmere to Rydal Lake and Rydal Mount,
Nab-Scar up Dunmail Rise, in sight of Helvellyn, and past Thirlemere.
The views were beautiful--high hills, with little green-shored lakes set
in among them, like flashing brilliants; pretty little English villages,
like those already described; country-seats; little rustic arched stone
bridges, with dark, cool trout-streams running beneath them; grand
country-seats, with their imposing entrances and porters' lodges; old
ivy-clad churches, and here and there a tall grove of trees, with the
rooks cawing in their branches. The bridges, walls, cottages, and
churches, with their dark stone-work relieved by clustering ivy, had a
softened and pleasing appearance to the eye, while the fields and
meadows were a vivid green, and swarming with sheep and young lambs
frisking about them, or on the lawns and hill-sides.
The road continually gave us long reaches of these views, such as I had
never seen before, except in paintings, or in the better class of
English illustrated books. We passed Dove's Nest, where Mrs. Hemans
lived for a year; saw Miss Martineau's pleasant and picturesque
residence, Wordsworth's house at Rydal Mount, and went to the little
cottage on the borders of Grassmere Lake, where he dwelt when young, and
wrote much of his best poetry; then to the humble cottage, not far from
the lake shore, where De Quincey lived.
We drove to the churchyard in the little village of Grassmere, to visit
Wordsworth's grave,--a charming spot,--the little church situated near a
swift little stream, spanned by arched stone bridges, and surrounded by
scenery of rustic beauty. The grave of the poet is marked by a plain
stone, upon which are inscribed his own and his wife's name; and not far
from it is the grave of Hartley Coleridge. The secluded and beautiful
spot seemed a fitting resting-place for the poet; the gentle babble of
the little stream, the peaceful rustle of the grass in the churchyard,
and the modest little daisies that bloomed upon the graves, all seemed
to lend a tranquil and dreamy calm to the place, that made it appear as
if hallowed to the poet's repose.
Keswick, our next halting-place, is situated in a delightful vale,
between Derwentwater, or Keswick Lake, and Bassenthailewater, and
surrounded by an amphitheatre of hills. The elegant Keswick Hotel is
situated in a charming position, just out of the town, and in the centre
of the great circle of hills--one of the finest and best-kept houses of
the kind in all England. From its great coffee-room, or, as we should
call it, dining-room, which runs nearly half the length of one side of
the house, and the promenade, or balustrade, which extends the whole
length, is a most charming view, and the grounds of the house, which are
quite extensive, are laid out quite handsomely. First came an elegant,
close-shaven lawn, running one hundred feet from the hotel walk; then a
green terrace, descended by ornamental stone steps; then a broad gravel
walk, or mall, running round the estate; and from this another broad,
green lawn, sloping gently down to the little Greta River, a stream of
about twenty feet in width at this point, spanned, here and there, with
arched stone bridges, and dashing off into several noisy little
waterfalls.
From this little park of the hotel there is a pretty view of the village
of Keswick, with its dark stone-work houses, and English church tower,
rising above. Beyond, on every side in the huge circle, rise the lofty
hill-tops, and here and there elegant country-seats and villas sit
enthroned, midway as it were in the mountain's lap, and some high up
towards the breezy peaks. The verdant sides of the hill are pencilled
off, as it were, with hedges, marking the division lines of property,
and a winding road occasionally throws its brown tracks out amid the
green.
The Keswick Hotel is built of lighter colored stone than is generally
used for houses there, and is finished off in such an expensive and
ornamental style as to look quite like an English hall or country-seat.
It is owned, I think, by the railroad company whose road passes here.
The station is directly adjoining the house, and is reached by a
glass-roofed walk, thirty or forty feet long. And here let me remark,
that the excellent system, good management, and entire absence of noise,
shrieking, puffing, blowing, whistling, and all sorts of disturbance
that render a location near a railroad station in America so
objectionable, were most striking. I never should have taken note of any
arrival or departure of trains from any noise of them; for, save the
distant whistle as they approached, there was nothing to indicate their
presence.
The house is kept admirably. Such neatness, such thoroughness, and such
courteous attention, and such an incomparable _cuisine_ are, after one
gets accustomed to English deliberation, most gratifying to the tourist.
There can be but few better places for the American traveller to see and
enjoy English country life, and beautiful English scenery, than Keswick,
and at this beautiful house, in the month of May.
We rambled round through the quaint village of Keswick, and of a Sunday
morning took our way over two little stone bridges, on through a deep,
shady English lane, with the trees arching overhead, and the hedges
green at its side, to Crossthwaite Church, built several hundred years
ago, and with its rustic churchyard, beautiful and green, containing the
graves of the poet Southey and his wife. I sat upon an old slab in the
churchyard, and watched the pretty, rustic picture, as the bells sweetly
chimed, and the villagers came to church; some up the green lane by twos
and threes, others across the fields and over stiles, threading their
way among the churchyard mounds to the rural church.
Wordsworth describes in one of his poems the English rural church so
perfectly that I cannot forbear making the extract, it was so
appropriate to this, which stood amid
"The vales and hills whose beauties hither drew
The poet's steps."
In fact, Wordsworth's description might well be taken as a correct one
of almost any one of the picturesque English country churches that the
tourist sees here in the rural districts.
"Not framed to nice proportions was the pile,
But large and massy, for duration built;
With pillars crowded, and the roof upheld
By naked rafters, intricately crossed,
Like leafless underboughs in some thick grove,
All withered by the depth of shade above.
Admonitory texts inscribed the walls,
Each in its ornamental scroll enclosed;
Each also crowned with winged heads--a pair
Of rudely painted cherubim. The floor
Of nave and aisle, in unpretending guise,
Was occupied by oaken benches ranged
In seemly rows; the chancel only showed
Some inoffensive marks of earthly state
And vain distinction. A capacious pew
Of sculptured oak stood here, with drapery lined;
And marble monuments were here displayed
Upon the walls; and on the floor beneath
Sepulchral stones appeared, with emblems graven,
And foot-worn epitaphs, and some with small
And shining effigies of brass inlaid."
The marks of earthly state and vain distinction in the church were two
old stone effigies of Lord Derwentwater and his wife, died in 1527, with
a very legible inscription in brass setting forth that fact, and a white
marble effigy and monument to Southey.
In the churchyard is a plain black slate tombstone over the poet's
grave, on which is inscribed, "Here lies the body of Robert Southey, LL.
D., Poet Laureate. Born August 12, 1774; died March 21, 1843. For forty
years resident in this parish. Also, of Edith, his wife, born May 20,
1774; died November 16, 1837." Returning home, we passed "Greta Hall,"
the poet's residence, situated in Keswick, a plain mansion, upon a
slight elevation just back from the street, commanding a good view of
the surrounding scenery, and with a pleasant, grassy slope in front, and
beautiful shrubbery round and about its well-kept grounds.
Another pleasant walk was one taken up a winding road on the hill-side,
to a spot containing some of the Druidical remains found in different
parts of England. This is known here as the Druids' Temple, and consists
of a great circle of upright stones, six or eight feet in height, and
set up at regular intervals, with two or three placed together at one
side of the circle, as if for a gigantic altar. The spot for this temple
was admirably chosen by the ancient priests of the oak and mistletoe for
their mysterious rites, being upon a sort of natural platform, or hill
shaped like a truncated cone, while all round rises a natural circle of
lesser hills.
From Keswick to Penrith is a pleasant ride by rail. Near the station in
Penrith are the ruins of an old castle, for a long time the residence of
the Duke of Gloster, afterwards Richard III. From this spot we started
on a pleasant walk for Brougham Hall, the seat of Lord Brougham, about
two and a half miles distant, passing on the way a curious formation in
a field, denominated King Arthur's Round Table. It very much resembles
places in waste land in America, where a travelling circus has left its
ring-mark, that becomes overgrown with turf, only the circle was much
larger. This field and formation were carefully preserved by the owner,
it being, as we were informed, one of those places where the Knights of
King Arthur's time used to exercise themselves in the practice of
horsemanship and feats of arms. Perhaps it was.
Brougham Hall is situated upon a hill not far from the ruins of Brougham
Castle, and is an old and picturesque building, commanding, from its
elevated position, extensive views of the surrounding country. The place
was invested with a peculiar interest, as being the residence of one of
England's greatest orators and statesmen. His voice, since our visit to
his beautiful home, however, has been hushed forever, and he has laid
him down to sleep with the humblest.
Owing to its situation and prospects, the English guide-books style this
castle the "Windsor of the North." The grounds are beautifully laid
out--a broad lawn, bounded by a grove of old trees, with the rooks
cawing and circling about them; the great paved court-yard of the
castle, upon which the stables and servants' rooms looked out; a tower
on the stables, with clock and bell. From this, a Gothic arched gateway
opened into another square and more pretentious court-yard, upon which
the inner windows of his lordship's family looked. On one side of this
court-yard, the castle wall was completely covered with a thick, heavy
mass of beautiful ivy, the window spaces and turrets all being cut out
in shape, giving it a novel and picturesque appearance. In the centre of
this court-yard was a pretty grass plat.
The other front of the castle looked out upon the estate, and the view
from the windows upon this side was lovely. The fine lawn and trimly
laid out grounds, the gradually sloping landscapes stretching down to
the little River Eamont, winding on its tortuous way, and spanned, as
usual, by the pretty arched bridges, and the hills of Ullswater for a
background, made a charming prospect. There were so many novel and
interesting things to see in the different apartments of the castle,
that description will in some degree appear but tame.
We first went into the armor-room, used on great occasions as a
dining-hall. The apartment was not very large, but the walls and niches
were filled with rare and curious arms and armor of various periods, and
that had been used by historic personages. Here we were shown the skull
of one of Lord Brougham's ancestors, carefully preserved under a glass
case--a Knight Templar, who fought in the first crusade; this skull was
taken, together with a spur, from his coffin a few years ago, when the
tomb was opened, where he was found lying with crossed feet, as a good
Knight Templar should lie. At one end of this hall was a little raised
gallery about five feet from the floor, separated from the room by a
high Gothic screen, through which a view of the whole could be obtained.
This platform led to an elegant little octagon chamber, a few steps
higher up, occupied by Lord Brougham's son as a sort of lounging and
writing room. In this apartment were a few choice and beautiful
pictures; one of dogs fighting, presented to Lord Brougham by Louis
Napoleon, some original Titians, Vandykes, Tintorettos, Hogarth, &c.
We next visited the drawing-room, which was hung all over with beautiful
Gobelin tapestry, wrought to represent the four quarters of the globe in
productions, fruit, flowers, vegetation, and inhabitants--a royal gift
and an elegant sight. Here were also displayed a fine Sevres dessert
service, the gift of Louis Philippe, the great purses of state presented
to Lord Brougham when he was chancellor, as a sort of badge or insignia
of office. These were rigged on fire-frame screens, and were heavily
gold-embroidered affairs, twenty-four inches square or more, and worth
over three hundred pounds each. Here also was a glass case filled with
gifts made to Lord Brougham by different distinguished personages, such
as gold snuff-boxes from different cities, watches, a miniature, taken
from life, of the great Napoleon, presented by Joseph Bonaparte, &c.
The library, which was well stocked with choice books, was another
elegant room, most artistically arranged. Here portraits of great
writers, by great artists, occupied conspicuous positions; and among
other noteworthy pictures in this room was one of Hogarth, painted by
himself, a portrait of Voltaire and others.
The ceilings of these apartments were laid out in squares or diamond
indentation, elegantly frescoed, or carved from the solid oak, the color
formed to harmonize with the furniture and upholstery. The ceiling of
the drawing-room was occupied by the different quarterings of the coat
of arms of the Brougham family, in carved work of gold and colors, one
to each panel, very elaborately finished.
When we were escorted to the sleeping apartments, new surprises awaited
us. Here was one complete suite of rooms,--chambers, dressing-room,
closet, &c.,--all built and furnished in the early Norman style; the
old, carved, black, Norman bedstead, hundreds of years old; gilt leather
tapestry on the walls, decorated with Norman figures of knights, horses
and spearmen; huge Norman-looking chairs; great brass-bound oaken
chests, black with age and polished by the hand of time; rude tables;
chests of drawers; the doors and windows with semicircular arched
head-pieces, the former of massive black oak, with huge brass
chevron-shaped hinges, quaint door-handles, and bolts of the period
represented, and the various ornaments of zigzag, billet, nail-head,
&c., of Norman architecture appearing in every direction. Something of
the same style is seen in some of our Episcopal churches in America, but
it is more modernized. Here the Norman rooms were Norman in all details,
the dark, old wood was polished smooth as steel, the brass work upon the
doors and old chests gleamed like beaten gold, and the whole picture of
quaint, old tracery of arches and narrow windows, tapestry, carving, and
massive furniture, conveyed an impression of wealth, solidity, and
substantial beauty.
From the Norman rooms we passed into the Norman gallery, a corridor of
about fifty feet long and sixty feet wide, upon the sides of which are
painted a complete copy of the wonderous Bayeaux tapestry, wrought by
Matilda, queen of William I., and representing the conquest of
England--the only perfect copy said to have been made. The different
sleeping apartments were each furnished in different styles; in one was
an elegantly carved bedstead, of antique design, which cost four hundred
guineas, and was a present to Lord Brougham.
Lord Brougham's own study, and his favorite resort for reading, writing,
and thinking, was one of the plainest, most unpretending rooms in the
whole building; the furniture of the commonest kind, the pictures old
impressions of Hogarth's, Marriage a la Mode, and the Industrious and
Idle Apprentice, in cheap frames, and that familiar to Americans, of
Humboldt in his study. Two battered hats, hung upon a wooden hat-tree in
the corner,--hats that Punch has made almost historical, and certainly
easily recognizable wherever seen,--completed the picture of the simple
apartment where one of the greatest statesmen of the present generation
was wont to muse upon the affairs of one of the mightiest nations of the
world, at whose helm his was the guiding hand.
Returning on our way to the railway station, we lunched in the tap-room
of a little wayside inn, "The White Hart," just one of those places that
we Americans read of in English novels, and which are so unlike anything
we have at home, that we sometimes wonder if the description of them is
not also a part of the writer's creation. But here was one just as if it
had stepped out of an English story book; the little room for guests had
a clean tile floor ornamented with alternate red and white chalk
stripes, a fireplace of immense height and width, round which the
village gossips probably sipped their ale o' winter nights, the wooden
chairs and benches and the wooden table in the centre of the room,
spotlessly clean and white from repeated scrubbings; half a dozen long
clay tobacco pipes were in a tray on the table for smokers, clustering
vines and snowy curtains shaded the windows, and there was an air of
quiet comfort and somnolency about the place quite attractive to one who
was fatigued with a long and dusty walk.
The landlady entered with snowy apron, broad, clean cap, and of a figure
suggestive of the nutritious quality of English ale or good living, and,
like the Mrs. Fezziwig of Dickens,--
"One vast, substantial smile."
"What will you please to horder, sir?"
"Can we have some ale and crackers?"
"Hale, sir? Yes, sir. Bread and cheese, sir?" (_interrogatively_).
"Yes; bread and cheese."
"Two mugs and bread and cheese, Mary," said the landlady, as she bustled
out through the passage to a little wicket enclosure, behind which we
caught through the opening door the flash of tankards in gleaming rows,
and in a moment more "Mary" tripped in with two beer mugs, shining like
silver, and the snowy foam rising high and bubbling in creamy luxuriance
over their brims upon the little tray that bore them.
Good English home-brewed is said to be better than that served in
America; perhaps it may be that we "'aven't got the 'ops" to make as
good as they brew in England, or it may be that tasting it while the
spring breeze is blowing the perfume from the hedgerows and meadows in
at the windows of little road-side inns, which command a pretty rustic
view of gentle slope, green valley, and cool shade trees, has something
to do with one's judgment of it. The attack upon the ale of old England
and the loaf of sweet, close-grained bread and cheese, involved the
enormous outlay of ten pence, to which we added two more for Mary, an
even shilling, for which she dropped a grateful courtesy, and we
strolled on through the antiquated little town of Penrith, visiting the
churchyard and seeing the giant's grave, a space of eight feet between a
gigantic head and foot stone, each covered with nearly obliterated Runic
inscriptions.