Chatsworth, include a magnificent jet d'eau, rising from a long sheet of
water between lime-trees, to a height of about two hundred and sixty
feet, and a strange "weeping willow" of copper, which mysteriously pours
copious streams of water from every leaf and twig. This last curiosity
is in a sequestered gorge, where the rocks, placed with great labor and
ingenuity, lie about apparently in wild confusion, and reared in lofty
piles overgrown with moss and creeping plants.
From hence we issue by a curious gate-way of rock, turning upon a
pivot, and, passing lofty cliffs over which pour deliciously cool
cascades,--being, with much more in the formal gardens, the work of Sir
Joseph Paxton,--reach the great conservatory, one of the wonders of
Chatsworth. This magnificent house is a parallelogram in form, two
hundred and seventy-six feet in length by one hundred and twenty-three
feet in breadth, which rises from its basement, by two segmental curves
on every side, the apex of the first forming the base of the second, to
a height of seventy-six feet. So great is the extent of this wonderful
building that, from its portico, which is of Grecian character, a
carriage road runs from one end to the other, on either side of which,
flourishing, as it were, in the warm air of their native climes, are
lofty pines and palms of various kinds, dragon-trees, bananas, and many
such tropical growths, with papyrus, lotus, and other water plants in
tanks, and gorgeous flowering shrubs, making the air heavy with the rare
perfumes of the East. Before descending to the lower gardens, it is well
to survey from the terraces near the conservatory, or the quaint old
hunting-tower above, the wide prospect of Chatsworth Park, with the
palatial house by the Derwent, the picturesque village of Edensor on the
slope beyond, and the hills rising, covered with umbrageous groves of
trees. Below, in the pleasure gardens, passing many bright parterres, we
reach some very fine forest-trees, and notably a magnificent Spanish
chestnut, and then, beyond the great Emperor Fountain, pass trees
planted by Her Majesty (then Princess Victoria) in 1832, as well as by
her mother, the Duchess of Kent, by Prince Albert in 1843, and by the
Emperor of Russia and the Grand Duke Michael in 1816 and 1818. The
Italian garden, with its trim flower-beds, edged with privet, its
beautiful acacia and other trees, its wall-like hedges, its long still
basin and lofty fountain, surrounded by sculptured vases, is, from its
very characteristic features, among the most attractive and interesting
of the formal portion of the Chatsworth grounds.
We have given a brief and altogether imperfect account of the celebrated
gardens, but this is scarcely the place in which to dwell upon the rare
varieties of plants that are successfully cultivated there, or upon the
scientific skill which has enabled the finest growths of tropical climes
to flourish in Derwent Dale. Certainly no visitor who has lingered in
these enchanting places will fail to appreciate the graceful compliment
that Marshal Tallard, who was taken prisoner by Marlborough in 1704,
paid to the Duke of Devonshire on leaving the "Palace by the Peak." "My
Lord Duke," he said, "when I compute the days of my captivity in
England, I shall omit those I passed at Chatsworth."
KING ARTHUR'S LAND.
J. YOUNG.
[Cornwall, one of the last strongholds of the ancient Britons
in their island realm, and famous as the scene of many of the
adventures recorded of King Arthur and his Round Table Knights,
has much in itself worthy of description, and we give in the
following selection some appreciative Cornish notes.]
Large and merry was the party with which we sallied forth from Helstone
on a beautiful September day to visit the Lizard and Kynance Cove. The
drive itself is not especially interesting, but grand is the expanse of
sea and coast which bursts upon you when you come in sight of the Lizard
Point, which, be it remarked, is not considered to derive its name from
any fancy resemblance between its shape and that of a lizard, or from
the variegated color of the geological formation, but from the Cornish
word _Liazherd_, a headland.
This is in every way a remarkable piece of coast,--to geologists
especially so,--as it is the _one_ district in all Great Britain in
which the serpentine formation is to be met with, whereas most of the
Cornish coast is either granite or slate. Of the peculiar beauty of the
serpentine marble one has no occasion to speak, almost every one having
seen a specimen of it in one shape or another, either as forming part of
the internal decoration of a church, or as worked up into some trinket,
as a brooch, bracelet, cross, sleeve-link, or other nicknack. It is of
two kinds, the red and the green,--they are, indeed, frequently found
intermixed,--the former somewhat resembling porphyry, and the latter
verd antique. Frequently a vein of steatite, or soapstone, introduces a
lustrous white streak into the serpentine, and occasionally it is
crossed by a beautiful purple or lilac band.
The beauty of the serpentine district, especially at the Lizard and
Kynance Cove, can scarce be imagined by those who have not visited it,
as the perpetual friction of the waves has worn the rocks to such a
degree of smoothness as makes crag and cavern appear as if they had been
subjected to a high polish. The serpentine formation is said to begin at
the Manacles, a chain of rocks near Falmouth; but the marble of the
Manacles is not true serpentine, being a much duller green, unrelieved
by the bright red and purple tints. Serpentine is extensively employed
in the interior decorations of churches, particularly in the West of
England. It is also used for ornamental work in some of the London
shops; but any one desirous of seeing it without the trouble of a
journey to Cornwall may do so by going to the Geological Museum, Jermyn
Street, which contains beautiful specimens of serpentine both in the
architectural decorations and among the minerals collected for
exhibition.
Among other objects of interest in the neighborhood of the Lizard is
Llandewednack Church, famed as being the last edifice in which divine
service was ever performed in Cornish. This latter fact is interesting
to the philologist, but the naturalist and the epicure may care more to
know that Asparagus Island, close to Kynance Cove, is the habitat of
that vegetable which we deservedly reckon among the choicest of our
spring delicacies. The Lizard Lighthouse and the curious piece of coast
about Cadgwith are also worth a visit.
Our head-quarters at the time of making this excursion were at Helstone,
rather an interesting old town. One ancient custom still exists there,
in the observance of "Furry Day," supposed to be the corruption of
"Flora's Day," which festival is annually held on March 9, and is
celebrated by the principal inhabitants dancing and carrying flowers up
and down the High Street. The entertainment concludes with a ball in the
evening at the town hall or one of the inns. Harvest is gathered in with
great rejoicings in this part of the country, as in the whole West of
England. When the last sheaf is gathered in, the farmer or the principal
"hand" cries out, cutting off at the same time a handful of the corn and
holding it by the _neck_,--_i.e._, stalk,--
"I hab 'im! I hab 'im! I hab 'im!"
The answer is,--
"What hab ye? What hab ye? What hab ye?"
And the rejoinder,--
"A neck! A neck! A neck!"
A handful, called collectively "the neck," is preserved, decorated with
flowers and ribbons, in farm-kitchen or hall of manor-house, as it may
be, until the next harvest. There can be little doubt that we see in
these old customs the traces of some long forgotten heathen observances.
Near Helstone is the Looe Pool, the largest lake of Southwestern
England, and believed by some to be the lake described by Tennyson in
the "Morte d'Arthur," though the Rev. Mr. Hawker, in his "Footprints of
Former Men in Old Cornwall," claims the honor for the Dozmere or Dermary
Pool in North Cornwall. If the mysterious mere into which the magic
sword Excalibur was thrown by Sir Bedivere at the dying king's command,
and caught by the wondrous arm
"Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful,"
was but a creature of the poet's own brain, we fancy Dozmere Pool must
have been the spot intended, the laureate being, we believe, better
acquainted with northern than with western Cornwall. But if Tennyson
founded his descriptions of the passing away of Arthur on old chronicles
or romances partly handed down by tradition, we give our vote in favor
of the Looe, which, like the lake in the idyll, has on its bank the
remains of an ancient chapel, and in which the poet's description of
"The long wave lapping on the shingly beach,"
is completely realized.
It is also comparatively near to Land's End; and "the land of
Lyonnesse," so often alluded to in the legends of King Arthur, is said
to be a district now submerged by the sea, but formerly lying between
Land's End and Scilly. All these are but conjectures, however. More
reliable records of the past are to be found in the traces of
charcoal-burning in the woods round the Looe, which bear evidence of the
sacrifice of their trees made by the then owners of the property to the
royal cause during the civil wars. The Cornishmen were mostly Royalists.
Though the Looe is always spoken of as a _lake_, it is, in fact, only
divided from the sea by a narrow neck of land called the Bar, which once
in about every three years is cut through with a great amount of
ceremony, the mayor of Helstone asking permission of the lord of the
manor, and presenting him, as immemorial custom enjoins, with three
half-pence.
Porthleven, the little port or watering-place of Helstone, may be
interesting to Londoners as the shipping-place of much of the granite
used in building the Thames embankment.
Between the Lizard and Mount's Bay is a fine rugged piece of scenery,
the grandest headland of which is called Trewarvas Point. From it can be
seen the three noble capes of Mullion, Helzephron, and the Lizard; and
at Trewarvas itself are some romantic fantastic-shaped rocks, one of
which, from some fancied resemblance to an ecclesiastic in his robes,
has obtained the name of the "Bishop."
From Helstone we went to Falmouth, the enchanting beauty of the scenery
round which place is little known to those who have merely paid a flying
visit to that dirty seaport, and perhaps inspected the harbor. Falmouth
itself, as we suppose most persons know, is not a particularly ancient
town. Sir Walter Raleigh was the first to discover its great advantages
of situation, and it was at his recommendation that Queen Elizabeth had
the town and harbor built. But, comparatively modern as is Falmouth
itself, its neighborhood abounds in the associations of antiquity. A
gentleman's seat on the shore of the beautiful creek known as Helford
River still bears the name of Gyllindune,--_i.e._, "William's grave,"
from being a traditional burial-place of Prince William, son of Henry
I., and lost in the wreck of "The White Ship." This tradition goes far
to contradict a statement we met with in a number of a popular magazine,
to the effect that while the French popular mind retains many legends of
the highest antiquity, in England popular tradition does not stretch
back to a period more remote than the civil wars of the seventeenth
century....
The scenery in the neighborhood of Falmouth, especially on the banks of
Helford River, is beautiful in the extreme. Rugged wildness contrasted
with fertility, tropical foliage, and an endless succession of romantic
creeks and headlands, combine to form an earthly paradise. After several
delightful weeks in this picturesque region, we proceeded northwards to
the little town of Liskeard, in East Cornwall, in which we had been
recommended to pass a couple of days, on account of its extreme quietude
and seclusion. Our surprise may be easily imagined, therefore, when we
found, on reaching this tranquil spot, that we were in the midst of
Vanity Fair. We had not known, previously to our arrival, that the
second and third of October were the grand saturnalia of the inhabitants
of Liskeard and neighborhood, the annual honey fair, or St. Matthew's
Fair.
St. Matthew's Day, indeed, takes place a fortnight previously, but
doubtless the fair dates from a period antecedent to the alteration of
the style. The sale of honey, cattle, etc., only occupies the morning of
the first day; the afternoon, and, indeed, the night until a late hour,
and the whole of the second day, being devoted to pleasuring. Sweetmeats
of various kinds, particularly a sticky-looking kind of taffy, called,
we believe, "clidgy," seem the staple commodity of the pleasure fair.
Some of the little baskets and other ornaments made out of these
appetizing comestibles are really very elegant. Another great feature is
the "Cheap Jack," or rather "Cheap Jill," a young lady who, with
untiring lungs, sells by auction the whole day long fancy articles, of
which bead fly-traps seem by far the most numerous. Could not this
branch of female employment be suggested to those interested in
enlarging the sphere of women's occupations, as one especially
appropriate to the fair sex? The two qualifications most necessary for a
"Cheap Jack," volubility and mercantile smartness, are usually
considered, even by her detractors, as especial _fortes_ of woman.
From the windows of our hotel we saw, as from a stage-box, the humors of
the fair, and especially did we obtain an excellent view of "The
Enchanted Temple of Science and Mystery," and similar enlivening
exhibitions. The wrestling booth was, as might be expected in this
muscularly Christian country, a favorite resort. A peep within this
gladiatorial arena, however, only revealed very mild-looking athletes,
and spectators as grave as judges, looking much more as if they were at
meeting than at a fair. It must be stated, to the credit of the Liskeard
revellers, that everything went on with the utmost decorum and order. It
shows the primitive simplicity of these west country folks that they can
still find so much pleasure in these unsophisticated amusements, but it
must be borne in mind that Liskeard is a town usually so quiet, not to
say sleepy, that it has been declared by a resident that he could fire a
gun down the street without hitting any one!...
The Cornish folk are, as a rule, earnest in their religious convictions,
though, like other Kelts, occasionally inclined to fanaticism. All
traces of the savagery which distinguished them in the rough days of the
wreckers, have, of course, entirely passed away under the light of
advancing civilization. The Cornishmen are extremely hospitable, and
the county dainties of cider, clotted cream, potato cake, griddle or
girdle cakes (baked upon the hearth), and fish or squab pies, are
luxuries not to be despised any more than the _figgadowdy_ (Anglice,
plum-puddings). Like all the inhabitants of remote districts, the
Cornish folk are extremely clannish, and think much of the ties of
kindred, the proverbial expression "A Cornish Jack" showing how every
individual endeavors to prove himself everybody else's "Cousin John."
They are very superstitious, though whether they yet retain the old
beliefs mentioned by Polwhele, such as that of the ghost of a
ship-wrecked mariner announcing his fate by calling his own name on the
rock, and that when the wind roars boisterously it is the wicked giant
Tregeagle roaring, we cannot, of course, say.
Many names of places bear witness to the widely scattered traditions
connected with King Arthur. One group of rocks of various sizes goes by
the name of "King Arthur's cups and saucers," a name involving a bold
anachronism, for one hardly imagines saucers to have been much used
before the introduction of tea and coffee, beverages, as every one
knows, not brought into use in this country for more than a thousand
years after the supposed period of King Arthur.
The belief in fairies has not yet gone out in this remote shire, and we
have been in an old house said to be haunted by the ghost of a cow.
The fauna and flora of Cornwall are much the same as in other parts of
Western England, except, of course, that some shrubs and other plants
usually found only in warm climates or in greenhouses grow here freely
out of doors. The Cornish chough among birds, and among plants the
Cornish heath, are, as the names show, indigenous here. It is strange
that the little harebell, so universal in Scotland and in most parts of
England, should be here a great rarity. We recollect how, on our
excursion to the Lizard, a lady of the neighborhood of Helstone had been
entreated by a friend unable to accompany her to bring home a harebell,
if she found any, as none grew near her own residence.
Those travelling in a country new to them are often more struck by some
feature of the landscape different to what they have been accustomed to,
than by the grander outlines of the scenery. Who, for instance, that has
ever travelled in Western Cornwall, can fail to recollect the milestones
in the shapes of obelisks, or the substitutes for stiles formed by
narrow openings in the hedges with stepping-stones placed at equal
distances, like the ploughshares in the ordeal by fire, for foot
passengers to pass across? The little cabbage-plantation or mound of
_debris_ in the centre of a field is another characteristically Cornish
institution. Any account of Cornwall would be incomplete without some
allusion to the pilchard fishery, next to mining, the great industry of
the county. Innumerable quantities of this fish are annually salted and
exported to the Roman Catholic countries of Southern Europe to be eaten
during Lent. The popular Cornish name of the pilchard, "Fair Maid," is
said to be from the Spanish _fumado,--i.e._, "smoked fish."
THE ENGLISH LAKE DISTRICT.
AMELIA BARR.
[The lakes of Cumberland and Westmoreland, England, possess a
double attraction to the tourist, the one being for their
intrinsic beauty and charm, the other for their fame as the
loved haunts of Wordsworth, Coleridge, Southey, and other famed
writers. They have become a place of pilgrimage to the devotees
of poetry, and we give their story in the words of one who saw
in them this double charm.]
While dinner was being prepared, we strolled to the bridge which spans
the Leven,--at this point a swift, shallow stream, with an inconceivable
sparkle, scarcely deep enough to float the light skiff in whose shadow a
great trout was posing himself against the crystal water. In half an
hour we had a couple of his fellows in a napkin, deliciously browned.
It is worth while mentioning that Loch Lomond in Scotland and Lake
Windermere in England discharge by rivers of the same length and name;
but the Scotch Leven passes through a bleak, uninteresting country,
while the English Leven ripples and dances through a vale of sylvan
beauty, full of the music of many cascades.
We hired a row-boat to take us up Windermere to the Ferry Inn; and here,
as an old Laker, I may say, have nothing to do with a _sail_; take a
row-boat, and you are safe; but all these mountain-locked waters are
subject to what is known in the district as a "bottom-wind;" and the
sail-boat caught in that passionate gust will need the most skilful
handling.
As we neared Storrs Hall, all the bright loveliness of the lake broke
upon us, as it did upon Scott in 1825, on that memorable day when
Southey, Wilson, Wordsworth, and Canning met him here, and Windermere
glittered with all her sails in honor of the great Northern minstrel.
The Bailie had the whole passage from Lockhart's Life of Scott by
heart,--the brilliant cavalcades through the woods, the boatings on the
lake by moonlight, the music and sunshine, the flags and streamers, the
gay dresses and beautiful women, the hum of voices, the cheers of the
multitude, and the splash of innumerable oars: he recalled for us the
whole scene of the flotilla, as it wound among the beautiful isles of
the loveliest lake in the world, half a century ago.
We had sent our luggage on to the Salutation Inn at Ambleside, for we
had determined to stay one night at the Ferry Inn, nearly opposite
Bowness, and about half-way up the lake. I had wonderful memories of
this charming old hostelry, and many a time, when thousands of miles
away, I had heard the pleasure-skiffs fret their cut-waters against the
pebbly shore, many a time in dreams dripped silver from my oars in the
moonlight, or wandered in the groves of laurel and lilacs and laburnums
behind it.
Then it was a perfect old English inn, with a kitchen whose Homeric
breadth and bright cheerfulness made it a constant picture. Then there
was on one side of it a curiously carved and twisted oaken dresser,
extending from the floor to the ceiling, black with age and bright with
labor. Mugs and tankards of bright pewter stood out against this dark
background; huge hams and sad-colored herbs descended from the rafters.
A great wood-fire always blazed on the hearth. Lasses in snow-white
jackets and linsey-woolsey petticoats went in and out about their
duties. The handsome, motherly landlady looked after every guest; and
Arnold, the jolliest landlord that ever lived, sat smoking in the ingle,
chatting with some traveller, or listening to the yarn of a lake
fisherman.
As we approached the little bay, I saw that the Ferry Inn had gone; a
grand modern hotel stood upon its site. I refused to be disenchanted.
Perhaps Arnold was dead also. Nothing could be as it had been, and I
asked to cross over at once to Bowness. But, while I am speaking of
Arnold, I may tell again a story he was very fond of telling about
Wordsworth.
"Knaw'd Wadswuth?" he would say, with a merry twinkle. "I did, a few.
This wuz the way I comed to knaw him, so as I shan't forget 'n again in
a hurry. When I wuz guard of the Whitehaven mail, as we wuz a-slapping
along, and just coming to a sharpish turn,--the carner near the bridge,
this side Keswick,--what should we see but sumthin' uncommon tall and
grand, tooling along a little pony-shay!
"'Oh, Lord! here's a smash,' said I, and afore the words wuz out of my
mouth, crash went the shay all to smitherins, and slap went the driver
over a wall into a plantation, arms out and great-coat a-flying. We
thought fur sure 'twas all over with 'n; but presently he picked hisself
up uncommon tall again, and sez he, 'I'll have this matter thoroughly
investigated.' With that he walked off towards the public.
"'Bill,' said coachee to I, very down like, 'who de think that is?'
"'Well, who be 't, Jem?' sez I.
"'Why, who but the powit Wadswuth.'"
Then he would add, "If you goes to Keswick, just by the bridge you'll
see the place _where we spilt the powit_! Ay, often and often since
that, when I've a-seen the grand fowks draw up to the Mount, I've a-said
sly like to myself, 'Ah, gentlemen, you be going to see the powit, but
you never had him to call upon you, unexpected like, on a flying visit
over a wall.'"
Windermere at Bowness is like what the Thames is at Richmond. Bowness is
the pleasure-village of the lake country. There yachtsmen flourish and
beauties linger. The band makes music in the grounds of the Royal Hotel,
and the crowds promenade or float gracefully past in the dreamy waltz.
Every window is open, the balconies are full of life and color, lovely
faces peep out from among the clustering clematis, twinkling lights and
soft strains are on the lake until midnight, and flowers, flowers,
flowers touch you everywhere.
Two men, as dissimilar as possible, I can always see in the streets of
Bowness--the handsome Professor Wilson, poet and athlete, whom the
Westmoreland people so aptly described as "strang as a lion, lish as a
trout, _wi' sich antics as niver_," and the little, plain-faced, serious
Wilberforce,--Wilson joyous and strong, and settling all things "wi' the
waff o' his hand," Wilberforce sauntering along, as he tells us in his
diary, comforting himself by repeating the one hundred and nineteenth
Psalm. Wilson lived at Elleray, now close to Windermere railway-station,
and Wilberforce had a residence among the stately woods of Rayrigg, just
outside Bowness.