EDWARDS HOTEL, GEORGE ST., HANOVER SQ.,
LONDON, _June 20_.
Our rooms we had telegraphed for, so upon reaching the city we had
nothing to do but enter a cab and be driven to them. We have homelike
accommodations, and our meals served in our own private parlor.
Everything in the house is so quiet that I did not know but we had made
a mistake and got into a retreat for the deaf and dumb. F. thinks it
fine, but I must say that when I am at a hotel I like the bustle and
excitement of one.
The ‘office’ is a small room, presided over by two pretty young ladies,
who I imagine look upon us as intruders, but I talk _at_ them so much,
they are obliged to speak occasionally, although it seems an effort.
They drop their h’s, and I am sometimes puzzled to understand the little
information they condescend to give us.
‘Boots,’ too, is equally taciturn so far: I think we shall have to be
more liberal with our English shillings!
We hire our rooms here at a fair price, and make extra arrangements for
our meals. For breakfast, F. desired boiled eggs, and I chose fried.
Upon asking why my bill was more than hers, I was told that it was more
work to fry eggs than to boil them, and that is so. I look in vain for
ice-water: there is surely none around. I ask for some; and after
waiting long enough for water to freeze, am served with a pitcher of
water and a few small bits of ice in a glass. The Yankee ice-pitcher,
kept well filled, is an article unknown here.
Out into the streets of London! What a crowd, what a bustle! What
fine-looking gentlemen, every one with a button-hole bouquet! The
streets crowded with handsome turnouts dashing quickly along; why, we
cannot cross the streets without assistance. Boston is a quiet village
compared to this. Groups of ladies, and rosy-cheeked girls laughing and
chatting, all wearing flowers; even the horses and carriages are trimmed
with them. Lines of hansoms, with generally a lady in each. Little
children, with overpowering big hats and bonnets, trotting along with
their nurses. Showily uniformed Guards as thick as flies at a summer
hotel,--and this is London to-day.
Here is St. George’s Church, where so many of the aristocracy have taken
each other for better or for worse. And here in Hanover square is a fine
bronze statue of William Pitt. It looks to me like extraordinary good
work, but F. calls, ‘Come, you cannot spend much time cogitating over
any one man in this big place, dead or alive. If you want to soliloquize
over statues, come to St. Paul.’ And to St. Paul’s we went. There are
but two churches in the world larger than this: St Peter’s at Rome and
the Cathedral at Milan. As I tried to realize its immense proportions
before entering, I thought of the Yorkshire-man who brought his better
half to see the sights of London. ‘There, lass,’ said he, ‘there be
Paul’s Church. Ecod, he be a soizable one, he be.’ And we agreed with
him long before we finished seeing the interior and its contents. There
are many, many monuments, and some exceedingly costly and beautiful, but
it is utterly impossible to comprehend so much at once. Some of the
sculptures of the church, telling the touching story of the incarnation
and life of our Saviour, were sadly beautiful, especially the figure of
Mary with the child in her arms, and the ideal figure of the ‘Risen
Christ.’ The ornamentations of the church are greatly in gilt and
marble, but the most of the latter material looked as if it needed
‘scrubbing.’ The huge organ, which seemed to be built on both sides of
the choir, was being tested by some noted organist; so we had the
pleasure of hearing its rich, full, exquisitely musical tones.
Next we visited the Royal Exchange and the Bank of England; then made
our way to the ‘Tower,’ where kings and queens once lived, and where
many lost their heads. Just after entering the gates, a Guard approached
us, and without any apology or hesitation said, ‘Will you tell me the
name of the man who ran with Cleveland for president.’ As soon as we
could recover ourselves, we gladly gave him the desired information,
without expecting the usual shilling _we_ pay for asking a question
here. But we were astonished that he should have so quickly recognized
us as Americans, without hearing our voices. He returned to his comrade,
and they evidently resumed their interrupted conversation.
The ‘Tower of London’ is now something of a historic museum. The room
containing the real Crown jewels was of much interest to me. Queen
Victoria’s crown is there, which she wore at her coronation and has worn
several times since, on state occasions. It is a large, high crown,
principally of gold, with a narrow strip of ermine about the lower edge.
The upper portion is completely studded with precious stones, a blazing
mass of diamonds, emeralds, and rubies. Many other crowns and ornaments
are here, all containing jewels beyond value. They were indeed a sight
to behold, and really a delight to the eye. But before entering the
ground, in the street beyond, a weary, sunken-eyed woman, with an
emaciated child in her arms, asked me for enough money to buy some
bread. As I looked upon that scene and upon this, I felt the meaning of
the words which my maid at home uses when matters do not suit her,
‘There is a screw loose somewhere.’ Or perhaps over here the screw is
too tight. We went into the different rooms and towers where so many
royal prisoners suffered. In the Beauchamp Tower we found, amongst the
many inscriptions on the wall, the word ‘Jane,’ supposed to have been
placed there by the gentle, ill-starred Lady Jane Grey. We saw dungeons,
the bloody tower, the green where Anne Boleyn and many others were
executed; and all these places were so steeped with monstrous, cruel
deeds that it was a relief to turn away from them and shake off the
terrible memories.
We somehow felt heavy-hearted, and F. decided it would be a good thing
to see a different extreme, and take a look at ‘wax figgers.’ The
underground railway, our first ride of the kind, soon carried us to
Madame Tussaud’s museum.
These railways are, after all, not so very different from railways above
ground. There are so many stations where the daylight streams in, that
one does not have time to realize entire darkness. And what tremendous
space, thoroughly availed of, these stations give for advertisers. I
feel very familiar already with most of the stores, from these
advertising bills that stare us so conspicuously in the face.
Madame Tussaud was really an artist, and modelled greatly in clay and
wax. For a long time she lived at the Tuileries and at Versailles, as
companion for noted porsonages of the Court. She was highly educated,
and possessed large means, but the Revolution compelled her to leave
France. Having lost her property, she began to exhibit her ‘figures,’
and from that beginning has grown this large collection. A figure of
Voltaire, made by her from life, is simply wonderful. The entire
collection is much superior to the collection in the Eden Musee, New
York, and although some subjects are made to appear somewhat ridiculous,
the most are life-like and excellent. The murdered queens distressed
us; the wax ones have cheered us: and now for a ride in the open air!
We took outside seats on a tram, and rode to the National Museum. I
delight in these top seats; we get such unobstructed views of everything
about us.
We remained in the museum until the hour for closing, but only saw a
vast, immense accumulation of everything heard, unheard of, or dreamed
of.
How singular many of the expressions we hear, sound to us. Lemonade is
called lemon-squash; the price of an article is the tariff;
ticket-offices are booking-rooms; and baggage, luggage always. The money
gave me some annoyance at first, but I now generally know what is the
correct change to give or to receive, but have one coin on hand which
puzzles me: all that I can see on it is--‘Thanks be to God and to
Victoria.’ I cannot quite decide the value of it.
_June 21st._--Early this morning we sauntered toward St James’s Park,
noting the fine residences,--Marlborough House, the home of the Prince
of Wales and family, included. It is a plain, large building, dreary
looking; and our free to go and come American girl says, ‘I am thankful
I am not a princess. What a stupid time those girls, Louise, Maud, and
Victoria must have, shut up behind those walls without ever being able
to take a walk with “Tom, Dick, and Harry” unattended.’
An English lady told us, at our hotel, that there is a rumor that the
Princess Louise is very much in love with an English Earl much older
than herself. These girls are said to be all very plain looking,
inheriting none of the graces of their beautiful mother, who seems to be
greatly beloved by all the English people, and whose unfortunate
deafness excites heartfelt compassion and sympathy.
The houses in London, even homes of the greatest simplicity, are named,
and the names are generally placed where they can be plainly seen and
read. The names of the residences of the nobility, as well as many names
of the streets, often give us a clue to their founders, and are
therefore appropriate and helpful.
The Prince and Princess of Wales are now in Germany, on account of the
death of the Emperor Frederick, the husband of the oldest sister of the
Prince. The entire royal family are of course in deep mourning. In fact,
two thirds of all the people here are now dressed in black. Our little
chambermaid, at our hotel, did not appear this morning as early as usual
to give us her service, and when she made her appearance I asked her if
she was ill. She replied: ‘Not at all, but we have been ordered into
Court mourning, and I sat up late to get my black dress made, so felt
very weary, and slept late.’
We soon found ourselves near the military quarters, where we stopped to
see the Grenadiers, the Queen’s Guard, parade and drill, and to listen
to the fine music of the band.
Buckingham Palace is quite near enough to Marlborough House for
Alexandra to run over to her mother-in-law, Mrs Guelph, to borrow her
spoons, in case her own number should be insufficient for any little tea
party, or for the good grandmother to be called if the children should
unexpectedly ‘come down’ with the chicken-pox or the measles; it looks
as if it might be a real social neighborhood. The exterior of the
palace is of light-colored stone, but not nearly as fine a building as
we had expected to see, as the principal residence of the Queen. The
family had left for Windsor the day before. We were shown the royal
stables and saw the state coach. These royal residences do not impress
us as being in the least remarkable. They are immense in size, but
possess no merits in the way of architecture.
This part of London is very beautiful, with its handsome streets and
soft green-turfed parks.
We continued our walk to Westminster Abbey, and entered. If palaces have
not come up to my expectations, this far exceeds them. The church is
huge, built in the form of a Latin cross, a great pile of grandeur. The
interior is indeed most beautiful, and one might spend weeks within, and
yet feel that the half had not been seen. Such a succession of
wonderfully beautiful monuments and memorials to the distinguished,
illustrious, and talented dead. As works of art, this exquisite
sculpture delighted my eye more than anything I had ever seen. Kings
and queens lie here, statesmen and historians, generals and
philosophers, inventors and poets, and the remains of many that were
great on earth, and the beautiful marble covers them! But oh, I know I
would rather lie like the poorest peasant under the greensward, where
the sun could shine on my resting-place. The reclining statue of the
wife of Dean Stanley is lovely beyond description. The angelic
expression of the beautiful sweet face seems to tell us that she has
found rest in her ‘Father’s mansion’ and is satisfied. How short a time
ago does it seem that I heard the Dean in our own Trinity. His body now
rests here. The words inscribed on the monument in memory of Franklin,
the Arctic explorer, were sadly touching: so simple, and yet so full of
meaning:--
O ye Frost and Snow!
O ye Ice and Cold!
In the Poet’s Corner lies the mouldering dust of Thackeray, Southey,
Milton, Chaucer, Dickens, and many, many others, whose works will live
forever, and whose words and characters will carry companionship and
comfort into many a household, as do the lines of our own Longfellow,
of whom his English admirers have here placed a beautiful bust. It is of
pure white marble, and the likeness excellent. It stands between the
monuments of Cowley and Dryden. Some one had placed a fresh red rose in
the folds of the drapery, probably some American, sight-seeing like
ourselves, and it all brought our home so near to me that tears came
unbidden
‘Then the forms of the departed
Enter at the open door:
The beloved, the true-hearted,
Come to visit me once more.’
And now, even in this temple of the dead, how sure we feel ‘There is no
death; what seems so is transition.’ A magnificent monumental chapel,
with costly statues and sculptures, surmounts the tomb of one of the
Henrys. Many other chapels, in memory of saints, are also here, with
aisles and transepts filled with monuments. The beautiful rose window
and the marigold window are worth crossing the ocean to see. But of the
numberless wonderful things here I must not now tell you much more,
only will tell you that the Coronation Chair we have touched, in which
have been crowned all the English sovereigns from Edward the Confessor
to Queen Victoria. I reluctantly left this sacred building impressed
deeply with its wonders.
We next went to a gorgeous restaurant to dine, fully coming to the
realization that we are still in the flesh. These London restaurants are
a surprise to us, in the quantity of excellent food they give, well
cooked and served, for very little money. I never before knew the real
meaning of a good mutton chop, for we get none in America like these
over here. The whitebait, here considered so great a delicacy, I do not
‘hanker’ for--should rather have a ‘Taunton herring.’
After dining, we visited a collection of paintings, an annual exhibition
by English artists. After looking about there, we went to the exhibition
of the Royal Academy of Arts, which gave us great pleasure. The Royal
Academy is a private society, and from its fund supports a fine-art
school; and the judges of paintings connected with the Academy are
considered so perfect in their estimates, that it increases the money
value greatly of a picture if accepted by them and hung at their
exhibitions. We were told that on an average ten thousand pictures are
sent them for every annual exhibit, but rarely over two thousand are
accepted. This, of course, causes some hard feeling amongst the artists.
A portrait of Sir William Jenner, physician to the Queen, by Frank Holl,
R. A., was most life-like. Many portraits by Herkomer were also
excellent, particularly one of his aged father and his own young sons.
One painting, named ‘A Hopeless Dawn,’ by Bramley, attracted me greatly.
It portrayed the full meaning of the quotation from Ruskin: ‘Human
effort and sorrow going on perpetually from age to age; waves rolling
forever, and winds moaning, and faithful hearts wasting and sickening
forever, and brave lives dashed away about the rattling beach like weeds
forever; and still, at the helm of every lonely boat, through starless
night and hopeless dawn, His hand who spreads the fisher’s net over the
dust of the Sidonian palaces, and gave into the fisher’s hand the keys
of the kingdom of heaven.’ Besides the oils and water-colors, the
collection of miniatures, etchings, drawings, engravings, and sculpture,
all exceptionally fine, gave us a rare pleasure. We here met the first
large assemblage of Londonites that we have seen. The élite of society
were present, and many noted persons pointed out to us. The ladies do
not dress as well as our own Americans, but I must give precedence to
the English gentlemen for both good looks and style, courtly manners and
taste in costumes.
Having occasion to be near the Houses of Parliament, we thought we would
utilize time by going in then and there. But how to get in? We had not
taken time, as yet, to call upon Mr. Phelps for letters, as we had meant
to do later, having a letter of introduction to our Minister from a
personal friend of his and our own. ‘But time in London is precious,’
said F., ‘so let us try.’ Parliament was in session, and being earnestly
anxious to see its workings, we screwed our courage to its utmost
tension and proceeded. After battling with a half-dozen Guards and
coaxing another half-dozen, we found ourselves inside the Lobby. An
immense concourse of ladies and gentlemen were in the corridors, waiting
their turn to be admitted, and our chances without a pass began to look
rather doubtful. However, with true Yankee pluck I looked over the faces
of the officials, and finally settled upon an amiable-appearing one,
belonging to a ‘Sergeant-at-arms’ and approached him--told him our
situation, and appealed to him for aid. He was every inch a gentleman,
and evidently anxious to assist us. Told us the only possible way to get
in was to send our card to a member. Yes, but we only knew names of
members, unfortunately; not one personally. Lowering his voice he said,
‘I have a brother inside, an official: give me your cards; I will send
them to my brother to give to Hon. ---- ----. He is the champion and the
favorite of all ladies, and never refuses, at any sacrifice, to do them
a favor.’ We wrote ‘Boston, U. S. A.,’ in the corner of our pasteboards
(which is, we find, a good place to hail from), and they went from us to
seek their fortune and ours. Word soon came back, brought by a handsome
page, that Mr. ---- was then delivering a speech, but would see us soon.
We waited some time, with much about us to take our attention, when a
Guard called in stentorian tones, ‘The Hon. Mr. ----.’ We arose as we
were told to do by our new-found ally, and saw approaching us a small,
pleasant-faced gentleman, who immediately extended his hand with words
of welcome, as if we were expected guests. To the kind-hearted, gallant,
and courteous Irish M. P. shall we ever be grateful! A way was made for
us into the gallery of the chamber of peers, from which we had a good
view of the brilliant show below. Many ladies were present on the
benches, mostly peeresses or relatives of nobility. Later, our kind
escort sent for us to take seats in the ladies’ gallery of the House of
Commons, which, not without difficulty, he had secured. We realize the
great honor of being here, and yet it is a good deal like sitting up in
an organ loft, or being placed, front side out, in a bread toaster, for
we are separated from the M. P.’s by metal spokes. The reporters have a
place under us, and the members occupy the other galleries and the
three or four hundred seats about the tables. A member was speaking, but
his enunciation was so poor that I failed to understand him; so spent
the time in looking about. Gladstone was present, but did not speak; I
had a very good view of him. He does not look at all ‘John Bullish,’ in
the old sense of the expression, but is a refined, modest-looking
gentleman, with rather a tired-out air about him. A number with wigs and
gowns, some stiff-appearing functionaries wearing garbs that looked as
if they were prepared for the stage, many pages rushing hither and
thither, the buzz of voices, and the hand-clapping, all made a
bewildering scene. It seemed very much out of keeping with the usually
ceremonious proceedings of the Commons, to see the members costumed in
perfect evening dress, wearing their hats.
In the House of Lords the throne is the chief object of interest, and
the peers, upon entering, always salute it, I presume as something of a
compliment to royalty. It contains three seats: the middle one is the
Queen’s, the right-hand one that of the Prince of Wales, and the one on
the left has not been allowed to be occupied since the death of Prince
Albert. When the Lord Chancellor takes his seat in this room, he wears a
red gown, an ermine mantle, a big wig, and a three-cornered hat. We
thanked our new-made friend for his unusual kindness, for he really
seemed determined to make us feel that showing us about was the greatest
pleasure of his lifetime, and we left the Houses at ten P.M., with the
workings going on as lively as if just commenced.
I think the manners of a Massachusetts legislative body superior in
dignity to those of the members of the House of Commons. But who under
the gilded dome on Beacon Hill would give himself as much trouble to
entertain a strange English lady, as our member took upon himself to
entertain us! Do not all speak at once, gentlemen.
_Friday, June 22nd._--The clerk of the weather will come in rightfully
for his share of praise, for another bright morning greets us. We took
an early start for the National Gallery. Turner has here the most of
his works. Some of his paintings, although not considered as masterly as
his Slave Ship, please me better, but it seems to me he delights in
capricious methods in the use of his brush. It is a treat to our eyes to
see the originals of Landseer, Rosa Bonheur, and other works of artists
which have become familiar to us from engravings. One of Raphael’s
Madonnas is here, and long held our attention. London is full of
artists, and in the galleries we see hundreds of students copying, and
some excellent work they do. Here lives Herkomer, who was with us at one
time, also Millais, Sir Frederick Leighton, Alma Tadema, and others
whose talent has brought them large fortunes. The chimes ring out our
hour for leaving, although our time here has not been half long enough.
I love these chime bells! And nearly all of the churches have them, and
sweetly do they sound their pretty airs.
A drive of about four miles brought us to the exhibition of the Royal
Military Tournament. The pavilion contained an aristocratic audience,
and the good horsemanship of the soldiers, on their handsome and
well-trained animals, was a novel sight. A lady sat next me with her two
little girls and their maid. The children had material enough in their
bonnets to have covered them all over comfortably, but their legs were
bare to the knees and looked cold, for the wind had changed, and a damp
draught chilled us. I offered part of my lap-wrap to the little ones,
and the mother kindly thanked me, but added, ‘They do not need it if
only their heads are warm; they cannot take cold; one never takes cold
in the legs, you know.’ And undoubtedly English mothers all agree with
her, for the children’s limbs are universally unprotected from the
weather. They wear heavy shoes but short stockings. I have already come
to the opinion that it is not of much use to differ with the English. If
we do, differently from them, they feel a little sorry for us that we do
not know the better way, which is always their way.
This evening we went to the Covent Garden Theatre to hear Minnie Hauk,
in ‘Carmen.’ Not wishing to take time to get into full dress, we changed
our hats, substituting pretty, light-colored evening ones, and added
fresh, sweet roses to our costumes, and started, and thought our
appearance would do ourselves and all else credit. But to our
discomfort, opinions differed, and we could not be admitted to our box
without leaving our pretty head-gear outside, where they had no chance
of being seen and admired. After getting comfortably seated, we looked
about us. The ladies were dressed as if for a grand ball, silks, satins,
velvets, and tulles, of every color, composed the gowns, invariably made
décolleté--‘much, more, and most’ décolleté. Gentlemen were, of course,
all in dress suits, and every one wearing and carrying flowers. It was
indeed a brilliant scene, but I like the more modest costuming of our
own countrywomen, in public places, better. Displays like this, it seems
to me, should be made only, if at all, at private gatherings. The
setting of the opera and the music were superb. Hauk’s voice has
improved wonderfully since heard in America some years ago. She is a
great favorite here, and many of the aristocracy were of the audience,
and a loudly enthusiastic one it was. All the principal artists were
deluged with flowers, and Hauk received a laurel wreath of solid gold
leaves at the close of the last act. Prices to first-class
entertainments here are higher than in America, and programmes have to
be paid for always. They employ young women as ushers. Between acts,
ices and cool drinks are brought to the audience, but a round price is
asked for them. We lingered to see the people more distinctly as they
left their seats. The ladies lack the grace and beauty of Americans, but
look bright, rosy-cheeked, and healthful, but the gentlemen are
certainly superior in looks, carriage, and physique. Our little newsy
chambermaid tells us the London gentlemen all wear ‘stays.’ I wonder if
they do!
_Saturday, June 23d._--What an immense city London is, to be sure!
Twenty miles long or more, and just as bustling at one end as the other.
There is such a mass of everything that it is almost overpowering.
To-day we have been driven through some of the best and some of the
worst streets in the city. We saw ‘The Old Curiosity Shop,’ and many
other spots immortalized by Dickens. We have looked into some of the
old churches and some of the new ones. Have been into the best stores,
and there are many fine ones. We find furs and silks cheaper, and
cottons dearer than at home. We could not find a pair of French kid
boots of a good shape in all London, and rubber overshoes are not kept
at all. We walked across London Bridge to take a look at the river,
crowded with barges, boats, ships, and water-craft of every make and
shape. We took luncheon at the Holborn Restaurant, and thought we had
stepped into a palace, so sumptuous were the surroundings. It was very
pleasing to take our bouillon on a mosaic table, surrounded with Carrara
marble statuary, and listening to the strains of lulling, restful music.
After replenishing the ‘inner man,’ we boarded a little steamer for a
sail up the Thames. The banks of the river are full of interest. The
water of the lower part is thick and muddy, and I should think that even
a desperate, would-be suicide would turn from it disgusted. As we go up
farther, where the shipping is less, it becomes clearer. Excursion
steamers, barges, and yachts, freighted with humanity, are busily plying
up and down, and the bridges open gracefully to let us pass. The river
itself, with the Victoria Embankment on the one side and the Albert
Embankment on the other, the fine buildings, the parks, and the noble
trees, all seen through the rich atmosphere of this perfect June day,
make a picturesque and enjoyable impression, not soon to be forgotten.
We landed, on our return, where we could take a carriage for Hyde Park.
As we are in London ‘in the season,’ in the Park, about five P.M., we
see all the ‘swelldom’ driving and riding, for it is here they take
their airing. The Park itself is lovely, with large, perfect roads and
walks, grand, magnificent old trees, plump, clean sheep and graceful
deer grazing contentedly, as well they may in such quarters. The
kaleidoscope views of the interminable throng in the ‘Drive’ and the
‘Row,’ the fine horses, the gorgeous equipages, the showy liveries, and
the gay toilettes, are bewildering. Here surely is abundance of style.
Here are hundreds of elegant turnouts, many with armorial bearings,
fours-in-hand, sixes-in-hand, dog-carts, T-carts, tandems, and phaetons;
footmen and coachmen in livery of red and white, and red and gilt, some
with wigs and some without. Here comes a pony carriage with a load of
laughing children, there an antiquated yellow-bodied ducal coach, with
postilions well powdered and the dowagers inside looking powdered also;
a low buggy with a light-blue body, and a blue-ribboned girl with ‘her
young man’ beside her looking into her blue eyes; a black carriage hung
high, footmen and coachmen in black, and the ladies within draped in
crape. And this is Hyde Park! Solemnity and gayety! Prince and commoner
meet, and all are lookers on. The boats on the Serpentine, and that
wonderful pile of marble and bronze, the Albert Memorial, next attracted
us. The marble groups representing the four great nations, and the
bas-reliefs of great artists and poets, are fine. Although London is so
immense and so crowded, its people have plenty of beautiful breathing
spots, more beautiful than the people of any other city, unless the
Parisians. To our hotel to dress and out to dinner, our first dinner
here with friends.
Our visit in a London home, last evening, was delightful, we were so
cordially welcomed and so hospitably entertained. The house, in one of
the best streets of the city, was a large, square one with hall in the
centre. The rooms were spacious, with dark finishings and furnishings,
therefore not wearing the cheery look of our own homes. The massiveness
of the elaborately carved furniture seemed to overshadow heavily the
very few ornamental articles displayed. There were no paintings on the
walls, but a small gallery in the rear of the house contained a good
collection. The effect of the living rooms without the bright, living
faces would have been somewhat sombre. I think a happy medium would be
desirable, a little more bric-a-brac in European homes and a little less
in our own, in which I have often had to navigate carefully to avoid
running against ornamental articles. The English people are at their
best under their own ‘fig-tree.’ They build homes for a lifetime, and
for their children and grandchildren after them. They make but few
changes in them, and the women particularly stay, or ‘stop’ as they
would say, the greater portion of their lives in their homes, for as a
people they travel but little. They are very hospitable after once
having been introduced, and entirely at ease in entertaining, as an
English household is rarely without its guests. Our host, an M. P., has
a house in the country, and they only spend the ‘season’ in town. The
English greatly love the country and out-of-door life and sports.
Several friends of our entertainers had been invited to meet us, and we
found them all very gracious and charming. I think the English are a
good deal like a Devonshire pie,--wearing a thick crust, but when once
the crust is broken the ‘goodies’ are unusually delicious. Our menu at
dinner consisted of soup, fish, entrée, roast-beef, chicken, and desert,
with wines and coffee. No carving was done at the table. The vegetables
were brought in served in individual dishes. By the way, no vegetables
are palatably prepared in England, for they are never seasoned. The
English keep many servants, and at this dinner there seemed to be a
servant for every guest. The English are great eaters, but they take
plenty of time to do it in. The general appearance of the setting of the
table was not different from our own home tables; perhaps more flowers,
and more beautiful ones. I mention these details to show you that
dinners informal here do not vary much from the same in America. Our
pleasant evening with Mr. M. and his lovely family will long be
remembered.
_Sunday, June 24th._--No London fog yet! We have had but one unpleasant
day since we have been here. To-day is simply perfect. There is a
‘shimmer’ about these lovely June mornings that can be felt but not
described. Out with the crowd of churchgoers go we, and, to the credit
of the English people be it said, they all go to church. We first went
to old St. Giles’. Here we saw the tomb of Milton. What a safe, homelike
feeling it brings us to hear in far-away lands our precious church
service. Somehow it gives us a sense of security, of encouragement, such
as a child in the dark feels, when he hears his mother’s voice.
From St. Giles’ we wandered into a church near by, where a young man was
preaching to a large congregation. From his fine presence and good
voice, we hoped to hear also a good sermon--but were disappointed. He
seemed to suppose the Creator knew but little, and that it was his duty
to inform Him: he told Him of the needs of London, and especially of the
wants of his churchpeople. The only good part of the service was the
music.
Later, we seated ourselves on a Thames steamer, which had evidently put
on its Sunday dress, and sailed up to Kew. I can give to you no
description of these beautiful gardens. They contain, I believe, the
largest conservatories in the world. The ferns and the palms were
forests of cool, green loveliness. The Victoria Regia lily is here, in
unsurpassed beauty. We wandered off into a shady, retired nook, and
seated ourselves on the grass, a lovely sheet of water in front of us,
birds trilling their vespers about us, and the myriads of blossoms
wafting to us their fragrant incense. It was all to us a sermon that
was good for us. ‘For thou, Lord, hast made me glad through thy works;
and I will rejoice in giving praise for the operations of thy hands.’
Next, we went by carriage to Richmond, a place of great historic
interest and attractions. The drive was beautiful. The distant views
were lovely. We passed many stately residences, surrounded by well-kept
grounds, ivy and flowers in abundance. But the English will build high
walls about their country homes, thus shutting themselves, oyster-like,
from the passers-by. These unsightly walls spoil what would without them
delight the eye. We stopped on Richmond Hill to see the beautiful views
from that elevation, and were well repaid. The river going on and on,
the meadows, the hills, the elms and the chestnuts throwing dark
shadows, the heaths and downs, the farm-houses and the mansions, Windsor
in the distance, and the peculiar mellowness of the whole landscape,
were worth the looking upon. At Hampton Court we took a look at the rich
tapestries and the paintings, including the ‘Hampton Court Beauties.’
This old court has echoed to the footsteps of many kings and many noted
in history. Cardinal Wolsey fitted the place up in regal style, meaning
to give it the honor of his own presence, but King Henry looked on with
jealous, envious eyes, and asked him his reasons for having made so
costly a palace. The wily Cardinal was ingenious in his reply,
answering--‘To show how noble a palace a subject may offer to his king.’
This palace is now used as a home by members of the nobility whose
incomes have been reduced. We spent a short time in the park and then
started toward London, a distance of twelve miles or more. We were
fortunate in securing front seats on a tally-ho coach, drawn by four
handsome gray horses. We stocked ourselves well with delicious fruit,
which the venders pass up to us on poles, temptingly arranged in little
baskets, and on we went over a beautiful road, through the glorious
Bushey Park, with its majestic elms and chestnuts. ‘O, we have no such
rural beauty as England!’ said I. ‘But we shall have when we are as
old,’ said my true American beside me.
And that reminds me of what a gentleman at Leamington said, in answer to
my question, ‘How do you get the beautiful green your lawns wear?’
‘We only water the grass,’ he replied.
‘But,’ said I, ‘we keep our American lawns well watered and they do not
look like yours.’
‘You forget, Madame, that we have watered ours for centuries,’ said he
with a smile.
At last we enter the city, and drive through, through, through it, a
long, long way. Crowds of people in the streets, crowds in the parks,
crowds everywhere! Men are preaching on the corners, women singing,
members of the Salvation Army exhorting and praying, and at last we
reach our journey’s end safely. It is ten P.M., and yet not dark, so
long are these English twilights!
_June 25th._--The third one of our trio has again joined us, much to our
satisfaction, and to-day we have been to the Crystal Palace, the
Zoological Gardens, and have accomplished one hundred and one other
things. In the palace there is much to be seen--pictures, sculpture, and
other works of art. To-day an unusual crowd had gathered there to
attend the concert in the large hall in the afternoon. We were fearful
we might not be able, owing to the jam, to see all we came for, and here
we desire to thank again the secretary of the association for his
kindness toward us. If the English gentlemen are all like those we have
come in contact with, I for one shall ever sing their praises. Here we
heard ‘The Messiah’ by the ‘Handel and Haydn’ society. Albani and
Lillian Norton were two of the artistes, which quite Americanized the
company, and all were almost perfect in their parts. In the evening
elaborate pyrotechnic displays were made, which with the colored lights
and fountains, the bands playing, a company of ballet dancers performing
out-of-doors, and the army of gayly dressed people, made it seem like
veritable fairy-land. It is all alluring, but we must turn our backs
upon it, as we have an invitation to ‘The Criterion’ to see Windom as
David Garrick. The play was well acted, and when over, a supper at a
fine restaurant near, where a choir of boys sang to us beautiful glees,
with their sweet voices, ended another enjoyable day. We have seen much
in London, and must leave much unseen, nor can I here tell you of the
half we have seen, but have given you some ideas of what I thought you
would best like to hear about.
Of our trip to Brighton I believe I have not said a word, but will now
tell you a little about it, as it was different from any other. Brighton
is the largest and most fashionable of all English watering-places, but
as it is not yet the season there, the place had rather a deserted air.
It is a city of brick, and the houses look as if built to remain
forever, as does everything else in England. There is an esplanade of
solid stone, with promenades on top; on the one side of it is the beach
and sea, and on the other the large hotels and fine houses. A part of
every day’s programme is to dress in one’s best, and promenade up and
down the esplanade, but the promenaders all looked as solemn as if on
their way to a funeral. The ladies smiled not, and the men looked as if
they had iron pokers run up and down their backs, arms akimbo, heads
bent back to assist the glass over one eye to stay in place,--all quite
English, ‘you know.’ On the beach were plenty of ‘bathing machines,’
which are really bathhouses on wheels, bath-chairs, and children with
their nurses, and in the surf a few bathers. The ladies seemed to have
more on than our water-nymphs at Narragansett Pier, and the gentlemen
apparently wore but little clothing; in fact, I was reminded of pictures
I used to see in my geography, of the costumes worn by natives in--well,
I think it was Africa; but they carried themselves, even in the water,
with dignity. Our drive back to London on a tally-ho was delightful.
We have been favored here with pleasant weather, but I can imagine how
grim and black certain parts of the city would look, in bad. They use
much coal here, and, as everywhere else, it leaves its mark. We have
seen the best of London, and we have had glimpses of her rich citizens
and of her poor. There are many rich families here, because their wealth
has been inherited, just as the poor have inherited their poverty.
Families here keep in about the same groove that their ancestors did
before them. The Queen is greatly beloved, and we all know she is a good
woman and a gracious sovereign. Of the Prince of Wales, also, I hear
many good things. But why should there be such a thing as ‘royalty?’ How
much better and higher is the code of self-government, than servile
obedience to any king or queen, human beings like ourselves. I could not
breathe freely as a citizen of a country where son of mine could not
take the highest place in the nation, if he were worthy of it and the
people’s choice. Thank God that ‘in the land of the free,’ our own
America, we can be whatever we make ourselves, and not what the accident
of birth has made us. Of ‘Merrie England,’ however, I shall carry away
with me grateful remembrances of her people, and a score of memories of
the beautiful land itself, which will ever be a source of enjoyment to
summon.
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