PARIS, FRANCE, _Jan. 28, 1856_.
You have been kept advised from time to time for so many years past
of my whereabouts, that I fancy you inquiring, “Where are you? What
are you doing? What kind of passage had you out?” and the like. The
heading of this epistle will show you that I am once again, and for
the tenth time, in the great metropolis of the continent, which is a
sort of culminating point for European travellers going and returning.
The first day of January, for the first time in some ten years, I was
permitted to remain late enough in the north to unite with the denizens
of our great Empire City in keeping up the good old Knickerbocker
custom of wishing a “happy new year;” on the fifth I stepped on board
the good steamship Pacific bound for Liverpool.
We stood shivering upon the upper deck, gazing after those left behind
us, until reminded of the comfort of a cabin.
We soon found ourselves at Sandy Hook, in the commencement of a
north-east snow storm, and with much difficulty disposed of our pilot.
One of the roughest and most boisterous nights followed. Those of our
passengers who were at sea for the first time, suffered all the horrors
of sea-sickness. Our gallant ship combatted nobly the mountain waves,
the decks were swept from time to time, and one life-boat was carried
away; so passed the first twenty-four hours. Sunday morning, the
sixth, I found three passengers out of fifty-eight at breakfast, and
our dinner was not served as usual, “_à la carte_,” as the cook’s
galley had been flooded and things temporarily deranged.
We had a succession of head winds and snow flurries for several
days, with seldom a nautical observation. The first day we only made
sixty-five knots, as we could not see to run, but our noble ship did
her duty, and made up for lost time, doing the passage in twelve
days. I had just taken up the papers from New York, and noticed that
the snow storm ashore was one of the worst ever experienced by that
venerable gentleman, the oldest inhabitant.
Passengers at sea are disposed to accommodate themselves to
circumstances, and being more dependent upon each other for the
means of passing the time than ashore, generally make themselves as
amiable as possible. Our commander I had formerly known; our steward
had catered to my wants from Panama to San Francisco; we had several
gentlemen and ladies--old acquaintances--and passed our time as
pleasantly as our rolling and pitching would permit. We had a great
variety of character for so limited a number of passengers--American,
English, French, German, Italian, and Spanish, who finding your humble
servant was familiar with their several countries, rather taxed his
vocal organs in the exercises of their different languages.
Once landed at Liverpool, the great commercial mart of England, our
party were soon scattered to the four winds. I started for Chester, one
of the oldest and most curious towns in England, with its porticoes and
colonnades which enable the pedestrian to walk long distances without
exposure to sun or rain, and remind one of Bologna.
The Marquis of Westminster, one of the wealthiest noblemen of the
kingdom, has a princely palace and parks in the neighborhood well worth
a visit.
From Chester I proceeded to the great manufacturing city of Birmingham,
and on to Bristol, in the west of England, a large seaport upon the
Severn, with its suburban places of resort, Clifton and Hotwells, much
frequented by families and invalids during the winter, on account of
the mildness of the climate, and the picturesque and romantic scenery.
The first steamships, the Sirius and Great Western, were sent to New
York by a Bristol Company. It is a curious old city, but contains
nothing very striking for the traveller.
Bath, renowned by the bards and poets, lies upon the Avon, and has some
forty thousand inhabitants; it is prettily situated and well built; is
celebrated for its hot springs, and is quite full at this season of the
year with invalids. The weather was mild for the winter; the fields
were still quite green, and vegetables were exposed in the gardens. The
Great Western Railway passes through Bath. The living is good, after
the English style, roast beef, mutton chops, plum-pudding, Cheshire
and Stilton cheese, ale, porter, and old port wine, being the chief
articles of consumption; there is no _table d’hôte_ at the public
houses; parties dine separately at hotels in a very unsocial manner.
The approach to Birmingham via Wolverhampton, for twenty miles along
the railway line, early in the evening, presented a curious spectacle,
and reminded me of a close proximity to the infernal regions; the
hundreds of furnaces for the manufacture of coke, iron, and steel,
throwing out their lurid glare of light and smoke, whose fires rarely
die out, surpassed those of any part of England I had seen, and filled
me with awe and admiration of this immense branch of industry.
Coming over the Great Western Railroad to London, there is much to
admire, and many places worth a detour or a visit; among these are
the Universities at Oxford, and the residence of the Queen at Windsor
Castle, all of which I had formerly seen.
At Sydenham, twenty miles from London, now stands the Crystal Palace.
Its lofty towers, two hundred and forty feet in height, are not yet
complete; its elevated position commands the whole country; the parks
are being beautifully ornamented. It so far excels what it was when I
saw it in Hyde Park, at the time of the Exhibition, that I shall not
attempt to describe it. Suffice it to say, the Egyptian, East Indian,
Moorish, and Italian departments, representing so faithfully the
architecture, painting, statuary, and inscriptions of those countries
were to me an invaluable souvenir. The Oriental department, kept up
to tropical heat in midwinter, with fragrant plants and flowers, fish
swimming in the fountains, birds chirping and singing in the presence
of huge Indian deities upon the façades of temples, almost transports
one to the banks of the Ganges.
A return to the city, with its teeming population of two and a half
millions, crowded thoroughfares, bustle and confusion, soon dispels
the illusion. The winter is no time for sight-seeing in London, as
the smoke or fog oftentimes prevent your seeing more than a few steps
before you; indeed at eleven A.M. the gas lights are sometimes
still burning. All navigation upon the Thames is suspended; horses and
vehicles and foot passengers grope their way in the dense obscurity.
The communication from London to Paris, via Dover and Calais, or
Folkstone and Boulogne, is made in twelve or fourteen hours, at an
expense of three pounds five shillings, say fifteen dollars. The
English railway fares are more than double those of the United States.
The same remark will apply to the general expenses of life.
The Parisians are preparing for the Carnival, when masked balls will
be all the rage, and the “_Bœuf Gras_” or fat ox, will be paraded
through the streets on “_Mardi Gras_”.