It was on Sunday morning that we first came in sight of land. The day
was one of a thousand--clear, calm, and bright. It is one of those
strange, throbbing feelings, that come only once in a while in life;
this waking up to find an ocean crossed and long-lost land restored
again in another hemisphere; something like what we should suppose might
be the thrill of awakening from life to immortality, and all the wonders
of the world unknown. That low, green line of land in the horizon is
Ireland; and we, with water smooth as a lake and sails furled, are
running within a mile of the shore. Every body on deck, full of spirits
and expectation, busy as can be looking through spyglasses, and
exclaiming at every object on shore,--
"Look! there's Skibareen, where the worst of the famine was," says one.
"Look! that's a ruined Martello tower," says another.
We new voyagers, who had never seen any ruin more imposing than that of
a cow house, and, of course, were ravenous for old towers, were now
quite wide awake, but were disappointed to learn that these were only
custom house rendezvous. Here is the county of Cork. Some one calls
out,--
"There is O'Connell's house;" and a warm dispute ensues whether a large
mansion, with a stone chapel by it, answers to that name. At all events
the region looks desolate enough, and they say the natives of it are
almost savages. A passenger remarks, that "O'Connell never really did
any thing for the Irish, but lived on his capacity for exciting their
enthusiasm." Thereupon another expresses great contempt for the Irish
who could be so taken in. Nevertheless, the capability of a
disinterested enthusiasm is, on the whole, a nobler property of a human
being than a shrewd self-interest. I like the Irish all the better for
it.
Now we pass Kinsale lighthouse; there is the spot where the Albion was
wrecked. It is a bare, frowning cliff, with walls of rock rising
perpendicularly out of the sea. Now, to be sure, the sea smiles and
sparkles around the base of it, as gently as if it never could storm;
yet under other skies, and with a fierce south-east wind, how the waves
would pour in here! Woe then to the distressed and rudderless vessel
that drifts towards those fatal rocks! This gives the outmost and
boldest view of the point.
[Illustration: View East of Kinsale.]
The Albion struck just round the left of the point, where the rock rises
perpendicularly out of the sea. I well remember, when a child, of the
newspapers being filled with the dreadful story of the wreck of the ship
Albion--how for hours, rudderless and helpless, they saw themselves
driving with inevitable certainty against these pitiless rocks; and how,
in the last struggle, one human being after another was dashed against
them in helpless agony.
What an infinite deal of misery results from man's helplessness and
ignorance and nature's inflexibility in this one matter of crossing the
ocean! What agonies of prayer there were during all the long hours that
this ship was driving straight on to these fatal rocks, all to no
purpose! It struck and crushed just the same. Surely, without the
revelation of God in Jesus, who could believe in the divine goodness? I
do not wonder the old Greeks so often spoke of their gods as cruel, and
believed the universe was governed by a remorseless and inexorable fate.
Who would come to any other conclusion, except from the pages of the
Bible?
But we have sailed far past Kinsale point. Now blue and shadowy loom up
the distant form of the Youghal Mountains, (pronounced _Yoole_.) The
surface of the water is alive with fishing boats, spreading their white
wings and skimming about like so many moth millers.
About nine o'clock we were crossing the sand bar, which lies at the
mouth of the Mersey River, running up towards Liverpool. Our signal
pennants are fluttering at the mast head, pilot full of energy on one
wheel house, and a man casting the lead on the other.
"By the mark, five," says the man. The pilot, with all his energy, is
telegraphing to the steersman. This is a very close and complicated
piece of navigation, I should think, this running up the Mersey, for
every moment we are passing some kind of a signal token, which warns off
from some shoal. Here is a bell buoy, where the waves keep the bell
always tolling; here, a buoyant lighthouse; and "See there, those
shoals, how pokerish they look!" says one of the passengers, pointing to
the foam on our starboard bow. All is bustle, animation, exultation. Now
float out the American stars and stripes on our bow.
Before us lies the great city of Liverpool. No old Cathedral, no
castles, a real New Yorkish place.
"There, that's the fort," cries one. Bang, bang, go the two guns from
our forward gangway.
"I wonder if they will fire from the fort," says another.
"How green that grass looks!" says a third; "and what pretty cottages!"
"All modern, though," says somebody, in tones of disappointment. Now we
are passing the Victoria Dock. Bang, bang, again. We are in a forest of
ships of all nations; their masts bristling like the tall pines in
Maine; their many colored flags streaming like the forest leaves in
autumn.
"Hark," says one; "there's, a chime of bells from the city; how sweet! I
had quite forgotten it was Sunday."
Here we cast anchor, and the small steam tender conies puffing
alongside. Now for the custom house officers. State rooms, holds, and
cabins must all give up their trunks; a general muster among the
baggage, and passenger after passenger comes forward as their names are
called, much as follows: "Snooks." "Here, sir." "Any thing contraband
here, Mr. Snooks? Any cigars, tobacco, &c.?" "Nothing, sir."
A little unlocking, a little fumbling. "Shut up; all right; ticket
here." And a little man pastes on each article a slip of paper, with the
royal arms of England and the magical letters V.R., to remind all men
that they have come into a country where a lady reigns, and of course
must behave themselves as prettily as they can.
We were inquiring of some friends for the most convenient hotel, when we
found the son of Mr. Cropper, of Dingle Bank, waiting in the cabin, to
take us with him to their hospitable abode. In a few moments after the
baggage had been examined, we all bade adieu to the old ship, and went
on board the little steam tender, which carries passengers up to the
city.
This Mersey River would be a very beautiful one, if it were not so dingy
and muddy. As we are sailing up in the tender towards Liverpool, I
deplore the circumstance feelingly. "What does make this river so
muddy?"
"O," says a bystander, "don't you know that
'The quality of mercy is not strained'?"
And now we are fairly alongside the shore, and we are soon going to set
our foot on the land of Old England.
Say what we will, an American, particularly a New Englander, can never
approach the old country without a kind of thrill and pulsation of
kindred. Its history for two centuries was our history. Its literature,
laws, and language are our literature, laws, and language. Spenser,
Shakspeare, Bacon, Milton, were a glorious inheritance, which we share
in common. Our very life-blood is English life-blood. It is Anglo-Saxon
vigor that is spreading our country from Atlantic to Pacific, and
leading on a new era in the world's development. America is a tall,
sightly young shoot, that has grown from the old royal oak of England;
divided from its parent root, it has shot up in new, rich soil, and
under genial, brilliant skies, and therefore takes on a new type of
growth and foliage, but the sap in it is the same.
I had an early opportunity of making acquaintance with my English
brethren; for, much to my astonishment, I found quite a crowd on the
wharf, and we walked up to our carriage through a long lane of people,
bowing, and looking very glad to see us. When I came to get into the
hack it was surrounded by more faces than I could count. They stood
very quietly, and looked very kindly, though evidently very much
determined to look. Something prevented the hack from moving on; so the
interview was prolonged for some time. I therefore took occasion to
remark the very fair, pure complexions, the clear eyes, and the general
air of health and vigor, which seem to characterize our brethren and
sisters of the island. There seemed to be no occasion to ask them, how
they did, as they were evidently quite well. Indeed, this air of health
is one of the most striking things when one lands in England.
They were not burly, red-faced, and stout, as I had sometimes conceived
of the English people, but just full enough to suggest the idea of vigor
and health. The presence of so many healthy, rosy people looking at me,
all reduced as I was, first by land and then by sea sickness, made me
feel myself more withered and forlorn than ever. But there was an
earnestness and a depth of kind feeling in some of the faces, which I
shall long remember. It seemed as if I had not only touched the English
shore, but felt the English heart.
Our carriage at last drove on, taking us through Liverpool, and a mile
or two out, and at length wound its way along the gravel paths of a
beautiful little retreat, on the banks of the Mersey, called the
"Dingle." It opened to my eyes like a paradise, all wearied as I was
with the tossing of the sea. I have since become familiar with these
beautiful little spots, which are so common in England; but now all was
entirely new to me.
We rode by shining clumps of the Portugal laurel, a beautiful evergreen,
much resembling our mountain rhododendron; then there was the prickly,
polished, dark-green holly, which I had never seen before, but which
is, certainly, one of the most perfect of shrubs. The turf was of that
soft, dazzling green, and had that peculiar velvet-like smoothness,
which seem characteristic of England. We stopped at last before the door
of a cottage, whose porch was overgrown with ivy. From that moment I
ceased to feel myself a stranger in England. I cannot tell you how
delightful to me, dizzy and weary as I was, was the first sight of the
chamber of reception which had been prepared for us. No item of cozy
comfort that one could desire was omitted. The sofa and easy chair
wheeled up before a cheerful coal fire, a bright little teakettle
steaming in front of the grate, a table with a beautiful vase of
flowers, books, and writing apparatus, and kind friends with words full
of affectionate cheer,--all these made me feel at home in a moment.
The hospitality of England has become famous in the world, and, I think,
with reason. I doubt not there is just as much hospitable feeling in
other countries; but in England the matter of coziness and home comfort
has been so studied, and matured, and reduced to system, that they
really have it in their power to effect more, towards making their
guests comfortable, than perhaps any other people.
After a short season allotted to changing our ship garments and for
rest, we found ourselves seated at the dinner table. While dining, the
sister-in-law of our friends came in from the next door, to exchange a
word or two of welcome, and invite us to breakfast with them the
following morning.
Between all the excitements of landing, and meeting so many new faces,
and the remains of the dizzy motion of the ship, which still haunted me,
I found it impossible to close my eyes to sleep that first night till
the dim gray of dawn. I got up as soon as it was light, and looked out
of the window; and as my eyes fell on the luxuriant, ivy-covered porch,
the clumps of shining, dark-green holly bushes, I said to myself, "Ah,
really, this is England!"
I never saw any plant that struck me as more beautiful than this holly.
It is a dense shrub growing from six to eight feet high, with a thickly
varnished leaf of green. The outline of the leaf is something like this.
I do not believe it can ever come to a state of perfect development
under the fierce alternations of heat and cold which obtain in our New
England climate, though it grows in the Southern States. It is one of
the symbolical shrubs of England, probably because its bright green in
winter makes it so splendid a Christmas decoration. A little bird sat
twittering on one of the sprays. He had a bright red breast, and seemed
evidently to consider himself of good blood and family, with the best
reason, as I afterwards learned, since he was no other than the
identical robin redbreast renowned in song and story; undoubtedly a
lineal descendant of that very cock robin whose death and burial form so
vivid a portion of our childish literature.
I must tell you, then, as one of the first remarks on matters and things
here in England, that "robin redbreast" is not at all the fellow we in
America take him to be. The character who flourishes under that name
among us is quite a different bird; he is twice as large, and has
altogether a different air, and as he sits up with military erectness on
a rail fence or stump, shows not even a family likeness to his
diminutive English namesake. Well, of course, robin over here will claim
to have the real family estate and title, since he lives in a country
where such matters are understood and looked into. Our robin is probably
some fourth cousin, who, like others, has struck out a new course for
himself in America, and thrives upon it.
We hurried to dress, remembering our engagements to breakfast this
morning with a brother of our host, whose cottage stands on the same
ground, within a few steps of our own. I had not the slightest idea of
what the English mean by a breakfast, and therefore went in all
innocence, supposing that I should see nobody but the family circle of
my acquaintances. Quite to my astonishment, I found a party of between
thirty and forty people. Ladies sitting with their bonnets on, as in a
morning call. It was impossible, however, to feel more than a momentary
embarrassment in the friendly warmth and cordiality of the circle by
whom we were surrounded.
The English are called cold and stiff in their manners; I had always
heard they were so, but I certainly saw nothing of it here. A circle of
family relatives could not have received us with more warmth and
kindness. The remark which I made mentally, as my eye passed around the
circle, was--Why, these people are just like home; they look like us,
and the tone of sentiment and feeling is precisely such as I have been
accustomed to; I mean with the exception of the antislavery question.
That question has, from the very first, been, in England, a deeply
religious movement. It was conceived and carried on by men of devotional
habits, in the same spirit in which the work of foreign missions was
undertaken in our own country; by just such earnest, self-denying,
devout men as Samuel J. Mills and Jeremiah Evarts.
It was encountered by the same contempt and opposition, in the outset,
from men of merely worldly habits and principles; and to this day it
retains that hold on the devotional mind of the English nation that the
foreign mission cause does in America.
Liverpool was at first to the antislavery cause nearly what New York has
been with us. Its commercial interests were largely implicated in the
slave trade, and the virulence of opposition towards the first movers of
the antislavery reform in Liverpool was about as great as it is now
against abolitionists in Charleston.
When Clarkson first came here to prosecute his inquiries into the
subject, a mob collected around him, and endeavored to throw him off the
dock into the water; he was rescued by a gentleman, some of whose
descendants I met on this occasion.
The father of our host, Mr. Cropper, was one of the first and most
efficient supporters of the cause in Liverpool; and the whole circle was
composed of those who had taken a deep interest in that struggle. The
wife of our host was the daughter of the celebrated Lord Chief Justice
Denman, a man who, for many years, stood unrivalled, at the head of the
legal mind in England, and who, with a generous ardor seldom equalled,
devoted all his energies to this sacred cause.
When the publication of Uncle Tom's Cabin turned the attention of the
British public to the existing horrors of slavery in America, some
palliations of the system appeared in English papers. Lord Denman,
though then in delicate health and advanced years, wrote a series of
letters upon the subject--an exertion which entirely prostrated his
before feeble health. In one of the addresses made at table, a very
feeling allusion was made to Lord Denman's labors, and also to those of
the honored father of the two Messrs. Cropper.
As breakfast parties are things which we do not have in America, perhaps
mother would like to know just how they are managed. The hour is
generally somewhere between nine and twelve, and the whole idea and
spirit of the thing is that of an informal and social gathering. Ladies
keep their bonnets on, and are not dressed in full toilet. On this
occasion we sat and chatted together socially till the whole party was
assembled in the drawing room, and then breakfast was announced. Each
gentleman had a lady assigned him, and we walked into the dining room,
where stood the tables tastefully adorned with flowers, and spread with
an abundant cold collation, while tea and coffee were passed round by
servants. In each plate was a card, containing the name of the person
for whom it was designed. I took my place by the side of the Rev. Dr.
McNiel, one of the most celebrated clergymen of the established church
in Liverpool.
The conversation was flowing, free, and friendly. The old reminiscences
of the antislavery conflict in England were touchingly recalled, and the
warmest sympathy was expressed for those in America who are carrying on
the same cause.
In one thing I was most agreeably disappointed. I had been told that the
Christians of England were intolerant and unreasonable in their opinions
on this subject; that they could not be made to understand the peculiar
difficulties which beset it in America, and that they therefore made no
distinction and no allowance in their censures. All this I found, so
far as this circle were concerned, to be strikingly untrue. They
appeared to be peculiarly affectionate in their feelings as regarded our
country; to have the highest appreciation of, and the deepest sympathy
with, our religious community, and to be extremely desirous to assist us
in our difficulties. I also found them remarkably well informed upon the
subject. They keep their eyes upon our papers, our public documents and
speeches in Congress, and are as well advised in regard to the progress
of the moral conflict as our Foreign Missionary Society is with the
state of affairs in Hindostan and Burmah.
Several present spoke of the part which England originally had in
planting slavery in America, as placing English Christians under a
solemn responsibility to bring every possible moral influence to bear
for its extinction. Nevertheless, they seem to be the farthest possible
from an unkind or denunciatory spirit, even towards those most deeply
implicated. The remarks made by Dr. McNiel to me were a fair sample of
the spirit and attitude of all present.
"I have been trying, Mrs. S.," he said, "to bring my mind into the
attitude of those Christians at the south who defend the institution of
slavery. There are _real_ Christians there who do this--are there not?"
I replied, that undoubtedly there were some most amiable and Christian
people who defend slavery on principle, just as there had been some to
defend every form of despotism.
"Do give me some idea of the views they take; it is something to me so
inconceivable. I am utterly at a loss how it can be made in any way
plausible."
I then stated that the most plausible view, and that which seemed to
have the most force with good men, was one which represented the
institution of slavery as a sort of wardship or guardian relation, by
which an inferior race were brought under the watch and care of a
superior race to be instructed in Christianity.
He then inquired if there was any system of religious instruction
actually pursued.
In reply to this, I gave him some sketch of the operations for the
religious instruction of the negroes, which had been carried on by the
Presbyterian and other denominations. I remarked that many good people
who do not take very extended views, fixing their attention chiefly on
the efforts which they are making for the religious instruction of
slaves, are blind to the sin and injustice of allowing their legal
position to remain what it is.
"But how do they shut their eyes to the various cruelties of the
system,--the separation of families--the domestic slave trade?"
I replied, "In part, by not inquiring into them. The best kind of people
are, in general, those who _know_ least of the cruelties of the system;
they never witness them. As in the city of London or Liverpool there may
be an amount of crime and suffering which many residents may live years
without seeing or knowing, so it is in the slave states."
Every person present appeared to be in that softened and charitable
frame of mind which disposed them to make every allowance for the
situation of Christians so peculiarly tempted, while, at the same time,
there was the most earnest concern, in view of the dishonor brought upon
Christianity by the defence of such a system.
One other thing I noticed, which was an agreeable disappointment to me.
I had been told that there was no social intercourse between the
established church and dissenters. In this party, however, were people
of many different denominations. Our host belongs to the established
church; his brother, with whom we are visiting, is a Baptist, and their
father was a Friend; and there appeared to be the utmost social
cordiality. Whether I shall find this uniformly the case will appear in
time.
After the breakfast party was over, I found at the door an array of
children of the poor, belonging to a school kept under the
superintendence of Mrs. E. Cropper, and called, as is customary here, a
ragged school. The children, however, were any thing but ragged, being
tidily dressed, remarkably clean, with glowing cheeks and bright eyes. I
must say, so far as I have seen them, English children have a much
healthier appearance than those of America. By the side of their bright
bloom ours look pale and faded.
Another school of the same kind is kept in this neighborhood, under the
auspices of Sir George Stephen, a conspicuous advocate of the
antislavery cause.
I thought the fair patroness of this school seemed not a little
delighted with the appearance of her protégés, as they sung, with great
enthusiasm, Jane Taylor's hymn, commencing,--
"I thank the goodness and the grace
That on my birth have smiled,
And made me in these Christian days
A happy English child."
All the little rogues were quite familiar with Topsy and Eva, and _au
fait_ in the fortunes of Uncle Tom; so that, being introduced as the
maternal relative of these characters, I seemed to find favor in their
eyes. And when one of the speakers congratulated them that they were
born in a land where no child could be bought or sold, they responded
with enthusiastic cheers--cheers which made me feel rather sad; but
still I could not quarrel with English people for taking all the pride
and all the comfort which this inspiriting truth can convey.
They had a hard enough struggle in rooting up the old weed of slavery,
to justify them in rejoicing in their freedom. Well, the day will come
in America, as I trust, when as much can be said for us.
After the children were gone came a succession of calls; some from very
aged people, the veterans of the old antislavery cause. I was astonished
and overwhelmed by the fervor of feeling some of them manifested; there
seemed to be something almost prophetic in the enthusiasm with which
they expressed their hope of our final success in America. This
excitement, though very pleasant, was wearisome, and I was glad of an
opportunity after dinner to rest myself, by rambling uninterrupted, with
my friends, through the beautiful grounds of the Dingle.
Two nice little boys were my squires on this occasion, one of whom, a
sturdy little fellow, on being asked his name, gave it to me in full as
Joseph Babington Macaulay, and I learned that his mother, by a former
marriage, had been the wife of Macaulay's brother. Uncle Tom Macaulay, I
found, was a favorite character with the young people. Master Harry
conducted me through the walks to the conservatories, all brilliant with
azaleas and all sorts of flowers, and then through a long walk on the
banks of the Mersey.
Here the wild flowers attracted my attention, as being so different
from those of our own country. Their daisy is not our flower, with its
wide, plaited ruff and yellow centre. The English daisy is
"The wee modest crimson-tipped flower,"
which Burns celebrates. It is what we raise in greenhouses, and call the
mountain daisy. Its effect, growing profusely about fields and grass
plats, is very beautiful.
We read much, among the poets, of the primrose,
"Earliest daughter of the Spring."
This flower is one, also, which we cultivate in gardens to some extent.
The outline of it is as follows: The hue a delicate straw color; it
grows in tufts in shady places, and has a pure, serious look, which
reminds one of the line of Shakspeare--
"Pale primroses, which die unmarried."
It has also the faintest and most ethereal perfume,--a perfume that
seems to come and go in the air like music; and you perceive it at a
little distance from a tuft of them, when you would not if you gathered
and smelled them. On the whole, the primrose is a poet's and a painter's
flower. An artist's eye would notice an exquisite harmony between the
yellow-green hue of its leaves and the tint of its blossoms. I do not
wonder that it has been so great a favorite among the poets. It is just
such a flower as Mozart and Raphael would have loved.
Then there is the bluebell, a bulb, which also grows in deep shades. It
is a little purple bell, with a narrow green leaf, like a ribbon. We
often read in English stories, of the gorse and furze; these are two
names for the same plant, a low bush, with strong, prickly leaves,
growing much like a juniper. The contrast of its very brilliant yellow,
pea-shaped blossoms, with the dark green of its leaves, is very
beautiful. It grows here in hedges and on commons, and is thought rather
a plebeian affair. I think it would make quite an addition to our garden
shrubbery. Possibly it might make as much sensation with us as our
mullein does in foreign greenhouses.
After rambling a while, we came to a beautiful summer house, placed in a
retired spot, so as to command a view of the Mersey River. I think they
told me that it was Lord Denman's favorite seat. There we sat down, and
in common with the young gentlemen and ladies of the family, had quite a
pleasant talk together. Among other things we talked about the question
which is now agitating the public mind a good deal,--Whether it is
expedient to open the Crystal Palace to the people on Sunday. They said
that this course was much urged by some philanthropists, on the ground
that it was the only day when the working classes could find any leisure
to visit it, and that it seemed hard to shut them out entirely from all
the opportunities and advantages which they might thus derive; that to
exclude the laborer from recreation on the Sabbath, was the same as
saying that he should never have any recreation. I asked, why the
philanthropists could not urge employers to give their workmen a part of
Saturday for this purpose; as it seemed to me unchristian to drive trade
so that the laboring man had no time but Sunday for intellectual and
social recreation. We rather came to the conclusion that this was the
right course; whether the people of England will, is quite another
matter.
The grounds of the Dingle embrace three cottages; those of the two
Messrs. Cropper, and that of a son, who is married to a daughter of Dr.
Arnold. I rather think this way of relatives living together is more
common here in England than it is in America; and there is more idea of
home permanence connected with the family dwelling-place than with us,
where the country is so wide, and causes of change and removal so
frequent. A man builds a house in England with the expectation of living
in it and leaving it to his children; while we shed our houses in
America as easily as a snail does his shell. We live a while in Boston,
and then a while in New York, and then, perhaps, turn up at Cincinnati.
Scarcely any body with us is living where they expect to live and die.
The man that dies in the house he was born in is a wonder. There is
something pleasant in the permanence and repose of the English family
estate, which we, in America, know very little of. All which is apropos
to our having finished our walk, and got back to the ivy-covered porch
again.
The next day at breakfast, it was arranged that we should take a drive
out to Speke Hall, an old mansion, which is considered a fine specimen
of ancient house architecture. So the carriage was at the door. It was
a cool, breezy, April morning, but there was an abundance of wrappers
and carriage blankets provided to keep us comfortable. I must say, by
the by, that English housekeepers are bountiful in their provision for
carriage comfort. Every household has a store of warm, loose over
garments, which are offered, if needed, to the guests; and each carriage
is provided with one or two blankets, manufactured and sold expressly
for this use, to envelope one's feet and limbs; besides all which,
should the weather be cold, comes out a long stone reservoir, made flat
on both sides, and filled with hot water, for foot stools. This is an
improvement on the primitive simplicity of hot bricks, and even on the
tin foot stove, which has nourished in New England.
Being thus provided with all things necessary for comfort, we rattled
merrily away, and I, remembering that I was in England, kept my eyes
wide open to see what I could see. The hedges of the fields were just
budding, and the green showed itself on them, like a thin gauze veil.
These hedges are not all so well kept and trimmed as I expected to find
them. Some, it is true, are cut very carefully; these are generally
hedges to ornamental grounds; but many of those which separate the
fields straggle and sprawl, and have some high bushes and some low ones,
and, in short, are no more like a hedge than many rows of bushes that we
have at home. But such as they are, they are the only dividing lines of
the fields, and it is certainly a more picturesque mode of division than
our stone or worm fences. Outside of every hedge, towards the street,
there is generally a ditch, and at the bottom of the hedge is the
favorite nestling-place for all sorts of wild flowers. I remember
reading in stories about children trying to crawl through a gap in the
hedge to get at flowers, and tumbling into a ditch on the other side,
and I now saw exactly how they could do it.
As we drive we pass by many beautiful establishments, about of the
quality of our handsomest country houses, but whose grounds are kept
with a precision and exactness rarely to be seen among us. We cannot get
the gardeners who are qualified to do it; and if we could, the
painstaking, slow way of proceeding, and the habit of creeping
thoroughness, which are necessary to accomplish such results, die out in
America. Nevertheless, such grounds are exceedingly beautiful to look
upon, and I was much obliged to the owners of these places for keeping
their gates hospitably open, as seems to be the custom here.
After a drive of seven or eight miles, we alighted in front of Speke
Hall. This house is a specimen of the old fortified houses of England,
and was once fitted up with a moat and drawbridge, all in approved
feudal style. It was built somewhere about the year 1500. The sometime
moat was now full of smooth, green grass, and the drawbridge no longer
remains.
This was the first really old thing that we had seen since our arrival
in England. We came up first to a low, arched, stone door, and knocked
with a great old-fashioned knocker; this brought no answer but a treble
and bass duet from a couple of dogs inside; so we opened the door, and
saw a square court, paved with round stones, and a dark, solitary yew
tree in the centre. Here in England, I think, they have vegetable
creations made on purpose to go with old, dusky buildings; and this yew
tree is one of them. It has altogether a most goblin-like, bewitched
air, with its dusky black leaves and ragged branches, throwing
themselves straight out with odd twists and angular lines, and might put
one in mind of an old raven with some of his feathers pulled out, or a
black cat with her hair stroked the wrong way, or any other strange,
uncanny thing. Besides this they live almost forever; for when they have
grown so old that any respectable tree ought to be thinking of dying,
they only take another twist, and so live on another hundred years. I
saw some in England seven hundred years old, and they had grown queerer
every century. It is a species of evergreen, and its leaf resembles our
hemlock, only it is longer. This sprig gives you some idea of its
general form. It is always planted about churches and graveyards; a kind
of dismal emblem of immortality. This sepulchral old tree and the bass
and treble dogs were the only occupants of the court. One of these, a
great surly mastiff, barked out of his kennel on one side, and the
other, a little wiry terrier, out of his on the opposite side, and both
strained on their chains, as if they would enjoy making even more
decided demonstrations if they could.
There was an aged, mossy fountain for holy water by the side of the
wall, in which some weeds were growing. A door in the house was soon
opened by a decent-looking serving woman, to whom we communicated our
desire to see the hall.
We were shown into a large dining hall with a stone floor, wainscoted
with carved oak, almost as black as ebony. There were some pious
sentences and moral reflections inscribed in old English text, carved
over the doors, and like a cornice round the ceiling, which was also of
carved oak. Their general drift was, to say that life is short, and to
call for watchfulness and prayer. The fireplace of the hall yawned like
a great cavern, and nothing else, one would think, than a cart load of
western sycamores could have supplied an appropriate fire. A great
two-handed sword of some ancestor hung over the fireplace. On taking it
down it reached to C----'s shoulder, who, you know, is six feet high.
We went into a sort of sitting room, and looked out through a window,
latticed with little diamond panes, upon a garden wildly beautiful. The
lattice was all wreathed round with jessamines. The furniture of this
room was modern, and it seemed the more unique from its contrast with
the old architecture.
We went up stairs to see the chambers, and passed through a long,
narrow, black oak corridor, whose slippery boards had the authentic
ghostly squeak to them. There was a chamber, hung with old, faded
tapestry of Scripture subjects. In this chamber there was behind the
tapestry a door, which, being opened, displayed a staircase, that led
delightfully off to nobody knows where. The furniture was black oak,
carved, in the most elaborate manner, with cherubs' heads and other good
and solemn subjects, calculated to produce a ghostly state of mind. And,
to crown all, we heard that there was a haunted chamber, which was not
to be opened, where a white lady appeared and walked at all approved
hours.
Now, only think what a foundation for a story is here. If our Hawthorne
could conjure up such a thing as the Seven Gables in one of our prosaic
country towns, what would he have done if he had lived here? Now he is
obliged to get his ghostly images by looking through smoked glass at our
square, cold realities; but one such old place as this is a standing
romance. Perhaps it may add to the effect to say, that the owner of the
house is a bachelor, who lives there very retired, and employs himself
much in reading.
The housekeeper, who showed us about, indulged us with a view of the
kitchen, whose snowy, sanded floor and resplendent polished copper and
tin, were sights for a housekeeper to take away in her heart of hearts.
The good woman produced her copy of Uncle Tom, and begged the favor of
my autograph, which I gave, thinking it quite a happy thing to be able
to do a favor at so cheap a rate.
After going over the house we wandered through the grounds, which are
laid out with the same picturesque mixture of the past and present.
There was a fine grove, under whose shadows we walked, picking
primroses, and otherwise enacting the poetic, till it was time to go. As
we passed out, we were again saluted with a _feu de joie_ by the two
fidelities at the door, which we took in very good part, since it is
always respectable to be thorough in whatever you are set to do.
Coming home we met with an accident to the carriage which obliged us to
get out and walk some distance. I was glad enough of it, because it gave
me a better opportunity for seeing the country. We stopped at a cottage
to get some rope, and a young woman came out with that beautiful, clear
complexion which I so much admire here in England; literally her cheeks
were like damask roses.
I told Isa I wanted to see as much of the interior of the cottages as I
could; and so, as we were walking onward toward home, we managed to call
once or twice, on the excuse of asking the way and distance. The
exterior was very neat, being built of brick or stone, and each had
attached to it a little flower garden. Isa said that the cottagers often
offered them a slice of bread or tumbler of milk.
They have a way here of building the cottages two or three in a block
together, which struck me as different from our New England manner,
where, in the country, every house stands detached.
In the evening I went into Liverpool, to attend a party of friends of
the antislavery cause. In the course of the evening, Mr. Stowe was
requested to make some remarks. Among other things he spoke upon the
support the free part of the world give to slavery, by the purchase of
the produce of slave labor; and, in particular, on the great quantity of
slave-grown cotton purchased by England; suggesting it as a subject for
inquiry, whether this cannot be avoided.
One or two gentlemen, who are largely concerned in the manufacture and
importation of cotton, spoke to him on the subject afterwards, and said
it was a thing which ought to be very seriously considered. It is
probable that the cotton trade of Great Britain is the great essential
item which supports slavery, and such considerations ought not,
therefore, to be without their results.
When I was going away, the lady of the house said that the servants were
anxious to see me; so I came into the dressing room to give them, an
opportunity.
While at Mr. C.'s, also, I had once or twice been called out to see
servants, who had come in to visit those of the family. All of them had
read Uncle Tom's Cabin, and were full of sympathy. Generally speaking,
the servants seem to me quite a superior class to what are employed in
that capacity with us. They look very intelligent, are dressed with
great neatness, and though their manners are very much more deferential
than those of servants in our country, it appears to be a difference
arising quite as much from self-respect and a sense of propriety as from
servility. Every body's manners are more deferential in England than in
America.
The next day was appointed to leave Liverpool. It had been arranged
that, before leaving, we should meet the ladies of the Negroes' Friend
Society, an association formed at the time of the original antislavery
agitation in England. We went in the carriage with our friends Mr. and
Mrs. E. Cropper. On the way they were conversing upon the labors of Mrs.
Chisholm, the celebrated female philanthropist, whose efforts for the
benefit of emigrants are awakening a very general interest among all
classes in England. They said there had been hesitation on the part of
some good people, in regard to coöperating with her, because she is a
Roman Catholic.
It was agreed among us, that the great humanities of the present day are
a proper ground on which all sects can unite, and that if any feared the
extension of wrong sentiments, they had only to supply emigrant ships
more abundantly with the Bible. Mr. C. said that this is a movement
exciting very extensive interest, and that they hoped Mrs. Chisholm
would visit Liverpool before long.
The meeting was a very interesting one. The style of feeling expressed
in all the remarks was tempered by a deep and earnest remembrance of the
share which England originally had in planting the evil of slavery in
the civilized world, and her consequent obligation, as a Christian
nation, now not to cease her efforts until the evil is extirpated, not
merely from her own soil, but from all lands.
The feeling towards America was respectful and friendly, and the utmost
sympathy was expressed with her in the difficulties with which she is
environed by this evil. The tone of the meeting was deeply earnest and
religious. They presented us with a sum to be appropriated for the
benefit of the slave, in any way we might think proper.
A great number of friends accompanied us to the cars, and a beautiful
bouquet of flowers was sent, with a very affecting message from, a sick
gentleman, who, from the retirement of his chamber, felt a desire to
testify his sympathy.
Now, if all this enthusiasm for freedom and humanity, in the person of
the American slave, is to be set down as good for nothing in England,
because there are evils there in society which require redress, what
then shall we say of ourselves? Have we not been enthusiastic for
freedom in the person of the Greek, the Hungarian, and the Pole, while
protecting a much worse despotism than any from which they suffer? Do we
not consider it our duty to print and distribute the Bible in all
foreign lands, when there are three millions of people among whom we
dare not distribute it at home, and whom it is a penal offence even to
teach to read it? Do we not send remonstrances to Tuscany, about the
Madiai, when women are imprisoned in Virginia for teaching slaves to
read? Is all this hypocritical, insincere, and impertinent in us? Are we
never to send another missionary, or make another appeal for foreign
lands, till we have abolished slavery at home? For my part, I think that
imperfect and inconsistent outbursts of generosity and feeling are a
great deal better than none. No nation, no individual is wholly
consistent and Christian; but let us not in ourselves or in other
nations repudiate the truest and most beautiful developments of
humanity, because we have not yet attained perfection. All experience
has proved that the sublime spirit of foreign missions always is
suggestive of home philanthropies, and that those whose heart has been
enlarged by the love of all mankind are always those who are most
efficient in their own particular sphere.