You shall have my earliest Scotch letter; for I am sure nobody can
sympathize in the emotions of the first approach to Scotland as you can.
A country dear to us by the memory of the dead and of the living; a
country whose history and literature, interesting enough of itself, has
become to us still more so, because the reading and learning of it
formed part of our communion for many a social hour, with friends long
parted from earth.
The views of Scotland, which lay on my mother's table, even while I was
a little child, and in poring over which I spent so many happy, dreamy
hours,--the Scotch ballads, which were the delight of our evening
fireside, and which seemed almost to melt the soul out of me, before I
was old enough to understand their words,--the songs of Burns, which had
been a household treasure among us,--the enchantments of Scott,--all
these dimly returned upon me. It was the result of them all which I felt
in nerve and brain.
And, by the by, that puts me in mind of one thing; and that is, how much
of our pleasure in literature results from its reflection on us from,
other minds. As we advance in life, the literature which has charmed us
in the circle of our friends becomes endeared to us from the reflected
remembrance of them, of their individualities, their opinions, and their
sympathies, so that our memory of it is a many-colored cord, drawn from
many minds.
So in coming near to Scotland, I seemed to feel not only my own
individuality, but all that my friends would have felt, had they been
with me. For sometimes we seem to be encompassed, as by a cloud, with a
sense of the sympathy of the absent and the dead.
We left Liverpool with hearts a little tremulous and excited by the
vibration of an atmosphere of universal sympathy and kindness. We found
ourselves, at length, shut from the warm adieus of our friends, in a
snug compartment of the railroad car. The English cars are models of
comfort and good keeping. There are six seats in a compartment,
luxuriously cushioned and nicely carpeted, and six was exactly the
number of our party. Nevertheless, so obstinate is custom that we
averred at first that we preferred our American cars, deficient as they
are in many points of neatness and luxury, because they are so much more
social.
"Dear me," said Mr. S., "six Yankees shut up in a car together! Not one
Englishman to tell us any thing about the country! Just like the six old
ladies that made their living by taking tea at each other's houses."
But that is the way here in England: every arrangement in travelling is
designed to maintain that privacy and reserve which is the dearest and
most sacred part of an Englishman's nature. Things are so arranged here
that, if a man pleases, he can travel all through England with his
family, and keep the circle an unbroken unit, having just as little
communication with any thing outside of it as in his own house.
From one of these sheltered apartments in a railroad car, he can pass to
preëngaged parlors and chambers in the hotel, with his own separate
table, and all his domestic manners and peculiarities unbroken. In fact,
it is a little compact home travelling about.
Now, all this is very charming to people who know already as much about
a country as they want to know; but it follows from it that a stranger
might travel all through England, from one end to the other and not be
on conversing terms with a person in it. He may be at the same hotel, in
the same train with people able to give him all imaginable information,
yet never touch them at any practicable point of communion. This is more
especially the case if his party, as ours was, is just large enough to
fill the whole apartment.
As to the comforts of the cars, it is to be said, that for the same
price you can get far more comfortable riding in America. Their first
class cars are beyond all praise, but also beyond all price; their
second class are comfortless, cushionless, and uninviting. Agreeably
with our theory of democratic equality, we have a general car, not so
complete as the one, nor so bare as the other, where all ride together;
and if the traveller in thus riding sees things that occasionally annoy
him, when he remembers that the whole population, from the highest to
the lowest, are accommodated here together, he will certainly see
hopeful indications in the general comfort, order, and respectability
which prevail; all which we talked over most patriotically together,
while we were lamenting that there was not a seventh to our party, to
instruct us in the localities.
Every thing upon the railroad proceeds with systematic accuracy. There
is no chance for the most careless person to commit a blunder, or make a
mistake. At the proper time the conductor marches every body into their
places and locks them in, gives the word, "All right," and away we go.
Somebody has remarked, very characteristically, that the starting word
of the English is "all right," and that of the Americans "go ahead."
Away we go through Lancashire, wide awake, looking out on all sides for
any signs of antiquity. In being thus whirled through English scenery, I
became conscious of a new understanding of the spirit and phraseology of
English poetry. There are many phrases and expressions with which we
have been familiar from childhood, and which, we suppose, in a kind of
indefinite way, we understand, which, after all, when we come on English
ground, start into a new significance: take, for instance, these lines
from L'Allegro:--
"Sometimes walking, not unseen,
By hedge-row elms on hillocks green.
* * * * *
Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures,
While the landscape round it measures;
Russet lawns and fallows gray,
Where the nibbling flocks do stray;
Mountains, on whose barren breast
The laboring clouds do often rest;
Meadows trim with daisies pied,
Shallow brooks and livers wide:
Towers and battlements it sees
Bosom'd high in tufted trees."
Now, these hedge-row elms. I had never even asked myself what they were
till I saw them; but you know, as I said in a former letter, the hedges
are not all of them carefully cut; in fact many of them are only
irregular rows of bushes, where, although the hawthorn is the staple
element, yet firs, and brambles, and many other interlopers put in their
claim, and they all grow up together in a kind of straggling unity; and
in the hedges trees are often set out, particularly elms, and have a
very pleasing effect.
Then, too, the trees have more of that rounding outline which is
expressed by the word "bosomed." But here we are, right under the walls
of Lancaster, and Mr. S. wakes me up by quoting, "Old John o' Gaunt,
time-honored Lancaster."
"Time-honored," said I; "it looks as fresh as if it had been built
yesterday: you do not mean to say that is the real old castle?"
"To be sure, it is the very old castle built in the reign of Edward
III., by John of Gaunt."
It stands on the summit of a hill, seated regally like a queen upon a
throne, and every part of it looks as fresh, and sharp, and clear, as if
it were the work of modern times. It is used now for a county jail. We
have but a moment to stop or admire--the merciless steam car drives on.
We have a little talk about the feudal times, and the old past days;
when again the cry goes up,--
"O, there's something! What's that?"
"O, that is Carlisle."
"Carlisle!" said I; "what, the Carlisle of Scott's ballad?"
"What ballad?"
"Why, don't you remember, in the Lay of the Last Minstrel, the song of
Albert Graeme, which has something about Carlisle's wall in every verse?
'It was an English, laydie bright
When sun shines fair on Carlisle wall,
And she would marry a Scottish knight,
For love will still be lord of all.'
I used to read this when I was a child, and wonder what 'Carlisle wall'
was."
Carlisle is one of the most ancient cities in England, dating quite back
to the time of the Romans. Wonderful! How these Romans left their mark
every where!
Carlisle has also its ancient castle, the lofty, massive tower of which
forms a striking feature of the town.
This castle was built by William Rufus. David, King of Scots, and Robert
Bruce both tried their hands upon it, in the good old times, when
England and Scotland were a mutual robbery association. Then the castle
of the town was its great feature; castles were every thing in those
days. Now the castle has gone to decay, and stands only for a curiosity,
and the cotton factory has come up in its place. This place is famous
for cottons and ginghams, and moreover for a celebrated biscuit bakery.
So goes the world,--the lively vigorous shoots of the present springing
out of the old, mouldering trunk of the past.
Mr. S. was in an ecstasy about an old church, a splendid Gothic, in
which Paley preached. He was archdeacon of Carlisle. We stopped here for
a little while to take dinner. In a large, handsome room tables were set
out, and we sat down to a regular meal.
One sees nothing of a town from a railroad station, since it seems to be
an invariable rule, not only here, but all over Europe, to locate them
so that you can see nothing from them.
By the by, I forgot to say, among the historical recollections of this
place, that it was the first stopping-place of Queen Mary, after her
fatal flight into England. The rooms which she occupied are still shown
in the castle, and there are interesting letters and documents extant
from lords whom Elizabeth sent here to visit her, in which they record
her beauty, her heroic sentiments, and even her dress; so strong was the
fascination in which she held all who approached her. Carlisle is the
scene of the denouement of Guy Mannering, and it is from this town that
Lord Carlisle gets his title.
And now keep up a bright lookout for ruins and old houses. Mr. S., whose
eyes are always in every place, allowed none of us to slumber, but
looking out, first on his own side and then on ours, called our
attention to every visible thing. If he had been appointed on a mission
of inquiry he could not have been more zealous and faithful, and I began
to think that our desire for an English cicerone was quite superfluous.
And now we pass Gretna Green, famous in story--that momentous place
which marks the commencement of Scotland. It is a little straggling
village, and there is a roadside inn, which has been the scene of
innumerable Gretna Green marriages.
Owing to the fact that the Scottish law of marriage is far more liberal
in its construction than the English, this place has been the refuge of
distressed lovers from time immemorial; and although the practice of
escaping here is universally condemned as very naughty and improper,
yet, like every other impropriety, it is kept in countenance by very
respectable people. Two lord chancellors have had the amiable weakness
to fall into this snare, and one lord chancellor's son; so says the
guide book, which is our Koran for the time being. It says, moreover,
that it would be easy to add a lengthened list of _distingués_ married
at Gretna Green; but these lord chancellors (Erskine and Eldon) are
quoted as being the most melancholy monuments. What shall meaner mortals
do, when law itself, in all her majesty, wig, gown, and all, goes by the
board?
Well, we are in Scotland at last, and now our pulse rises as the sun
declines in the west. We catch glimpses of the Solway Frith, and talk
about Redgauntlet.
One says, "Do you remember the scene on the sea shore, with which it
opens, describing the rising of the tide?"
And says another, "Don't you remember those lines in the Young Lochinvar
song?--
'Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide.'"
I wonder how many authors it will take to enchant our country from Maine
to New Orleans, as every foot of ground is enchanted here in Scotland.
The sun went down, and night drew on; still we were in Scotland. Scotch
ballads, Scotch tunes, and Scotch literature were in the ascendant. We
sang "Auld Lang Syne," "Scots wha ha'," and "Bonnie Doon," and then,
changing the key, sang Dundee, Elgin, and Martyrs.
"Take care," said Mr. S.; "don't get too much excited."
"Ah," said I, "this is a thing that comes only once in a lifetime; do
let us have the comfort of it. We shall never come into Scotland for the
_first time_ again."
"Ah," said another, "how I wish Walter Scott was alive!"
While we were thus at the fusion point of enthusiasm, the cars stopped
at Lockerby, where the real Old Mortality is buried. All was dim and
dark outside, but we soon became conscious that there was quite a number
collected, peering into the window, and, with a strange kind of thrill,
I heard my name inquired for in the Scottish accent. I went to the
window; there were men, women, and children there, and hand after hand
was presented, with the words, "Ye're welcome to Scotland!"
Then they inquired for, and shook hands with, all the party, having in
some mysterious manner got the knowledge of who they were, even down to
little G----, whom they took to be my son. Was it not pleasant, when I
had a heart so warm for this old country? I shall never forget the
thrill of those words, "Ye're welcome to Scotland," nor the "Gude
night."
After that we found similar welcomes in many succeeding stopping-places;
and though I did wave a towel out of the window, instead of a pocket
handkerchief, and commit other awkwardnesses, from not knowing how to
play my part, yet I fancied, after all, that Scotland and we were coming
on well together. Who the good souls were that were thus watching for
us through the night, I am sure I do not know; but that they were of the
"one blood," which unites all the families of the earth, I felt.
As we came towards Glasgow, we saw, upon a high hill, what we supposed
to be a castle on fire--great volumes of smoke rolling up, and fire
looking out of arched windows.
"Dear me, what a conflagration!" we all exclaimed. We had not gone very
far before we saw another, and then, on the opposite side of the car,
another still.
"Why, it seems to me the country is all on fire."
"I should think," said Mr. S., "if it was in old times, that there had
been a raid from the Highlands, and set all the houses on fire."
"Or they might be beacons," suggested C.