The ruin is more stately than most others, and was built on a grander scale. There is no particle of wood about it; all is enduring masonry. The floors are like its lawns, overgrown with beautiful grass, interspersed with wild flowers. Birds build their nests in the crevices; ivy hangs over it like a careless mantle.
The residence of kings and queens, of the bluest blood of the land, and for a period of four hundred years,—could the old walls speak, what tales would they tell! Intrigues, amours, sorrows, intenser than the peasant ever dreamed of. The rise and fall of dynasties, the advancing and receding of the waves of national life, were felt most definitely here, and full four centuries were employed in the record.
A home, a prison, the Elizabethan house of love,—it is to-day a marvellous curiosity-shop for the civilized world. Where young royalty prattled and crept, the speckled reptile, with "a precious jewel in its head," leaps and the snail crawls. The curtain of two centuries drops its thick folds between our age and Kenilworth's royal activity.
COVENTRY.
We arrived here at 2.45 p. m. May 28, after a short ride from Kenilworth. Few places in England are better known in history than this quaint old town. It is situated on the River Sherbourne, and has a population of 39,470. The town derives its name from a Benedictine Priory, founded in 1044 by Leofric, Lord of Mercia, and his Lady Godiva. The cellar of the old institution still exists, 115 feet long and 15 feet wide. No place affords a better example of an old English town than Coventry. In one section little if any change has been made, and here are timber-and-plaster houses, in streets so narrow that the projecting upper stories are but a few feet apart.
There are three churches, all with high towers and spires; and they are so located as to form an apparent triangle when seen from almost any point of view, and are seemingly an eighth of a mile apart. The steeple of St. Michael's is 363 feet high, and Trinity is 237 feet. They are of Gothic architecture, and two of them elaborately finished. There is a free school, founded in the time of Henry VIII.; and St. Mary's Hall was built in the fifteenth century. It is 60 feet long, 30 feet wide, and 34 feet high, with a curiously carved oak ceiling, and has a splendid colored window. It was built by Trinity Guild, and is now used for public meetings. As long ago as the fifteenth century an active trade was carried on in caps, bonnets, and camlet-cloth. These have given place to silks, fringes, and watches, more of the latter being made here than in London. Coventry was anciently defended by walls and towers; but only a small portion of the former and three of the latter remain, the others having been destroyed by Charles II., on account of the favors shown by the citizens to his enemies. Twelve parliaments were held here, which shows the ancient repute of the place. The people were noted for their love of shows and processions. Religious dramas, called mysteries, were performed here as early as 1416, and often in the presence of royalty. Until the present century, an annual pageant honored the memory of Lady Godiva, and is even now occasionally revived. The story is, that she obtained from her husband, Leofric, the remission of certain heavy taxes, of which the citizens complained, on condition that she should ride naked through the streets at noonday. She ordered the people to keep within doors, and to close their shutters; and then, veiled by her long flowing hair, she mounted her palfrey, and rode through the town unseen,—except by an inquisitive tailor. He has been immortalized under the sobriquet of Peeping Tom, and it is said that he was punished by instant blindness. This is the story on which Tennyson founded his poem. It was first recorded by Matthew of Westminster, in 1307, two hundred and fifty years after its supposed occurrence. When the pageant takes place now, a strikingly clad female is the leading character. There is a bust of Peeping Tom at the junction of two streets, the angle of which is rounded, three stories high, and painted drab. From an upper-story window, without a sash, the figure of Tom leans out in an inquisitive attitude. He is painted in the various colors of flesh and clothes, appears to be about forty years old, and wears a sort of military cap and coat. He has peeped out on the main street for centuries, the observed of all observers. The spot is said to be the one from which the original Tom was so rash as to look. We believe he is yet a source of revenue to the stores in the neighborhood, for there are often groups of strangers in the vicinity. To catch a share of the traffic, there are other Peeping Toms. In the venturesome spirit of the veritable Tom, some of these imitations are proclaimed, in painted placards, to be the great original,—"original in that place!" somebody said!
At 9 a. m. of Wednesday we left for
BIRMINGHAM,
where we arrived at 11 o'clock, and found the place, as we had anticipated, very smoky in atmosphere, and largely inhabited by poor working-people. High taxes, lack of education, and hard usage keep the people down. The public buildings and stores are spacious, but our surroundings were uncomfortable and we made but a three hours' stay.
Birmingham is a city of immense manufactures, and may well be considered the great workshop of England. Here John Bull everywhere has on his workshop paper cap, and shows the brawniest of brawny arms, and the smuttiest of smutty faces. A Birmingham dry-goods clerk, by reason of the smoky atmosphere, is about as untidy as an average American mechanic.
The city lies on ground sloping to the River Rhea, and canals radiate to several railroads. It has three parks: Adderly, triangular in shape, opened in 1856; Calthorpe, near the river, in 1857; and Ashton, in 1858. The older portions are on low grounds. The Town Hall is of Anglesea marble, 160 feet long, 100 feet wide, and 83 feet high, and is of Corinthian architecture, in imitation of the temple of Jupiter Stator at Rome. The public hall is 145 feet long, 65 feet wide, and 65 feet high,—that is, 30 feet longer than Boston Music Hall, 15 feet narrower, and of the same height. The organ is one of the most powerful in Europe, and has 78 stops.
The old church of St. Martin has a massive tower, and a spire 210 feet high. This church contains monuments of the De Berminghams, the ancient lords of the place. It has 343,696 inhabitants, is first mentioned in Doomsday Book under the name of Bermingeham, and remained an obscure village for centuries.
Its first impetus towards manufactures was given at the close of the last century, by the introduction of the steam-engine,—especially by the demand for muskets created by the American Revolution and the French wars. There are many large factories, but more than elsewhere is it customary for persons of limited means to carry on manufactures on a small scale. They generally employ men to work by the piece and at home; or, where steam is required, they hire rooms furnished with the requisite power.
In 1865 there were 724 steam-engines in the place, with 9,910 horse-power. There were 1,013 smelting and casting furnaces, and 20,000 families were engaged in manufactures. The value of hardware and cutlery exported in 1864 was $20,000,000. There were also exports of firearms, glass, leather, machinery, iron and steel wire, plate, copper, brass, zinc, tin, and coal, to the amount of $185,000,000. History says that 5,000,000 firearms were furnished during the Napoleonic wars; and during the first two years of the Civil War in America, 1,027,336 were exported to the United States. 30,000 wedding rings have in a single year passed through the assay office. This city is noted for its steel pens. At the Gillott establishment 500 workmen are employed, and 1,000,000 gross are produced annually. The whole number of pens made in the city is 9,000,000 annually, and 500 tons of steel are consumed in their manufacture. Every kind of manufacture in metals is carried on here, and to name the items would bewilder us. Birmingham is the workshop of Great Britain, and we may say of the world, for no other place approaches it in the extent and variety of metallic work. Our next move was for
LICHFIELD.
We reached it after an hour's ride from Birmingham, arriving at 3 p. m. Valises deposited at a very homelike chateau, not far from the station, we were out for sights. Through a couple of short and narrow streets, where the brick buildings were painted in light colors, we passed into an opening dignified by the name of Square, measuring perhaps a hundred feet on each side. On the right-hand corner is an ancient Gothic church. On our left, making another corner, is the house in which, on the 18th of September, 1709, was born Samuel Johnson, the great lexicographer, son of "Michael Johnson, bookseller and stationer, sometime magistrate of Lichfield," and who died, leaving his family in poverty. The house is three stories in height, with a hipped roof. It has nothing striking about it, and is forty feet or so square, of stone or brick, plastered on the outside, and painted cream-color. In the youth of Johnson, it contained a store, but has long since been remodelled, and the store is now the common room of the dwelling-house. The houses about it are closely built; no yard, garden, or tree is in sight.
In front, in the centre of the square, is a statue of Johnson, on a pedestal much too high. The statue is in a sitting posture, and looks too young for a man who did not come into public notoriety until much beyond the age represented by this sculpture. The unpretentious birthplace is more interesting than the monument. These streets, through which he so many times walked,—the church in which he so many times attended worship, and in which he was baptized,—these were too real not to make their impression. We could see the scrofulous boy of ten years, with his disfigured face and injured sight and hearing, his education already begun, and he a student of Latin at the Lichfield free school. He was five years there, then one at Stourbridge; and at the age of sixteen desired to enter Oxford, but was prevented by poverty. Going as assistant to one more fortunate in worldly affairs than himself, at length, in 1728, he was admitted to Pembroke, where, the record says, "he was disorderly, but not vicious." He died in London, Dec. 13, 1784. What incidents and great events go to make up his history for those intervening years! Wherever the English language is spoken it is influenced by his labors.
Not much antiquity is anywhere apparent in Lichfield. Take Johnson and the cathedral away, and there would be nothing of moment, for it has little business.
We soon arrive in the vicinity of the cathedral, and the scene changes as by magic.
The cathedral, with its centre and two western towers and spires, is of vast length and good height, built of a very red sandstone. It is about an eighth of a mile off, and well embowered with trees, with the river between us and them. The lower portions of the cathedral are hid from view. To the left, and not as far up, is another group of buildings, among them the Lichfield Museum.
On the second floor we find the place in charge of a matronly lady, who is at home in her work, and admirably fitted for the position. We look at old armor, at pictures, and relics "brought over the sea and from foreign parts," but better remains behind. In a glass case are exhibited things once owned and handled by the great writer who, next to the cathedral, gives Lichfield its interest and renown. Here are his silver shoe-buckles, the blue and white pint-mug from which he drank, the favorite saucer on which his wife Tetty used to put his morning breakfast biscuit; and here also are letters written by him. This was one of the especial treats of our tour.
We found the great cathedral in perfect repair. A small close surrounds it, with lawns, trees, and rooks. After a general look at it we take a turn along the river, and off to the rear and right of the cathedral, to walk around the promenade enclosing, like Chestnut Hill, the city reservoir.
Encircling the water, we come upon an exquisite little Gothic church and burial-ground. The area of the reservoir and its avenues is perhaps fifty acres,—the size of Boston Common,—and as one stands on the rear avenue, facing the town, the scene is most enchanting. The place is surrounded by a mixed landscape, in which fine trees abound; at the extreme left is the village, seen partially through the trees. On the right is the cathedral, nearly hid by the trees. Along the entire line are fields, gardens, and mansion-houses; and, behind all, are high lands, extending towards us, and around back of the little gem of a church. Behind us are aristocratic residences with intensely rural surroundings. On to our left, and behind, is the venerable St. John's Church, whose bell is plaintively tolling for evening prayers. From this to the town are brick buildings, and homes with their little gardens. When other scenes are forgotten, this evening in Lichfield will be as charming as now. Johnson would have been even more uncouth, but for the good influence of scenes like this; and his early removal hence deprived him of visions of daily and educating beauty.
In these churches—in St. Michael's near his home—he worshipped, and seeds were planted which in after life bore their pious fruit. He was not wholly rough in nature, nor entirely given to a love of literary gossip and coffee-house ease. Not solely inclined to entertainment by Garrick or Boswell, he loved the clergy as well, for he was a deeply religious man in his own way.
The cathedral is 400 feet long, 187 feet wide at the transepts, and has three spires,—the central 353 feet high, and the others, at the west end, 183 feet each. The western front is the best in England. No cathedral suffered more, in the destruction of its monuments at the time of the Reformation, than this. With the exception of the stone effigies of two prelates, and a few others of less importance, all were destroyed. There are, however, monuments of later date. One of the most noted is that to Lady Mary Wortley Montague,—a figure in marble, with an inscription recording her agency in introducing into England inoculation for smallpox. She was a native of Lichfield, and Dr. Smollett says: "Her letters will be an important monument to her memory, and will show, as long as the English language endures, the sprightliness of her wit, the solidity of her judgment, and the excellence of her real character."
The bust of Dr. Johnson was placed in the cathedral, as the inscription states, as "a tribute of respect to the memory of a man of extensive learning, a distinguished moral writer, and a sincere Christian." Near by is a cenotaph erected by Mrs. Garrick to the memory of her husband, the eminent dramatist and actor, who was the pupil and friend of Johnson, and died at London, Jan. 20, 1779.
The bishops of this cathedral have been men of especial note. Among them may be named Bishop Schrope, who was translated from this See to that of York, and was celebrated for his resistance to the usurpations of Henry IV., in consequence of which he was beheaded in 1405, and was long revered as a martyr.
Rowland Lee was appointed bishop of Lichfield in 1534. He solemnized the marriage of Henry VIII. with Anne Boleyn, in the nunnery of Sopewell, near St. Alban's. During the establishment of the reformed religion he was mortified to see his cathedral at Coventry entirely destroyed, notwithstanding his earnest endeavors to save it.
Ralph Bayne was one of the foremost persecutors of Queen Mary's reign, and caused women to be burnt at the stake. On the accession of Elizabeth to the throne, he refused to administer the sacrament to her, for which refusal an act of parliament deprived him of his See.
William Lloyd was one of the seven bishops committed to the Tower by James II., for refusing to read the Declaration of Liberty of Conscience, as it was called; although the real intention of it was to undermine the Protestant religion, and to set up popery again in its place.
John Hough, who was made bishop of this See in 1699, was, at the time of the Reformation, Master of Magdalen College at Oxford, and in like manner resisted the royal order. He was elected head of the college against the king's will, and so was forcibly ejected by the commissioners; but he was restored the next year.
One of the most memorable of all the bishops is Hackett, who came here in 1661. It was he who did so much in the way of restorations, after the destructive work of Cromwell, who dealt roughly with the Lichfield Cathedral. All churches, as well as abbeys, monasteries, and priories, were Roman Catholic institutions, and they suffered greatly in the suppression of papal worship. Statuary was destroyed, no matter what its value. Pictures and frescoes were defaced, altars torn down, and everything reduced to Cromwell's ideas of a Protestant level. This involved the destruction of a vast number of shrines and monuments, those of bishops and prelates suffering especial desecration. The iconoclasm was thorough. Roofs were taken off, buildings dismantled, and their rebuilding or occupancy prohibited under severe penalties. This accounts for the many fine ruins in Great Britain; Melrose Abbey, Furness Abbey, and a thousand others, are now in decay in consequence of these desecrations.
We deplore the loss of works of art and antiquity, but we must not judge from a nineteenth-century and American standpoint. Had papist institutions been left where for centuries they had been entrenched, Protestantism could have made little headway. People of low intellect, with its accompanying ignorance and superstition, are best reached through the senses. Pageants, images, pictures, devout genuflections, were powerful then as now. The authorities of the Roman Church knew this as they now know it. The new Protestant government of England realized that these religious emblems were great obstacles in its way, and was uncompromising in their extermination. The next generation, coming up under a new administration, was more tractable. This was unavoidable, if the rulers would prevent friction in the new machinery. Let us not speak ill of the bridge that carried freedom and toleration safely over.
This cathedral was for various causes an object of hostility. The adjacent green was fortified, and was alternately in possession of each party; and of course the cathedral suffered the injuries of a constant siege. History has it that two thousand cannon-shot and fifteen hundred hand-grenades were discharged against it. The central spire was battered down, and the others shared nearly the same fate. The statuary of the west front, around these towers, was shattered; the painted windows were broken; the monuments were mutilated; and the mural stones were stripped of their brasses. Dugdale says:—
It was greatly profaned by Cromwell's soldiers, who hunted a cat every day in it with hounds, and delighted themselves with the echo of their sport along the vaulted roofs. Nor was this all; they profaned it still further by bringing a calf into it, wrapt in linen, which they carried to the font, and there sprinkled it with water, and gave it a name in scorn and derision of the holy sacrament.
When Bishop Hackett was appointed to the See in 1661 he found the cathedral in this hopeless confusion; but, in spite of such discouraging conditions, on the very morning after his arrival he prepared for improvements. With laudable zeal he aroused his servants early, set his coach-horses, with teams and laborers, to removing the rubbish, and himself laid the first hand to the work. A subscription soon amounted to $45,000, of which the bishop contributed $10,000. The dean and chapter contributed a like sum; and the remainder was raised by the bishop, who solicited aid from every nobleman and gentleman in the diocese, and of almost every stranger who visited the cathedral. He obtained from Charles II. a grant of one hundred timber-trees out of Needwood Forest, and in eight years saw his cathedral perfectly restored. With joy and great solemnity it was re-consecrated Dec. 24, 1669.
The next year Bishop Hackett contracted for six bells, only one of which was hung in his lifetime. His biographer Plume says:—
During his last illness he went out of his bed-chamber into the next room to hear it; seemed well pleased with the sound, blessed God who had favored him in life to hear it, and observed at the same time that it was his "own passing-bell." He then retired to his chamber, and never left it again till he was carried to his grave.
That bell still sounds from the tower. The same decorations present themselves, and by these the good bishop yet speaketh. Unfortunate are the visitors who, amid scenes and sounds like these, having eyes, see not, and having ears, do not hear.
The war history of one cathedral is the history of all, for each was desecrated, and each has had some Bishop Hackett; though not every restorer was as capable as he in purse and brain. Restorations were everywhere begun, and in many instances the new work exceeded the old; but superstition and ignorance were common even among the high clergy, and oppression accompanied their daily life, as it did that of our New England ancestry.
At 10.20 a. m. of Thursday, May 30, we left for that peculiarly named town, Stoke-upon-Trent.
CHAPTER XI.
STOKE-UPON-TRENT—STAFFORDSHIRE—MANCHESTER—LEEDS—CARLISLE.
We arrived at Stoke-upon-Trent at noon. Our valises deposited at the coat-room of the station, we sallied out for a restaurant dinner and a visit to the pottery of the Mintons. There are many places of crockery manufacture here, all having a dingy look; most of them are of brick or stone, and two or three stories high. The buildings are not large, but each establishment has several, with chimneys forty to sixty feet high, tapering largely as they rise. The greatest facilities are furnished for visiting the works. We greatly enjoyed our visit, and theoretically know just how it is done; yet we couldn't excel practically the youngest apprentice. It is hardly in order to give lessons, but some information may be worth a passing word.
The clay is uncommon and found in but few places. It has also to be peculiarly prepared. When ready to be moulded it looks very much like putty or wheaten dough. The dish is made in the usual manner, on the potter's wheel, or on a mould. It is partially dried and then baked in a great oven, from which it comes out white as chalk. If it is to be white and undecorated, it is then dipped into a tank of liquid sizing, in appearance like dirty milk. It drips off, and is then put again into an oven and subjected to intense heat. The sizing melts or vitrifies, and turns into glazing. The oven cools off slowly, and the ware is taken out glossy and ready for sale.
If the dish is to be ornamented, the figures are put on with a stencil-plate, or printed on the white ware after the first baking and before the glazing. Of course any desired color can be rubbed over the stencil. If the ware is to be printed, this is done with a soft roller, which takes its tint and impression from a stamp. This roller is passed over the stamp as a similar article is rolled over printer's type; only the figure is imprinted on the pottery, not with the stamp or type itself, but with the roller, from whose soft surface the figure is readily absorbed by the moist clay. After this the ware is dipped into sizing and finished as before described. If the ware is to be rudely ornamented with flowers, these are often painted on it by hand, after the first baking, women and girls being employed for the purpose. Of course glazing and burning must always follow the decoration. If colored stripes are desired, these also are put on by hand. If ware is to be elegantly adorned, with pictures of flowers, animals, or landscapes,—in a word, Sèvres or Worcester ware,—this also is done by the patient hand-labor at the benches. A hundred women are sometimes at work in a single room, as if they were making water-color drawings. If gold lines are to be put on, this is done with gold paint. It is black when it comes from the furnace, but is then rubbed down with cornelian burnishers and the gold color restored. China is no more nor less than thin ware made of a peculiar clay. Of the secrets of coloring we know nothing. Hundreds of years have been employed in experimenting on the minor details; and with all their generous entertainment of strangers, and perhaps of angels unawares,—not being sure the visitor is not a fallen one, and so inclined to abuse the information,—the artisans are not free to impart information which seems small, but is really of the utmost importance.
The town is situated on the River Trent, as its name implies, and the entire parish, including Stanley and many other suburbs, has a population of 89,262. It has numerous wharves and warehouses, and is intersected by the great Trent canal and the Staffordshire railway. It has the honor of being the birthplace of Rev. John Lightfoot, the celebrated ecclesiastical writer and Hebrew scholar. He was born here March 29, 1602, and died at Ely, where he was prebend at the cathedral, Dec. 6, 1675. The town receives its notoriety solely from its potteries.
Our second visit was to the warerooms of Minturn & Hollins, who are celebrated, as are the original Minturns, for the elegance of their work, which is well known in America as well as Europe. Their display was wonderful for fineness of execution and exquisite coloring.
Our notebook, as well as our vivid recollection, defines it as "an inexpressibly smoky place, with hundred of chimneys, in groups of from ten to twenty, belching forth thick and black smoke."
At 4 p. m. we took a train for another great workshop, and on our way must needs go through, not Samaria, but Staffordshire, which is one of the best examples of a smoke district; and—like Niagara in this—that one is enough for a world.
STAFFORDSHIRE.
In this region the smelting and manufacture of iron abounds. Hundreds of chimneys, large and small, single and in groups, begin to meet the view as soon as we are fairly out of Stoke Village. Everywhere the air is permeated with dense though by no means very disagreeable smoke; that is, it did not produce half the ill effect on the eyes or the body that it did on the shirt bosoms and the mind.
The vast extent of the domain astonished us. As we merged into the thicker part, the sun was entirely obscured, the people were weird-like, and all things wore a smoky aspect. Condensed masses of smoke hung like thunder-clouds, and they were lighted up by the glare that issued Pandemonium-like from a hundred chimney-tops. In the dimness below, the men at the blastfurnaces, handling red-hot rods, or pouring molten iron into moulds, seemed like so many imps, and we had a vivid representation of the other place, that was talked of a hundred years ago. We were glad of the experience, for it was unlike anything seen before, or likely to be seen again; but how we enjoyed a change to clear atmosphere and a blue sky, and how increased was our ability to enjoy the
"Sweet fields of living green,
And rivers of delight,"
by which the swift train presently hustled us!
We need not say that bituminous and not anthracite coal is used in England. It burns with a brilliant red flame, and its smoke is either black, gray, or white. It is found in great profusion (as hard coal is in our Pennsylvania) in the same regions with iron ore.
It is as common to see coal-mine openings—their cheap houses over them, and their railways,—as to see iron mines. No manufacturing region would seem complete without them. It is providential that these two useful minerals, coal and iron, are found together, and so conveniently near the geographical centre of Great Britain as to make them accessible to each section of the island.
We are at our journey's end, in
MANCHESTER,
after the ride of less than two hours. It was not our intention to remain here long, and our first view of the place confirmed the wisdom of our decision. It is a large city, smoky from the thousands of manufactories, with nothing antique to be seen. Our older western cities, like Cincinnati, much resemble Manchester. Our stay was occupied principally with an observant walk of some miles through the principal avenues and among the manufactories. There are grand buildings, but the general smoky outlook prevails. Manchester is situated on both sides of the River Irwell, and has a suburb called Salford. The city proper has a population of 351,189, and the latter 124,801,—475,990 in all. There are two municipal governments, but the two cities are practically one, being united by eight bridges.
This spot was a chief station of the Druids, who here had an altar called Meyne. In a. d. 500 it was an unfrequented woodland. In 620 it was taken by Edwin, king of Northumbria, and soon after was occupied by a company of Angles. It next passed to the Danes, who were expelled about 920, by the king of Mercia. A charter, giving it the privilege of a borough, was granted in 1301.
The first mention of Manchester cotton was in 1352, and designated coarse woollen cloth, made from unprepared fleece. At the time of the Civil Wars it had become a place of active industry, and suffered much from both parties. In 1650 its manufactures had wonderfully increased, and ranked among the first in extent and importance; and its people were described as the most industrious in the northern part of the kingdom.
The value of cotton exports, as early as 1780, was $1,775,300; in 1856 it was $190,000,000; and in 1862 more than one half the operatives were thrown out of employment in consequence of the American Civil War, which deprived Manchester of the raw material. In 1871 there were connected with the cotton and woollen manufactures 322 factories, employing 33,671 persons, and using 21,000 horse-power of steam. In the manufacture of metal goods, glass, chemicals, and leather, there were 467 manufactories, 14,895 work-people, and 3,996 horse-power. The mechanical list, including builders, and cabinet-makers, involved 2,783 shops and 73,235 employees, using 28,515 horse-power.
The Royal Exchange, commenced in 1868 and just completed, is one of the finest structures in Great Britain, costing $1,250,000. Hospitals and charitable institutions are plentiful. The schools are of a high grade, and the city is one of the most enterprising in England.
At 10.20 a. m., Friday, we left for Leeds. These three places, Birmingham, Manchester, and Leeds, are an epitome of English manufactures, and we can hardly pass without examining them, though we confess to a daintiness obtained from the beauties amidst which we had been passing the weeks; and we feel that we shall be glad when our tour through the manufacturing districts ends, for we are impressed anew with the proverb, "God made the country, but man made the town."
LEEDS
is situated on both sides, but chiefly on the left side, of the River Aire, and has a population of 259,212. The site was once a Roman station, and the mediæval name was Loidis. As a manufacturing town it dates back to the sixteenth century. The larger part of the city has an old look. The streets generally are narrow and crooked, but well kept. The new streets are wide and contain many fine buildings; and the tramways and omnibuses give it a Bostonian appearance. The spacious town-hall was completed in 1858. Like all the principal English cities, it has its share of statues, and a fine one of Robert Peel is in front of the court-house. It is said to have 225 places of public worship. In woollen manufactures and leather-tanning Leeds surpasses all other places in the kingdom. 12,000 persons are employed in manufacturing woollen goods alone. The city is a railroad centre. There are 200 collieries in the surrounding district. It is reported that one quarter of the inhabitants are engaged in manufactures of some kind, and yet pauperism flourishes fearfully. There is a library founded in 1768, by the renowned Dr. Priestley, of scientific as well as theologic fame. He was pastor of a church in Leeds, and gave much attention to religious subjects. After an industrious life of some years here,—a large portion of which was employed in scientific pursuits and authorship,—he removed to Birmingham, and was pastor of a church there. At length he went to America, arriving in New York, June 4, 1794, and dying at Northumberland, Pa., Feb. 6, 1804. A celebration, in honor of his discovery of oxygen, was inaugurated by American chemists at the place of his death, Aug. 1, 1874, and on the same day his statue was unveiled in Birmingham, England. In 1860 another statue was placed in the museum of Oxford University. A catalogue of his publications, prepared for the library of Congress, for the Centennial of 1876, comprises more than three hundred works on chemistry, history, theology, metaphysics, politics, and other subjects.
The markets of Leeds are large. New potatoes, May 31, were for sale, smaller than English walnuts. The fish markets are supplied with more varieties than we have seen anywhere else. The flower marts have great displays of perfect plants, especially pelargoniums and geraniums.
Kirkstall Abbey is about three miles away, on the edge of the city. Nothing can excel the beauty of this ancient place. It is situated near a country road, and slopes to the river a distance of perhaps a thousand feet. The walls are varied in outlines and heights. The tower and walls are quite complete, and the adjoining ruins are as fine as any in England. They comprise many rooms, roofless for centuries. The low-cropped grass, with its thick math, fills them, and there are ten or twelve elm-trees, full two feet in diameter, growing in the deserted apartments. In one part is the small enclosed garden, perfect as at the first. In the walls are places of burial of the pietists who once dwelt here; and on one side are rooms, opening into the garden, that once were monks' cells and their later place of sepulture. There are many stone coffins; and the apartments and the close, with the ivy-mantled walls, are of extreme beauty. The position is remarkably fine. Removed from other habitations; quietly situated at the side of the great road, and on this meadow-like lawn; the river running leisurely by, washing the borders; the old trees; its ingenuity of arrangement,—this gem is a connecting link between the old dispensation and the new. We could but wish we might do as Scott advises of Melrose Abbey, "visit it by the pale moonlight;" but we did not have that privilege. We could only see it at the close of this fine day, when the low sun sent its rays aslant the openings, and gave an indescribable tranquillity to the place.
This is one of the few spots we would again make an effort to see. As the lamented Bayard Taylor was lured from his course of travel by Longfellow's "Belfry of Bruges," and could not rest till he had been there, so this Kirkstall Abbey influences us, and will till the end of earthly journeys. Built in 1157, in the Reformation it was abandoned and unroofed, its relics destroyed, its tombs rifled, and ruin begun; and now for more than three hundred years, as if subservient to the will of Cromwell, and mute with alarm and solitary in its shame, it has stood beautiful and enduring, though dying atom by atom in its own loneliness.
On Saturday, June 1, a pleasant day, though so cool that overcoats were still comfortable, we took train for
CARLISLE.
This is another cathedral town, and the last in England we are to visit till we have passed through Scotland. We have journeyed from London northerly to Oxford; then, northwesterly to the manufacturing towns; and now we are to go from Carlisle to Glasgow, and we expect to see London again in a couple of weeks after. The places are most of them but a few hours' ride apart. The trip is quite like one from Boston, through Worcester, Springfield, Albany, to our western cities, and then southerly, via Washington and Philadelphia and New York, to Boston, and as easily performed. We arrived at 2 p. m., and were fortunate in making our visit on a market-day, when the place was full of people; for here was an opportunity to see an English market-day at its best. On hundreds of tables, and in stalls and booths, every conceivable kind of domestic article was displayed for sale,—crockery, tinware, dry-goods (such as White or Jordan & Marsh never have for sale), new and second-hand clothing, hardware, provisions of all kinds; and a happier set of people we had not seen. Both buyer and seller were in fine mood, and good cheer prevailed. These market-days are a part of the common life of the people, and to abolish them would be taken as one more sign of the near approach of the final consummation of all things.
The city is situated on the River Eden, and is a grand old place with good buildings and streets, all replete with fine specimens of English people and life. It is one of the very oldest in England and was a Roman station. Its proximity to the border made it an important place at the time of the wars between the English and the Scotch.
The cathedral is situated not far from the centre of business, and the iron fence on one side of its grounds marks the bounds of an important thoroughfare. The ground is not large—perhaps an acre in extent—and is well kept. The cathedral itself was originally an important building, but is not now remarkable for size or beauty. Cromwell destroyed the greater part of the nave. The building is only 137 feet long, but it is 124 feet wide at the transepts, and the height is 75 feet from floor to vaultings. The parapet of the tower is 127 feet from the ground. The cathedral was nearly destroyed by fire in 1292, and the present choir was completed 1350. This fire is said to have consumed thirteen hundred houses. The tower was built in 1401. The edifice was originally dedicated to the Virgin Mary, but Henry VIII., after he had suppressed the priory connected with it, named it the Church of the Holy and Undivided Trinity. Up to that time it had been under the administration of twenty-nine different bishops,—many of them men of note, of whom it would be pleasant to speak did our limits not forbid. Owen Oglethorpe, the thirtieth bishop, was noted as the only one who could be prevailed upon to crown Queen Elizabeth, all others having refused to do so. History says that "during the performance of the ceremony he was commanded by the queen not to elevate the host; to prevent the idolatry of the people, and to omit it because she liked it not." It is a question whether he obeyed. Wood says: "He sore repented him of crowning the queen all the days of his life, which were for that special cause both short and wearisome." He was fined $1,250 by the council for not appearing at a public disputation, and was soon afterwards deprived of his office.
A worthy and well-known bishop of this cathedral was James Usher, who was appointed in 1642. He was an Irishman by birth, and had since 1625 been Archbishop of Armagh in Ireland. He died March 21, 1655, at the age of seventy-five, and Cromwell ordered him a magnificent funeral, which took place at Westminster Abbey, and the great Protector signed a warrant to the Lords of the Treasury, to pay Dr. Bernard $1,000 to defray the expenses of it. Bishop Usher was a theological writer, noted as the author of the system of chronology which is frequently printed in the margin of the Bible. On the restoration of the church, Richard Sterne was elected bishop. He is celebrated as having been domestic chaplain to the notorious Archbishop Laud, and attending him on the scaffold. He was also a prisoner in the Tower, with several others, on complaint made by Cromwell, that they had used the Cambridge College plate for the king's relief at York; but in 1664 he was translated to York Minster, and died there in 1683.
One of the honors of this cathedral is that, in 1782, William Paley, the writer on Political Economy, Natural Theology, and Evidences of Christianity, was its archdeacon, and it was here that these works were written. His burial-place and monument are both in the cathedral.
Near the market-place are the remains of a castle, built by the Normans in 1092. It is much dilapidated, but prominent portions are in excellent preservation. A race of people at the zenith of power erected and used this castle. This race declined, and a new one came out of its decay. Kingdoms have since risen and gone into oblivion. The march of humanity has for eight centuries been going on its way, but the castle remains,—changed only as time has disintegrated the stone, and so gradually that no one generation has realized the transformation. More substantial material for thought may be obtained from these old English places, than from almost any other spots in Europe.
At 6 p. m. this Saturday night we took train for Glasgow, and so are for a short time to be among the stalwart Caledonians.
SCOTLAND.
CHAPTER XII.
GLASGOW—THE ROB-ROY COUNTRY—THE LAKES—CALLENDER—STIRLING.
On their own soil, or anywhere in the world, the record of the Scotch is good. Those hard-working and reflective qualities, nurtured by John Knox, have borne fruit. Not dependent on priest or bishop for rule or thought, the people have long felt their individual responsibility. Industry, frugality, integrity, have been nursed by the child with its mother's milk. A hard theology cramped the mind in exploring fields of philosophy, and the range of thought has been limited. The people employed so much time in preparing for another life, that they had but little to devote to making themselves comfortable in this world. Indeed, comfort was considered suspicious; but these conditions were preparing them to contend with German Rationalism, and the blending of the two will make a good harvest. While the Scotch element has been eminently conservative, and so a brake on the wheels of a hurried advance, the German element has been doing its work of lifting thought to a higher plane. Each has given and received, and American thought, engendered three thousand miles away, is a golden mean between the two. Calvinism in America has been at its best, and also, we trust, at its worst. The German mind has also influenced America. The flint and the steel strike fire, and it is consuming the superstitions of one system, and purifying the rationalism of the other.
At 6.30 p. m. we ride out of the Carlisle station. The sun is yet high, and the fine scenery of Northern England meets our view. It is more hilly than it is farther south, and better wooded. Everything looks more like New England. Gardens prevail, and many things to remind us of home. Nothing struck us more strangely than the length of the days, and, to use an Irishman's expression, "the evening end of them." At 9 o'clock p. m. we can see to read and write; and at Paris a month later, July 4, we could see to write distinctly at 9.30 p. m., and could see the time by the watch at 9.50. After a ride of three hours, we glide into the station at
GLASGOW.
This chief commercial and manufacturing city of Scotland is situated on the River Clyde, twenty-one miles from its mouth, and forty-one miles southwest of Edinburgh, and has a population of 477,141, or, including the suburbs, 547,538. The level city is three miles long, and lies on both sides of the river, which is five hundred feet wide, crossed by two suspension and three stone bridges, and has several ferries.
It became a burgh, or town, as early as 1190, and was then granted the privilege of holding an annual fair. In 1556 it ranked the eleventh among the towns of Scotland. It is the fourth town in Great Britain in its exports, and the second in wealth and population. The Romans had a station on the Clyde at the location of the present city. In 1300 a battle was fought in what is now High Street, between the English and Wallace, and in it the noted Percy was slain. In 1650 Reformed Superintendents superseded Catholic Bishops; and in 1638 the famous Assembly of the Presbyterian church was held here, and Episcopacy was abjured. For several years after, the city was a prey to both parties in the civil wars, and fire, plague, plunder, and famine desolated the place. June 4, 1690, the charter of William and Mary conferred on the townsmen the right of electing their own magistrates.
Glasgow is well laid out; the streets are wide and clean, and there is little to be seen that is peculiar. The aspect is commercial. Stores and warehouses prevail, and the question often arises, "Where do the people live?" The centres of population are around outside the business portion, and the mansions exhibit more thoroughness of construction than fancy in decoration. We are in one of the great places of Scotland, not in one of France or Germany; this fact is everywhere apparent. Liverpool represents it, not Paris. The city has four parks. The Green has 140 acres, on the north bank of the river, and near the east end of the city. Kelvingrove Park has 40 acres at the west end; Queen's Park, 100 acres. Alexandra Park has 85 acres, on elevated ground, portions of it commanding views of the entire city. A stream runs through it, and primeval groves, grand avenues, lawns, and flower-plots make the place one of great attraction. On Sunday, at the time of our visit, tens of thousands were enjoying it. Adjoining this are the grounds of Glasgow University, yet more elevated. The grand edifice is of a domesticated Gothic architecture, built of gray limestone, and stands on the highest ground. It was finished in 1870, and cost $1,650,000. This college was founded in 1443 by James II., but it had only a feeble existence till 1560, when Queen Mary bestowed upon it one half of all the confiscated church property of the city. The library was founded in 1473, and contains 105,000 volumes. It has an observatory and a good cabinet, and the grounds contain 22 acres. The city is supplied with water from the celebrated Loch Katrine, by an aqueduct 26 miles long, and it sustains two theatres, two museums, and as many public libraries. It has 175 churches and chapels, and a very fine botanic garden of 40 acres, which is kept in perfect condition and open free to visitors.
The cathedral is of all edifices of the kind the most ancient looking. It is on the border of the city, and enclosed with a high iron fence, being surrounded by a small burial-ground. A peculiarity is that many tombs and monuments are entirely encaged, the top included. The iron-work, generally about four feet wide, seven feet long, and seven feet high, is rusty and produces a disagreeable effect. We were disgusted with the appearance of the grounds of this metropolitan church, really the finest old Gothic building in Scotland. It is not large but is on a site that overlooks most of the city. It was begun in 1192, and was ready for consecration in 1197. It enjoyed an unmolested use for the papal worship during four hundred years; but, notwithstanding this long service, it was not finished till the present century. Its noteworthy features are the crypt and a profusion of brilliant stained glass. Near the cathedral is a cemetery called the Necropolis, situated on very elevated ground, and highly attractive. The place is approached from the cathedral by a grand stone bridge, and has a park-like entrance and inside avenues at the base of the hill. This burial-place, built for all time, was provided by private munificence, and makes the cage-work and ill-managed grounds of the cathedral look all the more heathenish. The cemetery is not large but may comprise three or four acres. It is on high land, that, but for the terraces and inclined avenues traversing the hillside, would be very difficult of ascent; but good engineering makes it most inviting. The views from this spot of the city and suburbs are very grand, and it is constantly resorted to as a park. One peculiarity of the place is the number of neat monuments, and a general absence of ordinary gravestones. The monuments are nearly all of white marble, and set in close rows. There are more beautiful designs than we have seen before or since. The taste manifested is exquisite, and would do honor to Paris,—instead of dishonor, as do the monuments of the noted Père La Chaise, the Mount Auburn of France.
In this ground is an imposing monument, erected to martyrs, whose blood is "the seed of the church." The statements on this monument interest not only the people of Glasgow but Americans; and so, although the cold and intense wind makes it a work of difficulty, we copy them. They have been read by thousands and will be read by thousands more; they inspire fortitude, and will thus be a perpetual honor to the noble ones whom they commemorate. On the west side is the following:—
To Testify Gratitude for inestimable services
in the cause of Religion, Education, and Civil
Liberty;
To Awaken Admiration
of that Integrity, Disinterestedness, and Courage
Which stood unshaken in the midst of Trials,
And in the Maintenance of the highest objects;
Finally,
To Cherish unceasing Reverence for the Principles
and
Blessings of that great Reformation
by the influence of which our Country through the
Midst of difficulties
Has risen to Honor, Prosperity, and Happiness,
This Monument is erected by Voluntary Contribution
To the Memory of John Knox;
The Chief instrument under God of the Reformation
in Scotland, on the 22nd Day of September 1825.
He died—rejoicing in the faith of the Gospel—
at Edinburgh—
on the 24th of November A.D. 1572, in the
67th year of his age.
On the north side is the following:—
Patrick Hamilton, a youth of high rank
and distinguished attainments,
was the first Martyr in Scotland for the cause of
the Reformation.
He was condemned to the flames at St. Andrews in
1528 in the
twenty-fourth year of his age.
From 1530 to 1540 persecution raged in every
quarter; many suffered
the most cruel deaths; and many fled to England
and the Continent.
Among these early Martyrs were Jerome Russell
and Alexander Kennedy
two young men of great piety and talents who
suffered at Glasgow
in 1538. In 1544 George Wishart returned to
Scotland from which he had
been banished, and preached the Gospel in
various quarters. In 1546
this heavenly minded man, the friend and
instructor of Knox, was also
committed to the flames at St. Andrews.
The south side has the following:—
The Reformation produced a revolution in the
sentiments of Mankind
the greatest as well as the most beneficent that
has happened since the
publication of Christianity.
In 1547, and in the city where his Friend George
Wishart had suffered,
John Knox, surrounded with dangers, first
preached the doctrine of the
Reformation. In 1559 on the 24th of August, the
Parliament of Scotland
Adopted the Confession of Faith presented by the
Reformed
Minister, and declared Popery to be no longer
the religion
of this kingdom. John Knox became the minister
of Edinburgh, where he continued to
his death the incorruptible guardian of our best
interests.
"I can take God to witness," he declared, "that I
never preached contempt
of any man and wise men will consider
that a true friend cannot
flatter; especially in a case that involves the
salvation of the bodies and
souls, not of a few persons, but of a whole Realm."
when laid in the
Grave the Regent said, "There lieth He who
never feared the face of man,
who was often threatened with the dag and
dagger, yet hath ended his days in peace and honor."
On the east side we have the following:—
Among the early and distinguished friends of
the Reformation,
Should be especially remembered Sir James
Sandilands,
of Calder, Alexander Earl of Glencairn,
Archibald, Earl of Argyll, and Lord James Stewart,
afterwards known by the name of "the good
Regent:"
John Erskine of Dun, and John Row, who were
distinguished among
the Reformed Ministers for their cultivation of
ancient and modern literature.
Christopher Goodman and John Willock, who
came from England
to preach the gospel in Scotland; John Winram,
John Spottiswood, and John Douglass, who with
John Row and John Knox compiled the first
Confession of Faith
which was presented to the Parliament of Scotland,
and also the
first book of Discipline.
The monument is composed of a plinth, some six feet square, upon which is another of less dimensions, with the sides somewhat inclined inward, bearing the inscriptions; then, two low plinths smaller yet; and resting on these is a Grecian Doric column some two feet or more in diameter; and on the abacus, or cap, at its corners, are ornaments above it. Next there is a low pedestal, or corniced plinth, and the whole is surmounted by a life-size statue of John Knox. The whole may be about thirty-five feet high.
The city, though largely given to traffic, has extensive manufactures. Among these are the St. Rollox chemical works, the largest in the world, covering sixteen acres, and employing a thousand men. The chimney is 450 feet high, 220 feet higher than the large one at East Cambridge, Mass.; or, to make it more definite, it is exactly the height of the East Cambridge chimney with Bunker Hill Monument on top of it, for they are respectively 230 and 220 feet high. There is one in Glasgow ten feet higher than this,—that belonging to the artificial manure works, which measures 460 feet.
At 11.30 on this Sunday we attended service at one of the Presbyterian churches. As an act of charity let the church be nameless, for we must add that the services were very tedious. The prayer was extraordinarily long and prosy; six verses were sung in each psalm; the explanatory remarks on the Scripture readings were long and tame; and the sermon, of a full hour's length, while well written and delivered, was a rehash of the commonest platitudes. While the theologic world moves, this parish was too near an ancient theologic centre to derive much advantage from the motion. It is yet a philosophic question whether the exact axis of a revolving shaft moves at all, and we can but think that a part of the Presbyterian Church of Scotland is near such a fixed centre. But we went to hear some actual Scotch Presbyterianism, and were not sorry that we did so; though conscious that we could have displayed fortitude under our disappointment, had we found the stanch Knoxites discussing the signs of the times.
We love this old church for the vast good it has done. As our ships need anchors, so the Church Universal needs conservatives; and, in spite of our liberalism, she will have them as long as they are needed.
There was more order in Glasgow, more of the Puritan's quiet Sunday, than we ever saw before, at home or abroad. There are no horse-cars or omnibuses visible, and few teams of any kind. No shops were open, though there were many drunken people. Sunday drinking is prohibited; though the sale is licensed on other days, as in Boston. It is said to be "under wholesome management." Transpose the syllables, and instead of wholesome say somewhole, and you have the truth. At the Albion Hotel we had thought ourselves in a temperance house, at least for Sunday; but all day long groups of all ages and conditions and both sexes were at the bar; and so large was the number that a sentinel only let in new customers when others went out. Till ten at night the rum-mill was in operation. License men to do wrong, and you throw the reins on the back of your horse. Spend less time in the church, and devote more to enforcing the law, and God's kingdom will sooner come.
June 1 is as cold and damp as a Boston day in March or April. Great coats are near us, as good friends ought to be.
At 10 p. m. to bed,—not to sleep, nor, as Shakespeare has it, to dream, but to hear the incessant tramp of the tipplers; "aye, there's the rub;" but we drop a veil over the theme. We arose at dawn, breakfasted by-and-by, and at 7 p. m. continued our tour towards Edinburgh, sorry for some things that must be said, if we would fully describe the Glasgow that now is,—not the Glasgow that is to be.
The passage to Edinburgh may be made in a few hours, but we are to go the way of all tourists who can afford a day or two for the journey.
We follow down the Clyde for some miles, amid pleasing, though not very interesting scenery. There on our left are the ruins of Dumbarton Castle, situated on a cliff, and picturesque amidst their solitary beauty. This was once a fortress, and is the place from which Mary, Queen of Scots, took passage for France when a child.
A few miles more, and we arrive at Balloch. This is a little hamlet at the south end of Loch Lomond. This lake covers forty-five square miles, and is one of the Scottish lake-group, corresponding to the Killarney lakes in Ireland. We here embark in a fine little steamer. The lake is not large in appearance, as its small bays occupy much of its area; and in most respects it resembles the upper lake of Killarney, or our lakes George and Winnipiseogee. The water is clear, and the margin prettily wooded; and this end is well studded with islands. There is a grandeur about the highlands of Scotland not to be seen on the Irish lakes. Prominent among the mountains is Ben Lomond, standing out in sublime greatness. It is 3,192 feet high; but, while really lower than some hills at Killarney, its contour intensifies its impression. We appreciate its companionship, and, as we sail on, are constantly introduced to Ben Lomond's companions. Ben Dhu, as it is familiarly called, though the real name is Ben MacDhui, is 4,296 feet high. These highlands are rugged in their outline, and present vast glens, crags, ravines, and broken peaks, being unlike those of southern Ireland, which are generally smooth and rounded. The mountain haze is seen in great perfection, and the hills are well wooded, and exhibit a splendid verdure. There is a peculiar moisture and softness in the air, with a fragrant and stimulating quality. In contradistinction to the Irish lakes, these of Scotland have a bold and masculine appearance. We speak of elegance and nicety at Ireland's lakes, but here we have, added to those qualities, vastness and power reflected from their mountains.
We admire Glen Luss, Bannochar, and Glen Fruin, as well as other objects of interest touched upon in the "Lady of the Lake," especially in the rower's song, "Hail to the Chief," for we are at the very scene of the poem. It adds a charm to recall the fact that many a time Sir Walter Scott here sailed and admired; and afterwards recalled his thought,—intensifying it and materializing all, till his verse became a thing of life. Our steamer touches at Landing Luss, on the left, and at Rowardennan on the right; then we cross to Tarbet on the left, and after an inspiring sail of two hours we are at Inversnaid. This is an old fort and a landing. It is of no importance as a fort, but was built in 1713, as a defence against the Macgregors, led by the celebrated Rob Roy.
The principal interest in the place lies in the fact of its having been the lairdship of Rob Roy before he became an outlaw and a freebooter. Lower down, at the foot of Ben Lomond, we are shown the prison, a rocky fastness at the edge of the water, where it is said he confined his captives. Every nook of these Highlands is full of romance. The writings of Sir Walter have surcharged the very atmosphere with it; and people who are ever so matter-of-fact at home, here become permeated with the etherialistic influence. Ideality has free play. At home they say, "I don't believe a word of it." Here they are different people, and say, "It may have been so." Rob Roy, whose history has been immortalized by Scott in his novel of that name, was largely connected with this neighborhood. A few words concerning him may be of service to the reader who has not the history at hand. He was born about 1660, the exact time and place not being known. He died, it is said, at Aberfoyle in 1738, at about the age of seventy-seven. His true name was Robert Macgregor, which, when the clan Macgregor was outlawed by the Parliament of Scotland in 1693, he changed for that of his mother, and was afterward known as Robert Campbell. Prior to the Great Rebellion of 1715 he was a cattle-dealer. He was very artful and intriguing, and gave the Duke of Montrose an excuse for seizing his lands, and then retaliated by reprisals on the Duke; and for many years he continued his double-facedness, levying blackmail on his dupes and enemies, in spite of a garrison of English soldiers stationed near his residence.
We now leave our steamer and take open teams, with four fine horses to each, for a ride of eight miles to Loch Katrine. Never a finer ride than this, over the beautiful heaths of Scotland. The mountain scenery is exquisite in all directions. At times we ride along precipitous paths, where we can look down from "awfully giddy heights to valleys low," the road winding amid the hills and constantly changing beauties. A heavily wooded country and splendid vegetation prevail, and there is no trace of barrenness, as in the Gap of Dunloe.
We go along the shore of the meandering river and Lake Arklett, and now the driver tells us that here was the cottage of Helen Macgregor. Mountains are about us, and here is an enclosed plain, perhaps half a mile wide and a mile long, level as our house floors, and nearly covered with heather,—which is a sort of heath, quite like that grown by us as a house-plant, and, being of a dark tint, gives a purplish hue to the moor. The space we are now going over, all between the two lakes, is the country referred to in the novel. Over these very roads that singular fellow rode and walked. The air here was remarkably exhilarating. It seemed new, as if it was for the first time breathed. The ride was much too short. There were millions of reasons for wishing it longer, so many things were waiting to entertain us on the right hand and on the left, before and behind us, under foot and overhead. It was good for us to be there, and the inclination was strong upon us to build tabernacles. At length Loch Katrine was reached. It contains an area of only five square miles, and is the one, though twenty-seven miles away, from which water is taken for the city of Glasgow. It is claimed that it is one of the finest lakes in the world, and it is certain that no one can imagine its superior. The teams leave us at a very comfortable two-story hotel, at the head of the lake, and here we are to dine; which service over, we walk out for a ramble, as an hour is to elapse before the steamer arrives from the other end of the lake. A wide road separates the hotel from the latter; a wharf extends from it, and to the left is a sea-wall, perhaps a hundred feet long, with a protective rail along the top. To the left of that, and in the corner, on the border of the lake, is a fine grove belonging to the hotel, with swings and other entertainments for tourists. In the rear of the house are the stables; and back of these, and around and back of the grove, is a hill which anywhere but in Scotland would be called a mountain. To the right of the hotel, and bordering the lake, were a grove and field, with here and there a cottage. The mountains in the distance loomed up grandly; and the borders of the lake, while more or less irregular and indented, had a very clean-cut look. The lake was not very wide here,—perhaps a fourth of a mile,—and it stretched on, without much change.
We take the little steamer here at Stronaclacher,—we had almost forgotten to tell the name,—and as we look down into the crystal water, it seems too pure for a steamer to sail in, for it is quite equal in clearness to Seneca Lake, New York, and reminds one of it. Remove the town of Geneva from its cosy situation at the end of the lake; put there a long wooden hotel; border the shores with a heavily wooded country to the water's edge; add some mountains off in the distance to the right and the left, at Ovid, Lodi, and Hector; put some more opposite on the other side of the lake, and a large lot of them at Watkins; then condense all to one quarter the size, and you have the size and shape of Loch Katrine.
We have now left the Rob-Roy Country, and are in that of the "Lady of the Lake," for this Lake Katrine is the one Sir Walter had in mind when he penned that fairy-like romance. We come first to a little island, well covered with trees and thick shrubbery, where the meeting of Fitzjames and Douglas is assumed to have taken place, and where the charming heroine was seen in her boat. Ragged Ben Venu appears; and ahead of that are the sharp peaks of Ben A'an, the whole surrounded by heavy woodlands, here and there extending well up the mountains, and marked by great glens and gorges. After the sail of an hour, much too soon we change our vehicle; and here, at the little wharf, carriages are ready to take us to Callender. Our party numbers about thirty, and we are to go through the Trosachs, which comprise some of the finest scenery in Scotland. We soon arrived at Ardcheanocrohan, a fifteen-lettered place, whose name we were shy in pronouncing; and we confess it takes some courage to write it, but we presume it's good Scotch.
As we stand at the door of the tavern,—that's just what it is,—or rather as we sit on our coach-seat in front of the building and look across the lake, there, in superb repose, three or four miles away, is the Clachan of Aberfoyle, well remembered by the readers of "Rob Roy." We ride through mountain scenery, equalling if not excelling any at the White Mountains of New Hampshire, and strongly reminding one of the Notch. Our road winds to the right, and Loch Achry comes to view,—a lovely gem we would fain transport to America.
In due time we arrive at the Turk Water, and the place celebrated in the "Lady of the Lake," where, as Sir Walter says,—
When the Brigg of Turk was won,
The foremost horseman rode alone.
This is a single-arched stone bridge, which crosses this stream. We are now introduced to the great pine-lands of the Glenfinlas. The trees are very tall, and the scenery is wild and unusual. In front is the heathery Craig Moor, Glenfinlas Hills, with their winding valleys, and Loch Vennachar with its clear water and bordering shrubs. We pass a waterfall, which runs out of Loch Katrine, and helps to supply Glasgow with its water. This used to be known by the uneuphonious name of Coilantogle Ford, and is the spot where Fitzjames and Roderick Dhu had their conflict. Now appears the stately Ben Ledi, one of the tallest giants. We pass on, over the Callender bridge, and are at the town of