CHAPTER XVII.
BOSTON—PETERBORO—LYNN.
Arrived at 2 p. m. on Whitsunday, June 9. What a charm has this word Boston. It is to us of greater interest than any spot in Old England. Now the anticipations of years were about to be realized. This, our mother city, is a seaport of Lincolnshire, situated on both sides of the River Witham, and six miles from the sea. It is on the Great Western Railway, 107 miles northeast of London, and has a population of 15,576, which was the number of our Boston's population in 1765, more than a century ago. The two divisions of the town are connected by an iron bridge of 86½ feet span, so it will be seen the river is quite narrow at this part, which is about the centre of its population and business. The place may be said to be noted for the neatness of its streets. It is well lighted, and supplied with water from a distance of 14 miles. There is a grammar school, established in 1554, and founded by William and Mary. It has a court-house and a market-house, and there are commodious salt-water baths, established in 1830 for the use of the public. Its principal manufactures are sail-cloth, cordage, leather, and brass and iron work. A monastery was established here in 654, by the Saxon St. Botolph, and was destroyed by the Danes in 870. Hence, as Lombard says, "the name of Botolph's town, commonly and corruptly called Boston." During the civil wars Boston was for a time the headquarters of Cromwell's army. Its decline subsequent to the sixteenth century was caused by the prevalence of the plague, and also by the increasing difficulty of the river's navigation. The healthfulness of the place has been greatly improved by drainage of the surrounding fens, and commercial prosperity has been somewhat restored by the improvements of the river. Vessels of 300 tons may now unlade in the heart of the city.
The city is celebrated as the birthplace of John Fox, the martyrologist, in 1517. His "Book of Martyrs" first appeared in London in 1563. In his introduction he says that it details "the great persecutions and horrible troubles that have been wrought and practised by Romishe prelates, especially in this realme of England and Scotlande, from the yeare of our Lorde a thousande, unto the tyme now present." The work met with great success, though its truthfulness has always been denied by the Catholics. He died in London in 1587, at the age of seventy.
The building of most interest of course to us Americans is the grand old church of St. Botolph, for it was in this church that John Cotton was vicar, and going as he did from there to our Boston, and being minister of its first church, our city was named Boston in honor of him. The edifice is built with its west end, at the centre of which is the elegant tower, with only a narrow road in front, facing the river, the rear end extending well up into the fine square, or most business-like part of the city. It is of a brown sandstone, 291 feet long, 99 feet wide; and the grand west-end tower, with its fine lantern, but with no spire above it, is 291 feet high, or just the length of the entire church. There is a good burial-ground around it, kept with remarkable neatness.
The interior is very grand and imposing, having the usual range of columns and Gothic arches, and all is in color a very light cream-tint, or almost white. The great east window of the chancel was paid for by the subscriptions of American Bostonians, and is a worthy and elegant testimonial. This is the largest church without transepts in the kingdom. It was built in 1309, and so is now 574 years old, but in most perfect repair. All the surroundings are very neat, and the parish is one of great influence and importance.
Rev. John Cotton, who connects our Boston so intimately with it, was born at Derby, England, Dec. 4, 1585. He was educated at Trinity College, Cambridge, where he was entered in his thirteenth year. In 1612, or at the age of 27, he became vicar of St. Botolph's, where he remained for 20 years, and was noted for fine elocutionary power, and as a controversialist. He inclined toward the doctrines and worship of the Puritans, and was so influential that he carried a large part of his people with him; and great danger was threatened to the parish in denominational points of view. He would not kneel at the sacrament, and his non-conformism at length became so apparent, and was pronounced so odious, that he was ordered to appear before Archbishop Laud's high-commission court. He was too confirmed in his opinions to recant; and for safety fled to London, where he remained for some time, and then left for America, arriving in our Boston, Sept. 4, 1633.
In October he was installed as colleague with Mr. John Wilson, pastor of the church. He was for a long time the leading spirit and mind in the New England Church. His death was occasioned by a severe cold, taken by exposure while crossing the ferry to Cambridge, where he went to preach, his death occurring Dec. 23, 1652, the length of his ministry in each of the two churches, here and in old Boston, being alike. He was very learned, and was a fine Greek critic; he is said to have written Latin with great elegance, and it is stated that he could discourse freely in Hebrew. He was a strong Calvinist, often spending twelve hours a day in reading Calvin's works.
He was very strict in his observance of the Sabbath, and in accordance with his interpretation, and from the authoritative nature of the statement that "the evening and the morning were the first day," he argued for the keeping, as holy time, from Saturday evening at sunset, till sunset of Sunday; and so influential was he that he stamped the impress of his belief and custom on all New England, and thousands yet living remember well the practice. In fact it would not be difficult to find individuals, if not families, who yet observe the custom. He was zealous for the interests of both civil and religious matters, as he understood them, and was rigid and intolerant of those who differed from him in opinion, however honest their convictions.
He was a great foe of Roger Williams, and did much towards making him odious, and caused him at length to be banished from Boston in 1635, when he went to what is now Providence, R. I. As he says: "Having a sense of God's merciful providence unto me in my distress, I called the place Providence, and desired it might be for a shelter for persons distressed for conscience."
Mr. Cotton wrote and published some works, among them one called "Milk for Babes," designed for children, but containing what would in our time be considered strong and indigestible theological meat, and so it is very properly withheld. His daughter was wife of the celebrated Dr. Increase Mather, pastor of the Second Church in our Boston, who was president of Harvard College in 1681. Their son, the renowned Dr. Cotton Mather, who was born in Boston, Feb. 12, 1663, and died Feb. 13, 1728, was named for his grandfather, John Cotton.
Our time of arrival was too late for attending service as we thought to do, and so we enjoyed a walk over the city, and much to our pleasure. As before named, the river runs through the centre of the place; and at the principal parts a wall is built along its banks, with good cut stone for a half-mile or more, with the proper stairways down to the water. The remainder of the way, and at the outskirts, the banks are very muddy and irregular, with deep gorges or indentations. They were, as we saw them at low water, full twenty feet deep, and struck us very unpleasantly. One sight impressed us rather strangely—a series of sheep, swine (perhaps), and cattle pens, with low fences for divisions, along the centre of the main street or thoroughfare, but having a good wide avenue on each side.
Hotels, or taverns, seemed to abound, and, as in all England, they have peculiar names. So interesting was this idea to us, while the theme was new, that at one time we began to note them down, but soon found the work so increasing on our hands as to compel us to desist. A few of them—though of course not all in Boston—are as follows, Old Hen and Chickens, Ring O' Bells, Little Nag's Head, Raven and Bell, Dog and Partridge, Grapes and Bell, Five Ways Inn, Packhorse Tap, Hop-pole Inn, Leather Bottle, The Old Fox Inn, The Three Cups, Haunch of Venison, Running Horse, Fighting Cocks. These are but examples of what may be seen in almost any English town. We are sorry to have to add that in old Boston, as in the new one, rum-holes and drinking places abound. In this, the mother emulates the daughter.
There are very pleasant walks out from the place, and we much enjoyed those near the suburbs, they were so much unlike anything to be seen here at home. Some of the streets of this Old Boston are very narrow and crooked, though not especially antique, nor very ancient in appearance; yet these low two-story buildings had an entire absence of so much as an intimation of anything new, though all was very clean and tidy. The walk around to the left, at the edge of the river in this district, is very charming, for from here St. Botolph's great tower is seen to fine advantage, and we shall never forget the sweet sound of the bells at sunset.
We continued our walk back into the square at the rear of the church, and now met a very large crowd of people. No homeward-bound Catholic audience in our Boston outnumbers them. It seems a service had been held at 6.30 p. m., of which unfortunately we were not aware. We availed ourselves of the opportunity of the open house, and so had a good visit to the church itself. In one of the walls was a marble tablet set up to the memory of John Cotton. It was put there by American subscriptions, through the labors and efforts of Hon. Edward Everett. The tablet, and the great east window; this old tiled floor, on which we stood, so many times walked over by Boston's great minister; these walls and columns and arches, which for twenty years resounded with his voice,—how befitting were the influences to make holy to us the Sabbath.
We had walked in the morning about the great cathedral at Lincoln, to which See this St. Botolph's pays allegiance and tribute, and where Cotton himself had many times worshipped, and had doubtless preached. We had perchance kept the early part of the day in a manner he would not approve; but now sunset had come, and freedom of action, according to his law of interpretation.
Boston has yet remaining a few of the antique buildings, and they are prized highly. We saw one, a good specimen of the kind. It was of the timber-and-plaster construction, two stories high, with three gables; and all was recently put in perfect repair, and it is said to be 600 years old. Near the venerable church is the workingmen's reading-room, in which there is a case of books donated by our city of Boston, or, it may be, by some of her citizens. We were happy to be able to make a small contribution in the shape of half a dozen of our city newspapers—Heralds, Travellers, and Journals. We had taken a room at a quiet, comfortable, little commercial-travellers' house,—and most of England's towns have them,—and so now, at 10 p. m., after a good inspiring ramble along the other side of the river, among nice little two-story brick houses with their pretty gardens, we ended the day. Monday a. m., up early for a new ramble over the place. It appeared charmingly homelike. The good market-square was just being used, and stores, or shops, were opening. We must and did pass up once more into the burial-ground, or churchyard, of St. Botolph's. We admired over again the lofty tower and belfry, which is a landmark forty miles at sea.
We tried to think of it, and see it as it is, hundreds after hundreds of years old. As the strong breeze of that clear morning blew over it, and whistled about its turrets, we saw its great power of resistance to storms, but the results of them were apparent. Time-worn, weather-beaten, and old it looked to be; and by-and-by came the thoughts that never do come early,—that all is ancient, and was very old before our country was thought of.
We walked along the farther side, to the great east division,—for there are two distinct parts to the fine old edifice,—and then, as we looked critically at the large windows, unusual in dimensions, and filled to repletion with most elegant stone tracery, we left, admiring St. Botolph's. Next we passed over the bridge, passing by the nice cream-colored hotel, and through the long and not over-wide streets, with two-story-high brick houses on either side, and here and there, on side streets, a few gardens, all not much like things American, though not peculiar enough to give them great interest; and so we passed on to the station, and had been to Boston,—a treat to us then, and ever since, and the time cannot be so extended as to injure the charm. We love new Boston now all the better since we have seen the old, and know it had an honorable parentage.
We now, at 8.30 a. m. on this fine Whit-Monday, June 10, leave Boston for Peterboro', another of the good cathedral towns. We have only just begun our seventh week of travel. As we here remember all we have thus far written, and think that only six weeks have been employed in making this grand tour, we are bewildered, and inclined to ask: Did we ever employ, or shall we ever use, another six weeks to so good advantage? We ride on among the hills and over fertile fields, amidst fine vegetation—fresh from some showers of yesterday, which we didn't name, they were so little disturbing. We are charmed on this tour, and admire the industry everywhere manifest; as out of our Boston, good cultivation of the land is a rule, and no exception. Here are elegant landscapes, fine trees, single and in groups, and woods, or what the English Bostonians call forests. We had wondered how these things were,—whether all the trees had not been cut off. We were prepared to see miles of territory treeless. But no! trees abound, and over pretty much all the territory we have been through.
Except for long lines or masses of woods, or timber-lands, such as we see at home, the aspect varies little from that of the average of New England. All that strikes one forcibly is an absence of ruggedness, and such rocky or barren conditions as we often find in New Hampshire or Connecticut, or along the Maine shore. Take the good, fertile, undulating part of New England; remove fences and stone walls, and, instead, put about a tenth as many divisions, made by hedges; reduce the number of apple orchards,—and you have the English landscape. As you near the seaboard of England from any side, you get the rocks, and more of the seaboard look. This is strikingly so at the south part of the kingdom, towards Canterbury and Brighton. Very New Englandish, even like Essex County from Salem to Newburyport, does all appear. But now at 10.30 a. m. on this Monday, after a beautiful and refreshing ride of 2¾ hours, we are at the famed cathedral city of
PETERBORO'.
Who that in other days saw the old, entertaining, and good Penny Magazine doesn't know something of this grand old place, and the cathedral with its three great west arches, and its central tower without a spire? This was a semi-holiday; it so seemed, for most of the inhabitants were in the streets, and at liberty. A pleasant day; but, though the 10th of June, it was cool enough to make our overcoats comfortable, and we wore them till noon. Valises deposited, this time at the station, we went direct to the cathedral.
It was a way we had. These great objects of interest are centres from which all other good things appear to radiate. Make for one of them and you make no mistake, for entertainment is at hand. You are well pleased; all thoughts are occupied; other persons are there before you, and are like-conditioned. Never one cathedral yet visited when we were first of the lot, or alone. The doors are always ajar and the verger in readiness, as though stationed there and in waiting for us in particular, even as though we had telegraphed that we were to come. Not at all officious are they, or over-inclined to get in our way. Never are they troublesome or interfering with even our thoughts, or quiet examination alone,—but tractable and ready, at the first overture on our part, to civilly answer any question, to explain, to tell us what we want to know. They are masters of the art of judiciously informing us that there are yet things hid from view that we can see if we wish, and how gently they name the small fee required. If there had been normal schools, or rather one, in all England, and it had been a requisite before employment in these cathedrals that they should attend the school, graduate, and then pass examination in the way of doing these things,—had this been done, no more propriety and judiciousness could be manifested.
We were surprised with the building. We admired it. We had been so highly fed on food of the kind we were getting dainty, but this was taken in with a relish. What a fine close around the old structure! How quiet! How varied its landscape! Well, the whole this time was enchanting, for it was unlike others. So many nooks and corners for pretty rambles; so many old walls and ruins about the premises; for very extended was the thing here in the centuries gone. We were in admiration with the grounds in their many departments; for once the cathedral itself was second; but soon we turned to the thing that makes the grounds what they are, and were at first sight struck with the good repair of the entire structure, and with its clean and solid appearance. The architecture is Norman and Early English.
It is very old, for the See was established, or rather the cathedral was founded, by Peada, one of the kings of Mercia, which was one of the ancient divisions of England. It was destroyed by the Danes, and afterwards rebuilt as it is. It is 476 feet long, with transepts 203 wide, and has a central tower 150 feet high, ending with lofty turrets at the four corners. There are also two small spires at the ends of the great west front. This part forms a section 150 feet in height and breadth, and consists of three magnificent arches 80 feet high, surmounted by pediments and pinnacles, flanked by the small towers before named; and in this front the cathedral is peculiar. It was begun in 906, and at the time of the Reformation was considered one of the most splendid religious edifices in the kingdom.
The interior is very grand and imposing. It is light-colored, almost white, having been restored, as it is called; which means that repairs have been thoroughly made in every part, and all washes, or tinted coatings, have been cleaned off, and as near as possible the work left in its original or natural color. There was a time, however, when all cathedrals had more or less of gorgeous decorations in fresco and high positive colors; next a white or tinted preparation covered all; and now, as that has been removed, more or less of the old frescoes show, but of course in a badly disfigured condition, and are only interesting as relics of another age. The probabilities are, the time will come when all will be re-frescoed in the gay colors of old.
At the Reformation everything savoring of art, in the way of painting in churches, was condemned. A great reaction seems to be taking place, and the church has discovered that it is quite possible to use and not abuse these things; and in some instances artists were at work in cathedrals, painting small portions as specimens for re-decorating the entire work. Some examples of frescoed ceilings are already complete. Peterboro' is now very white and clean, and the effect of its great interior is most pleasing.
It abounds in monuments, and many of them are of great antiquity and interest. Our statement must be so meagre that we dislike at all to enter the field of description, but will venture a little.
Catherine of Aragon, first wife of Henry VIII., is buried here; and it is said that on account of the fact of this being her place of burial, the king was pleased to give orders that the cathedral be mildly dealt with, and so it escaped that destructive action that so much injured all the others.
Mary, Queen of Scots, was also buried here, but when her son James I. came to the throne, her remains were removed to Westminster Abbey, where they now repose. The graves of these two eminent women were together, and now the verger tells us: "There lies Catherine of Aragon, and there next to her, and for years was buried, Queen Mary, but by reason of that letter," pointing to a letter, glass and framed, hanging near by, "her remains were removed to Westminster." We peruse the letter in the king's handwriting, and muse on the fact with a melancholy interest, and pass on. So much was this cathedral admired by King Edgar, that he bestowed such valuable gifts upon it that he caused the name of the city to be changed to Goldenburg, the Golden Town, which title at length gave place to its present name, derived from St. Peter, to whom the cathedral was dedicated.
The dean and chapter, by virtue of their office, exercise so much authority in the civil government of the city as to make it practically under their jurisdiction.
This being Whit-Monday, and a holiday, the cathedral was open free in all parts to the public, and hundreds were going and coming all the time we were in it,—a large part of them doubtless from out of town. We were thus favored with a view of an English town on a holiday, and traces were present of what gave the country the title of Merrie Englande. All the people were well dressed, sober, courteous, and full of enjoyment. Band-concerts and horse-trots were in order, and a balloon ascension in a park. The eating-houses were full, and from our experience of the results of the practice "first come, first served," it practically meant, that he that did not first come, was likely to be served poorly, or perhaps, what was better, not served at all.
Peterboro' has the honor of being the birthplace of the renowned Dr. William Paley, who was born in July, 1743, and died May 25, 1805. He was graduated at Christ College, Cambridge, in 1763; in 1782 was made Archdeacon of Carlisle. In 1785 appeared his celebrated work, "Principles of Moral and Political Economy," the copyright of which brought him $5,000. In 1794 was published his "View of the Evidences of Christianity," and in 1802 his great work, "Natural Theology." These works were long used as text-books in theological studies, and mark their author as one of superior intellect and of profound reasoning powers. While the deductions of his reasoning and arguments from given data are freely admitted, yet later thought—and the breaking forth of that light from the Scriptures, which the Pilgrims' minister, John Robinson of Leyden, expected would come—has destroyed some of his data, or premises from which he argued, and of course the results are anything but such as in his day, and as seen from his standpoint, appeared reasonable or right.
In the vicinity of Peterboro' is Milton Park, the seat of Earl Fitzwilliam. The estate is said to be a most elegant one, and freely open to the public at certain hours of the day. This custom is one that strikes the tourist very favorably, and always awakens a sense of gratitude. No cathedral or building of importance is ever closed from, say, 9 a. m. to 6 p. m., and facilities are furnished the visitor to examine all parts. Much of it is entirely free, and when a fee is charged it is a reasonable one, and only such as will prevent a rush of loafers to the premises; and the fee goes to pay the salary of the attendant, or for repairs of the structure. And now at 3 p. m. came another time for "moving on," so we took train for
LYNN.
As will be observed, we are at times in places of very familiar names, and to us this is one, and a place also we much desired to see; for from this, our Lynn in New England took its name. It was arrived at after an hour's ride, and is a beautiful place, in certain respects reminding one of our Lynn, for, although the houses are mostly of two or of three stories in height, and of brick or stone, yet they have so many gardens intervening, and a general freedom from compactness for a majority of the place, as to give it a somewhat rural character; though in the more immediate business part it has an old, perhaps aged look, and is compact and very business-like. The streets are well paved and lighted; there are many fine stores, and the old market-square is surrounded by very substantial stone buildings.
The city is situated on the River Ouse, nine miles from the North Sea; so that, as at our Lynn, the salt water flows by its few wharves, and tides rise and fall regularly. There are here also salt marshes, and, while we were there, the tide being out, the banks of the river showed to worst, or, as we should say for our purpose, to best advantage, for we would see them at their worst, and, from the "lay of the land," could imagine them at their best. The water was, at this time of tide, down some 20 feet from the surface of land, and was perhaps 800 feet wide. The banks were quite irregular and very muddy from their top down to the water, and the river, while running in one general direction, was rather crooked. From the opposite bank was a grand sort of upland meadow, of perhaps a quarter of a mile width, and beyond this, slightly higher land, stretching well to the right and left; and of a most pleasing nature was this landscape, for there were fine mansions embowered in fine groups of trees, splendid lawns, and every evidence of a good civilization. Taken as a whole, this peculiar river, with schooners, yachts, scows and fishing-boats; a general lack of finish to anything about the river except the grand meadow and fine domain bordering it; the, to us, very natural and pleasing odor of the salt water,—even New-England-Lynn-like, as it was on this fine warm summer afternoon,—these combined to make us definite in our praise of this Lynn Harbor.
At our back was the city, and along at the edge of the river were just such old, and, if not dilapidated, certainly not lately built or repaired wharves; and on them were just such things, for fishermen's use, as are required to make a place of the kind in harmony with itself and complete. There were old warehouses, three and four stories high, quite thickly bordering on the wharf-street, or narrow roadway. Not a thing that was new any time during this half-century, and most of it was old on the other side of 1800; but the aggregate was complete, for this, like our Lynn, is a semi-commercial place. Back of these storehouses were the town streets, and the good business portion; and here in the midst was one of the best possible examples of a very large, almost cathedralish, ancient, stone, Gothic church, St. Margaret's, founded in the twelfth century. It was enclosed in part by a high but open iron fence, and the usual ancient burial-ground was about it.
Another church of antiquity and note is St. Nicholas. It was erected in the fourteenth century, and is, for a thing of the kind, one of the finest in the kingdom. It is in the Gothic style, 200 feet long, and 78 feet wide. The city has a population of 17,266, which was the population of our Lynn sometime between the years 1850 and 1860. It has been said that the place is situated on the River Ouse, that stream being the principal river, but there are four other small streams, or navigable rivers, running into the city, and these are crossed by more than a dozen bridges. Anciently the place was defended on the land side by a fosse, which is a ditch or moat, with here and there strong bastions, or battery structures; and there are the remains of an ancient embattled wall and of one gateway. The city has a free grammar school, founded in the fifteenth century. To give it character as a place of antiquity, it has the ruins of a convent and an octagonal Ladye Tower. It has several ancient hospitals for the poor, an ancient guildhall, a jail, theatre, library, mechanics' institution, a large market-house, and a fort. Up to fifty years ago the trade of Lynn took rank as the fifth in England. A bar of shifting sand at the mouth of the river seriously troubled it, and a decline came, but its good prospects are now on the increase. It has quite large exports of corn and wool, and it has shipyards, breweries, iron-foundries, cork-works, and rope and tobacco manufactories; and steamers ply between this place and Hull. Lynn was remarkable for its fidelity to the royal cause in the time of King John, who died Oct. 19, 1216; and, as a reward for its fidelity, the king presented the place with a silver cup and sword. The people were also very loyal, and espoused the cause of Charles I., who was beheaded in London, Jan. 30, 1649.
Our rambles along the river and through the streets of this place were very entertaining; a rural atmosphere prevailed, as before named, through a large part of it, and a good, healthy, substantial, business-like air through the remainder. At 4.30 p. m. we took cars for Wells.
CHAPTER XVIII.
WELLS—NORWICH—ELY.
We arrived at 6 o'clock. The ride from Peterboro', through Lynn, and to Wells, was a pleasing one, for the land in the entire region was different from any we had seen. There were but few elevations, and, instead, meadows and fens abounded. Dikes and ditches were frequent. Windmills, as in Holland, were common, and in many respects we were riding over veritable Lynn Marshes, as we had done a thousand times, at home.
At length, arriving here, we anticipated seeing the cathedral, but alas for human endeavors and calculations! this was to be the place of our entire journey mistake. Wells proper, that of cathedral renown, was hundreds of miles away. This is a little, east-side-of-England seaport town of 3,760 inhabitants. Many of the houses are one-story, stone, plastered, and whitewashed. We felt in one quarter very at-homeish, for the street alongshore was much like one at Gloucester or Rockport, or in Joppa at Newburyport, Mass. There was an intense odor of fish, and the fishermen themselves were Joppa-fishermen-like, and not simply sailors. Heavy clothing was theirs, and of a cut and style not like Boston or Paris. Their boots were innocent of a waste of blacking, souwesters for hats, and Guernsey frocks. We didn't have very hard work to be reconciled, and "making the best of it" wasn't enough in the nature of a sacrifice to transform it into a virtue. We were seeing a fine old English seaboard town, and now we have an unexpected source of thought to draw from. We have it sure, and ever shall.
The mistaken detour was a blessing in disguise, a cloud with a silver lining. Next a. m., after a fine night's rest in that invigorating atmosphere, at 7 o'clock took train, and rode along landscapes not much like the other before passed over, for we were soon out into higher land, with some fields, and amid many fine gardens, groves, and woods,—in fact, in a quite New-England-appearing territory; and at 9 a. m., on this June 11, arrived at
NORWICH.
No doubt this time in the minds of either of us whether or not this was the Norwich, for in grand relief, off a quarter of a mile, was the cathedral, with its centre tower and spire, 315 feet high, which is one of the five spired-cathedrals of England. The city is well situated on the River Wensum, and has a population of 80,390, and is the capital of the county of Norfolk. It is a very ancient place, for there are good evidences that it was founded a. d. 446, or more than 1400 years ago. On the departure of the Romans, who settled it, it was taken by the Saxons, and in 575 it had improved and become the capital of Anglia. In 1002 it was attacked by a Danish fleet under command of Sweyn their king, and was captured and burnt to ashes. In 1328 the foundation of its permanent prosperity was laid by Edward III., who made it the staple town of Suffolk and Norfolk; and, conferring important privileges thereby, induced large numbers of Flemings to settle in it. A larger number yet arrived during the reign of Queen Elizabeth; and so great was the industry and ingenuity of the people, that their manufactures soon became famed throughout the world. The city has given birth to many distinguished men. Among these may be named the following: Matthew Parker, a distinguished Archbishop of Canterbury, and so, Primate of all England. He was the second Protestant Bishop of Canterbury, and died at London, May 17, 1575. A more extended notice of him will be given in the description of the cathedral of Canterbury.
Next is Dr. Samuel Clark, born Oct. 11, 1675, and died May 17, 1729. He graduated at Cambridge, and was of a very philosophical turn of mind. Having mastered the system of Philosophy of Descartes and Newton in his 22d year, he published a work on physics, which became popular and a text-book in the university. He next turned his attention to theology, and became chaplain to Dr. More, Bishop of Norwich. In 1706 he translated into English "Newton's Optics," which so pleased the great mathematician that he presented him with £500, and Queen Anne made him one of her chaplains and rector of St. James Westminster, and this was when he was less than 31 years old. He was a very scholarly and voluminous writer, and all his works are marked by erudition and are on important themes. He was a philosopher, and a scientific thinker, as well as an historical, or theological one; and on the death of Sir Isaac Newton, he was offered the place of Master of the Mint, but strongly attached to his profession as a Christian teacher, he declined the office, as being unsuitable to his ecclesiastical character. His death occurred at the age of fifty-three, and few have died more worthily or universally lamented.
Here also was born, May 21, 1780, Elizabeth Fry, the celebrated Quakeress and philanthropist, who was, in 1798, converted to pure Quakerism through the instrumentality of William Savary, the American Quaker, then on a visit to England. She died at Ramsgate, Oct. 12, 1845, greatly lamented the Christian World over.
Here also was born, Nov. 12, 1769, Mrs. Amelia Opie, the well known poetess and prose writer, who died here Dec. 2, 1853.
And here was born, June 12, 1802, that remarkable writer, Harriet Martineau; and, in 1805, her hardly less celebrated brother Rev. James Martineau, the distinguished Unitarian divine; and thus we find the list of notables increasing to a degree that demands a refrain of enumeration even. The old city is hardly less celebrated as having been the seat of very marked and interesting historical events.
In 1381 Bishop Spencer led an army, and successfully repulsed an attack made on it by 80,000 insurgents, led by Sitester, a dyer, in the Wat Tyler Rebellion. Muscular Christianity was at a premium, sure, in those days, and a political sermon was then looked upon as a mild offence. In 1531 Bilney and Lews and Ket were burned at the stake for their religious opinions. In the reign of Elizabeth 4,000 Flemings fled from the cruelties of the Duke of Alva, and established in this place the manufacture of bombazines, which work is carried on to the present day. In 1695 a mint was established here. In the years 1407-1483 was built, of curiously arranged cobble, or round flintstones, the present guildhall, with panels in the front, ornamented with armorial shields of the time of Henry VIII. In one of the rooms is the sword of Admiral Winthuysen, taken at the battle of St. Vincent, Feb. 14, 1797. In Pottergate Street is the old Bridewell, built in 1380, of flintstone, and once the home of Appleyard, the first mayor of Norwich.
A recital of interesting facts and description of relics could be made which alone would require chapters of the length we are using. The temptation is very great, when we are saying anything of these grand old historic and antique centres, to enlarge, and give a greater amount of those interesting old facts; but a moment's reflection calls attention to the impropriety of making an encyclopædia, and we forbear, and turn to the more modern ideas.
The manufactures of the place are at the present time, as they always have been, very varied; and prominent among them is that of woollen goods, which are of a great and ancient celebrity, for the Flemings obtained long wool, spun in the village of Worsted, nine miles away, and of this made that peculiar cloth. This kind of yarn thus took the name of worsted, and is so known to this day. It is said that there are 1400 looms working in this city and the neighborhood. The city has a business-like appearance, and a commanding look in its main thoroughfares. It is well built of brick and stone, and everywhere, at intervals, there are the evidences of age, in the old stone churches, of which there are more than forty in the city,—some of them very venerable, and built of split cobble-flintstone, and many of them of great antiquity.
The city has a noble feudal relic in the shape of a castle founded by Uffa in 575. It was extended and improved by Anna in 642, and again in 872 by Alfred the Great, or more than 1,000 years ago; and now still stands, grand and imposing, at the centre of the city, on a quite lofty eminence with precipitous sides, and is surrounded by its massive wall and donjon tower, but has been in modern times altered on the interior, to fit it for its present use as a jail. Another part is remodelled for use as the shire hall. The bishop's palace and the deanery are imposing structures, old and interesting, and approached, as the cathedral itself is, through what is called the Eppingham Gate, a remarkable structure consisting of a lofty pointed arch, flanked with semi-octagonal buttresses, and enriched with columns, mouldings, and 38 male and female statues in canopied niches. The market-place is large, and ranks as one of the finest in the world. The city was formerly surrounded by walls; fragments of them still remain, but most have been removed and the material used for more useful purposes. It was provided with numerous watch-towers, and was entered by 12 gates.
Owing to the quantity of ground used, just out of the centre of the city, for gardens and orchards, as the place is approached by rail it presents a very rural appearance; and being built mostly on a hillside, and quite steep in parts, it strongly resembles its namesake in our Connecticut, and it covers a much larger space, or territory, than any other English place of a like population. Not a few of the streets are narrow and winding, and many of the houses that line such are antique with overhanging stories, and presenting long rows of gables; they are, however, generally of brick, and more interesting for their antiquity than for any merits of architecture.
Great improvements have been made in the suburbs, and even in the city proper; new streets have been opened, old ones widened, and many modern and tasteful buildings erected. Hospitals and charity schools and institutions abound. The literary and scientific institutions have a library of 18,000 volumes, and the mechanics' and young men's institutes have 11,000. There are numerous public parks or gardens, bowling-greens, and great facilities for the amusement and pleasure of its inhabitants.
A grand and venerable old place is this of Norwich,—full of inducements for a visit, or even a permanent stay. It should have been named that the suburbans, and those living on the outskirts, give much attention to farming, and that Norwich is in some respects like our Brighton, for it has weekly market-days for the sale of cattle, and has the largest market in the kingdom, with the single exception of those near London. The stores, many in number, and a large portion of them of high grade, present for sale every conceivable article, and argue of a high civilization.
"The cathedral,—what of that?" says the reader. Well, it is by no means forgotten, and we next tell of that. It is situated on low and level land, and is from a distance looked down upon, or over to, rather than up to, as is the case at Durham, Lincoln, and in fact in many other places. It is built of a dark-gray sandstone, and has a rather sombre look, and is located in the midst of grounds, about in which are walls and ruins of the old monastery, and the original garden walls yet remain; so that while the cathedral is not out among buildings of ordinary character, but has ample grounds and shrubbery around it, yet it has no grand close, or park, as at Salisbury, Hereford, and many others; but all is complete within these precincts, and charming in the extreme. A charming quiet pervades these ancient-appearing and large premises, and all is befitting the venerable structure.
Like all cathedrals, this boasts of a good antiquity. The See was removed from Thetford to Norwich in 1096. The first establishment consisted of sixty monks; they took possession of the premises in 1106, and Bishop Herbert laid the cathedral foundation in 1115. The work advanced, so that on Advent Sunday, 1278,—or 163 years after the laying of the corner-stone,—it was consecrated by Bishop Middleton, in presence of King Edward I. and Queen Eleanor. In 1272 the tower was badly injured by lightning; and this was but the precursor of a greater evil, for on the 18th of September of that year a riot occurred among the populace, and they turned their attention to the edifice. Most of the court buildings were destroyed, the cathedral itself much injured, several of the sub-deacons and lay-servants killed in the cloisters, the treasury ransacked, and all the monks but two driven away. In 1289 Bishop Walpole began a spire of wood, covered with lead, completed in 1295, which remained some years, when it was blown down, and much injury was done to the roofs. Bishop Percy erected the present stone spire in the years 1364-1369, so that as we now see it, it is 536 years old.
The building is 416 feet long, transepts, 185 feet wide; and the tower, which is 45½ feet square, is 140 feet high, with a stone spire, 169½ feet above this, or an aggregate 309½, exclusive of iron-work, above it. The cloisters are 150 feet square, and the open close about them is one of the finest in England. The interior is very solid in appearance, yet as well decorated as any in the kingdom. Indescribable is the solemnity of grand effect. How complete all is; and how of eternity itself do the great Norman columns speak! Had we not already employed so much eulogy in praise of other cathedrals, we now could use adjectives to advantage; but language has never yet adequately described a cathedral's interior. There is more to the thing than matters of curiosity and a tame entertainment. We first are interested, next admire; soon a feeling of awe and solemnity is inspired, and the strong sensations tone down, and one feels to be in the presence of men of other generations. Bishops of distinguished renown have here held sway more than half a thousand years ago. Here have kings and queens worshipped. These arches through the centuries have echoed back a million songs and psalms and prayers; about, amid this lofty vaulting, have the odors and smoke of Roman Catholic incense wandered on; and here at the foot of these ponderous columns, and at these shrines, have thousands, yea millions, of pious devotees tried to do honor to the King of kings and the Lord of lords; and here also by-and-by, in aid of reformation, was ruthless work done, and images of saints and grand sculptures, made by monks and pious ones, were hurled from their quiet resting-places, to be broken and to be cast out, after centuries of service,—to be as common things, ground to powder and trodden under foot of men. The good Scripture statement is that there is joy among the redeemed over repenting mortals. If joy, then knowledge and observation of what mortals do. Is it too much to think that, with extended vision and enlightened conditions, seeing truth clearly, and rid of its dress and habiliments of superstition and enslaving penance and wordy ritual, that even the seeming desecration, speaking of advancing conditions and better ones for after worshippers,—that listening to this, they too rejoiced in the work, and that always after they have been interested here at these great shrines, and are present and communing? Is there not now, as of old, a great cloud of witnesses? When one walks through the vast cathedral nave, and the sound of his feet makes echoes that pass from one to another of their lofty arches, is it too much to think that these are not all the sounds awakened or elements set in motion? "Things are not what they seem," for the poet has well said:—
As the temple waxes,
The inward service of the mind and soul
Grows wide withal.
This place so sacred, and now in grand repose, has been desecrated to an incredible degree. The world's people and the monks have at times come to blows. In recounting the desecrations which took place during one of the civil wars, Sir Thomas Browne says, that "more than one hundred monumental brasses were taken from the mural slabs in this cathedral, and were carried away and destroyed." Bishop Hall says:—
The rebel musketeers committed abominable excesses in this cathedral church, which they converted into an ale-house. They sallied out habited in the surplices and vestments, sounding on the organ pipes, and grossly parodying the litany, and burned the service-books, six copies, and records in the market-place.
No cathedral makes a greater show of monuments, in wider variety of design, or commemorative of more influential and distinguished men; and first may be named the elegant memorial window at the west end of the nave, to the memory of Bishop Edward Stanley, who was father of the celebrated and now worthily lamented Dean of Westminster at London. The bishop was born in 1779, and died at Norwich in 1849, having been made bishop of this cathedral in 1837. In the presbytery is a table-tomb to the memory of Sir W. Boleyn, who died in 1505. He was the great-grandfather of Queen Elizabeth.
Near by is a wall tablet commemorating Bishop George Horne, who died Jan. 17, 1792. He was distinguished as a preacher, and became President of Magdalen College, Oxford, in 1768, Chaplain to the King in 1771, Dean of Canterbury in 1781, and Bishop of Norwich, 1790. He was a very voluminous writer; his chief work is his "Commentary on the Psalms," on which he labored for twenty years, and published it in 1776. As one lingers among these remains he is forcibly struck with the antiquity of the monuments, and finds himself counting their age by hundreds of years; and among them are the following bishops with the year of their death. They will be given in the order in which they are met with, not regarding priority of dates: Bishop Nix, 1536; Parkhurst, 1575; Dean Gardner, 1589; Bishop Herbert, 1682; Goldwell, 1499; Wakering, 1425; Overell, 1619; Bathurst, 1837; Prior N. de Brampton, 1268; Prior Bonoun, 1480; Reynolds, 1676; R. Pulvertoft, 1494; and so might the list be continued. Here are bishops, deans, curates, priors, sir-knights-templars, members of parliament; and distinguished women also, for not unfrequently appears the title of Dame, as Dame Calthorp, who died in 1582. As we think of these for whom monumental stones have been raised, and the hundreds in the old grounds, who are "unknelled, uncoffined, and unknown;" of monk, nun, abbot, and abbess; Catholic and Protestant; of them of ancient dispensation, as well as of them of the new; the whole a great company, more in the aggregate than all they who in the city entire are yet in the flesh,—as we loiter here and think of these things, we see the force of the remark, "One generation cometh and another goeth, but the earth abideth forever." We have said, after all, comparatively nothing concerning this place of so much interest and renown, but time with us moves as it did with those who a thousand years ago labored and died here. The great bell in the tower solemnly counts off the hour of 3 o'clock, and we wend our way from these sacred precincts, and drop the curtain, but not without the promise that whenever again at London, we will come over to Norwich; and now at 3.30 of the same Tuesday, we take cars for the next cathedral town, which is famous old
ELY.
We are at the seat of another of the famed cathedrals, having arrived in just an hour's ride from Norwich; so on this remarkably fine day as it is proving to be,—at home in Boston, America, we should call it a first-class middle-of-May one,—valises deposited at the railroad station, our stay not to be long, we are soon walking about the city. This is a small rural place, situated on the River Ouse, and with a population of 8,000. It is exceedingly rural in aspect, and has but little look of business or manufactures. Half embowered with trees, the octagonal tower of the cathedral is looming up in the distance, a half-mile away. The place has one principal street, and but few others of more than ordinary importance, and while clean to a fault, it has many old buildings, and little that is new; and, as before intimated, gardens and lawns are common, and the entire place has a charmingly rural character. The churches of St. Mary and of Holy Trinity are remarkable for their age and an ancient splendor. There was a convent founded here about 673, by Etheldreda, wife of Egfrid, King of Northumberland, and she was its first abbess. It was destroyed by the Danes in 870, and one hundred years later was rebuilt by Ethelwold, Bishop of Winchester, who placed in it monks instead of nuns. The city is on an island, and is said to have received its name from the great quantity of eels that used to be taken here. It has some manufactures of earthen-ware, and tobacco-pipes, and there are also flax and hemp-seed oil-mills, and lime-kilns; but the principal source of income for the laboring people is agriculture, and it has very extensive gardens for the cultivation of market vegetables, the produce of which is mainly sent to Cambridge, sixteen miles away, for use at the colleges.
The monastery and former abbey being established here, made it at an early day one of the celebrated religious centres of England; and, as often the case, the church of the institution was important, and in time became a cathedral. The See was established in 1107. In 1066 Thurston was abbot, and he defended the Isle of Ely seven years against William the Conqueror. In 1081 Simeon, a prior of Winchester, was abbot, and laid the foundation of the present cathedral.
In 1107, as before stated, the See was established, and Hervey, who had been Bishop of Bangor,—and, it is said for good reasons, had been driven away,—was elected Abbot of Ely; that is, he was head of the monastery. He made an effort to have this a seat of the bishop, and, succeeding, was himself made its first bishop. Simeon, who laid the cathedral foundation, lived only long enough to finish the choir and one transept, and of his work this transept only now remains.
The nave, the great western tower as high as the first battlements, and the south transept were finished, the former in 1174, and the latter in 1189. The great western portico was begun in 1200, and finished in 1215. In 1552 extensions were made, and in 1322 the octagonal lantern of the tower was begun, and it was finished in 1328. A spire of wood was built on this in 1342, which was afterwards removed. Various repairs and restorations have been from then till now going on, and we have it at present in fine condition of repair. It is built of a grayish, or dark soapstone-colored stone, resembling the cathedral at Salisbury; and on the stone is a large lot of lichens,—a species of fungus or moss, such as is often seen on our common stones of field walls, though so very thin and close to the stone as at times to appear simply like a stain on the material. The building is 517 feet long, 179 feet wide at the transepts, and the nave and aisles are respectively 78 feet wide and 70 feet high.
A marked and important feature of this cathedral is the great west tower, on the four corners of which are large octagonal buttress piers, ending in very lofty turrets, crowned with battlements; and inside of these, but somewhat lower, is an octagonal lantern section, also crowned with an embattled parapet. The tower is very elaborate and elegant in its finish and proportions, and is in all 306 feet high. Another peculiarity of the cathedral is that at the intersection of the nave, transepts, and choir, are four subordinate sides in which are elegant windows, and the whole great octagon, ending at the outside lines with groined work; and the centre part is a lantern which is open well up into the great tower over it.
The interior of this cathedral is elegant and wonderfully elaborate, and is excelled by no cathedral in the kingdom. Here, if anywhere, may it be said that rich Gothic architecture is "frozen music." Speak as favorably as one will of other cathedrals, they may yet be lavish in praise of Ely; and it may be added that the painted glass windows are incredibly fine and in keeping with the grand building they illuminate. Of one thing we repeatedly speak, and it is that we are glad that we did not see the interior of a cathedral like this first; else many of the others would have appeared tame and weak. All, however, have their own peculiar glories, and, as productions of art, do their own respective work.
There are but few monuments of note in the cathedral. There were once, however, many of bishops, priors, and deans, but all have been destroyed or removed but two; they are of Bishop Gray and of Lewis de Luxemburg, who was made bishop in 1438, and who held the bishopric by special dispensation of the Pope, being at the same time Archbishop of Rouen, France, and also a cardinal.
Among the eminent men who have been bishops of this cathedral is Matthew Wren, who was elected bishop in 1638. He was uncle of the distinguished architect of St. Paul's at London, Sir Christopher Wren, and he held the following offices at different periods: Master of St. Peter's College, Cambridge; Dean of Windsor; and Bishop of Hereford, and also of Norwich. He was a great sufferer during the Usurpation and the Rebellion, but outlived both, and before his death saw peace and tranquility restored. In looking over the list of Ely's bishops, one is astonished to observe how eminent they must have been, if we may judge from their having previously been bishops in other cathedrals. Simon Langham, elected here in 1332, was a cardinal, and, after being here, was bishop at Canterbury. Thomas de Armdel, of 1374, was translated to York, and then to Canterbury. John Morton, of 1478, was afterwards Archbishop of Canterbury. Thomas Goodrich, of 1534, was once Bishop of Westminster, and also of Norwich. Simon Patrick, of 1691, was at Chichester as bishop, and was dean at Peterboro'. Remarkable confidence seems to have been reposed in the bishops of Ely for uprightness and integrity, and a business talent as well; for as many as twelve of them were chancellors of England, and four of them founded colleges or were masters at Cambridge.
As we try to select a few items of especial interest from the vast amount before us, the task is bewildering, and when a final work has been done, it is so meagre and paltry as to cause uncomfortable thoughts, and put to flight all anticipations of even a reasonable satisfaction.
These vast buildings, so elegant in decoration, so aged, so satisfying to the beholder, as remarkable works of skill in decorative and constructive points of view, are great museums and libraries of themselves; and to the reflective observer there are "sermons in stones." When here and at like places, we are amid the results of the anticipations and prayers and labors of centuries. We go back to the day when a lot of mortals, full of a pious aspiration for the good and the true,—yet superstitious,—were travelling over these spots in quest of a best place for study and repose; and they at last here rested, and founded an abbey or monastery, a priory it may be, or a simple nunnery. By-and-by the foundation of a great church was to be laid, but with no hope or expectation of ever seeing those foundation walls of an entire cathedral reach even the earth's surface: comprehending the scheme, they plied themselves to the task, and labored and died; others came, the walls arose, and centuries passed. Tower, battlement, and roof climbed heavenward, and then came consecration and worship, but never rest. Death of prelate, then monuments were in order; repairs of cathedral; civil wars, rebellions, destruction of the art-work of centuries; overturnings of doctrines, disputes, and surrender of cathedral, and all its sacred belongings come; new doctrines are inaugurated, and become the law of the land. Generations after generations are born and die. The cathedral grows old, aged; the grounds only remain as they were; and not as they were, for the soil is raised by the dust of the thousands that are buried and moulder in it, and so, in transfigured glory, even the old trees that throw their grateful shadows have in their fibre earth that was once the royal bone and flesh and sinew of bishop, cardinal, or king. At places in cathedral premises are charnel houses, or rooms where are deposited bones and remains exhumed, or taken from tombs, and these are thrown into promiscuous heaps to moulder on a little longer, and, having become resolved back to mother earth, to be quietly shovelled out as food for grass and flowers on the great lawns. These are the seen, the temporal; but the unseen, the eternal, is no less fact, nor less real, for the influence these men exerted lives and acts. The mortal is greater than any material thing he builds. That decays, and as an organized thing ceases to be, but the influence of thought dies never. We know not into whose little mass of earth, whose narrow house, the rootlets of the tree whose branches shade us have gone, and taken up their infinitesimal particles of human earth, and carried it on to make leaf and blossom, or fibre of wood or bark. We know it has been done, and is yet doing, and has been so for centuries; for, as Shakespeare has it:—
Imperious Cæsar, dead and turned to clay,
Might stop a hole to keep the wind away;
Oh that the earth, which kept the world in awe,
Should patch a wall to expel the winter's flaw!
Not seen as fact, with material eyes, but known beyond peradventure by the less material thought; so it is of the deeds done,—living and acting, when the authors are dead, as the world judges and declares. But are not the great arch and pillar of nave influential now? Is not the elegant decoration of cut stone refining to those of this day? Does not the largeness even of the cathedral inspire us now to do large things? Does not the patience of monk, of old bishop, of the master mind of those back ages,—content to but lay a foundation and then resignedly die,—does not that beget the like, even in this hurrying nineteenth-century time? And the determination of Cromwell or of Henry VIII., even though destructionists,—iconoclasts not only of stone, but unwittingly of superstitions and religious tyranny,—though in a sense tyrants themselves, does not their work make it comfortable for free conscientious worship now? Does not the work of such ones and their sustaining bishops,—of martyrs, by their faithfulness and sacrifices even of life itself,—do not these make our good conditions possible, which but for them would never have been? Cathedral is museum and library; it is shrine,—inspiring thought and evolving new good, and in no way inferior to picture-gallery or depository of mechanical production or of curious art.
A long digression this, and but for the license we at the start reserved, apology would be due. We greatly enjoyed Ely and all things in it. A fine long walk came next, from the cathedral off half a mile into a back road, where, amid the good suburban shade of overhanging garden trees, and enveloped in the nice odor of flowers, we took our last view of the old structure, and turned our feet to the station. Dreamish was the whole thing. A few hours ago we were not in sight of the famed place, where has crystallized the greatness engendered by centuries. A choice bit of earth, covered over and enveloped in extraordinary history and momentous events, the site of any cathedral is. A few hours only there at the shrine, and the material curtain for us two drops, and never perhaps to be raised while we are in the flesh. It was another scene of lightning-like presentation, but the photograph was taken. The impression is clear, clean-cut of detail and outline; and though it may be dimmed it will never be effaced, nor beyond recall. We leave the famed place, and, entering the station, sit mute in our car. The common things of every-day life take us in charge. Engine, embankments, bridges, tunnels, fields, every-day things, terribly modern, come up in front, and gently absorb attention. The mind quietly and imperceptibly yields. We are kindly let down, and the spell is broken.
We are on our way to Cambridge. It's 6.30 p. m. only, and that's early for these long English June days. Classic and worthily renowned Cambridge! Our thoughts go on and not back now. When one has been thinking of a great thing, it's a comfort, when ruthlessly removing from it, to be permitted to think of another as great or greater.
CHAPTER XIX.
CAMBRIDGE.
Our arrival here was at 7.30 p. m. on Thursday, June 11, with but an hour's ride from Ely. This city, as is well known, is the other great university place of England, with its sister Oxford, and is in many respects like that; for aside from its being a great seat of learning, the general look and surroundings are much the same. Fine meadows surround the city, and the River Cam runs through it, as does the Cherwell at Oxford. The place is one of great antiquity, for in Doomsday-book it is described as an important place, and is there called Grente-bridge, from one of the then names of the river. Its present name is derived from the more modern name, Cam, which is nearer correct. The pronunciation by the inhabitants was Cambridge, giving a its sound as in can, instead of its long sound as in came, by our usage. In 871 it was burnt by the Danes; rebuilt; and burnt in 1010. Subsequent to this it has been the scene, at various periods, of great historical events, but we will leave its ancient history and speak of it as it now is.
The present population, including about 8,500 students, is 35,372. What makes it of peculiar interest to people of Massachusetts is, that from it is taken the name of our Cambridge, which was done in honor of some of the early settlers, who were graduates here, and also of Rev. John Harvard, who removed from here to America, and died at our Charlestown, Sept. 24, 1638. At his death he made a donation to our college of money and his library of 300 books.
No more beautiful place of sojourn in the kingdom of Great Britain exists than this. There is at one of the principal business sections quite a commercial aspect, there being good stores for the sale of goods of all kinds, and the bookstores are exquisitely tempting. Here and there are fine old mansions elegantly embowered in trees; and winding about among them, and for long distances, are the most rural of roads imaginable for quiet rambles, strongly reminding one of the more retired parts of our Roxbury, most of them being shaded by venerable trees. There are examples of churches, with their surrounding graveyards, which boast of very great antiquity, and they also greet us with a look of centuries. The people are blest with a becoming and good reverence for these time-honored enclosures and venerable buildings, and they religiously repair them when needed, but refrain from amending.
Happily for them, public sentiment is such that no Old South campaigns, such as balls, fairs, and "Carnivals of Authors," are required before they will refrain from putting them out of existence. An atmosphere of learning, and suggestions of high cultivation, and that of centuries' duration and exercise, prevails and is everywhere apparent. Even the business portion seems to be subdued, refined, and classic. After making due allowance for the fact of knowledge of the nature of the place and interest in it exciting, perhaps, a too intense admiration, one gets the impression that the children are more refined, and that even the street horses are better behaved than elsewhere; he all the time feels as though he was enveloped in an atmosphere of unusual propriety, for there's a sort of Sunday-air about everything.
As at Oxford, the colleges are many in number, and the buildings are of peculiar construction, entirely unlike ours in America. We have given a full description of those at Oxford, and remarks concerning them apply alike to these, for in most respects they do not vary much from each other. It may be said that, take at random one half of those at Oxford, and exchange buildings and grounds with an equal number from Cambridge,—take them promiscuously, and put each respectively in the place of the other,—and you would in no way attract especial attention so far as style, size, or kind of architecture is concerned. Of course all vary from each other, but part of those in one place do not vary from part of those of another, any more than each varies from its neighbor.
Here are the same courts, or closes, called courts at Cambridge, and quads at Oxford. They are always entered by a principal arch or gateway from a main street, and there enclosed is the elegant lawn of that indescribably velvet-like grass, for which such places are celebrated, and which the mild and moist climate so well takes care of and favors. Then there is a grand and scrupulously clean gravel-walk around it, and up against the buildings; and it may be there are good paths across it, leading to other openings, through under the first story to another court of like nature, and yet again to others,—for some colleges have four or more of these.
Everywhere exists a neatness that is remarkable,—no particle of paper nor bit of anything to mar the nicety. Windows innumerable are filled on their outside sills with pots of flowers. We often say, as we pass through the courts and observe the perfect repair every building is in,—the cleanliness, the comfortable quiet,—"How perfect, and what a good public sentiment among the students there must be to make the condition possible."
Aside from these courts, some, and perhaps most of the colleges, have very large and great park-like grounds and of many acres in extent, with walks ancient and shaded with venerable trees. The lazy River Cam moves leisurely through them, as if loath to leave, and as though admiring its visit and stay. As we stood on one of the grand old bridges crossing it,—and there are quite a number on the grounds leading from one division of the park to another, and sometimes, as at St. John's College, connecting two buildings,—as we stood looking down into the water we almost felt that it, as we did, realized that the visit was one of a lifetime, and not to be hurried over.
How inducive of thought are these old classic grounds, centuries in use? Poets, philosophers, and martyrs, the most renowned men of the world, have here walked as we are walking. Oxford has had her great men, and we bow reverently at the thought or even mention of their names. How the destinies of the kingdom and those of the world have been influenced by men to whom Oxford was alma mater; but an intense conservatism has always nestled in her bosom and been suckled at her breasts. For centuries it was Oxford's conscientious duty and work to be conservator of religion and philosophy, and, as she understood it, to see that the ship did not drag anchor, drift, nor move a particle from her ancient moorings of received doctrines and principles; and so, if burning of martyrs would aid the cause, martyrs must be burned, and Hooper and Latimer and Ridley and Cranmer, Cambridge men, must be ensamples and victims. As a result the flame of poetry burned low in that university, and if the world was to have a Milton and a Spenser, a Gray and a Byron, Christ's, Pembroke, and Trinity of Cambridge must furnish them. So of great philosophers! Cambridge's Trinity must furnish Newton and Bacon; and, as named, the great martyrs Cranmer, Latimer, and Ridley must go from Jesus, Clare, and Pembroke of this university; and what vast influence in our New England was exerted by the labors of John Robinson, the Pilgrims' minister and spiritual adviser, who although he died before he was permitted to look on this promised land, yet was to the moment of his death their best earthly friend; and so we may speak of Elder Brewster and of John Cotton; of Shepard of Lynn, and Parker and Noyes of Newbury, and all their fellow-contemporaries in the work of the ministry,—hardly one, save the two last named, who did not graduate at Cambridge! Archbishop Laud declared Sidney, Sussex, and Immanuel Colleges here to be "the nurseries of Puritanism." To use the thought of Dean Stanley: "It seems to have been the mission of Cambridge to make martyrs, and the work of Oxford to burn them."
But we pass on and notice the colleges themselves. From their great number and the long history each has, it will be impossible to give even a respectable synopsis of their history, and we can do but little more than name them, as was done for Oxford, in the order of their founding, with the date, and give a sample only of names of the eminent men who have been educated at each; and first in the list is St. Peter's, founded 1284, by Hugh de Balsham, Bishop of Ely. The library contains 6,000 volumes, and has fine old antique portraits of some of the masters and fellows, dating from 1418 to 1578. Among its eminent men were the famous Cardinal Beaufort, Bishop of Winchester, who died 1447. Thomas Gray, author of the renowned "Elegy in a Country Churchyard," died in 1771, and Lord Chief Justice Ellenboro', 1818.
The second in antiquity is Clare College, founded by Dr. Richard Badew, Chancellor of the University, in 1326. Elizabeth Clare, the third sister and co-heiress of Gilbert de Clare, Earl of Gloucester and Hertford, of her bounty built the college buildings, and in 1347 endowed it with land; and from thence it obtained the name which it has held for over five centuries. The grounds named are inconceivably elegant, and a graceful poet of Oxford, in speaking of them, remarks as follows:—
Ah me! were ever river-banks so fair,
Gardens so fit for nightingales as these?
Were ever haunts so meet for summer breeze,
Or pensive walk in evening's golden air?
Was ever town so rich in court and tower,
To woo and win stray moonlight every hour?
Some of her eminent men are, beside the martyr Latimer: John Tillotson, Archbishop of Canterbury, died in 1594; Ralph Cudworth, D. D., the celebrated writer, 1688; and Rev. James Hervey, author of the Meditations, 1758. The next is Pembroke, founded in 1347, by Mary de St. Paul, second wife of Aymer de Valence, Earl of Pembroke. She obtained her charter from Edward III. Her husband had died suddenly in France in 1324. The venerable appearance of the buildings caused Queen Elizabeth, when she visited it for the first time, to salute it in a Latin exclamation, a translation of which is, "O house antique and religious." The thought may have been suggested by a remembrance of John Rogers, and of Bradford and Ridley, who suffered martyrdom in the preceding reign, and who were all of this college, the last named having been its master, or, as we say, its president.
The chapel was built in 1665, from designs by Sir Christopher Wren, architect of St. Paul's London. The library contains 10,000 volumes. This college has been called Collegium Episcopale, from the great number of bishops who were here educated. Among her eminent men was the martyr Ridley, who was burned at the stake in 1555; Edmund Spenser the poet, 1599; and William Pitt, 1806.
Gonville and Caius College (Caius is called Keys by the students) is next. It was founded by Edmund de Gonville in 1348. He proceeded to erect buildings, but did not live to carry his design into full execution; he, however, left money for their completion. In 1557 John Caius, M. D., physician to Queen Mary, endowed the college largely, and, having procured a charter of incorporation, it took his name. Dr. Caius was master of his college from 1559 till within a few weeks of his death in 1573.