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THE

OLD WORLD AND THE NEW;

OS, A

JOURNAL OP REFLECTIONS AND OBSERVATIONS
MADE ON A TOUR IN EUROPE.

;WEY,

IN TWO VOLUMES,
VOL. I.

NEW-YORK :
HARPER & BROTHERS, 82 CLIFF-STREET.
1836.

[Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1836, by
Harper & Brothers,
in the Clerk's Office of the Southern District of Ifew-Tork.]

FRANCIS BOOTT, M.D.,
of SlontiDn,
THE FOLLOWING PAGES
ARE AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED,
BY HIS FRIEND,
THE AUTHOR.

PREFACE.

A FEW words will explain the title and purpose
of these volumes. They are not offered to the
public as an itinerary ; and for the sake of any
thing which they contain of that kind, they would
not have been published. But on returning to his
native country, the author felt a desire which
before he had not anticipated, to offer to his coun
trymen some of the thoughts which the Old World
had suggested to his mind concerning the New*
It seemed to him that every traveller to the Old
World stood on a vantage 'ground for surveying
the institutions, customs, and character of his own
country, which might entitle the results of his ob'
servation to some regard. There are many sub
jects of this nature, which the spectacle of the Old
World will force upon the most negligent attention
— such as manners, national health, amusements^f
churches and church establishments, the Catholic'
religion, the cultivation of the arts, and the many

vm PREFACE.
and momentous questions in politics which are
now agitating the civilized world, and which
press with peculiar weight upon our own country.
It was the author's first intention to collect and
expand the scattered hints on these and other gen
eral topics which he found in his journal, and to
publish them in a small volume of essays. But,
as observation may lend weight to reflection — as
the scene may impart some interest to the senti
ments which it awakened — he has thought fit, in
stead of presenting those reflections and sentiments
in an abstract form, to imbody them in a general
narrative of his tour.
It is only necessary to add, in order to explain
the style of address which may occasionally appear
in these pages, that they were written for, and sent,
parcel by parcel, to his friends at home.
New- York, June, 1886.

CONTENTS'

THE FIRST VOLUME.

CHAPTER I.
Passage across the Atlantic — The Old World — Liverpool — Man
ners of servants— Stage Coaches — Chester — Eaton Hall —
North Wales — Conway — Menai Bridge — Caernarvon — Llan-
beris — Scenery of Wales — General remarks ... 13
CHAPTER II.
Dublin — Architecture of Cities — Beggars — St. Patrick's Cathe
dral — Mrs. Hemans — Drogheda — Irish Cottages — Peatbogs —
Belfast — Scenery and People of the North of Ireland — Carrick-
B-Rede — Giants' Causeway — Castle of Dunluce — Steamer to
Glasgow  37
CHAPTER III.
Scotland — A Stage Coach Conversation — Edinburgh — Its un
rivalled beauty — Arthur's Seat and Salisbury Crag— Differ
ence between objects of Romance and of real Life — Holyrood

X CONTENTS.
—St. Leonard's Crag— Excursion to the Highlands— Stirling
^The Trosacks- Lock Katrine— Lock Lomond— Highland
Cottage at Inversnaid- Hamilton— Bothwell Brig— Lanark
—Tweedale—Abbotsford— Melrose and Dryburgh Abbeys-
Comparison between the People of Scotland and of New-Eng
land  52
CHAPTER IV.
England— York— The Minster— Churches and Church building
— Yorkshire Dialect — Americanisms — Aspect of the country
compared with ours — Kendall — Windermere — Ambleside — A
conversation on English and American politics — Visit to Grass-
mere — Pony Ride among the Lakes — Keswick — Ullswater —
The Lake Scenery  78
CHAPTER V.
Railway from Liverpool— Manchester — Derbyshire — Chatsworth
—Haddon Hall— Matlock — Scenery and Guides — Wellesley
Castle — Lichfield— Birmingham — Musical Hall — Concerts in
America — Kenilworth — Warwick — Stratford on Avon — Shak-

speare

100

CHAPTER VI.

Blenheim — Oxford, its Colleges and Chapels — National Health —
111 Health of our People in America — Causes — Remedies 122
CHAPTER VII.
Slough — Stoke Park — The Churchyard of Gray's Elegy — Wind
sor Castle — Church Establishment in England — Claims ofthe

CONTENTS. XI
Dissenters — The Voluntary Principle — ElTect of an Establish
ment upon the state of Religion — Rammohun Roy — Effect of
an Establishment upon the Character of the clergy — Position
of the clergy in America — Danger of subserviency to Popular
Opinion — General liability of the same character , . . 136
CHAPTER VIII.
France — ^Walled Towns — Belgium— Brussels — Field of Water
loo — Genappe — Huy — Aix la ChapeUe — Cologne — Bonn —
Prussian Military and School Systems — Mayence — Valley of
the Rhine — Frankfort on the Mayn — Darmstadt — Heidleberg
— Offenberg — Villengen — Mode of building  163

CHAPTER IX.
Switzerland — Schaffhausen — Observance of the Sabbath on the
Continent — Comparisons of the general Aspect and Manners
of the People on the Route, with those of our Country — Falls
of the Rhine — Zurich — Zug — Righi — William Tell — Lucerne
—Thun  189

CHAPTER X.
Excursion to the Oberland — Sail down the Lake of Thun — Un-
terseen and Interlaken — Valley of Lauterbrunnen — Wengern-
alp — Jungfrau — Avalanches — TheEigers — Grindelwald — The
Glacier — Condition of the People — Swiss Songs — Return to
Thun — Road to Berne — Lake of Neufchatel — Castle Grand
son — Battle field of Charles the Bold and the Swiss — Yverdun
— Lausanne — Geneva  212

XU CONTENTS.
CHAPTER XL
Excursion to Ohamouni and Mont Blanc — Genevese Society and
Manners — Scenery of the Lake of Geneva — Travelling with
Vetturino— Chillon — Upper Valley of the Rhone — Sion — The
Simplon Road — Scenery ofthe Simplon— Lake Maggiore 233

JOURNAL.

CHAPTER I.

Passage across the Atlantic — The Old World — Liverpool — Man
ners of Servants — Stage Coaches — Chester — Eaton HaU —
North Wales — Conway — Menai Bridge — Caernarvon — Llan-
beris — Scenery of Wales — General remarks.
June 24, 1833. Only sixteen days from New-
York ; and we are entering St. George's Channel.
A gentle west wind took us up as we left the har
bour of New-York, and has borne us all the way
across the Atlantic without once frowning upon us,
or once deserting us, (but for twenty hours,) and
all this, with less motion of the ship than I have
more than Once experienced, in passing through
Long Island Sound. I have been frequently re
minded of the phrase which seamen often apply
to it — " the great pond ;" but I do not relish that
familiarity with the mighty element. On the con
trary, I am yet true to the' landsman's feeling about
vol,, I, — B

14 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.
the sea ; and it seems to me as if I had passed
over some mysterious realm of undefined extent
and unknown peril. Nor yet for the landsman's
feeling do I propose to take any shame to myself;
in truth I would not lose it. Well do I remember
how — often and often in my boyhood — I used to
put my ear to the conch shell, the only object I
had then seen from the ocean shore, and imagined
— nay, I believed, that I heard the sound of its
eternal winds and waves yet lingering in that
mysterious shell, I do not believe that anything
in this world, can ever give me a more awful feel
ing of the sublime than did that sound. And the
idea that I should yet traverse that " world of
waters" from which it came, involved something
fearful, if not impossible, as would now the project
of a passage to a distant planet.
In this all-knowing, un-wondering, matter-of-
fact age, men cross the ocean, I believe, with as
much indifference as they pull on their boots for a
day's journey. But not so, I confess, have I
crossed it, nor would I. A sense, as of some un
fathomable mystery, has haunted me from day to
day. "And loose along the world of waters borne,"
is a fine line of Montgomery's, and conveys some-

LIFE AT SEA, 15
thing of the vague and vast, in idea, which natu
rally comes over one, in such circumstances. What
a strange thing is it, to step from the " sure and
firm-set earth" to the unstable element — to feel
that divorce from all former possessions and famil
iar objects, from the fields and the mountains and
the solid world — to be borne on the wings of the
wind, on, on, day after day, day after day, and to
reach no shore — to hear, night after night, rushing
by one's very pillow, the deep, dark, fathomless
sea !
And yet there is a strange mixture of things
too in a life at sea, and on board of one of these
magnificent packets. Reality and romance react
upon each other, making both more strange. We
have been sailing upon the dread and boundless
ocean, naturally associated with none but ideas of
difSculty and danger. And yet here is a saloon,*
more splendid in its cabinet-work and whole finish
ing than any private apartment perhaps in our
native land ; here are a luxurious table and atten
tive servants ; here, upon that tremendous element,
one wave of which, could it put forth its power,
would dash us in pieces, are groups of people easy
and unconcerned — some are reading, some con-
• The George Washington.

16 THE OLD WOKLD AND THE NEW.
versing,. some singing, some engaged in amuse
ments—sports and games : at night all retire to
their chambers in this floating palace ; in the morn
ing they meet, and greet one another at the break
fast table, as if it were a large party on a visit in
the country.
The grandeur of the ocean on our first getting
out of sight of land, seemed to me something
greater than I had felt before — the whole circle
around boundless : it was, compared with looking
off from the shore, like embracing in one compre
hensive act of mind jthe eternity past and to come.
Yet I defy anybody, not thoroughly accustomed
to the sea, to feel much of its grandeur after
thought, imagination, feeling, sensation, have been
rocked into that indescribable state of ennui, dis
quiet, discomfort, and inertness which the sea
often produces. No, let me look off from some
headland, or out from some qUiet nook ofthe fast-
anchored earth, to feel the grandeur or to enjoy the
romance ofthe sea.
I wonder that nobody has talked, or written, or
sung, or satirized, about this horrible discomfort of
a sea voyage. It is said that Cato repented only
of three things during his life — f' to have gone by
sea, when he could go by land, to have passed a
day inactive, and to have told a secret to his wife."

THE OLD WORLD. 17
I will not discuss the other points with the old
stoic, but with the first I certainly have the most
perfect sympathy. It is not seasickness ; I have
had none of it ; but it is a sickness of the sea,
which has never, that I know, been described. It
is a tremendous ennui, a complete inaptitude to all
enjoyment, a total inability to be pleased with any
thing. Nothing is agreeable — neither eating nor
drinking, nor walking nor talking, nor reading nor
writing, nor even is going to sleep an agreeable
process, and waking is perfect misery, I am
speaking of my own experience, it is true, and
others find a happier fortune upon the sea ; but, I
believe that it is the experience of a class, not much
less unhappy than the most miserable victims of
seasickness. June 25, We are sailing slowly up St.
George's Channel, It really almost requires an
act of faith, to feel that in sixteen days we have
reached the Old World ; that yonder is the coast
of Ireland, and there, on the right, is Snowdon in
Wales, As we move on silently, borne along by
an invisible power, it seems as if this were a spec
tre ship; and the surrounding objects, a dream.
The stillness and mystery of expectation come
over one's mind like a spell — for this, indeed, is the
mighty gateway to the Old World, and the misty
B 2

18 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.
cuEtain Before us is about to burst asunder, and
to turn the visions of a whole previous life into
reality ! If I were approaching the coast of Kamt-
schatka or New Holland, it would be a dififerent
thing ; it would be comparatively a commonplace
occurrence ; but here is the birthplace of my lan
guage, of my mind's' nurture — the world where
my thoughts have lived, my fatherland — and yet
strange and mysterious as if it were the land of
some pre-existent being !
' The Old World 1 — my childhood's dream — my
boyhood's wonder — my youth's study — I have
read of the wars of grim old kings and barons,
as if they were the wars of titans and giants —
but now it is reality ; for I see the very soil they
trod. They come again over those hills and
mountains — they fight again — they bleed, they die,
they vanish from the eapth. Yet other crowds
come — the struggling generations pass before me ;
and antiquity is a presence and a power. It has
a "local habitation." Its clouded tabernacle is
peopled with life. Who says that the earth is
cold and dead ? It is written all over— its v?hole
broad surface, every travelled path, every wave
of ocean — with the story of human affections.
Warm, eager life— the life of breathing generations,
is folded in its mighty bosom, and sleeps there

THE OLD WORLD.. 19
but is not dead 1 Oh 1 world ! world 1 what hast
thou been through the long ages that have gone
before us? Ay, what hast thou been? In this
vast domain of old time before me, every human
heart has been a world of living affections. Every
soul that has lived has taken the experience of life;
new and fresh, singly and alone, as if no other had
ever felt it. Not in palaces only, but in the cottage,
has the whole mighty problem of this wonderful
humanity been wrought out, Sighings, and tears,
and rejoicings, birthday gladness, and bridal joy,
and clouding griefs, and death, have been in every
dwelling. Gay throngs of youth have entered in,
and funereal trains have come forth, at every door.
Through millions of hearts on these very shores,
has swept the whole mighty procession of human
passions. How has it already lengthened out
almost to eternity, the brief expanse of time I I
Liverpool, June 26, On approaching the
higher latitudes, one of the most remarkable things
that drew my attention, was the extreme shortness
of the nights. It is not quite two hours from the
end of the evening twilight to the first dawn of the
morning. The sun sets, I think, at about half-past
eight o'clock, and rises at half-past three in the morn
ing. A gentleman on board said that he had read in

20 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.
England, by twilight, at ten o'clock in the evening
without difficulty.
In saihng up the Mersey, I was struck with the
aspect of the fields on the bank, particularly with
the various shades bf green. Most of them were
lighter and brighter than are usually seen in Amer
ica ; the deep green of our fields I could hardly
find — which to be sure, I think, nothing could re
place. But this may be peculiar to the banks of
the Mersey, If it is common in England, I shall
conclude that the incessant rains, of which one is
now dropping from the willing clouds, have pro
duced one effect upon English scenery, which I
have never he.ard anything of in the books of
travels. The next thing to attract the attention of the
stranger in ascending the Mersey, is — the glory of
Liverpool — its docks. They wall up the river on
the Liverpool side, with a solid mass of masonry
(hammered freestone) thirty, forty, and, in some
places, fifty feet from the foundation. The wall at
top appears almost wide enough for a carriage
way. The basins within are filled with ships,
whose tangled masts and yards gird the town on
that side with a mimic forest.
The bells have rung three chimes to-day, in

LIVERPOOL. 21
compliment to the anniversary of the king's coming
to the throne. In our country, it would have been
the discharge of cannon. But I prefer the merry
bells. What a singular language of rejoicing is the
thunder of those death-dealing engines 1 I sup
pose it is the noise that recommends this method ;
just as a barbarian king gets a great drum, or
gong, to make a great noise, because he knows of
no other way of testifying joy. How much fitter
would it be, on a birthday anniversary, to have a
band of musicians pass through the streets and in
the public places, playing appropriate airs, mar
tial or patriotic !
The thing I admired most in Liverpool was
the new cemetery, with the chapel for the burial
service. It was formerly a quarry of freestone ;
and was dug to the depth of a hundred feet I should
think, so that it is quite retired and secluded,
though streets and houses are around it. The
chapel is pn the elevated ground at the entrance,
level with the street ; and not far distant, is the
parsonage or rectory occupied by the officiating
clergyman, who enjoys a handsome salary from
the board of aldermen.
The brick of which the city is mostly built, is of
the ugliest description, resembling what we call
fire brick, and is besides so begrimed with smoke.

22 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW,
that the city presents a very dingy and dismal
appearance. One of the first things that strikes the American
stranger as he lands on the shores ofthe Old World,
is the attention and deference he receives from
those classes of the people whose business it is to
minister to his comfort— from innkeepers, proprie
tors, and drivers of coaches, waiters, porters, &c,,
servants of all descriptions — from those, in short,
the breath of whose life is in the civility of their
manners. It is a strong bond for civil behaviour
doubtless, this necessity of getting a livelihood, and
especially in countries where a livelihood is hard to
come by ; and it may cause civility to degenerate
in servility : still were it not to be wished that some
thing of the manner at least could be learned in our
country ? Not that any class among us should en
tertain a sense of its relation to any other class,
that would be degrading to it ; the very contrary.
There is nothing that is more incompatible with a
just self-respect, than the manners of a churl.
No man really respects himself who is guilty of
discourtesy toothers. The waiter who brings me
my dinner, and stands behind my chair while I
eat it, very commonly shows in his frank and easy
bearing, as much self-respect as I myself can feel.
And the coachman who, when I ask him to give

ENGLISH STAGE COACHES, 23
me a seat on the box with him, touches his hat as
he answers, seems to me a far more respectable
person than the stage driver of our country, who
often answers with a surly indifference, as if he did
not care whether you sat there, or sat anywhere
at all. Both the coachman and the waiter are
looking to you for a gratuity, it is true, in pay
ment for their attentions. But it is a fair compact ;
and degrading to neither party. And for my part,
1 am as willing to pay for civility as for my din
ner. One would like to buy not only his dinner,
but some reasonable chance of digesting it ; and
that is hard to do when one has to digest slovenli
ness, negligence, and ill manners besides.
Chester, July 2, It is so cold to-day, that I
have ridden with a surtout and India-rubber great
coat over it, and have been scarcely comfortable.
To be sure, it was on the outside ofthe coach — the
only side, for my part, that I ever wish to see. The
hand of prescription is heavy upon many things in
England, small as well as great ; they do here as
their fathers did, in far more respects than we do.
At least this is the only reason I can see, why they
build in the centre of the coach a small, confined,
dark box, with the curtains obstinately fastened
down, and cushioned indeed, so that they are never
rolled up even in the hottest day of summer ; and in

24 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.
addition to this inconvenience, the only chance of
seeing the country is a loophole view through the
window. There are few sensations more agreeable — I
believe I am nearly repeating Johnson — than those
with which one sets off on an excursion of a fine
morning, seated on the top of an English stage
coach ; the horses clothed in plated harness, bur
nished to the brightness of gold; the guard,seated
on the back part of the coach, taking all care of
baggage off your hands, and at the same time re
galing your ears with a lively strain of music from
his bugle ; and the coachman — truly he deserves a
separate paragraph. No mortal charioteer ever
gave one such a sense of security — such a well-fed,
well-dressed, respectable-looking person is he, as
he steps forth, amid attendant lackeys and horse
boys, in his drab breeches, white-topped boots, and
with the long and graceful whip in his gloved hand
— but above all, a person of such corporeal weight
and substance, of such a massive and compact
frame, that as he takes his seat on the coach box,
you fancy him saying to all obstacles and dangers,
" Come on,' come all, this rock shall fly
From its firm base as soon as I."
Chester is an ancient town, with marks of an-

CHESTER. 25
tiquity in every structure and stone. The streets
are channelled out of the freestone foundation
rock. This makes the basement story ; which is
mostly used for shops. The first story above this
retreats back from the street, leaving a planked
sidewalk, of six or eight feet wide, while the sec
ond story again comes forward to the line of the
street, thus making a covered walk over the whole
town. These recesses or piazzas are full, every
where, of queer-looking little booths, or shops, not
bigger than a nutshell. The town itself looks as if
it were made for " hide and go seek," or something
worse — full of corners and crannies, of a most
suspicious appearance — full of narrow passages
and blind alleys, leading away into darkness and
obscurity. A fine walk on the walls that surround the old
town, I went to the tower on the wall, from
which it is said that Charles I. beheld the rout of
his army on Rowton Moor, I ascended those
steps, which I imagined he went up that day, with
eager and anxious hope, and which he came down,
doubtless disappointed, dispirited, and foreboding
evil ; for this was a dark hour in the history of that
unhappy monarch's fortunes. But how inconceivr
able itis, that a man, with his blood not frozen in his
veins, could stand upon a wall and see his own
VOL. I, — C

26 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.
battle fought out, beneath his very eye ! — himself an
idle spectator !
I am not conversant with antiquities, but there
seems to be evidence that Chester was anciently a
Roman station. Indeed, I believe the philologists
derive the name of Chester from the Latin castra,
a camp. It is said that there are remains of a Ro
man bath to be found in a cellar here ; and a Ro
man altar was discovered near a fountain in this
vicinity, in 1821. It now stands in Lord Grosve-
nor's grounds, at Eaton Hall, raised on a platform
of marble, taken from one of the palaces of Tibe
rius at Capri : so far westward did the wing ofthe
Roman eagle stretch. This altar might have been
erected to the god Terminus; but itis dedicated
to the nymphs and fountains — for thus runs the in
scription: — Nymphis et
Fontibus
Leg, XX,
V.V.
I shall not undertake any minute description of
this estate and seat of Lord Grosvenor, But con
ceive of a sortof township of land fifteen or twenty
miles in circumference, under the most perfect
cultivation, and laid out in the beautiful style of

EATON HALL, 27
English country-grounds — broad lawns intersected
by smooth roads and gravelled walks, with noble
clumps and winding belts, and majestic avenues of
trees in every direction — ^the gardens and orna
mental grounds alone employing sixty or seventy
men the year round ; conceive of an immense
Gothic building of hammered freestone in the cen
tre of this domain, spreading four hundred and
twenty-five feet — about twenty-six rods — in front ;
enter this building and survey the magnificent
apartments, some of them fifty feet long and
thirty-five feet in height, with gilded ceilings and
painted windows, and filled with gorgeous furni
ture of every description ; visit the chapel, large
enough to accommodate a small congregation, and
where daily prayers are said, during the residence
of the family ; go to the stables and outhouses — a
little village by themselves ; and then pass through
the garden, filled with hothouses and conservato
ries, enriched with rare plants, blooming with
flowers, and laden with fruits enough to supply a
village ; and then take into the account, that this
is but one of the seats of its wealthy owner, and
you may have some idea of the princely state of
Lord Grosvenor,
From the moment that you set your foot pn this
magnificent domain, everything reminds you that

28 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.
you have come within the fairy circle of wealth
and taste, elegance and luxury. You enter, by a
pretty Gothic lodge, two or three miles from the
castle. You are borne on, upon a smooth and
winding road, with not one pebble to jar your car
riage wheel : the edge of it as accurately defined
by the bordering, smooth-shaven greensward, as if
the thing were done with scissors ; a fine belt of
trees accompanying it on either side, at the distance
of twenty or thirty feet, and only interrupted here
and there, to open to you the view of an almost
boundless lawn, covered with herds of cattle and
deer. When I was going through the garden, the
immense quantity of fruit led me to ask the gar
dener who accompanied me, what was dpne with
it ; " for," I said, " you cannot possibly eat it, at
the castle ; do you sell it, then ?" The man drew
himself up, and said,, " Oh 1 no, sir, nothing is sold
from this garden," " Well, then," I said, " what is
done with it ?" "It is sent in presents to my lord's
tenants," was the reply, A very pleasant way,
doubtless, for my lord to make himself agreeable to
his tenants 1 There must be -something good and
grateful in a relation that leads to acts of kindness
like this. And the corresponding deference and
gratitude of the tenantry may doubtless, in a cer
tain state of society, have their uses, and proprie-

NORTH WALES, 29
ties, and beauties. But is there no danger of ser
vility on the one hand or of tyranny on the other ?
And do not fixed conditions like these of lord and
tenant necessarily tend to prevent, in the lower
classes, the fair expansion of character ? I cer
tainly do not befieve in the expediency of such a
state of social relations ; and yet, when I have
seen those in our country — they are not the many
— whom fee simple and freedom have taught to
respect nothing, but their own importance, I have
thought it had been better for them to have been
tenants of an English landlord. If men will not
reverence anything higher, then let them reverence
a Lord Grosvenor !
Bangor, July 3, 1833. On the road to Bangor
are Holywell and St. Asaphs, not remarkable ex
cept as all these Welsh towns seem to me remark
able for ugliness ; built without any order ; the
streets narrow ; scarcely any sidewalks ; the
houses mostl)' small, dingy, brick buildings ; and
yet, every noW and then, is seen some singular,
picturesque-looking house, with its walls covered
with ivy or vines, and with shrubs, roses, &c.,
about the door and in the windows — redeeming
features in the scene, and indications of that diver
sity of provisions for the gratification of taste,
which is so much more striking in the Old World
c 2

30 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.
than in ours, and of tastes too that rise above phy
sical wants.
But Conway is really worth seeing. It is an
old walled town — the wall still standing, with
twenty-four circular towers in very good preserva
tion. The castle of Edward I., in ruins, flanked
by four immense round towers, is a sublime object.
This castle, which also " frowns o'er old Conway's
foaming flood," brought to mind Gray's ode, where
the ghosts of the ancient Welsh harpers are repre
sented as hurling down anathemas upon the " ruth
less king." Time has executed the anathema upon
the building itself, for the grass is growing upon
the tops of the towers.
The Menai Bridgse. Who could ever have
thought of calling a bridge sublime ? And yet
that is actually the impression made by the Menai
Bridge, It is very different, to be sure, from the
sublimity of castles or cathedrals ; it never, per
haps, can have the sublime of association — a bat
tle, indeed, might give it ; but this structure has a
grandeur of its own. It bestrides an arm of the
sea— connecting Anglesea with the mainland. It
is a hundred feet from the water. The part sus
pended is 550 feet in length. The arches and tow
ers are masses of masonry as stupendous as the
Roman aqueducts.

THE MENAI BRIDGE. 31
The sole material of the part suspended is iron.
As I approached it — it was towards evening — I
could see nothing but the towers. And when you
distinguish the fine delicate tracery of the iron
chains and supporters, it seems as if it were no
thing but gause or cobweb, compared with the
mighty masses of masonry on which it rests. The
vehicles travelling over it look as if they were sus
pended in the air. 1 went down to the shore
below, and as I looked up, it seemed to span a
whole third part of the heavens. A celebrated
lady, (since dead,*) in speaking of this stupendous
work, said that she first saw it from the Isle of
Anglesea, so that it was relieyed against the lofty
mountains of North Wales ; and she added in a
strain of eloquent and poetical comparison familiar
to her, that " Snowdon seemed to her a fit back
ground for the Menai Bridge,"
July 4. To-day I made an excursion down to
Caernarvon, through the pass of Llanberis, to Capel
Curig (Kerrig) and back again to Bangor, and on
to Holyhead.
At Caernarvon is another old castle of Edward I.
in ruins : the town too, like Conway, is surrounded
by a wall with towers. The walls of the castle
* Mrs. Hemans.

32 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.
are very thick, in some places ten feet. I should
judge the space enclosed must be 1500 by 150 feet.
There are several huge towers, one of which I
ascended to the top: the stone steps much worn.
It consisted of two walls, with narrow, dark pas
sages all around between them. On the inner
wall, abutments on which the beams and floors of
the successive stories were supported, were evi
dent : and also the fireplaces. An anteroom to one
of these central apartments, (about twelve by sev
en feet,) was pointed out as the birthplace of Ed
ward's son, the first Prince of Wales, It was thus,
as history says, and Welsh tradition still holds, that
Edward I. claimed the promise which he had ob
tained of these intractable mountaineers, that they
would submit to a native-born prince.
This is indeed a place in which to muse and
moralize. Who can look upon the humblest hearth
stone of a ruinous and deserted cottage, such as I
have sometimes seen, even in our own country —
our only ruins — without reading on it a whole
history of human affections ? The hearthstone
seems everywhere like a tablet of the heart. But
here kings and nobles have come, with the tramp
of horses, and the blast of trumpets, and the ring
ing of armour. Here proud men have bid defiance,
and brave men have died. Here fair women

CAERNARVON CASTLE. 33
have mingled in feast and song, or started and
turned pale, at the summons of the besieger's horn.
And now all is silent and desolate. Grass over
grows the courtyard, and waves from the tops of
the walls and towers. The birds build nests in
these turrets, and chirp about them as if they were
grand old places for aviaries ; and the visiter
comes, not to feast, but to meditate. What different
scenes have passed here ! what thoughts have been
revolved, around these lonely, deserted, and scarce
discerned firesides I what affections have here
kindled and glowed, and withered and faded away !
what footsteps have been upon these rough stairs !
Enough ! they have been the footsteps of men !
Light and joyous hearts had they borne, though
they had not been the hearts of princes. And
heavy hearts had they borne, though they had not
been carried wounded and bleeding from the battle-
strife. Everything about this old castle shows the
purpose for which, mainly, it was constructed;
small apertures, rather than windows, out of which
arrows or other missives could be thrown, and
opening inward to a space in the wall large enough
for a warder to stand ; three or four narrow loop
holes on each side of the great gate of entrance,
for the purpose of reconnoitering those who ap-

34 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW,
preached ; and, inside of the gate, the groove in
which the portcullis slided up and down,
I am satisfied that in order to gain any approach
to an idea of these things without seeing them, one
must not be content with barely reading the de
scription, but must lay down the measurement
upon some familiar spot. For instance, the walls
of this castle, I judged, from a rough measurement,
to be two hundred rods in circuit ; and they are
nearly eight feet thick, and perhaps thirty feet high ;
and the. principal tower may be ninety or one hun
dred feet high and fifty feet in diameter. So of the
Menai Bridge, or of Eaton Hall. I am sure I got a
far more impressive idea of Niagara falls, and prob
ably far more just, by laying it down on a land
scape three quarters of a mile in extent, and then
conceiving a precipice of one hundred and sixty
feet in height, and an ocean pouring over it.
Except the sublimest, I suppose that every de
scription of mountain scenery is to be found in
Wales ; unless it be, also, the contrast of hills and
mountains to the perfect levels of our New-Eng
land 'intervals and river banks — like which I have
seen nothing. The pass of Llanberis and the road
from Capel Curig are almost level, while the wild
est mountains rise almost from the very roadside,
on either hand. There is every variety of form 
steep, swelling, bald, shaggy ; massy and pointed

SCENERY IN NORTH WALES. 35
tops; sides sometimes ploughed by the mountain
streams and sometimes only seamed by the trick
ling rills : while around their eternal battlements
and turrets, the light mist floated, every moment
varying its shapes, now unveiling some stupendous
ledge or crag, and then shrouding it in thick dark
ness. The pass of Llanberis is part of the Snow
don range ; but old Snowdon himself was all day
enveloped entirely in clouds.
I observed one curious effect of wind in this
pass. As I was walking along the road where it
is cut out of a ledge of rock, and leaves a deep de
file bfelow, I heard a noise on the lower side, as of
a rushing stream chafing its base, I stepped to the
wall at the roadside, and perceived that it was, not
water, but wind — a mountain gust so powerful, that
it was necessary to hold on my hat as I leaned over,
1 stepped back but four feet, and all was quiet — the
air was still. I repeated the experiment several
times, with the same result.
For another description of scenery in Wales,
imagine something like the following : A deep din
gle, sinking almost beneath you, at the roadside,
with a little lane winding down through hawthorn
hedges to one or two cottages half covered with
ivy and overshadowed with trees ; just beyond,
rising and boldly swelling up from the chasm be
low, a noble sweep of hills, cultivated to the very

36 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW,
top, yet not bare and naked as it probably would
be in America — cultivated and rich, but studded
with beautiful clumps of trees ; a ploughed field
sweeping gracefully around a little grove ; a pas
ture dotted over with noble oaks ; the fences on
all sides verdant hedges, not always well clipped
to be sure, but beautiful in the distance, &c. Now,
if you will introduce on the other side, ragged,
bold, precipitous mountains, like those of the pass
of Llanberis, with goats far up among the steepest
ledges, quietly cropping the grass that springs
among the rocks, or sleeping on their very brink,
you will have a panorama of the scenery of North
Wales. Generai Remarks. The houses (always of
stone or brick, by-the-by) are commonly low, mis
erable habitations, I went into several — those of
the cottagers and small farmers I mean — and I
never saw a Wooden floor upon any of them.
They were paved with stone ; or more commonly
not even that accommodation was afforded. The
women I thought handsomer than those pf Eng
land — I speak of the common people — the faces
not so bold, marked, and prominent, indeed not
enough so, but more delicate. This provincial or
national difierence of countenances is certainly
very curious. I perceived it as soon as I was in
Wales.

4 '^^

DUBLIN, 37

CHAPTER II.
Dublin — Architecture of Cities — ^Beggars— ^St. Patrick's Cathe
dral — Mrs. Hemans — Drogheda — Irish Cottages — Peat bogs —
Belfast — Scenery and People ofthe North of Ireland — Carrick-
a-Rede — Giants' Causeway — Castle of Dunluce — Steamer to
Glasgow. Dublin, July 5, 1833. I am glad to get a
pleasant impression of any spot in Ireland ; Dublin
is a fine city. It resembles Philadelphia in two
respects — its regular ranges of buildings, and its
fine open squares. What a pity it is, that cities, or
at least streets in cities; could not, like single edi
fices, be built upon some regular and well-consid
ered plan ! Not that the result should be such
regularity as is seen in Philadelphia or Dublin ;
the plan, indeed, would embrace irregularity. But
there might be an arrangement, by which a block
of buildings, a street, or, indeed, a whole city
might stand before us as one grand piece of archi
tecture. If single specimens of architecture have
the effect to improve, humanize, and elevate the
ideas of a people, if they are a language, and answer
VOL. I, — D

38 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.
a purpose kindred to that of literature, poetry, and
painting, why may not a whole city have this ef
fect? To secure this result, there must, I am
afraid, be a power like that of the Autocrat of
Russia, who, I am told, when a house is built, in his
royal city of St. Petersburgh, which does not con
form to his general plan, sends word to the owner,
that he must remove that building and put up
another of a certain description. But as we have
not, and Will not have, any such power exercised
among us, I suppose we must have such cities as
Boston and New- York, such streets as Broadway :
which is a sort of language, too, which sets forth
visibly, in stone and mortar, what is the spirit that
reigns in our country — the very personification of
the principle of individuality — where every one
builds to please himself, and pleases to build differ
ently from his neighbour — usually a little higher.
It is a principle that spoils a city ; that it will make
a people, is the reflection in which we must find
our comfort.
But to return. Dublin is, indeed, a fine city, and
filled with noble mansions and showy equipages ;
but alas ! all is marred by this dismal looking pop
ulation ; full half that I meet in the streets, very
shabbily dressed ; many in rags ; the boys would
collect in America, and the very dogs would bark.

BEGGARS. 89
at spectacles that pass me every moment ; men
and women on every side begging ; women with
children in their arms, imploring charity for God's
sake ; yes, innocent childhood is here involved
in the common mass of misery, and that is the
hardest of it to the spectator. Indeed, I have sel
dom seen anything more striking or touching
than a child, sleeping in its mother's arms amid
all this surrounding turmoil and distress. It is
actually picturesque, if one rtiay say so : the image
of repose amid noise and turbulence ; innocence
amid vice and wretchedness; unconscious ease
on the bosom of suffering ; helplessness imploring
even more pathetically than the wan and haggard
features of maternal solicitude. No doubt, there
is a good deal of acting in this system of beggary.
For instance, I saw a little girl, last evening, seated
on the curbstone of the sidewalk, and holding in
her arms a sleeping infant — but holding a candle
at the same time so as to exhibit the infant to the
best advantage. This is going on the stage pretty
early. What the receipts were I do not know,
but they doubtless expected to be repaid the outlay
of lights and wardrobe, and something more.
It is a comfortable reflection which I have often
had occasion to make, that Providence does, after
all, dispense many blessings, which neither the

40 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW,
pride nor improvidence of man can destroy. The
children of the poor sleep as sound and are as
merry, probably, as the children of the rich. And
perhaps, after all, these splendid equipages that
are passing on every side, bear as many heavy and
aching hearts, as lean against the steps and balus
trades by the wayside.
Everything is done here to get money. For
instance, the scene in the street before the windows
of my hotel, last evening, presented the two fol
lowing specimens, First, a man with a hand
organ struck up, and a woman and child, (his wife
and daughter probably,) after carefully laying
down their bonnets and shawls, commenced danc
ing in the street, and after a variety of evolutions,
they went around to the spectators tp collect as
many pence as they could. Next came a man with
a flutfe; and a child apparently four or five years
old was set to dancing upon stilts five feet high.
Sunday, p, m. This afternoon I have heard the
finest church music by far, that I ever listened to ;
and the only performers were a man and two boys.
It was at St. Patrick's Cathedral. The organ is the
richest I ever heard. As to the ages of the chil
dren, the one of them might be ten, and the other
twelve or thirteen years old. Their voices were
so completely formed that I supposed, for some

ST. Patrick's cathedral. 41
time, that women were singing, and at the same
time peculiarly soft, with none of that shrillness
which is apt to be the fault in a woman's voice.
The man's voice was a perfect organ. Amid
the deepest notes of the organ, I heard it as dis
tinctly as the diapason itself. The greatest ease
characterized the whole performance, as it always
does the highest mUsic. The sermon, wa^ very
well ; the reading execrably bad. The prayers
were sung forth in a kind of recitative tone pecu
liar to the cathedral worship of the church of
England ; for it falls short in the tone of song
of that which is used in the Jewish and Romish
rituals. The service held as it was in this ancient
building, beneath high Gothic arches, surrounded
by ancient marble tombs and statues, by galleries
of every fashion, and carved work curious and
antique, with banners over head, and helmets and
swords hung on the walls — the service, I say, in
such circumstances, seemed as if it ought to be held
by no common people — but by the high born and
high bred — by renowned knights, or heroes going
forth to battle for their country.
After attending upon the service at the Cathe
dral, I passed the evening with Mrs, Hemans.
The conversation naturally turned upon the scene
I had just left, and her part in il was sustained with

42 the old world and the new.
the utmost poetical enthusiasm. She spoke of the
various accompaniments of the service, and when
she came to the banners, she said, " they seemed
to wave as the music of the anthem rose to the
lofty arches." I ventured here to throw in a little
dash of prose — saying that I was afraid that they
did not wave ; .that I wished they might, and looked
up to see if they did, but could not see it. " No,"
she replied with vivacity, " wave is not the word —
but they thrilled— I am sure of that." And that, it
is very likely, something short of" the vision divine"
might see. Suqh vision, however, this lady un
doubtedly possesses. She has the genuine afflatus,
and those who think its breathings too measured
and monotonous, do not consider or read her poet
ry in the right way. There is nothing dramatic
,or epic in her best poetry ; it is essentially lyrical.
And those who attempt to read it by the volume,
as much mistake, as if they should undertake to
read a book of hymns, or the Psalms of David in
that way. In her own chosen walk, Mrs. Hemans
has few competitors in Britain, and no equal ; and
so long as solemn cathedrals, and ancestral halls,
and lowly homes remain in England, her song
will not die away.
July 8. I have experienced to-day my first
travellers' vexation. I had fallen in with a couple

drogheda. 43
of travellers in Wales, and we had agreed to go in
company to the Giants' Causeway. We had taken
our passage to Belfast, for this morning, and when
the coach drove up to the door of our hotel, it was
so overloaded that we would not gp in it. It was
amusing to see the national characteris.tics of my
companions on this occasion. , The Englishman
was all pride, and wrath, and decision, " I will not
go in this coach!" was his reply tO the apologetic
coachman — " and I will be sent on ! or I will apply
to a magistrate and see if there is any law in Ire
land," The Frenchman appeared not a little like a
subject under a galvanic battery ; he shook his fist,
and his elbows twitched, and he stammered and
stuttered — saying I know not what-for 1 was too
much amused with the muscular contractions, to
take notice of anything' else. The American —
videlicit myself — was very calm on the occasion,
and this calmness is said to be our national trait of
manner. I understand this last observation, how
ever, to apply only to the case of an affray dr
dispute. To Belfast, July 9. The most remarkable
town on this route is. Drogheda, with a population
of 25j000, and yet looking like a population of
mendicants ; scarcely a well-dressed man or woman
in the thronged streets ; but decrepitude, disease,

44 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.
beggary, rags, presenting themselves everywhere
in frightful masses. It is almost entirely a city of
mud-walled cottages, and thatched roofs ; and al
together a spectacle, so entirely unlike anything I
ever witnessed before, or shall probably ever wit
ness again, that I would not have failed to come
and see it. Drogheda is a walled town, standing
on the river Boyne, and known in history as sur
rendering to William III. after the battle of Boyne.
The battle was fought near this town ; an obelisk,
which we saw at a distance, marks the spot,
William's conquest is celebrated on the twelfth of
this month, by processions ofthe Protestants, which,
being held in dislike by the Catholics, often occa
sion quarrels — on which account, troops are at this
time ordered into the north, and we passed a regi
ment of them to-day. Indeed, these " grievances
red-dressed" of Ireland appear everywhere in all
the cities and villages.
We have passed hundreds of Irish cottages to
day ; but what pen shall describe them, that does
not literally bespatter the page with mire and dirt 1
mud and thatch, with little light — nasty, as pig-
styes — ragged women and children about the door,
and often the men lying down by their hovels, in
laziness, filth, and rags — a horribly vile puddle

PEAT BOGS. 45
always before the door, for the accommodation of
the most horribly filthy animals — said animals, in
the mean time, equally and worthily occupying
the domicil with the human beings who inhabit it.
And to complete the picture of general misery,
women beggars surrounded us every time we
stopped, with children in their arms, imploring
charity. From the numbers of children, indeed,
it would seem as if this were the most prolific
country under heaven. But it may be, because
none of them go to school, and all live out of
doors. The latter part of the ride, through Newry,
Hillsborough, and Lisburn, has been through a
beautiful and rich country, and has been, indeed,
such a redeeming scene for my general impressions
of. Ireland, that I am most glad to have passed
through it.
We have passed a number of large peat bogs.
They are evidently the beds of decayed forests ;
for trees are constantly dug out of them. Do I
remember to have read, or have I heard, that some
king of England, perhaps Richard 11., finding that
the forests of Ireland re)idered it difficult of con
quest, gave to his English subjects, who wpuld
come over and settle in Ireland, as much land as

46 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.
they would fell the wood upon ? If so, an act df
destruction and tyranny laid up a treasure for the
future wants of Ireland, and one almost indispens
able to the existence of the people — and a treasure
too, not only of materials for warming their houses,
but for building them. • For the trunks of those
ancient forests are found in these peat bogs in such
a state of preservation that they are actually valu
able timber — particularly the spruce ; the oak too,
though not so sound.
CusHENDALL, JuLY 10, The ride to-day, in the
county of Antrim, of which indeed Belfast is the
shire town, and through the villages of Carrickfer-
gus, Larne, and Glenarm, has been delightful. The
vicinity of Belfast, on this side, is rich in scenery ;
and the little village of Antrim, directly under your
eye and almost under your feet, as you descend
the lofty hill which you pass over to reach it, with
its imbowering gi-oves of trees, and the fine seat
and grounds of some lord of the manor here, is a
perfect charm. The road has been mostly by the
seashore, winding around bold bluffs, and promon
tories, and rocky crags, and has presented many
delightful views of interniingled ocean and hill or
mountain scenery. Latterly, the rocky barriers of
the ocean, by which I have been passing, have
begun to assume something of that appearance of

NORTH OP IRELAND, 47
regular formation which I expect to see perfected
at the Giants' Causeway.
This northeastern part of Ireland was originally
settled by the Scotch, and it bears a very different
aspect from the southern portions of the route on
which I have been passing. There is everywhere
an appearance of thrift and comfort ; and beggars
have almost disappeared. The countenances of
the people show a different origin — are more agree
able, more intelligent, more alive with expression
— nay, and shorter and broader, I saw two or
three schoolhouses, also, which I have scarcely
met with before, on my way.
July 11. Bushmills, two miles from the Giants'
Causeway. The road is through Ballycastle to
this place.
Nothing, it would seem, can resist abject, deep,
desperate poverty, for we have passed through two
or three small villages to-day, of Scottish origin,
which are, if possible, more insufferably dirty than
any I have seen before, albeit Irish,
Carrick-a-Rede is about six miles on the road to
the Causeway — a place of tremendous precipices'
by the sea ; with a hanging bridge suspended on
ropes over a chasm eighty feet deep, leading to a
small island, where is a salmon fishery. The ropes
looked very small, and very old, I inquired of

48 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.
the guide how old they were, and he said, many
years, I advised him in conscience to inform all
travellers of that fact, and promised him his task
of conducting them over would be excused, as it
was of performing that service for me ; for I have
no chances of life to throw away, when no good
is to result either to myself or others. The colour
of the sea-green water here, with dark masses of
sea weed interspersed, is more beautiful than I ever
saw elsewhere.
Giants' Causeway. No one should come here,
without taking a boat, if the state of the water will
permit, and going to see the great cavern and the
Pleaskin ; which are the sublime things about this
wonderful work df nature. The cavern is six
hundred feet long, and the arch over it, ninety
feet high. The Pleaskin is ijie loftiest and most
regular part of the gigantic ledge of basaltic,
rocks. One bold head or promontory advances
forward perhaps a hundred and fifty feet in
front of the general line of the precipice, and on
each side the columns retreat in the form of an
amphitheatre. There are several others indeed,
but this is the most striking. There is one that
sustains a rock, which is called " the Crown," but
the Pleaskin cliflT appears as if it were the throne
of the place, supported by ranges of peers on each

giants' CAUSEWAY. 49
side ; and thus it has stood out and met, unshaken,
the storms of thousands of years.
After examining these spots, I went to the lower
ranges of columns which rise just above the water,
and landed from the boat to inspect them. They
are wonderfully curious ; of all sizes and shapes —
from six to eighteen inches in diameter, from the
triangle to the nine^ sided figure-^though the hex
agonal form is the most common — and so exactly
fitted together, that in some places 'the water
stands on them without finding any passage down.
Each column consists of many parts, as is usually
seen in columns of human construction. The
length of the parts varies, from six to twelve and
eighteen inches, and one has been found about five
feet long. To give strength to the whole mass,
the articulations or joints of the columns are never
in the same line, but vary — some of the blocks rise
a little above others, presenting not a level but an
uneven surface on the top. And furthermore, .the
surfaces at the ends of the separate blocks are
never plain, but convex and concave, the two kinds
of surfaces always and exactly fitting into each
other. The height of the precipices upon the shore here
is from three hundred and fifty to four hundred feet.
The upper half only is columnar. The steamboatin
VOL. I.  E

50 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW,
which I took passage — from Portrush, three miles
from the Causeway— carried us along the north
coast of Ireland. The waves of the wild North
Sea seem everywhere to have washed it to preci
pice's. That of Fair Head is the most' imposing
cliff I have ever seen,
I must not forget to mention the ruins of the
Castle of Dunluce, on this coast, a little above the
Causeway. It stands upon, and completely covers,
a small island which is about' twenty feet from
the shore, and is now permanently joined to it by a
stone bridge for foot passengers. This island is
itself a craggy precipice rising three hundred feet
from the water, and on the very verge of the pre
cipice stand the castle walls. How impregnable it
must have been may be easily judged. And yet it
was once taken by a ladder of ropes ; not, how
ever, without treachery in the garrison. It has
been the scene of much romantic story in the
Antrim' family-^this name having been conferred,
with an earldom, upon the family of Dunluce, An
earl of Antrim married the wife of George Villiers,
duke of Buckingham, The castle is in ruins of
course, but the forms of the rooms, the chimney
iflues, &c., are preserved,
I found a usage prevailing on board the
.steamer which conveyed us to Glasgow, which

GLASGOW STEAMER. 51
marks the difference between English institutions
and ours.* Every steamboat, stage coach, and
hotel has its aristocratic place de reserve. Those
who occupied the quarter deck'of this boat, paid,
I think, four, times as much for their passage, as
those who stood two feet below them on the main
deck. Were • such an arrangement to be made in
one of our boats, the end of it, I suppose, would
be, that everybody would go on the quarter deck.
* I am told, however, that such a usage doe^ prevail in the
boats on the Mississippi.

52 THE OLD WORLD A'ND THE NEW.

CHAPTER III.
Scotland — A Stage Coach- Conversation-r-Edinburgh — Its un
rivalled beailty — Arthur's Seat and Salisbury Crag — Differ
ence between objects of Romance and of real Life — Holyrood
— St. Leonard's Crag.— Excursion to the Highlands— Stirling
— The Trosacks — Lock .Katrine — Lock Lomond — Highland
Cottage at' Inversnaid — Hamilton — Bothwell Brig — Lanark
— Tweedale — Abbotsford — Melrose and, Dry burgh Abbeys —
Comparison between the People of Scotland and of New-Eng
land. As I took my place on tbe top of the coach at
Glasgow for Edinburgh, I found a handsome young
man seated opposite to me — a boy of twelve years
and a modest looking Scotph girl, with eyes spark
ling like diamonds, and a freckled cheek, which
coloured and changed at every turn ; and to whom
the young gallant was evidently .attempting to
make himself agreeable. On the fore part of the
coach sat a young fellow, who I soon saw was
much given to ranting sentiment. We took up
on the way a sturdy looking middle aged man,
dressed in coarse but substantial broadcloth, who
said, to my surprise, as he took his seat, " This is

STAGE COACH CONVERSATION. 53
the first time I ever was on a coach," What
American that ever was dressed at all, could say
that ? However, this made up our dramatis per-
sonse ; for we had a dialogue on the way, in Which
I took so much interest, that I shall record it.
I forget how the conversation began, but I soon
observed some sharp sparring between the gallant
and the sentimentalist, in which the former was
expressing some ideas of the strongest skeptical
taint, and especially insisting that there was no
life beyond the present,
"Ay," said the sentimentalist, " I kno.w what
you are ; I have seen such as you before ; you be
lieve nothing, and destroy everything. Do you
believe there is a God ?"
" Oh 1 certainly I don't deny that," was the re
ply- " Well," said the other, " you'll find there is a God
yet, and you'll find what it is to die yet, arid you'll
see that after death cometh the judgment ;" and he
then, without much delicacyj warned the Scotch
girl to beware of such a fellow.
" You may talk," said the gallant, " but you
know nothing about it, and nobody knows anything
about it. I know as mucbtas you do, and that is
nothing. There is a man dying 1 Now look at
him. Everything that you know about him dies
e2

.^4 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.
with him. His speech dies ; his thoughts die ; the
man dies, and there is an end of him."
It was easy to see that our rustic fellow-traveller
was very much shocked. He seemed never to
have heard anything like this before. He was evi
dently a representative ofthe true homebred Scotch
faith, who had duly learned his catechism in child
hood, and duly attended upon the kirk ever since,
and never thought there was anything to be men
tioned in religion, but the kirk and catechism.
He looked this way, and that way, and shifted from
side to side on his Seat, and at length said, without
addressing any one in particular, "lam sure this
man does not know what he says ; he is demented
I'm thinking." He then adverted to the little boy
sitting by, and said that '' he ought not to hear such
things." I have more than I wish I had, of the English
aversion to taking part in conversation with stran
gers in a coach ; but as I saw that both our rustic
and ranter were rather failing and sinking before
the firm assurance of the young skeptic, I thought
I ought to speak. So I said to him, *' You seem,
from your confident assertions, to know much
about death — what iV death?"
" Why, death," said he — " what is death ? Why

STAGE COACH CONVERSATION. 55
everybody knows that : it is when a man dies —
ceases to live; and there is an end of him."
" But this," said I, " is no definition. You should
at least define what you talk about so confidently.
Else you attempt to argue from — you know not
what ; to draw a certainty from an uncertainty.
Is not death," said I, " the dissolution of the body ?
Is not that what you mean by death V
" Yes," said he ; " that is it ; it is the dissolution
of the body."
" Well, then," I said, " are the body and the soul
the same thing ? Is the principle of thought, the
same thing with the hand, or foot, or head ?"
" To be sure it is npt ; and what then ?" he re
joined. " Why then," said I, " it follows that the disso
lution of the body has nothing to do with the soul.
The soul does not consist of materials that can be
dissolved. Therefore death, while it passes over
the body, does not,, you see, as we define it — does
not touch the soul.''
He seemed something at a stand with this ; but
like many others in the same circumstances; he
only began to repeat what he had already said
with more vehement asseljlons and a louder tone.
Meanwhile, there was a little by-play, in which he
endeavoured to reassure the Scotch girl, with

66 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.
whom he had evidently ingratiated himself by very
marked attention, telling her as she rather drew off
from him, that it was all nothing ; and that what
ever he said, it was no matter ; and that he was
just like the rest of us. I was determined that the
warning which had been given in that quarter,
should not want what aid I could give it; and as
I saw that the metaphysical argument was thrown
away, I had recourse to a more practical one.
Resuming the conversation, therefore, I said,
" You believe that there is a God : I think you have
admitted this ?"
" Yes— I do."
"And you believe that God made the world, do
you not ?"
" To be sure— I do,"
" And you believe that he made man?"
"Certainly — of course."
"And you believe that he made man a social
teing, do you not ? — that he constituted man, and
made and meant him to dwell in families and in
societies ?"
" It would seem so ; he Was willing to admit it."
" Now, then," said L " answer ine one question.
Do you believe that mM could live either safely or
happily in society, without any expectation of a
future life ? If this life were all, do you not think

EDINBURGH. 57
that you, and most men around you, would give
yourselves up to all the pleasures that you could
find here — to pleasures that it would cost you the
least of effort and self-denial to obtain ?. Is it not
evident and inevitable, taking men as they are, that
all virtue, all self-discipline and restraint, all do
mestic purity, and all correct and temperate living,
would fall with the doctrine of a future life ?"
Somewhat to my surprise, he frankly confessed
that he thought it would.
" Well, then," I said, "bere is a very plain case ;
and I am willing to trust this hoy with the argu
ment. He can decide, and every one here can
decide, between a belief that would confessedly
destroy the happiness and improvement of the
world, and the only belief that can sustain it. If
God made society, he established the principles
that are necessary to its welfare. And to assail
these principles, is hostility at once to heaven and
earth. It is as if a man would spread blight and
mildew, over these harvest fields, and starve the
world to death !"
Edinburgh, July I4, I was never aware till I
came to England, of the pre-eminence .which this
town is allowed to hold as al^eautiful and imposing
city. But on my route hither, I have been con
tinually hearing of the glories of Edinburgh ; and

58 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.
now, instead of being disappointed, I am ready to
say that the half was not told me. You enter it
from the west,,through a suburb which, it is much
to say, has nothing disagreeable in it — none of the
usual accompaniments of dirty streets, vile, miser
able houses, and squalid a'nd sufferiiig poverty.
The coup deceit, at your entrance, is on every side
the most striking imagiriablfe. Before you stretches
Princes-street, wider than Broadway in New- York,
more than a mile long, lined on the left with noble
ranges of buildings, bordered on the right, through
out its whole extent, with gardens, and terminated
by Gallon Hill, crowned with monuments. On
the left, again, spreads the New Town, built in
stone, and thrown into every graceful variety of
forms — square, circle, and crescent. On the right
is the Old Town, which is itself, in contrast to the
other, one grand piece of antiquity. On this side
of it towers the lofty crag on which the castle is
built, and a little beyond it rise the heights of SaHs
biiry Crag and Arthur's Seat,
July 15. Edinburgh (Old Town) has a most sin-,
gular and touching air of antiquity. It is to other
cities vvhat old rains are to other dwellings. As
you traverse some *of those streets — the High-
street, and Canongate, and the Cowgate — whose
houses rise like towers, six or seven stories high, on

EDINBURGH^- OLD TOWN. 59
either side, and reflect that the stream of existence
has flowed through them for, centuries, the same as
now — with thp same elements o,f human weal and
wo mingled in it as now — with thesame sounds —
the din of business, the words of anger, or the
tones of laughter, the cries of childhood, and the
deep hum of stern and intent occupation — the. same
sounds reverberated from those weatherbeaten
walls as now: ay, and as you reflect that infuri
ated mobs have passed here, and the trampling
footsteps of armies, and the sad funeral trains of
successive generations — ^and that through these
streets QUeen Mary was brought after her defeat
at Carberry Hill, in degradation, and disgrace, and
tears — yes, and that here, upon these very pave
ments, Robertson, and Hume, and Mackenzie, and
Burns, and Scott have walked ; a holy air of an
tiquity seems to breathe from every wynd and
close, and touching memories are inscribed upon
every stone : it is difficult to preserve the decorum
that belongs to a public walk, or to have patience.
with the indifference that familiarity has written
upon the faces around you.
Yet all multitudes of men are themselves touch
ing spectacles. And when I -ihave stood on Calton
Hill, and looked, as you may do, right down upon
that sea of human dwellings in the New- Town, I

60 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.
have felt an indescribable, painful, awful emotion
— as if I laid my hand upon the very heart of the
mighty city, and felt its heavings and throbbings —
felt that life was there, and as if it were my own
life, multiplied a hundred thousand times, in mag
nitude, intensity, and importance.
If I were asked what is the great eharni about
this Old World, and if I wished to generalize the
answer, I should say, it is antiquity — antiquity in
its castles, its towns, its cathedrals, its cities. The
sublimity of ages is about you at every step, and
you feel your connection with past races of men,
in a way that you are not naturally led to do in a
country where there are no monuments of the
past. To-day, however, I saw a relic" ofthe past in a
very grotesque attitude ; a Highlander in full dress
— ^yes, the wild, fierce, haughty Highlander — play
ing on a fiddle ! a street beggar, asking a few pence
to keep him from starving. He was dressed in
the philabeg or kilts, and bose ; and I am surprised
to find that there are some Highland regiments,
in the English service, who are dressed in this man
ner. I have seen some of these soldiers, both here
and in Glasgow, parading about in this dress —
which, to describe it, is very, like a petticoat hang
ing from the waist halfway down the leg, a hose

ROMANCE AND REALITY. 61
coming up halfway on the calf— so that the person
is naked from above the knee down to the middle
calf of the leg. It appeared very uncomfortable,
and scarcely decent. When George the Fourth
visited Scotland and held levee at Holyrood, he
appeared in this costume. A picture of him is
shown in the audience room.
July 17, I went to-day to as many spots men
tioned in Scott's stories as I could find, and after
ward to Holyrood Palace. I was struck with the
different effects produced upon the feelings by
scenes of romance and scenes of real history.
Around the former, indeed, there is a hallowing
charm — the halo of genius rests there ; but the
history of actual events is, comparatively, as if
genius itself were imbodied in it. You feel that
reality is there. Where Mary really suffered,
shuddered, and wept — is one thing; where Effie
Deans is supposed to have laid, albeit upon the cold
stone, her broken heart, is quite another thing.
We admire genius, but genius itSelf is only- the in
terpreter of all-powerful nature. Or if it be said,
that genius is a part of nature, and its noblest part,
then take us where genius itself has wrought out
its noblest achievement, or manifested its most su- ¦'
blime endurance, and we shall feel, indeed, that
there is reality, in its full sovereignty. The spot so
VOL. I.— F

63 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.
consecrated may be the battle field ; it may be the
council chamber ; it may be the martyr's stake ;
yes, and it may be the student's cell — at Abbotsford,
or on the Avon.
Yet as I strolled one day up Salisbury Crag
and down from Arthur's Seat, amid which are
laid several of the scenes of the Heart of Mid Lo
thian, I felt illusion, at some moments, to be al
most as powerful as reality. I felt as if the light-
hearted Effie, and the truehearted Jeanie, and the
sternhearted old man, must have lived there ;
and that upon that hillside poor Madge must have
, sung her wild song, and Sharpitlaw and Ratton
must have rushed down there towards Muschat's
cairn. The cairn was situated immediately
below St. Anthony's Chapel, some ruins of which
still remain, I passed them as I came down fronj
Arthur's Seat ; a little spring of fresh and sweet
water, still bubbling up at the ba.se of the old her
mitage. In the High-street is shown the bouse of John
Knox — looking dark and stern as himself. On
the corner and under a sort of canopy is a rudely
sculptured bust of the old reformer, with the hand
raised and the finger pointed at the words— thus
inscribed on the wall : —

HOLYROOD, 63
©ac Deus. God.
On the opposite side of the street, in the front wall
of the house are two figures in stone, supposed to
be of a very ancient date, and to represent Adam
and Eve. The Latin inscription is, (trans.,) "In
the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread,"
Holyrood. Queen Mary's stateroom, with
the bed of Charles I, now standing in it; her
bedroom with her own bed in it; her dressingr
room ; the small apartment in which she, Rizzio,
and some others were supping when Darnley.and
Ruthven, with other lords, entered, dragged Rizzio
out, and murdered him before her face ; the dark
passage by which they came up ; the blood at the
head of the principal Staircase where they dragged
him down ; the partition by which that spot is cui
off from the stateroom, and apparently cut off for
no other reason-i— thus giving colour to the tradition
which alleges that this is the , blood of Rizzio ;
' the dressing table of Mary, with raised work on it
, done by herself, and the wicker basket, raised on a
sort of tripod, which held the infant wardrobe of
her son: these objects bring the unfortunate Ma
ry before one, with a vividness that almost makes
him feel as if he had now heard her story for the
r3

64 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.
first time. It is a striking instance of the power
of adventitious circumstances, to carry down a
name and almost to embalm it in the memory of
ages. Had Mary been homely and happy, we
should probably never have heard of her !
Edinburgh (Old Town) is very curious in one
respect. There is a town under a town. The
valleys are so deep and the hills so high on which
it is built, that bridges or causeways of stone are
thrown across ; and when you pass over them, you
see houses, and a street, and crowds passing — all
directly beneath you.
Before breakfast, the morning on which I came
away, I went to find St. Leonard's — not having
heard till the morning before that there was now
a spot so designated. I found it — a small crag ;
just beneath which and west of it is a cottage,
sweetly situated, called St. Leonard's cottage. It
is just on the borders of the city, on the side towards
Salisbury Crag, /
I took leave of Edinburgh ; I gazed upon its glo
ries and glorious objects for the last time, with a
feeling that it seems to me I scarce shall feel again,
in leaving any foreign city.
Glasgow, July 20. From Edinburgh, I have
come round through the Highlands to this place.
Every step of the way has been on classic ground ¦

THE TROSACKS. 65
the beautiful windings of the Forth with the Gram
pian Hills on the north; Stirling Castle ; the wild
grandeur of the Trosacks ; Ben Nevis and Ben
Venue, and the haunted waters pf Loch Katrine,
every rock and headland garlanded with romance ;
the bold and majestic shores of Loch Lomond ; the
haunts of Rob Roy, the Lennox country, and the
soft scenery of the Leven,
I passed the night at Callender, twelve miles
from Loch Katrine, and spent the evening in read
ing through the Lady bf the Lake. About a mile
and a half before reaching the lake, you enter the
celebrated Trosacks, or The Bristled Territory.
Conceive of two or three hundred hills, wild and
precipitous, some higher, some lower, all covered
with shrubbery, ivy, and heather, with often a bold
"thunder-splintered pinnacle" shooting up from
among them ; conceive yourself walking through
this region on a winding and almost level road, at
the foot of these hills, with some new view opening,
some striking object arresting you at every step as
you proceed, and you may have some idea of
that grand panorama of the picturesque — the Tro
sacks. As you emerge from this valley of hills and
mountains. Loch Katrine presents itself—a narrow
strip of water at the first, and never, at any point,
f2

66 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW,
more than two miles wide. You are rowed, ten
miles, through the length of the lake, and may spend
some of your time, if you please, in fancying where
the fairy lady moored her bark, or where, under
her magic guidance, it shot across the silver
waters. A walk of five miles, through a wild country,
with some genuine Highland moors on the way,
brings you to Inversnaid Mill, on the shore of Loch
Lomond. The pass down to Inversnaid is so
steep, and dark, and deep, that it seemed to me a
hundred men might have been murdered there
without being heard — Rob Roy must have held it
as a favourite spot. There is a single cottage on
the shore ; and I entered it with a curiosity inspired
by ia thousand tales of romance. A Highland cot
tage, at the bottom of one of the wildest Highland
passes !— what would it be, and what its inmates ?
I found a woman and her daughter, who told me
that they had lio neighbours, and exchanged no
visits with apybody. There was no chimney.
The smoke found its way out at a hole in the roof,
but not till it had circulated in many eddies and
wreaths around the beams and rafters, which were
black and shining with soot. Along the wall ad
joining that against which the fire was built — ^for
there was properly no fireplace — were to be dimly

INVERSNAID. 67
seen the apartments or stories, one above another,
of a sort of crib, such as Walter Scott has de
scribed, as answering the purpose of a bedstead.
I asked the woman for food. She had nothing but
oatmeal cake, which she produced, and I was glad'
to try a specimen of Highland bread. But, in good
truth, I should never desire to have anything to do
with it, save as a specimen ; for of all stuff that
ever I tasted, it was the most inedible, impractica
ble, insufferable — dry, hard, coarse, rasping, gritty,
chaflfy : I could not eat it, and it seemed to me that
if I could, it would be no more nourishing, than
gravel kneaded into mud and baked in a limekiln.
As to drink, whiskey — whiskey, the boatmen said,
was the only thing, and the thing indispensable. I
tasted of it ; and truly it had not the usual odious
taste of our American whiskey. It is said that the
peat, by which it is distilled, gives it a peculiar fla
vour. As to the estimate of this article, or something
like it — something " wet and oothsome," as the
wretch Peter Peebles says — I should suppose that
Highlands and Lowlands agree, nay, and all Eng
land for that matter — for I have never seen any
thing like the numbers of persons that I have ob
served here, after dinner or in the evening, sipping
their brandy and water, or whiskey punch. It

68 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.
would seem strange to some of our American re
formers; but I have been at supper, where the
meail was introduced by the host with a " grace ;"
and the brandy and hot water were brought on at
the close ofthe entertainment, evidently as a mat
ter of course, and I was very much urged to take
some, as a very excellent thing ; and, indeed, as the
conscientious Peebles says, " they had like to ha'
guided me very ill."
From Inversnaid Mill a steamboat takes you up
and down the entire length of Loch Lomond, thirty
miles. A rainy day did not hide altogether the
bold and majestic features of this shore and moun
tain scenery, though it prevented me from seeing
it to the best advantage. Around the lower part
of Loch Lomond is the country of the Lennox ;
from whence a ride through liie vale of the Leven
brings you to Dumbarton, where a steamboat
again, at almost any hour, will take you up to
Glasgow, The cathedral here is a grand old pile ; the only
one that Knox spared, and which he still frowns
upon from his monument in the cemetery on the
opposite hill. And this last spot suggests the sub
ject of funerals, which are celebrated with much
pomp, as it appears to an American taste, through
out the kingdom: the hearse bearing a sort of

BOTHWELL BRIG. 69
forest of \Vaving plumes over it — white for the
young, black for the elder — the carriages and
horses put into as deep mourning aS their owners.
It would seem that there are entertainments on
these occasions ; for I saw over a shop here this
singular advertisement — " Funeral and Fancy bis
cuit, for sale here."
Hamilton, July 23, I have come down to
Hamilton to-day, on my way to the Falls of the
Clyde, Tweedale, Abbotsford, &c, I have several
times observed, as I did to-day, very tidy looking
young women walking barefoot, and carrying a
little parcel in hand, which was evidently the
stockings and shoes, Indee(J, neatness and thrift
seem characteristic of the people everywhere.
When there is no scenery to engage attention,
Scotch husbandry, at least, is a pleasing feature of
the landscape.
About two miles from Hamilton are the ruins
of Bothwell Ckstle. The property now belongs
to Lord Douglass, and the castle is situated just in
the rear of his seat. And very few things have I
seen equal to the beauty of its situation, on a bold,
rounded, wooded bank ofthe Clyde, with the ruins
of an old abbey on the opposite bank.
About half a mile from this is Bothwell Brig.
Tbe land slopes on each side of the river to the

70 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW,
bridge, so that the two bodies of troops who fought
here, might, it is evident, be plainly in sight of each
other, before engaging— as they are represented by
Walter Scott, A fair vale spreads above, and be
low, the river winds between steep, rocky, and
wooded banks, making altogether a scene fitted to
rebuke the fierce passions that once drenched this
spot with blood.
From Bothwell Brig, stretches fourteen miles, I
was told, up the banks of the Clyde, the estate of
the Duke of Hamilton, I went to the palace. It
has one noble portico ; but mostly, it is low and
inelegant, though immense — looking altogether
more like several blocks and squares of fine build
ings in a city than anything else, I should suppose
the possessor might easily entertain some hundred
or two of guests. I observed not much less than
a hundred bells in one of the lower entries. The
furniture was much .of it old, but exceedingly rich,
mosaics, ebony cabinets, carved work, &c. The
ceilings beautifully gilt, and that of the picture gal
lery exceedingly splendid — approaching the daz
zling appearance of the back of a diamond beetle
as seen under the microscope. It was this gallery'
chiefly that I came to see. But I was very much
disappointed. There are some paintings said to
be of the old masters, but put in such bad lights

DUKE OF Hamilton's seat. 71
that it is scarcely conceivable that they should be
worth much. There is an original Bonaparte of
David — a fine countenance, and more natural, easy,
amiable, and even more handsome than is usual
in the portraits and busts of him. The gal
lery consists chiefly of commonplace looking men
and fair women — mostly Hamiltons ; but the chef
d'cEUvre is a Rubens — Daniel in the Lions' Den.
The lions I thought were very good, but I did not
like the face, of the Daniel. It is pale and livid,
and shows fright or distress full as much as re
liance. If it is trust, it is the agony, and not the
repose of trust. Some may think it surprising
that a traveller, raw from the New World, should
undertake to criticise a painting. But I say that
the painter is to be judged by the general eye, as
truly as the orator, and so shall I go on my way
criticising as if I had been brought up at the feet
of Raphael — criticising i. e. not the technical things
of the art — not the mixing, of colours, or drawing,
or perspective — ^but criticising the general effect.
If the painter means to strike the general mind, the
general mind must be his judge.
Lanark, July 24. The ride from Hamilton to
Lanark is full of beauties. But the Falls of Clyde
here are most beautiful. Whether they are as
well worth visiting as the Giants' Causeway and

72 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.
the Trosacks, I will not say ; but certainly they
raise the emotion of pleasure higher than either.
Stone Biers below is well enough ; but the chief
beauty is above, at Coralinn and Bennington.
We left Tillietudlem, three miles from Lanark,
on the right, two miles from the road, and out of
sight. I am told an old woman near there was
very much vexed by the inquiries of rambling vis
iters, after the publication of Old Mortality. She
could not conceive what sent all these people, all
at once, asking about Tillietudlem.
July 25, 26. From Lanark, through Peebles^
to St. Ronans. St. Ronans is a neat village ; and
about half a mile distant, at the foot of one of the
hills which surround it on all sides, is St, Ronans
Well ; but nothing could I hear of any place or
ruin called Mobray Castle.
About twenty miles from Lanark, you strike the
Tweed, and thence the road to Kelso is chiefly
through the vale of the Tweed. It is mostly nar
row, and hemmed in on both sides by high, heathery
hills. Tweedale, I believe, is the northern con
fine of the Border-land. Three or four old ruins
of castles are to be seen on the road ; making the
appearance of a chain of castles.
The great objects to-day, (the twenty-sixth,) and

ABBOTSFORD, 73
enough to make any day remarkable, are — Abbots
ford, Melrose Abbey, and Dryburg Abbey,
Abbotsford takes its name from a ford over the
Tweed, near at hand, which formerly belonged to
the abbots — of some neighbouring monastery, I
suppose. It is well worth visiting, independently
of the associations, .which make it what it is —
what no other place can be. The structure too —
the apartments — the furniture — are altogether in
keeping with those associations. Everything is
just what you would have it, to commemorate
Walter Scott, The building is a beautiful Gothic
structure. You will not expect a description from
me of what has been already so minutely and so
well described. You remember the hall of en
trance, with its stained windows, and its walls
hung round with ancient armour, coats of mail,
shields, swords, helmets — all of them, as an inscrip
tion imports, ofthe "auld time ;" the dining and the
drawing rooms ; the library and the study ; the
curiosities of the place — choice paintings, curious
old chairs of carved work — the rarfe cabinet of
relics, Rob Roy's musket, pistols from the dread
holsters of Claverhouse and Bonaparte — and all
surrounded and adorned with oaken wainscoting
and ceilings, the latter very beautifully carved, yet
very simple — everything, indged, wearing the ap-
VOL. I. — •

74 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW,
pearance of great dignity and taste : well, I have
seen it all — I have seen it ! But the study 1 —
before the desk at which he wrote, in the very
chair, the throne of power from which he stretched
out a sceptre over the world, and over all ages, I
sat down — it was enough 1 I weni to see the cell
ofthe enchanter — I saw it ; and my homage — was
silence, till I had ridden miles from that abode df
departed genius,
I am tempted here to give you an anecdote,
which has been nientioned to me since I came to
Europe, An American lady of distinguished in
telligence, had the good fortune to meet with Scott
frequently in Italy, till she felt emboldened to ex
press to him something of the feeling that she en
tertained about his works. She told him, that in
expressing her gratitude, she felt that she expressed
that of millions. She spoke of the relief which he
had brought to the heavy and weary days of lan
guor and pain ; and said, that no day so dark had
ever risen upon her, that it was not brightened by
the prospect of reading another of his volumes.
And what, now, do you think was his reply ? A
tear rolled down his cheek: he said nothing!
Was it not beautiful ? For you feel that that tear
testified more than selfish, gratification ; that it
was the silent witness of religious gratitude.

DRYBURGH. 75
I must pass by the well-known and often-de
scribed beauty of Melrose Abbey, three miles from
Abbotsford, and ask you to go on with me a few
miles farther to Dryburgh — the place where " the
wreck of power" (intellectual) is laid down to rest.
If I were to choose the place of his body's repose,
from all that I have ever seen, it would be this.
The extent, antiquity, and beauty of the work ;
the trees growing within the very walls of the
abbey ; the luxuriant shrubbery waving from the
tops of the walls and from parts of the roof here
and there remaining ; the ivy, covering over the
work of ghastly ruin, and making it graceful —
hanging from " the rifted arches and shafted win
dows," and weaving festoons from one broken
fragment to another ; the solemn, umbrageous
gloom, of the spot ; the perpetual sound of a wa
terfall in the neighbouring Tweed — all conspire to
make this spot wonderfully romantic ; it throws a
spell over the mind, such as no other ruin does that
I have seen, Conway C.astle is more sublime :
Melrose Abbey is more beautiful in its well pre
served, sculptured remains : but Dryburgh is far
more romantic. What place can be so fit to hold
the remains of Walter Scott !
Before crossing the Tweed, and while yet on
Scottish ground, I wish to drop one thought which

76 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW,
I have carried more than seven years, I believe,
without ever finding the proverb to avail me
at all. And that is on the striking resemblance
between the character of Scotland and of New-
England, The energy and vehemence of the
Scottish character, the perfervidum ingenium Sco-
torum, is universally acknowledged, Fier comme
un Ecossais, is a proverb. And yet the Scotch
aire accounted a singularly wary and cautious peo
ple ; reserved in manners, exact in speech, guarded
in communication, and keen and close in the trans
action of business. The Scotchman has the sin
gular fortune to stand as a proverb for the most
opposite qualities, and I suppose that they really
exist in him. The same qualities are found in the
New-England character. The Yankee — " it will
not deny" — is sharp at a bargain. He is cold in
manners. The deep reserve of a NewrEngland
boy, especially if living retired in the country,
perhaps no one can understand who has not expe
rienced it. It seems as if his heart were girded
with a stronger band than any other, and certainly
such as is not natural or befitting to the ingenu
ousness of youth, I do not wonder that the
result of a cursory observation has been, to pro
nounce the New-Englander a being, to whom
" nature has given a double portion of brains and

SCOTLAND AND NEW-ENGLAND. 77
half a heart," And yet nothing could be more
untrue. The New-England character is, in fact,
one of the deepest excitement and enthusiasm.
The whole history of the people proves this, from
the Landing at Plymouth to this hour. Every
species of enterprise, political, commercial, lite
rary, religious, has been developed in New-Eng
land to a degree, I am inclined to think, unprece
dented in the world. All America is filled with
the proofs of it. And private life in New-England
will exhibit the same character to all who become
intimate with it. The two races whom I am com
paring have also had the same fate of general
misconstruction and opprobrium. The Scot is
regarded, on the south side of the Tweed, very
much as the Yankee , is, , south of the Hudson. I
will not inquire into the causes of this ; but it
certainly seems a very hard case on either hand.
A people in both instances, industrious, virtu
ous, religious, almost' beyond example — carrying
popular education to a point of improvement
altogether unexampled in the world, till the Prus
sian system appeared— and furnishing far more
than their respective quotas to the noblest literature
of their respective countries-r-would seem to have
deserved more respect than has been awarded to
Scotland and New-England.
g2

¦78 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.

CHAPTER IV.
England. York— The Minster — Churches and Church building
— Yorkshire Dialect — Americanisms — Aspect of the country
compared with ours — Kendall — Windermere — Ambleside — A
conversation on English and American politics — Visit to Grass-
mere — Poney Ride among the Lakes — Keswick — Ullswater —
The Lake Scenery.
York, July 29. From Dryburgh, I came through
Kelso, Newcastle, and Durham, down to York.
After a delightful ride on the banks of the Tweed,
leaving the vale of the Teviot, and the Cheviot
hills, on the south, I entered England, nine miles
below Kelso,
In Northumberland on the road to Newcastle, I
passed several extensive moors, very like the
country described by Scott as surrounding Os-
baldistone HalL
As you approach Newcastle, it becomes evi
dent that you are in the region of collieries, " The
smoke of the country goeth up as the smoke of a
furnace," It is not the smoke of its destruetion
however. It is the indication of life, and not of

tork minster. 79
death — ay, and of life that has gone down far into
the bowels of the earth ; for it proceeds from the
chimneys of steam engines, employed at every pit,
for the double purpose of pumping out water and
raising coal,
Durham, The cathedral, one of the finest in
England, and the castle, now the bishop's palace,
I could not stop to examine,
York is a queer old place, worth coming a
good many miles to see for its own sake. But the
minster ! — it is worth a pilgrimage to see it. It
is the only building I have ever seen in a city that
stands up and out so completely from the surround
ing mass of buildings, that it is, from every quar
ter, distinctly presented to the eye. The minster,
amid the city of York, stands like the elephant
in a menagerie. Its proportions, too, are so
perfect, its character is so unique, that it makes
upon the mind one single impression. You take in
the whole object, and feel all its overpoyirering
grandeur, at the first glance of the eye. And yet it
seems to me, that if I were to live in sight of it a
thousand years, it would lose none of the inde
scribable charm with which it first entranced me.
Indeed I shall attempt no description. I dare not
bring my measurements here. Nay, it appears to
me that the impression here does not depend on

80 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW,
any exact idea of size or of parts. It is a whole ;
it makes its impression as a whole ; and you can
no more receive that impression from the succes
sive sentences of a description, than you could re
ceive it from contemplating, in succession, the dif
ferent parts of the structure itself.
There is a sanctity and venerableness about
many of the English churches, and even those of
the humblest order, which nothing but time indeed
can give to the churches of our country, but which
time will never give to them, unless we learn to
build them with more durable materials than wood
or brick. There is 'something in these churches
which leads you instinctively to take off your hat
when you enter them — a duty, by-the-by, of which
your attendant is sure to admonish you, if you fail
of it — and I would that the practice were more
common than it is among us. The sentiment of
reverence for holy places, is certainly gaining
ground upon the old Puritan and Presbyterian pre
judice on this head, and it must grow with the in
creasing refinement of the people. But still, there
are too many churches, especially in our country
towns, which are in a state of shameful disrepair,
and of abominable filthiness ; and which are con
stantly trampled under the feet of the multitude, at
every election. Indeed, the condition and use.

CHURCHES, 81
and, I may add, the architecture of a church, can
not fail to have a direct effect upon the sentiment
of religious veneration ; and I trust the time is to
come, when (with reference to this last point) the
construction of churches among us will be given
into the hands of competent architects, and not left
to the crude and ambitious devices of parish com
mittees. It costs no more to build in good propor
tions, than in bad ; and the trifling expense of ob
taining a plan from an able architect (not a mere
carpenter) is unworthy to have any weight in a
matter of such permanent importance to a whole
community. The churches of a country are a part
of its religious literature. They speak to the peo
ple ; they convey ideas; they make impressions.
The Catholics understand this, and are erecting, I
believe, more fine churches in America, in propor
tion to their numbers, than any other denomination
among us.
I confess that if I could build a church in all re
spects to suit my own taste, I would build it in the
solemn and beautiful style ofthe churches of Eng
land, the Gothic style ; and I would build it in en
during stone, that it might gather successive gen
erations within its holy walls, that passing centu
ries might shed their hallowing charm around it,
that the children might worship where their fathers

82 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW,
had worshipped from age to age, and feel as if the
spirits of their fathers still mingled in' their holy
rites. Nay, more do I say, and further would I
go — I am not speaking, of course, as proposing
anything, but only as individually preferring it —
but I say for myself that I would place altars in
that church, where prayers might be said daily,
where daily resort might be had by all whose in
clination prompted ; so that whosoever passed by
might have liberty, at any hour of the day, to turn
aside from his business, his occupation, his care, or
his leisurely walk — in his sorrow, or his joy, or his
anxiety, or his fear, or his desire, and want, and
trouble, and temptation, so often besetting the steps
of every mortal life — to turn aside, I say, and bow
down amid the awful stillness of the sanctuary.
Let it not be said, as detracting from the import
ance of the religious architecture of a country, or
as an apology for neglect or irreverence towards
churches, that all places are holy — that the universe
is the temple of God. It is true, indeed, that the
whole frame of nature is a temple for worship, but
is it a rriean or an unadorned temple ? Nay, what
a structure is it 1 and what a glorious adorning is
put upon it, to touch the springs of imagination and
feeling, and to excite the principle of devotion ?
What painted or gilded dome is like that arch of

CHURCHES, 83
blue, " that swells above us V' What blaze of clus
tered lamps, or even burning tapers, is like the lamp
of day hung in the heavens, or the silent and mys
terious lights that burn for ever in the far oft depths
of the evening sky ? And what are the splendid
curtains with which the churches of Rome are
clothed for festal occasions, to the gorgeous
clouds that float around the pavilion of morning,
or the tabernacle of the setting sun ? And what
mighty. pavement of tesselated marble can com
pare with the green valleys, the enamelled plains,
the whole variegated, broad, and boundless pave
ment of this world's surface, on which the mighty
congregation of the children of men are standing ?
What, too, are altars reared by human hands,
compared with the everlasting mountains — those
altars in the temple of nature ; and what incense
ever arose from human altars, like the bright
and beautiful mountain mists that float around
those eternal heights, and then rise above them and
are dissolved into the pure and transparent ether —
like the last fading shadows of human imperfection,
losing themselves in the splendours of heaven ?
And what voice ever spoke from human altar, like
the voice of the thunder from its cloudy taber
nacle on those sublime heights of the creation,
when

84 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.
" Not from one lone cloudy
But every mountain height hath found a tongue,
And Jura answers from her misty shroud.
Back to the joyous Alps who call to her aloud!"
And, in fine, what anthem or pean ever rolled from
organ or orchestra, or from the voice of a count
less multitude, like the dread and deafening roar
of ocean, with all its swelling multitude of waves ?
YeS, the temple of nature is full of inspiration, full
of objects that inspire devotion, and so, as far as
may be, should our temples of prayer and thanks
giving be made.
To say, as if to detract from the sanctity of re
ligious edifices, that here, after all, is only so much
wood, and stone, and mortarj which are nothing
but the same mass of materials in any other form,
or devoted to any other purpose — why we talk not
so of our homes — we talk not so of nature — we
talk so of nothing else. It is by mixing up intellec
tual and spiritual associations with things, and only
so, that they have any interest or importance to
our minds. Things are nothing but what the mind
makes them to be — nothing but by an infusion into
them ofthe intellectual principle of our own nature.
The tuft that is shorn from the warrior's plume by
the scythe of death, is nothing else, if one pleases
so to consider it, but the plumage of a bird. The

CHURCHES. 85
relic of a sainted martyr — suppose it were a hem
of his garment^s, if one pleases so to consider it,
nothing else but a piece'of cloth that protected him
from the winter's cold, or the summer's heat. The
place where his broken and lacerated body was laid
down to rest, may be accounted common earth;
and the mouldering remains of a buried empire,
may be accounted common dust. The Palatine
hill on which stood the palace of the imperial
Caesars, and which is .now covered with its ruins,
may be accounted a common hill. But so do we
not speak of things, nor think of them.
No, let us yield to that principle of our nature
which imparts a piortion ofits own character to the
things around us ; which, vvilh a kind of creative
power, makestimes, and seasons, and places to be
holy ; which gathers a halb of glory and beauty
over our native land; which accounts the maxim
devoutly true, that " there is no place like home ;"
and which hallows " the place where prayer is
wont to be made" — which accounts no place like
it — and yet so accounting it, judges that to be a
good work, which makes the, temples of a nation's
worship strong and beautiful, for the use ahd ad
miration of successive ages,
Kendall, July 29. From York, through Tad-
caster, Leeds, covered with the smoke of its
VOL. I.  H

86 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.
factories, Bradford, a thriving town, Keighley
Skipton, (fee, to Kendall — a fine country: the
vales successively of the Wharf, the Aire, and the
Lune, The language — tbe vulgar dialect, that is — of
Yorkshire, and Lancashire too, is almost as unin
telligible to. me as Chinese, The English critics
upon our barbarous Americanisms, might well
reserve their comments, and as many more as they
can produce, for home consumption. They are
troubled with a mOst patronising and paternal anx
iety, lest the English ¦ language should be lost
among bur common people ; it is lost among the
common people of Yorkshire. They smile at our
blunders when we say sick for ill, and ^rae instead
of nice. , They say that fine comes from the milli
ner's shop; we might. reply that nice comes from
the kitchen. They are shocked when we speak of
a ^we building; but nothing is more common in
England than to hear of the grandest old ruin in
the kingdom as '^a nice old place,". As to the word
sick, it is ours and not the English use* that accords
with the standard usage of English literature : sick ;
afflicted with disease — is Johnson's definition.
One thing that gives this country its peculiarity
* For sickness of stomach.

WINDERMERE. 87
of aspect as compared with ours, is the substitution
of stone in all structures where we use wood — as
stone houses, barns, outhouses of all sorts, stone
bridges, stone watering .troughs by the wayside.
The smallest stream or ditch crossing the road has
a stone bridge..' All this gives an air of antiquity,
durability, and, if I may say so, of dignity to the
whole country. Another circiimstance that has
the -same eflfect, is the practice of
the farms from generation to get
same name. It is not Mr, Such^
place — at least that is not the only (
it is WoOdside, or Oak dale, or some"
pronounceable Welsh names. I like this. It invests
every dwelling in the country with local associa
tions. It gives to every locality .a dignity and ip-
terest, far beyond that of mere property or posses
sion, ,
July 30. This morning, the finest I have seen
since 1 landed at Liverpool, I left Kendall for Win
dermere, Stopped at Bowness and took a boat —
visited the Station, a romantic eminence on the op
posite side of the lake ; then rOwed up the' lake
eight miles to Ambleside, the head of Windermere.
The head, and the views from the Station, are far
the most beautiful things about the lake j and, in-

88 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW,
deed, they are the only things very striking about
it. What a power lies in association J I was already
in sight of, the far famed Windermere, and almost
any tract of water and landscape would have ap
peared lovely under such a sky — purely this did —
yet, as I stopped to pick a few raspberries by the
hedge, that simple .action — the memories that it
brought with it— ^the thoughts of those hours. of
my early days, passed near. my own nativfe home
— passed by those hedges,, thronging ever since
with a thousand inexpressible recollections — passed
in the fond romance of youth, amid the holy si
lence ofthe fields and all the thick coming fancies
of an unworn imagination and sensibility — all this
moved me as, no scene of mere abstract beauty
coul4 ever do ! And yet, indeed, what is abstract ?
What is nature but an instrument harmonized into
unison with something in us — every vibration of
which either awakens or answers to some thrilling
chord, in the more mysterious frame of our own
being? What is the traveller but a pilgrim, of the
heart, the imagination, the memory ? Such a lit
tle' passage, now and then, as this to-day, convinces
one that there is much poetry in boyhood, though
one does not find it out, perhaps, till long after
ward.

ENGLISH POLITICS, 89
From Ambleside I took a pony and rode to Ry-
dal Mount, the residence of Mr. W  ,*(: ^ •¦ '^
I was so much disappointed in the appearance
of Mr, W  that I actually began to Suspect that
I had come to the cottage of one of his neighbours.
After ten minutes' commonplace talk about the
weather, the travelling, &c,, had passed, I deter
mined to find out whether I was mistaken ; and
aware of his deep interest in the politics of Eng
land, I availed myself of some remark that was
made, to introduce that subject. He immediately
quit all commonplace and went into the subject
with a flow, a flood almost, of conversation that
soon left me in no doubt. After this had gone on
* I depart here from the riile I have laid down to myself.^
not to draw any details of private society into this .journal — for
three reasons.
The first is that the conversations which I take the liberty to
quote in this place, relate principally to one of the ,very subjects
for the discussion 'of which I have been terftpted to publish the
present volumes. The next is that the sentiments here advanced
on the part of the individual referred to, are his well known sen-
timents-^so that nothing is betrayed. And the third, reason is,
that they are so well advanced and so ably advocated, that I think
the exposition of them could not disturb or displease that distin
guished person — even if such a fugitive sheet as mine should ever
be wafted so far as to fall on the still and deep waters of his
meditation.
h2

90 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.
an hour or two, wishing to change the theme, I
took occasion of a pause to observe that in this
great political agitation, poetry seemed to have
died out entirely. He said it had; but that was
not the only cause ; for " there had been, as he
thought, some years ago an over-production and
a surfeit. Mr. W-  converses with great earnestness,
and has a habit, as he walks and talks, of stopping
every fourth or fifth step, and turning round to
you to enforce what he is saying. The subjects,
the first evening I passed with him, were, as I have
said, politics and poetry. He remarked afterward
that although he was known to the world only as
a poet, he had given twelve hours thought to the
condition and jirospects of society, for one to poet
ry, 1 replied that there appeared to me to be no
contradiction in this, since the spirit of poetry is
the spirit of humanity — since sympathy with hu
manity, and with all its fortunes, is an essential
characteristic of poetry — and politics is one ofthe
grandest forms under which the welfare ofthe
human race presents itself.
In politics Mr. W  professes to be a re
former, but upon the most deliberate plan and grad
ual scale ; and he indulges in the most indignant
and yet argumentative diatribes against the pres-

ENGLISH POLITICS. 91
ent course of things in England, and in the saddest
forebodings of what is to come. The tide is beat
ing now against aristocracy and an established re
ligion, and if it prevails, anarchy and irreligion
must follow. He will see no other result ; he has
no confidence in the people ; they are not fit to
govern themselves — not yet certainly ; public opin
ion, the foolish opinion of the depraved, ignorant,
and conceited mass, ought not to be the law ; it
ought not to be expressed in laws ; it ought not to
be represented in government; the true represen
tative government should represent the mind of a
country, and that is not, found in the mass, nor is
it to be expressed by universal suffrage. Mr.
W  constantly protested against the example of
America — as not being in point. He insisted that
the state of society, the crowded population, the
urgency of want, the tenures of property in Eng
land, made a totally different case from ours. He
seemed evidently to admit, though he did not in
terms, that heredita,ry rank and an established
priesthood are indefensible in the broadest views
of human rights and interests ; but the argument
for them is, that they cannot be removed without
opening the door to greater evils— to the unre
strained license of the' multitude — to incessant
change, disorder, uncertainty, and finally te op-

92 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.
pression and tyranny. He says the world is run
ning mad with the notion that all its evils are to be
relieved by political changes, political remedies,
political nostrums — whereas the great evils, sin,
bondage, misery, lie deep in the heart, and nothing
but virtue and religion can remove them ; and upon
the Value, and preciousness, and indispensableness
of religion, indeed, he talked very sagely, earnestly,
and devoutly.
The next evening I went to tea to Mr. W  's,
on a hospitable invitation to come to breakfast,
dinner, or tea, as I liked. The conversation very
soon again ran upon politics. He- thought there
could be no independence in le'gislators wh6 were
dependant foi: their places upon the ever wavering
breath of popular opinion, and .he wanted my opin
ion about the fact in our country. I replied that
as a secluded man and accustomed to look at the
morale of these matters, I certainly had felt that
there was likely to be, and probably was a great
want of independence — that I had often expressed
the apprehension th,at our distinguished men were
almost necessarily acting under biasses that did not
permit them to sit down in their closets and exam
ine great political questions and measures, in a fair
and philosophical spirit. Then, he said, how can
there be any safety ? I answered as I had fre-

ENGLISH POLITICS. 93
quently said before, that our only safety lay in
making the people wise: but I added that our
practical politicians were accustomed to say, that
there was a principle of safety in our conflicts, in
the necessarily conflicting opinions of the mass —
that they neutralized and balanced each other, I
admitted, however, that there -was danger; that
all popular institutions involved 'danger-; that free
dom was a trust, afid a perilous trust. Still I in
sisted that this was only an instance of a general
principle ; that all probation was perilous ; that
the greatest opportunity was always the greatest
peril, I maintained, also, that think as we might
of political liberty, there was no helping it ; that
in the civilized world, the course of opinion was
irresistibly setting towards universal education
and popular forms of government ; and nothing
was to be done but to direct, modify, and control
the tendency. He fully admitted this ; said that
in other centuries some glorious results might be
brought out, but that he saw nothing but darkness,
disorder, and misery in the immediate prospect,
and that all he could do was to cast himself on
Providence. I ventured to suggest that it seemed
to me that all good and wise men had a work' to
do. I said that I admitted, friend to popular insti
tutions as 1 was, that the world was full, of errors

94 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW,
about liberty ; that there was a mistake and mad
ness about popular freedom, as if it were the grand
panacea for all human ills, and that powerful pens
were needeid to guide the public mind ; and that
the pen of genius could scarcely be more nobly
employed. But he has no confidence in the body
of the people, in their willingness to read what is
wholesome, or to do what is right ; and this, I
took the liberty to say, seemed to me the radical
point on which he and I differed. I told him that
there were I'arge communities in America in whom
I did confide, and that I believed other communi
ties might be raised up to the same condition ; and
that it appeared to me that it should be the grand
effort of the world now, to raise up this maSs to
knowledge, to comfort, and virtue— since the mass
was evidently ere long to rule for us.
After this conversation, Mr. -W — - proposed a
walk to Grassmere Lake, to see it after sunset ;
and in that loveliest of all the scenes I ever wit
nessed on earth, were lost all thoughts but of reli
gion and poetry. I could not help saying, with
fervent sincerity, " I th'ank you, sir, for bringing
me here, at this hour ;" for he had evidently taken
some pains, pushing aside some little interferences
with his purpose, to accomplish it. He said in
reply, that so impressive was the scene to him, that

VISIT TO GRASSMERE. 95
he felt almost as if it were a sin not to come here
every fair evening. We sat by the shore half an
hour, and talked, of themes far removed from the
strife of politics. The village on the opposite side
lay in deep shadow ; from which the tower of the
church rose, like heaven's sentinel on the gates of
evening. A single taper .shot its solitary ray
across the waters. The little lake lay hushed in
deep and solemn repose. Npt a sound was heard
upon its shore. The fading light trembled upon
the bosom of the waters, which were here slightly
ruffled, and there lay as a mirror to reflect the
serenity of heaven. The dark mountains lay
beyond, with every varying shade that varying
distance could give them. The farthest ridges
were sowed with light, as if it were resolved into
separate particles and showered down into the
darkness below, to make it visible. The mountain
side had a softness of shadowing upon it, such as
I never saw before,, and such as no, painting I
ever saw approached in the remotest degree. It
seemed, Mr. W  said, as if it were "clothed
with the air." Above all, was the clear sky, look
ing almost cold, it looked so pure, along the horizon
— but warmed in the region a little higher, with
the vermilion tints of the softest sunset; I am
persuaded that the world might be travelled over

96 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.
without the sight of one such spectacle as this —
and all owing to the circumstances — the time — the
hour. It was perhaps not the least of those cir
cumstances influencing the scene, that it was" an
hour, passed in one of his own holy retreats, with
Wordsworth !
Amid these lates and mountains of Cumberland
and Westmoreland, nature seems to delight herself
in contrasts, and that, as in many human works,
is here perhaps ' the secret of power : the wildest
mountains and mobntain crags, with the sweettest
valleys and dales'amid them — as Borrowdale, Pat-
terdale, Langdale, and sometimes one little shel
tered spot, all verdure, only large enough for one
farm — as in coming from Conniston through one
of the Langdales ; the roughest passes througfh
mountain defiles, opening suddenly upon smooth
and green vales, as in going from Buttermere to
Borrowdale, or entering Patterdale from the south ;
a lake and a valley beneath your eye, and a world
of mountains beyond, as in entering Keswick from
the south : and then, when were ever seen such
crystal streams — waters of such transparent and
living purity I
All this, to be sure, is mere memorandum ; but
for the same purpose I will take up half a page,
with marking my route, which was adopted on com-

THE LAKE COUNTRY. 97
petent advice, and may possibly be of service to
some friend who shall follow me— which friend I ad
vise to take for his excursion, as I did, a pony a,t Am
bleside. From Ambleside, then, I went to Conniston
and back — a day's ride ; then, to Keswick ; thence, a
day's excursion, around through Newlands,by But
termere, and Honister Crag — throiJgh Borrowdale,
by the Bowder Stone — an immense rock, evidently
fallen from the precipice above, sixty -two feet long,
thirty-six high, eighty-nine round, weight, 1,971
tons — by Lowdore Falls, a little nothing for a fall —
as were all the. falls I went to see about here—
scarcely any water, but a romantic little scene ;
back to Keswick by the shore of Derwent Water.
This -is the most beautiful part of the ride ; the
bold wooded islands in the lake, with the glades
and cultivated swells beyond ajipearing between
them, and Skiddaw in the background.
From Keswick to Lyulph's Tower on Ullswater
— the first view of Ullswater very striking ; the
waters very dark ; a dark-, leaden coloured moun
tain rising up from the very edge of the water ! a
fine ride along down the shore, four miles, to Pat
terdale —through Patterdale, back to Ambleside.
On the whole, perhaps, Ullswater presents more
impressive scenery than any other lake. The
scenery certainly is more bold. '
VOL. I, — ^I

98 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.
Nothing can exceed the beauty of the cottages,
and of their situations about these lakes. So also
the sailboats, passing in all directions, seen among
the wooded islands and shooting out from behind
the headlands, freighted' with beauty, and mirth,
and music, communicate an inexpressible life and
eharni to the scenery. And I fancy that such
tokens of social happiness are very necessary to
give these scenes the power they have, over the
heart and imagination. It fills up the measure of
the contrast. But that is not it — or it is not all.
These signs of humanity and happiness make the
scene image to us ourselves, as well, as the Su
preme Power, In the unvisited wilds of nature,
in dell and grot, in grove arid greensward untrod
den by fhe footsteps of men, the mind is prone to
imagine that fairy creatures walk ; poetry has
peopled them with life ; the strong sympathy of
the soul' calls Upon the whole creation to give it
back, the image of itself,
August 3, I left the lake country and came
down to Kendal,
The ride from Kendal to Lancaster is a pleasant
one, especially about the banks of the Kent. At
Lancaster is a castle, now turned into a jail, which
belonged to the house of Lancaster, and was built
in the reign of Edward III. The central tower.

LANCASTER. 99
the only portion of the old castle remaining, is
square, and huge enough to have belonged to
" Old John of Gaunt, time-honoured Lancaster."
It is called John of Gaunt's Chair, Appropriately
to this title, there is from the top of the tower a
very delightful prospect. A fine symbol of office
for an old baronial sovereign — patriarch, chieftain,
landlord, all in one; a tower for his chair, where
he sits, a king farmer, to overlook the rich glebe,
pasture and valley. Those forms of power, with
the rough and sternhearted times that gave them
birth, are passing away. May other and nobler
forms arise to take their place I

100 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.

CHAPTER V,
Railway from Liverpool — Manchester — Derbyshire — Chatswortib
— Haddon Hall — Matlock — Scenery and Guides — Wellesley
Castle — Lichfield — Birmingham — Musical Hall — Concerts in
America — Kenilworth — Wairwick — Stratford onAvon— rShaks-
peare. Railway from Liverpool. The tunnel disap
pointed me. It is not so great a work as I ex
pected — not so long. The motion on the railway
is so rapid as to set everything in the country
about — houses, trees, groves — dancing a waltz.
It seems as if the whole surrounding creation were
revolving in circles — the distant objects going one
way, and those nearest, the opposite way.
¦ Manchester — wrapped in the cloud of smoke
proceeding from its innumerable manufactories.
For the sole power is steam here ; every factory
has its engine and its high chimney, sending out
its densd, black volume of smoke, as it were, in the
very face of the pure heavens — which foul mass
of sulphurous vapours descends into the streets,
infesting the nostrils, choking the lungs, blearing

DERBYSHIRE. 101
the sight, clouding the vista, so' that sometimes you
can scarce see a hundred yards.
They say it rains oftener in Manchester than in
any other place in the kingdom, I should think
it. And, indeed, I have several times heard it
observed of one city and another, that it rains
oftener in them than in the surrounding country.
So far as appearances are concerned, and, I think,
comfort too, it is fortunate for our cities that the
anthracite coal is to be the staple fuel.
Bakewbll in Derbyshire, August 0. In ap
proaching Derbyshire, you leave the immense
levels of Lancashire for a more diversified and
beautiful country, and when you enter this county,
the limestone cliffs, with deep hollows and vales
worn between, appear everywhere — marking the
country of the Peak.
It must be, I think, that the body of people in
this country, the nine tenths, are less intelligent
than the same body in our country. I certainly
find more well-dressed and well-behaved people
here who are ignorant, to an extent that would
shame such looking people in America, For in
stance, I heard a very self-sufficient Scotchman
here this evening, boasting of Walter Scott as his
countryman, and yet very soon saying, that the
scene of one of his novels could not be in Derby-
i2

102 the old world and the new.
shire, because none of them was laid in England,*
I have heard very plain, hard-working people in
America, in the conversation ofthe barroom, quote
Locke and Stewart. There are not, so many
books here — in the taverns, in the farmhouses, in
the houses of the common people, on the shelves
everywhere — .as there are among us.
Have I spoken of women, working in the fields ?
Not in Ireland, nor in Wales only, but in Scotland
and in England, this is constantly seen : not in har
vest only — but they hoe, and dig, and delve, in all
fields and at all seasons — sometimes four, five, ten
— nay, twenty I have seen in a field. It must tend
to give them a rough and coarse character; to
their persons it certainly does. '
While at Bakewell, I visited Chatsworth, the seat
of the Duke of Devonshire, and Haddon Hall, an
ancient and deserted castle on the estates of the
Duke of Rutland ; one, five miles, and the other
two miles distant.
Chatsworth is an immense castle, of the Ionic
order, the oldest part built round a hollow -square
— the new part, a continuation, one story lower, of
the rear block or portion, of the pilq; and so ex
tensive, that, when finished, there is -to be a suite of
rooms, through the whole of which the eye will
* Only an instance, I allow.

chatsworth. 103
range at a single view, six hundred feet. The hall
of entrance is from the hollow square ; the sides
and ceiling painted in fresco, by Verrio and La
Guerre, The ceilings, also, of the whole range of
staterooms, on the second story, are painted in the
same style, by the same artists. The designs are
mythological. There cannot be less, in all, I
should think, than five hundred figures-^of gods
and goddesses, in every possible attitude and pre
dicament — pursuing, flying, fighting, making love,
&c. As far as one can judge, who almost breaks
his neck in looking upward, and looking at objects
eighteen feet distant, the paintings, many of them,
are beautifully executed. What taust have be
come, by-the-by, of the necks and brains of the
artists, looking upward while painting such an
immense number of figures, I do not know. I must
say that to my simple American taste, if not to any
other taste, this appears to be a very improper ex
hibition — the forms being, generally, represented
without any costume. The housekeeper, however,
observed that these rooms now were never used,
on any occasion,
1 must just make a memorandum of some other
things that struck me in going over the house. In
the range of staterooms, the sculpture, by Cibber,
of the alabaster and marble doorways, and the carv
ing, by Gibbon, throughout are beautiful ; but of

104 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.
the latter especially, the carving of birds, over and
around the fireplace in the principal stateroom,
quite exceeds anything of the kind I have seen, or
could have conceived. There is a large number
of paintings, but nothing that struck me much — a
Henry VIII,, by Holbein ; a Holy Family, by Mu-
rillo ; a piece by Salvator Rosa, but in so bad a
light as to be lost, if it is anything. There are a
great many statues, Canova's Hebe is here, and
a copy of the Venus de Medici by Bartolini.
Chatsworth is situated on the Derwent, on a ri
sing ground, with terraces before it, formed by walls
of wrought stone, which walls are surmounted by
balustrades of stone. There is a finely wooded
hill in the rear. The view southward, through
grand avenues of trees, of the vale of the Derwent,
is most beautiful.
In the conservatory, there were splendid speci
mens of the India rubber plant and the fan palm ;
and there was the curious nepenthes, (pitcher plant,)
which at the end of every branch has an actual
pitcher growing, large enough to hold more than
half a vvineglass of water — said pitcher nicely fitted
with a lid,*
* The reader may be pleased to see the following beautiful
description of this plant from the French of Richard.
" Nepenthes sont tous oiiginaires de I'lnde ou de I'isle de

chatsworth. 105
In the park were immense herds of cattle and of
deer. The park is fourteen miles round ; besides
which the Duke of Devonshire has large possessions
in this neighbourhood. As I turned away from the
fine range of buildings, the smooth-shaven grounds,
the gay flower beds on the terraces, fenced round
with chiselled stone, the noble groves with the
water of two or three fountains, rising and falling
in spray amid them, the vast range of the park,
with the Derwent flowing through it, and above
all, the rich and magnificent view southward, I
thought that nothing could be more beautiful. But
I had soon to correct my impression ; for Haddon
Madagascar. Leurs feuilles se terminent a leur sommet par un
long filament qui porte une sorte d'urne creuse, d'une forme vari
able dans les diverses especes, et recouverte a son 'sommet par un
opercule qui s'ouvre et se ferme naturallement. Ces urnes ont tou
jours causfe I'admiration des voyageurs, par le ph^nomene singu-
lier qu'elles pr^sentent. En elFet, on les trouve presque constam-
ment rempli^s d'une eau pure, claire, limpide, et tres bonne a
boire. Pendant quelque temps, on a cru que cet eau provenait
de la rosee qui s'y accumulait ; mais comme leur ouverture est
assez etroite et souvent ferm^e par I'opercule, on a reconnu que
le liquide avait sa source dans une veritable transpiralion, dont la
surface interne de I'urne est le siege. C'est ordinairement pen
dant la nuit que I'urne se remplit, et dans cet ^tat, I'opercule est
generalement ferme. Pendant le jour, I'opercule se soul^ve, et
I'eau diminue de moiti^, soit qu'elle s'evapore, soit qu'elle soit
r^sorb^e."

106 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.
Hall is more beautifully situated, and Wellesley
Castle, Mr. Arkwright's seat, near Matlock, leaves
it, in natural scenery, almost out of comparison.
Haddon Hall, two miles from Bakewell on the
way to Matlock, is a very ancient seat, on a some
what precipitous bank of the Wye. It, has been
built in successive periods by diflferent families —
the Peverils, the Avenels, the Vernons, and lastly
the family of Manners, There are two hollow
squares and some towers. The whole is in great
preservation, and especially the tapestry. In the
dress of some of the figures wrought into the tap
estry, are seen the fashion, and several of the varie
ties, too, of the modern ladies' sleeve, I had thought
before that it was entirely a modern monster.
But it seems that there is nothing new under the
sun. There is a large dancing hall, with a finely
carved oaken wainscoting and cornice^n which
Queen Elizabeth lead down the first measure. This
hall was to-day put to a use which, amid desola
tion and ruin, startled me at first, almost as much
as if the ghosts of her own royal train bad risen
before me. While I was wandering about the de
serted walls and chambers, from that very hall the
sound of a viol reached my ear : "I heard music
and dancing 1" I inquired " what these things
meant ;" and was told by the old guide, that he

HADDON HALL, AND MATLOCK. 107
occasionally gave liberty to the young people of
Bakewell to come and dance here. He seemed
vexed, however, to have them come, as if he per
sonated the genius of the place : (his family indeed
had lived here three hundred years, he told me :)
but for my part, I could not at all sympathize with
him ; for I was glad to feel this strange mingling
together of death and life, of the past and present,
of ruins and revels, of hoary decay and ever flour
ishing and happy youth, which reminds us at once
of the ever passing fashion of this world, and the
ever present beneficence of Heaven, A full length
portrait bf Queen Elizabeth, in gorgeous. costume,
looked down from the head of the hall upon the
passing show of this world's pleasures — passing,
but not more transient than the joys and splendours
of her own life.
The view southward from Haddon Hall, the bold
wooded bank on the left, the windings of the Wye,
the lovely valley, the hills rising in the distance,
make altogether one ofthe most romantic and beau
tiful scenes in the world.
But Matlock — sweet Matlock! dare I talk of
beauty when approaching thee ? It certainly is a
spot of rare, if not unsurpassed loveliness. I shall
not undertake to describe it^-only in general as a
sweet little valley, watered by the Derwent, sur-

108 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.
rounded by cliffs the most romantic, of every form
and position. But it is to be remembered that
clifl!s and precipices in this country are very differ
ent things from what they are with us. The mois
ture of the climate causes ivy, laurel, and every
shrub and tree, to grow up their sides and to spring
out from their very summits. The cliffs here, too,
are of every shape ; some of them rising perpen
dicularly like battlements or towers, bare in some
places, covered with ivy in others, and waving out
from their tops, green banners of luxuriant foliage ;
while between and through them you see the soft,
deep, blue sky--softpr, deeper, bluer, than it ap
pears elsewhere; and would that it ofteijer had
this aspect in this country of clouds, and rain, and
Smoke — for in this respect it is not to be compared
with ours. I suppose this is the reason why Eng
lishmen rave so much about the Italian sky. And
I do not doubt that when cultivation and good roads
have gpne up among the wild and craggy places
of our own country, as many beauties will be un
veiled as are found here. And even here let it be
remembered, for the comfort of you who stay at
home, that all special beauty is but a small addition
to the general beauty of nature. In another re
spect, you have the advantage. For sightseeing,
travelling to see spectacles, is not favourable to

SIGHTSEEING. 109
that calmness of mind, so in unison with nature,
and that leisure, that re very mood of mind, which
is necessary. to "drink in the spectacle." This
quotation from Wordsworth calls to mind v^hat I
heard a celebrated poet remark a few days ago,
about- some fine scenery he had lately been to visit.
He was asked what he thought of it. He replied
that he hardly knew what to say, for he doubted
whether he felt the scene: there was company;
and there were ladies, to be assisted ; there was
not time enough, and there was not silence and
contemplation ; and one of the party wanted him
to sit down in a certain place, in order tofeel the
effect. Sometimes, too, the guides vex one sadly, At
the Giants' Causeway, I thought, at first, that they
would have torn us to pieces, literally stripped us
naked like robbers, with their kind offers of assist
ance.; and when we had selected one to get rid of
the rest, he stood up ih the boat, and with loud vocif
eration attempted to ditect our admiration, first to
one, and then to another ofthe wonders of nature ;
till I was obliged peremptorily to silence him, that
we might have leisure and liberty to admire for
ourselves, I wish I could give you a sketch in pencil, ofthe
woman at the falls of Stone Biers on the Clyde. As
VOL, I. — E

110 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.
we jumped from the coach, I saw her there ready
for a start, and knowing that we didn't want her,
I hastened down the path, quite upon the run at
length ; but she came in ahead at the critical point,
when the falls burst in sight, and then stopping
short, her costume, headgear, &c., scarcely obey
ing the command ofthe will tp halt, she lifted up
her hands, and outroared the cataract with excla
mations, " Beautiful I beautiful I" .
Guides are usually privileged persons, holding
their situation from the proprietor of the grounds
or the curiosities they exhibit. At the Matlock
Cave, however, I found there was a double tax, I
purchased a ticket down below for a sight of the
cave, and th^t, I supposed, was the end of it. But
when we came out, my guide, a very pretty young
woman, who with a very naive manner and accent
had pointed out all the curious crystals and spars,
fluor, dog teeth, lead, zinc,. &c., said, with an
equally naive manner, " Please to remember the
guide, sir?'"
By-the-by, one of the peculiarities here is, that
women do a thousand things that men do with us.
They not only tend shop, but butchers' stalls, bar
rooms, and ofiices of the stage coach in the capa
city of agents ; they are often guides to waterfalls
and other spots which are visited : and nearly half

LICHFIELD. Ill
of the people that I see in the streets of the vil
lages and towns, are women.
Wellesley Castle near Matlock is a fine building
in simple but very good taste, consisting of a
main building, and wings set off a little from it,
and small towers at each corner of both the main
building and the wings. It is situated on a bold
bank, east of the Dervi^enf. Behind it, is a fine hill
of cliffs and woods, laid out with beautiful walks ;
before, the Derwent, and over the river, in fi:Ont, a
noble range of cliflfs ; beyond these, a swell of rich
and cultivated country, seen abpve them ; and on
the south, one of the finest prospects of valley and
hill ever spread out to the eye,
Lichfield, August 8. It is curious that the
moment you leave Derbyshire you leave the pic
turesque country, the country of hills and valleys,
for a level tract, far more rich,., though far less
beaiitiful — a tract whose whole broad surface
seems to be loaded with the wealth of agriculture.
This is Staffordshire, .
What legacies do men leave after them, that
they little think ofl There are certain spots, about
which, in my wanderings through a strange land,
I have felt as if they were a kind of home. Such
is Lichfield, because Johnson was born herei So

I.;
112 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW..
I felt about the lakes, from the residence of living,"
familiar authors.
"The cathedral here is not so large as the York
Minster ; it is not so sublime : but the interior' is,
if possible, more beautiful. It has not indeed so
much exquisite carving, and the stained glass is
mostly modern, though very rich : but there is a
keeping about the whole interior, a unity of design
and. similarity of finish, that are very grateful to
the eye. The -west front is very rich in sculpture,
and the three spires, very delicate and beautiful.
I visited the house, and saw the room in which
Johnson was born ; and went to the ' schoolhouse,
where Johnson, Addison, and Garrick were taught
the rudiments : and where, if what Johnson says
be as universally true as he makes it, " Latin was
whipped" into Joseiph, and Samuel, and David.
Birmingham, August 9. Visited the pin manu
factory, the button, the japanning — so have others,
who can tell you about them better than I can.
The royal. Clarence vase, made by the Lockharts
here,. was on exhibition: tbe mammoth of all bau
bles ; a most splendid- thing. Weight, eight tons ;
fourteen feet .high ; twelve feet, the diameter of the
basin ; capacity, nihe hundred gallons ; cost, ten
thousand .pounds ; when taken apart to be removed,
consisting of six thousand eight hundred pieces;

music and concerts. " 113
made of cut glass laid upon gold, inlaid with en
amel ; and appears like burnished gold, enriched
with jewels. It was expected that the late king
would purchase it, but he died before it was fin
ished. You will ask, for what use ? I answer, for
none, btit that to which my eyes put it, for six
pence !
They are erecting in Birmingham a very large
building for a town house, which promises to be
one of the finest modern structures in the kingdonv
One of the uses to which it is to be put, is that of
furnishing accommodation for musical festivals.
For this purpose an immense hall is reserved.
We have no such places in America for music ;
and it seems to me that our concerts are arranged
and carried on, in some disregard of that circum
stance. We have too much noise. Our orches
tras are too powerful for our buildings. I will not
say that they are too numerous ; but it appears to
me that the object of numbers in this case is over
looked. It is not to make a great noise-sunless it
be in occasional chorusses, of a partieiilar charac
ter. It is, I conceive, that every performer may
give softness to his instrument or his voice, by
diminishing its strength. In buildings of an or
dinary size, such as our churches, strength is the
quality least required. One voice — that of the
k2

114 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.
preacher-^lls the church, and that too while la
bouring under the impediments which distinct ar
ticulation and vocal utterance must throw in the
way of. loudness. Surely, then, one voice, in song,
may fill a church. I do not deny that thirty sing
ers may make better music than three ; but, as
matters stand in our country, I had rather take my
phance with three. Responsibility is weakened
by diffusion, and three persons pledged to this duty
would give me a better guarantee for good music
than thirty. At, any rate they could not put in
danger the very organs of hearing. I know of
few situations more painful or absurd, than to be
seated at a concert, within ten feet of an orchestra
of a hundred fingers, and as many instruments,
and to be obliged to stand the onset of one of their
chorusses. I cannot describe it ; but I wish that
Jack Downing would attend one of these concerts,
and give an account of it. It is only to strip the
occasion of the technical and conventional lan
guage in which it is usually described — wherein
lies, much of the humour of the Downing family,
by-the-by-T— and it must appear to be one of the
most ridiculous things in the world. What if one
man had the strength of a hundred voices in him ?
Should we like to go to some one of our concert
halls, and sit within ten feet of him, and listen to

MtJSIC AND CONCERTS, 115
him three hours in succession ? But why not ? —
if mere loudness is so expressive and pleasing.
We might have a platoon of soldiers to fire blank
cartridges before us all the evening. It would be
a great noise, and give us a great idea — of some
thing or other. And that, I fancy, is all the idea
that most persons get from most of these deafening
chorusses. The aspect of an assembly, stunned,
drowned, dumbfounded, with this visitation— of
the elements (of sound) — sufficiently shows, that
they have found the pleasure they sought very
trying to bear. But when the soft solo or duet
pours in its sweet melody, how does every heart
thrill, and every eye kindle and melt ! It is a trem
bling snatch of pleasure, however, held in instant
dread pf the thundering wave that is coming. I
am ignorant arid have not inquired ; but perhaps
that is the very design of the chorus — to enhance
the effect of real music I
Save that which is imported— rwhen shall we
have real music in America ? It is scarcely too
much to say, that nineteen twentieths of all the
instruction and expense bestowed upon the art
among us, is thrown away. Not one young girl
in fifty, I am afraid, who is taught music, is ever
taught or lead to pour her soul into her song ; and
what music can there be without that ? If music

116 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW,
is a cultivation of the fingers only, not of the soul
—if it is not at once the instrument and offspring
of intellectual and moral refinement, it is nothing
worth, I may be told that many of the best per
formers have been low-minded and vicious persons.
There may have been that unfortunate contrariety,
too often seen, between their practice and their
sentiments. But it will not do, I think, to say that
the highest efforts of music may be reached with
out a high susceptibility of this nature.
Germany has laid the only sufficient basis for a
national taste and talent in this art, by, introducing
its rudiments into the system of popular education.
Would that some of those many idle and weary
half hours now passed in our common schools,
might be employed in singing the sweet old ballads
of England and holy Psalms. What a beautiful
forrii of worship would it be for a school of little
children 1
Kenilworth Castle — a very majestic ruin ; the
whole not in such good preserjtation as Conway
or Caernarvon ; but particular parts, ranges, and
windows, much more perfect. It is curious that
Leicester's part, the latest built, is in the most
ruinous cpndition. The lake is drained, and the
towers of the gateway, by which Elizabeth en
tered on the great occasion of her celebrated visit

KENILWORTH, 117
to the Earl of Leicester, are fallen. It was not the
principal gate of entrance ; but was chosen that
she might pass by the lake and receive the homage
of the fantastic water gods. This lake was on the
west side — a small stream now flows through its
bed — and with that to diversify the scenery, it
must, in that quarter, have presented a noble land
scape. The park was formerly twenty miles
round ; but is now pasture and ploughed fields.
The walls of the buildings left standing are very
lofty ; but the ivy creeps to the very top, sur
mounts the loftiest towers, and spreads its living
screen and soft curtaining over the richly carved
windows. The banqueting hall was eighty-four
feet long by forty-eight broad, and its windows
twenty-seven feet high, Alas ! the feast and the
song are gone ; the gathering of nobles and the
flourish of trumpets are here no more ; but instead
of them, I heard a single bugle horn at a distance
that came softly up among the crumbling walls
and mouldering arches, as if to wail over their
desolations ; and here and there, in the courtyards,
I saw picnic parties, carelessly seated on the grass,
as if in mockery ofthe proud and guarded festivi
ties and grandeurs of former days. I thought with
myself, that they must be more familiar with the

118 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.
spot than I was, to be able to sit down, and " eat,
drink, and be merry."
Warwick Castle, the seat of the Earl of War
wick, ' is, in its appearance from the inner court
yard, far the most majestic, magnificent castle I
have seen ; altogether more imposing and impres
sive. Its range of building, its noble towers, and
one of them particularly — rising amid imbower
ing cedars and banks of ivy — must be seen, to be
felt or understood. The walks, and grounds, and
woods beyond, are in keeping with all the rest ; not
looking as if everything was handled, and shaped,
and trimmed, and shaven down, with elaborate
art; but full of nature's beauty, with just enough
of man's taste and management to open that beauty
to the eye. The celebrated marble vase dug up
from the villa of Adrian, is in tbe greenhouse
amid the grounds.
The interior of the palace corresponds very well
with the character of the whole establishment ; a
very grand hall of entrance, paved with marble,
and hung round with ancient armour of the War
wick family ; the rooms all supplied with very rich
and massive furniture, and especially with many
tables, stands,.&c,, of every form and fashion, in
the style of work called pietra dura, i, e. a kind of
coarse mosaic work, or inlaying of variegated

WARWICK CASTLE. 119
marbles. A great number of really fine portraits
— several Vandykes, some Murillos ; and one Ra
phael — portrait of a lady — very Madonnalike and
beautiful ; some lions of Rubens ; aijd a Henry
VIII. of Holbein,
At the Lodge we were shown Guy of War
wick's porridge pot, about as largd as a common
potash kettle ; and his hook, a sort of pitchfork, to
fish up dinner from the caldron ; also, his two-
handed sword ; his walking stick, big enough for
Polyphemus ; the armour of his horse — breast
plate, headpiece or helmet, &c., &c.
Stratford on Avon,. Shaksp^are's house
and tomb; and the site of the house (his own
house) in which he died.
I have a strange feehng about Shakspeare,that
I never heard anybody express. Though he is
seated, 'by the admiration of mankind, upon an in
accessible height, yet there never was a being
among the great men of the world, whom I have
felt, if he were living, that I. could so easily ap
proach, and so familiarly converse with. He im
presses me with awe, he fills me with a sort of
astonishment, when I read him ; yet he draws my
love and confidence in such a way, that it seems
to me I should not have feared him at all ; but
could have met him at the corner of the street, or

120 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.
have sat down with him on the first convenient
rail of a fence, and talked with him as freely as
with my father. What is this ? Is it that the
truly loftiest genius is imbued and identified, more
than any other, with the spirit of our common hu
manity ? Is it that the noblest intellect is ever the
most simple, unsophisticated, unpretending, and
kindly ? Or, is it that Shakspeare's works were
a household treasure— his name a household word
— from my childhood ? It may be, that all of these
reasons have had their influence. And yet if I
were to state what seems to me to be the chief
reasons, I should put down these two words — un
consciousness — of which Thomas Carlyle has so
nobly written, as one ofthe traits of genius — uncon
sciousness and humanity. He wHunconscious of
his greatness, and therefore would not have de
manded reverence. He was an absolute intiper-
sonation of the whole spirit of humanity, and there
fore he is, as it were, but a part of one's self.
If anything were wanted to contrast with the
nobleijess of Shakspeare, it might be found in a
horrible act of meanness perpetrated here, which
must draw from every visiter to this place, scarcely
less than his execration, Shakspeare's house fell,
after his death, into the hands of a clergyman —
whose name— but let his name perish I This man,

SHAKSPEARE, 12l
being annoyed by the frequent visits of strangers
to a mulberry tree before the house, first caused
that to be cut down. And then, vexed by the levy
of a poor rate upon the house, he angrily declared
that it should never pay taxes again, and razed it
to the ground 1

VOL. t."— t

122

THE OLD, WORLD AND' THE NEW,

CHAPTER VI.
Blenheim — Oxford, its Colleges and Chapels — National Health
— Ill Health of our People in America — Causes — ^Remedies.
Blenheim Castle and Pare in Woodstock —
the present of the nation to Marlborough after the
battle of Blenheim, The structure is immense,
built on three sides of a square ; the principal
range of building one hundred and eighty feet long,
and the side ranges nearly as much. The park is
not larger than some others, nor so large ; but it
appears more extensive, from the openings through
tbe trees — not vistas— but openings through groves
and clumps of trees, in various directions, and ex
tending, apparently, almost as far as the eye can
reach. On the borders of an artificial lake, and upon a
fine swell of land, stood the old royal residence,
celebrated in Scott's novel, " Woodstock," No
thing now remains to mark the spot, but two large
sycamores, planted when the castle was demol-

BLENHEIM, 123
i'slied, and Rosamond's well. There are some re
markable oaks with immense trunks, (one twenty-
seven feet in circumference,) said to be as old as
Henry the Seventh, standing in a distant part of
the park. By-the-by, the principal trees in all the
parks of England, and all over the country, indeed,
are the oak and the beech. There are some
cedars of Lebanon, yews, &c.; but few, elms, and
none that I have seen to compare with ours on the
Housatonic and Connecticut.
The chief attraction of this palace is found in its
paintings. It is the first fine collection that I have
seen. There is a suite of rooms, four or five hun
dred feet long, filled with pictures — many of them
by the first masters, Vandyck, Rubens, Carlo Dolce,
Titian, Teniers, Rembrandt, Guide, &c. Nothing,
I think, struck me so much as a Madonna, by
Carlo Dolce. There is also a very striking full
length portrait by Kneller, of Sarah, duchess of
Marlborough — a very beautiful face, but looking as
if it might easily furnish expression to all the fiery
passions ascribed to her.
The library surpasses every room that I have
seen, for magnificence ; the walls, the alcoves, the
doorways, all of marble — the room probably two
hundred feet long, and thirty feet high — seventeen

124 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.
thousand volumes. The library looks upon the
private gardens.
The chapel contains a magnificent marble monu
ment of the first duke and duchess of Marlbo
rough, On the road to Oxford, I saw for the first time,
in travelling more than a thousand miles, wooden
fences; in this country they are always stone, or
turf, or hedges. Neither have I seen a shingle in
the kingdom ; hut always slate, tiles, stone, or
thatch. Multitudes of women are to be seen
everywhere, gleaning the harvest fields — some
times fifty, seventy, in a field. They pick up
what remains after the reaper, straw by straw, till
they get a large bundle, and then carry it home
on their heads. The- harvests consist of wheat,
barley, and oats. No Indian corn is grown bere.
Oxford, (August 14) — a city of spires, pinna
cles, and Gothic towers, rising amid groves of
trees. The twenty colleges, i. e, ranges and
quadrangles of ancient buildings, mostly in the
Gothic style, are amazingly impressive. Several
of them have beautiful gardens and walks, and
some of them are quite extensive.
It is in vain to begin with Oxford ; a week
would not suffice for a description ; and no de
scription could tell what a walk is among these

OXFORD. 125
glorious old quadrangles. Yet I cannot pass,
without paying a tribute to the unequalled chapels
of Oxford. In that of New College, there is an
alterpiece, by Westmacott, well worth perusing —
representing, in successive pieces, the Annuncia
tion, the Nativity, the Descent from the Cross, the
Resurrection, and the Ascension. The varying
expression in the countenance of the , Virgin j is
very striking ahd affecting. But the chapel of
Magdalen College, the interior but just finished,
is, in the substantial parts, the crowning beauty of
all the chapels : the entire walls of polished stone
— the screen of stone, most exquisitely carved;
the whole wall Over the altar, with three ranges
of niches and canopies, and surmounted by a noli
me tangere, all carved in the same manner.
There is anoU me tangere — "touch me not" —
by Mengs, in the All Souls' College chapel, about
which I lingered for some time. The considerate,
fixed, compassionate look of Jesus — superiority
painted in the face, yet shaded by a human ten
derness — and, in Mary's countenance, as she
kneels and stretches out her hand, something of
surprise, great eagerness repressed by deep awe
— the delicate suffusion of the eye — a suffusion,
not vvilh tears, but as if the blood were starting
through every fine and invisible pore, in and about
1,2

126 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.
the eye — it was something to gaze upon, and turn
back to, for a last look.
I do not know that I shall find a more fit place
than under the shadow of these college walls, to
say some things that I Wish to say on the subject
of national health — for it especially concerns our
students. This subject drew, my attention on landing in
England, and has impressed me at every step.
We have nothing among us like the aspect of health
that prevails here — the solid, substantial, rotund,
rubicund appearance of all classes. We are, in
comparison, a ' thin, delicate, pale-faced people.
We are, I am sometimes tempted to say, a nation
of invalids in the comparison. The contrast is
great and striking between the labouring classes
of the two countries ; but it is yet greater and more
remarkable. between the women, merchants, and
men of study, I could scarcely have believed in
the difference if. I had not seen it, _ Besides, all
health is relative, and " very well" in England
must mean somethings I think, considerably differ
ent from " very well" in America ; not to say, also,
that the " very well" , of common parlance is fre
quently found, on more minute and friendly inquiry,
to be quite distant from the truth.
Much, though not by any means all of this differ-

NATIONAL HEALTH. 127
ence, is doubtless owing to our climate. When I
was coming abroad I was desired. by an eminent
physician to inquire what it is, in the habits or
circumstances of foreign students, that enables
them to accomplish so much more study than we
do, and at the samp time to live longer and in the
enjoyment of better health. I have inquired ; and
I certainly can find nothing in their habits that
should give tljem such advantages over us. They
are not more temperate and abstemious than we
are ; I should think the reverse is the fact. They
seem to have no occasion for paying such regard
to matters of regimen and diet as we do. They
certainly talk less about them, and think less about
them, than we do. There are no hardier or health
ier students in the .world than those of Germany ;
and it is well known fhat they are not remarkably
cautious about their modes of living. But then,
in Europe they do not experience the extremes of
temperature, and especially the sudden changes,
that we do in America. For myself, I have ob
served, that that temperature, whether hot or cold,
which continues longest of an equable character, is
most favourable to exertion, It is our autumn,
and especially our spring,, with its frequent and
sudden alternations of sometimes twenty and
thirty degrees in a day, that seems to tear the con-

128 , .THE OLi) WORLD AND THE NEW.
stitution to pieces. I lately met with an observa
tion of the eelebrated Blumenbach, to the same
\ purpose. He was asked what was the cause of
the extraordinary health of the German students :
and he answered that it was the equable climate
which they either bad, or, by means of the Russian
stove made, for themselves the year round.
There are, indeed, other differences. All think-
, ing in our country is brought into immediate con
nection with the actual interests of society, and is
theri^re apt to be more exciting, anxious, and
exhausting. The mind of the country runs to pol
itics, controversies, reforms. We have but few
students among us, who are quietly engaged in the
pursuits of abstract science, without a thought be
yond them. We have noheperhaps like Blumen
bach himself, spending life in pleasing studies of
insects, in calm ahd retired contemplations of holy
and beautiful nature ; else we possibly might have
some like him, who could study sixteen hours a
day, and find a green old age at eighty.
There are yet, other differences which affect a
wider circle of society among us. We are an
anxious people. The paths of competition in our
country are wide and free. Hence no man among
us is satisfied with his condition. Every man is
striving to rise. Every man is ambitious: and

NATIONAL HEALTH. 129
many are discontented and sad. These things
weigh upon the heart, and wear upon the springs of
life, I do not say that this is a bad condition ; I
think it favourable to improvement ; but I say that
it is trying both to health and virtue. At the same
time we have fewer sports and holydays than aiiy
other people ; and what we have, are falling into
disrepute. The national mind wants buoyancy ;
and- buoyancy of spirit is one ofthe most essential
springs of health.
I am inclined, also, to impute something to our
modes of living. The Bonapartean style of dining
doubtless prevails among our busy citizens, more
than the physician would advise, , The silent and
awful celerity with wMch our meals are des
patched, is not altogether a steamboat or stage-
house horror. But this rapidity of eating does not
arise, I imagine, from any peculiar voracity ofthe
American genus. We are a very busy people ;
and as such, I think, we arrange our times of eating
very unad^sedly. Dinner in our cities at present
is unfortunately in a state of transition, from the old
customs ofthe New World, to the new customs of
the Old World, It has now arrived at the hour
of three or four o'clock. It will be far better for
health, when it has fairly reached the destined goal
of six or seven ; when the merchant or the student

130 THE OLD VPORLD AND THE NEW.
shall come to his" dinner as the grand family re-
union of the day — " all studies solemnly defied;"
all cares locked up iri the countingroom — ¦when
he shall actually eat less because he has more time,
(the physician can explain that)— when there may
be some chance of enlivening and elevating that
humble but necessary occupation, with sprightly or
grave discourse^— and when it may be followed,
not with a hasty walk to the warehouse, or an
anxious retreat to the study, but with those domes
tic or social engagements and recreations which
will promote digestion, cheerfulness, refinement,
virtue, and happiness, altogether,,
I must a,dd a word upon our modes of dress.
With a climate twice as trying as that of England,
we are, on this point, twice as negligent. Whe
ther there is actual violence done to the form in
the absurd attempt to make it genteel, I will not
undertake to decide ; but certainly the bust of an
English woman shows that it never was, and never
could have been subjected to those awful processes
of girting, which must have been applied in many
cases to produce what we see among us. At any
rate, the fearful prevalence of consumptions in our
country, is an admonition of our duty on this sub
ject of dress, that ought not to be disregarded.
And especially in a country where no limits are

NATIONAL HEALTH. 131
set to fashionable imitation — where a man is very
liable to mistake upon the door step, his domestic
for his wife or daughter — this is a subject that
comes home to every family, whether low or high,
and comes too in the most palpable forms of inter
est — in the suffering and expense of sickness, and
in the bitterness of bereavement.
But consumption and death are not the only
alarming forms ,in which the subject of female
health presents itself. Let any one look at the
women of America, and, with all their far-famed
delicacy and beauty, let him tell me what he thinks
of them, as the mothers of future, generations ?
What are the prospects of the national constitution
and health, as they are to be read in the thous8(nds
of pale faces and slender forms, unfit for the duties
of maternity, which we see around us ? Let any
one go with this question to their nurseries, and
he will see the beginning of things to come. Let
him go to the schools, and he will turn over an
other leaf in the book of prophecy. Oh ! for a
sight at home, of the beautiful groups of children
that are constantly seen in England, with their
rosy cheeks and robust frames I
I may seeni to be speaking in terms more ear
nest and admonitory than there is occasion for ;
but I am persuaded that the public mind among ,

132 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.
us, is by no means possessed with the full import*
ance of this subject, nor with the extent of the
evil referred to. I ask any man to cast about his
thoughts upon the circle of his female acquaint
ances, and by some inquiry of their physician or
of their particular friends to assisthim if necessary,
to ascertain what is the real state of their health.
The result, I have no doubt, he will find to be, that
three out of four, perhaps six out of seven, are,
most of the year, unwell — ailing, complaining,
feeble, suffering. Certainly more than half of the
female population of our country are suffering;
either with dyspepsy, or with nervous disorders,
or with symptoms of consumption, or with some
unaccountabl,e failure of strength, or with some of
the many other forms of disease incident to retired
and sedentary habits. If any one thinks this state
ment ejctravagant, I will only again desire him to
make out the list ofhis acquaintances, and see how
it stands. Neither do I say,' on the other hand,
that everybody isr well, in any country. But I do
consider the case of our own, in this respect, to be
very peculiar,*
, * I heard the other day the following fireside conversation : —
Doctor,, will you please to look al that girl's tongue t
Doctor. It is very much coated.
Mother. It almost always is, more or less.

NATIONAL HEALTH, 133
If it be so, certainly it would not be easy with
any words to overrate the importance of the sub
ject. Why, it would not be difficult to swell it to
the importance of " the temperance cause" itself —
let it only have for a while the same exclusive and
concentrated view fixed upon it. It is not poster
ity alone that comes into the account ; it is not
present misery alone ; it is vice also. How many
have been driven to that very intemperance of
which so much is said, and so justly — how many
have been repelled from their home, and carried
to places of evil resort, by ill health, by low spirits,
by a sad and complaining face there, that bereft
home of all its charms I
Can nothing be done ? If I had thought so, I
would have said nothing. But I believe that much
can be done, if attention can be aroused to the
subject. We have, doubtless, an unpropitious climate.
It is unfavourable to the necessary out-of-door ex
ercise. We have no such habits in this respect
as the Englishr— nothing approaching to them ;
Doctor. Oh ! I never saw the tongue of an American woman
that was not. ,
All. Why, what do you mean ?
Doctor. I mean what I say ; that I scarcely ever saw the tongue
of an American female that did not show that mark of ill health.
VOL. I. — ^M

134 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.
and the difference is doubtless owing to our
climate. In the summer it is too hot for exercise ;
in the winter it is too cold ; in the spring, it is too
variable. The autumn, indeed, is favourable ; but
that is too short a season to form habits, which
shall bear up against the adverse influences of the
whole year.
What, then, is to be done 1 I answer that an
effort must be made proportioned to the difficul
ties that are to be overcome. Exercise, out of
doors, can be taken in our climate the year round ;
as there are some good examples to prove. I am
told, indeed, that some improvement is already
taking place in the habits of our American ladies
in this respect.
And many things besides this can be done.
Clothing can be better adapted to the purposes
of exercise in, and defence against our climate.
We want more of the foreign liberty of walking
out, without being in full dress. I am sorry to
observe the prejudice of fashion against the India
rubber shoe — actual instrument for advancing civ
ilization, as I consider it — promoter of society —
which stands instead of carriages, and horses, and
servants, if it were but duly appreciated and used.
To go back a step : our children should be brought
up on plain fare in the nursery ; they should be

NATIONAL HEALTH. 135
constantly inured to the climate as they grow up ;
at a later period they should not be made victims
to the hard studies of fashionable schools; and
when they are sent into the world, they should not
be sacrificed to the folliQs of fashionable dress and
dissipation. If there is any conscience in the country, these
things must, at length, come to be regarded. The
claims of the present, and of future generations ;
the most essential welfare of the nation, and the
dearest happiness of beings unborn ; the anxieties
and sorrows of husbands, fathers, and friends, call
upon the women of our country to regard the care
oftheir health as an absolute duty !

136 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.

CHAPTER vn.
Slough— Stoke Park— The Churchy&rd of Gray's Elegy— Wmd-
sor Castle — Church Establishment in England — Clauns ofthe
Dissenters — The Voluntary Principle — Effect of an Establish
ment upon the state of ReUgion — Ramohun Roy — Effect of
an Establishment upon the Character of the Clergy — Position
of the Clergy in America — Danger of subserviency to Popular
¦Opinion — General liabiUty ofthe same character.
August 14. I came down to Slough to-day,
and stopped for the night, that I might to-morrow
visit Windsor Castle, two miles distant. In the
direction opposite to the castle, and about the
same distance, is Stoke Park, within the bounds
of which is the church (the Stoke parish church)
and the churchyard, upon which Gray is said to
have composed his celebrated Elegy ; and near at
hand is his monument. After I had taken my tea,
I determined to walk to the spot.
It was some time after supset when I arrived
there ; a glow in the western sky spread a solemn
hue over all objects, but scarcely penetrated the
deep shadow of the groves. I could not have

gray's MONUMENT AND ELEGY. 137
chosen an hour more fit for such a visit ; nor could
any place be more fit for such meditations as those
of Gray's Elegy. The church is one of those sin
gular structures so common in England, which
seem to consist of several buildings clustered toge
ther without any order or plan. It has a pretty
spire, which rises, with picturesque effect, amid the
trees that surround the place on all sides, except
that of the approach. The churchyard is full of the
swelling mounds, mentioned in the Eleg.y,and there,
too, stands the " venerable yew," The monument
appears in the distance, through the opening by
which you approach. It is a simple, square block,
with a sort of oblong urn on the top. One of the
four sides bears the name, age, &c,, and mentions
that the poet's remains sleep in the neighbouring
churchyard, in the same tomb with his mother's,
and bearing no other than the affectionate inscrip
tion by which he commemorated her virtues. It
was so dark when I arrived at the churchyard, that
I could only read the words " careful and tender
mother" — yet what a wealth of affection, what a
world of solicitude and love, what a hfe of cares
never to be repaid nor described, do those few
words set forth !
It was among the last shadows of the late eve
ning twilight that I commenced my walk homeward
M 2

138 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW,
— if, alas 1 a traveller's home Can be called home at
all. As I left the park, one of those contrasts pre
sented itself which " the lights and shadows" of
life are so constantly depicting upon the many-
coloured web of our reflections. Windsor Castle,
seen in the .'distance, was just then lighted up for
the evening. " What care we," I said, ^' who
built its mighty towers,. compared with the interest
we feel in him, who built the simple rhyme of the
Elegy on this country churchya,rd 1 I had rather
take my chance for fame in these few lines, which
genius in its holy hour of inspiration has written,
than in all that the royal masters of Windsor Castle
have done, during the varied and anxious lives
which have fretted themselves away, till the excla
mation has arisen, as it did from the dying bed of
George the Fourth, ' Oh God 1 this is death 1' "
I shoSild have mentioned that three sides
of Gray's monument bear appropriate inscrip
tions from his own verses, two of them were
from the Elegy, the other I cannot refer to.
On one side were the following stanzas : —
" Beneath those rugged elms, that yew tree's shade,. '
Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap.
Each in his narrow cell, for ever laid, J
The rude forefathers of .the hamlet sleep.

gray's MONUMENT. 139
The hreezy call of incense-breathing morn.
The swallow twittering ftom the straw-built shed
The cock's shrill clarion or the echoing horn,
No more shall rouse them ftom their lowly bed."
Another side bore these : —
'' One mom I miss'd him from the 'custom'd hill,
Along the heath and near his favourite tree :
Another came ; nor yet beside the jill.
Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he.
The next, with dirges due, in sad array.
Slow through the church-way path we saw him bome — '
Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay
Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn.
His monument, looking towards the churchyard,
still seemed to be uttering the language of his
living thoughts. It was long, I assure' you, as I
turned back from this spot, before I dropped the
folded arms, and fell into the commonplace gait of
this worldly journey. , ,
Windsor Castle, August 15, I found the
staterooms shut up, in preparation for fetes about
to be given on''i^ccasion of the king's birthday,
next week, I could therefore only walk around
the castle, and go into St, George^s Chapel : which
I did during the daily morning service, I asked
an attendant (a sort of sexton or keeper, several of
whom are always connected with, and usually

140 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.
found about all the cathedrals) whether the king
was present at this daily worship ; and was an
swered, that he attended only on Sunday. The
royal family pew is in a sort of screened gallery.
The chapel is a beautiful specimen of showy Gothic,
consisting of a nave and choir. The banners of
the Knights of the Garter are hung in the choir ;
the carved canopies in oak are very rich, and as
old as Henry the Sixth,
Nothing seems to me more sad than these daily
cathedral or chapel services, as I have usually seen
them ; a few official persons with the singers make
half of the attendance ; the music, the singing, al
ways very admirable, the result of constant prac
tice — the glorious structure, the carved work, the
appertenancesi so to speak, of the service^all
beautiful, all rich, all fitted to touch the imagination
and move the heart : but here is the sadness — it
seems all to be gone through as a form ; the sing
ing men and boys perform their part like autom
atons; the reading and chanting of the service
(and the reading is a sort of chanting) seems not
to be aided by one particle of unction. In a high
state of devotional excitement, I can very well
conceive of it as natural to sing out one's thoughts ;
but this sort of utterance without the excitement
appears something dismal and distressing.

WINDSOR CASTLE. 141
Windsor Castle has an aspect of firmness and
durability beyond any I have seen in England,
The stone of which it ia built is apparently harder
— for all the building stone in England is very soft.
It is this, I think, that accounts for the vast amount
of Gothic work — the thousands of chiselled pillars
and pinnacles — which never would have been done
in granite. If the buildings of England were in
granite or marble, it would be far more rich in
architectural treasures. Now they are, wherever
exposed to the weather, fast mouldering away.
Windsor Castle is surrounded on every side by
gravelled walks and terraces, from which there
are fine views. It looked to me like a joyless
place of abode — no retirements — no bowers — no
shaded walks, immediately adjoining it : a Uttle
garden is on the side of the private apartments,
but its shrubbery is not high enough to furnish any
screen or drapery to the fifteen or twenty statues
placed in it.
London, August 16, London I must leave till
a future day, as I set off in a week for the Conti
nent. In the mean time, I shall indulge here in some
of the many reflections which six weeks in Eng
land have forced upon me. One ofthe subjects
which not only the existing state of things, hut

142 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.
which continual conversation, at the present mo
ment, urges upon the attention of the American
traveller, is the different method adopted in Eng
land and America, for the public support of reli
gion. In England Christianity is established and sup
ported by law, and it is established in a particular
form. With us it is sustained by the voluntary
contribution of individuals, and no preference is
given to any sect.
The question between these two modes of pro
ceeding is likely to become in England one of the
most agitating interest, and of the most profound
importance. In proportion as the people are bet
ter informed — in proportion as they read and think
more, they are likely to differ from one another
more widely, at least on minor points of doctrine
and ritual. And with every step of this progress,
the demand for religious freedom must grow
stronger. And with the growth of this demand,
and of juster ideas of religion, it will be more and
more felt, that the voluntary and the impartial plan
of supporting religious institutions, is, in principle,
the most reasonable, the most tolerant, and the
most congenial with the spirit of Christianity. So
that the only question will be, whether religion
can be supported in this manner.

CLAIMS OP THE DISSENTERS. 143
This particular question is becoming, at the pres
ent moment, one of great interest in England.
The dissenters are demanding to be relieved from
their burdens. Petitions to parliament, either for
an entire abolition of the union between church
and state, or for an essential modification of that
union, have, it is well known, become matters of
almost everyday occurrence. There is a deter
mination on this point, which must at length suc
ceed ; and I must say, indeed, from- my own im
pressions about the hardship of the case, that if
the dissenters — if those whose consciences and
property and personal respectability are alike in
vaded by the church establishment, will not cause
their voice and the voice of justice to be heard,
they deserve to be oppressed ! It is in vain to talk
about the revenues of the church as a bequest
from former times, sacred from, all profane hands.
It is true ; but it is nothing to the purpose. It is
true ; but whose are the profane hands ? If the
church endowments were a bequest for the benefit
of any particular class of Christians, it was for
the Catholics. The largest portion of them were
actually Catholic endowments. If it is proper
that they should be diverted from that original de
sign at all, it ought at least to be done in aid and
furtherance of the whole religion of the country.

144 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW,
Is one half of the people to be visited with the for
feiture of these advantages, for their honest dis
sent ? Suppose that the attendants on the Episco
pal churches should dwindle away to a tenth part
of the population. Suppose that its adherents
should not number but a thousand persons in the
kingdom. Would it be right that these persons
should monopolize all the immense revenues of the
church ? Would the country endure such a body
of ecclesiastical princes, presiding over deserted
cathedrals ? or would it endure the argument that
should undertake to sustain them in such a posi
tion? I would not advocate the abolition of tithes, but
their distribution among all the religious sects of
the country, in the proportion of their numbers.
This, of course, would leave much to be done by
the voluntary principle ; and cannot that principle
be trusted to do much, in a country where half of
the population are nobly supporting their own pas
tors, and paying tithes to pastors of another flock ?
And what now is the reward of this noble behav
iour ? I am a stranger in the country, and may
err; but it appears tome that there is a good deal
of church scorn here. No man, I think, can travel
through this country without knowing that the dis
senters are frequently treated in a manner amount-

RELIGIOUS ESTABLISHMENTS, 145
ing to absolute indignity I As to the injustice of
the system, it is well known. The dissenter is ex
cluded firom the universities. In fact, he can
neither be born, nor baptized, nor married, nor
buried, but under the opprobrium ofthe law.*
And now what is alleged in defence of this state
of things ? No. principle or pretence of justice that
ever I have heard, but only the principle of expe
diency. It is said that monopoly and exclusion
here are necessary. It is said that religion cannot
be supported in dignity and honour, withoutample
endowments and rich benefices. It is said that no
reliance whatever can be placed upon the volun
tary principle. It is constantly alleged that Amer
ica has failed in the attempt to sustain religion upon
that basis.
This question will make our religious statistics
— an account, that is to" say, of the number of our
churches and the number of .their attendants, and
of the salaries of their pastors — a matter of very
great importance. Whep this account is made
out, I have no doubt that it will redound to the
triumph of the voluntary principle, I have no
* Tliat is to say, there can be no legal registration of his birth ;
his baptismal certificate does not entitle him to legal marriage ;
and he can receive neither marriage nor burial from the hands
of his own pastor.
VOL. I.— N

146 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW,
doubt it will appear, that, in proportion to the
population, more people attend church in America,
and larger funds are raised for the support of pub
lic worship and instruction, than in any other
country, I have no doubt it will appear that reli
gion may' be left for Its support to the feelings
which it inspires in the world ; that it needsj no
more than science or literature, the patronage of
governments ; that it may, in fine, be safely con
fided to the care of Heaven, and to the piety ofits
children. JBut it is not enough to say that religion does
not want .the state ; it is injured by the state. It
always suffers from its union with the state. State
patronage tends to give religion a mercenary and
a mechanical character. Religion is liable to lose
something of its vital character, when it is made
to depend on a compulsory support. And it
ceases, pioreover, to be a common interest, when
its affairs are managed, when its institutions are
regulated, and its officers are appointed, by a few.
Government has no business to intermeddle with
religion. It may extend a general .countenance
and fostering care to it, as it may to learning and
the arts. But it might as well, as fitly, undertake
to prescribe what men shall think about matters
of science, or what shall. be the laws of criticism

RELIGIOUS ESTABLISHMENTS. 147
and taste, as to prescrihe religious creeds and the
methods of enforcing them. The proper business
of government is to take charge of the political
and civil interests of a kingdom. The moment
they enter into the interior departments of the
mind — those interior regions of thought and feeling,
where the mind for itself, and in perfect freedom,
must work out its own welfare — they show that
they are entirely out of their' sphere, by their com
plete inefficiency to do good, and their powerful
efficiency to do evil.
Is not this one reason, in fact, why Christianity
has failed to set up that empire in the minds of
men, which it was evidently designed and destined
to obtain? Is it not, in part, because its pure,
simple, solemn authority has been enfeebled by the
intervention of political patronage and influence ?
Has it not been ambitious to make itself strong,
not in men's consciences, but in establishments, and
enactments, and creeds, and forms ? Has it not
thus been made a worldly interest, rather than a
spiritual conviction ? a due observance of rites,
rather than a strict practice of virtues ? a creed
rather than a faith, and an institution rather than
an action — the great action of life ? Has not the
effept of state interposition been in fact to sever
religion from the he^rt — since it has taken religion

148 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW,
into its own keeping, and will not trust it to the
care, or free examination, of individual minds;
since it has mystified and disguised the simple
matter of keeping the heart, which is the whole
matter of Christianity, with tests and prescriptions,
and with state machinery of all sorts ; so that
inward virtue has been accounted nothing, by the
temporal power, in comparison with outward com
pliance; so that the former, if it chance to be
coupled with dissent, has been marked out for in
jury and disgrace, while the latter, however un
principled, has been the passport to the highest
honours, privileges, and trusts !
However this may be, there certainly is an
amazing insensibility in the world to the spiritual
character of Christianity, which seems to require
some special reasons to account for it. And I
must venture to say, that bad a« the case is with
us in America, it seems to me considerably worse
in this country. Whoever shall visit this, the most
religious nation in Europe, will find an acknow
ledged neglect of religion and laxity of morals
among the higher classes, an acknowledged igno
rance of religion and inattention to its rites among
the lower classes ; yes, and an acknowledged
coldness and mercenary spirit among many ofthe
, established clergy of this country, that will fill his

RAMMOHUN ROY, 149
mind with painful emotions, if not with painful
questions,* * I can never forget the effect of this spectacle, as I observed
it, upon the mind of that celebrated Indian philosopher and
Christian, who, instead pf being permitted to fulfil the hopes of
multitudes in a life of eminent usefulness, was destined to fall in
the midst of his philanthropic labours, and to leave his remains to
sleep far ftom his kindred, in the bosom of a strange land. There
was something — I may say here, since it is not altogether foreign
to my purpose in introducing him — there was something touching
in the very appearance, and certainly in the fate of this distin
guished stranger, when viewed in contrast with the climate and
country which he came to visit, and iu which, as it proved, he
came to die. A child ofthe soft Indian clime, with all the guile
less simplicity and tenderness of a child ; with a mind and a frame
flexible and swayed to each gentler imptilse, as if it were to the
soft, luxurious, Asiatic breeze of his own native valleys ; with an
all-embracing philanthropy, of which his oriental manners, all
freedom and tenderness, were the fit ^expression — ^he appeared to
me, amid the cold regions alike, and cold manners of the North,
as a being dragged from some more genial sphere ; and there
was something touching, almost as if it were cruel, in the fate,
by which such a being was destined to sink beneath a clime, and
to mingle his dust with a country, that were not his, nor, in any
reSpect, like his own.
I must not, however, here linger upon the person and manners
of this great and good man, but hasten to observe that one of the
most interesting private purposes, with which Rammohun Roy
came to Europe, was to witness a practical illustration of Chris
tianity. He had revolved the truths of this pure and sublime
system in his mind at home — the beautiful theory, the perfect
n2

150' THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.
Must I confess that this deficiency seems espe
cially to attach to the clerical function? Yet
feuch is my conviction. The pulpit is not — no, it
is not in any country, answering the call which the
model was in his thoughts, and it was not yet brought down to
be reconciled, and partly identified with, an unworthy practice,
unworthily called Christian— rand what now, will it be supposed,
were Rammohun Roy's impressions, on surveying the religion
of -Christendom 1 I may further premise that his interest in
Christianity seemed as earnest and as vital as any I ever wit
nessed. It was evidently far more than a speculative faith with
him. It seemed to be the absorbing feeling of his whole mind
and heart. With such views and feelings, then, his impressions
on witnessing the illustration which Christians are actually giving
of their rehgion, were those of the deepest disappointment and
the most profound sadness. There was nothing in him of that
peevish or angry complaint, still less of that haughty reproach,
which is so often found to accompany a depreciatory estimate of
the virtues of Christians ; but it was a pure, philanthropic, gen
erous, Christian badness. It was the sadness of sympathy, and
disappointmeht, and wonder. He spoke of the spiritual lives that
Christians ought to lead, and of the sacred and dear ties between
them, and of the office of the clergy, and of their parochial rela
tions, as if he perfectly understood all these things — as if the
holy book and his own heart had perfectly, taught him ; and he
lamented, with the most touching fervour and tenderness, the
want of these things in England. I would the whole world of
Christians could have heard this affectionate disciple ftom the
banks of the Gangesj and have taken the lesson and the law from
his hps.

RELIGIOUS ESTABLISHMENTS. 151
human heart has a right to make upon it, and
which the awakened mind of the world is now
making with double earnestness. The prjesthood
is an institution of no practical efficiency commen
surate with its power. Though it can scarcely be
said of the clergy of America, I think — though it
ought not to be alleged against the working clergy
of England — yet of the whole body of the priest
hood in the world, it must be confessed that it
does not work enough ; it does not show enough
industry, intellectual or active ; it does not in any
way accomplish enough. Still less does it work
with the requisite energy and unction. The heart,
the soul bf the priesthood is not aroused as it ought
to be, to its great vocation.
And why is it thus ? Why is the priest this
dull, formal being — a cold preacher, a mere per
former of rites — a negligent worker in the labours
of his great calling ? Why, unless it be, partly at
least, because he is under the sheltering patronage
of government ; because he belongs to an estab
lishment and a privileged order ; because he is in
dependent, to a certain extent, of public opinion ?
And if the teachers are negligent and indifferent,
if they act upon the mercenary rule of getting as
much emolument, and doing as little duty as they
can, what can be expected of the disciples ? I do

152 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW,
not say that the people are not to blame. It is not
my business, at present, to settle points of this na
ture. But I do say, that something, and something,
too, besides the general depravity of human na
ture, must have intervened to corrupt the springs
of the Christian faith, to taint the salutary virtues
of the waters of life, at their very fountain head.
Something, J repeat, has intervened — some heavy
weight has been laid on the energies of Christian
principle — and I believe that is, in part, the weight
of huge and irresponsible establishments.
I do hope, therefore — not presumptuously nor
proudly, I am sure-;— but I do humbly hope, that
we are to see a better illustration of Christianity
in America. There are moral reforms, there is
a religious progress going on among us, unpar
alleled in the annals of the world, and I hope that
these are omens of future improvement, I do not
say that our religious condition is at all satisfac
tory, and I fear it is but too certain it would not
have proved so to that Eastern confessor, who en
tertained it as one of the strongest wishes of his
heart, to come among us. But still I trust that,
since the Word has free course among us, it is yet
to be glorified.
But that such a result may be secured, we must
take heed, that we use not our religious liberty for

RELIGION IN AMERICA. 153
evil occasions or purposes. If in other countries
the religious principle is too much bound up in in
stitutions and forms, and religion itself is too much
a matter of mere propriety, let us take hee'd that
the same principle does not among us spread
into extravagant error and wild fanaticism ; and
that our religion be not, half of it, controversy,
sectarianism, and dissension. And if. the clergy
of established churches are too liable to be proud
priests, or mere dignified officials, if they are too
independent of public opinion, let us take heed
lest they be enslaved to-public opinion ; lest they
contract the feelings and manners that befit such
an ignominious bondage ; lest they become, in
other words, pusillanimous, crafty, managing, syc
ophantic, and vulgar, I am willing that this body
of men should feel the legitimate and wholesomp
effect of public opinion ; I wish it. But let them
not be restrained from their just liberty, whether
of speech, manners, or modes of life. Let them
not be brought into the dangerous position, which
will expose them to act a double part^ — into that
trying dilemma where conscientious conviction
points one way, and' pu,blic coercion another.
It is a degrading position : not, perhaps, to the
individual niind, which may indeed do itself hon
our, by foregoing its- rights for the advantage of

154 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.
others ; but it is a' position which is likely to de
grade the profession, by preventing many high-
minded young men from entering into it, that might
do it honour. And it is likely to do further in
jury — injury indeed to religion itself — by giving an
ascetic, Puritanic, stern, and sanctimonious char
acter to an order of men, which is required to be
an example of the Christian virtues. And, as on
the one hand, public opinion should not lay undue,
unlawful, degrading restraint on the clergy, so
neither, on the other hand, should it urge them fiir
ther in the discharge of their professional duties,
than their own judgment, conscience, zeal, and
physical ability \yill carry them. Let not a man
in this office be unreasonably urged to do this or
that thing, to preach many sermons, to hold many
meetings, to make many visits, or to adopt new
and doubtful measures, by being told, that this or
that man, in a neighbouring town, or belonging to
a rival sect, is 'doing thus, and so.
But I must go beyond the clergy in the appUca
tion of this remark. In fact, there is nothing
which I so much dread from the operation of our
political and religious institutions, as the subser
viency of the best minds in the country to the
worst minds in it : the subserviency of men of tal
ents, education, and refinement to mere numbers.

POLITICS IN AMERICA, 155
The mind of a country ought to rule it — ought, I
mean, to have the ascendency, not in politics only,
but in every species of influence ; but that mind
does not, and never did, and never will, reside in
the mass. There are at any moment, ih any na
tion — there are in our own a hundred minds
that are possessed of more knowledge, of more
profound wisdom,' than all the other minds in it.
Suppose, now, that neither you nor I, reader I have
any claim to class ourselves with the elect hun
dred, and, that we take our place with the mass.
What now are we to say, in such a situation ?
Must we say, that because there are a hundred.
men above us, and above all their countrymen, the
entire interests of the country ought to be commit
ted to this council of a hundred? Not at all.
And why not at all ? Because we cannot impli
citly trust such a council ; since although it may
have more intelligence than all of us, it may not
have virtue equal to its intelligence. Hence arises
the necessity of popular intervention, of popular
suffrage, as a safeguard from oppression. Could
we confide in the few, probably despotic institu
tions would be the best. That. is to say, the
government pf one or a few, possessed of great
experience, influenced by uniform principles, and
having the confidence and long-continued attach-

156 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.
ment of the people, would be, simply considered,
better than our constant rotation in office, our va
rying counsels, violent conflicts, and party legisla
tion. All those advantages, however, do we give
up ; all these evils do we incur, for the sake of
security .against oppression. This is the object —
this security— of all the circuitous and clumsy con
trivances of a representative government. This
is the object of general suffrage. It is security.
It is not that universal suffrage best represents or
expresses the mind that is in a country. It is not
that the many are more sagacious than the few.
Nothing can be farther from the truth. The peo
ple know nothing valuable about many things of
which they pretend to judge, and of which their
party prejudices make them judge and speak so
confidently. Their ignorance, in fact, is opposed
as a sort of foil to the weapons of sagacity. If the
people could see clearly, as the few champions do
that hold these weapOijs, and if they could, in con
sequence, be marshalled into parties, according to
that clear perception of selfish objects and party
interests, it would be far more dangerous than for
masses of them blindly to dash against each other,
as they do now^breaking their own force, and
breaking in, with blundering interference, upon the
ambitious plans of their leaders. I repeat it — the

POLITICS IN AMERICA. 157
popular mass, instead of possessing all the sagacity
in the country, throws itself upon the very edge of
a sagacity that it does not perceive : and the effect,
I admit, is to clog and blunt the sword that might
otherwise pierce the very bosom of the republic ;
but another effect, no less certain, is that the popular
mass comes away wounded and bleeding from the
contact. Does this assertion need any far-fetched
proof? Do the people of our country need to have
it proved to them, that they often are suffering from
thrusts and blows given tb them, in the sharp and
reckless contests of the few.
It may be thought that these facts and sugges
tions are at war with my leading observation —
viz., that nothing is more to be dreaded, than the
subjection of the best minds in the ^country to
the worst — of the few to the many. But let it
be observed, that this is a question about degrees.
To a certain extent it is desirable that the many
should have a control-over the few. It is desira
ble that the many should influence the few, but it
is not desirable that it should enslave them. Sub
serviency I protest against, not deference to the
people. The latter is just and reasonable, and safe
for both parties. The former, the subjection of a
superior mind to popular control, only makes its
sagacity more dangerous. It is still none the less
VOL. I. — O

158 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.
selfish for tbe subjection, and none the less has its
selfish aims, and the people, by enslaving, have not
weakened, but only degraded it. And from the
action of such a mind, the people must expect
eventually to suffer more than from one held in
less, but lawful restraint.
It was not, however, to political relations that I
intended to apply the observation I have made on
the danger of such a subserviency. The same
thing exists, and is, perhaps, no less to be regretted,
in the religious world. It is a fact which can have
escaped none but the dullest observer, that through
out our whole country, and in every particular
sect, the most cultivated and intelligent minds are
generally the most liberal minds, Tbey are tbe
most liberal with regard to the comparative unim
portance of the differences of religious opinion —
the most liberal in the extension oftheir charity to
differing sects — the most liberal, without being
guilty of undue license, in their reading, their con
versation, their habits, and manners ; the most
liberal in the construction they put upon what are
to be considered as lawful and proper recreations.
It is well known that there is such a class of persons
in every religious denomination, who look with dis
trust or dislike upon all the extravagant religious

RELIGION IN AMERICA,

159

measures and projects, and the fanatical opinions,
that prevail around them.
Now what is the position which this class of
persons occupies in the religious community ? It
is actually an isolated position. It is construct
ively a position of subserviency. They exert no
influence, they take no part, against those things
of which they disapprove. They seek to pass
quietly through the world. They take care to of
fend as little as possible, the religious prejudices of
their times. They give up to these prejudices a
part of their liberty ; they use another part of it,
as privately and unobtrusively as they can. They
think that many things around them are wrong ;
nay, there are not a few among them, who some
times express a great dread of the effects of the
popular fanaticism ; but they say as little, they do
as little as possible, openly, to withstand this sweep
ing tide of popular opinions arid practices.
So far I conceive that they are wrong on their
part. But then they are treated in a manner still
more wrong. They are never consulted by the
religious communities around them. Upon the
very points where their advice is most needed' —
upon questions of doubtful religious wisdom and
propriety, all resort to them is especially avoided.
Thus, the influence of not a few of the best minds

160 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.
in the religious community, and many of them in
terested in religion too, is completely lost. They
do not like to intrude their opinion unasked — they
do not like to go and speak in public meetings when
they are not called. They are not called, their
opinion is not asked ; and they but too naturally
fold their arms — look on — criticise with their
friend, the bad measures or the bad manners of the
zealots — lament, by their fireside, that religion is to
suffer so much from the moroseness and folly ofits
professed friends — and think that this is all they
have to do.
Can society well and safely go on, without all
the light that is in it ? Can it, without danger, ex
clude from among its guiding lights the best minds
that are in it ? Why, there is enough of sober
and cultivated thought among us, if it could be
gathered from its various religious circles into one
mass of public opinion, if it could be induced to
speak out — there is enough, I say, to hold in com
plete check all the religious extravagance, fanati
cism, and asperity of the country. There is a body
of men that can produce that state of modified and
mitigated religious opinion and action, which they
profess to desire. How is it to be thought strange
that some parts of the country are overrun with
fanaticism, if religion has been given into the bands

RELIGION IN AMERICA, 161
of the most ignorant portion of the people ! Shall
we be told that it is an unpleasant thing to come
out, and to be browbeaten by the multitude, to be
rudely assailed as the enemies of religion and of
God, and, perhaps, tp sacrifice all chances of social
and political advancement ? Then, I say, let an
unpleasant thing be done I Is the religion, that
has been sealed in the blood of martyrs, to demand
no sacrifices of us ? Nay, I say again, if martyr
dom be yet required in fidelity tp this benign and
abused faith — then let there be martyrdoms !
But there are no martyrdoms required. There
is nothing needed but that some true, liberal, kind
words be spoken — frankly and freely spoken, by
every reflecting man as he sees occasion ; that he
shrink not ignobly from his responsibility and his
place in society, but speak plainly what he thinks
of religion and religious measures, and religious
men ; and in America, I verily believe, is a peo
ple that will hear. Many a plain, uneducated,
modest man, I am persuaded, is waiting to hear
that word, from those to whom he looks up as
having advantages superior to his own. Ours is a
country that is wide awake to improvement. Our
advancing systems of education, our improving
prison and penitentiary discipline, our progress in re
ligious sentiment, (I mean the progress of all sects,)
o 2

162 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.
our increasing charitable institutions, our temper
ance reform, all show it. The country, I repeat, is
wide awake to improvement. Are the authorized
pioneers of this improvement seeking to lose them
selves in the crowd ? Are the lawful leaders of
the host cowering behind the very rear rank of the
enemy ? The eyes of the world are upon us.
There is no arguinent carried on in the Old World
— concerning human rights, free principles, the
practicability and safety of reform — no, there is
not a fireside argument here, but our country is
present to offer her example and plead her cause.
There is not a question about our condition, but it
is here a party question : and we have defenders
in this country, more zealous, more deeply inter
ested, if possible, than we are ourselves. Heaven
grant, that while we have champions in every
civilized country in the world, we may not want
leaders in our own ; that v/hile all this interest and
sympathy are felt for us in other countries, we
may not want patriotism and public spirit, manli
ness, fidelity, piety, virtue, victory, at home !

PRANCE, 163

CHAPTER VIII,
France — Walled Towns — Belgium — Brussels — Field of Water
loo — Genappe — Huy — Aix la ChapeUe — Cologne — Bonn —
Prussian Military and School Systems — Mayence — Valley of
the Rhine — Frankfort on the Mayn — Darmstadt — Heidleberg
-^Offenberg — Villengen — Mode of building.
Calais, August 22, 1833. The first things that
made me feel I was in France, were the chattering
of the boatmen who took us off from the steam
packet, and " sacre 1" rolling from the tongue of
the vexed chief boatman, in the manner I have
heard described, but could not well have conceived,
without having heard the tone of the last syllable,
actually thrilling on the tongue as it never does in
the pronunciation of a foreigner.
The next new and characteristic objects that
presented themselves, as we went up the quay,
were the fishwomen, or fishgirls rather — for they
were all young — coming down with their small
nets and net frames on their shoulders, looking as
stout and resolute as men ; bronzed with exposure
to rain, and sun, and sea ; their dress not coming

164 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW,
down to the knee, and the calf below, round and
full enough to move the envy of any " lean and
sfipper'd pantaloon,"
Calais, and most of the French towns of any
note that we passed through on the way to Bel
gium, as St, Omer's, Lille, &c,, are surrounded
by two walls, with moats (now drained of their
water) and drawbridges at the gates — which gates
also are regularly shut every night. In some of
the towns this is done at the inconveniently early
hour of nine o'clock ; and no one is suffered to pass
afterward. Let, the dwellers in our free, secure, unwalled,
ungarrisoned cities think of it. You cannot take
a ride into the country here but through these jeal
ously guarded gates, surrounded with cannon, and
infested by an idle, expensive soldiery. You can
not take a journey here, but you must have a pass
port, and be subjected to perpetual interruption and
examination. For my part, I could not breathe
freely in these prison cities. Wherever I went I
should feel as if I walked in fetters, and wherever
I abode as if I lived in an enemy's country. And
yet such will be the state of things in our own
country, if it is ever broken up into half a dozen
petty republics.
The change in passing from France to Belgium

ROUTE TO BELGIUM.

165

at Baisieux, just before entering Tournay, is very
striking, altogether in favour of Belgium as to
neatness, comfortable appearance of living, and
houses, though I thought there was rather a Flem
ish heaviness about the faces of the people, neater
and more comfortable as they were.
Everywhere on the route, but especially in Bel
gium, the women seemed to do as much, and hard,
and various work as the men ; they tramp about
in wooden shoes, which adds a double appearance
of heaviness to their movements, and almost of
slavery to their condition. The country is very
rich and well cultivated ; but it impressed me with
a strange feeling of melancholy all the while ; for
there seemed nothing in it but toil and its fruits ;
no intelligence apparently in the general counte
nance ; no leisure, no agreeable-looking country
houses, or cottages imbowered with trees ; no gar
dens with people walking or sitting in them ; no
persons having the air of gentlemen or ladies riding
or walking out as we entered, or left the villages
and cities ; and the cities and villages not wearing
an inviting aspect — with close, narrow streets —
irregular, old, obstinately fixed in stone against all
improvement, and filled with men, women, and
children, without one being of attractive appear
ance among them — almost without one.

166 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.
The country on the route is remarkable for the
long avenues of trees, (elm, poplar, beech,) all
trimmed up so as to be very lofty, without any
under branches. For many miles together the
road is lined on both sides with them ; and ranges
of trees, forming squares, triangles, and groves of
parallel rows, are seen everywhere. It is doubt
less a bad taste carried to such an extent ; and yet
I think it might intermingle with that variety of
English scenery, for which there is such a passion
in that country.
Brussels is a beautiful city, and the beauty in
some parts is in an ancient and striking fashion ;
as on the Grand Place, in which is the Hotel de
Ville, or Town House, a fine Gothic building, with
the highest tower, it is said, in Europe, The
cathedral is very large ; but the want of Gothic
decorations within, and especially ofthe clustered
column, instead of which is a great ugly round
column, spoils the interior. The palace of the
Prince of Orange is very splendid ; beautiful floors
of tesselated wood through the whole suite of
apartments, rich marble walls, many fine paintings
apparently — (one, portrait of a female, by Leo
nardo da Vinci, struck me much) — but we were
not allowed to pause before them, being marched
through the palace, a large company of us, in

FIELD OF W.VTERLOO. 167
Indian file, after having moccasins slipped over
our shoes, that the floors might not be injured.
The park, on which are situated the palaces, and
noble ranges of houses, is very fine ; and the Bou
levards — or rides and walks between rows of trees
—^surrounding the whole town, are such a charm
and glory of a thing in its way, as is not, that I
know, to be found anywhere else in the world.
From Brussels, the ride to the field of Waterloo
is through the wood of Soigny ; a noble forest of
beech trees, into which the golden beams of the
setting sun streamed, like the light through stained
windows into a Gothic temple.
We arrived at the field of Waterloo, nine miles
from Brussels, after sunset. We ascended the
mound raised in commemoration of the great en
gagement of June 18th, 1815, It is two hundred
feet high, and has a monument on the summit, con
sisting of a high pedestal, on which reposes the
British lion, a colossal figure and finely executed.
From this elevation, every point in the position of
the armies and the field of battle, is easily compre
hended. It is now a ploughed field, with nothing
remarkable about it ; but bare and naked as it is,
of everything but the interest which the great ac
tion gives it, I would not but have seen it. We
descended and passed through the very centre of

168 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW,
the field— the road to Genappe leading in that
direction ; yes, we rode quietly through that peace
ful field, where, eighteen years ago, on a summer's
night — the same moon shining that now lighted
our way — thousands lay in the sleep of death, and
thousands more lifted up, on every side, faces
marked with the death agony, and uttered waitings
that measured out the long, long hours of that
dreadful night. As if to complete the contrast,
we heard the sound of a violin as we drove off
from the battle field, and turning aside to the
quarter from whence it came, observed a dance
before the door of one of the cottages.
At Genappe — a few miles distant — beneath the
window of the chamber where I slept, was the
street where the retreating French raised the last
barrier against tbe pursuing Prussians and Bruns-
wickers. Along that street sounded the fearful
" hurrah I" which, as Prince Blucher's report says,
drove the panicstruck soldiers of Bonaparte from
their post. By the very window frpm which I
looked, rushed tbe furious Prussian cavalry, which
swept away the feeble barricade like chaff; and on
every stone of that pavement blood- — human blood
had flowed. Yet now, what but these dread recol
lections themselves could be more thrilling than
the awful stillness, the deep repose which settled

THE MEUSE. 169
down upon that fearful spot — ^^the moonbeams fall
ing upon the silent walls, and upon pavements
which no footstep disturbed, arid seeming to con
secrate all riature to prayer and love, not to wrath
and destruction.
August 26, Our ride to-day, especially down
the Mouse from Namur to Liege, has been de
lightful ; the road smooth ^nd level ; on the right
the Mouse, on the left a constant succession of
cliffs, wanting only the ivy to make them almost as
beautiful as the cliffs of Derbyshire in England,
Some of the hills, too, were covered with vine
yards, and on the meadow banks of the Metise
.were the finest orchards of apple, pear, and plum
trees, that I ever saw.
Huy, on the- route, is' beautifully situated, and
its citadel, which we visited, seemed, to my inex
perienced eye, a stupendous work. It is built on
a hill, and its battlements rise seven hundred feet
above the streets of the town, The work is very
massive, and the cavernous depths to which we
descended within, g^ve me a new idea of the mag-
ftitude and strength of a military fortress. '
Indeed this whole country, and especially almost
every city and town, surrounded with stupendous
walls, and defended by gates, which are manned
with soldiers, constantly remind you of war — con-
VOL. I,— P

170 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.
stantly tell you. that Europe has been a battle field
for ages, and that her princes and potentates per
petually stand upon their guard for the moment
when it shall become so again. Would not a being
who had never heard of war, nor of its munitions,
nor of the passions that ministered to it — who saw
himself surrounded at eVery step with citadels and
battlements, and guns and swords, and men clothed
in the panoply of battle — would he not think he
was travelling through a country of demons ? If
he were acquainted with the spirit of Christianity,
moreover, how would he be astonished' to lind
these were called Christian countries, and their
kings " most Christian niajesties !"
The drive from Liege to Aix la Ghapelle pre
sents nothingof interest, but the surprising change
from immense open fields, without any enclosures,
which have surrounded us all the way from Calais,
to a country very much resembling England ; full
of closes and hedges in all directions. It seems to
me that these sudden changes in passing through
the same country, from one mode of cultivation,
building, and living, to another, from one set of
usages and fashions to another, from one form and
character of countenances to another, must show
that there is by no means so free an intercourse
nor so active an intelligence abroad among the

AIX LA CHAPELLE, 171
people, as in our country. And indeed the people
generally appear to me to have rather a stolid
aspect. They getierally look more contented than
our people. It would seem froni appearances as
if there could not be much want among them ; and
yet there are many beggars. There is not the
sentiment of shame about begging that there Would
be with us. Beggar boys and girls, very com
fortably clad, too, will join the carriage and run
along, smging out, in a plaintive tone, " Un Sous,
monsieur, pour charite ;" apparently calculating
that importunity will succeed, though all other
appeals fail. There is certainly something very
touching in the tones of the French tongue, I
have seldom felt anything of this sort more than
the plea of a poor fellow I met in Lichfield (Eng,)
I said to him, for he was a young man, " You look
as if you could work." He seemed to understand
my objection, and 1 am sure he annihilated it, as,
the tears coming to his eyes, he said, " Je suis
etranger, pauvre, malade," And yet what to do,
one knows not ; for this indiseWminate giving must
be bad ; and this unscrupulous asking and clamor*
ous importunity are shocking,
Aix LA CiiAPELLB, the birth and burial place of
Charlemagne, the coronation city of fifty-five
emperors, the scene of important treaties, and of

172 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.
congresses of nations, is indebted for its chief in
terest with the stranger to historical associatipns ;
for the town is not at all agreeable ; the streets are
narrow and the houses generally ordinary. There
is a fine promenade, however, on the road coming
towards Cologne, The cathedral was commenced
by Charlemagne; The Town House, originally a
palace, and Charlemagne's birthplace, is built oa
the ruins of au' old Roman castle, and has one
tower standing, called Granus, vvhiph appears to
be of R6man origin.
The celebrated springs here are so strongly im
pregnated with sulphur, which quality derives an
increased pungency from their heat, that I found
it would take mote than one day to learn to drink
them. Bathing in them is much more practicable
and altogether pleasant. The whole air of the
city is tainted with the smell of brimstone, at
times ; it was so on the ftiorning when we came
out, Aix la ChapeUe has thirty-tljiree thousand in
habitants. . Cologne— -from Colonia Agrippina, a Roman
colony — is quite superior to most of the second-
rate continental towns of Europe, The remains
of the Roman power are spread through all this
country. The church of St. Mary of the Capita,l was;

COLOGNE. 173
built by Plectrude, wife of Pepin, and mother of
Charles Martel ; and in the convent adjoining and
belonging to it, Mary de Medici passed in misery
the last moments of her life. The house where she
died is shown. It is the same iri which Rubens
was born.
In the church of St,, Peters is a painting ofthe
Crucifixion of Peter by Rubens, which is consid
ered as one of his masterpieces, and is certainly
very expressive. The countenance of Peter, cru
cified according to tradition, with his head down
ward, expresses extreme agony. The faces of the
executioners — of one driving the nail through the
foot, full of intense and mostly malignant emotion ;
of another looking up with the air of a connoisseur
at the operation, as if it were only nailing one
piece of wood to another-^and so of the others,
are very characteristic and powerfully drawn.
But nothing here has struck me so mudh as the
cathedral, planned by Archbishop Engelberg, and
commenced in 1248. It is yet unfinished, though
the work is going forward. It is a Gothic build
ing of immense size, larger and higher than the
York Minster ; and were the proportions as per
fect, it would, when finished, surpass the minster.
But it seemed to me that the columns were too
small for the height, and I should doubt if the width
p2

174 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.
were sufiicient to make a just proportion. This^
however, does not apply to the towers, of which
the one that is highest, though not completed, is a
thing so glorious and beautiful, that it makes one
sigh to gaze upon it,
Bonn, August 30 — a pleasant town of twelve
thousand inhabitants. We visited the university,
saw the library- — of ninety thousand volumes — and
the museum of antiquities. The most interest
ing are the Roman antiquities ; lamps, culinary
vessels, funereal tablets, urns; — with the ashes and
bones yet in them ; and altars, dug up on the banks
of the Rhine, and chiefly in the vicinity of Cologne
and Bonn, Ljttle glass vials were shown us, said
to be used by the Roman ladies to receive the tears
of their lamentation for the dead. The inscrip^
tions upon many bf the tablets are very distinct,
though from the abbreviations used in such cases,
it vvould require some time to spell them out.
Thus has the sheltering bosom of mother earth
protected monumental inscriptions and records,
which wind and rain would have worn , out and
erased ages ago.; and after eighteen centuries, the
names which those who loved them strove to per
petuate, are read by the inhabitants of a then un-
knpwn world. Indeed the Roman power has
driven its ploughshare through the whole valley of

BONN. 175
the Rhine, and its, monuments lie so deep, that it is
not till recently, that- many of them have been dug
up and brought to light.
There are some fine fresco paintings, by Maler
Gotzenberger, in one of the university rooms.
They are the Faculties of Philosophy, Theology,
and Law, An allegorical female figure presides
over each department. Alas ! for tbe justice of the
representation ! whilp Philosophy is beautiful. The
ology is unattractive and unlovely. The Genius
of Law is dignified and fine. In the Faculty of Phi
losophy are attempted portraits of Homer and the
Greek tragedians, of Plato, Socrates, and Phidias ;
one of Shakspeare ; and a bountiful proportion of
Germans — Kant, Goethe, Schiller, &c.
We introduced ourselves to Professor A. Wi
Schlegel, who answered many inquiries about the
state of things in Prussia — property, education, the
army, (fee. — all in a tone of great admiration for
their government and institutions. In speaking of
Goethe, he said, " We consider him the greatest
poet of the age,"
As to the state of things in Prussia, appearances
in the villages we have passed through are cer
tainly very bad. The houses are poor, the streets
very filthy, and the people look miserably. Ram-

176 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.
parts, battlements, soldiers, appear everywhere,
and everything looks like a nuilitary despotism.
But another and more powerful army is arising
in Prussia ; and its spreading tents are the school-
houses of the land, Prussia has established per
haps the most perfect system of popular education
in the world. At least it appears so on paper; I
have some doubts whether its working is to pro
duce as much intelligence as our own. Its patron
and provider is the government ; and hence all the
machinery is likely to be more perfect. But whe
ther the result is likely to be as good, as in schools
which are the objects of voluntary individual
support and affection among the people, is the
question. Still, however, be all praise given to the Prussian
system. Whether its formers have their eyes
open to the inevitable result, whether they suspect
that they are depositing an element in the popular
bosom which will yet shake the foundations pf the
government, may well admit of more thao a doubt.
But that a people really educated will long endure
the crushing weight of the Prussian military estab
lishment, that they will doom themselves and their
wives and daughters to such unalleviated toil as
lays its burden upon isvery limb and feature around
me — that an enlightened population of thirteen or

VALLEY OF THE RHINE. 177
fourteen millions will consent to support nearly
two hundred thousand regular troops, besides train
ing more than three hundred thousand militia, is
what no person who has studied the tendencies of
modern intelligence and consequent freedom, can
believe. Religion may be introduced into the
system, as it is well introduced into that of Prussia ;
and the politician may look upon it as a useful
instrument to sustain the system or to countervail
its tendencies ; but the issue is as inevitable as the
principles of human nature are certain.
Mayence, This valley of the Rhine is, indeed,
a glorious thing. It is all that I expected; it is
more. The entire route from Bonn to Mayence
is, as it were, through a grand gallery of the most
striking objects, in the departments both of scenery
and antiquities. The eye is absolutely satiated
with majestic old ruins ; the imagination is wearied
out with calling up the scenes of history and ro
mance, peace and war, life and death, that have
passed in them ; one is exhausted and paralyzed
by the burden and pressure of his thoughts and
feelings ; a day in riding through these scenes, is
as if one listened, all day, to inspiring and thrilling
music ; his musings are all sighings, and aspira
tions, and prayers ; at every turn of the eye, he
can scarcely repress his tears. The memories cf

178 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.
a thousand years are around him at every step.
At almost every great opening in the view of the
banks of the Rhine, stupendous battlements and
towers ri«e, from summit to summit, and upon one
inaccessible crag after another — ^twenty or thirty
in number, during the two days' ride — all, save
one, in ruins ; almost all, with one grand tower in
the centre, so firmly built that time has scarcely
touched it; all built evidently for defence — upon
heights so steep and stupendous, that it must have
required strong heads to look down from their tur
rets and windows without shrinking.
These objects are indeed the most striking ; but
to complete the viisw, the hills are everywhere
clothed with vineyards, the banks every now and
then spread into little valleys, sometimes into broad
ones, as in the Rheingau ; and the noble stream,
varying in width from one to two thousand feet,
imbosoms many islands.
There is one thing to detract from the beauty of
the Rhine, as well as of all the other principal
rivers in Europe that I have seen, and that is, that
the waters are turbid — owing, doubtless, to the
clayey soils through which they pass. They are
of a whitish colour, and no sky, however pure its
azure, can give them the rich hue of our Ameri
can streams.

CONDITION OP THE PEOPLE. 179
In entering, at Bingen, the duchy of Hesse
Darmstadt to-day, it was curious again to observe
the immediate change in houses, countenances,
circumstances, manners. The frame houses, filled
in with brick or other materials, almost universal
in Prussia, instantly and almost completely disap
pear ; beggars gather around the carriage again,
and this, too, though the country appears just as
well off and even better ; so that there must be a
change of education and character to account for
this, or else of police.
One thing in all these countries very much at
tracts our notice. All the people, literally all, live
in crowded, and mostly dirty villages. Among
all these rich fields and vine-clad hills, so beautiful
for country seats and cottages, there is not one
house — not one. There are no fine seats in the
vicinity of the towns, with a little more space and
decoration about them ; but all habitation is con
fined to the dense, compact, crowded village.
This, doubtless, was originally owing to the neces
sity of building for defence ; and now, if the people
had a taste for it, they are too poor to build for
pleasure, abroad in the country. I should like
to know what is the effect of this village life upon
society. Is it as pure ? Is it not more kind, more
social, less reserved, less cold ?

180 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW,
Mayence has a very pretty entrance from the
north, by a winding road through trees ; but the
town itself has very little attraction. To my eyes,
too, it is a very grievous annoyance, that every
fifth, literally every fifth man you meet is a soldier ;
there being six thousand troops quartered in a
town of twenty-six thousand inhabitants.
We visited a gallery of paintings, which has
some original pieces by the masters. "An As
sumption of the Virgin," by Ahnibal Carracci, in
which the Supreme Being is represented as a ven
erable man — a conception quite shocking indeed ;
but when you throw away that idea, which you
may easily do, for it is difficult to retain it, the
painting of that countenance is very fine ; also, a
" Mary presenting to a Carmelite the habit of his
order," by Carracci, The upward, reverent gaze
of the old man, the loveliness of the Virgin, were
things to dwell upon for some moments at least.
A very beautiful old painting of St, Appollonia, by
Dominichino ; a " Lot and his Daughters," by Mi
chael Angelo — the fire, eagerness, and fondness of
intoxication in the poor old man, with his hand out
stretched towards the bowl, into which one of the
daughters is pouring wine — and the beauty of the
daughters, are the points of attraction ; nor is the
appearance of the outpoured wine to be forgotten.

FRANKFORT ON THE MAYN. 181
A "Le Petit Jesus," by Jacques Jordan — i, e,, Jesus
teaching in the temple— nothing good but the ap
pearance of the Jewish doctors, and that was very
striking; some of them, in the colouring of the
flesh, by-the-by, singularly like those heads of
Jews by Alston, exhibited a year or two ago at
the Boston Athenaeum,
Frankfort on the Mayn is worthy of its old
fame, of its historical associations, and of being the
seat of the Germanic Diet, Some of the streets
are gloriously ancient in their appearance ; and the
modern ones have very good buildings, and all
are very neat. There are fine seats, too, in the en
virons, reminding us for the first time of the neigh
bourhoods of our own cities. The walls, too, and
fortifications, like those of Brussels, are levelled ;
but instead of being planted with regular rows
of trees, they are laid out in winding walks, inter
spersed with shrubbery and trees. The cathedral,
here, is a very ancient-looking pile, and the tower
with its pinnacles is very grand ; the style pure
Gothic, There are some old houses here of a very
extraordinary appearance. They are very small
on the ground, and at the same time very lofty ;
and being covered entirely, not only on the roof,
but the sides, with small, black, shining pieces of
slate, they look like giants clad in ancient armburi
VOL, I, — q.

182 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.
Darmstadt — a beautiful town, with fine avenues
through rows of linden trees, on the road to May
ence, and also southward. The chief attraction to
us, however, was the gallery of pictures (six or
eight hundred in number) in the palace of the Duke
of Hesse Darmstadt. Some beautiful ruins and
landscapes, by Schonberger ; two admirable winter
pieces, by Fosci ; a striking portrait by Lanterre ;
animals, by Sneyder ; a St, John, by Corregio. By
Titian, "a Sleeping Venus" — the face particularly —
the flush, the fulness of deep sleep — the something
almost like delicate perspiration. By Dominichino,
« a David and Nathan" — " Thou art the man I" —
the prophet standiliig above the king, who shrinks
back in his chair, with a fear-stricken aspect — the
prophet's dignity and fixed eye. By Schmidt, "a
Diana, and Nymphs bathing" — exquisite beauty of
form and softness of outline — " Adam and Eve,"
also, by Schmidt — (German) — a painting of great
power, Adam and Eve are fiy ing from paradise ;
in the back ground, the sky lowers with a tempest,
and lightning flashes vengeance across the dark
cloud, Adam's countenance and brow especially
are full of suppressed, sustained, and manly sor
row ; Eve leans upon his breast, as they hurry
along, with her face to the ground, and with such
an expression of fear in the eye — of fear, not ago-

HEIDELBERG.

183

nizing, but clear, bright, spirituelle, subdued, mod
est, feminine, as, I think, I can never forget. The
contrast of manly strength and female loveliness,
in the picture, is very striking. But last and great
est of all, is " Rembrandt's portrait of his second
wife" — so beautiful, so natural, so speaking, so
heavenly in the expression of the bright, calm, pure,
and almost living eye, that I could have kneeled
before it, as the Catholic does before the Virgin
Mary, Heidelberg. The situation very delightful, on
the banks of the Neckar. The ruins of the castle,
on the brow ofthe hill southward, are more beautiful
far, than any castellated ruin I have seen in Eng
land ; said by Scheiber's guide book to be also the
most beautiful in Germany, The walls are stand
ing, in very good preservation, and are ornamented,
I should judge, with not less than eighty or one
hundred statues, also very perfectly preserved.
These, with the niches and canopies, and the
work in and over the windows, together-wilh many
armorial bearings, present a vast proportion of
sculpture, though the building is not Gothic, An
immensely deep fosse surrounds the castle ; there
is a fine, paved esplanade in front, and another back
of it, laid out with walks, and imbowered with
trees ; and the views, up the Neckar, through richly

184 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.
wooded and vine-clad hills, and downward upon
the town, and beyond, upon a broad and boundless
plain, watered by the same river, also stretching
towards the Rhine — are exceedingly fine,
Hefpenheim, on the road from Darmstadt and
Heidelberg, is situated amid very charming
scenery. The majestic ruin of Starkenburg Castle
is on a neighbouring height. At Bensheim, not far
from Heppenheim, we saw, for the first time in
Europe, Indian corn.
Offenburg, September 5. We are still in the
valley of the Rhine, though at some distance from
the river. The scenery for the last day or two
more resembles that of our Connecticut river, than
anything else ; but the ruin of an old castle, now
and then appearing on the neighbouring hills, is a
feature which is never to appear in the landscapes
of the Connecticut. The time of feudal sovereign
ties and castles has gone by in the civilized world.
Princely dwellings, indeed, are built, and will be
built ; but -they are no longer perched upon almost
-inaccessible crags and mountains, to be forsaken
when the times of danger have passed away. The
English castles now in ruins, were not indeed so
inconveniently situated ; but still they were built for
defence, and not for comfort, and have been given
up as much from their inconvenience as from their

COSTUMES AND CUSTOMS. 185
insecurity. We have been struck to-day with the
picturesque and almost fantastic dress of the peo
ple ; the men, and even young men, with the im
mensely broad-brimmed hat, which appears in
many of Rembrandt's pictures, and the women
showing a singular passion for the colour of
scarlet. The throng, gathered in the village
market-places, most of whom, by-the-by, are
women — they are the sellers in market — wears an
appearance as strange and bizarre almost as would
an assembly of Turks.
There is, in short, no business or labour, appa
rently, which the women of this country do not
perform. In the morning we always meet great
numbers of them, either going to the fields with
hoe and shovel in hand, or to the markets with the
basket of vegetables or fruit upon their heads.
This toil and exposure bereaves them bf every
feminine charm of person ; though their counte
nances are not unamiable, nor more dull or coarse
than might be expected in the circumstances. We
learn from the attentive and sensible keeper of the
Fortune Hotel here, (to whom I commend all weary
travellers passing through Offenburg,) that women
as regularly hire themselves out to work in the
field, as men, and at nearly the same price — being
eighteen sous for the women, and twenty-one sous
a2

186 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW,
for the men, per day— they providing partly for
themselves— i, e,, they take soup for breakfast at
home ; their employer provides bread and a pint of
wine for their dinner, they adding meat and eggs if
they choose ; and they expect supper from their
employer, ViLLiNGEN, September 6, To-day we have
been passing through the Black Forest ; by which is
meant, not a continuous wood, nor a level country
covered with forest, but a succession of hills,
clothed with fir trees principally, and looking dark
enough justly to give its name to this extensive
tract of country. Many of these hills wear a sin
gular aspect ; the foliage being bright and glossy,
as well as dark : and the forms, bold and beautiful.
The road, for thirty miles from Offenburg, leads up
a small river, and through a delightful valley, which
eventually becomes very picturesque and wild,
and very much like what I expect in the scenery
of Switzerland. The inhabitants, too, wear, I am
told, the Swiss costume, and build their houses in
the Swiss fashion : the former, that is to say, wear
ing large hats, and the latter an immense pent
house roof, much in the same style. They look —
the houses — very comfortable, though they must be
very dark ; and are delightfully scattered up and
down among the hills and valleys — a thing we have

MODES OF BUILDING. 187
scarcely seen before on our whole journey upon the
Continent. We saw a funeral processionto-day,of a very sin
gular appearance. The coffin — it was that of an in
fant — was borne by a woman, on her head, A boy
came after her, with a crucifix, bound with ribands
and covered with flowers. Then followed a few
men, and a considerable number of women, walk
ing two and two — the women having black gauze
caps on their heads, with a fringe of black lace,
nearly covering the forehead, and singing a low
funereal chant.
With regard to these large projecting roofs of
the houses, and indeed the whole style of them —
for they quite commonly embraced domicile, sta
ble, woodhouse, carthouse, and barn, all under one
roof — I cannot help again remarking, how sud
denly, just in. passing from one village to another,
this new scene presented itself Certainly, these
people cannot be like our countrymen ; who, if they
are about to build a house, or to do anything else,,
observe, as they pass through the country, how
others are doing, and what improvements are to be
made. The result, among us, is a great deal of
variety, and a continual progress. But the people
here, either never travel, or they never think —
never observe anything ; else it would be impossi-

188 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.
ble for them to settle down, each village for itself,
into this unbroken uniformity. And, indeed, they
have nothing like the look of intelligence, of alert
ness and inquisitiveness of mind, that are seen in
America.

SWITZERLAND. 189

CHAPTER IX.
Switzerland — Schaffhausen — Observance of the Sabbath on the
Continent — Comparisons of the general Aspect and Manners
of the People on the Route, with those of our Country — Falls
of the Rhine — Zurich — Zug — Righi — WilUam Tell — Lucerne
—Thun, Schaffhausen, (Switzerland), September 8.
We entered Switzerland about ten miles north of
this, and the entrance was most appropriate. We
had scarcely passed the boundary stone, with Baden
inscribed upon it, when there sunk down a deep and
narrow valley on our right — deep as if it were
placed out of this world, and looking calm, undis
turbed, silent, and sequestered, as if it did not be
long to this world. We soon descended into it ;
and with a glorious and gorgeous vista of autumn-
painted hills constantly opening before us, we rode
all the way to Schaffhausen,
To-day is Sunday, and we are resting at this
place. The Sabbath, all over the continent of Eu
rope, it is well known, is partly a holyday. I cour

190 , the old world and the new,
fess that I was extremely desirous of observing
what was the character and effect of this holyday ;
what kind of relaxation was permitted by the
usages ofthe European churches, both Catholic and
Protestant, on Sunday. I had anticipated some
modification of the common holyday. I had
thought it likely, that relaxation for one part of the
day, connected with religious services on the other,
would possess a character of unusual decorum.
And in this I am not disappointed. Unless it be,
that I find everywhere, in all the villages and cities
which I have had an opportunity of observing on
Sunday, a quietness and decorum quite beyond
my expectation. The population is all abroad, in
deed, after the hours of divine service, in the streets
and the public places ; but it seems to suffice the
people to take a quiet walk with their families ; and
there is a remarkable restraint among the multi
tudes upon all noise, loud talking, and laughter.
I state the fact as it is, and as a matter, certainly
of gratifying information. But I cannot conceal
that it presents to me a very serious question. And
the question is, how far it is desirable that our Sab
bath-keeping should partake ofthe European char
acter. There is much, doubtless, to be objected
against the .European mode. The day seems to
be entirely spent in public — in public worship, or

OBSERVANCE OF THE SABBATH. 191
in the public walks. It seems to have no distinct
moral object with the people around me. Now
this is what, above all things, I would secure. But
whether the object is best secured by the views and
usages that prevail among us is the question.
We ought, on this subject, to look at the general
principles on which time is to be used to the best
account : or on which, in other words, time is to be
devoted and hallowed to religious uses. Suppose
I wish to set apart a day to any intellectual or
moral use. How shall I best arrange it ? And
here, let me say, that I know of nothing in the
Scriptures that forbids the application of such gen
eral reasoning. To sanctify a day is to set it apart
for a religious purpose ; and the question is, hcrw is
that purpose to be best accomplished ? Now, I say,
that if I were to arrange the employments of any
day, in order to turn its hours to the greatest ac
count for my mind or heart, I should not devote all
its hours to study, reading, meditation, or prayer.
That is to say, in other words, I must give some
of its hours to relaxation. And this is what any
man does of necessity, let his creed or system be
what it will.
So that the only question is, what sort of relax
ation a man shall give himself. Shall it be taken
within doors, or abroad ? Shall a man sit down

192 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW,
in a sort of superstitious stupor, as thinking that
there is something in gloom and dulness that is
peculiarly acceptable to Heaven; or shall he go
forth under the open sky, and amid the fresh
breezes ? Shall he sleep away some hours of the
day, or spend them in easy conversation and use
ful exercise ? Which mode of relaxation — for
relaxation there must be — will be most favourable
to health, to cheerfulness, and to agreeable associ
ations with the Sabbath ?
But it may be said, that it is dangerous to depart
from the old strictness, and that the people will
go fast enough and far enough, without being helped
on in their course, I grant that there is danger
arising from the boundless freedom of the country.
I certainly fear that the innocent relaxations of
the Sabbath might go to excess and disorder. But
may'we not hope, that an intelligent and whole
some public opinion is to lay restraints as effectual
as bayonets and a police ? Besides, the danger
exists, whether we discuss the subject or not. Is
it not better to take the right and tenable ground
at once, than to take a wrong ground which is
continually sliding beneath our feet, and bearing
us and everything else with it ? Yet more : licen
tiousness is not the only danger. There is danger
in bondage, too. For what, I ask, is the effect

OBSERVANCE OF THE SABBATH. 193
and result of the old strictness ? Some, it makes
demure and superstitious on Sunday ; others, it
makes reckless. They take greater liberties with
the day than the most of those who make it a holy-
day in Europe ! They ride, they travel, they
labour, they haunt taverns, they engage in hunting
and fishing, they write letters of business ; they
cannot banish the spirit of business even from one
day out of seven. Many, and especially of the
young, are perhaps still more injured by the old
strictness. They dislike the Sabbath, They
dread its approach ; they are glad when it is gone.
And as the Sabbath is most closely associated with
religion, they come to get repulsive ideas of reli
gion itself. It is a gloomy thing ; it is a supersti
tion ; it is a peculiarity ; it is a bondage. It is
something to be endured; it is something to be
sighed about, rather than acted upon ; and the re
sult is, that it exerts no genial, no welcome, no
thorough nor permanent influence upon the heart.
In short, false views of the Sabbath are answer
able for no small portion of that host of dreadful
popular errors, which deform Christianity, degrade
its disciples, cut off from the world so many sources
of happiness, and open, in the very bosom of life,
so many fountains of sadness, dejection, and
misery. VOL. I, — K

194 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW,
On the whole, as a Sabbatarian, I am inclined
to be at once very strict and very liberal. I would
have a more practical and pious use made of the
day, than is common with us. I would have as
many hours devoted to public worship and to pri
vate reading and meditation, as can profitably be
given. The right ground on this subject seems to
me to be high ground. No hours in the year should
be more busy, more absorbing, more sacred to
effort and improvement, than Sabbath hours. No
hours in the merchant's countingroom, or at the
student's desk, should be more earnestly devoted.
But this done, I would give the utmost freedom to
all innocent, decorous, and quiet relaxation. I
believe that this disposition of time would give us
a day far more interesting, useful, and happy. I
am persuaded that this spreading of superstitious
restraints over the whole day, tends at once to
weaken the springs of those religious exercises,
and of those recreative, social, and domestic en
joyments, for which it was alike, though not equally
ordained. There is an air about the people at Schaffhausen
that pleases me more than anything I have seen on
the Continent. We meet bright, intelligent faces
everywhere ; the people appear more cheerful ;
we hear laughter oftener ; the children look hap-

ASPECT OF THE PEOPLE. 195
pier ; we see groups of them, and they have books
in their hands, and are well dressed and neat. In
the houses, too, we see people at the open win
dows ; there is not this dreadful solitariness and
seclusion that appear in the better class of houses,
throughout most of the Continental cities. Indeed,
where the better sort of people — the people of
condition, or learning, or wealth, or leisure, or taste
— are, in these countries, I cannot devise. Few
equipages, no saunterers, no fashionable or con
templative walkers, no riders out — nothing, or
nearly nothing, of all this, which is so commonly
seen in and near all our American cities and vil
lages, appears here. The toiling multitude — men
with sober brow, women with faces weatherbeaten
and shorn of every feminine grace, dull children,
or the starch, stupid, or fierce-looking soldier — this
is almost the entire population that meets the eye
of the traveller. Now there must, of course, be
other people ; but they must be few, and their
habits secluded.
In speaking of the general air of the people, I
should not forget the extreme courtesy that per
vades all classes, and especially the lower classes.
No one of these ever speaks to you without touch
ing his hat. The very grooms and horseboys
never forget this. If they have no hat, they put

196 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.
their hand where the hat should be. The common
people, too, as we pass them, really tax our cour
tesy, unless we would consent to be outdone in
politeness. At the hotels, too, landlord, waiters,
valets, are all at your service ; you are assisted
out of your carriage ; you are ushered into your
room with a bow; you have dinner announced
with a bow ; every one of the limbs and senses of
those around you is at your bidding — is alert and
instinct with obedience — is ready to say, if it could
speak, " Oui, monsieur." This, to be sure, is at
the hotels partly mercenary ; but it belongs in
part, also, to the general manners of the people.
The fashion of salutation on the Continent is al
ways to take off the hat; and this is done not to supe
riors alone, but among the country people, from one
to another, constantly. I wish it were the fashion
everywhere. Our manners in America are too
brief, gruff, and hasty. Our "no" and " yes" are
very short words ; and if we add " sir" to them,
that again is an unfortunate monosyllable ; and the
whole intercourse, I mean the out-of-door inter
course, of our people, seems to me, compared with
what I see here, monosyllabic, brief, and ungracious.
It is fanciful to suppose that something of this
depends on the very words of salutation, with
which different languages provide us ? Oui, mon-'

MANNERS. 197
sieur, and Si, signore, always seem to come softly
and kindly from the mouths of the French and
Italians ; and they cannot weU be pronounced as
gruffly as Yes, sir, and No, sir. At any rate, the
difference in manners is great, and in my judgment
it shows altogether to our disadvantage. When a
man here meets his fellow-labourers in the morn
ing, he says " Bon jour, messieurs," and has time,
while he is saying it, to take off his hat to his
neighbours. It is a good and kind beginning of
the labours of the day : there is something almost
courtly in it. What a contrast to the manner with
which you may often see a man meet his neighbour,
in one of our New-England villages, " Morning !"
he says — I suppose he means, " Good-morning, sir,"
or " Good-morning," at least— but he says, " Morn
ing !" — ^but half raising his eyes, perhaps, in civility,
from the ground — and his hat as fast upon his
head as if he had worn it all night. Ask a man
here if he knows the way to a certain place, and if
he does not know, as it is very likely he will not,
he has, at least, the grace of manner to make his
ignorance agreeable — which is more than you can
say of many people's knowledge, " No, monsieur,
pardonnez," he says, and takes off his hat. In
America, a man would often answer your question
r2

198 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.
with a " No, sir," or, " No, I don't," and turn upon
his heel.
I believe that utility and philosophy have more
to do with these things than we may imagine.
The manners of life are tbe chief language of its
affections. If that language be abrupt and harsh,
there is some danger that thp affections may take
their tone from it. Manners infect the mind.
And the mind of an ill-bred people is likely, at
length, to become coarse and degraded. There is
a morality in street salutations. And I have often
thought that a man of a harsh and repulsive de
meanour might give more pain as he passed through
the street to his home, than he could give pleasure
or do good, if, when he arrived there, he should
distribute the most liberal alms.
Are not the manners of our people becoming less
courteous? Are they not less so than they were
fifty years ago ? When \fe speak of the "man
ners of the dd school," do we not imply this?
Must republican institutions always be found hos
tile to the gracefulness and refinement of life ? I
do not believe it. And yet much is to be done and
taught among us. We do exceedingly want some
Censor morum, some Spectator redivivus ;. and if I
could direct the pens that wrote Salmagundi, I
would engage them in this work.

ZURICH. 199
The Falls of the Rhine are three miles below
Schaffhausen. They are glorious and beautiful:
but who shall describe a waterfall ? Every parti
cle a living thing : a whole mighty river hurled,
amid the thunders of its descent, into spray and
foam — the drifted snow not whiter nor lighter —
and, indeed, if ipighty snow banks were, in succes
sion, driven by a sweeping storm over a precipice,
seventy feet high, I do not know but it would more
resemble the Falls of the Rhine, than anything else
I can think of.
The waters of the Rhine here are perfectly pure
and transparent, and have a colour of the deepest
green, for which I cannot account. This colour,
purity, and a rapid flow, make it, at this point, the
most beautiful of rivers.
Before I leave the notices of Schaffhausen, I
must just mention, what I have seen nowhere but
on one small house-front in Frankfort, the fresco
paintings covering the whole front of several old
houses here. They consist, some of them,. of con
siderable numbers of figures. On one is an allego
rical representation of all the cardinal virtues — a
good admonition, certainly, to the dwellers within.
Zurich, September 9. From Schaffhausen to
this place (thirty miles) we came on an excellent
road, through a highly cultivated and delightful

200 '' THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.
country. The ride to-day, and the entrance to
Zurich — Switzerland, in short, as far as I have seen
it — has seemed to me more like home than any
thing 1 have looked upon since I landed at Calais.
Welcome as the impression might be thought, there
are pretty serious abatements from the pleasure.
To " an exile from home," it is some relief to have
everything around him strange ; the scene is in
harmony with his lot. But be this as it may,
there are many things here — the bright' and happy
faces, the groups of children going to school with
book in hand, the dwellings scattered up and down
through the country, the environs of Zurich filled
with beautiful country seats — which remind one of
America. I must add, however, that the villages
which I have seen in Switzerland — those I mean
of two or three thousand people — are very filthy ; as
bad, I think, as those of Ireland, Before every door
is the steaming, stercoraceous heap ; the manure of
the farm is made under the very windows, Swiss
country cottages are one thing ; but for all ro
mance about their villages — alas! for it!* At
Eglisau, to-day, we parted company with Father
Rhine, not without some emotion,
Zurich is built on both sides of the Limmat, at
* The beautiful villages of Lucerne show how dangerous it is
to generalize.

ZUG. 201
the point where it issues from the Lake of Zurich.
The colour of the water, green almost as an em
erald, the swiftness of the current, like the Rhine,
give to this river, as well as that, an aspect of life
and beauty almost unrivalled.
At Zug* we took a boat to Geinser, (though it
had been better, perhaps, to have gone to Art,) to
ascend the Righi ; Righi Culm, as the top is called,
which Mr. Simond thinks is a contraction for Cul-
men Regina Montium ; the Summit of the Queen
of Mountains. It may have obtained such a name
from its standing alone, and commanding a better
view than any other of Switzerland.
Our ride from Zurich to Zug presented fine
views from the top of Mount Albis, (over which,
by-the-by, we were drawn by four horses and two
cows) — the whole Lake of Zurich being at one time
in sight: but it was on the Lake of Zug that we
had the first view, properly, of Alpine scenery —
and it was, of course, sublime. But to multiply
epithets would be to convey no impression; and I
can only tell you to resort to measurements. There
is Righi directly before you ; six thousand feet
high ; the mighty gate of the Alps ; rising up
* Pronounced Zoog. Pronounce u like oo in almost all names
on the Continent. Thun — Toon,_<SfCi

202 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.
almost perpendicularly from the soft and shaded
bosom of the lake. Pontius Pilatus, with its sharp
pinnacles, about seven thousand five hundred feet
high, lies a little to the right, and farther back. On
the left is a range of hills wooded to the top, and
terminating in Rossberg; down which, in 1800,
was the tremendous slide of earth, which buried
Goldau and its sister villages — five or six in all,
with a hundred houses and five hundred inhabit
ants, Pontius Pilatus took its name from a legend,
which holds that Pilate drowned himself in a dark
lake (Mare Infernale) on its top.
It is quite a point with travellers to see the sun
set and rise on Righi. We did not reach the sum
mit in time to see him set, nor indeed would it have
availed much ; for he went down in clouds. We
passed the night at an inn on the mountain, and in
the morning, at five o'clock, were on the top, with
many others, to see his rising. Here again our
success was not complete ; nor is the full measure
of gratification obtained, we were told, one time in
forty. However, we were compensated at every
step: the morning view was enough of itself,
although not perfect, to repay all the toil of the
ascent. Looking south the whole inner circle of
the Alps was spread before us, with its hundred
dark pinnacles — their bases and fissures covered

RHIGI. 203
and filled with snow that never melts away. Never
certainly ; for now was the end of summer. Back
of us, in contrast to this, was spread out, as far as
the eye could see, a tract of cultivated country.
On the right was Pontius Pilatus. On the left, and
almost beneath our feet, were the ruins of Goldau ;
appearing scarcely more than a dark scathe on the
brow of Rossberg. How like the path of calamity,
seen from the distance of years, or from the cold
heights of worldly prosperity ! The dread ava
lanche of earth that whelmed one hundred families
in ruin, appeared but as a furrow on the moun
tain's side ! Simond says that the view from Ri
ghi embraces three fourths of Switzerland, three
hundred miles in circumference, and fourteen
lakes. These awful heights, and the secluded recesses
among them, consecrated, as they might seem to
be, from human violence, have often been the seat
of war. Not only were they so in the days of the
Reformation — for Zuinglius fell on a field of bat
tle in sight from Righi Culni — but in the later days
of the French revolutionizing conflicts. From the
two summits of Righi, separated by a defile, the
French and Russians fired for some time at one
another from batteries, which, however, did no
harm. To the southwest lay buried amid moun-

204 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.
tains the small canton of Underwalden, where the
French, in '98, committed such dreadful atrocities.
To the southeast, and far distant, ran the Muotte
Thai, the defile through which Suwarrow, with
twenty thousand Russians, was making his way
from Italy, when he was met and overthrown by
the French general Massena.
Righi, with the country and lakes around it, is
the land of William Tell, It was on the Vier
Waldstatter See, or Lake of the Four Cantonp,*
that Tell, in a tempest, escaped from the boat in
which Bailiff Gessler was bearing him as a pris
oner, Gessler rode out the tempest,-and landed at
Brunnen ; and thence proceeded towards his cha
teau on the north side of Righi, the ruins of which
are still shown. But Tell waylaid and shot him.
A chapel, called William Tell's Chapel, is built on
the spot, which tradition has assigned to this act of
vengeance. We passed by and entered it, on our
Way to Kusnacht, which is at the foot of Righi.
On the morning of the eleventh of September
we came down the Righi, and took boat for Lu
cerne, The sail is absolutely glorious. On the
left, arid in front, the stupendous Alps, rising moun
tain above mountain, their snowy heights retiring
* Lucerne, Underwalden, -Schweitz, ahd Uri,

LAKE OF THE POUR CANTONS, 205
one behind another, and rising height above height,
till it seemed as if they stretched away beyond the
earth's horizon, to the verge of some other creation.
On the right lay a bank of verdure, orchards,
groves, and cottages, beautiful as the other part
was sublime. The lake, too, was a perfect mirror,
and presented in its pure and transparent depths,
all this glorious array of objects, every pinnacle,
cottage, field, and tree, distinct as in the scene that
surrounded us. But when we rounded the head
land and opened the bay (so to call the upper part
ofthe lake) on which Lucerne is situated, the sce
nery of the lake reached its highest interest. We
were sailing almost under a high and rocky bar
rier ; Lucerne was before us, with its white walls
and houses, seated like a swan upon the bosom of
the waters ; around it and along down on either
shore, the fields, orchards, and groves rose in
every variety of graceful outline ; behind us were
" the everlasting hills." One pinnacle, in particu
lar, far off, towered among the clouds, and ap
peared like a pyramid upon the heights of some
more gigantic creation.
EscHLisMATT, SEPTEMBER 12, Wc have comc
from Lucerne to this place, not for the sake of sce
nery, but to take the shortest route to Thun, and
thus to reach the southern Alps, We have passed
VOL. I,  S

206 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.
through a country, however, of considerable Swiss
scenery, and we have been particularly struck by
the appearance of the people and of their habita
tions. The people still wear the same appearance
of cheerfulness that I have already noticed. We
stopped at a tavern where a shower had driven
many of the labourers. They were eating and
drinking, but quite as much engaged in sprightly
conversation ; for the people in this quarter ofthe
world, seem to sit down to their meals quite as
much to talk as to eat.
As tp the houses^tbis is the canton of Lucerne
— a larger proportion of them on the route to-day
have been substantial, in good repair, and in out
ward appearance comfortable, than in any equal
extent of country over which I have ever travelled.
Scarcely one dwelling has appeared in about thirty
miles, that would be marked by the traveller as
the habitation of indigence. Tbe villages, as well
as the houses scattered in the country, have ap
peared extremely neat.
Is it not the reason why the Swiss, are not
cooped up in villages like the rest of the nations
on the Continent, that they have always stood as
neutrals in the wars of Europe, and therefore have
not undertaken to put themselves in a state of de
fence ? Is not their national freedom, too, which

THUN. 207
they have always more or less enjoyed, the cause
of the Superior intelligence and cheerfulness which
appear among the body of them ?
As to the measure of intelligence, I am aware
that I am not entitled to make up any very con
fident opinion ; but for the evidences of cheerful
ness, I have seen more smiling faces in three days
in this country, I have witnessed more animated
conversation, I have heard more hearty laughter,
and more songs among these mountains, than I
have met with in passing through a portion of
France, Belgium, Prussia, and Germany ; nay, the
Swiss seem to me a more joyous people than the
English, Songs from the hills around, and from
the lake below, followed me all the way as I walked
up Righi,
Thun, September 13, This morning, as we
left Eschlismatt, the appearance ofthe Alps on the
south was very striking; immense, irregular masses
of mountain, sharply defined on the clear morning
sky, and looking like the stupendous fragments of
a broken up world.
The aspect of the country, till we came upon
Thun, has been rather less pleasing than it' was
yesterday ; but the signs of competence among
the people are still the same. Surely people must
be well off who build such houses ; the roof pro-

208 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.
jecting over so as to cover almost twice as much
space as the house itself; and having enough
timber in it, I might almost say, to build a com
fortable house ; and then the shingles on the roof,
and sides, also, of the house, are so small, and so
carefully rounded and shaped at the ends, as tore-
quire, in building, a vast deal of work. The houses,
too, are immensely large.
Both the dwelUngs and the appearance of the
people would seem to indicate that there is great
equality among them. If there be gentlemen or
ladies in this country, one is ready to ask, where
are they 1 They certainly do not appear. Nei
ther do I see any persons that I should take to be
physicians, lawyers, or clergymen.
As to ladies, if none of the women are dressed
as such, yet they certainly do not fail to be very
much dressed. The costume of the canton of Lu-
tferne especially is very showy, A black cap, with
beads wrought into it, and a border of lace ; the
ha.ir in braids falling below the waist ; the stom
acher of black velvet, embroidered with beads of
various colours ; the sleeves full, and always
white, and a sort of armlet of black, reaching
from the elbow to the wrist, and tight ; the petti
coat dark coloured, blue or brown, of taffeta stuff,
often embroidered around the border, and termi-

SCENERY OF SWITZERLAND. 209
nating a little below the knee ; and the feet always
dressed with comfortable stockings and shoes.
And this, too, is the common dress of the Lucern-
ese women, yoUng and old, in the field and in the
market, in the house and by the way. It seems
favourable to agility; and yet the movements and
forms of these women are very clumsy, and come
liness is very rare among them,' Their taste in
dress we could not help remarking, is singularly
like that of our North American Indians,
Of the scenery of Switzerland, thus far, the char
acteristic is not, as I expected it would be, wild
ness; but striking contrasts — the loveliest valleys,
between bold hills ; cultivation, sur'passing, if pos
sible, that of England, carried up among the rocks,
and spreading among steep precipices and dark
groves of fir, the richest verdure in the world.
Certainly there is no verdure like that of Switzer
land. Like all high countries, it is full of springs,
and visited with constant showers. The grass,
too, is frequently mowed — three, four, and five
times in the summer — which gives to the fields
oftentimes the appearance of a smooth-shaven Eng
lish park.
The elevation ofthe country, also, gives a singu
lar character to the rivers and brooks. They rush
forth from their fountains and lakes, with as wift-
s2

210 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.
ness, with an aspect of life, as if, unchained and set
free from the ice-bound prisons of the Alps, they
were hurrying to the broad and fair fields of Ger
many, and France, and Italy, rejoicing to spread
verdure and beauty through the vrorld.
I wonder that travellers have not said more of
some of these Swiss towns. I have spoken of Lu
cerne, Thun, too,is another glorious spot. It is
situated on the Aar, about a mile from its rushing
forth from the Lake of Thun, or Thuner See, A
beautiful valley, of five or six miles circuit, spreads
to the west of the town,, terminated by the magnifi
cent mountain barrier of the Stockenberg — dark,
severe, with a broken and irregular outline — and re
lieved, to-day, against a sky of the purest autumnal
serenity. Southward lies the lake ; and beyond,
forty miles distant probably, but seeming much
nearer, rise the snowy summits of the Jungfrau,
Silverhorn, and the Eigers — mountains between
eleven and twelve thousand feet in height, their
loftiest and sharpest pinnacles perfectly white, and
looking precisely like the forms of our snowbanks
after a driving storm. Their immense elevation,
with this dazzling whiteness, makes them appear
more like things of heaven than of earth.
We went during the afternoon to view the
church, the Pavilion de Jacques, and the grove

SCENERY ABOUT THUN. 211
southward, on the lake. The last rays of the set
ting sun upon the snow-capped Alps, the bright
waters of the lake, the soft and solemn shadows of
the descending evening upon the western moun
tains, the serene depths of a September sky above
them — these are the features of the scene. But
words are not paintings ; and no paintings can do
justice to such scenes as these. And yet, the
scenes themselves, what are they in all their ma
jesty of form and beauty of colouring, compared
with what they are as emblems of our thought —
temples and ministrations of religion. " So," I said
as I walked homeward, " let the last shadow steal
over me, soft and solemn ; the bright waters of life
at my feet — for not a Cynic would I die ; and the
serene and illimitable depths of heaven above me —
for I would die a Christian,"

212 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.

CHAPTER X.
Excursion to the Oberland — Sail down the Lake of Thun — Un-
terseen and Interlaken — Valley of Lauterbrunnen — Wengern-
alp — Jungfrau — Avalanches — The Eigers — Grindelwald — The
Glacier — Condition of the People — Swiss Songs — Return to
Thun — -¦Road to Berne — Lake of Neufchatel — Caatle Grand
son — Battle field of Charles the Bold and the Swiss — Yverdun
— Lausanne — Geneva.
On a most beautiful September morning, (the four
teenth instant,) we set out on an excursion to the
high Alps, and the glaciers of Grindelwald. We left
our carriage, and took a boat at Thun, to go down
to Neuhaus, at the bottom of the lake, on our way
to the mountains. These boats on the Swiss lakes
are almost uniformly rowed in part by women.
We had two on the Zug, and one to-day.
Scarcely a finer day in the year could have been
chosen to witness those effects of light, those con
trasts of light and shade, which are certainly among
the most striking things in mountain scenery. All
the morning there was not a cloud in the sky, save

LAKE OF THUN. 213
one, that rested like a halo on the distant peak of
Jungfrau. And whatever may be said about the
effect of clouds and mists upon the mountain tops,
and whatever it may be in fact, nothing seems to
me to give such sublimity to them as a clear and
cloudless sky. Then they appear to be invested
with that awful serenity, which is to me their sub
limest attribute ; and then, too, they seem to pierce,
not the clouds only, but the very heavens.
There was a very striking effect of light and
shade as we came down the lake, which I suppose
one might be here forty days, and not see : for
everything depends on the light, and the state
of the atmosphere. There was a slight veil, like
that of our Indian summer, upon the surrounding
hills ; and aided by this, the mountain of Arbend-
berg, though it was ten o'clock in the morning, cast
so deep a shadow upon the lake, that a boat, sailing
in that direction, seemed to be advancing into a
region of awful and perilous obscurity, and, indeed,
it was soon lost to the sight entirely. At the same
time, the rays ofthe sun, streatning over the moun
tain upon the village of Derlingen, situated on the
shore beneath, presented it in the boldest relief and
the most splendid colouring ; and yet, one single foot
(so it seemed) beyond the line of light, it was so
dark, that, although only a mile distant, we mistook

214 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.
rocks for houses, and were speculating, before our
guide undeceived us, upon the condition of the ad
jacent dwellings as being like that ofthe antipodes.
There was a deep dun colour upon the shore, and
a rich dark hue of green upon- the adjacent water,
which, if brought with the other striking features
of the landscape altogether into a painting, would
be thought, like many actual scenes of life, if
brought into fiction, to be very unnatural and ex
travagant. We reached Neuhaus a little after ten o'clock,
and took a char-a-banc to Interlaken, Surely one
may wander over the world and find few places so
beautiful as this. The inns and boardinghouses
here, show that it is the resort of many strangers.
It is a small valley upon the Aar, full of trees, of
which a great number of old walnut trees are the
most remarkable — with a steep and stupendous
mountain barrier on the east, the Lake of Brientz
not far to the northeast, and westward a vista,
opening through majestic mountains, up the valley
of Lauterbrunnen, to the shining heights of the
Jungfrau, Up this valley, after dinner, we rode, struck with
new admiration at every step. It is a pass through
mountains, rising, often perpendicularly, to the
height of two and three thousand feet ; standing

THE OBERLAND, 215
out boldly into the clear sky, and measuring, as the
eye was raised to them, sometimes a whole third
part ofthe arch of heaven ; and presenting, almost
every variety of aspect, broad barriers, sharp pin
nacles, deep shadow, bright sunlights, rocky preci
pices on the one side, and on the other, peasants'
cottages rising, with redeemed soil about them, on
terrace above terrace, to the very top. The Wen-
gernalp is on the left hand, and presents, at its
western termination on this road, an immense cir>-
cular precipice,* so much resemblmg a tower, that,
as the eye catches it from time to time, one feels
inadvertently as if it were the citidel of some
mighty though unfinished palace ofthe Alps.
The Falls of Staubbach, at the end of our ride in
the valley,- is the descent (nipe hundred feet) of a
very small stream of water, which is almost dissi
pated into spray before it reaches the bottom of
the precipice. One is disappointedy perhaps, after
hearing so much about it, and yet it is something
very bizarre and beautiful. If it is a trifle, it is
yet a trifle on the mighty scale of Alpine scenery.
Since Ihave talked about Alpine pyramids and pal
aces, I would venture to say, that if there were an
Alpine bird of paradise, the Fall of Staubbach would
* Hunnenflue.

216 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.
be its tail — the most beautiful thing, certainly, in
the splendid cabinet of ornithology, «
The village of Lauterbrunnen, where we passed
the first night, lies directly beneath Jungfrau and
Silverhorn ; and those snowy tops which have here
tofore been distant, were now so near, that it
seemed as if we might throw a stone to them.
This vicinity of eternal snow — of winter, in fact,
where there is no vegetation — to the brightest ver
dure ; this contrast, which is either directly before
you, or which a single sweep of the eye brings into
view, is one of the most striking things in Alpine
scenery. The masses of snow descend to a certain
point on the sides of the mountains ; and at that
very point vegetation commences, the cattle feed,
and even up between the, fields of snow, those
eternal fastnesses of winter, the dark line of firs is
seen pushing its way and struggling to maintain its
ground. At the bottom of the glacier of Grindel
wald, though the mass of ice rises two hundred
feet in perpendicular height, yet at the very base,
within twenty feet, are trees, shrubbery, and herb
age, and cottages near at hand. Surely if there
ever were contrasts in nature, they are here.
There was a point in ascending the Wengernalp,
where this was very striking. Behind, and plainly
in sight, lay the villages of Interlaken and Unter-

THE OBERLAND. 217
seen, in the bright sunlight and in the sweetest
valley seclusion; before us, towered the Jung
frau and thundered the avalanche.
But I am a little before my story. On the
second day of our excursion, at seven o'clock, of a
beautiful morning, we began to ascend the Wen
gernalp ; my companions on horseback, and my
self on foot; our force consisting ofthe domestique,
(as the body servant is always called on the Conti
nent,) the guide, and two men to take care of the
Horses ; and our outfit, a good pile of sandwiches,
and a bottle of vin de Lacote, We reached the
highest point of our destination in three hours and
a half; and I could not help thinking of it more
than once, that before the sun had called my Amer
ican friends to a new day, he had lighted us all
the way up the mountain's side, glancing upon
rock and stream, spreading his golden rays upon
one rocky barrier after another, and kindling the
snow-clad pinnacles as with a thousand fires. In
ascending the Wengernalp, we go up a mountain
to see a mountain ; the object is not to reach the
very summit ofthe Wengernalp, (which travellers
do not,) but to gain a station, from which to survey
Jungfrau, and I may add the two Eigers — the
largest of which, though not quite so high as Jung
frau, is really, to my eye, the more imposing object.
VOL. I. — T

218 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.
The point to which we ascended, was probably
about four thousand four hundred feet, and yet
Jungfrau towered six thousand feet above us.
But this was not all. There was a deep ravine
between us and the great object, so that we saw
Jungfrau, as it seemed, to his very base. How
stupendous the object was, I will not undertake to
say. The first moments of contemplating it are
among the few that have brought a compensation
at the time, for being at a distance of four thousand
miles from home. But I desire you, as I have
formerly, to resort to measurements for an impres
sion. And let us take the " Great Eiger ;" for, as
it is one single object, and has an unbroken line of
elevation from the very base, while Jungfrau is
irregular, it is to me, as I have said, the more im
pressive object. Besides, as you descend the
Wengernalp on its eastern side, you come much
nearer to a level with the base of the .Great Eiger.
At a certain point in the descent, I judged, from
what information I could obtain, that the Great
Eiger rose eight or nine thousand feet above us.
That is about two miles. Now measure off two
miles upon any famihar ground around you, and
suppose that by some convulsion of nature, that
tract, thus laid out,were raised up into a mountain I
Or, take another supposition. When I was two

THE OBERLAND. 219
miles from the base of the Great Eiger, and looked
up at its summit, it rose halfway up the zenith.
Now, when you are, some time, two miles from the
base ofthe Taghkannuc,* imagine its summit raised
up to forty-five degrees, halfway up to the cope of
heaven— or, knowing the height of Taghkannuc,
pile upon it, in imagination, as many such mountains
(five at least) as will make an Eiger, or a Jungfrau,
and then you may get an idea, perhaps, of the sub
limity of the high Alps, Possibly, indeed, you would
get too great an idea of them — and if you vvere
ever to be here, I should warn you against expect
ing too much. For everything is relative ; and
here among the Alps, everything is upon so vast a
scale, that we scarcely know how to apply the
ordinary measure to things.
While we were upon the Wengernalp, there
were several avalanches of snow from Jungfrau.
Two of them were truly very sublime. The noise
exactly resembled prolonged and successive bursts
of thunder. The succession is made by the de
scent of the mass of snow from one precipice to
another. It is so completely pulverized by its fall,
that it comes eventually very much to resemble a
cascade of water.
As we descended the Wengernalp, the valley of
^' * In Sheffield, county of Betkshire, Massachusetts ^

220 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.
Grindelwald opened to us, dotted over with cot
tages, cut up into small enclosures of two or three
acres, and cultivated like a garden. The glaciers
here disappointed me much. There is no splen
dour about them. An immense mass of ice, filHng
a deep gorge, and — instead of presenting a splendid
and shining mirror of polished ice — rough, ragged,
and dirty, over the whole surface — that is a gla
cier : at least in September — it may be, and prob
ably is, a very different thing in the spring. The
bottom of the glacier, however, where a small
river makes its embouchure — makes it directly
from under the ice, whose blue arches rise two
hundred feet above — is worth clambering over
many obstacles, at the end of a weary day, as I
did, to see it. The river that issues from the gla
cier is almost as white as milk. It takes this ap
pearance, doubtless, from the peculiar clayey soil
of its bed.
Thus ended the fifteenth of September, 1833, in
which I have walked over the Wengernalp, and
to the glacier of Grindelwald.
We intended to continue our excursion another
day among the Alps ; but when we rose in the
morning, the mountains had veiled their awful
heads in the clouds of an autumnal storm — forbid
ding all further scrutiny and intrusion from us

THE OBERLAND, 221
pigmy mortals. We could not complain that our
career was checked ; for three days — including
one at Thun — " three glorious days" among the
Alps, is enough to reflect upon, with pleasure and
gratitude, all our lives. The storm looked too
likely to continue, and it was too near the equinox
to permit us to doubt ; so we took a char-a-bane
to Neuhaus, and came up by the lake to Thun, in
six and a half hours.
On this excursion, there has been much in the
apparent condition of the inhabitants to interest
us. There appears to be great simplicity and
innocence, and there must be great equality among
them. For the cottages are all of about the same
size and appearance, and each one is surrounded
by a small tract of land, whidi, I should presume,
and am told, indeed, belongs to the occupant.
Meet it seems that human distinctions should
shrink to nothing at the foot of these stupendous
mountains ; that man should build no towers of
pride beneath their mighty shadow. Indeed, it is
poverty and humility that climb high here ; for
some of these cottages are perched upon rocks
and among recesses, high and secluded enough to
be the eyry of the eagle. But if the people are
poor — and we were told that potatoes, milk, cheese,
and butter, constituted the principal food of many
T 2

222 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.
— they are apparently not indigent. We met
with very little begging — unless it were in the pic
turesque form of presenting fruit and flowers- — ay,
and a song, too, at times, A little girl would offer
you a pretty bouquet ; or a boy his dish of nuts
from the mountains ; and receiving a batz or two,
would run away seemingly very much delighted.
As we were going up the Wengernalp, a mother
stood at the gate before her cottage with an infant
(six months old apparently) in her arms, holding in
each little hand a bouquet ; and the batz, of course,
could not be refused. The singing deserves a
more elaborate description. Two or three, and
sometimes four girls, of from twelve to sixteen
years of age, would every now and then waylay
us, so to call it, in the valley or upon the mountain
side, and as we approached them would commence
singing one of their national airs. This they would
do with very tolerable effect, executing several
parts with very good keeping ofthe harmony, and
with a very modest aspect all the while, casting
their eyes upon the ground, and scarcely raising
them but to courtesy thanks for the expected gift.
I observed that all their songs had the peculiar
chorus or close of the Swiss national air. The
rapid transitions and piercing shrillness of voice
enable one to distinguish it farther than any mu-

THE OBERLAND. 223
sical note I ever heard, I have heard it from the
bosom of a Swiss lake, when I was on the moun
tain four thousand feet above,
By-the-by, the music of the Swiss cow bells
must not be forgotten. It is sharp and pierpingr
resembling so much the clink of the hammer upon
the anvil, that I thought at first there must be a
blacksmith's shop among the mountains, though
nothing seemed more unlikely. The cows feed on
the heights of the mountains; and upon almost
the highest point of the Wengernalp, we found
many log cabins, called chalets, which are built
chiefly for the purposes of the dairy. Large flocks
of goats, too, are fed here.
What are called valleys in the Oberland — as
those of Lauterbrunnen and Grindelwald — are still
very elevated spots ; the latter three thousand one
hundred and fifty feet above the Lake of Thun.*
Upon the whole, if I were asked, on our return
to Thun, what I had got, I should say that there
remained upon my mind an impression of mighty
things — seen briefly, seen as if they had appeared
in a dream — yet of mighty things which will for
* This will account for my saying, when at an elevation of
four thousand four hundred feet on the Wengernalp, that Jung&au
rose six thousand feet above us ; the absolute height of Jungfrau
bemg thirteen thousand seven hundred and twenty feet.

224 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.
ever remain in my mind, images of grandeur, I
have seen some of the heights of the creation. Its
lowly places, too, are lovely, and derive an in
creased beauty from the stupendous objects around
them. Altogether it is a combination full of won
ders, Berne, September 18, The ride from Thun
to Berne is one of the finest in the world, I cannot
make the effort to describe — having acquired a
Bernese dulness, or some other dulness, whose vis
inertia is not to be overcome. Yet, after all, the
scene has not exactly those points of interest that
stamp themselves upon the memory ; and if I shall
be asked a year hence, .what it is in the ride from
Thun to Berne that everybody admires so much,
I suppose I shall answer, with a sort of rising in
flection tone, " Oh 1 the distant hills, I suppose they
mean — very beautiful ; and the slopes, the swells,
the plains — all very graceful ; fine wood, too ; and
queer, strange, strong, grand old houses — ay, old
and new, in the Swiss fashion, you understand —
but monstrous big houses ; looking as if they were
crammed with abundance, as if their very sides
groaned with a surfeit — with roofs big enough for
Noah^s ark ; for Noah's ark held scarcely a more
complete museum and menagerie of the whole
creation, than some of these substantial, strong-

BERNE. 225
sided, corpulent Swiss farmhouses." Positively
they have quite broken doWn my rising inflection,
with the description of them.
The entrance to Berne is charming ; through rows
of linden trees, delightful walks, and magnificent
terraces, sloping up so high as to take them quite
out of the dust of the road. By the windings of
the Aar, Berne is made almost a peninsula, and it
rises finely from the water on each side. The far-
famed terraces here are indeed delightful prome
nades, commanding fine views of the surrounding
rich country, that extend quite to the Alps, The
grand terrace, back of the cathedral, is more than
one hundred feet high. From this a horse once
leaped, bearing his rider with him. The horse
was crushed beneath his master, who escaped with
life, A tablet on the parapet testifies his gratitude.
The sidewalks, almost all over the city, pass under
arcades ; the basement story of each house giving
up space enough for the purpose.
This morning we went out to Hofwyl, (six
miles,) to see Mr, FeUenberg, and his farm and
school. One of the students whom he intro
duced to us, conducted us over the whole lite
rary and (in-door) farming establishments. The
students' ropms, dormitories, (fee, seemed in fine
order, but nothing struck me so much as the stalls

226 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW,
— the really magnificent cows and oxen. If the
intellect is nurtured as well, the establishment must
be considered as giving birth to prodigies of all
sorts. Fellenberg's school, you will recollect, per
haps, is the successor to Pestalozzi's, at Yverdun,
Neufchatel, September 19. The vicinity
to Berne, on the road to Neufchatel, is as magnifi
cent as all its environs are. The road, the prom
enades, the avenues of trees, the groves, the woods,
the whole country, with its graceful swells and
swollen abundance — few things can surpass.
The route to Neufchatel is generally through a
fine country ; and presents two things to remark
upon, viz., some of the poorest and forlornest vil
lages we have seen in Switzerland : they are about
the head of the Lake Neufchatel — and this splen
did competence, abundance, plethory, of the good
things of this world, which I am so much surprised
to find in so many parts of the country, I do not
know about the mental condition ; there is every
indication that it is by no means so well as with us
in America — five sixths, however, read and write,
says Mr, FeUenberg — but such farms, and such
houses, all along, uninterrupted for fifty miles to
gether, are not to be seen in our country, nor, I
doubt, in any other.
These very farms and houses, indeed, it is to be

neufchatel, 227
said, full as they are of everything else, bear but
slender evidence of social and intellectual improve
ment. Women, in great numbers, are everywhere
at work in the fields, employed in the hardest,
coarsest, and most offensive labours. These stu
pendous hoiises, too — I cannot believe they would
be all just alike — all built with these wide-spread
ing, darkening roofs — all sheltering under one roof,
men, women, and children, pigs, poultry, horses,
oxen, cows, hay, corn, carts, carriages, and a world
of things beside — unless it were that these are peo
ple going on just as their fathers have gone on, and
just as their neighbours go on, without an intelli
gent thought of improvement.
In coming to Neufchatel, we intended to turn
aside and visit the Lake Bienne ; but it rained ; and
rain and clouds make a dismal thing of a lake.
Yverdun (September 20) is at the bottom of
the Lake Neufchatel, Some Roman monuments
have been dug up here ; and we saw a small col
lection back of the castle. This castle was the
seat of Pestalozzi's school ; a more worthy em
ployment, certainly, of an ancient baronial resi
dence, than that of Grandson, three miles back,
which is turned into a tobacco manufactory.
This last sentence, by-the-by, is a pretty large
text ; for, in the first place, I have to observe.

228

THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.

apropos, that tobacco is cultivated on all the route
we have taken on the Continent ; and it is smoked
to an enormous extent. At home, abroad, tra.vel-
ling, lying by, labouring, visiting, I had almost
said eating, drinking, everywhere, and for ever,
the people are smoking. Nothing is more common
than to see young fellows on the top of a German
diligence, at the stopping places, discharging the
refuse cargo of ashes from pipes, which hold, I
verily believe, nearly half a pint of tobacco, and
then reloading, lighting, and going on their way,
as if they meant to signalize their passage through
the world by a trailing cloud of tobacco smoke.
Verily, if the ancient heroes had been smokers at
this rate, they would not have needed ahy protec
tion from Venus or Juno, to screen them from ob
servation. We have met with a great many
young men, walking over Switzerland, with knap
sacks on their backs and, almost as uniformly,
pipes in their hands. Indeed, the sale of pipes in
the cities and villages is a considerable business.
Be it observed, however, that the pipe on the
Continent is a very different thing from the hum
ble clay manufacture of our country. The bowl
is made of porcelain, the stem of whalebone, one,
two, or three feet long, ornamented, too, with
tassels, and much wrought, to give it graceful

CHARLES THE BOLD. 229
WndSj &c. All this being considered, let the pain
and horror be proportiopably lessened, that the
Castle of Grandson, which sent forth- knights to
the crusades — 'on whose battlements brave men
fought, and from whose balconies^ fair ladies looked
forth upon the broad sheet of Neufchatel — whose
last' prince and possessor in the ffi,mily line {Otho)
was so celebrated in chivalry, that he won tl^e
affections of the faiif lady of Gerard d'Estavayer,
living on the opjDosite shore of the lake, and was
by her husband slain in judieig,l combat in 1139 —
that the Castle of Grandson, I say, should.be a to
bacco manufactory! Better make pipes than
lances'; better light them, th^ij the match for the
fusee; better send up the curUng, vanishing smoke
— -that touching emblem of the frailty of human
life — than violently to destroy' humaji life!
My second observation 'is, that from Castle
Grandson, Charles the Bold of Burgundy, went
forth to the battle, in which he was first defeated
by the Swiss. • .• ' '' \
This conflict of Charles' with the Swiss, is one
which both, history and romance have made inter
esting, ¦ As we approached that part of the coun
try, therefore, where! knew the battle took place,
I put my head out of the carriage window, and
desired Auguste, the courier, to inquire about s6me
VOL. I,  U '

230 THE OLD WORLD AND .THE NEW.
of the neighbouring localities, Giez especially, a
village which is described as near by. He asked
the people in a field at work I but they seemed to
know nothing about Giez, I veas about sitting
down in despair, when I told Auguste to ask an
old man in the field, if he knew where the battle
field of Charles the Bold of Burgundy was. This
seemed more intelligible. " Ici ! ici !" exclaimed
the old man, pointing all around him. We were
quickly out of the carriage, and on the ground.
What could be more fortunate fpr marvel-hunt
ers ? The. passing plough had just laid open a
grave!- A little excavation had bepn made ; and
by the side, of it lay apilp of human bones in the
last stages of dpcaiy 1
Thisbattle was fought in 1476, more than three
centuries ago; but I believe that the records of
our own Indian burying grounds, show that it is
not at all unlikely that human bones should be pre
served in the earth, for such a length of time, I
had observed, too, that Simond says that fragments
of arms were still found occasionally, upon this
field. Here, then, before me, I could not doubt,
were solemn relics of that fierce and fearful
encounter. These iiaked, decayed, marrowless
bones stood up,, one day, on this very field, a living
and breathing man, to breast the shock of battle —

GENEVA. 231
yeaj- stood and fought, perhaps, side by side, with
Charles the Bold.
Geneva, September 22, From Yverdun, we
have come here by Lausanne, and the Lake of
Geneva. At Lausanne we visited the house of. Gibbon;
went out upon the grounds — the fine esplanade,
commanding a beautiful view of the, lake, where he
was accustomed ' to walk ; visited the gardpp
where, he wrote the last sentenpe'of his History of
the Decline and Fall, and made the rpfleptions
which are recorded in his autobiography.
At Copet, a few miles from Geneva, we went
up, while the horses were changing, and saw the
chateau of M, Nepkar, where his daughter, Madame
de Stael, had lived, and v^hich is still in a branch
ofthe De Stael family. The grounds, back of the
chateau are beautiful — a delightful level spot, with
winding walks, and clumps of trees and shrubbery.
In a ground opposite, full of trees, is the cemetery,
where sleep the remains of the father and daughter,
after a life, spent, much of it, in the sight of Eu
rope and the world.' The, ground is private, and
we were not permitted to go into it. The cha
teau is just above the village of 'Copet, and com
mands a view ofthe lake.
It is a charming ride upon the lake, all the way

232 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.
from Lausanne, (forty miles,) and the appearance
of the people, everywhere, and especially at
Genevia, has given me more pleasure far, than any
thing of the kind, since we came to the Continent.
There is more intelligence apparent, and far more
ease of condition. Women with delicate counte
nances, and gentlemen at leisure, are seen walking
everywhere, on the beautiful promenades that skirt
the lake.
The environs of Geneva are richer in scenery
than those of any town 1 have seen, except Edin
burgh, I have Walked an hour or two to-day, on
the south side of the city. It is Sunday, and one
of ,the loveliest days of autumn — and though the
brightness pf heaven and earth is touched with the
sadness which sad news bringeth— yet it is only,
softened and hallowed-^it is bright still, I have
found it good to
" Go forth under the open'sky, and list to nature's teachings ^
While from all around, earth and her waters.
Comes a solemn voice : ' Yet a few days,
Ahd thee the all-beholding sun shall see no more.
In all his course.' "

CHAMOUNI AND MONT BLANC. 233

Excursion to Chamouni ani!p3ttaa^ianc=S*lwvese Society and
Manners — ^Scenery of the Lake of Geneva — Travelling with
Vetturino — Chillon — Upper Valley of the Rhone — Sion — The
Simplon Road — Scenery of the Simplon^Lake Maggiore,
At nine o'clock, on the twenty-third of Septem
ber, we left Geneva in- a char-a-banc for St. Mar
tins, on the way to Chamouni, The road is, most
of the way, in a valley, and through one of these
glorious mountain passes. It is much of the way
by the river Arve, which, taking its origin- in the
Col de Balme, above Chamouni, fall's into the river
Rhone, just below Geneva, The valley, most of it
in Savoy, is not very highly cqltivafed, and has not
the verdure and beauty of some ofthe Swiss val
leys. The people and their villages look miser
able. This is one ofthe regions of the Alps where
the disease named goitre exists, ' It is a large ex
crescence in front of the neck, appearing like a
wen. It is found in females mostly, if not entirely.
u2

234 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.
I did; not see it but in one man. The cause of this
singular disorder, affecting, except to an inconsid
erable extent, no other quarter of the world, is not
well settled. Some physicians ascribe it to the
air, and others to the water of these regions, I
could alniost believe that it is sympathy that prop
agates it ; for the sight of it has made my own
neck feel strangely all day.
The mbuntairt barriers on each side of this pass
have a variety, wildness, and grandeur not inferior,
perhapsi to the valley of Lauterbrunnen, At Balme
— where, by-thei-by, a diminutive piece of artille
ry is fired off, for a franc, that travellers may hear
the echoes — are some extensive caverns, said to be
interesting, but we had not time for them, Th^re
is a collection of water -within, (from springs, I sup
pose,) which finds vent pn the mountain side, a
quarter of a mile distant, in a very "pretty water-
fglli eight hundred feet high. Three or four cas
cades, indeed, appear by the roadside in the same
valley, of from five to seven hundred feet in height ;
but none of them have a sufficient body of water
to make them ' anything more than petites curi
osities. The. range of Mont Blanc had been in sight all
day, its sunimits crOwned with snow ; but it was
not till we approached St. Martins that Mont

CHAMOUNI AND MONT BLANC, 235
Blanc himself rose before us. The masses of snow
appear to be larger than 6n Jungfrau and the Ei
gers. We were in time to see the last, rays ofthe
setting sun fade away upon the pinnacle, nearly an
hour after he had set to us in the valley.
. On the twenty-fourth, we left St, Martins at six
o'clock, for Prieure in the valley of Chamouni. The
pass up into the valley has all the wildness that
I expected to see in Switzerland ; a tremenddus
gorge, through which the Arve tumbled and roared,
sometimes five hundred feet almost in a perpein-
dicular descent beneath us ; stupendous rocks and
mighty fragments of mountains, looking as if they
were hurled down by the hand of an earthquake ;
the thick clothing of fir trees, whose foliage scarcely
relieves the rugged features of rock and precipice,
while it lends to everything a character more
sombre and stern ; the deep. shadows of the early
morning lying upOn some parts-, and its brightest
splendours falling upon others — these are the things
that might be brought into a picture, but I have no
time to draw a picture.
The valley of Chamouni certainly has disap
pointed me, and I wonder that some traveller
could not have said that it is, in itself, nothing very
remarkable. Chamouni — Chaniouni — we have
heard of it so long and so much, and the word, too.

236 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW,
sounds so sweetly, that we naturally expect some
thing extraordinary, Yet, in truth, 'it is quite
inferior to Lauterbrunnen and Grindelwald, which,
as valleys, we scarcely ever hear named.
We arrived at Prieure at half-past ten o'clock
in the morning, and immediately prepared to as
cend to some point of the surrounding mountains,
from Which to see, to the best advantage, Mont
Blanc and the Mer de Glace — the largest of the
glaciers. We chose Mont Fleg§re ; and ascended
to a point, probably three or four thousand feet
high. From this point, not only are Mount Blanc
and the neighbouring pinnacles well seen, biit a
number of glaciers ; fourteen in all, it is said, 'are
in view. And now, if I could say that these gla-
cierswere stupendous mirrors, in which the moun
tains, are reflected, it, would doubtless be presenting
a picture of unequalled splendour and sublimity.
But alas ! nothing could be farther from the truth.
A glacier resembles anything but a mirror. Its
surface is rough, ridged, and covered with rocks,
stones, and dirt. This, at least, is the appearance
in autumn. The finest thing about the glaciers —
unless it be the stupendous mass crowding down
into the verdant valley — is the shooting up of the
ice into innumerable pyramids and pinnacles ; and
this appearance is most beautiful, not in the Mer

CHAMOUNI AND MONT BLANC, 237
de Glace, but in the Glacier de Boisson, lying west
of it.
But if the glaciers .disappointed us, Mont Blanc,
with his attendant pinnacles, shooting up into the
clear sky, one of them, a single cone, rising, I shoiild
think, from its base three thousand feet — Mont
Blanc, too, with his vastness of breadth and gran
deur of elevation, eleven thousand seven hundred
and fifty feet* from the valley of Chamouni, and
with the radiant fields of snow upon his head, could
not well be said to disappoint expectation. Never
theless, and after all, Jungfrau and the Great Eiger
struck me more,
Mr, Simond says, referring to the weather, that
" Alp hunting, like other hunting, is. occasionally
subject to disappointments." The remark, surely,
has had no application to us on this excursion. On
the twenty-fourth, particularly, we had such a sky
as I have not seen before. in Europe, as I never
saw surpassed in America, nor do 1 look for any
thing more glorious in Italy., Such splendid trans
parency, such awful serenity, such unfathomable
depths of ether, such heavens indescribable, seem
to me the fit element in which sublime mountain
heights should appear, to give the fullest and fittest
*• Fourteen thousand seven hundred and fifty feet above the
lea.

238

THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW,

impressioii. The evening, too, spread the light of
a full moon upon the mountains ; and here were
all objects— snowy peak, bare, sharp pinnacle; the
deep gorge, the dark fir grove, the bristling gla
cier, the imbosomed valley — everything of majes
tic scenery, that could make such a night fit close
to such a day. Surely, no fire from heaven, nor
altars built with hands, could be needed by him
who came to worship here. It was one of those
seasons of life, when you are silent all the day long
and can scarcely sleep at night, from the burden
and pressure of thoughts that can find neither
utterance nor reposp.
On the morning ofthe tweijty-fifth we left Cha
mouni; on our return to Geneva. Perhaps it would
not be. possible that any contrasts in light and
shade should surpass those which were presented
in the panorama of mountains that we left behind
us. In the distance, lay the snowy range of Mont
Blanc, beneath the dazzling splendours of the
morning, and there was brightness ; nearer and on
the left lay, mountains covered with fir, ¦which the
morning ray had not touched, and there was dark
ness; on the right were hills, partly cultivated,
partly wooded, on which streamed the rich light
of early day, and there was beauty.
It is not strange, perhaps, but it is a curious fact,

GENEVA, 239
that this' secluded and delightful spot was, ages ago,
the resort of Roman refugees from the persecutions
of the state. In and about PaSsy, a village in the
valley below Chamouni, have been found votive
altars, with inscriptions, and ruins of villas, show
ing that it was a place of residence as well as re
treat. On the evening of the twenty-fifth we returned
to Geneva, well tired, but well satisfied, and here
we have taken up o^T abode for a few days.
My chamber at the Hotel de I'Ecu de Geneve,
looks out upon the Lake of Geneva, and upon the
" arrowy Rhone," as -it darts forth from the full and
placid bosom of waters, that pour themselves out
into this — shall I not say — most beautiful of all
rivers, I do not mean its banks, on which I have
not been ; but the stream itself, broad, deep, and
so clear that every pebble is seen upon the bottom,
and rushing forth, a stream of emerald, at the rate
of six or seven miles an hour. The lake, indeed,
though fifty miles long, and ten broad, is in a sort,
like many of the lakes in Switzerland, but an ex
pansion of the river ; the Rhone watering a rich
and extensive country before it enters the lake.
What gives the peculiar green colour to the lakes
and rivers which are fed by the high Alps, I do not
know; but I think it must be something in the

240 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.
bosom of the mountains, some ore or.earth — since
I have observed it in many of the streams, very
hi^h up towards their sources, and especially in
those that issue from the glaciers. For although
these streams last mentioned have a milky ap
pearance, as I have somewhere said, yet they are
also distinctly tinged with green.
As we are passing a week here,- my notes will
adventure a step , further than is usual, into so
ciety. We called yesterday upon M, Sismondi, intro
duced by a letter from Dr, Channing. Madame
Sismondi was very ill, and we saw the celebrated
historian of politics and literature but half an hour.
What services our friends do us, without intending
it 1 A miniature likeness of Miss Sedgwick, with
her own autograph beneath it, hung upon the wall.
It was a voice, in a, far land, from my own Berk
shire home. M. Sismondi is extremely interesting
both in person and conversation — in both, full of
dignity, intelligence, and graceful ease and kind
ness. 1 was much struck with an observation of
his upon the effects of the Catholic and Protestant
rehgions. Joining his hands together, and interla
cing his fingers, he said, " There are cantons of
Switzerland interlocked in this manner, and when
the road carries you across the points of intersec-

SOCIETY IN GENEVA. 241
tion, you might know in the darkest night, by the
state of the roads, by the very smell of the country,
which is Catholic and which is Protestant."
Afterward we went to see the collections, in
natural history, of M. de Luc, Those things
always weary me ; but so did not the man. How
rare it is to find such a person in America — sur
rounded by bones and fossils, stuffed animals and
birds, skeletons and shells ! By-the-by, the collec
tions of our friends in New-Bedford could help
him much, in fhe department of conchology ; but
then theirs are in elegant cabinets, and have not
the learned dust upon them.
M. de Luc has a great horror of priestly domi
nation, and gave us this pretty extraordinary fact.
In St, Jervais, not far hence up among the moun
tains, (of Savoy, I think,) is abathingestablishment,
for the use of mineral waters. The keeper of the
house had collected for the entertainment of his
visiters a miscellaneous Hbrary of about a thousand
volumes. Last summer, in his absence, two Jesuit
priests visited the establishment, looked over the
library, took almost the entire body of it, and
burned it on the spot.
September 30. We have made some very
delightful visits here, to the pasteurs, and one to
Dr. Coindet, a very interesting old physician. Dr.
VOL. I. — X

242 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.
C, has a great number of autographs of celebrated
men ; one of Francis L, one of Louis IX, — think
of it ! — also of Mirabeau, Carnot, Robespierre ; of
John Calvin, too, and some letters of Rousseau.
I read a few of these letters, and' found them to
contain some of those extraordinary declarations
which he was wont to make, about the Scriptures.
One of them to M, Vernes, pasteur of Geneva,
says, " I believe in the Gospel, It is the most in
teresting of all writings. When all other books
weary me, I turn to it, with ever fresh delight.
When the miseries of life press upon me, I resort
to it for consolation," Dr. C. gave us his opinion,
that goitre and critinism, those shocking diseases
of some portions of the Alps — the first consisting
of swellings in the neck, and the last ofthe whole
body — were owing to the water of the country ;
and says that the cure of them, as well as of most
scrofulous disorders, is iodine.
We have dined very pleasantly with consider
able parties at M. Neville's and M. Chenev.iere's,
pasteurs of Geneva. Cheneviere, you know, is
considered as very pre-eminent here, if not at the
head of the pasteurs ; but it is not easy nor agree
able to speak of distinctions, where such men are
to be found as Munier and Cellerier.
I wish you could see something of these French

SOCIETV IN GENEVA. 243
manners. They are so easy, so amiable, so affec
tionate ; so entirely free from all formality and
affectation. The master and mistress are not sta
tioned in one spot, nor do they receive company
with a stiff bow or courtesy ; nor at dinner are
they fixtures at the table, nailed down to , their
chairs. For instance, M,  , seeing that bread
is wanted, gets up and passes it around the table
himself. And this not because he wants servants ;
but neither of the servants at the moment happened
to be present. Those awkward appendages which
we wear — shoulders, arms, hands, legs — they seem
to use as parts of theniselves — they seem to- have
no consciousness of them, any more than they
have of their lungs.
I wish you could have seen the manner in which
Madame  and Madame  met ; the kiss
and the kiss again, as if the first was not enough to
satisfy the heart ; and the thousand little tender
nesses of behaviour that passed during the evening.
I wish, too, that you could see the manners of all
these people towards us, strangers as we are.
They take the heart by a coup de — what shall I
say ? — d'ail, de main, de — everything that is irre
sistible. It is affection — simple, self-forgetting, all-
conquering affection. When shall we see such
manners in America? When shall kindness— -con-

244 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.
fiding, free, overflowing — disembarrass, unchain,
disenchant society among us, from reserve, awk
wardness, and suffering ? .
October 1 , To-day an entire change has taken
place in our plans in consequence of intelligence
received of the illness of Mr,  's son in Lon
don. My companions will return to London, and
I shall proceed to Italy alone.
The sympathy of our Genevese friends for Mr.
 , is a most delightful expression of their char
acter. All of them look and spee^k as if they
made the disappointment and the anxiety their
own. M.  , a fine-looking youth among the
pasteurs, came in, and when he took leave of
Mr.  , said, " I hope — your son — " and then,
his knowledge of English failing — what do you
think he did ? Why, he just put his face to Mr.
 's, and kissed his cheek. That was the way
he eked out the sentence ; and it was so sinnple, so
natural, so entirely the impulse of the heart, that
it was beautiful. It was very touching ; perhaps
it might be said it was too much so. But, I think,
in the ordinary intercourse of life, that it is the
artificial, affected, overstrained expression of feel
ing that we dislike. I allow that there are extra
ordinary exigences where the truest strength and
delicacy of feeling are shown in self-restraint, or

GENEVESE INSTITUTIONS. 245
the restraint, rather, of expression. But this was
not such a case, and the act was very simple, and
not Very exciting.
The Genevese institutions form a very interest
ing subject of inquiry. I must note some particu
lars without being able to expand them. The
government, you know, is republican ; the officers
are a body of magistrates. Legislation is shared
by a House of Deputies, consisting of two hundred
and fifty members, who choose a Council of State,
which chooses four syndics. The qualification
for voting is birth in the canton, and a condition
above service — or else, for foreigners, ^purchase
of the privilege ; and it costs, according to the
means of the purchaser, fifty guineas and upward.
The city has thirty thousand inhabitants; the
whole canton, sixty thousand.
There is an established religion here of very
moderate creed, mild discipline, and simple forms.
There are four very large churches, for fifteen
parishes, in which fifteen pasteUrs officiate in turn
— i. e, in the churches — while each one has a par
ticular parish for his charge. They preach once
in two or three weeks, and their salaries are pro
portionate — from fifty to one hundred pounds
sterling. In addition to this, the pasteurs are
x2

246 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.
almost all teachers of youth, professors in the
Academy of Geneva, instructers in families, &c.
The children of Geneva are mainly educated
alike. Madame C  told me that the daughters
of the poorest man in Geneva are as thoroughly
educated as her own. And this is always done
at home, and principally by the mother. The
boys are sent to the academy, and carried up in it,
to the completion ,of a finished and even profes
sional education.
The system of religious instruction for the youth
here,, by the pasteurs, seems to be most admirable.
Children are taken at an early age, and regularly
carried up through regular courses of religious
instruction, admonition, and laborious effort to give
them right impressions, till they are brought to
the communion. The consequence is that almost
every adult person, of any respectability, con
nected with the national church, is a professor of
religion. For further accounts of Geneva, I refer you to
the last part of Simond's second volume on Swit
zerland, .1 am told here by those who were his
particular friends, that his accounts, especially of
Genevese society, may be relied on ; the rather as
Madame Simond was a lady of this city.
I should think the danger here would be that of

- LAKE OF GENEVA. 247
contraction — for Geneva is a world by itself, and a
small world. But I saw nothing to justify the
apprehension. And I am sure that I have no
desire to make abatements from the most favour
able account. The manner in which I have been
received and treated, and the delightful adieus with
which I have been dismissed, have left an impres
sion upon my mind never to be effaced,
Lausanne, October 2. To-day I have come
from Geneva, on the way to Milan. It has been a
fine day for a ride along the lake. Lord Byron
has justly addressed it by the epithets, " clear,
placid Leman !" It has been so clear and calm
to-day, that not only the clouds and mountains,'
but every swell and seam of the mountain's side,
and every hue of sky.and cloud, has been perfectly
reflected. Can it be that the enjoyment pf nature
— the highest enjoyment of it, is selfish ? I have
often asked myself the question ; for in such states
of mind, I always desire to be, if not alone, yet
silent and undisturbed, I say to the question —
surely not selfish ; most entirely the reverse. But
I am inclined to think that the deepest communion
with nature, implies a feeling for the time so pro
found, and absorbing too, that it can bear no jar,
nor diversion from its object. It is as when you
listen to the highest music, or eloquence, you can-

248 THE OLD World and the new.
not bear a movement or a whisper that disturbs
your attention.
The views of the lake and mountains in and
about Lausanne are uncommonly fine. When
we arrived at the hotel, the landlord, as if he knew
what I wanted, said, " I will give you a room
where you can see the lake." I took my station
by the open window, and desired- tea to be brought
me there ; that I might lose none of the flitting
shadows and changing ccJours that were passing
in succession over the bosom of the waters. And
I scarcely remember lo have seen' as many varie
ties of hue and shade as passed here in the half
hour after the sun went down, behind a dark cloud
in the west.
How little of that which is within, and ppme-
times"most within" us, ever finds expression in
any words or writings ! If I were to tell, here
upon this, open page, what my thoughts were, as I
gazed upon the expanse of waters, and upon the
dark mountains beyond, while the veils of the wa
ning twilight fell slowly over the sky and the stars
looked forth upon the scene, as if they had been
living witnessfes— I should feel as if it were like
praying " at the corners of the streets,"
Martigny, October 3, This town is in the '
canton of Valais, and up the valley ofthe Rhone,

VETTURINI. ' 249
i. e. from the Lake of Geneva, eight hours' ride,
with vetturino.
As I have mentioned this mode of conveyance,
and am myself using it from Geneva to Milan, I
will say a word further about it. Vetturirip is a
long word, and a foreign word, and sounds as if
it might describe something quite respectable.
Moreover, the phrase, "with vetturino," describes a
mode of travelling in Italy. He who has travelled
with vetturino, has been in the enchanted land. So
the word has always stood in my mind for some
thing very romantic and recherche. But nothing
could be less so in fact. The vehicle is as good
as a third-rate stage coach, and no better. It is
drawn by two horses, without relays, and travels
but thirty miles a day. However, it is a good way
enough for seeing the country, which the diligence
and the mail coach are not, as they travel all night
And besides, you may lay aside all care,* for you
may engage with your vetturino, (i. e, the driver,) '
to take you, say from Geneva to Milan, for a gross
sum — :(six Napoleons, twenty-four dollars) — he
carrying you, taking care of your baggage, pro
viding and paying for your meals and lodging, and
setting you down at Milan, in six days and a half.
* That depends, I found afterward, on the character of ths
vetturino, and the traveller had better look after his baggag«.

250 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.
But enough of vetturini— who, by-the-by, are a set
of fellows that will probably cheat you if they can,
in the bargain — (mine asked twice as much as he
took) — who are so civil before setting out, that
they will pull off their hat in the street, if they
chance to see you in the fourth story of your hotel,
but who, if you stay a moment too long to look at
waterfall or a^chateau, will be murmuring "Sacre !
diable !" under their breath, as if the natural play of
their lungs was a sort of cursing ; and who would
probably foam at the mouth, if the bonne main
should prove less than they expected, I say the
bonne main, i. e. the civility money, or the money
for civility— for be it observed, that no bargain for
anything to be done for you, in Europe, was ever
final. There Etre always appendages upon ap
pendages. You hire a conveyance" to a certain
place. Well, you pay, of course, for the vehicle
and the horses, and for being driven — ^^that you ex
pected. But that is not all. You pay the postil
lion, on his own account ; and you pay him some
thing more because he has driven you well, L e.
has not broken your neck ; and you pay him that
he may be further civil to you, by drinking your
health ; and you pay the tolls at the gates ; and
you pay a man who opens the door of your car
riage, if he can find any apology for doing it ; and

SCENERY. 251
you pay a boy who put the shoe under the wheel
at the top of a hill ; and you pay as many beggars
as you please, for their good wishes — their " Bon
voyage !" or their " Lord bless your honour 1"
The head of the Lake of Geneva, which I passed
around this morning, is more picturesque than the
lower part about the city of Geneva. The moun
tains are rugged and wild; the soft and dark
shadowing of the morning upon them, made them
appear so much like masses of clouds in the hori
zon, that it was difficult at times to resist the im
pression ; the slight haze of autumn upon them,
gave a singular distinctness and delineation to the
sun's rays as they streamed in through the cragged
pinnacles and deep defiles ; and the reflection of
all this scenery in the darkened mirror of waters
was so distinct, that it seemed as if the world de
picted below, were not the counterpart of that
above, but the very reality. Really I do not at
tempt to describe, as thinking I shall convey any
clear impression to you, but to assist my own re
collection. But truly, what a thing — -what an ele
ment is water — and what scene can be complete,
or anything near complete, without it? What
images of repose and purity are like its stillness
and its transparent depth ; and what life is there,
in all nature, like that which goes forth upon its

252 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.
touched and tremulous bosom ? But the waters
and the mountains are not the only things : for the
shore also, about the head of the lake, is full of
wild and romantic scenery.
I visited, in passing, the Castle of Chillon, most
beautifully situated on this shore, near Villeneuve.
It has deep dungeons, into which we looked from
above. We went into that where Bonnivard, the
Genevese advocate of freedom, was confined by
the Duke of Savoy, for six years, and saw the ring
in the stone pillar which held the prisoner's chain,
and the place worn in the stone by the ring, as he
passed to and fro, in his confined walk. Lord
Byron has celebrated him. We saw the name
of Byron carved on one of the neighbouring
pillars, I asked the guide " Who did it ?" She
said " Himself."
The valley of the Rhonej for some miles above
the lake, is one of the most delightful I have seen
in Switzerland ; and farther up towards Martig
ny, though the valley itself is less interesting, and
the horrors of critinism begin to appear, yet the
" munitions of rocks," the mountain barriers are
very grand and stupendous ; rising sometimes
perpendicularly from the road, two or three thou
sand feet, and cutting the sky, so, that it has the
singular appearance of a single quarter of a hollow

VALLEY OF THE RHONE. 253
Sphere. Near Martigny is a very beautiful
waterfall,* with much the largest column of water
that I have seen in any of these cascades among
ihe mountains.
Speaking of horrors — I was considerably moved
for some moments, to-day, with "the horrors ofthe
last," as I took my last look of the beautiful Lake of
Geneva ; but I must confess that I was soon com
forted with the reflection, that it was seen — that
the object was accomplished — that there was so
much more done and finished — so much less to do.
A miserable state of mind, perhaps, with which to
go through Europe ; nevertheless, it is mine,
October 4, I am for the night at — I know not,
and I care not, what miserable little village, on the
way to the Simplon, The valley of the Rhone
above Martigny grows narrow, barren, and des
olate ; the mountains are so bald and bleak, that I
am almost tired of mountains; and the signs of
poverty, and the horrors of cretinism, multiply
upon us. These horrors, and almost all others,
are consummated at Sion, a small town upon the
Rhone, It is surrounded by walls, with towers .
was formerly a Roman station ; has a cathedral,
and is the residence of a bishop ; and is still more
notable for the ruins of three old castles, situated
* Pissevache, two hundred and «ighty feet, says Ebel.
VOL. I. — Y

254 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.
on the rocky heights to the northeast of it, I had
an hour and a half of leisure here, and spent it in
walking about, I did indeed " walk about Sion,
and told the towers thereof," but surely with no
feelings akin to the admiration challenged for Jeru
salem, the beauty of the earth. If the Romans
ploughed up the foundations of the holy place,
. they have left foundations here to worse desecra
tion : massive walls of houses, that look as if they
might have stood since the masters of the world
reigned here, and old gateways, fit to have been
the entrances to courtyards and palaces — but the
streets are bemired with filth, and the gateways
lead to stables. But the chief horrors of this place,
and indeed of the whole upper valley, are goitre
and cretinism. The former I have spoken of, but
it exists here in more shocking forms ; and half of
the female population are afflicted with it. The
cretin, is swollen in the whole body — dwarfed in
stature usually — crippled in the limbs — idiotic in
countenance — the eyes near together — the mouth
large — the being, in fine, coming nearer to an
animal than anything I ever saw in human shape.
In short, there is a mass of population in this
upper valley, the sight of which would be enough
to make the fairest scene in the whole world
painful to look upon and hateful to remember.

THE SIMPLON. 255
As we came up the valley, we passed by the
gorge that leads up to the baths of Leuk, or Lou-
eche, and to Mount Gemmi, The ascent looked
frightfully inviting ; and, indeed, this is the only
further excursion in Switzerland that I had a spe
cial desire to make ; but I must pass it by,
Simplon, October 5, The Simplon road is a
wonderful work, but I am too uncomfortable to
write much about it. It is very cold up here,
though it was hot enough at the foot of the moun
tain, and — I was just going to say that I could
have no fire in my chamber because the chimney
would smoke; when in comes ma bonne, the fille
de chambre, and says it is all a mistake, and sets
to making things comfortable. So now, what a
flood will be poured out upon you, from this thaw
of my room, and my heart, and my fingers, you
can no more tell, than these Swiss peasants, what
streams will come down their mountains in
spring, I was going to say some dismal word or two,
about this village of Simplon, and the hotel — an
hour's ride from the top of the mountain on the
side of Italy ; but really this fire waxes warm, and
I have not a heart for it. As to the cold, we have
been riding for some hours amid snowy peaks, on
some of which the snow was descending, while

256 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.
the vapour that curled around others looked cold,
and chilly, and benumbed — altogether making an
appearance enough in unison with the state of the
atmosphere, and sufficient to account for it. I
wonder the trees grow here ; but they do grow^-
the hemlocks, larches, and firs fill the defiles and
gorges along which the Simplon road comes, and
obstinately push far up the mountain precipices
and peaks ; yes, and men grow here, and clamber
and cling wherever (I had almost said) the chamois
can leap, or the eagle fly ; they grow, and their
houses grow, and multiply, on steep declivities to
which one would think they could hardly hold on,
and seemingly inaccessible patches, where, the
wonder is, that they ever got, or getting, ever find
their way back to the world. Yet so they live —
a hardy race, and, I believe, simple and innocent.
I could not help breathing my blessing upon them,
as I fixed my eye for some moments upon the last
green spot of Switzerland about Brieg — and min
gling prayers for them with my regrets that I shall
probably never see Swiss valley or mountain more.
The Simplon road is everywhere an easy ascent,
cut out with immense labour and expense from the
side of the mountain, and sometimes passing, by
what are called galleries, through the very brow
bf the mountain. Along the summit are nine

THE SIMPLON. 257
houses of refuge, substantially built, and occupied
for the purpose of providing shelter and relief for
travellers, in the storms that, of course, in winter,
rage here with great violence. In addition to this
provision, an immensely large convent, is erected
for the residence of monks, who are to consider
themselves as pledged to these offices of mercy.
It is a problem worthy of attention, why the Roman
Catholic religion furnishes more examples of ex
traordinary exertions and sacrifices, than any
other form of Christianity. It is a problem ; but
I cannot discuss it here, on the top of the moun
tains, I may find time and inclination on some
journalizing day, to enter into a discussion of this
and other moral claims of the Roman Catholic
system, Bavena, on Lake Maggiore, October 6. I
feel that I am approaching the mighty land, the
ultima Thule of my pilgrimage ; I am on the south
side of the Alps — but to turn back to the route.
I thought it quite unfortunate as I rose this
morning, that the day was overcast with clouds,
and threatened rain ; but the bright, fantastic mists
that floated around the tops of the riiountains soOn
presented aspects that afforded compensation for
the want of a clear sky. Indeed, I had not seen
Y 2

258 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.
the Alps before, under these aspects ; for at Grin
delwald it was a close arid heavy veil that settled
down upon them. But here nothing could be more
light and airy. There was no wind sensible to us
below, and it seemed as if the mist were moved by
some power within itself. Now it sailed along
with a majestic sweep around the mountain's
brow ; then it plunged down into some profound
abyss, as if, like the furies, it bore a victim to the
dark prison below ; and again it rose up, disclo
sing, but shadowing, the awful depths — as it were
the foundations of the world. Other clouds floated
along the mountain sides, attracting, repelling,
passing and repassing, mingling and parting, like
the skirmishing forces of an army ; and sometimes
meeting, they held a momentary conflict, and then
mounting up, carried the aerial war into the re
gion of clouds — unveiling, at the same time, some
stupendous precipice, dark and awful, as if it had
been blasted and blackened by the thunder of
heaven. But it is useless to try to describe, and I wonder
that I renew my efforts and failures. Let us come
to the road ; it is terra firma, and it can be meas
ured — and yet not exactly described neither. It
is fourteen or fifteen leagues long, (i, e, thirty or

THE SIMPLON ROAD. 259
forty miles,) and twenty-five feet broad, and de
scends generally about six or seven feet in a
hundred ; and was made in four years, (having
been commenced in 1801,) and employed three
thousand men, and required one hundrpd and fifty
thousand quintals of powder for blasting, and cost,
I know not how much — I have heard it said to be
eight millions of crowns — and finally the expense
was borne jointly by Bonaparte and the Italian
states. So that it is Bonaparte's road only as he
projected it, and by his energy and influence,
caused it to be carried through. The road this
side of the mountain is, in the engineering required
and the scenery displayed, far more striking than
that on the side of Switzerland, It passes by,
and under, and through tbe most tremendous pre
cipices, among roaring cascades, and over ravines
and gorges that seem unfathomable ; the passage
is one of such horrors as I have not seen anywhere
else in Switzerland ; the vistas, the depths, the
heights — everything above, beneath, before, be
hind, and around you, is marked with stupendous
and awful grandeur; the rocks that lie around
you, and which have fallen from the precipices,
leave all others to be stones or pebbles in the com
parison — and yet you are carried along this road.

260 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.
and through all these objects so sublime, and al
most frightful — carried as easily and smoothly as
if you were taking an airing in Regent's Park.
The passage is completed at the grand bridge of
Crevola, where you enter one of the beautiful
valleys of Piedmont, and through it come down to
the Lake Maggiore.
It is singular, but the moment you reach the
vineyards, on the south side of the Alps, you find
a totally different style of cultivation. On the
north side, and indeed all along up the Rhine,
vineyards look precisely like nurseries — nurseries,
say, of maple trees; for that is the shape ofthe leaf
— about three or four feet high : and nothing, cer
tainly, can be less picturesque than such a vine
yard. But here the vines run upon frames, with
green grass beneath, and present the appearance of
a whole country of arbours. It is, of course, far
more beautiful. By-the-by, the only tolerable
grapes I have tasted since I came to the Continent,
I bought yesterday, in coming up the Simplon.
They have been, with other fruit, upon our table
every day, and every day I have tasted of them,
and that is all. Indeed, the ripening season has
been very cold, and unfavourable for all fruit. Yet
so impossible do these people think it to make a

MADRE AND BELLA, 261
dinner without fruit, that if they raised nothing but
apples of Sodom, I believe they would make you
up a dessert of them.
On the seventh, before sunrise, I was on Lake
Maggiore, with two chance fellow-travellers, to
visit the islands of Madre and Bella. The first is
laid out as a garden and pleasure ground, and is
with the views from it — openings to which are
left through the trees — very picturesque. Yet a
neighbouring mountain, clothed with heaven's
beauty — the air — was more than all that the art of
man can do.
His art, by-the-by, has been very poorly exerted
on Bella — in the person of the Borromean family,
to whom this lake, and an extensive country about
it belongs — for Bella (the beautiful) is made by
terraces, rising one above another, and lessening
towards the top, to look very much like a Chinese
pagoda. We went over the palace, which is filled
with paintings that seemed to me, with the excep
tion of a Cleopatra, miserable. But there was one
thing that really made the spot worth visiting ; and
that was the basement story, consisting of a very
extensive suite of rooms, finished in the grotto
style — a sort of mosaic work in pebbles and shells,
covering the floors and ceilings, and sides indeed.

262 THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.
except where a slab of marble was here and there
inlaid. These apartments open by window-doors,
upon the very water of the lake, inviting every
breath of air, and with seats around, looked as if
they might be the very retreats of pleasure, in a
warm climate.

END OF VOL. I.

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