LIBRARY

UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA.

OK

PACIFIC THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY.
Accession ...... 846.28 ..... Cla&:.

ALCOVE,

SHELF,

PRESENTED BY

r

PUTNAM'S

SEMI-MONTHLY LIBRARY.

WALKS AND TALKS OF AN AMERICAN FARMER IN
ENGLAND.

WALKS AND TALKS

OF AN

AMERICAN FAEMEB IN ENGLAND.
EfiruJL .

**•

IN TIIE YEARS 1850-51.

PART II.

NEW YORK:
GEOEGE P. PUTNAM & CO., 10 PARK PLACE.

M . DCCC-. LI I.

Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1852,

By G. P. PUTNAM & Co.,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District

TO THE MEMORY OF

ANDREW JACKSON DOWNING:

WHATEVER OF GOOD, TRITE, AND PLEASANT THOUGHT THIS

VOLUME MAT CONTAIN, IS HUMBLY AND

REVERENTLY INSCRIBED.

-84628

PKEFACE.

fTIHE kind and uncritical reception of my first volume, both
at home and abroad, leaves no occasion for a formal
introduction of my second. Sitting at the same broad old
farm-house fireside, let me assume the same friendly com
panionable relation with my readers, improved by better
acquaintance, and go on with my talk freely and uneon-
strainedly as before.

To any stranger who may like to know what it is about,
I will add, that the volume is almost entirely descriptive
of rustic and rural matters, as they came in the way of a
party of young Americans walking through some of the
western and southern parts of England, with such observa
tions upon them as a young democratic farmer would
naturally make.

I have added, in an Appendix, some information and
advice to those wishing to make a pedestrian tour in Europe
at small expense.

FEED. LAW OLMSTED.
TOSOMOO FAEM,
Soufoide, Staten Island, Sept. 2, 1852.

'

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER I.

An Irish-Englishman. — Shrewsbury Cakes and Brawn. — Shrewsbury Show. —
Angling in Curricles. — Sheep-walks. — Effect of Thorough Draining on Dry
Soils.— Gorse.— Church Stretton.— Churchyard Literature.— Encounter with
an Enthusiastic Free-trader 9

CHAPTER II.

Country Carrier's Cart.— Independent Breakfast.— Beauty.— Old Inn.— Jack up
the Chimney.— Bacon and Bread ; Beer and Rum.— Ludlow.— An Apostolic
Church.— The Poor-house.— Case of a Broken Heart.— Refreshment 17

CHAPTER III.

Physical Education.— A Rustic Village.— Farm-house Kitchen.— An Orchard.
—Stables.— Leominster.— A Trout Brook.— Fruit Culture 23

CHAPTER IV.

English Orchard Districts.— The most Favourable Soils and Climate.— Lime.
— Practical Deduction. — Diseases. — Prevention and Remedies. — Suggestions. 27

CHAPTER V.

Decay of Varieties.— Two Theories : Knight's, Downing's.— English Theory
and Practice. — Practical Deductions. — Causes of Decay. — Remedies. — Hints
to Orchardists. — Special Manures. — Pruning. — Thorough Drainage. — A Sa
tirical Sketch.— Shooting the Apple-tree 34

CHAPTER VI.

Roofs ; Shingles ; Tile ; Thatch ; the Advantages and Disadvantages of each.
— The Use of Thatch in America. — Hereford. — Christian Hospitality. — A
Milk Farm.— The Herefords.— A Dangerous Man 45

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER VII.

Warm Breakfast and Warm Hearts. — True Self-denial. — Primitive Christianity.
—A Living Faith 50

CHAPTER VIII.

The County Jail. — English Prison Discipline. — The Perfection of the Present. —
Education and Taxation. — What Next? — Captain Machonochie. — The Mark
System.— The Christian Idea of Punishment 58

CHAPTER IX.

A Hit.— The Debtor's Prison.— Utter Cleanliness.— « City" and "Town."—
" Down" and " Up."— Hereford Cathedral.— Church and State.— The Public
Promenade 64

CHAPTER X.

A Stage-coach Ride. — Conversation with the Coachman. — A Free-trader. —
American and English Women. — Fair Play. — Woman's Rights. — Social Dif
ferences. — Frenchmen. — National Vanities. — Democracy. — Free Trade. —
Retaliation.— Aristocracy.— Natural Laws.— The Law of Love.— Fraternity. 68

CHAPTER XI.

Shady Lanes. — Rural Sketches. — Herefordshire and Monmouthshire Scenery.
— Points of Difference in English and American Landscapes. — Visit to a
Farm-house. — The Mistress. — The Farm-house Garden. — A Stout Old En
glish Farmer.— The Stables and Stock.— Turnip Culture.— Sheep.— Wheat.
—Hay.— Rents.— Prices.— A Parting.— Cider 88

CHAPTER XII.

Walk with a Rustic.— Family Meeting.— A Recollection of the Rhine.— Igno
rance and Degraded Condition of the English Agricultural Labourer.—
How he is regarded by his Superiors. — The Principles of Government. —
Duties of the Governing. — Education. — Slavery. — The Diet of Labourers. —
Drink.— Bread.— Bacon.— Fresh Meat 99

CHAPTER XIII.

Tintern Abbey and the Wye. — English Screw-steamers. — Tide Deluge. — St.
Vincent's Rocks.— Bristol-built Vessels.— The Vale of Gloucester.— Whii>-
field "Example Farm." — Hedge-row Timber. — Drainage. — Buildings. —
Stock. — Soiling. — Manure. — Wheat. — Beets and Turnips. — Disgraceful Ag
riculture. — The Landed Gentry. — Wages of Labourers 110

CHAPTER XIV.

Bath.— Warminster.— Surly Postmaster.— A Doubtful Character.— Polite Inn
keeper and Pretty Chambermaid.— The Tap-room Fireside.— Rustic Civil-

CONTENTS. 7

ity. — Rainy Morning in a Country Inn. — Coming to Market.— The Road in
a Storm. — Scudding , . . . 116

CHAPTER XV.

The South Downs.— Wiltshire Landscape.— Chalk and Flint.— Irrigation.—
The Cost and Profit of Water-meadows. — Sewerage Water. — Irrigation in
Old Times 123

CHAPTER XVI.

Flocks, Dogs, and Shepherds of Salisbury Plain. — Village Almshouses. — Os
tentation in Alms-giving. — A Forced March. — At Home in Salisbury. — The
Street Brooks. — The Cathedral. — Architectural Remark and Advice. — Vil
lage Churches 132

CHAPTER XVII.

Salisbury Plain.— Strange Desert Character of the Scenery.— The Agriculture.
—Sainfoin and Lucerne.— Large Farms.— Effect on Labourers.— Paring and
Burning. — When Expedient. — Expense. — Sheep-folding. — Moveable Rail
ways and Sheds 139

CHAPTER XVIII.

An Arcadian Hamlet. — Out of the World, but not Beyond the Reach of the
Yankee Peddler. — The Cottages of the Downs. — Grout and Cobble-stones.
— Character of the Labouring Class of the Downs. — Want of Curiosity. —
Old Stockbridge, Winchester, William of Wykeham.— His Legacy to Way
farers.— The Cathedral.— Some Remarks on Architectural Situation.—
Search for Lodgings.— Motherly Kindness.— Railroad Mismanagement.—
Waterloo Day at Portsmouth 146

CHAPTER XIX.

The Deceit of Descriptions of Scenery.— The Soul of a Landscape.— The Isle
of Wight, its Characteristics.— Appropriate Domestic Architecture.— Ge
nial Climate.— Tropical Verdure.— The Cliffs of Albion.— Osborne.— The
Royal Villa.— Country Life of the Royal Family.— Agricultural Inclination
and Rural Tastes.— The Royal Tenantry.— A Rural Fete at Osborne 154

CHAPTER XX.

The Queen's Yacht.— Yachts of the R. Y. Club, their Build and Rig.— Compar
ison with American Yachts and Pilot-boats. — Seamanship. — Cut of Sails. —
The Navy-yard at Portsmouth. — Gun-boats. — Steamers. — Naval Force of
Great Britain. — Evening at Portsea. — Curiosity. — About Boasting and some
English Characteristics. — Conversation with a Shopkeeper on the " Glory
of England." 159

8 CONTENTS.

CHAPTER XXI.

Rural Police.— The "Anchor" Inn.— The Garden.— " Old Coaching Times."
—Heath Land.— A Dreary Landscape.— Murder and a Highway Adventure.
— Human Vanity • 166

CHAPTER XXII.
London Lads. — Railway Ride. — Observations in Natural History 170

CHAPTER XXIII.

Rural Labourers near London.— Our Mother Tongue.— Cockneys.— Provincial-
iflts.— On the Naturalization of Foreign Words.— Authorities.— Suburban .
London.— London.— The Thames.—" Saint Paul's from Blackfriar's Bridge." 173

APPENDIX 181

GI

AMEEICAN FAEMEE IN ENGLAND.

CHAPTER I.

AN IRISH-ENGLISHMAN. SHREWSBURY CAKES AND BRAWN. — SHREWSBURY

SHOW. ANGLING IN CURRICLES. SHEEP-WALKS. EFFECT OF THOROUGH

DRAINING ON DRY SOILS. GORSE. CHURCH STRETTON. CHURCHYARD

LITERATURE. ENCOUNTER WITH AN ENTHUSIASTIC FREE-TRADER.

AN you tell us where the Post Office is 1"
« The Post Office ? Ye be strangers like ?"

"Yes."

" Was ye never in this town before ?"

"Never."

" It's a fine old town, Shrewsbury. I know it well, every
inch the same as my hand. It's like ye'll be wanting to see
the "

" Can't you tell us where the Post Office is?"
, " The Post Office ! Wouldn't you now be havin' your bit
packs carried. Ye'll be pedestarians like."

PART II. 1*

10 AN AMERIOAN FARMER IN ENGLAND.

" You are an Irishman like."

" I believe it's in England I am."

" But you were born in Ireland ?M

" I just disremember now."

" Well, can you tell us which way to the Post Office ?"

1 " It's like I might — but, ye see, it's mighty dryin' work
entirely to be rememberin' every thin' for every body so all
the whole time."

" What do you want T

" A pint's tupence."

Twopence acted on his memory like the spring upon a
frozen stream, and as he walked with us towards the Post
Office he told us that he came to England ten years ago — had
found work near Liverpool, where he remained several years
• — then went into Warwickshire, and had, a week ago, come
hither to see his brother, who was engaged on the railway.
He said that when he was in Warwickshire he had always
passed himself off for a Lancashire man, and no one ever ac
cused him of being an Irishman. He explained that the local
labourers would not let the farmers employ Irishmen; if
they did, they would burn their ricks. When Irishmen were
employed, it was at very low wages, but he got as good as
any. The most he ever earned was about three dollars a
week at task-work. He had another brother who was in
America, " in the State of Baltimore," and he was minded to
go after him next year.

" Fine old town " it was, Shrewsbury ; delightful old town ;
we found our first letters from home there. It is famous,
says the Guide-Book, " for its cakes and brawn." The former
we tasted at the " Baker-of-Shrewsbury-Cakes-to-Her-Majesty,"

for sixpence, with a sight of the autograph of Lord ,

communicating the appointment, thrown in. Dear at that.
The taste is something like, but by no means equal to, the

CAKES AND BE AWN. 11

cookies we used to eat in country towns on " trainin5 day."
That the English, in general, did not know what is good in
that line, we had before ascertained, and now discovered that
their Queen was equally unfortunate. Shall advise the princes
to " run away."

"£rawn, the flesh of boar or swine, collared so as to
squeeze out much of the fat, boiled and pickled." — WEBSTER.
Our host looked like a " man of brawn," but gave us nothing
like that.

Shrewsbury was formerly celebrated also for a ridiculous
annual procession, mummery, masquerade, and play-spell,
called " Shrewsbury Show." The Puritans put a stop to it,
but lately this ancient glory has been attempted to be re
stored " under the patronage of the mayor and neighbouring
gentry." The effort, we are told, was entirely successful, the
"oldest inhabitant" not being able to recall any thing more
completely absurd. Our young democratic towns are some
times equally fortunate in their civic proceedings without
aristocratic assistance.

We were much interested in the old houses, of the same
general style as those I described at Chester, but with every
conceivable variation of form, and each with something pecu
liar to itself, so that we could not tire of rambling through
the steep narrow streets to study them. There are a great
many old churches here, too ; one remarkable for a very
light, tall, simply4apering spire : another, the abbey church,
has a great mingling of styles, and in some parts is very rich
and elegant. There are several curious things about it — an
old stone pulpit, battered statues, &c. Near it I noticed that
some old religious house, that had been once connected with
it, had been built upon, roofed over, and converted into a
brewery. The roofs are universally of flat tiles here ; a few
miles north they entirely give way to slates.

12 AN AMERICAN FARMER IN ENGLAND.

On one of the bridges over the Severn, which here divides
into two small streams, between which most of the town is
beautifully situated, we saw a number of anglers with cur
ricles, a light portable boat made of hide stretched out like
an umbrella-top by a wicker frame. It is easily carried on
one arm, and it forms a usual part of the angler's or salmon-
fisher's equipment in Wales.

In the afternoon J. and I walked on to Church Stretton,
thirteen miles; our road, most of the way, through a level
valley, with high, naked, bleak hills on each side. A man
joined us who had been most of his life a miller, and had
lately rented a sheep-walk of sixty-three acres on one of
these hill-tops, or, rather, mountain-tops. They are to all ap
pearance totally barren, except of gorse, and he said he could
only stock at the rate of one and a half sheep to the acre.

I have heard a strange story of the effect of draining on
soils of this sort. A considerable estate, mainly on the tops
of such hills, (but not in this county,) having come into pos
session of a gentleman, he immediately commenced under-
draining it in the most thorough and expensive manner. The
whole country thought him crazy : " Why ! the hills were too
dry already ; the man was throwing away his money ;" and
his friends, in great grief, endeavoured by expostulation and
entreaty to get him off from his ruinous hobby. But he pa
tiently carried it on, and waited the result ; which was, that
the increased rental, in a very short time, more than paid for
the whole outlay, and the actual value of the land was trebled.
(This account I had from a friend of the gentleman, and?
though he could not give me the figures, he assured me, from
his personal knowledge of the circumstances, that it was to
be relied upon.)

GORSE, (furze or whins,) is an evergreen shrub, growing
about three feet high, rough, thorny, prickly ; flourishes in the

CHURCHYARD LITERATURE. 13

poorest, dryost land, where if it gets possession it is extremely
difficult to eradicate. It is sometimes used as a hedge plant,
and for that purpose is planted thickly on high ridges. In
some parts of England, fuel is made of it, and when bruised
by powerful machines made for the purpose, it forms pala
table and nutritious food for horses and cattle. Hereabouts,
however, we could not learn that it was made of any use, or
regarded otherwise than as a weed.

Church Stretton is a little village mostly made up of inns
on the main street. We chose the Stag's Head, a picturesque,
many-gabled cottage, part of it very old, and, as we were
told, formerly a manor-house of the Earl of Derby, who spent
one night (ever to be remembered!) in it. It was close by a
curiously-carved church and graveyard. From among a
great many "improving" epitaphs, I selected the following
as worthy of more extended influence.

I.

A "NON SEQTJ1TTJR."

" Farewell, my wife
And children dear, in number seven,
Therefore prepare yourself for Heaven."

II.

"AN HONEST MAN."

"Erected by the Curate of Church Stretton."

III.

" Farewell, vain world, I have seen my last of thee ;
Thy smiles I court not, frowns I fear,
My cares are past, my head lies quiet here,
My time was short in this world, my work is done,
My rest I hope is in another,
In a quiet grave I lie, near my beloved mother."

14 AN AMERICAN FARMER IN ENGLAND.

IV.

" A Friend so true,
There is but few,
And difficult to find ;
A man more just,
And true to trust,
There is not left behind."

V.

" You that are young, behold and see
How quickly death hath conquered me,
His fatal shaft it was so strong,
And cut me off while I was young,
But God above, He knew for why,
That in my youth I was to die."

The following, or something like it, is to be found in almost
every churchyard in England, often several times repeated.

VI.

" Affliction's sore
Long time I bore,
Physicians' aid was vain;
Till God did please
To give me ease,
And free me from my pain."

On the other side of the churchyard were two long rows of
cottages built closely together, and the street between them
only nine feet wide.

After ordering supper, we were shown into a little room
where there was a fire and newspapers, and two men sitting.
One of them was a young, well-dressed farmer, stupid and
boozy ; the other, a travelling mercantile agent, very wide
awake ; both drinking hot slings. The latter almost imme
diately opened conversation, first asking us to join them at
their tipple, which we declined.

" Did you notice the white nag in the stables, gents ?"

AN ENTHUSIASTIC FREE-TRADER. 15

"No."

" Ah, you should have done so. It's not every day you'll
see such a horse, let me tell you. It would be really worth
your while, if I may be permitted to advise, to step out and
see him. Why ! if you'll believe me, sir, we gave the stage
coach twenty minutes' start and beat her two and a half in
eight, besides stopping — how many times ? — a go of gin first
and — two of brandy afterwards, wasn't it, Brom ? Yes — we
stopped three times and beat her two and a half in eight! —
'pon my word it's a fact, sir !"

" A remarkable performance."

" Oh, sir, if you could but see him now — eating his oats
just like a child !"

We showed no disposition to see this phenomenon, but
putting our knapsacks on the table, had commenced reading
the papers, when he again addressed us, suddenly exclaiming,

" Hem — wool's heavy !"

"What, sir?"

"Eh— hops scarce1?"

"What?"

"Sheffilline?"

" !" (Stare of perplexity.)

" Tea ?" glancing at our packs.

"Tea! oh no!"

" Oh, I thought it might be tea you were Brummagem

way?"

"We are— "

" Oh ! Ah ! Good market at Le'm'ster ?"

" We are from New York — travelling merely to see the
country ; our packs have — "

"Tea?"

" Only our wearing apparel."

" Oh, I really thought it must be tea."

16 AN AMERICAN FARMER IN ENGLAND.

" No, sir."

" From New York 1 why, that's in America."

" Yes, sir ; we are Americans."

" What ! Americans, are you 1 Hallo ! why, this is inter
esting. Brom ! I say, Brom ! — look ! do you see 1 from
America ; you see ? furriners ! If you will permit me, sir —
your very good health, gentlemen. Brom ! (damn it, man,)

your health — their health Now look here ! you'll allow

me, sir — (and he caught my leg,) you brought this, I presume,
from New York ?"

"Yes."

"Made there?"

" Probably."

" And the wool ?"

" Very likely from these hills."

" Exactly, sir, exactly / You see now, Brom — what was I
telling you? — that's FREE TRADE, Brom. Most happy to
meet you, sir ; (wonderfully intelligent persons, Brom ! first-
class furriners ;) you are welcome here, sir ; and, gentlemen —
(your good health, sir) — and no one to molest or make you
afraid — (won't you taste the gin ? I can recommend it to you
as a first-rate article) — wandering up and down, seeking what
you may — eh ? — see. Yes, sir, the sea is the highway of nations
— else what is it mentioned in Scripture for 1 ' the great sea
— to bring nations together — with ships thereon, stretching
from Tiberia to Siberias, and from Jericher to,' eh 1 — hem —
eh 1 — somewhere !"

" Your tea is ready, gentlemen," said the waiter ; and we
hastily took leave.

COUNTRY CARRIER'S OART. 17

IT* ]

CHAPTER II.

COUNTRY CAERIKK'S CART. — INDEPENDENT BREAKFAST. — BEAUTY. — OLD INN.

JACK UP THE CHIMNEY. BACON AND BREAD. — BEER AND RUM. — LUD-

LOW. AN APOSTOLIC CHURCH. — THE POOR-HOUSE. — CaS6 OF A BROKEN

HEART. REFRESHMENT.

¥E rose the next morning at daybreak, and walked some
miles before we saw any body else awake. At the first
inn that we found open, we stopped to breakfast. In front of
it was a carrier's cart — a large, heavy, hooped-canvas-topped
cart, drawn by one horse. As any body who reads Dickens
knows, this kind of rural package-express is a common thing
on the English roads, the carrier taking orders of country
people for what they need from the towns, and bringing them
any parcels they send for ; taking live freight also when he is
not otherwise filled up: David Copperfield, for instance.
The representative of " Mr. Barkis" and " honest John Peery-
bingle" was in the kitchen of the public house, and very glad
to see us, pressing us politely to drink from his glass, and
recommending the ale as the best on the road.

The house, however, was of a very humble character ; the
" good woman" was gone to market, and the landlord, though
very amiable and desirous to please, was very stupid and ill
provided. He could not even find us an egg, every thing
having been swept off to market. There was some good
bread, however, which the carrier had just brought, and milk.
We found a saucepan, cleaned it, and scalded the milk, and,

18 AN AMERICAN FARMER IN ENGLAND.,

stirring in the bread with pepper and salt, soon made a com
fortable hot breakfast, greatly to the admiration of our host
and the carrier.

Fine English weather to-day : gleams of warm red sun
shine alternating with the slightest possible showers of rain.
The country beautiful ; the road running through a rich, well-
watered vale, with the same high, steep hills as yesterday,
but now regularly planted with wood to the summits. Before
Us, they fall back, one over another, till they become blue
under the thick mists that curl about the tops of the most
distant, and then, again, blush red before the sun, as the wind
sometimes lifts this veil.

Seeing a singular ruin a little distance from the road, we
went to visit it. It had been a castle, with a church or large
Gothic chapel attached. Different parts of it, having received
more modern, yet ruinously decayed, timber and noggirf
additions, were occupied as sheep-stables, barn, granary, and
workshop. A moat remained about it, enclosing also a court
yard ; and on the opposite side of this from the main structure,
was a high, four-gabled timber-house, with a gateway through
it, entered across the moat by a bridge, formerly a draw
bridge, and with some remains of a portcullis. The wood
work of the gables, and much of the timber, the heavy
brackets and the doorways, were covered with quaint carvings.

At noon we stopped at a superannuated old stage-coaching
house, going at once to the kitchen, which was a very large
room with heavy beams in the ceiling, from which depended
flitches of bacon ; a stone floor, a number of oak benches and
tables, rows of pewter-mugs hanging about the walls, and a
great wide fireplace and chimney. A stout, driving landlady
received our orders ; a piece of meat was set to roasting be
fore the fire on the old turnspit, and we were left alone to dry
ourselves. Soon we noticed that one end of the spit with the

RUSTY JACK. 19

meat was being raised, and we attempted in vain to readjust
it. It continued to rise, and I tried to disconnect the chain by
which it was turned, and which was now drawing it up the
chimney ; I could not, and still it rose. I clung to it and
tried to stop it, and hallooed for assistance. In rushed the
landlady, three maids, and a man-servant, and I yielded the
spit to them ; but the power was too strong for them — their
united weight could not long detain it ; up it rose — rose — rose,
till the prettiest maid stood first on tiptoe, and then began to
scream ; then the landlady, disengaging the meat from it, and
dropping it hastily on a plate, fell back exhausted on one of
the oak benches and laughed — oh ! ha, ha ! oh ! ha, ha ! ha,
ha ! ho, ho ! ha, ha, ha ! — how the woman did laugh ! As
soon as she recovered, she sent the man and maids up to the
machinery, being too much out of breath to go herself; and
in a few minutes the chain, which had fouled on the rusty
crank at the chimney top, was unwound and the spit lowered
to its place, the joint put on and set to turning again, all
right.

While we were eating our dinner, five young men — la
bourers — came in for theirs ; most of them ate nothing but
bread and cheese, but some had thin slices of bacon cut from
the flitch nearest the fire, which they themselves toasted with
a fork and ate with the bread they had brought in their
pockets, as soon as it was warmed through. All drank two
pints of beer, and, after dining, smoked, except one, who took
hot rum-and-water.

It appeared that while three of them preferred to spend
their money for beer rather than bacon, none of them chose
bacon at the expense of beer. The man who took rum drank
two glasses of it, and the others two or more pints of beer ;
but no one who took beer took any rum at all, nor did he
who took rum take any beer. A similar observation I have

20 AN AMERICAN FARMER IN ENGLAND.

frequently made. The habit of beer-drinking seems to weaken
the taste for more alcoholic stimulants.

We remained about the inn, looking at some pretty model
cottages erected by Lord Clive, until C., who had made a
quick walk of nearly thirty miles to overtake us, arrived, and
then walked in to Ludlow.

Ludlow is a neat, pleasant town, beautifully planted in a
bight of a broad, shallow, musical stream, amongst high,
bluffy hills. It has a ruined castle, celebrated in Royal his
tory, parts of which, half hidden by tall old trees among
which it stands, and adorned with ivy, are very picturesque.
There are fine avenues and public walks about it, and just over
the river, which is crossed by two bridges, is a very large
common, extending to the top of high and steep hills, which
is used as a public pleasure-ground. In the middle of the
town is a venerable old church, with richly-painted windows
and many curious monuments and effigies of Crusaders and
learned doctors sleeping with their wives. In it I also first
saw a beadle in the flesh, and a very funny thing it was, in
cocked hat, red nose, and laced coat. There are many cu
rious old houses, particularly one of the inns, (" The feath
ers ;") and over the Ludford bridge there is a pretty little
rural church and a number of pretty cottages, both ancient
and modern, the modern being built in the fashion of the
timber houses that I described in Cheshire.

Our chess-playing friend on the ship had given us a note to
a relative residing here, and having left it with our card at his
house, he very soon called upon us. He proved to be a gen
tleman of education and refinement, and was extremely kind
in his attentions and offers of service to us. C. had asked
with regard to the religious services which would be holden
in the town the coming day ; after replying to his inquiries,

AN APOSTOLIC CHURCH. 21

he remarked that he belonged to a congregation of Christian
Brethren, whose worship he would be gratified if it would be
agreeable for us to attend. They had no distinct organization,
but simply met as a company of believers in Christ, to wor
ship as they were prompted in the spirit. They liked to have
any one join with them, who loved Jesus Christ, whatever his
theoretical opinions might be.

In this way commenced our intercourse with a body of
men, who, even if I thought their opinions most damnable, I
could not help remembering but with a respect approaching
to reverence. During the week that followed we saw many
of them in various circumstances, and of very different educa
tion and habits : some were ignorant, unrefined, coarse of
speech, and plainly narrow-minded, fanatical, and bigoted ;
others of them were learned men, large-minded, truly humble,
charitable, generous, and catholic — and gentlemen, with as
much ease of manner, accomplishment, and polish as I ever
met ; but in our acquaintance with them there was not one
that did not seem to be constantly guided by a spirit of the
warmest love for all his fellow-beings, by the liveliest and
ever-working desire to see them happy and growing better.

The next morning I breakfasted with this gentleman, and
afterwards attended the meeting of the brotherhood with him
and his family. It was held in a plain " upper room," appa
rently designed for a school-room, which was well filled with
people, representing every class, except the aristocratic, in the
community, females being slightly preponderant. The ser
vices were extremely simple, — much like those of a Presbyte
rian prayer-meeting, with the addition of a rather lengthy ex
hortation from one who, I was told, was, like myself, a stranger
to the most of those present, and concluded with the admin
istration of the communion.

Nothing could be greater than the contrast of the place

22 AN AMERICAN FARMER IN ENGLAND.

and its furniture, and the style of the exercises, with what I
had seen and heard at the cathedral the previous Sunday ; yet
J could not but notice the marked resemblance between the
simple solemnity of manner and sincere unendeavouring tone
of the gentleman who conducted the ceremony of the commu
nion, and that of his robed and titled brother who performed
the same duty within those aweing walls.

In the afternoon I went with one of the Brethren to the
union poor-house, which is a little out of the town. The
inmates, so far as I saw them, were nearly all aged persons,
cripples, or apparently half-witted, and it all appeared very
much like a hospital. The chilling neatness, bareness, order,
and precision, reminded me of the berth-deck of a man-of-war.
Among the sick was a young woman who had now for four
days refused to take food or to speak ; when broth was set
before her in our presence, she merely moaned and shook her
head, closed her eyes, and sank back upon her bed. Her
disease was a broken heart. A week ago her cottage was
destroyed by fire, and her child (illegitimate) burned to death
in it.

At sunset we found much such a company strolling on the
common opposite the town as that we saw promenading the
walls at Chester last Sunday night. The shaded walks about
the castle were also thick with happy-looking, grateful-looking,
orderly men and women, boys and girls, superabundantly at
tended by healthy, sturdily-tottering babies.

In the evening C. called on the Independent clergyman.
He spoke highly of the spiritual character of the Brethren,
but he evidently regarded them as rather wild and untract-
able abstractionists. They had drawn away several of the
leading members of his flock, and, in his observations upon
them, he possibly showed a little soreness on this account. He
continued on terms of friendly intercourse, however, with them.

A FARM-HOUSE KITUHEN. 23

CHAPTER III.

PHYSICAL EDUCATION. A RUSTIC VILLAGE. FARM-HOUSE KITCHEN. AN

ORCHARD. — STABLES. — LEOMIXSTER. A TROUT BROOK. FRUIT CULTURE.

Monday, June 10th.

A FTER breakfasting with the Independent minister, (the
-£*• term clergyman is never applied in England except to
those of the established church,) he walked with us for six
miles out of town upon our road. Three little boys and girls,
the youngest six years old, also accompanied us. They were
romping and rambling about all the while, and their morn
ing's walk must have been as much as fifteen miles ; but they
thought nothing of it, and, when we parted, were apparently
as fresh as when they started, and very loath to return.

After looking at several objects of interest near the road,
we were taken by a narrow, crooked lane to a small hamlet
of picturesque old cottages, in one of which a farmer lived
who was a parishioner of our friend's. It was a very pret
ty, many-gabled, thatched-roofed timber-house, almost com
pletely covered with vines and creepers. We were sorry to
find the farmer not at home ; his wife, an elderly, .simple-
minded dame, received us joyfully, however. In entering
the house, as we have noticed to be usual in old buildings,
whatever their purpose, we found that the stone floor of the
narrow hall was a step below the street and general surface
of the ground outside. The kitchen, to which we were at
once conducted, was a large square room, lighted by a single

24 AN AMERICAN FARMER IN ENGLAND.

broad window, and having a brilliant display of polished
metal utensils upon and about a great chimney, all as neat
and nice as a parlour.

" The huge oak table's massy frame
Bestrode the kitchen floor ;"

a linen cloth was spread upon it, and coarse but excellent
wheat bread, butter, and cheese, brought from the pantry,
and cider and perry from the cellar. The cider was "hard"
enough ; the perry, (fermented juice of pears,) a beautiful,
bright, golden liquid, tasted much like weak vinegar and
water. We had entered 'the district of cider and apple-trees,
for these liquors were home-made, and the first extensive
orchard that we have seen adjoined the rear of the house :
during the rest of our day's walk the road was frequently
lined with them for long distances.

The trees, in a considerable part of this orchard, were of
every age, and stood very irregularly at various distances
from each other. It appeared as if when an old tree was
blown down, or became worthless from age and decay, and
an unshaded space was thus left, or likely to be, two young
trees were planted at a little distance on each side of it, and
thus perhaps the orchard had been renovated and continued
on the same ground for several generations. Two hundred
years ago it was considered that " the best way to plant an
orchard is to set some kernels of the best and soundest apples
and pears, a finger deep, and at a foot distance, and to leave
the likeliest plants only in the natural place, removing the
others only as time and occasion shall require." The orchards
of the Rhine, at the present day, in which apple, pear, cherry,
and nut-trees are intermingled, seem to have been planted
with as little regard to regularity of distance. The grafts
were commonly inserted at from six to eight feet from the

A TROUT BROOK. 25

ground, and the limbs trimmed so as to allow free passage to
cattle beneath them. The land was in an old weedy sward,
and was pastured by horses and cows. It had not been in
any way drained, and was in some parts boggy. In these,
willows, and sallows or osiers, (basket willows,) were grow
ing. The trees all appeared to me unhealthy, mossy, and
stunted. A few pear-trees grew here and there, indiscrimi
nately, among the apples. The cider-mill was just like the
old-fashioned ones, with a stone wheel, common in New
England.

After seeing the orchard in such condition, I was surprised
to find excellent, neat, and well-ordered stables. The horse-
stalls were large, with iron racks and mangers, and a grating
and drain to carry off the liquid. The manure in the yard
was piled up in a large, oblong heap, covered with earth, to
prevent evaporation, with a space of clean pavement, wide
enough for a cart to pass all around it. The liquid overflow
of the yard was conducted off by a drain, so as to flow over
the orchard pasture.

We reached Leominster at noon, after a few miles further
of walking through a pleasant country, remarkable for its
pretty old cottages. At Leominster, (pronounced Leminster,)
there are also more than usually quaint old houses, grotesquely
carved ; and on the market-house, an odd old building, there
are some singular inscriptions. I recollect only one, which
runs in this way : " As columnes do pprope up " a house, so
do a gentry support a state.

In the afternoon we walked for some distance on the banks
of a trout brook, in which a good many ladies and gentlemen
were angling, with but poor success. The trout were small,
and, if I recollect rightly, rather lighter coloured than ours, and
not so prettily mottled. Some of the anglers called the stream

PART II. 3

26 AN AMERICAN FARMER IN ENGLAND.

" the Arrow," and some " the Harrow," and I do not now
remember which way it is printed on the map.

The field-bean is a common crop here ; it is now in blos
som, and a peculiarly sweet scent from it, every now and
then, comes in a full, delicious flood over the hedges.

The country over which we walked in the afternoon, be
tween Leominster and Hereford, was in some parts extremely
beautiful : considerable hills, always, when too steep or rocky
or sterile for easy cultivation, covered with plantations of
trees ; the lesser hills and low lands shaded by frequent
orchards. These were generally of apples, sometimes with
pears intermixed — somewhat rarely entirely of pears. Many
of them appeared much like the one I have described, and
occasionally there was .a regularly planted one of fine, thrifty
trees. In the poorer orchards, where the trees were of all
ages, they frequently were planted not more than fifteen feet
apart, and when so, as far as I observed, were invariably
small in size and unhealthy. In the better ones, the trees
stood oftenest thirty feet apart one way, and twenty another ;
rarely at much greater distance than this, but sometimes as
much as forty.

ENGLISH ORCHARD DISTRICTS, 27

CHAPTER IV.

ENGLISH ORCHARD DISTRICTS. THE MOST FAVOURABLE SOILS AND CLIMATE.

— LIME. — PRACTICAL DEDUCTION. — DISEASES. PREVENTION AND REME
DIES. — SUGGESTIONS.

fTlHERE are but few orchards in England, except in certain
-*- districts, and in these they abound, and are often very ex
tensive. The inquiry naturally arises, What has given those
districts their distinction in this respect? Have they any
natural advantages which makes orcharding more profitable in
them than in other parts of the country 1 In reply, I learn,
that the orchard districts are all distinguished for a compara
tively mild climate. They are nearly all in the south and
south-western counties, while in the northern and eastern
counties I do not know of any. Hereford is a somewhat
hilly county, and, as I have remarked, where the hills are too
steep for easy cultivation, it is usual to plant orchards ; but
the south side of such hills is preferred to the north, and, even
here, a crop is sometimes entirely lost by a late and severe
spring frost. A south-east slope is preferred, the south-east
winds being the driest. I suspect another reason why it is
found better is, that the south-west winds, coming off the ocean,
are the stronger. My own observation has led me to think
that the apple-tree is much affected by an exposure to severe
winds. Most sorts of trees do not thrive very well upon the
sea-shore, and this is usually laid to the account of salt spray
or " salt in the air." It will be found, however, that trees

29 AN AMERICAN FARMER IN ENGLAND.

grown inland upon very exposed sites, have the same pecu
liarities with those in the vicinity of the sea ; that is, they are
slow of growth and scrubby.

Another important circumstance to be noticed, as distin
guishing the apple districts, is in the nature of their soils.
These are found, however varying otherwise, invariably to
have a large proportion of lime, and generally of potash, in
their chemical composition. With reference to this I quote
the observations of Mr. Frederick Falkner.*

" Great light has been lately thrown upon the adaptation of soils to
particular plants, and it is now easy to account for the predilection, so to
speak, of the apple-tree for soils that abound in clays and marls. All
deciduous trees require a considerable proportion of potash for the elab
oration of their juices in the leaves, and are prosperous, or otherwise, in
proportion to the plentiful or scanty supply of that substance in the soil.
Liebig has shown, that the acids generated in plants are always in union
with alkaline or earthy bases, and cannot be produced without their
presence. . . . Now the apple-tree, during its development, produces
a great quantity of acid; and therefore, in a corresponding degree, requires
alkaline, and, probably, earthy bases also, as an indispensable condition to
the existence of the fruit."

Again, the same writer :

" It cannot be denied that ammonia, and also the humus of decaying
dung, must have some influence on the growth of the tree in such soils,
and also in the development of the fruit; but it is most certain, at the
same time, that these alone would be perfectly inefficient for the pro-
.cluction of the fruit without the co-operation of (the alkaline bases.) The
size, and perhaps the flavour of the fruit, may be somewhat affected by the
organic part of the manure, but its very existence depends upon the
presence in the soil of a sufficient quantity of those inorganic or mineral
substances which are indispensable to the formation of acids."

But it is also found by analysis that lime enters into the
composition of the wood of the apple-tree in very large pro-

* Journal of the Royal Agricultural Society, vol. iv. p. 881.

THE MOST FAVOURABLE Is OILS AND CLIMATE. 29

portions. By the analysis of Frescnius, the ash of the wood of
the apple contains 45.19 per cent, of lime and 13.67 per
cent, of potash. By the analysis of Dr. Emmons, of Albany,
N. Y., the ash of the sap-wood of the apple contains of lime
18.63 per cent, and 17.50 per cent, of phosphate of lime.

But it is not wherever soils of the sort I have described
(calcareous sandstones and marly clays) abound in a dis
trict, that you find that the farmers have discovered that it is
for their interest to have orchards ; nor are they common in
all the milder latitudes of England ; but wherever you find a
favourable climate, conjoined with a strongly calcareous and
moderately aluminous soil of a sufficient depth, there you
will find that for centuries the apple-tree has been extensively
cultivated. Evelyn speaks, 1676, of the apples of Hereford
shire and says there were then 50,000 hogsheads of cider
produced in that county yearly. The ancient capital of modern
Somersetshire, one of the present " Cider Counties," was
known by the Romans as Avallonia, (the town of the apple
orchards.) It would not be unlikely that the universal cere
mony in Devonshire, of " shooting at the apple-tree," (here
after described,) originated in some heathen rite of its
ancient orchardists.

To obtain choice dessert fruit, the apple in England is every
where trained on walls, and in the colder parts it is usual to
screen a standard orchard on the north by a plantation of
firs. There is no part of the United States where the natural
summer is not long enough for most varieties of the apple to
perfect their fruit. In Maine, and the north of New Hamp
shire and Vermont, the assortment of varieties is rather more
limited than elsewhere, I believe ; but I have eaten a better
apple from an orchard at Burlington, Vermont, than was ever
grown even in the south of England. We may congratulate
ourselves then, that all that we need to raise the best apples in

30 AN AMERICAN FARMER IN ENGLAND.

the world, any where in the northern United States, is fortu
nately to be procured much more cheaply than a long summer
would be, if that were wanting. The other thing needful,
judging from the experience of England for a length of time
past record, in addition to the usual requisites for the cultiva
tion of ordinary farm crops, is abundance of lime. This is
experience ; and science confirms it with two very satisfactory
reasons : first, that apple-tree wood is made up in a large
part of lime, which must be taken from the soil ; and, second,
that before the apple-tree can turn other materials which it
may collect from the soil and atmosphere into fruit, it must
be furnished with a considerable amount of some sort of
alkali, which requisite may be supplied by lime.

There is but little else that we can learn from the English
orchardists, except what to avoid of their practices. The cider
orchards, in general, are in every way miserably managed,
and the greater number of those that I saw in Herefordshire
were, in almost every respect, worse than the worst I ever
saw in New England. The apple in England is more subject
to disease ; and I should judge, from what was told me, that
in a course of years it suffered more from the attacks of
insects and worms than in America. The most deplorable
disease is canker. This malady is attributed sometimes to
a " cold, sour" soil, sometimes to the want of some ingre
dients in the soil that are necessary to enable the tree to
carry on its healthy functions, sometimes to the general bar
renness of the soil, and sometimes to the " wearing out of varie
ties" The precaution and remedies used by gardeners (rarely
by orchardists) for it, are generally those that would secure
or restore a vigorous growth to a tree. The first of these is
deepening and drying the soil, or deep draining and trenching.
The strongest and most fruitful orchards, it is well known, are
those which have been planted upon old hop-grounds, where

THE MOST FAVOURABLE SOILS AND CLIMATE. 31

the soil has been deeply tilled and manured for a series of
years with substances that contain a considerable amount of
phosphorus, such as woollen rags and bones. The roots of
the hop also descend far below the deepest tillage that can be
given it ; (in a calcareous gravelly subsoil they have been
traced ten feet from the surface ;) a kind of subsoiling is thus
prepared for the apple by the decay of the hop roots. In
some parts it is the custom to introduce the hop culture upon
the planting of a young orchard, the hops occupying the
intervals until the branches of the trees interfere with them.
Nothing is more likely than this to ensure a rapid and healthy
growth of the trees.

I recommend to those who intend planting an orchard, to
have the ground for it in a state of even, deep, fine tilth before
hand, and to plant in the intervals between apple or pear
trees some crop, which, like hops, will be likely to get for
itself good feeding and culture for several years. Peach-
trees, and dwarf apples (on doup ain stocks) and pears (on
quince stocks), answer very well for this, and will make a
handsome return some years before the standard apples and
pears come into bearing.

With regard to the richness of the soil, however, it is said
that " although high and exciting modes of cultivation may
flatter for a while by specious appearances, it is a grave
consideration whether they do not carry serious evils in
their train." This caution will remind the American horti
culturist of Mr. Downing's recommendation to those plant
ing orchards on the over-deep and rich Western alluvial soils,
to set the trees upon hillocks. The danger apprehended is in
both cases the same, that of too succulent growth. Mr. Wil
liams, of Pitmaston, a distinguished English horticulturist,
has found deficient ripeness of the young wood to be the prime
predisposing cause of the canker. He recommends every

32 AN AMERICAN FARMER IN ENGLAND.

year the shortening in of each shoot of the young unripened
wood, which he^says will preserve trees of old "worn out"
varieties, as " perfectly free from canker as those of any
new variety."

An impenetrable bottom of stone, at not more than three
feet from the surface, is frequently made as a precaution
against canker. I have been told that in the ancient orchards
attached to monasteries, such a flagging of brick or stone is
often found under the whole area of the orchard. This
would seem at first sight to be directly opposed to the other
precaution, of thorough-draining and deepening the surface
soil ; but it may be considered that the injury which stagnant
water would effect is in a degree counteracted when the roots
do not descend below the influence of the atmosphere and the
heat of the sun. It is not unlikely that these influences would
extend to a depth of three feet from the surface, in a soil that
had been so thoroughly trenched and lightened up as it neces
sarily must be to allow of a paving to be made under it.
The paving does not probably much retard the natural
descent of water from the surface, nor does it interfere with
its capillary ascent ; the trenching makes the descent of super
abundant water from the surface more rapid, while the in
creased porosity of the trenched soil gives it increased power
of absorption, both from the subsoil and the atmosphere, as
well as of retention of a healthy supply of moisture. The
paving also prevents the roots from descending below where
this most favourable condition of the soil has been made to
exist. The effect would doubtless be greatly better if
thorough-draining were given in addition ; but so far as it goes,
the under-paving and trenching is calculated to effect the
same purpose as deep drainage : to secure a healthy supply
of heat, light, and moisture to all the roots.

It is evident that the precautions and remedies which have

SUGGESTIONS. 33

been found of service against canker, whether operations upon
the roots or the foliage, are all such as are calculated to
establish or replace the tree in circumstances favourable to
its general thriving, healthy condition.

This suggests the idea that canker may be the result of a
general constitutional debility of the tree, not occasioned by
any one cause or set of causes, but resultant from -all and any
circumstances unfavourable to the healthy growth of a tree ;
and it is a question whether the same may not be thought
of the peculiar diseases of other trees, the peach, the pear,
the plum, the sycamore, and perhaps even of the rot of the
potato.

2*

34 AN AMERICAN BARKER IN ENGLAND.

CHAPTER V.

DECAY OF VARIETIES. TWO THEORIES : KNIGHT'S, DOWNING's. — ENGLISH

THEORY AND PRACTICE. PRACTICAL DEDUCTIONS.-— CAUSES OF DECAY.

REMEDIES. HINTS TO ORCHARDISTS. SPECIAL MANURES. PRUNING.

THOROUGH DRAINAGE. — A SATIRICAL SKETCH. SHOOTING THE APPLE-
TREE.

IT is known that many varieties of apples, which fifty years
ago were held in high esteem as healthy, hardy sorts,
bearing abundantly very superior fruit, have now but a very
poor reputation, and varieties which a hundred years ago were
highly valued and extensively cultivated, are now extinct. It
is believed, too, that the most celebrated old varieties that are
yet cultivated, are much more subject to canker than others ;
or, in other words, that trees of these varieties are more easily
affected by unfavourable circumstances, or have a more deli
cate constitution.

To account for this, there are two theories held by different
scientific horticulturists. The first — which originated with the
late Mr. Knight, a distinguished vegetable physiologist of
England, who devoted much attention to the subject, and made
a long series of experiments upon it — may be stated as
follows :

Each seedling tree has a natural limit to its life, and within
that will have a period of vigour, succeeded by a natural and
inevitable decline, corresponding to the gradually increasing
feebleness which attends the latter part of the natural life of

VARIOUS THEORIES. 35

a man. And all trees also which have been propagated from
such a seedling by means of buds or grafts, or, in other words,
all trees of the same variety, are to be considered as merely
extensions of that seedling, and will have a cotemporary
vigour and decline and decease with it. The period of vigour
or decline may be much extended by circumstances favour
able to the general health of any particular tree, and by un
favourable influences it may be shortened : but however well
situated, sooner or later it will manifest feebleness by the
change in the quality of its fruit, the small quantity it is able
to bear, by the decay of branches, and especially by its lia
bility to be attacked by diseases, such as the canker, which
rapidly destroy its remaining vitality. These diseases may
be guarded against, and may often be cured ; but the longer
the period since the origin of the variety from a seed, the
greater the liability and the more difficult the cure.*

This theory is entirely discredited by other distinguished
botanists and horticulturists, among whom are Dr. Lindley in
England, Decandolle on the Continent, and Mr. Downing and
H. W. Beecher in America.

These consider that there is no such similarity between the
life of a tree and the life of an animal, and that a bud and a
seed contain equally the germ of new life, that they are, in
fact, the same thing, except that they are prepared to be
developed under different circumstances. That each bud,
twig, and branch, has a life of its own, and the trunk is but an
association of roots, or of connections between each bud and its

* Professor Turner, of Illinois College, advocates the view that every
time a seedling tree is divided, whether in root or top, its natural longevity
and proportionate vital force are proportionally divided, abstracted, and
shortened ; and believes that some of the worst forms of hereditary, and
also of annual diseases, flow from a succession of such mutilations through
a series of generations, or are produced by an effort of nature to resist and
repair this interference with her natural processes.

86 AN AMERICAN FARMER IN ENGLAND.

roots. It may be separated from this trunk as a seed is, and
will continue to live if ingrafted upon another trunk, where it
will connect itself again with the ground and grow, and
through it other independent lives will be produced and sus
tained. Or it may be removed from its parent and placed
upon the ground, where it will make roots and extend and re
produce again as independently, in all respects, as a seed. It
is held that the death of trees does not arise from any natural
period being assigned to their existence, but that the tissues
of a tree, as they grow old, become dry and hard ; no longer
transmit sap, lose their vitality and gradually decay ; yet the
process of growth may continually be renewed exteriorly to
this death, so that large cavities will often exist in the inte
rior of trees. As, however, the peculiar natural food of the
tree within the limits to which it can extend its roots, becomes
exhausted, or, as other unhealthy circumstances affect it, its
vital power and its re- vitalizing power will be diminished, and
finally may become extinct.

If, however, a bud or germ of a new branch can be taken
from the tree before its decay, or from any part of it that yet
retains its vigour and health, and be transplanted by means of
cuttings in the earth, or inoculations or grafts upon another
healthy stock of the same species, it will have all the vital
energy, and, in every respect, all the natural character, of a
seedling.

In explanation of the general deterioration of certain favour
ite old varieties, according to the theory of Downing and
Lindley, their state should be compared (taking care not to
run the analogy too far into the ground) to what is popularly
understood as a scrofulous condition of human beings, rather
than to the decrepitude of old age. From various causes —
want of proper food, unfavourable climate, propagation upon
unhealthy stocks, high feeding, and any unnatural stimulus

SCROFULOUS TREES. 37

producing imperfect succulent growth, and from constant re-
propagation from trees that have in a greater or less degree
so suffered — the trees of the variety have very generally lost
their natural, strong, active, resisting, and recuperative vital
energy, and have a general tendency to disease, which will be
developed in different forms according to circumstances. A
wound upon a scrofulous subject is more difficult to heal ; ex
ertion produces more fatigue, and rest brings less return of
strength. Food, which in its natural state would be most
nourishing and healthful, it can no longer digest, and it does
it more harm than good ; exposure to cold, to malaria, or
contagion, is more dangerous, and if it escapes all acute disease
it gradually grows more and more feeble^ until finally it has
" died of a decline."

Sterility attends the decrepitude of age, but not the scrof
ulous debility in man, neither does it the degeneracy of the
old trees. But the scrofulous habit is hereditary in man ; so
it is believed to be in the old varieties. If, however, the
scrofulous inheritance is not very virulent, by a judicious
course of regimen it may be gradually overcome, and a strong
vigorous constitution once more re-established. So it is
argued, and facts are cited that seem to sustain the position,
may the old varieties be restored to their pristine excellence,
by care to select scions from the most healthy trees, and
from the most vigorous parts of them, and to propagate these
under the most favourable circumstance for their healthy
growth.

The predisposition to disease in these ill-treated trees may
result in a contagious malady, and this may spread beyond
them and attack trees of ordinarily good constitution, and
in the most salubrious situations, though, of course, the
liability of these to take the malady, and their recupera
tive power under its attack, will be proportionate to their

38 AN AMERICAN FARMER IN ENGLAND.

strength and soundness. The disease known as the yellows,
in peach-trees, seems to be of this nature.

There are many facts unfavourable to both these theories,
and many phenomena which neither of them, in my opinion,
satisfactorily explain. The popular judgment in England
seemed to have accepted Knight's hypothesis. But while
every body was mourning over the degeneracy of old favour
ites, the utter neglect or miserable mismanagement of their
orchards seemed to me to bear strong testimony to the cor
rectness of the contrary theory.

The practical deduction, it may be remarked, from either
view, does not greatly differ. By judicious management, the
health, vigour, and profit of a fruit-tree, which would other
wise, after a certain time, pine away and die, may be greatly
extended, if not made permanent; and trees which are already
failing from decrepitude or disease, may be restored. On the
other hand, if trees are planted in unhealthy positions, insuffi
ciently supplied with those materials that are necessary to the
formation of strong, compact wood ; if they are cruelly muti
lated, crowded too close together, &c., they will not only be
feeble and unproductive, but will be particularly liable to the
attacks of vermin, disease, and parasites, and, in their weak
condition, will soon yield their life to theso enemies. More
over, the insects which are bred in them will extend their
ravages to surrounding trees, the seeds from their parasites
will be scattered over the neighbourhood, and the disease
which is generated in them may be indefinitely extended
among their species.

The most common causes of disease, decay, and decline
of a fruit-tree, which it is in the power of the orchardist, in a
great degree, to control, are these : the exhaustion from the
soil of those materials which are its necessary food ; the at
tacks of vermin, and the growth of moss or parasites ; the

SPECIAL MANURES. 39

loss of large limbs or other severe wounds; too great ex
posure of the trunks to the sun ; too rapid and succulent
growth from the stimulus of heat or exciting manures ; and
an impervious subsoil, which will allow water frequently to
stagnate about its roots, producing what is commonly called
by farmers " a cold, sour soil."

Some of my readers, who have not studied the subject,
may be glad to have me concisely indicate the most ap
proved means of avoiding or counteracting these dangers.

Manures should be applied to orchards frequently and in
moderate quantities, rather than in heavy supplies at distant
intervals ; and, to avoid unhealthy stimulation, they should be
well decomposed. The best ordinary manure in the United
States has been found to be a mixture of dung with an equal
quantity of peat or black swamp-earth, chip-dirt, or rotten
wood or leaves ; and it is better that this compost should
be mixed some time (the longer the better) before it is
applied.

But, in addition, I have shown from, the English experience
that the apple-tree requires a more than ordinary supply of
lime, (say a peck of air-slaked stone or shell lime to each
tree, every year.) In the same way the pear is known to
require especially potash, iron, and phosphorus.

Iron is found in sufficient quantity in most clay soils ;
where needed it may be supplied by scattering bog-ore,
(foimd generally underlying swamps . in America,) or iron
filings, or the sweepings and scoriae from forges. One pound
of crude potash dissolved in water and poured over the com
post manure, or half-a-bushel of wood ashes, to a tree, will be
a good yearly allowance of potash ; and half-a-peck of bones
to a tree will supply the phosphorus. For the plum and the
quince, salt is found particularly useful, and ashes for the
peach. But let it not be forgotten that the apple cannot live

40 AN AMERICAN FARMER IN ENGLAND.

on lime alone, nor the peach on potash, only that it is a special
supply of these that they more particularly require.*

The Herefordshire orchards suffer much more from moss,
parasites, and insects, and less pains are taken to guard against
them or to destroy them than is usual in New England.
There is a fine moss that will notr easily be detected, that
often collects upon the branches, and, diverting the juices of
the tree to its own nourishment, eventually, if not removed,
destroys the bark ; and limbs are seen frequently thus denuded
of their natural defence, and the wood consequently decaying.
This is doubtless a common cause of organic disease. The
ordinary preventive and remedy for every thing of this sort
is to wash the trunk and principal limbs of the tree every
year with a weak lye — in which it is a good plan to put a
little sulphur — all insects having a particular repugnance to
it.f If there is much dead, scaly bark, it should be first
rubbed or scraped^ off.

Trees should be allowed to branch low and naturally.
The " trimming up" and unnatural exposure to the sun of
the trunk of the pear-tree is known to particularly predispose
it to a most fatal malady. Where trees are properly
managed while young, it will never be necessary to prune
their limbs in our climate ; and there can scarcely ever be a
case where the cutting off a limb larger than a man's arm
will not be likely to do more harm than good. Wherever it
is done, or wherever a large branch has been blown off, the
stump should be squared off neatly, and a salve of clay and

* Copperas (sulphate of iron) seems to act as a tonic upon trees. If
applied to feeble, pale-leaved shrubs and treesj it will often wonderfully
invigorate them. It may be dissolved in water. A mild solution of sul
phate or muriate of ammonia has a similar effect, but must be used with
care.

t 1 lb. of potash, or 1 quart soft soap ; and 4 oz. sulphur, to 1 gallon
of water.

UNDER-DRAINING ORCHARDS. 41

cow-dung spread over it and secured upon it by a cap of
canvas or sheet-lead. Smaller stumps should be covered
with paint, or with a coating of shellac dissolved in alcohol.

Too rapid and succulent growth, making imperfectly formed
wood, through which the future processes of the growth of
the tree or the fruit formation will be inefficiently performed,
is occasioned either by too stimulating food in the soil, or by
a forcing heat in the climate which excites a growth unnatural
to the original habit of the tree. There are also probably
other yet unexplained causes for it. The preventive must
be determined by the cause. The immediate remedy is
shortening-in with a knife one-quarter or one-half of the
growth of each year. This is absolutely necessary to the
successful cultivation of the peach in many situations in the
United States, and, as I have shown, is sometimes used as a
remedy for canker in the apple-tree in England.*

Too retentive a subsoil, or a cold, sour, malarious bed for
the roots of an orchard, is only to be remedied by under-
draining. Mr. Thompson, of the London Horticultural Society,
gives a striking instance of the profit which may attend this
operation.

Having detailed several experiments, he remarks that
" want of drainage deprives the roots of proper nourishment,
subjects them to a chilling temperature, and forces them to
absorb a vitiated fluid." He then describes an orchard planted,
in 1828, upon a retentive marly clay. He says, "the trees
grew tolerably well for some time ; but after seven years they
began to exhibit? symptoms of ill thriving, and were every

* The principal enemy of the peach-tree is the borer, a worm which
works under the bark, near the surface of the ground. Its presence may
be known by the exudation of gum. Trees should be examined for it
every spring and fall, and it may be easily pricked out and killed with a
sharp-pointed knife.

42 AN AMERICAN FARMER IN ENGLAND.

year getting worse: I saw them in 1840, and instead of in
creasing in size they seemed to be decreasing." The trees
grew worse, and the following year several died. It was then
determined to drain the land : 3000 feet of draining-tile
were laid, 3 feet deep, in parallel lines, 48 feet apart. In the
spring of 1843, and in the autumn of the same year, 3000 feet
of drain pipes, li inch bore, were laid at 30 inches deep, so
that the drains were then only 24 feet apart ; the ground at
the same time was dug over eight inches deep, and the trees
pruned. The following year the proprietor writes : " I never
housed any thing like 50 bushels before ; now there are at
least 75 bushels, while my summer fruit was at least double
the usual quantity." Upon this, Mr. Thompson remarks : —
" The lopping-in of the trees and digging the ground, as
above described, were doubtless advantageous proceedings ;
but the draining of the ground was unquestionably the main
cause of the extraordinary change in the condition of the
trees; for stunted specimens, that previous to the draining
were covered with moss, had made no shoots for years, and
were in such a state of decrepitude that there was nothing to
cut away but dead wood ; these had produced vigorous shoots
when I saw them in 1847, and have continued to do so up to
the present time. Such vigour cannot be attributed to the
cutting-in, for in these cases it was not practised ; nor to the
digging of the ground, for although this was done before
draining was thought of, yet the trees went backwards, the
decay of their branches increased under all circumstances till
1843, when recourse was had to draining, and since then they
have continued to do well, producing vigorous shoots — shoots
upwards of three feet in length ; and in the present season the
fruit was abundant, large, and highly coloured."

A case was mentioned before the Staten Island Farmer's
Club, in 1850, of an under-drain having been run near two

A DEVONSHIRE CIDER FROLIC. 43

greengage plum-trees, which had previously been for many
years entirely barren ; the year after, without any other
operation upon them, they bore bushels of fruit.

The following satirical sketch of the management of the
Devonshire orchards, contains an amusing account of the
ceremony of " shooting at the apple-tree," before alluded to.*

" The trees are planted, to a large extent, apparently without consider
ing what sort of soil or situation is best, and without making any previous
preparation ; a situation is chosen, a pit is dug with a curious clumsy bit
of iron, having a large socket-hole at one end of it, in which is driven a
large, strong pole, which answers for a handle ; it is worked with both
hands over one knee ; the depth that the roots are buried does not seem
to be of any moment, provided the trees are firmly fixed, so as to prevent
the wind from driving them down. I have never observed any pruning
performed, except such as is done by bullocks, horses, donkeys, &c. ; and
as I have not observed any "horse-ladders" here in use, of course the
pruning is not very effectively performed about the top part of the very
lofty trees. The only digging or stirring the surface of the ground among
the trees that I have observed is done by pigs, which are occasionally al
lowed to rove in some orchards, at certain seasons of the year, with the
rings taken from their snouts. In a moist season these intelligent animals
occasionally turn up the ground in a tolerably regular manner ; and
where this is the case the good effects of their industry, are obvious.
However, it is only on rare occasions that they are allowed to perform
this surface operation. Tho animals that do the pruning are the principal
business-performing creatures, as, in addition to that operation, they
tread down the under crop of grass, weeds, and other rubbish, take the
fruit to the cider-mill, and the cider to the consumer ; besides, on rare oc
currences, a little manure is conveyed by them, and placed over the roots,
close to the trunks of the trees ; it is sometimes, although rarely, placed
at the great distance of three or four feet from the trunk. Bipeds, not
withstanding, perform some of the most interesting and essential parts,
such as planting, collecting the fruit, consuming it in part, and assisting
in making the cider; together with shooting at trees annually on Old
Twelfth-night. Let it rain, hail, blow, or snow, this very essential and
interesting ceremony is always commenced at 12 o'clock at night, a tre
mendous fire being kept up for several hours afterwards. They repeat or
sing the following interesting song, with all the might which their lungs

* From the London Gardeners' Chronicle.

44 AN AMERICAN FARMER IN ENGLAND.

will permit. The juice of the fruit is generally made use of for many
hours, pretty freely, previously to this interesting ceremony, so that a
perfect ripeness of address and expertness in gunnery is the result. Guns
and firelocks long laid by are on this remarkable occasion brought for
ward. The following is what I have heard sung on these occasions, al
though much more is added in some localities : —

" Here's to theo, old apple-tree,

Whence thou mayest bud, and whence thou mayest blow ;
And whence thou mayest bear apples enow ;

Hats full, caps full !

Bushel, bushel-sacks full !

And my pockets full too !
If thee does not bear either apples or corn,
We'll down with thy top, and up with thy horn."

(Here the natives shoot at the tree.)

TILE' AND THATCHED ROOFS. 45

CHAPTER VI.

ROOFS ; SHINGLES ; TILE ; THATCH : THE ADVANTAGES AND DISADVANTAGES

OB' EACH. THE USE OF THATCH IN AMERICA. HEREFORD. CHRISTIAN

HOSPITALITY. A MILK FARM. THE HEREFORDS. — A DANGEROUS MAN.

QOME WHERE in this region, we passed two small
^ churches or chapels with roofs of wooden shingles ; in
both cases the pitch of the roof was very steep, and the shin
gles old, warped, and mossy. These -were the only shingle
roofs I recollect to have seen in England ; but I was told
they were not very uncommon upon old farm-buildings in
Devonshire. The roofs hereabouts, generally, are of flat tile.
In moulding these tile, which are of equal thickness at both
ends, a hole is made in the upper .part, by which they are
pegged to slats, which run horizontally across the rafters ;
(about London a protuberance is moulded upon the tile, by
which it is hung.) This peg is covered, as the nails of a
shingle are, by the lower part of the tile of the next tier
above it. If no precaution to prevent it is taken, there will
sometimes be crevices in a tile roof, through which snow will
drive ; in dwellings, a thin layer of straw is often laid under
the tile, and sometimes they are laid in mortar. Pan-tiles.
(common on old houses in New York) are also made tight
with mortar. Roofs of this kind will last here about twice as
long as shingle roofs with us, without repairs, and are fire
proof. Unless laid over straw, they give less protection than
shingles against heat and. cold.

40 AN AMERICAN FARMER IN ENGLAND.

The roofing material changes completely often in one day's
walk ; flat tiles giving place to slates, slates to pan-tiles, &c.
In Monmouthshire, the roofs are generally made of a flat,
shaly stone, called tile-stone, quarried not less than an inch
thick. It is laid with mortar, or straw or moss, like tile, and
requires strong timber to support it. The better class of
houses and modern farm-buildings, almost every where, are
slated ; sometimes metal-roofed ; very rarely covered with
compositions or felt. Cottages and old farm-houses and sta
bles, every where, except in the vicinity of slate quarries, are
thatched. Straw thatch is commonly laid about eight inches
thick. Its permanence depends on the pitch of the roof.
Ordinarily it may last twenty-five years ; and when a new roof
is required, the old thatch is not removed, but a new layer of
the same thickness is laid over the old one. Frequently
three and sometimes more layers of thatch may be seen on
an old building, the roof thus being often two feet thick. It is
a cheaper roof than any other, and is much the best protection
against both cold and heat. The objection to it is that it
harbours vermin, and is more liable to take fire from sparks
than any other. The danger of the latter is not as great,
however, as would be supposed. I saw and heard of no
houses on fire while I was in England, except in London. I
frequently saw cottages in which coppice-wood was being
burned, the top of the chimney not a foot above the dry straw
thatch, and the smoke drifting right down upon it. The. dan
ger from fire would be somewhat greater in America, where
wood is more commonly used as fuel and rain is much less
frequent. There are some situations in which it might be
safely employed, however, (if on dwellings, the chimney
should be elevated more than usual,) and where it would form
the cheapest and most comfortable, and much the most pic
turesque and appropriate, roof.

COTTAGE WALLS. 47

The cost of the thatched roof of a double cottage, fifty by
fifteen feet, is estimated at one hundred and forty dollars,
of which about forty dollars is for straw, forty dollars for
thatcher's work, and the remainder for the frame, lath, &c.

The walls of labourers' cottages are of stone, or brick
and timber, or of clay.

In making the latter, which are very common, the clay,
having been well forked over and cleaned of stones, is
sprinkled with water, and has short straw mixed with it, and
is then trodden with horses and worked over until it becomes
a plastic mass. The more it is trodden the better. A founda
tion of stone is first made ; one man forms the prepared clay
into balls, or lumps as large as bricks, and passes these to
another, who lays and packs them well and firmly together,
dressing off smooth and straight with a trowel. After the
height desired for the wall is attained, it is commonly plastered
over inside and out with a thin coat of more carefully pre
pared clay, and whitewashed. This makes an excellent non
conducting wall, equal, in every respect, except in permanence,
and almost in that, to stone or brick. Very respectable
houses, as villas and parsonages, are sometimes built in this
way. It costs about 30 cts. a square yard.

I once or twice saw the walls of cottages made of or
covered with thatch, and have no doubt, as long as vermin
were kept out of them, that they were, as was asserted, ex
ceedingly comfortable. These were gentlemen's country
boxes, not labourers' cottages!

On reaching Hereford, a city of 10,000 inhabitants, we
were met by a gentleman to whom word had been sent by
some of the " Brethren" at Ludlow, who begged us all to
come to his house, and, upon reaching it, we found rooms pre-

48 AN AMERICAN FARMER IN ENGLAND.

pared for us, and his family expecting us. This hospitality
was entirely unexpected : the gentleman was a stranger to us ;
we had not even ever heard his name before ; nevertheless,
he contrived to make us feel perfectly at home, and free to
dispose of our time to suit ourselves.

After tea he walked with us about the town, and took us a
little into the country, to see a small milk-dairy and orchard-
farm. The cows were of the Hereford breed, but not full-
blooded, nor have we seen many that were. Most of the
cattle in this vicinity have more ©r less of the marks of the
breed, and their quality is about in proportion to their purity.
The poorest cattle I have seen in England were within two
miles of Hereford, but there was no mark of Hereford blood
in them, and they had probably been bought out of the
county, and brought there to fatten. The best milkers on
this farm were not the best-bred cows. The average value
of the herd was not far from $35 a-head. They were kept in
a long stable ; mangers and floor of wood, a slope of half an
inch in a foot to the latter, with a gutter in the rear. They
were entirely house-fed, on green clover. They were milked
by women, and the milk all sold in the town.

Late in the evening, our host called with us on the Rev.

Mr. , a right warm, -manly, Christian gentleman, who,

though in domestic affliction, on learning that we were Amer
icans, received us most cordially. We found him singularly
familiar with American matters, both political and theolo
gical ; a portrait of Dr. Bushnell, of Hartford, along with that
of Dr. Arnold, and other worthies, was over his mantel, the
last " New-Englander" on his table, and a fragrance peculiarly
adapted to make an American feel at home, soon pervaded
the atmosphere of his study. We had a most agreeable and
valuable conversation, and it was long before we could re
turn to the hospitable quarters which had been provided for

HETERODOXY. 49

us for the night. Mr. is an Independent, or, as he pre
fers to be called, a Congregationalist ; accounted somewhat
heterodox, and treated with a cold shoulder by some of the
scribes and doctors, we were afterwards informed ; but of
this we discovered nothing, and imagine him to be merely a
peculiarly candid, humane, and genial man, only less than
usually disguised or constrained in expression, by habits, pre
cedents, and dogmatic forms.

PART II. 3

50 AN AMERICAN FARMER IN ENGLAND.

CHAPTER VII.

WARM BREAKFAST AND WARM HEARTS. — TRUE SELF-DENIAL. PRIMITIVE

CHRISTIANITY. A LIVING FAITH.

HEREFORD, June Ytih.

¥HEN we came into the parlour, at half-past seven, we
found a breakfast-party met to greet us. Our host
had been to an early daylight prayer-meeting, and some busi
ness had detained him ; but his friends introduced each other
to us, and we went to breakfast without waiting for him. It
was a good, warm, respectable breakfast — fit for a Christian.
English breakfasts in general are quite absurd; not break
fasts at all, but just aggravations of fasts, and likely to put a
man in any thing but a Christian humour for his day's work.
As for the better part of the meal, see C.'s letter, (from which
I here extract) :

" I shall not soon forget those earnest, simple-hearted men.
In many circles one would be repelled by such constant use
of religious phrases, but in them it did not seem like cant at
al] — rather the usual expression with them of true feeling. It
was a company too well worth considering. Opposite me sat
a middle-aged gentleman, who had been a major-general in
the East India service, and who belonged to one of the first
families in the kingdom. Yet he had given up his commis
sion and his position in society for the sake of doing good as
an humble Christian. His half-pay, too, he had refused, be
lieving it inconsistent for a religious man to receive money

PRIMITIVE CHRISTIAN SPIRIT. 51

for services of such a nature. lie had been a scholar also,
and had written a dictionary of the Mahratta tongue. Besides
him, there was a lieutenant in the navy, who had thrown up
his commission from similar religious scruples, and a pro
minent surgeon of the city, devoted, like the rest, to Christian
efforts almost entirely. They had been to a prayer-meeting,
and the conversation, with the Bible open on the table, com
menced at once on a passage in John. It was beautiful, the
simple, natural way they all conversed of religious topics —
no straining for sanctity, but easily and earnestly, as men
usually would speak of weighty political matters.

" But, free as is the plan of these brethren, I am sorry to
say that in real liberality they do not go beyond most others.
The conversation during breakfast turned on the Roman
Catholics. Most of them went so far as to doubt whether
a Papist ever could bo a Christian. The major disagreed
with them, and it was noble, the enthusiasm with which he
spoke of the pure and earnest Pascal. Generally, however,
their feeling toward men of different doctrinal opinions was
much like that of any sectarians. The Independent clergy
man at Hereford says that the most he has known are men
of the Church of England, and that they have just grasped a
few great ideas, which the Independents have been preaching
since the time of Cromwell. And certainly, as compared
with ' the Church,' their religious character is most simple
and free. It was curious to notice, as an illustration of
English manners, that all these men, the most spiritual of the
whole community, took their beer or wine as regularly as we
would pur tea."

In addition to the evidence of the sincere character of the
" Brethren" instanced above, I may mention that another of
our company had been an apothecary, and given up his busi
ness from a conviction that Homeopathy was a better way

52 AN AMERICAN FARMER IN ENGLAND.

than the common drugging, and that we afterwards met one,
a near relative of one of the most distinguished noblemen and
statesmen . of Great Britain, who had retired from a highly
honourable and lucrative official position, from a desire to live
more in accordance with his religious aspirations than his
duties in it permitted him to. I shall omit to narrate what
more we saw of them, as we proceeded further on our jour
ney ; but must say, to conclude, that if, in letting no man
judge them in meat or in drink, or in respect of a holy day —
if, in teaching and admonishing one another with psalms and
hymns and spiritual songs — if, in bowels of mercy, kindness,
humbleness of mind, meekness, self-sacrifice, and zealous
readiness to every good work — if, especially, in real genuine
hospitality to strangers, there be any thing of " primitive Chris
tianity," our entertainers seemed to us to have had very great
success in their purpose to return to it. They certainly were
not without their share of bigotry and self-confidence in such
matters of creed as they happened to hold in common ; but
this did not seem to have the effect upon them of destroying
geniality and good fellowship, nor of cramping the spirit of
practical, material, and unromantic benevolence. They were
quite different, too, in their way of talking upon those subjects
on which they conceived their minds to be " at rest," from

the theological students at , whom describes as

studying as if they had bought tickets for the night-train to
heaven, and, having requested the conductor to call them
when they got there, were trying to get into the most com
fortable position to sleep it through.

HEREFORD JAIL. 53

CHAPTER VIII.

T1IE COUNTY JAIL. ENGLISH PRISON DISCIPLINE. THE PERFECTION OF THE

PRESENT. EDUCATION AND TAXATION. WHAT NEXT ? CAPTAIN MACHONO

CIIIE. THE MARK SYSTEM. THE CHRISTIAN IDEA OF PUNISHMENT.

A FTER breakfast, we visited the county prison. It is on
•*•*• the plan of the celebrated Pentonville model prison,
near London, which is an improvement on what is called the
Philadelphia plan. Any of my readers who are much inter
ested in the great and most puzzling problem of prison disci
pline will be familiar with the elements of the last experiment
of the British Government upon the sad subject.

This specimen of it at Hereford was all that could be
asked for in its way. Evidently, no skill in planning and no
expense in execution had been wanting to make it as perfect
as such a thing could be.

We were first conducted through several long, light, and
airy corridors, upon which opened the well-ventilated sleeping-
cells of the prisoners — each cell appearing the perfection of a,
cell, as if made to the order of some noble amateur rascal,
in the most complete and finished style which would be ap
propriate to an apartment with that designation : the walls of
plain hewn stone, but white as bishop's lawn ; the floor damp-
proof, of asphalte ; the bedstead of iron, the bed of sufficiently
appropriate coarseness, snugly and neatly made up as if by
the joint labour of a tasteful upholsterer and a skilful laundress ;

54 AN AMERICAN FARMER IN ENGLAND.

warmed on the hot-water plan ; furnished with a wash-bowl,
and pure water brought by pipes ; lighted by a beam of fil
trated sunshine by day, and a jet of gas-flame by night ; pro
vided also with a bell or signal, by which the interesting in
mate may at any time, in case of bodily ailment, summon a
regular bred physician to his relief, or a veritable and legiti
mate " descendant of the apostles," in case he should be taken
suddenly aback with repentance during the night : at every
bed-head too — regularly as the crucifix in the dormitories of
monks, or the squat, yellow Josh in the habitation of the
Chinese — a bible. " The Bible ! ah ! how must his heart melt,
and his dark mind be enlightened, as in his retirement from
the wild temptations of the wicked world the prisoner is left
to be absorbed in its glorious tidings. What a feast, what a

treasure, what a " nay, the shining leather and sticking

leaves tell us that even the Bible Societies may throw pearls
before swine.

" Aye," say£ the turnkey : — "He can't read — a young chap
— in for two months ; petty larceny."

We open and read. — " He that knew not, and did commit
things worthy of stripes, shall be beaten with few stripes. For
unto whomsoever much is given, of him shall much be re
quired ; and to whom men have committed much, of him they
will ask the more."

It was given him to have a mind uneducated except in igno
rance and criminal contrivance, and it was required of him, he
might tell us, to either starve or steal ; and then there is given
him good, comfortable, clean, wholesome air, water, food, lodg
ing, and exercise, (not work.) Moreover, there is added this
sealed book. Must he not think it mockery 1

But we are not allowed to philosophize, or moralize, or
criticise. We are expected only to admire, and are passed
along to the culinary department.

A MODEL PRISON. 55

Perfection again — of a kitchen with an admirable, stout,
dignified chef -de-cuisine, graduate of Paris doubtless, presi
ding. The diet-table he explains to us, is scientifically ordered ;
the beef and bread and vegetable are of the best, and we are
shown how the quantity for each man in each particular is ac
curately weighed out. The patients are also weighed periodi
cally, and the allowance of food and of exercise is studiously
adjusted to the condition of each.

Next we are taken to the day cells, which are in several
separate courts. Within each is an ingeniously-contrived crank
attached to a common shaft revolving through all. This crank
is the exerciser. The prisoner stands at a certain distance be
fore it, takes hold of it with both hands, and, as it turns, a cer
tain motion is given to his whole body — the most healthful
sort of motion : expanding the chest, and moving every joint
of his limbs. He remains in this cell ten hours each day,
Sundays excepted ; and the usual allowance of exercise is half
an hour, with ten minutes' rest after it, continued alternately
during that time. There is a library in the prison, from which
primers, picture-books, and tracts, are served out for the exer
cise of his mind during the ten minutes' bodily rests.

For Sundays, there is provided another sort of cells, which
are so arranged that each prisoner can look at the same central
point, but cannot see any other prisoner. At the central point
is placed a humble vessel, (doubtless as perfect as can be made
by ordinances, and duly clad in regulation vesture.) from which
a stated dose of " gospel privileges" is scientifically discharged
and systematically imbibed by every patient — prisoner I mean.
There are two such rations given on Sunday, with a dinner
between, and opportunity for reflection in private, before and
after.

It is a first principle of the plan that labour should end
where it begins. The exercising shaft is sometimes applied

56 AN AMERICAN FARMER IN ENGLAND.

to a pump-brake to fill the reservoir over the prison with
Witter, but never hi any other way saves labour. Pains are
taken in every way, not with absolute success it is admitted,
to secure utter silence, and to prevent all communication be
tween the prisoners. Criminals are rarely sent here for more
than twelve months; and it is said, that with all the science and
care that can be devoted to them, their health, both bodily
and mental, is endangered, if their confinement is protracted
longer.

It may be, as its admirers have no shadow of doubt, the
happiest idea of a prison most happily realized that the world
yet knows ; yet it is one of the most painful things to examine
that I ever saw. It is hardly possible to speak well of it but
in irony, or to describe it without sarcasm, so absurd seems
all this scientific care for the well-being — physical, mental, and
moral — of these miserable transgressors, contrasted with the
studied neglect, justified and made praiseworthy by strictly
economical and religious reasoning, of the unoffending poor.
"While no talent, painstaking, and complicated machinery, is too
expensive and cumbrous to be devoted to the keeping of the
criminal, of the unfortunate, society, through the state, still
says — Am I my brother's keeper ?

Hold the hand ! Dash not the book behind the grate,
my conservative friend ; I wrould hint at nothing more dan
gerous than education — a word one may yet speak in America
without being finally condemned as an infidel and a socialist,
and a man given to isms. Would you still call me to order,
remind me that I am writing on the subject of prisons — En
glish prisons — and that I may take up the subject of schools in
another chapter. Yet there may be lessons learned from
prisons, and English prisons teach lessons that all wrho do
not care for the subject of education would do well to heed.

In the prisons of England, in 1841, it was found thu.t

EDUCATION AND CRIME. 57

out of every hundred criminals then supported by the
state —

33 had never learned to read or write ;

56 were able to read and write imperfectly ;

7 were able to read and write well ; and only

1 in two hundred and twenty-two had been favoured with
" instruction superior to reading and writing."*

Only 28 in every hundred were over 30 years of age !
So soon in crime come forward and pass away the children
of ignorance.

The chaplain of the Brecon jail reports, that though the
majority of the prisoners to whom he ministers are able to
read imperfectly, yet their education has been so defective
that they have no notion of the bearing and connection of one
part of a sentence with another. Nine out of ten of them
were ignorant of the merest rudiments of Christianity. The
chaplain of the Bedford jail states that the great majority
of prisoners there confined are " ignorant, stupid, and uncon
cerned." Another jail chaplain observes of those " children,
or men still childish," under his care, who hadkeen instructed in
reading and writing, " they had not learned to think about or un
derstand any thing that they had been taught ; the ears had
heard, the tongue had learned utterance, but the mind had
received no idea, no impression." (The reader may be
reminded of what I said of sailors' reading. j- ) From the
Bucks county jail it is reported that about half the prisoners
have never been taught to read and write, and about one
quarter are ignorant of the alphabet ; and that " ignorance
is uniformly accompanied with the greatest depravity." ]

Had we not better give up our " godless schools," and

* Parliamentary Document, 1842.
t Walks and Talks, i. 33.

% Jail Returns to the House of Commons, 1848.
3*

58 AX AMERICAN FARMER IN ENGLAND.

establish some godly prisons for the next generation ? Surely
we may learn something from the statesmanship that is
wedded to a church.

I heard a crusty old bachelor say the other day, growling
at the Free School Laws : " But I have no children, and I
don't, want to pay for the schooling of my neighbour's brats ;
if they were begging for bread, it would be another thing."
The land of free trade has something to tell us about this too.
"Nine out of twelve of the inmates of the Poor-houses of
Norfolk and Suffolk cannot write their names."*

Never forget, citizens of the United States, that the chil
dren within a republic are, and must be, " THE CHILDREN OF
THE REPUBLIC." Do your duty to them, or they will not do
their duty to you.

To return to the Hereford jail: I intimated that every
thing said in admiration of it seemed necessarily ironical and
bitter ; but I do recall one pleasant, and, I doubt not, true
word, for it — " it is a palace compared with the old one"

Good ! — surely that is good : no one will ask us to go
back to packing criminals, and all under surveillance of the
law, promiscuously into great stone pens, giving them rotten
straw to rest upon, and supplying only the cheapest grub that
will offer to keep body and soul together. Few will be in
clined to think that the world's prisons — hell triumphant in
Austria and Naples excepted — are not better now than in the
day of Howard. Progress there has been, even here, true and
substantial progress, thank God ! Progress there must be, for
the kingdom of God moves steadily on. This palace-prison is
"but a mile-stone on the road.

What next1? There are some pamphlets before me in
which an answer to this question is attempted to be given.f

* Von Kaumer.

t "The Principles of Punishment," by Captain Machonochie, E. N.,

PRINCIPLES OF PUNISHMENT. 59

The matter is one of so much difficulty and so great import
ance, so nearly connected with the progress of Christianity
and civilized law, and the plan of a new prison is so often to
be discussed and established among our thirty states and
thousand counties, that I must beg my readers to carefully
examine the new system of punishment that they propose,
and I urge it the more, because, so far as I know, it has,
up to this time, entirely escaped the attention of the Ameri
can press.

But first let us distinctly recall to mind what is most un
satisfactory and clearly defective in our present prisons and
system of criminal punishment.

There are two general principles with regard to the punish
ment of crime that have been theoretically received and ap
proved of in the minds of all enlightened and Christian people,
and yet to which there is much in our present system that is
practically false and repugnant. We say "necessarily so,"
and that this necessity is one of the awful results of crime or
sin. God knows if we are right. If not, we are terribly
wrong.

The principles or rules with regard to punishment, to which
I refer, are these : that it should not be vindictive or revenge
ful, that it is not the business of human jurisprudence to
satisfy the abstract claims of justice, " Vengeance is mine, saith
the Lord ;" that, on the other hand, it should be our purpose,
in the treatment of criminals, so far as may be consistent with
the good of society, to do them good, to make them better,

K. II : J. Ollivier, Pall Mall, London. " Crime and Punishment," by Cap
tain Maclionocliie : J. Hatchard & Son, London. An " Essay on Crimi
nal Jurisprudence," by Marmaduke B. Sampson : Highley & Son, London.
These works may all be obtained through the agency of the publisher of
this book, and will be found to contain (especially the last) some most
valuable hints and suggestions applicable to other matters besides prison
discipline. Their cost is trifling.

60 AN AMERICAN FARMER IN ENGLAND.

stronger, and happier. This also is a corollary of the second
principle to which I refer, namely, that the great end of
criminal law is to prevent, discourage, and lessen crime.

I say that practically, among the mass of our community,
the punishment of criminals is felt to be, and is engaged in as
if it were, the satisfaction of a vindictive feeling against an
enemy of society, a satisfaction that the law makes him pay
(though " I will repay, saith the Lord!") in the inconvenience
and suffering of his confinement and hard labour, for the injury
he has done society or some member of society. That, "practi
cally, the criminal has the counterpart of this feeling, consider
ing that society looks upon him as its enemy, and, when it
catches him, vindictively makes hfm suffer for his crime, as if it
were a match between him and the law, in which he was the
loser ; and that the effect of looking upon it in this way is to
aggravate and intensify the evil wliich we theoretically pro
pose to cure by his imprisonment.

It is true, that in accordance with the purpose of improving
the character of criminals during (I cannot say, by) their im
prisonment. wre employ chaplains to preach and counsel
them, and give them books, that it is supposed, in the absence
of any other employment of the mind, may engage their at
tention. And these are the only means employed at present
for the purpose of training them to be active, efficient, indus
trious, and well-disposed members of society, upon their
release ! I might bring forward endless statistics in proof, but
few will be inclined to deny that for this purpose these means
constantly prove themselves entirely inadequate; that, in this
respect, our system is a constant and complete failure. Why 1
Because of the " foolishness of preaching ?" Because virtue
is taught only theoretically ; and a field of practice, of resist
ance of the temptation to the peculiar sins which we denomi
nate crime, is required to give such lessons practical value ?

MORAL INFLUENCES ON THE PRISONER. 61

Because under a system in which a man is provided with
good and sufficient food, clothing, lodging, fuel, and other
necessities of health and life, to a degree of perfection that
he never knew before, without the exercise of any personal
care, forethought, skill, or labour, much of the real manly
virtue of active life becomes a dead letter, and cannot be
acquired 1 Because the religion that is preached does not
make necessary the practice of prudence, energy, economy,
industry, and honest ingenuity 1 Because, under such circum
stances, instead of the reception of an elevating, reforming,
purifying principle of life, a religion of weak, mystic frames
of feeling, and sentimental professions, is more likely to be
encouraged, and is hardly distinguishable or avoidable to be
confused with vital piety 1 Or is it because nearly all the
other influences about the imprisoned criminal are enervating,
or opposed to reform and virtue 1 Horrible thought ! But let
us consider how he is situated ; what are the influences, what
the natural motives, that are likely to be operating upon him
in the circumstances in which we place him.

The criminal is sentenced, we will suppose, for ten years,
and finds himself locked into a narrow cell, where it is only
at occasional and comparatively distant intervals that he can
be communicated with, even by his keeper, chaplain, or phy
sician, the only human beings who have access to him. It
may be for a certain time each day he is set to labour ; hard
labour being given him, not as a privilege, not as a relief, not
as a means of bettering his condition, or in any way as to be
loved and valued ; but as an addition to the punishment of
solitary confinement. It may be practically a relief; but
when we admit it to be so, under the circumstances in which
it is engaged in, we must have some notion of the dreary
loneliness and tedious prospect which he has in his cell,
though in it comforts, which iii the ordinary government of

62 AN AMERICAN FARMER IN ENGLAND.

Providence he would have been taught to look upon as the
natural rewards of activity, prudence, and labour, are crowded
around him. He is left to his own thoughts ; his recollections
are vicious ; are his anticipations likely to be virtuous ? With
ten years to be spent under these circumstances, what will
his mind be most likely to be directed to ? Will it not be to
means of beguiling his time in sleep or self-forgetfulness, or
to evade his compulsory labour 1 Could any way be better
contrived to fix a man in a disposition to idleness and va
grancy ? His life stagnates, his impulses putrify, his only
activity is directed in the search for opportunities of personal
gratification — which are obtained, we are told, even in
ways most horrible — and for this purpose his powers of
deception are sharpened, or, when unable to offend in act,
he seeks in fancy a gratification by gloating over impure
images.

And is this lame, inconsistent, miserable plan, all its details
so working at cross purposes, the end of all the philanthropic
labours, private and associated, that have been given to the
subject during the last fifty years 1 The result, good friends,
not the end. Then, in God's name, WHAT NEXT ?

An answer from Captain Machonochie will be found in the
Appendix C, and I beg for it, with all earnestness, the thought
ful perusal of my countrymen. It is based on plain, distinct,
uncontradictory principles, which are applicable to the punish
ment of all criminals, and to the construction of all criminal
laws. It is the plan of no closet philosopher, but of a cool-
headed, warm-hearted sailor, who was chosen by his govern
ment, for his manifest natural qualifications for undertaking
the superintendence of criminals, to take charge of one of its
most responsible penal establishments. It is a plan that has
been well considered, and is ably defended to the minutest
details, as the reader, who is willing to study it further, will

WHAT SHALL WE WAR AGAINST f 63

find, on referring to the pamphlets I have mentioned in the
note on a previous page.*

It seems to me like a great invention, so simple, so natural,
so in every way commending itself immediately to my mind,
that I am amazed that the world is but just arriving at it, and
I thank God that I have to live and do my work in the day it
brightens. For it seems to me more than an invention — an
inspiration. At least I find in it the principles of Jesus Christ,
now at length consistently and satisfactorily applied to the
treatment of criminals. The most prudent regard for the in
terests of society at large will oblige us no longer to set our
teeth, and clench our hands, and steel our hearts to pity, in the
jury-box, but will combine with the truest kindness, hope, and
prayer in faith, for the individual good of the criminal. Under
our present criminal laws, and with our present systems of
punishment, the first task of the prosecuting attorney is, too
often, to turn us from the estate of warm-hearted Christian
love, into cold, calculating, vengeful savages. But now, that
which has heretofore been the most trying, confounding, and
insnarmg responsibility upon the Christian citizen, may become
a reasonable, happy, improving duty and privilege. Punish
ment shall be awarded with loving-kindness. Punishment shall
be the handmaid of Love.

And now, is it more than a question of how long we halt
in this wretched, self-destructive darkness ? Is there not light
enough for the next step1? Speak out, good heart of the
People ! Shall we henceforth do battle with Criminals or
with Crime?

* For a refutation of objections, see, particularly, the Eeport of the
Committee on Criminal Law of the " Society for Promoting the Amendment
of the Laiv."

64 AN AMERICAN FARMER IN ENGLAND.

CHAPTER IX.

A HIT. — THE DEBTORS' PRISON. — UTTER CLEANLINESS. — " CITY" AND " TOWN."

" DOWN" AND " UP." HEREFORD CATHEDRAL. CHURCH AND STATE.

THE PUBLIC PROMENADE.

I MUST not forget two incidents of our visit to the jail.
Punishment is inflicted by withholding food ; also, I imagine,
for slight offences, in other ways. An officer wTith us noticed
some untidiness of dress upon one of the prisoners, and, point
ing to it, said, — " You are an Englishman : / don't want to
treat you as an Irishman" As we entered a certain apart
ment, our conductor said, " This is the debtors' prison."

One of us remarked, " We have generally abolished im
prisonment for debt in the United States."

The officer, quietly, " It's a pity that you have."

The quarters of the debtors were not cells, but decent
rooms, and there was a large hall common to them. Every
thing here, though, as every where else, was dreadfully clean,
dreary, and mathematical, like a gone-mad housekeeper's
idea of heaven. I should expect that the prisoners would
long, more than any thing else, to have one good roll in the
gutter, and an unmeasured mouthful of some perfectly indi
gestible luxury. It was a relief, after being but an hour
within the walls, to step out once more into the good old
mud and clouds and smells of Nature again.

Among the debtors, one was pointed out to us as a well-
educated lawyer, formerly having a large and respectable

HEREFORD CATHEDRAL. 65

practice, and enjoying a considerable fortune. He had been
confined for several years, but, it was thought, would soon be
released. The placards of an association for taking the part
of imprisoned debtors were posted in the hall.

The title city is applied, in England, only to a town which
is the residence of a bishop, and is equivalent to " a cathedral
town." Hereford is a city ; Chester is a city ; but Liverpool,
with ten times the population of both of them, is not a city.
The term town, again, in England, is never applied to the
subdivisions of a county, (a township,) but is used to desig
nate a place that is closely built, and with a considerable
population — what we should give the title of city to. Thus
London, the largest town, is every where called " the town."
"The city" designates a small part of London, near the
Cathedral of St. Paul. (All over Great Britain they speak of
going " down to London," never " up." This use of " down"
and " up," meaninglessly, in a sentence, I had supposed was a
" down-east" idiom ; but it is common in old England.)

The cathedral at Hereford, built in the time of William
the Conqueror, is in a more ornamental style of Gothic than
any ancient religious edifice we had seen. I did not greatly
admire it. Considerable additions or repairs have been lately
made. On one of the new gables I was surprised to see some
fifty of those grotesque heads, freshly cut. They were not
very ugly, or very droll — indeed, had no marked character, or
any thing that showed a genius, even for the comical, in their
designer or executor. They were not necessary to the har
mony of the modern work with the old ; were, I think, dis
cordant, and what they were put there for I don't know.
Extensive alterations had lately been made in the choir, and
it was the most convenient hall for public exercises that I
recollect to have seen in any English cathedral. The ceiling
was painted (in encaustic) in the bright-coloured bizarre style

66 AS AMERICAN FARMER IN ENGLAND.

that I spoke of at the castle near Shrewsbury. As I entered,
it seemed to me to be in shockingly bad taste for a place of
meditation and worship. We attended the daily morning
service, and heard some fine gentle music — the organ sweetly
played, and the singers all boys.

I was glad to notice that our dissenting friends seemed to
have a pride and sense of possession in the cathedral, as if
they were not in the habit of thinking of it as belonging ex
clusively to those who occupied it, but as if it was intrusted
to them, and as well to them as to any other division, as
representative of the whole Catholic Church of all English
Christians. This way of looking upon " the Church" usurpa
tions is quite commonly observable among the dissenters.
It is not so honourable to them when applied to other things
than mere furniture, as, for instance, the giving the exclusive
teaching of religious doctrine to the children, or paupers, or
soldiers, in whom they have a common interest, to the State
Church, from a supposed necessity of giving it to some one in
preference to all others ; and if not to their particular church,
then of best right to the church of the strongest. The idea
that some State Church, separated from others by its doctri
nal basis, is expedient, and almost necessary, to a Christian
government, is quite common among dissenters. In my
judgment, it cannot be expedient, because it is very evidently
unjust. "What is in the least degree unjust can never be ex
pedient for a state, the very purpose of which should be to
elevate and secure justice among the people who live under
its laws.

Nor can I conceive of any thing so likely to strangle a
church as to be hung with exclusive privileges from the State.
For what are these 1 Bribes for the profession of doctrines
and the acceptance of rules of debatable expediency ; giving
encouragement, so far as they have any influence, (that they

THE EEPUJBLIG IN ENGLAND. 67

would not have if the Church were independent of the power
of the State,) to insincerity and the unearnest formation of
opinions — to unreality, which is deadness in a church.

That the constant practice of perjury and the most miser
ably Jesuitical notions of truth and falsehood, and that weak
ness and imbecility of both Church and State, is the direct
and inevitable result at the present' day of such a connection
as is attempted to be sustained between them in England,
it is as obvious and certain to me as any thing can be, that
such great and good men as the divines and statesmen of
England have different opinions with regard to.

There is a large green, close planted with trees, about the
cathedral, and facing upon it are the official residences of the
regiment of clergy, high priests and low, that under some
form or other are provided with livings in connection with it.
In front of one of these barracks was planted a bomb-mortar
— with what signification 1

There is another public promenade in Hereford, upon the
site of an old castle which was demolished by Cromwell.

The ramparts are grassed over, and there are fine trees,
ponds, gravel-walks, an obelisk in honour of Nelson, some
graceful irregularities of surface, and a broad, purling stream
of clear water flowing by it all. Here, before noon, we found
a considerable company, of varied character : ladies walking
briskly and talking animatedly ; invalids, wrapped up and sup
ported, loitering in the sun ; cripples, moving about in wheel
chairs ; students or novel-readers in the deepest shades ; and
every where, many nursery-maids with children. Not a town
have we seen in England but has had a better garden-republic
than any town I know of in the United States.

G8 AN AMERICAN FARMER IN ENGLAND.

CHAPTER X.

A STAGE-COACH RIDE. — CONVERSATION WITH THE COACHMAN. — A FREE
TRADER. AMERICAN AND ENGLISH WOMEN. FAIR PLAY. WOMAN'S

RIGHTS. SOCIAL DIFFERENCES. FRENCHMEN. NATIONAL VANITIES.

DEMOCRACY. FREE TRADE. RETALIATION. ARISTOCRACY. NATURAL

LAWS. THE LAW OF LOVE. FRATERNITY.

IN the afternoon, C. went to visit some antiquities of the
neighbourhood, and my brother and I were invited by
our host to visit a large farm on the border of Monmouth
shire. We were to go the first ten miles by stage-coach.
On the coach-top there were two women, who sat with some
children and the guard in the rear, upon seats over what is
the boot of our coaches. Forward, there was a small,
sickly-looking man, his face covered with a close-cropped,
grayish beard, his right arm hanging, as it seemed, lifeless,
and an old-fashioned travelling-cap upon his head. He seemed
to be a foreigner, and, without speaking, but with courteous
manner, made room for my friends at his side. I was seated
on the box, between the coachman and another passenger.
The former was a staid, sober man, neatly, but no way pecu
liarly, dressed ; talking, as if well posted up, but without any
self-conceit, on matters that he had a fancy for — to wit :
horses, racing, boxing, the crops on the roadside, the weather,
female beauty, and woman's rights, but perfectly mum and
uncomprehending beyond these. He drove in the most ac
complished and gentlemanlike style — never with a hasty move-

FOUR IN HAND. G9

mcnt, or a show of exertion, or even attention — yet never
losing his feel of every horse's mouth, and having each in
such perfect command, and guiding and governing them all so
easily and gracefully, that it seemed as if the reins were a
part of him and he moved them by instinct ; just as a good
helmsman will bring up his boat to " meet" a surging sea,
without knowing it, and even when half asleep. He never
lifted a whip from the socket, except to punish a horse for
indulging in some trick, or for neglect to obey the signal of
his voice, which was hardly ever more than a short chirrup —
no whistling, shouting, and calling by name. The speed, with
a heavy load, was excellent, averaging nearly eleven miles
an hour.

The gentleman upon the box, between whom and the
coachman I was allowed to wedge myself, discovering that I
was an American, put me many questions, intended to be
hard, with regard to our country, which I answered as well as
I could. He was a tall, well-dressed, reflective Englishman,
slightly inclined to be sarcastic and supercilious, but studi
ously courteous in his manners, and speaking from half way
down his throat, with a gasping utterance, as is a fashion
with some clergymen and very elegant people here. He
got at length, from more general conversation, into a discus
sion upon the character of women, and the customs of our two
countries with regard to them. He thought our way of treat
ing women was an unreasonable petting of them, and the
tendency of it must be to spoil them, make them mere chil
dren, delicacies, unfit to encounter in a manly way the inevita
ble trials of life, and unworthy of true respect. He thought,
too, our customs, with regard to them, were absurd and un
just ; and told how a friend of his had been obliged to lose
his seat in a stage-coach and go outside, in a rainy day, be
cause a girl that was picked up on the road wanted it. His

70 AN AMERICAN FARMER IN ENGLAND.

friend had been rudely treated because he hesitated to com
ply with this absurd demand ; and he concluded his account
of the affair by saying, that however distinguished for gal
lantry my countrymen might become by such tyranny, he
could only see in it, as he did in many other American trans
actions, a want of that stern regard for justice for which, he
trusted, Englishmen would ever be known. I could hardly
understand his deduction from the story ; for it seemed to me
quite right, if not what he called " just," that if one of them
must have been exposed to the inclemency of the weather, it
should have been the man, as probably best able to bear it.
But, rather doubting if I had understood him, I replied, half
ironically, half sincerely, that I would confess that I questioned
if the mass of my countrymen were not deficient in this
respect to the educated middle class of England.

He wondered that I should confine the inherent love of
justice and truth to any class of Englishmen, yet did not deny
that, among the nobility, it might seem to have degenerated
a great deal into a mere idolatry of the forms to which justice
was reduced by law and custom. But among the lowest
classes, he argued, we should find the real character of a peo
ple most naturally and unaffectedly manifested, and especially
in the common forms of speech and popular proverbs and out
cries. Spontaneous love of justice, and indignation at injustice
was every where displayed by the lowest class in England,
and nowhere else in the world would you hear the demand
for fair play so continually. He had often noticed that, in any
street tumult, the loudest shout was always — " HANDS OFF !
FAIR PLAY !" It always pleased him and made him proud of
his country when he heard it.

"Let me tell you under what circumstances I heard it, not
long since — the only time I have as yet heard it in England,"
I answered. " It was in the ' Bull-ring' at Ludlow, the other

THE RING— FEMININE. 71

day, one woman accused another of cheating, 'and in return
was called a liar. Just as we were passing, they came to
blows, and hammered each other very severely. A crowd
collected, and formed a ring about them in a moment. It
was our impulse, with two or three other persons, of perhaps
too weak a sense of justice, to rush in and part them ; but
the crowd were greatly enraged, and raised the cry, ' Hands
off! fair play !' so that we were in danger of being rather
roughly handled ourselves. They fought like tigers, till the
blood ran freely. At length the hair of one of them fell over
her face."

" Tut — tut !" said the coachman.

" And as she tossed her head backwards, and tried to
draw it off with one hand, she got a facer ; and then, one,
two, three ! — down she went ! ' Fair play !' shouted the
crowd again, and caught up the victor and bore her off with
a hurrah to a butcher's shop. The fallen woman was picked
up and lifted into a tinker's cart; men and women crowded
about her, and told her it was all along of her having her hair
fall, and it was a foul blow, and better luck next time. One
brought a comb, another a mug of water, and another a little
black bottle. In a minute — "

" Time /" said the coachman, as if reminding his horses.

" In a minute she had her face washed ; tobacco crowded
up her nose to staunch the blood ; her hair drawn tightly
back, and knotted, and had taken a good pull at the bottle."

" Up to timer whispered coachee.

" And the last we saw of her, she was standing before the
butcher's shop, with her sleeves rolled up, sparring in a scien
tific style, and screaming, ' Come on ! come on ! Give me
fair play, and I'll fight you. Oh ! I'll fight you ! only give
me fair play !' and all the crowd were shouting, ' Fair fight !
fair fight ! Come out ! come out and give her fair fight !' "

7-2 AN AMERICAN FARMER IN ENGLAND.

" It must have been a nuisance — such a rabble ; where
were the police 1"

" In America, all the men in sight would have been police
men, if necessary, to have parted them."

"Don't you like fair fighting, then, — you Americans'?"
asked the coachman.

" Why — we don't like fighting at all among women. It
is disgraceful ! Surely the idea of women fighting so brutal
ly is disgusting to you V

" Disgusting 1 I don't know that. There's Joan of Arc,
and Amazon, and other handsome heroines; they are not
disgusting, are they 1 I tell you, sir, I do like a fair, stand-
up fight, and, damme, sir, I don't know, by your leave, why
women have not the right to settle their quarrels that way as
well as men."

" The right — yes ; and if they must fight, let it be a fair
fight ; but I would rather men would fight for them. Fight
ing ! — a man could drive a coach as well, I suppose, or fell a
tree as well after fighting as before ; but a woman could not
sooth a child, nor would she feel disposed to take tender care
of one, I think, if her fighting propensities had been much
cultivated — whether in fair fighting or foul."

" Oh, you are quite right, sir, quite right," said the
gentleman on my left; "women should not be allowed to
fight. But what application has it to my friend's being
turned out of his seat because a woman did not wish to
get wet ?"

" Why, I was thinking that if we sometimes show a less
commanding instinct of justice in our customs towards wo
men, as you have thought from that incident, we may also
exhibit a more delicate sense of propriety and fitness, which,
if it does not rest on an instinct of justice, certainly does on
something nearly akin to it. You find no mob in America

SOCIAL DIFFERENCES. 73

that would look on and see two women fight like that. But,
indeed, you'd never see American women fighting so. If it
is a disgrace to us that we have made our women unnaturally
childlike, it is no honour to you that yours can be so unnatu
rally brutish."

" But, my dear sir, that was a tinker's wife !"

" So it was, and I should perhaps have confined the
application to your lower classes; I certainly have never
seen any want of true refinement among your well-bred
ladies."

" But they do tell strange tales of your fine ladies. I sup
pose you have seen the legs of pianos put in pantalettes'?"

" Oh yes, frequently ; and do you know — the other day,
at the residence of the Honourable Mrs. "

" Hall 1 The family are on the Continent."

" Yes ; I did not see the ladies ; but will you believe me,
sir, their modesty is so great, that the arms of their chairs
are all in muslin sleeves, as well as their piano — body, legs,
and all — veiled like a Turk's wife, so you would not know
what it was."

" Oh, to keep the dust off it — it must have been."

" Undoubtedly."

" Ah ! you mean that such was also the case with those
you have seen in America V

" Of course. It never occurred to me that they were cov
ered for any other reason. I have no doubt that if your friend
told you that they were, he was made the subject of a practi
cal joke. If not, he kept worse company than I ever fell among
when he was there ; and it is as unfair for you to draw a gene
ral conclusion with regard to our ladies, from his experience
in a vulgar family or two, as it would be for me to describe
your ladies as coarse and brutal from the conduct of the
tinker's wife."

PART II. 4

74 AN AMERICAN FARMER IN ENGLAND.

" But tinkers' wives would not be piano-forte performers,
nor travellers in the inside of stage-coaches."

" I don't know that," I replied ; " a tinker's wife in the
United States is as likely to know how to play a piano
forte, as a tinker's wife here is to know how to read her
Bible, and would certainly be as likely to ride in the
inside of a stage-coach as any one else ; and your friend,
if he had one for his vis-a-vis, might, very possibly, from
her dress and general appearance, particularly from her
general information and intelligence, have been led to
apply the same standard in judging of her that he had
been accustomed to use at home for females of his own
rank in society : of course, judged in that way, it would
be odd if he could not find something outre about her to
make fun of."

" How about stage-coachmen's wives, sir ?"

" I know a stage driver's wife that has a piano, and can
play it — at least her daughter can — admirably well. Her
husband is colonel of a crack regiment of our yeomanry
cavalry."

The coachman turned and looked me very gravely in the
face for a moment, just showing the tip of his tongue, and
then raised his hand till his thumb pointed over his left
shoulder.

The gentleman laughed, and said,

" He will be ' His Excellency? your representative at the
Court of St. James next, I suppose."

" Perhaps so," I answered, ' " for he has already repre
sented his fellow-townsmen for two years in the Legislature
of the State, and had the title of Honourable."

" A stage-coachman, 'pon honour ?"

"Yes."

" What for a whip is he, sir T

AN AMERICANS HISTORY. 75

" I'll tell you his story, as far as I know it,* and what I
don't know I can guess at.

" He was an ostler once, then a lawyer's boy, then a school
master, then studied law and began to practice ; then he spec
ulated, made a fortune, and lost the greater part of it in a
year ; then he bought out a line of stage-coaches that were run
over a mountain, and which was about to be given up because
a railroad running around the mountains had been completed.
He put the fares down, and works them in opposition to the
railroad ; and, as it is a tight match, he drives one coach him
self, fifteen miles a-day, and back — six horses in hand ; and I
have seen them going down the mountain as hard as they
could run, while he held his reins in one hand, not tauter than
yours are now, and his cigar in the other, and called out to
them, one after another, by name, to look out for themselves
or they'll break their necks, as if they had been a squad of
school children."

" Good God !" breathed the coachman.

" He is, withal, a church elder, and Super, Grand, Past
Superior, Most Venerable Senior Patriarch of the Independent
Order of X. Y. Z., and a variety of other things."

The coachman whistled.

" But the lady, sir, of this gentleman — I should like to hear
more of her," asked my other companion.

" She is rather older than her husband — and, having had to
work pretty hard all her life, has not had time to keep up
with him, so she has the good sense to stay in the background
a good deal ; but his daughter, who is a beauty, accomplished,

* There is some fiction in what follows, — necessarily introduced to
enable me to give truthfully what I recollect of the actual conversation.
I know more than one stage-driver who has had a seat in a State Legisla
ture, and filled it with honour to himself and satisfaction to his constituents,
In its important points, the narrative I have given ia true.

76 AX AMERICAN FARMER IN ENGLAND,

speaks French and German, and, as I told you, performs finely
on the piano, was a regular belle in the last legislative session,
and, they say, did a French Count the honour of rejecting his
addresses."

" Polkas, waltzes and sch — "

" Oh, no ! I guess not — never, except with her younger
sister, and in domestic circles : she is really too modest, and I
suppose she would say it was against her religious principles."

" She is religious, then 1"

" Really so, I believe. I heard that the Count was likely
to be greatly changed from her influence over him."

" Have you a daughter, coachman ?"

" Daughter ! no ! But I tell you, sir, I have the trimmest
little King Charles' slut you ever saw : black coat and tan
wescoat, sir, with just a frill of white that you could cover with
a sixpence. She won me five puns at the last Bristol show."

" That'll never connect you with a French Count."

" Bah ! I don't want any thing to do with Frenchmen."

" Why not ?" said I. " I have seen but little of Frenchmen ;
what is it that you have found so bad about them f

" I haven't seen much of them either, and I don't want to."

"WJiy not?"

" Oh — why, they are a scurvy lot, sir — live on frogs and
pea-soup ! — and — eh ? — worship images, sir I — and — eh ? — oh,
theifve no bottom, sir ! — no strength they haven't got, no pluck,
sir. One Englishman's worth a dozen of 'em, you know, sir."

" You are a true Briton, coachman," said the gentleman,
laughing.

" We have some truer Britons on our side of the water ;
I'll tell you what they sing. —

It often lias been told
That the British sailors bold

NATIONAL VANITIES. 77

Could flog the tars of France

So handy oh !

They never met their match,
'Till the Yankees did them catch ;
Oh the Yankee tars for fighting

Are the dandy oh !

" ' One Yankee is good for two Englishmen, and two En
glishmen can lick a dozen Frenchmen.' ' The British can whip
all creation, and we can whip the British.' That's the talk of
our ' true Britons.' Don't you think they are full-blooded ?"

" I must confess," he answered, " that with all your suavity
to women you are as stubborn and inconsistent in your pre
judices as the worst of us. If the lady, w^hose seat my friend
was obliged to pay for, had but been of a dark complexion — "

" Oh, now, do not let us discuss that subject — my friends
and I only go as far as the Queen's Head, which must be near
by now ; and if we begin on slavery we shall want the whole
afternoon to get a good understanding of each other's views.
But what did you mean by your friend's paying the lady's
fare ? I did not understand that before."

" What difference is it 1 He had paid for an inside seat,
and, when he most needed it, was obliged to give it up to
her."

" Ah ! — I think I understand you — that is the injustice that
you feel."

" Yes, sir, it is ; it seems strange to me that you do not
at once instinctively appreciate it."

" Perhaps you are not aware that there is no difference in
price on the outside and the inside of a stage-coach in Amer
ica, and the only right which one can have to a seat is that
of priority — a right which is made by custom with regard to
men, but does not hold when a woman is in the case."

"Indeed! is it so T

78

" Yes."

" I ask your pardon ; indeed, I was not aware of it. But it
is singular that it should be so ; is not the privilege of pro
tection from the weather worth paying for 1"

" Sometimes it is ; but in our climate it is not usually.
Most men prefer, and would be willing, one time with another,
to pay more for the elevated seat in the open air, than to be
cramped up with eight others (for our coaches carry nine
inside) in a close, crowded cabin. I myself cannot stand it
for an hour, for it makes me sea-sick ; and no matter what the
weather, I should go outside. I would rather be frozen than
suffocated. However, I suppose that our customs, as wrell as
our legal institutions, do give the rich a little less advantage
over the poor than yours."

" And that's just what institutions ought to do, if they do
any thing," put in the coachman ; " what the devil else are
they good for ? It stands to reason : always dry off your
weakest nag first, 'specially if he's a little ailing. If you
don't, you'll have trouble, you may depend, sir."

" There is always danger in interfering with the natural
laws of property," remarked the gentleman. " It does not
answer to put beggars on horseback, you know. All such
things should be left to take their natural course. Property
is the natural representative of intelligence and virtue, and
all laws and customs that tend to the unnatural elevation or
peculiar advantage of particular persons or classes, are mis
chievous."

" I fully agree with you as to laws which obstruct the
natural movement of property for merely individual aggran
dizement. As a general rule, I believe all such attempts must
fail of their real object. I don't believe it possible, that such
laws or restrictions should not be to the eventual disadvan
tage of both parties."

.YJ TURAL LA WS. 79

u 1 declare I am glad to hear an American uttering such
sentiments ; but, indeed, they are irresistible — so simply and
clearly right, that they seem, to one who has given any at
tention to the subject, altogether unworthy of discussion.
But there is a still more evident justness, not to say policy,
after one nation has opened her ports to free competition,
that she should not be excluded or restrained from those of
another. I do trust your nation begins to see how disgraceful
to it is that false, absurd, unjust system of Protection, and will
soon reciprocate our more generous policy, and let our com
mercial intercourse be governed by the natural law of trade.
The simple law of nature should be the law of nations."

" I am not so sure that Free Trade is a simple law of
nature," I answered. " If that is the natural law, which you
were saying that we interfered with, in not allowing the rich
man to separate himself as much as he chooses from the poor,
then selfishness is the only reliable, natural guide, and the
impulses of selfishness must not be thwarted by law. Might
makes right — Every man for himself — that's the law for you ;
quite a different thing from this you talk of — forgiving old
scores and reciprocating the advantages you would give us,
now that you find it much the most for your interest to do so,
whether we reciprocate or not."

" The first impulse of nature," he replied, " is, every man
for himself, perhaps ; but the first true law of helping himself
is to help another, to have a partner to labour with for a re
ciprocal advantage."

" I always heard self-preservation was the first law of na
ture," said the coachman.

" Exactly," said I ; " self-preservation — or, in fact, selfish
ness — that's the first law, — not perfect reciprocity of good
services, but the best payment we can get for our services.
}t\ the necessity of the buyer, not his generosity, that governs

80 AN AMERICAN FARMER IN ENGLAND.

the payment. You have followed this natural law in your
foreign policy as long as it would serve you, without regard
to the injury it did us ; now you find that a generous policy
would be the most profitable policy, you preach reciprocity,
and call that a natural law ; but our people say — No ! You
have had the good — you must take the evil. If there's any
natural law, it is that by which we claim payment for the
good we do you — atonement for the injury you have done us.
At any rate, you must wait a few years till we have nursed
our infant manufactures, not yet able to walk alone ; when
they are well established, we will, perhaps, give you the fair
field and fair fight you are so fond of. For the fact is, no
one expects Protection to be more than a temporary policy
with us."

" That's fair," said the coachman ; " heavy weights and
light weights can't go into the ring together."

" 'Tisn't heavy weights and light weights, but the cham
pion of the world in full feather, calling out a youngster
who's never been in training. We acknowledge that you
have the advantage of us, in some respects ; but wait a bit,
till we get in good trim, and then we will put our ingenuity
:ind activity against your experience and muscle."

" Meanwhile, you will take all the advantage that you
can of your superior agricultural muscle, to undersell our
farmers," said the free-trader.

" No ; you give it to us, because it is as much to your
advantage as to ours."

" Yes," he answered, " we certainly do ; and we advise you
to do the same with regard to manufactures, honestly believ
ing that it would be as much for your advantage as ours. It
is absurd, for the sake of revenge, that you should pay your
manufacturers a high price for what ours will furnish you at
a lower one.

NIMROD. 81

" She's the best in the lot," said the coachman, interrupt
ing us, to explain a severe cut he had given the near-wheeler ;
" the Lest in the lot, sir. Now she's woke up, see how she
throws her weight in. I've been working a coach, off and on,
these fifteen years, and I don't think I ever had a better bit
of stuff before me ; but you saw how she was lagging. She
isn't sulky — kifid as a kitten — never takes offence — and she
don't mean she's ailing ; but sometimes she gets into a kind
of a doze ; forgets herself, and don't hear me ; dreamy like,
I consider ; thinking about the last stable, instead of the one
she's going to. I can't break her of it. But she's tough as
steel — ''Lady Nimrod"1 we calls her — after the old Nimrod,
you know, sir, as writes for Bell's Life. Ah, sir! but he
can write, can't he, and no chaff! You've read the Northern
Tour ; that distinguished old whip, you remember, that he
tells of, he was my nuncle, — it's in our blood, — he was a
working on the Northern then."

*,*****

" I must beg leave," said the gentleman, resuming our
discussion, " to deny that we have been governed by such an
exclusively selfish policy, in that matter of Free Trade and
Protection, as you imputed to us. The principles of Free
Trade are the natural laws of the universe, applicable at all
times to all places. I fully believe that it would have been
as profitable for our ancestors to have adopted them, as it is
for us ; and so far from ascribing their success to protection,
I should say that it was in spite of Protection, and due only
to indomitable energy and perseverance. And I feel no man
ner of doubt, that Protection, so far from encouraging your
manufacturers, can only rest as an incubus upon their inge
nuity and energy."

" However your manufacturing success may have been
affected by mere protection in itself, there can be no ques-

PART II. 4*

82 AN AMERICAN FARMER IN ENGLAND.

tion that the great vantage ground that you have now in com
peting with us, is in the low cost of your manual labour. And
this, if not due to technical protection, has certainly resulted,
in a great degree, from that general policy in your past his
tory, of sustaining privileged classes ; from your constitution
and laws and customs making, or, if you please, permitting,
the accident of birth to give such advantages to some as it
does. I do not consider property as the representative of
industry and intelligence merely; it might be more truly
defined as the representative of power, and often of the
power of rascality and low cunning : the State, therefore,
instead of giving artificial privileges to the rich, should, if to
either class, give it to the poorer, because the weaker."

"The State should grant no artificial distinctions; but
there are certain privileges and distinctions which a man may
naturally acquire, and the State should guarantee him perma
nent possession of these."

" Granted, with the qualification that he must acquire
them, and hold them in no way which, on the whole, shall be
adverse to the greatest good of the greatest number. Now
position, socially, is relative: if you elevate one man, you
degrade others. Superior necessitates inferior. The aristoc
racy of the few makes necessary the peasantry of the many.
Is that the Queen's Head ?"

" Yes, sir."

" Our discussion must be interrupted, then."

" Excuse me," said our friend from behind us, reaching
forward and putting his hand on my shoulder — " excuse me,
but did I not hear you speaking of selfishness and revenge as
first laws of nature, just now ?"

" Something of the kind."

" You will allow me to remind you that they are the
natural laws of brutes, and of man in his first stages of prog-

THE NEW LA W. 83

ress from the brutal state. Was it not to a semi-barbarian
people, incapable of being governed by a higher and better
law, because they could not appreciate or, have faith in it, that
God permitted the law of an eye for an eye, and a tooth for
a tooth?"

" Oh, certainly," said I ; " I would not seriously argue that
we should govern ourselves by that law — I was speaking
carelessly."

" I knew you were, and that you would not wish to leave
such an impression — "

" And may we not hope," continued our friend, in his mild,
serious way, " may we not hope that nations, like individuals,
may take upon them a new and regenerated nature, and
be governed by the higher law, ' Do unto others as you
would that they should do unto you]' It was faith in this
true law of wise and happy existence, both for God and man,
which moved Jesus Christ, in the midst of disgrace, agony,
and death, even in his last extremity, with fainting breath, to
desire and labour for the salvation of those to whose igno
rance of this law he owed all his suffering ; and in this com
plete victory over the old law of revengeful payment, it
should have passed away together with the brutal idea of
God with which it had been necessarily connected ; and now,
to us, with a higher revelation of God as our Father, there
should be a new and higher law."

" Right," said I, " and just what I would have been glad,
if I had not got astray, to bring our argument to. It is
not the law of nature, which is selfishness, but the law
of God, which is love, that we should make the law of
nations."

"But, sir," answered the free-trader, "is not the true
law of nature identical with the law of God ? It is in ig
norance that men have hoped to benefit themselves by

84 AN AMERICAN FARMER IN ENGLAND.

Injuring others. Love is but a wise man's selfishness. If
I work rightly for myself, I cannot help but that you shall be
benefited also."

" The long and short of it is," added our friend, " that while
carefully remembering our individual responsibility, we should
always be working together in love, as brothers, having a com
mon inheritance ; knowing that over all is a common Father,
guiding and directing all, not only for the common good, but,
with impartial love for each of his children, for the highest
good of each individual. So must we, as nations, each people
for itself, yet each for the common good of all, and knowing
that only in the good of all can be the good of any. So only
can any nation expect to prosper long, and so only shall the
world prepare, too, for the universal kingdom of God — the
coming of which may He graciously hasten !"

" Amen !" said the man who occupied the seat behind us,
with my brother and our friend. From his moody expression
and his position, his forehead resting on his hand, I had before
thought him ill. I now turned again to look at him, and saw
that either his eyes were very swollen and weak, or he had
been weeping. " Excuse me for listening to you," he said, speak
ing English very distinctly at first — " I have been much inter
est in your converse ; I am a Frenchman," and he raised his
cap. At this the coachman turned short round and looked him
in the face. " Will you permit me the honour of to take your
hand V Here he gave his left hand to each of us successively,
and finally offered to do so with the coachman, who said : —

" I don't say any thing behind a man's back that I'm afraid
to before his face, and I don't like a Frenchman any way."

"That is very good — very honest, which please me —
coachman j so now I like you, you will make my friend — very
good."

"Tchiup!" answered the coachman, turning towards his

MATCH FOR A FRENCHMAN. 85

horses, and the brown mare being again in a brown study, he
snatched the whip and woke her up with a smart cut.

"I am made very happy," the Frenchman continued, " very
happy that you so do like the grand idea of the fraternity of
nations ; and for that good time, which shall surely come, I
do, with you, make the prayer that it be quickly. Ah ! gen
tlemen — with what — 'like many waters' — spake the God-
voice through my people that word the other year, Fraternite !
what you call the Brotherhood, and with it Liberty and
Equality. Individuality, its rights ; association, its love, its
opportunity! Ah! gentlemen, ah! sir, I have not ever in
England heard so good words as those you speaked. Ah!
mine friend, I do feel you mine brother to be ! Ah ! mon
cher ami, certainement — do you know your religion is my
religion — Dieu est charite ! Ah ! mine friends, I very much

communion have with you And my country, in which

was those good word spoken. Ah, mon Dieu ! ah, mon
Dieu ! ma belle France ! ma belle France ! porquoi ! por-
quoi /" and the poor little man broke down.

" Jerusalem ! oh Jerusalem ! that slayest thy prophets !"
said our friend, drawing his head upon his shoulder, and then
going on in a low tone expressive of sympathy and consola
tion, of which 1 could not hear the words.

" Ptshut ! — Baby !" said the coachman.

" Baby V' said I. " Yes, ' for of such is the kingdom of
heaven.' "

" Just what I told you, sir." He went on growling, not
having understood me. " No bottom, sir, no bottom / . . .
and a man can't fight, you know, without bottom. . . . Pooh !
regular women ! . . . See the hair round his mouth ! —
snob ! . . . How the devil does he ever get the soup into

if? . . . if I wouldn't match the Queen's Head

bar-maid against the best man amongst them. . . . They

86 AN AMERICAN FARMER IN ENGLAND.

may make a goodish brush at the start, you know, sir, but
they can't sweat it through, . . no, sir, they can not. . .
They are a bad lot, you may depend, sir — never can make a
good fight."

"Pshaw, man! there's something else to be done in the
world than fighting."

" But a man isn't worth much at any thing else if he can't
fight when he is put to it, if you please, sir."

" Nonsense ! there's good stuff in plenty of men that never
show fight — don't you know that *? But you might bet on this
man's being a fighter — look at his scars, and you see his right
arm is gone — ten to one he lost it fighting."

" Well, that does look some'at plucky — it's a fact, sir —
so-ho, lads— steady — whoo ! Now then, Blazer ! look alive !"

These last words were for the red-headed ostler of the
Queen's Arms. The four fresh horses with blankets over their
harness stood waiting; Blazer looked most intensely alive,
and in a marvellously short space of time the old team
was unhitched and walking off unattended to the stable ; my
brother was saying a few kind parting words to the French
man, who answered that he trusted that they were repre
sentative of the sentiments of all the good American people ;
the free-trader handed me his card, saying that he observed
that I had an agricultural taste — if I should be passing through
and could find it convenient to call on him, though not
in that line himself, he thought he could show me some
things in the neighbourhood that would interest me. The
coachman had forgotten us, and all about him, in a kind
of doze, as he said, of the brown mare. Making an estimate,
I guessed he was, with regard to the Queen's Head bar-maid, of
the exact height she was in her stockings, and the exact
weight to which he cou]d bring her if he could have the
training of her for a month. His mind seemed totally

ALL RIGHT. 87

abstracted as we pointed a shilling towards him ; but he took
it, mechanically touching his hat and saying, ' Thankee, sir.'
The redoubtable damsel herself stood on the porch of the inn,
looking poutingly at the coachman (or the Frenchman's
moustache) — not a dangerous person, to judge by her appear
ance, though she must have stood full six feet in her stout
hob-nailed shoes, but with as good-natured and healthy a
soul looking out of her great hazel eyes as the mildest pot of
half-and-half she had ever honoured the Queen's Head by
drawing in its cellar.

The fresh horses were fastened to, and the guard had
shouted " All right !" before we were all three fairly on
the ground. Yet a moment longer Blazer held the pawing
leaders, while the coachman, with a completly nonplussed
expression, lighted a cigar that the Frenchman had given
him ; then, as we were buckling on our knapsacks, he drew
taut his reins, and away they bounded, the Frenchman bend
ing far over to kiss his hand to us, and the Englishman in
a stately way lifting his hat.

" Adieu, mes amis, adieu !"

" God be with the brother, as surely he will."

" Good-bye."

" Good-bye."

88 AN AMERICAN FARMER IN ENGLAND.

CHAPTER XI.

SHADY LANES. RURAL SKETCHES. HEREFORDSHIRE AND MONMOUTHSHIRE

SCENERY. POINTS OF DIFFERENCE IN ENGLISH AND AMERICAN LAND
SCAPES. VISIT TO A FARM-HOUSE. THE MISTRESS. THE FARM-HOUSE

GARDEN. A STOUT OLD ENGLISH FARMER. THE STABLES AND STOCK.

TURNIP CULTURE. SHEEP. WHEAT. HAY. RENTS.- — PRICES. A PART
ING. CIDER.

¥E soon turned off the main road, and pursued our way for
several miles by narrow, deep, shady lanes, our con
ductor giving us much information about the agriculture of the
district and the habits and character of the people, ever and
anon, also, finding occasion from some incident or spectacle that
engaged our attention, for instructive and godly discourse, in,
such a way as I have endeavoured to show his habit in the
last chapter ; not tediously, and to the interruption of other
thoughts and conversation, but naturally and cheerfully.

It was a rarely clear, bright, sunshiny afternoon, and while
on the broad highway we found, for the first time in England,
the temperature of the air more than comfortably warm.
The more agreeable were the lanes ; — narrow, deep, and shady,
as I said, often not wider than the cart-track, and so deep,
that the grassy banks on each side were higher than our
heads; our friend could not explain how or wThy they were
made so, but probably it was by the rain washing through
them for centuries. On the banks, too, were thickly scattered
the flowers of heart's-ease, forget-me-not, and wild straw
berries ; above, and out of them, grew the hawthorn hedges

RURAL SCENES. 89

in thick but wild and wilsome verdure, and pushing out of
this, and stretching over us, often the branches mingling over
our heads and shutting out the bright blue sky clear beyond
the next turn, so we seemed walking in a bower, thick old
apple and pear trees with pliant twigs of hazel-wood, and
occasionally the strong arms of great bending elms. Now
and then a break in the hedge-row, and, a little back, a low,
thick-thatched cottage with many bends in the ridge-pole, and
little windows, and thick walls ; a cat asleep in the door,
and pigs and chickens before it, and, lying on the ground, -in
the dust of the lane, playing with a puppy, two or three
flaxen-haired, blue-eyed children ; a little further, a drowsy
old she-ass standing in the shade, and a mouse-coloured foal, as
little as a lamb, but with a great head and large, plaintive
dark eyes, and a most confiding, meek, and touching expres
sion of infantile, embryo intellect.

Now and then, too, the hedge gives way to the wall of a
paddock or stack-yard, and beyond it are a number of old and
often dilapidated hovels, sheds, and stables, clustering without
any appearance of arrangement about a low farm-house with
big chimneys, wide windows, and a little porch half hidden
under roses, jessamine, and honeysuckle.

And sometimes at these a big dog would bay at us, and, a
woman coming to the door, our friend would turn up and ask,
" How is the master and the little ones ]" and in return be
asked, " How is good mistress and young master ?" And then
we would be presented as strangers, that had come over the
sea to view this goodly land, and would be asked, in pitying
tones, about famine, and fever, and potatoes, the farm-wife,
although she had an exceedingly sweet speech, apparently con
fusing New York with Connaught or Munster.

Again, broad fields, and stout horses, and busy labourers,
and straight plough-furrows, or the bright metallic green of

00 A,V AMERICAN FARMER IN ENGLAND.

luxuriant young wheat and barley in broad glades of glancing
light ; and a stout old man, who waddles towards us with a
warm greeting, also wiping the sweat from his brow, and
mounting " a goodish bit of stuif, though she has seen twenty
winters," rides for a little way along with us, breathing hard
and speaking huskily ; grumbling, grumbling at every open
ing in the conversation at Free Trade and high rents, but
answering all our questions about his draining, and boneing,
and drilling, and dibbling, and very frankly acknowledging
how much he has been able to increase his crops with new-
fashioned ways and new-fangled implements.

Then leaving the lane, we take a foot>path, which, crossing
the hedges by stiles, leads through old orchards, in all of
which horses and cattle are pasturing ; and there are beautiful
swells of the ground, and sometimes deep swales of richer
green, with rushes and willows growing at the bottom.
Beaching a steeper hill-side, we enter a large plantation of
young forest trees, and soon pass all at once into an older
growth of larger and more thinly standing wood ; and near
the top of this, find a clearing, where men are making faggots
of the brushwood, and stripping bark from the larger sticks,
and some little boys and girls are picking up chips and putting
them into sacks.

We reach another lane and cultivated fields again, and,
being on elevated ground, at the knarly feet of a glorious,
breezy, gray, old beech-tree, lay ourselves down, and, looking
back upon the extensive landscape, tell our friend in what it
differs from American scenery.

The great beauty and peculiarity of the English landscape
is to be found in the frequent long, graceful lines of deep
green hedges and hedge-row timber, crossing hill, valley, and
plain, in every direction ; and in the occasional large trees,
dotting the broad fields, either singly or in small groups, left

LANDSCAPE PECULIARITIES. 91

to their natural open growth, (for ship-timber, and, while they
stand, for castle shades,) therefore branching low and spread
ing wide, and more beautiful, much more beautiful, than
we often allow our trees to make themselves. The less fre
quent brilliancy of broad streams or ponds of water, also dis
tinguishes the prospect from those we are accustomed to,
though there are often small brooks or pools, and much
marshy land, and England may be called a well-watered
country. In the foreground you will notice the quaint build
ings, generally pleasing objects in themselves, often support
ing what is most agreeable of all, and that you can never fail
to admire, never see any thing ugly or homely under, a cur
tain of ivy or other creepers ; the ditches and the banks by
their side, on which the hedges are planted ; the clean and
careful cultivation, and general tidiness of the agriculture ;
and the deep, narrow, crooked, gulche-like lane, or the smooth,
clean, matchless, broad highway. Where trees are set in
masses for ornament, the Norway spruce and the red beech
generally give a dark, ponderous tone, which we seldom see
in America; and in a hilly and unfertile country there are
usually extensive patches of the larch, having a brown hue.
The English elm is the most common tree in small parks or
about country-houses. It appears, at a little distance, more
like our hickory, when the latter grows upon a rich soil, and
is not cramped, as sometimes in our river intervals, than any
other American tree.

There seems to me to be a certain peculiarity in English
foliage, wrhich I can but little more than allude to, not having
the skill to describe. You seem to see each particular leaf,
(instead of a confused leafiness,) more than in our trees ; or
it is as if the face of each leaf was parallel, and more
equally lighted than in our foliage. It is perhaps only
owing to a greater densitv. and better filling up, and more

92 AN AMERICAN FARMER IN ENGLAND.

even growth of the outer twigs of the trees, than is common
in our drier climate. I think that our maple woods have
more resemblance to it than others.

There is usually a much milder light over an English
landscape than an American, and the distances and shady
parts are more indistinct. It is rare that there is not a hazi
ness, slightly like that of our Indian summer, in the atmos
phere, and the colours of every thing, except of the foliage, are
less brilliant and vivacious than we are accustomed to. The
sublime or the picturesque in nature is much more rare in
England, except on the sea-coast, than in America ; but there
is every where a great deal of quiet, peaceful, graceful beauty,
which the works of man have generally added to, and which
I remember but little at home that will compare with. This
Herefordshire reminds me of the valley of Connecticut,
between Middletown and Springfield. The valley of the
Mohawk and the upper part of the Hudson, is also in some
parts English-like.

Descending into a broad, low tract of dale-land, we came
at length to the farm occupied by a relative of our guide,
which we were going to visit. A branch of the lane in which
we had been for some time walking, ran through therfarm, and
terminated at the farm-house. It was more picturesque and
inconvenient, deeper, narrower, and muddier, than any we
had before been through. It was explained to us that it was
a " parish road" — although leading to but one house — and,
therefore, the farmer was not responsible for its bad repair.*

* In the proceedings of a Parliamentary Commission of the last cen
tury, the following questions and answers are recorded :
Q. What sort of roads have you in Monmouthshire ?
A. None at all.
Q. How do you travel then?
A. In ditches. — Survey of Momnouth.

THE FARM-HOUSE. 93

Great trees grew up at its side, and these the farmer was not
allowed to fell or trim — the landlord estimating the value of
their increase as timber or for fuel, or their advantage as a
nursery of game, higher than the injury they caused to the
crops in the adjoining fields. Near the house the road or lane
widened, and one side was lined by a thick symmetrical yew-
hedge, separating it from a garden ; on the other side, how
ever, the trees and high bank still continued, and two stout
horses were straining every muscle to draw a cart-load of
crushed bones through the mire, which reached close up to the
gable-end of the house. Opposite the house was a cider-mill,
cart-sheds, and some stacks : behind it, a large court, sur
rounded by stables, sties, dairy-house, malt-house, granary,
&c. Into this enclosure we passed by a great gate : a consid
erable part of it was occupied by a large heap of manure and
a pool of green stagnant liquid. The buildings were mostly
old, some of them a good deal decayed, with cracks in the
brick-work, timber bending and sustained by props and other
patch-work, which spake better for the tenant than his land
lord.

By a wide open door, directly from this filthy yard, we
passed without ceremony into the kitchen — a large, long room
with stone floor, black beams across the low ceiling, from
which hung sides and hams of pork, a high settle, as usual,
but not the ordinary kitchen display of bright metal and
crockery. Old and well worn, every thing, but neat and nice
as brand-new. On a table was a huge loaf with a large piece
of cold fat bacon and a slice of cheese, and directly a maid
came up from the cellar and added to these viands a pint of
foaming beer — dinner or supper for the carter just returning
from the town, whither he had gone early in the morning
with a load of wool, and had now brought back bone-manure.

We are seated in a little parlour, and the " wench" (a

94 AN AMERICAN FARMER IN ENGLAND.

buxom serving-maid) goes to call the mistress. The parlour
is a small room neatly furnished, but not as expensively as it
would be in most substantial farmers' houses with us ; painted
deal chairs, a painted-calico-covered lounge, the floor carpeted,
and the walls papered ; an oak writing-desk, a table, and a
sewing-stand ; no newspapers or books, but a family-bible on
the mantel and an almanac on the desk : a door and a window
open from it upon the flower-garden.

In a few minutes the mistress enters, and, after kindly
receiving us, rings a bell, and, when the maid comes, gives
her a key and tells her to bring cider. After short refresh
ment, she takes us into the garden. A pleasant garden, with
some very large and fine pansies, some roses, and great pro
mise of more. It is extremely neat, clean, and finely kept,
and it is the pride of the mistress that she takes the entire
care of it herself; as we walk, she has her scissors in her hand,
and cuts flowers, and when we are seated in a curious little
arbour of clipped yew, where she had left her " work" when
she came in to see us, she arranges little nosegays and pre
sents them to us.

The house is small in size ; the walls are of plain red
brick ; the roof of slate, neither very steep-pitched nor flat ;
the chimneys and windows of the usual simple American
country-house form and size. There is no porch, veranda,
gable, or dor mar, upon the garden side, yet the house has a
very pleasing and tasteful aspect, and does not at all disfigure
the lovely landscape of distant woody hills, against which we
see it. Five shillings' worth of materials from a nursery, half-
a-day's labour of a man, and some recreative work of our fair
and healthy hostess' own hands, have done it vastly better than
a carpenter or mason could at a thousand times the cost.
Three large evergreen trees have grown near the end of the
house, so that, instead of the plain, straight, ugly red corner,

THE STABLES. 95

you see a beautiful, irregular, natural, tufty tower of verdure ;
myrtle and jessamine clamber gracefully upon a slight trellis
of laths over the door ; roses are trained up about one of the
lower windows, honeysuckle about another, while all the
others, above and below, are deeply draped and festooned with
the ivy, which, starting from a few slips thrust one day into the
soil by the mistress, near the corner opposite the evergreens,
has already covered two-thirds of the bare brick wall on this
side, found its way over the top of the tall yew-hedge, round
the corner, climbed the gable-end, and is now creeping along
the ridge-pole and up the kitchen chimney — which, before
speaking only of boiled bacon and potatoes, now suggests happy
holly-hangings of the fireside and grateful harvest's home,
hides all the formal lines and angles, breaks all the stiff rules
of art, dances lightly over the grave precision of human
handiwork, softens, shades, and shelters all under a gorgeous
vesture of Heaven's own weaving.

Soon, while we are sitting in this leafy boudoir, comes the
master, as good a specimen of the stout, hearty, old English
farmer as we shall find, and we go — the lady and all —
to look at the horses, cows, and pigs. The stables are mostly
small, inconveniently separated, and badly fitted up, and
there is but little in them to boast of in the way of cattle ;
but there is one new building, incongruously neat among the
rest, and in this there are some roomy stalls, with iron man
gers, sliding neck-chains, and asphalte floor with grates and
drain. Here was the best stock of the farm : among the
rest, a fine, fat Hereford cow, which had just been sold to the
butcher for $60, and a handsome heifer of the same blood,
heavy with calf, which had been lately bought for $15, the
farmer chuckling as he passes his hand over her square rump,
as if it had been a shrewd purchase. He valued his best
dairy cow at $45.

0(5 AN AMERICAN FARMER IN ENGLAND.

We then go to the cider-mill and the sheds to look at
some implements ; next to the ground, at some distance,
where the labourers are all at work ridging for turnips,
(Swedes, or Ruta-baga.) The larger pdrt of the field is
already planted, and in some other fields the young plants
are coming up. The crop of the farm this year is to be
grown on one hundred acres, the whole area of the farm
being less than three hundred.

The soil of this field is a fine, light, pliable loam. It has
been the year previous in wheat; the stubble was turned
under soon after harvest with a skim-coulter-plough, an instru
ment that pairs off the surface before the mould-board of the
plough and throws it first to the bottom of the furrow : the
operation may be described as a superficial trench-ploughing ;
cross-ploughed and scarified again the same season with one
of the instruments described at page 182, Vol. I. In the
spring, ploughed again, (eight inches deep,) harrowed fine and
smooth, thrown into ridges with double mould-board plough,
rolled, and finally drilled with a two-horse machine that
deposits and covers manure and seed together. The manure
is ground bones, costing in Hereford 60^ cents a bushel,
mixed with sifted coal-ashes. The expense of this application
is about $12 an acre, but it must be remembered that the
ground is already in high condition. The drills are thirty
inches apart. The crop is principally used to fatten sheep, of
which 500 are kept on the farm ; the breed, Cotswold and
Leicester.

We next went to a paddock in which were six Cotswold
" tups," (bucks,) as handsome sheep (of their kind) as I ever
saw. One of them I caught and measured : girth behind the
shoulders, exactly five feet ; length from muzzle to tail, four
feet and eleven inches.

Then to the wheat, of which there was also about one

PRICES. 97

hundred acres, part after turnips and part after potatoes : the
former, which had been boned, looked the best. A part of the
land had been prepared by a presser, (a kind of roller used to
give solidity to light soils,) and this was decidedly superior to
the remainder. Most of the wheat was put in with drilling
machines, of which there were two used, one sowing at
greater intervals than the other. Some of the wheat upon
the pressed land, after turnips, was the finest we have seen.
The farmer expected it to yield forty bushels of seventy
pounds each, but would consider an average of thirty,
from the hundred acres, a very good crop. He said the
average crop of the county was thought to be but eighteen
and a half bushels.

Walked through some pastures and a grass-field, and
examined the hay in stacks ; mostly rye-grass. The hay-fields
yielded one to two and a quarter tons an acre, the average
being under two tons. It took about four days to cure it
after cutting, and the whole cost of hay-making was about
four dollars an acre. Hay from the stack, of the best quality,
would sell at this time in the city of Hereford for twelve
dollars a ton.

The rent of this farm was seven dollars and a half an acre ;
tithes, one dollar and a quarter an acre ; road-rates, seventy
cents an acre ; all paid by the farmer, together with poor-
rates and other burdens.

A good pair of sound, well-broken, but rather light, cart
horses, cost here $185 ; horse-cart, 800 ; harness and gear
for each horse, $12. A smith will keep a horse shod for $5
a year. Insurance of horses in the Royal Farmers' Company,
2^ per cent, of value per annum.

After taking tea at the farm-house, our kind guide, Brother
, made ready to depart by stuffing some tracts, publi
cations of the Brethren, mostly of a meditative character, into
PART IT. 5

98 AN AMERICAN FARMER Itf ENGLAND.

our packs ; we might learn more of their ideas from them,
he said, and if they did not interest us, or after we had read
them, it might do some one else good to leave them at the
inns where we stopped, or in the public conveyances. He
begged us if we got into any trouble or needed any assistance
for any purpose while in England, to let him know ; and so
we parted. We had never heard of this man, nor he of us,
till twenty-four hours before. He had then merely received
word that three American Christians — wayfarers — would be
passing through his town that night, and so he came out into
the highway seeking for us, found us, and had so entertained
us as I have shown. He would now walk several miles alone
and return home by the night-coach.

The farmer now had his favourite greyhound let out for us
to see, and after another short stroll, finding that we were bent
upon leaving him that night, insisted on our coming to the gar
den again and tasting some choice cider made from the Hagloe
crab — the pure juice he assured us it was — a good wholesome
English drink : a baby might fill its belly with it and feel
none the worse. So sitting on the door-steps, the lady and
the dog with us, we remained yet a long time, the farmer
talking first of sporting matters, and then getting into the
everlasting topics of Free Trade, and exorbitant rents, taxes,
and tithes.

THE BACK PARISH.

CHAPTER XII.

WALK WITH A RUSTIC. FAMILY MEETING. A RECOLLECTION OF THE RHINE.

IGNORANCE AND DEGRADED CONDITION OF THE ENGLISH AGRICULTURAL

LABOURER. HOW HE IS REGARDED BY HIS SUPERIORS. THE PRINCIPLES

OF GOVERNMENT. DUTIES OF THE GOVERNING. EDUCATION. SLAVERY.

THE DIET OF LABOURERS. DRINK. BREAD. BACON. FRESH MEAT.

¥E were bound for Monmouth that night, and soon after
sunset, having one of the farm labourers for a guide, we
struck across the fields into another lane. About a mile
from the farm-house, there was a short turn, and at the angle
— the lane narrow and deep as usual — was a small, steep-
roofed, stone building, with a few square and arched windows
here and there in it, and a perfectly plain cube of stone for
a tower, rising scarcely above the roof-tree, with an iron staff
and vane on one of its corners — "Saint some one's parish
church." There was a small graveyard, enclosed by a hedge
around it ; and in a corner of this, but with three doors open
ing in its front upon the lane, was a long, crooked, dilapi
dated old cottage. On one of the stone thresholds, a dirty,
peevish-looking woman was lounging, and before her, lying
on the ground in the middle of the lane, were several boys
and girls playing or quarrelling. They stopped as we came
near, and rolling out of the way, stared silently, and without
the least expression of recognition, at us, while we passed
among them. As we went on, the woman said something in
a sharp voice, and our guide shouted in reply, without, how-

lOO AN AMERICAN FARMER IN ENGLAND.

ever, turning his head, " Stop thy maw — am going to Ameri-
ky, aw tell thee." It was his " missis," he said.

" Those were not your children that lay in the road f

" Yaaz they be— foive of 'em."

So we fell into a talk with him about his condition and
prospects ; but before I describe it, let me relieve my page
with a glimpse of rustic character of another sort. It is
one of the delightful memories of our later ramble on the
Rhine that writing of this incident recalls. A very simple
story, but illustrative in this connection of the difference
which the traveller every where finds between the English and
the German poor people.

We had been walking for some miles, late in a dusky
evening, upon a hilly road in the Rhine land, with an old
peasant woman, who was returning from market, carrying a
heavy basket upon her head and two others in her hands.
She had declined to let us assist her in carrying them, and
though she had walked seven miles in the morning and now
nearly that again at night, she had overtaken us, and was
going on at a pace, that for any great distance we should have
found severe. (Of course, ladies, she wore the Bloomer skirt.)
At a turn of the road we saw the figure of a person standing
still upon a little rising ground before us, indistinct in the
dusk, but soon evidently a young woman. It is my child,
said the woman, hastily setting down her baskets and running
forward, so that they met and embraced each other half way
up the hill. The young woman then came down to us, and,
taking the great basket on her head, the two trudged on with
rapid and animated conversation, in kind tones asking and tell
ing of their experiences of the day, entirely absorbed with
each other, and apparently forgetting that we were with them,
until, a mile or two further on, we came near the village in
which they lived.

BREAD AND TOBACCO. 101

Our guide was a man of about forty, having a wife and
seven children ; neither he nor any of his family (he thought)
could read or write, and, except with regard to his occupation
as agricultural labourer, I scarcely ever saw a man of so
limited information. He could tell us, for instance, almost no
more about the church which adjoined his residence than if he
had never seen it — not half so much as we could discover for
ourselves by a single glance at it. He had nothing to say
about the clergyman that officiated in it, and could tell us
nothing about the parish, except its name, and that it allowed
him. and five other labourers to occupy the " almshouse" we
had seen, rent free. He couldn't say how old he was, (he ap
peared about forty,) but he could say, " like a book," that God
was what made the world, and that " Jesus Christ came into
the world to save sinners, of whom he was chief" — of the
truth of which latter clause I much doubted, suspecting the
arch fiend would rank higher among his servants, the man.
whose idea of duty and impulse of love had been satisfied
with cramming this poor soul with such shells of spiritual
nourishment. He thought two of his children knew the
catechism and the creed ; did not think they could have learned
it from a book ; they might, but he never heard them read ;
when he came home and had gotten his supper, he had a
smoke and then went to bed. His wages were seven shillings,
sometimes had been eight, a-week. None of his children
earned any thing; his wife, it might be, did somewhat in
harvest-time. But take the year through, one dollar and sixty-
eight cents a-week was all they earned to support themselves
and their large family. How could they live 1 " Why, indeed,
it was rather hard," he said ; " so hard, that sometimes, if we'd
believe him, it had been as much as he could do to keep him
self in tobacco !" It is an actual fact, that he mentioned this
as if it was a vastly more memorable hardship than that

102 AN AMERICAN FARMER IN ENGLAND.

ofltimes he could get nothing more than dry bread for his
family to eat. It was a common thing that they had nothing
to eat but dry bread. He got the flour — -fine, white wheaten
flour — from the master. They kept a hog, and had so much
bacon as it would make to provide them with meat for the
year. They also had a little potato patch, arid he got cheese
sometimes from the master. He had tea, too, to his supper.
The parish gave him his rent and he never was called upon
for tithes, taxes, or any such thing. In addition to his wages,
the master gave him, as he did all the labourers, three quarts
either of cider or beer a-day, sometimes one and sometimes
the other. He liked cider best— thought there was " more
strength to it." Harvest-time they got six quarts, and some
times, when the work was very hard, he had had ten quarts.
He had heard of America and Australia as countries that
poor folks went to — he did not well know why, but supposed
wages were higher, and they could live cheaper. His master
and other gentlemen had told him about those places, and the
labouring people talked about them among themselves. They
had talked to him about going there. (America and Aus
tralia were all one — two names for the same place, for all that
he knew.) He thought his master or the parish would pro
vide him the means of going, if he wanted them to. We
advised him to emigrate then, by all means, not so much for
himself as for his children — the idea of his bringing seven, or
it might yet be a dozen, more beings into the world to live
such dumb-beast lives, was horrible to us. I told him that in
America his children could go to school, and learn to read and
write and to enjoy the revelation of God ; and as they grew up
they would improve their position, and might be land-owners
and farmers themselves, as well off as his master ; and he
would have nothing to pay, or at most but a trifle that he
could gratefully spare, to have them as well educated as the

THE PEASANTRY. 103

master's son was being here; that where I came from the
farmers would be glad to give a man like him, who could
*' plough and sow and reap and mow as well as any other in
the parish," eighteen shillings a-week —

" And how much beer 7"

" None at all !"

" None at all 7 ha, ha ! he'd not go then — you'd not catch
him workin withouten his drink. No, no ! a man 'ould die
off soon that gait."

It was in vain that we offered fresh meat as an offset to
the beer. There was " strength," he admitted, in beef, but it
was wholly incredible that a man could work on it. A work-
ingman must have zider or beer — there was no use to argue
against that. That " Jesus Christ came into the world to save
sinners," and that "work without beer is death," was the
alpha and omega of his faith.

The labourers in this part of England (Hereford, Mon-
mouth, Gloucester, and Wiltshire) were the most degraded,
poor, stupid, brutal, and licentious, that we saw in the king
dom. We were told that they were of the purest Saxon
blood, as was indeed indicated by the frequency of blue eyes
and light hair among them. But I did not see in Ireland or
in Germany or in France, nor did I ever see among our
negroes or Indians, or among the Chinese or Malays, men
whose tastes were such mere instincts, or whose purpose of
life and whose mode of life was so low, so like that of domes
tic animals altogether, as these farm labourers.

I was greatly pained, mortified, ashamed of old mother
England, in acknowledging this ; and the more so that I found
so few Englishmen that realized it, or who, realizing it, seemed
to feel that any one but God, with His laws of population
and trade, was at all accountable for it. Even a most intelli
gent and distinguished Radical, when I alluded to this ele-

104 AN AMERICAN FARMER IN ENGLAND.

ment as a part of the character of the country, in replying to
certain very favourable comparisons he had been making of
England with other countries, said—-" We are not used to
regard that class in forming a judgment of national charac
ter." And yet I suppose that class is larger in numbers than
any other in the community of England. Many have even
dared to think that, in the mysterious decrees of Providence,
this balance of degradation and supine misery is essential
to the continuance of the greatness, prosperity, and elevated
character of the country — as if it were not indeed a part of
the country.

A minister of the Gospel, of high repute in London, and
whose sermons are reprinted and often repeated in America,
from the words of Christ, " the poor ye have always among
you," argued lately that all legislation or co-operative benevo
lence that had the tendency and hope of bringing about such
a state of things that a large part of every nation should be
independent of the charity of the other part, was heretical
and blasphemous. Closely allied to such ideas are the too
common notions of rulers and subjects.

In America we hold that a slave, a savage, a child, a
maniac, and a condemned criminal, are each and all born,
equally with us, with our President, or with the Queen of
England, free and self-governing ; that they have the same
natural rights with us; but that attached to those natural
rights were certain duties, and when we find them, from what
ever cause, — no matter whether the original cause be with them,
or our fathers, or us, — unable to perform those duties, we dis
possess them of their rights : we restrain, we confine, we master,
and we govern them. But in taking upon ourselves to govern
them, we take duties upon ourselves, and our first duty is
that which is the first duty of every man for himself — im
provement, restoration, regeneration. By every consideration

GOVERNMENT. 105

of justice, by every noble instinct, we are bound to make it
our highest and chiefest object to restore them, not the liber
ty first, but — the capacity for the liberty — for exercising the
duties of the liberty — which is their natural right. And so
much of the liberty as they are able to use to their own as
well as our advantage, we are bound constantly to allow
them, — nay, more than they show absolute evidence of their
ability to use to advantage. We must not wait till a child
can walk alone before we put it on its legs ; we must not wait
till it can swim, before we let it go in the water. As faith is
necessary to self-improvement, trust is necessary to education
or restoration of another : as necessary with the slave, the
savage, the maniac, the criminal, and the peasant — as necessa
ry, and equally with all necessary — as with the child.

Is not this our American doctrine in its only consistent
extension 1 We govern in trust only for another, and a part
of our trust is the restoration of the right-ful owner by help
ing him towards that sound and well-informed mind and intel
ligent judgment that makes him truly free and independent.

This is the only government that we of the free United States
of America, whether as fathers or children, statesmen or jury
men, representatives or rabble, either claim or acknowledge.
And it is of this that all true Americans believe, " that is the
best government that governs the least." Using government
in its properly restricted sense, as the authority and forcible
direction of one over another, we hold this to be as self-evident
as that the life of free love is better than the life of constrained
legality, that the sentiment of mutual trust is nobler than that
of suspicion or of fear, that the new dispensation of Christ is
higher than the old one of Moses. What else there is than this
care over the weak and diseased in the public administration of
our affairs, is no more than associated labour — the employment
of certain common servants for the care of the commonwealth.

PART II. 5*

106 AN AMERICAN FARMER IN ENGLAND.

Education, then, with certain systematic exercise or disci
pline of the governed, having reference to and connected with
a gradual elevation to equal freedom with the governing, we
hold to be a very necessary part of all rightful government.
Where it is not, we say this is no true and rightful govern
ment, but a despotism and a sin.

But we shall be at once asked : Is your fugitive law de
signed for such purposes *? Do your slaveholders govern the
simple-minded Africans whom they keep in restraint on these
principles 1

So far as they do not, their claim is "heretical and blasphe
mous"

Let us never hesitate to acknowledge it — any where and
every where to acknowledge it — and before all people mourn
over it. Let us, who need not to bear the heavy burden and
live in the dark cloud of this responsibility, never, either in
brotherly love, national vanity, or subjection to insolence, fear
to declare, that, in the misdirection of power by our slave
holders, they are false to the basis of our Union and blasphe
mous to the Father who, equally and with equal freedom,
created all men. Would that they might see, too, that while
they continue to manifest before the world, in their legislation
upon it, no other than mean, sordid, short-sighted, and barba
rian purposes, they must complain, threaten, expostulate, and
compromise in vain. If we drive back the truth of God, we
must expect ever-recurring, irrestrainable, irresistible reaction.
The law of God in our hearts binds us in fidelity to the prin
ciples of the Constitution. They are not to be found in
" Abolitionism," nor are they to be found — oh ! remember it,
brothers, and forgive these few words — in hopeless, dawnless,
unredeeming slavery.

And so we hold that party in England, which regard their
labouring class as a permanent providential institution, not

FOOD AND DRINK. 107

to be improved in every way, educated, fitted to take an equal
share with all Englishmen in the government of the common
wealth of England, to be blasphemers, tyrants, and insolent
rebels to humanity. (Many of them as good-souled men as
the world contains, nevertheless.)

I have before said, and I repeat it with confidence, that I
believe this party to be the weaker one in England. I must
believe that the love of justice, freedom, and consistency, is
stronger with Englishmen than the bonds of custom, self-con
ceit, and blind idolatry of human arrangement, under however
sacred names it has come to them.

But our British friends will ask : Would it be practicable to
give these poor toiling semi-brutes any — the smallest — exercise
of that governmental power, which, so far as they be not
wholly brutes, is their right1? Yes, we American farmers
would judge, yes : there are offices to be performed for the
commonwealth of each parish or neighbourhood, of the re
quirements of which they are, or soon would make them
selves, fit judges. If there are not, then make such offices.
Who is a kind, firm, and closely scrutinizing master ; who is
a judicious and successful farmer ; who is an honest dealer with
them ; who is a skilful ploughman, a good thatcher, a good
hedge- trimmer, in the mile or two about them, they always
have formed a judgment.

With regard to the habits of drinking and the customary
diet of those by whose labour England is mainly supplied
with food, I fear my statements may be incredible to Ameri
cans ; I therefore quote from authority that should be better
informed

A correspondent of the Agricultural Gazette mentions,
that in Herefordshire and Worcestershire the allowance of
^ider given to labourers, in addition to wages, is " one to ten
gallons a-day." He observes that, of course, men cannot work

108 AN AMERICAN FARMER IN ENGLAND.

without some drink, but that they often drink more than is
probably of any advantage to them, and suggests that an al
lowance of money be given instead of cider, and the labourers
be made to buy their drink. In this way, he thinks, they
would not be likely to drink more than they needed, and it
would be an economical operation for both parties. In Nor
mandy, the cider district of France, three gallons a-day is
the usual allowance of labourers.

"The usual allowance given in Herefordshire by masters, is three
quarts a-day ; and in harvest-time many labourers drink in a day ten or
twelve quarts of a liquor that in a stranger's mouth would be mistaken for
vinegar." — Johnson and Errington on the Apple.

"Bacon, when they can get it, is the staff of the labourers7 dinner."
" The frugal housewife provides a large lot of potatoes, and while she in
dulges herself with her younger ones only with salt, cuts off the small
rasher and toasts it over the plates of the father and elder sons, as being
the bread-ivinners / and this is all they want" — liA Rector and Conserva
tive'1'1 in the Times.

" After doing up his horses he takes breakfast, which is made of flour,
with a little butter, and water " from the tea-kettle" poured over it. He
takes with him to the field a piece of bread and (if he has not a young
family and can afford it) cheese, to eat at midday. He returns home in the
afternoon to a few potatoes, and possibly a little bacon, though only those
who are better off can afford this. The supper very often consists of
bread and water." — " Tlie Times Commissioner," in Wiltshire, 1851.

It would be unjust not to add, that in a large part of En
gland the labourers are much more comfortable than these
statements might indicate. I am also convinced .that the con
dition of the labourer generally is improving, and that he is
now in a much less famishing condition than ten years ago.
The main stay of the labourer's stomach is fine, white wheaten
bread, of the best possible quality, such as it would be a lux
ury to get any where else in the world, and such as many a
New England farmer never tasted, and, even if his wife were
able to make it, would think an extravagance to be ordinarily
upon his table. No doubt a coarser bread would be more

FRESH MEAT. 109

wholesome, but it is one of the strongest prejudices of the
English peasant, that brown bread is not fit for human beings.
In Scotland and Ireland, and in some hilly districts of England,
only, wheat bread is displaced by more wholesome and eco
nomical preparations from oatmeal.

With regard to fresh meat, a farmer once said to me,
" They will hardly taste it all their lives, except, it may be,
once a-year, at a fair, when they'll go to the cook-shops and
stuff themselves with all they'll hold of it ; and if you could
see them, you'd say they did not know what it was or what
was to be done with it — cutting it into great mouthfuls and
gobbling it down without any chewing, like as a fowl does
barleycorns, till it chokes him."

110 AN AMERICAN FARMER IN ENGLAND.

CHAPTER XIII.

TINTERN ABBEY AND THE WYE. — ENGLISH SCREW-STEAMERS. TIDE DEL
UGE. — ST. VINCENT'S ROCKS. — BRISTOL-BUILT VESSELS. — THE VALE OF

GLOUCESTER. WHITPLELD " EXAMPLE FARM." HKDGE-ROW TIMBER.

DRAINAGE. BUILDINGS. STOCK. SOILING. MANURE. WHEAT. BEETS

AND TURNIPS. — DISGRACEFUL AGRICULTURE. — THF, LANDED GENTRY.—
WAGES OK LABOURERS.

¥E have had a fierce storm of wind and rain to-day, not
withstanding which we have done (I am sorry to use the
word) Tintern Abbey and the celebrated scenery of the Wye.

The first every body has heard of, and many have dined
off it ; for it is the subject of a common crockery picture. It
is " a grand exhibition of Gothic ruins, admittance twenty-
five cents ; children, half-price." It is indeed exceedingly
beautiful and interesting, and would be most delightful to
visit, if one could stumble into it alone and contemplate it in
silence ; but to have a vulgar, sycophantic, parrot-chattering
showman locking himself in with you, fastening himself to
your elbow, holding an umbrella over you, and insisting upon
exactly when, where, what, and how much you shall admire,
there was more poetry on the dinner-plate.

The scenery of the Wye has, at some points, much grand
eur. They say there is nothing else like it in England.
There is a great deal, with the same character, however, in
America ; and as we were familiar with scenes of even much

BRISTOL BUILT. Ill

greater sublimity, we found that we had been led to expect
too much, and were rather disappointed with it.

We took passage from Chepstow to Bristol in a small
iron screw-steamer. She was sharp and neatly modelled, and
made very good speed — about fifteen knots. The captain
said he could show his stern to any side-wheel steamer of her
size in England. Near the junction of the Wye and the Sev
ern there is a good breadth of water, and we found here a
heavy swell and a reefing breeze. The little boat, with a small
gaff-sail forward, "just to steady her," threw it off one side
and the other, and made her way along very handsomely and
comfortably. It is my impression, that the English have got
a good deal ahead of us with screw-craft.

The tide-current in these rivers is a furious deluge. The
rise and fall at Chepstow is FIFTY-THREE FEET ! (Daniels' Ship
master's Directory.) At Bristol, I think it is even greater than
this. The striking effects upon the banks, and the difficulty
of navigation, may be imagined. Hence it is that Bristol
ships have always been noted for strength, and so arose the
term "Bristol-built" to describe any structure well put to^
gether.

St. Vincent's rocks, of which I had often heard sailors
speak — immense banks of solid rock, that, for some miles be
low Bristol, the narrow, canal-like river flows between — are
indeed amazingly grand. It was most impressive and belit
tling to one's earthy self to meet between them a merchant
ship of the largest class — the tiny boy that we looked upright
to see upon her royal yard not high enough- by some hun
dred feet to look over them. And yet so perpendicular are
they, and so narrow is the stream, that they are preparing to
throw an arch over between them.

Passing with too little delay through the interesting towns
of Clifton and Bristol, I parted with my friends, and went on

112 ^LV AMERICAN FARMER IN ENGLAND.

the same day into the agricultural district known as the Vale
of Gloucester.

The general aspect of this district is exceedingly beautiful ;
undulating, like Herefordshire, with more commonly extensive
flat surfaces, very large hedges, and much timber ; very
thickly peopled, the cottages and farm buildings old and
picturesque, and the fields well stocked with cattle.

The agriculture of the district is similar to that of Cheshire,
except that it is in general much behind it, neither draining
nor boneing having been common improvements. The people
I fell in with were usually lacking equally in courtesy and
intelligence, and I learned nothing of value agriculturally,
until I reached, at near nightfall, a farm conducted agreeably
to the wishes of one of the landlords of the Vale, especially
with the intention of giving his tenants an example of a
better system of farming than they were accustomed to be
content with.

For this purpose, an ordinary farm of 260 acres, in the
midst of the estate, was, about ten years ago, put into
the hands of an excellent Scotch agriculturist, Mr. Morton.
His first movement was to remove the superfluous fences and
the enormous quantity of hedge-row timber that the farm,
like all others in the district, was encumbered with. It gives
us a great idea of the amount of this, as well of the value
of timber in England, to learn that what was thus obtained
merely from the fences of 260 acres was sold for over
$17,000 ! There is now very little, if any, interior fencing
upon the farm. The surface-water was drawn into one chan
nel, and the whole farm under-drained with three-feet drains.
Upon the steeper slopes the drains were laid with small stones,
otherwise with tile. This was the only case in which I heard
of stones being used by any good farmer of late years in En
gland for drains. Even where stone is in the way upon the

' < THE EXAMPLE FARM. " 113

surface, it is found more economical to employ tile or pipes.
After thorough drainage, every acre of the farm was subsoiled,
and gradually the whole was limed, at the rate of one hundred
and twenty bushels an acre, and divided into ten-acre lots,
without fences.

Not the least unpractical labour or expense for show has
been made. The walls, gates, farrn-house, stables, and out
buildings, are all of simple, and even rude construction. As
far as I could judge, every arrangement and every practice
upon the farm was such as would commend itself to any
farmer, and might be easily followed by any one who could
command the capital which a similar extent of soil would seem
to need for its profitable cultivation. Almost every inch
of the surface outside the buildings and the lane is tilled,
there being no pasture. In the stables we found a stock
of mongrel cows, mostly of Hereford and Short-horn blood,
bought to be fattened. No stock is raised. Each cow was
in a separate loose box. They are fed at this season with
clover and trefoil, and supplied with a great profusion of
straw litter. The manure is allowed to accumulate under
them until it becomes inconvenient. The cows appeared
to be in healthy and thriving condition ; they were generally
lying down and quietly ruminating with an aspect of entire
satisfaction. The horse-stalls were of the form and size most-
common in our cities ; the horses rather lighter than the or
dinary English draught-horses. A steam-engine is employed
for threshing, cutting turnips, &c. All the crops but wheat,
I believe, are fed upon the farm, and all the straw is used as
litter ; of course an immense stock of manure is manufactured,
and little or none needs to be bought to sustain a high
fertility and large crops of every kind.

Under this system, Mr. Morton is able to grow wheat
every second year ; so that one-half the farm was covered

114 AN AMERICAN FARMER IN ENGLAND.

with magnificent crops of this grain, likely to yield full forty
bushels an acre, which would be worth at least $6000. The
wheat is all drilled, and looked to me particularly clean
and even. The alternate crops are carrots, mangel-wurzel,
ruta-baga, potatoes, and clover. Of the latter, forty acres ;
of the roots, mangel-wurzel occupied the largest space. Mr.
Morton told me that he had, of late, much preferred it to
turnips ; thought he could get thirty tons from an acre that
would only yield twenty of ruta-baga, with similar expense.
A few acres were devoted to vegetables and fruit for the
family, and to the raising of seeds for the root-crops. I do
not recollect to have seen a weed on the farm, except among
the potatoes, which were being hoed by labourers, with very
large hoes made for the purpose.

Of course the expense of such improvement as I have de
scribed was very great; but the proprietor considers it to
have been a good investment. It is now leased by Mr. Mor
ton and his son.

It is called the " Example Farm ;" how appropriately, may
be judged by the following description of an ordinary farm
of the neighbourhood, by the " Times' Commissioner :"

" An inconvenient road conducted us to the entrance-gate of a dilapi
dated farm-yard, one side of which was occupied by a huge barn and
wagon-shed, and the other by the farm-house, dairy, and piggeries. The
farm-yard was divided by a wall, and two lots of milch-cows were accom
modated in the separate divisions. On one side was a temporary shed,
covered with bushes and straw. Beneath this shed there was a compara
tively dry lair for the stock ; the yard itself was wet, dirty, and uncom
fortable. The other yard was exactly the counterpart of this, except that
it wanted even the shelter-shed. In these two yards are confined the
dairy-slock of the farm during the winter months ; they are supplied with
hay in antique, square hay-racks, ingeniously capped over, to protect
the hay, with a thatched roof, very much resembling the pictures of Eobin-
son Crusoe's hut. In each yard two of them are placed, round which the
shivering animals station themselves as soon as the feeder gives them
•their diurnal ration, and then patiently nominate the scanty contents. A

LANDLORDS. 115

dripping rain fell as we looked at them, from which their heads were shel
tered by the thatched roof of the hay-rack, only to have it poured in a
heavier stream on their necks and shoulders. In the other yard the cows
had finished their provender, and showed their dissatisfaction with its
meagre character by butting each other round the rack. The largest and
greediest having finished her own share, immediately dislodges her neigh
bour, while she, in her turn, repeats the blow upon the next, and so the
chase begins, the cows digging their horns into each other's sides, and
discontentedly pursuing one another through the wet and miry yard.
Leaving the yard we passed into the fields, sinking at every step in the
•sour, wet grass-lands. Here, little heaps of dung, the exhausted relics of
the hay, from which the cows derive their only support in winter, were
being scattered thinly over the ground, to aid in the production of another
crop of hay."

I have shown how much good a wealthy landlord may find
it his profit to do in the way of improving agriculture. Mr.
Caird intimates that for such a state of things as is exhibited
in the last picture, we are also to hold the landlord account
able. Mr. Caird likewise says, " On all hands the farmer
suffers : he pays rent for space occupied by his landlord's
trees ; he provides harbour for his landlord's game, which, in
return, feed upon his crops ; (it is for this reason many land
lords will not allow the fences to be touched ;) if he attempts
to plough out inferior pasture, his crop becomes an additional
feeding-ground for the game ; whilst the small fields and
crooked fences prevent all efforts at economy of labour, and
compel him either to restrict his cultivation, or execute it
negligently and unprofitably."

God keep us evermore free from a " powerful conserva
tive landed gentry," a curse not unmixed with good though
it be.

Wages of labourers were mentioned to me at Ss. Caird
says 7s. and 8s., and sometimes 6s. ; but it was added, signifi
cantly, that 6s. worth of work is only given in such a case.

I spent the night with the Messrs. Morton, and returned
by rail to Bristol the following morning.

11G AN AMERICAN FARMER IN ENGLAND.

CHAPTER XIV.

BATH. WARMINSTER. SURLY POSTMASTER. A DOUBTFUL CHARACTER.

POLITE INNKEEPER AND PRETTY CHAMBERMAID. THE TAP-ROOM FIRE
SIDE. RUSTIC CIVILITY. RAINY MORNING IN A COUNTRY INN. COMING

TO MARKET. THE ROAD IN A STORM. SCUDDING.

TT was raining hard when I again reached Bristol, and I at
•*• once jumped on board a traia ready to leave for Bath.
Here I found that my friends had walked on, and after look
ing at the " pump-room" and a grimy old cathedral, and get
ting a dinner, I determined to follow them. There was no
public conveyance that evening, and I started on foot, thinking
to overtake them at "Warminster.

At the top of a high hill I stopped under a tree during a
temporary torrent of rain, and looked back at what I could
not help thinking would be a grand view if there were but a
gleam of sunshine upon it ; but perhaps it was grander by
help of the imagination in the obscurity of the rain and drift
ing scud and murky cloud of smoke that was swept fragrant
towards me from the city. Bath is situated among and up
the sides of extensive hills, and the country about it is much
of it well wooded and studded with numerous villas. The
town is remarkably well built, with numerous stately ter
race-houses, of the same fine, soft-tinted sandstone (Bath-
stone) that I described at Liverpool. It is a famous old wa
tering-place, you know ; " a mort of merry-making" there has
been in it in days past, but now, though by no means a de-

THE WARMINSTER ROAD. 117

cayed town, I believe its glory in this respect has departed.
I should judge it still to be a place of great wealth and ele
gance, but less distinguished for gayety and folly than for
merly. All I can say of the inhabitants really, from personal
observation, is, that they " know enough to stay in when it
rains," for I hardly saw one in the streets, except the men who
were waiting by the little covered " chairs," such as Mrs.
Skewton is re-presented by Cruikshanks to be wheeled about
in by her miserable, lanky page. I saw hundreds of these,
ranged in the streets as hackney-coaches are in our towns,
but no carriage of any kind, public or private ; perhaps the
association of .Bath coachmen had " met to a cold swarry."

After a walk of two miles into the country, I found I had
been misdirected, and had a good deal of difficulty in finding
the right road. I once asked the way of two labourers, and
their replies were in such language, and they were so stupid,
that I could not get the least idea of what they meant. My
guess was, that they either could not understand what I want
ed, or that they did not know themselves whether or not it
was the Warminster road that they were at work upon. It
was after four o'clock when I at length got upon the straight
road, with seventeen miles before me — a hilly road, with a thin,
slimy chalk-mud under foot. I stopped once again during
another tremendous torrent, taking the opportunity to bait
at a neat little inn, and reached Warminster, after a hard pull,
at nine o'clock. The first building in the town, as you come
from Bath, is a fine old church, going round the yard of which
you enter abruptly upon a close-built street of old thatched
two-story houses — so different from the gradually thickening
and improving houses, as you approach the cluster of churches
and centre of a New England village.

The postmaster had no letters for me, and seemed to be
very angry that I should have expected him to have. I looked

118 AN AMERICAN FARMER IN ENGLAND.

from one inn to another, not finding my friends, and finally,-
muddy, wet, and tired enough, stopped at what seemed the
last in the street, a house of humble appearance.

I desired to be showed to my room. Master, mistress,
maid, and Boots, immediately surrounded and eyed me close
ly, and I could not but remember that I might, probably,
bear a suspicious appearance to them. As I take off my cape,
maid — a nice, kind-looking, black-eyed little girl — catches it
up, and runs off to hang it by the kitchen fire (an absurd
operation, as it is made of oiled silk) — she is back in a mo
ment with a light, and, lifting my knapsack, shows me up to
a pleasant room, with a deep, dark-curtained bed — slides out,
and again is back in a moment with slippers, and asks to take
my shoes to be dried, and what would I wish for supper ? I
decline supper, and intend to go to bed at once. Down she
goes, and, after a moment more, in pops the landlord — " Was
you understood aright, sir ? — no supper, sir ! — not coming
down, sir ! — going to bed, sir ! — directly, sir, without supper,
sir !" and while saying this, he bustles about the room, and
locks the closet doors, puts the keys in his pocket, and then
turns towards me with a suspicious look at my knapsack.
" Yes," I answer, quietly ; and, drawing out shirt, socks, and
tooth-brush, " I find myself much heated, and wet with per
spiration and the rain ; I took supper upon the road, and I
thought I had best get my clothes off, and at once to bed."
" Ah ! I see, sir ; quite right, sir ; ah ! yes, sir ; dry socks too,
sir ; yes, sir ; indeed, sir, I was not aware ; beg pardon, sir :
but indeed, would you step down stairs a moment, sir — fine
fire in th$ tap, sir — dry yourself, if you would please, for
a moment, I would have the room put in better order for
you, sir ; indeed, the bed is hardly — if you would, sir — thank
you, sir."

Tn the tap-room were three fellows with smock frocks.

RUSTICS. 119

As I approached, one called to another, who was nearer the
fire, to give me his seat, and offered me, with truly rustic
grace and politeness, his half-emptied pot of beer. I have a
strong stomach, and dislike to repulse what is meant for kind
ness ; so I tasted it, and tried to enter into conversation with
them. I soon found it was impossible ; for I could make
nothing of two-thirds of their replies, and I doubted if they
could understand me much better. So I contented myself
with listening, while they continued to talk or mumble with
each other. The subjects of their conversation were beer and
" the girls :" of the latter topic they said nothing to be re
peated ; of the former, they wished the farmers never gave
worse drink than that they were now enjoying — " it was most
good for nothing, some of it, what they gave out." And one
told how he had had to drink so much of it once, it had made
him clear sick ; and then another told how, on the other hand,
he had made himself sick one day, when somebody wouldn't
give him as much beer as he wanted, by taking a draught of
cold w~ater.

When the little maid came in to say that my bed was
now " quite ready," and I rose to withdraw from the circle,
they all gave a singular jerk forward of their heads and
touched their foreheads with their right hand, as a parting
salutation.

" Would you let me take something else down to be dried
now, sir, your coat, sir, or any thing — the socks, sir ; thank you,
sir. Hope you'll sleep well, sir."

I didn't do any thing else till, when I stopped, I found it
nine o'clock the next morning. There was a steady roar upon
the tiles — the rain still continued — I drew the window-curtain,
and there was Geoffrey Crayon's picture almost to the life : a
sleepy old gray mare " letting it rain ;" a draggle-tailed cock
on a smoking dunghill eyeing with the air of a miserable sick

120 AN AMERICAN FARMER IN ENGLAND.

saint the riotous orgies of a company of mad ducks deep in
their favourite liquor ; half-a-dozen doves huddled moping
together on the thatch of the stable — a sombre tone over every
thing, and rain, rain, rain.

" Hope you rested well, sir," said the landlord as I reached
the foot of the crooked stairs ; " a dirty day, sir. Have your
shoes, sir ? What'll you please to have for breakfast, sir ?
Steak, sir ? O yes, sir — or chop, sir ; give you very nice
chop, sir ; yes, sir, thank you, sir. Walk in here, sir 1 Ready
shortly, sir."

To get to the breakfast I was led through the kitchen, a
large room with saddles and box-coats and whips and straps
hung up with the bacon on the ceiling and walls. The break
fast-room (dining-room) was also much larger than any room
you would have supposed from the front of the house it was
likely to contain. Its plan was octagonal, with a single great
red-curtained bow-window, and stately, high-backed chairs, sug
gesting a corporation banquet.

It is a rainy day in a country inn, dull enough ; nothing to
do but write, and for writing I am not inclined. I determine
to take the road again and overtake J. and C., who will per
haps be waiting for me somewhere on the way to Salisbury.

" Going on, sir — yes, sir." All my things are brought,
dry and warm, and nicely folded ; and now I have curiosity
to know wrhat value is placed upon so much suavity and care
for my comfort. The landlord meets my request with depre
cating gesture and grimace, as if it was a pity that the custom
of society made such a form necessary between a host and
his guest — as if he were about to say — " I am grieved that
you should mention it ; really it is I that am indebted to you
for this honour — but if you insist, why" — ending the aside-,
but still low, hurried, and indistinct — " sixpence for bed and
a shilling for breakfast, and — (shall I say thre'pcnce ?} for

." THE ROAD IN A STORM. 121

Boots, sir." " Yes, and the rest of this to that excellent little
chambermaid, if you please." " Oh, my little girl, sir ; oh,
thank ye, sir, you are very good, sir-— yes, sir, you can't miss
it, sir, straight road after you pass the gate, sir. ^oocf-morn-
ing, sir ; should be glad to see you if you are this way again,
sir, or any of your friends. 6rooc?-niorniiig, sir. Hope you'll
have a fine day yet, sir ! It's slacking up e'en now, I think.
Indeed it is, sir ! Ah, you'll have a fine day for a walk, sir.
{?ooa?-morning, sir."

If it slackens at all, it is only for a moment, and then the
rain is poured down again densely and with renewed vehe
mence ; and the wind, coming from behind, fairly twists one
about, and hurries one along in its strong, fitful gusts. It is
market-day in Warminster, and, as I go out, every body else
and every thing else seems to be coming in. Men, women,
and children, in all sorts of English vehicles — spring-carts,
taxed-carts, great broad-wheeled carts, or long wagons, with
bodies of a curious curved form flaring out over the wheels,
canvas tops, stretched over all, upon hoops ; sometimes two
horses abreast, drawing them in a double set of shafts ; oftener
two or three, and frequently four, five, or six, all in a line,
(tandem,) great, intelligent beasts, keeping well to the left,
where none will interfere with them, and they can legally
harm no one. (" Keep the left" is the rule of the road in En
gland ; not the right, as with us.) They are driven without
reins ; and more than once this morning I saw the driver, well
dosed with beer, I suppose, and fatigued with night-work, fast
asleep on the top of his load. Once I saw a gentleman, who
had nearly run against one of these sleeping fellows, strike
him smartly with his whip as he passed — " You had best

wake up, sir ; who's your master f " Mr. , of' ,

sir," answered the man, rubbing himself. " Very well, I shall

PART II. 0

122 AN AMERICAN FARMER IN ENGLAND.

let him know what sort of a carter he has." A Yankee driver,
so waked up, would have replied to the whip first.

Gentlemen come up at a spanking pace, with tall, lithe,
worried-looking horses, in dog-carts, or in the saddle, screw
ing their heads as deep as they can into their drab coats,
bending low, and their hats pulled down tight upon their
brows, never hardly with an umbrella, but with a groom with
gold hat-band by their side sometimes. They look scowl-
ingly, as they approach, at me ; with my hat-brim turned up
before and down behind to shed the water from my face, my
water-proof cape tightly fastened at my waist behind, and
swelling and fluttering before, my arms folded under it, I re
turn their inquiring stare complacently ; and some, as they
come up, draw their lips resolutely tighter, and give me about
quarter of a nod, as if they understood and approved my
arrangement.

Men on foot, and women, too, with clogs and pattens and
old green and blue umbrellas, and bundles and bags and bas
kets and hampers, and cages and parcels in handkerchiefs ;
old and young, lasses and lads, generally three or four couples
together, coming to town for a holiday, loudly laughing and
coarsely joking; bound to enjoy themselves spite of the
shameful indelicacy of the wind, and the chill drenching of
the rain, and the most misplaced attachment to their finery of
the spattering mud.

WILTSHIRE LANDSCAPE.

CHAPTER XV.

THE SOUTH DOWNS. WILTSHIRE LANDSCAPE. — CHALK AND FLINT. — IRRIGA
TION. — THE COST AND PROFIT OF WATER-MEADOWS. — SEWERAGE WATER.
— IRRIGATION IN OLD TIMES.

SOON after leaving Warminster, began a very different
style of landscape from what I have before seen : long
ranges and large groups of high hills with gentle and grace
fully undulating slopes ; broad and deep dells between and
within them, through wThich flow in tortuous channels streamlets
of exceedingly pure, sparkling water. These hills are bare of
trees, except rarely a close body of them, covering a space of
perhaps an acre, and evidently planted by man. Within the
shelter of these you will sometimes see that there is a large
farm-house with a small range of stables. The valleys are
cultivated, but the hills in greater part are covered, without
the slightest variety, except what arises from the changing
contour of the ground, with short, wiry grass, standing thinly,
but sufficiently close to give the appearance, at a little dis
tance from the eye, of a smooth, velvetty, green surface.
Among the first of the hills I observed, at a high elevation,
long angular ramparts and earth-works, all greened over.
"Within them and at the summit of the hill were several ex
tensive tumuli, evidently artificial, (though I find nothing
about it in the books,) and on the top of one of these was a
shepherd and dog and a large flock of sheep, clear and coldly
distinct, and appearing of gigantic size against the leaden

124 AN AMERICAN FARMER IN ENGLAND.

clouds behind. In the course of the day I met with many of
these flocks, and nearly all the hill-land seemed given up to
them. I was upon the border, in fact, of the great South
down district, and, during the next week, the greater part of
the country through which we were travelling, was of the
same general character of landscape, though frequently not
as green, varied, and pleasing, as in these outskirts of it.

Geologically, it is a chalk district, the whole earth, high
and low, and to any depth that I saw it exposed, being more
or less of a white colour, generally gray, but sometimes white
as snow. The only mineral is flint, which occurs in small
boulders or pebbles, cased in a hardened crust of carbonate
of lime mingled irregularly with the chalk, more thickly on
the hill-tops, and often gathered in beds. The road is made of
these flint pebbles, broken fine, and their chalk-crust, pow
dered by the attrition of wheels, is worked up into a slip
pery paste during such heavy rains as I was experiencing, and
makes the walking peculiarly fatiguing. The soil upon the
hills is very dry and thin. In the valleys it is deeper and
richer, being composed, in a considerable part, of the wash of
the higher country, and the wheat and forage crops were often
very luxuriant. Advantage is sometimes taken of the streams
to form water-meadows, and the effect of irrigation can often
be seen at a considerable distance in the deeper green and
greater density of the grass upon them. These meadows are
of great agricultural value, and I will give an account of the
method of construction and management of them.

An artificial channel is made, into which the water of a
brook may be turned at will. This is carried along for as
great a distance as practicable, so as to skirt the upper sides
of fields of a convenient surface for irrigation. At suitable
intervals there are gates and smaller channels, and eventually
a great number of minor ducts, through which the water is

WATER MEADOWS. 125

distributed. The fields are divided by low walls, so that the
water can be retained upon them as long as is desired, and
then drawn off to a lower level. Commonly, a series of
meadows, held by different farmers, are flooded from one
source, and old custom or agreement fixes the date of com
mencing the irrigation and the period of time at which the
water shall be moved from one to another.

The main flooding is usually given in October, after the
grass has been closely eaten off by neat stock. It is then
allowed to remain resting or quietly flowing over the land for
two or three weeks ; or for two weeks, and, after an interval
of a day or two, for two weeks more. This consolidates the
grassy surface, and encourages the growth and new formation
of roots. The grass springs and grows luxuriantly after this,
and, as soon as it is observed to flag, the water is let in again
for two or three weeks ; it may be twice during the winter.
Whenever a scurn is observed to form, indicating that decom
position is commencing below, the water is immediately
drawn. In warm weather this will occur very soon, perhaps
in a day or two. I believe the water is also never allowed,
if possible, to freeze upon the meadows. In the spring, by
the middle of March, sometimes sheep and lambs are turned
on to the grass. After being fed pretty closely, they are re
moved, and the meadows left for a crop of hay. They are
ready for mowing in less than two months, and are then, after
a short interval, pastured again with horned cattle and horses.
Some meadows are never pastured, and yield three heavy
crops of hay. Mr. Pusey (a member of Parliament) declares,
that he keeps sheep upon his water-meadows, in Berkshire, at
the rate of thirty-six an acre, well fed, and intimates his be
lief that the produce of grass-land is doubled by irrigation.
Grass and hay, however, from irrigated meadows, are of
slightly less nourishing quality. It is generally said, that a

126 AN AMERICAN FARMER IN ENGLAND.

single winter's flooding will increase the growth of grass equal
to a top-dressing of thirty (thirty bushel) loads of dung.

We may judge somewhat from these facts and opinions of
practical men, whether, in any given ^circumstances, we can
afford to construct the dam, channels, gates, sluices, &c., by
which we may use this method of fertilizing our meadows.
There are millions of acres in the United States that could be
most readily made subject to the system. The outlay for
permanent works might often be very inconsiderable, and the
labour of making use of them, after construction, would be
almost nothing. The cost of conveying manure, and its dis
tribution by carts and manual labour, is a very important item
in the expenditure of most of our eastern farms ; and, though
this is felt much less here, where labour is so much cheaper, we
may obtain many economical hints with regard to it from Brit
ish practice. Fields distant from the farmstead, and hill-lands
not easily accessible, should nearly always be enriched by
bone, guano, and other concentrated manures ; of which a man
may carry more on his back than will be of equal value with
many cart-loads of dung, or by some other means which will
dispense with long and heavy transportation. I have obtained
increased crops, with a saving of some hundred dollars a-year
of expenditure, in this way.

Different streams vary in their value for irrigation. The
muddiest streams are the best, as they generally carry sus
pended a great deal of the fertile matter of the land through
which they have flowed ; often, too, road-washings, and other
valuable drainings, have been taken along with them, and
these are caused to be deposited upon the meadow. A per
fectly transparent fluid will often, however, have most valuable
salts in solution ; and I noticed that most of the Wiltshire
streams were peculiarly clear, reminding me of the White
Mountain trout-brooks. It is said that streams abounding in

SE WERA QE MANURE. 1 27

fish, and wliich have abundance of aquatic plants and luxuriant
vegetation upon their borders, are to be relied upon as the most
enriching in their deposit. Streams, into which the sewerage
of large towns is emptied, are often of the greatest value for
agricultural purposes. A stream thus enriched is turned to
the most important account near Edinburgh : certain lands,
which were formerly barren wastes, being merely the clean,
dry sands thrown up by the sea in former times, having been
arranged so that they may be flowed by this stream. The
expense of the operation was great — about one hundred dol
lars an acre — and the annual cost of flooding is very much
greater than usual — four or five dollars an acre ; but the crops
of hay are so frequent and enormous, (ten cuttings being made
in a season,) that some parts of the meadow rent for one hun
dred dollars a-year for one acre, and none for less than seventy-
five dollars !

It is estimated by the distinguished agriculturist, Smith of
Deanston, that the sewerage-water of -a town may be con
tracted for, to be delivered, (sent by subterranean pipes and
branches, so that it may be distributed over any required
surface,) eleven miles out of town, for four cents a-ton. Mr.
Hawksley, a prudent engineer, offers to convey it five miles,
and raise it two hundred feet, for five cents a-ton ; the ex
pense of carting it to the same distance and elevation being
estimated at about $1. Another estimate makes the expense
of conveying and distributing manure, in the solid form, as
compared with liquid, at fifteen dollars to seventy-five cents,
for equal fertilizing values. Professor Johnston estimates the
fertilizing value, per annum, of the sewerage of a town of one
thousand inhabitants, as equal to a quantity of guano which,
at present American prices, would be worth $13,000. Smith
of Deanston estimates the cost of manuring an acre by sew
erage, conveyed in aqueducts and distributed by jet-pipes, at

128 AN AMERICAN FARMER IN ENGLAND.

three dollars an acre, and that of fertilizing it to an equal de
gree, in the usual way, by farm-yard manure, at fifteen dollars.
Considering that the expense of conveyance and distribution
of solid manure is much greater in America than in England,
these figures will not be thought to be without personal interest
to us.

The use of manure-drainings and the urine of the cattle of
a farm, very much diluted with spring water, has been found
to have such astonishing immediate effects, when distributed
over young herbage, that several English agricultural pioneers
are making extensive and costly permanent arrangements for
its distribution, from their stables, over large surfaces. It is
first collected in tanks, where it is retained until putrefied, and
mixed with the water of irrigation. This is then driven by
forcing-pumps into the pipes which convey it, so that it can be
distributed (in one case, over one hundred and seventy acres.)
The pipes are hard-burnt clay tubes, an inch thick, joined with
cement, costing here 'about twelve and a-half cents a-yard.
The pipe is laid under ground, and at convenient intervals
there are heads coming to the surface with stop-cocks, where
a hose can be attached and the water further guided in any
direction. For greater distances, a cart like those used for
sprinkling the dusty streets of our cities is used. It is con
jectured by some that, eventually, all manure will be fur
nished to land in a state of solution.

I believe irrigation is only used for the benefit of grass
lands in England ; but it probably might be found of great
advantage to some other valuable crops. I have seen large
fields of roots, apparently of the character of turnips, irrigated
in China, and it is well known that rice is every where flooded
in tropical countries. I suspect that irrigation, and even that-
expensive form of it that I have last described, might be
profitably used, for certain plants, by our market-gardeners ;

/ GARDEN IRRIGATION. 129

I judge so of celery and asparagus ; and it is well known that
enormous strawberries, and unusually large and long-continu
ing crops of them, have resulted from an inefficient and un
systematic kind of irrigation. A small experiment that I made
with Indian corn resulted in a great growth of stalk and in
small and unhealthy malformed grain.

Irrigation is of the least advantage upon heavy clay soils,
and of the greatest upon light sandy loams with gravelly sub
soils. It is very desirable that the construction of the soil
should be such that the water may gradually and somewhat
rapidly filter through it ; and it is considered of great import
ance, when the water is drawn off, after the flooding, (drown
ing is the local term,) that it should be very completely
removed, leaving no small pools upon the surface. Stagna
ting water, either above or below the surface, is very poisonous
to most plants.

I may remind those who. have a prejudice against new
practices in agriculture, that irrigation was practised as long
ago as the days of the patriarchs. In this part of England it
has been in use since about the beginning of the seventeenth
century, at which time an agreeably-written book on the sub
ject was published by one Rowland Vaughan, Esq. The
account of the way that he was first led to make systematic
trial of irrigation, and the manner in which he proceeded, is
amusing and instructive : —

"In the month of March I happened to find a mole or wont's nest
raised on the brim of a brook in my meade, like a great hillock ; and from
it there issued a little streame of water, (drawn by the working of the
mole,) down a shelving ground, one pace broad, and some twenty in
length. The running of this little stpeame did at that time wonderfully
content me, seeing it pleasing greene, and that other land on both sides
was full of moss, and hide-bound for want of water. This was the first
cause I undertook the drowning of grounds.

"Now to proceed to the execution of my worke : being perswaded of
the excellency of the water, I examined how many foote fall the brooke
PART II. 6*

130 AN AMERICAN FARMER IN ENGLAND.

yielded from my mill to the uppermost part of my grounds, being in
length a measured mile. There laye of medow land thirty acres overworn
with age, and heavily laden with moss, cowslips, and much other imper
fect grass, betwixt my mill stream and the maine river, which (with two
shillings cost) my grandfather and his grandsire, with the rest, might
have drowned at their pleasures ; but from the beginning never any thing
•was done, that either tradition or record could witness, or any other testi-
monie.

"Having viewed the convenientest place, which the uppermost part
of my ground would afforde for placing a commanding weare or sluce, I
espied divers water falls on my neighbours' grounds, higher than mine
by seven or eight foote : which gave me great advantage of drowning
more ground, than I was of mine own power able to do.

"I acquainted them with my purpose ; the one being a .gentleman of
worth and good nature, gave me leave to plant the one end of my weare on
his side the river : the other, my tenant, being very aged and simple, by
no perswasion I could use, would yield his consent, alledging it would
marre his grounds, yea, sometimes his apple trees ; and men told him,
water would raise the rush, and kill his cowslips, which was the chiefest
flower his daughters had to tricke the May-pole withal.

" After I had wrought thus farre, I caused my servant, a joyner, to make
a levell to discover what quantity of ground I_might obtaine from the
entry of the water; allowing his doubling course, compassing hills to
carry it plym or even, which fell out to be some three hundred acres.

" After I had plyrnmed it upon a true levell, I betooke myself to the
favour of my tenants, friends, and neighbours, in running my maine
trench, which I call my trench-royal. I call it so, because I have within
the contents of my worke, counter-trenches, defending-trenches, topping-
trenches, winter and summer-trenches, double and treble-trenches, a tra-
versing-trench with a point, and an everlasting trench, with other trouble
some trenches, which in a map I will more lively expresse. When the
inhabitants of the country, wherein I inhabit, (namely the Golden Valley,)
saw I had begun some part of my worke, they summoned a consultation
against me and my man John, the leveller, saying our wits were in our
hands, not in our heads ; so we both, for three or four years lay levell to
the whole country's censure for such engineers as their forefathers heard
not of, nor they well able to endure without merryments.

"In the running and casting of my trench-royal, though it were level
led from the beginning to the end, upon the face of the ground, yet in the
bottom I did likewise levell it to avoyde error.

" For the breadth and depth, my proportion is ten foote broad, and
four foote deep ; unless in the beginning, to fetch the water to my drown
ing grounds, I ran it some half mile eight foote deep, and in some places

MAIDS AND MEADOWS. 131

sixteen foote broad. All the rest of the coarse for two miles and a-half in
length, according to my former proportion. When my worke began in
the eye of the country to carry a shew of profit, it pleased many out of
their courtesie to give it commendations, and applaud the invention."

The author then makes a considerable digression, to ac
count for a delay in his proceedings, which was occasioned by
processes issued against him from the courts of Star Chamber,
Chancery, and Wardes, to compel him to deliver his niece and
ward into their custody.

"These courts," he observes, " bred more white haires in my head in
one year than all my wet-shod water-works did in sixteen. So leaving my
wanton ward in London, in the custody of a precisian or puritan taylor,
who would not endnre to heare one of his journeymen sweare by the
cross of his shears ; so full was he of sanctity in deceipt. But the first
news I heard was, that he had married my "Welch niece to his Englie-
nephew ; and at my return, I was driven to take his word, that he was
neither privy to the contract, nor the marriage."

Mr. Vaughan next gives the following directions for carry
ing this plan into effect : —

"Having prepared your drowning coiirse, be very careful that all
the ground subject to the same, whether meadow, pasture, or arable,
be as plain as any garden-plotte, and without furrows. Then follows
your attendance in flood-times : see that you suffer not your flood water
by negligence to pass away into the brooke, river, and sea, but by your
sluice command it to your grounds, and continue it playing thereon
so long as it appears muddy. In the beginning of March clear your
ground of cold water, and keep it as dry as a child under the hands of a
dainty nurse ; observing generally that sandy ground will endure ten
times more water than the clay. A day or two before you mow, if suffi
cient showers have not qualified the drought of your ground, let down
your sluice into your trench-royal, that thereby you may command so
much water to serve your turn as you desire. Suffer it to descend where
you mean first to mow, and you shall find this manner of drowning in the
morning before you mow so profitable and good, that commonly you
gain ten or twelve days' advantage in growing. For drowning before
mowing, a day, or even two or three, so supplies the ground, that it doth
most sweetly release the root of every particular grasse, although the sun
be never so extream hot. This practice will often make good a second
mowing, and in walking over grounds, I will tread as on velvet, or a
Turkey carpet."

132 AN AMERICAN FARMER IN ENGLAND,

CHAPTER XVI.

FLOCKS, DOGS, AND SHEPHERDS OF SALISBURY PLAIN. VILLAGE ALMS-
HOUSES OSTENTATION IN ALMS-GIVING. A FORCED MARCH. AT HOME

IN SALISBURY. THE STREET BROOKS. — THE CATHEDRAL. ARCHITECTURAL.

REMARKS AND ADVICE. VILLAGE CHURCHES. 0

THE chalk-hills, or downs, (known also in local parlance as
leak-land?) are unenclosed or divided, and rarely separated
from the cultivated land by more than a low turf-wall, and
often not at all. Once, in the course of the morning, I came
near a flock of about two hundred sheep, feeding close to the
road, and stopped a few moments to look at them. They
were thorough-bred South-downs ; the shepherd sat at a little
distance, upon a knoll, and the dog was nearer the flock.
Growing close up to the edge of the road, opposite the sheep,
was a heavy piece of wheat ; one of them strayed over to it.
The dog cocked his ears and turned quickly several times
towards his master, as if knowing there was business for him,
and waiting for orders. But the shepherd was looking another
way, and others of the flock, lifting their heads as I approached
them, and seeing their comrade on the other side of the road,
began to rush after him, as is the manner of sheep ; and di
rectly there were a dozen eagerly nipping the wheat, and
more following : the dog, sitting up very erect, and on the
qui vive, still waited for orders, till the shepherd, turning
quickly, gave the signal in a monosyllable. Right over the
heads of the flock, bounding from head to head, sprang the

£ ALMSHOUSES. 133

dog, yelping sharply as he reached the road ; the truants re
turned, and the whole flock broke at once into a hard run, —
dog dashing first one side, then the other — closing them rap
idly up, and keeping them in a dense mass, until, at another
shout from the shepherd, who had not risen, all at once halted,
and, turning heads out, went to feeding, soon closing around
the dog, leaving only a space of a few feet vacant about him.
The dogs used by most of the shepherds seem to be mongrels,
generally low in the legs, with great heads, short necks, and
rather shaggy. One that was said to be very sagacious and
well-trained, and for which I was asked thirty dollars, ap
peared as if a cross of a spaniel with a terrier. Generally, the
dogs were valued at only from two to five dollars.

It cleared about noon, and after the rain ceased the air
was calm, hot, and steamy. I recollect but one village, two
rows of ugly, glaring, red brick houses, relieved by a church
rectory and two other buildings, cool and pleasing, under
shade of ivy ; and a large, old establishment, with cupola and
clock, and a square, green, shady court in front of it — devoted,
as appeared by an inscription on its front, by somebody's
bequest, two hundred years ago, to the maintenance, in com
fort, of a certain number of aged widowers and bachelors of
the parish. Such retreats for various denominations of the
poor and unfortunate, called almshouses and hospitals, (vul
garly, " 'spittals,") are to be seen in almost every town in
England. They are of all degrees of comfort — some stately
and luxurious — others, and these quite common, mere cot
tages — hovels sometimes, — generally very old, and nearly
always of ancient foundation. With more or less ostentation,
the name of the founder is displayed on the front, — sometimes
with his bust, statue, arms, or a ridiculous allegorical sculp
ture. This plan for sending a dying sinner's name down to
future generations, with the grateful embalmment of charity,

134 AN AMERICAN FARMER IN ENGLAND

seems latterly out of fashion. What improved type of char
acter does it indicate, that the rich oftener prefer now to make
their tribute to public opinion, by having their gift-money
used while they yet live, and the amount of it paraded with
their names in the newspapers. Their " left hands," probably,
do not read the newspapers.

I was disappointed in not finding my friends at this
village, but soon after leaving it met two Germans travelling
on foot, who said they had met, at three hours back, two
gentlemen wrho wore hats and, knapsacks like mine. I feared
that, not hearing from me at Salisbury, they would conclude
1 had gone on by Cirencester, to spend Sunday on the Isle of
Wight, and would go by the five-o'clock train to overtake
me. It was therefore necessary that I should hasten in to
arrest them. I yet made two or three stoppages, once to con
verse with a shepherd, and once to sketch the outlines of a
group of cottages, intending to take the coach, which I was
told would be passing hi a few minutes. But when coming
up a hill, I rose the fine spire of the cathedral, and found that
it was three miles distant, and the coach still not in sight, I
strapped tight my knapsack and went the rest of the way at
" double quick." Teamsters stopped their wagons as I met
them, children at the cottage-doors called their mothers to
help look at me, and at the office of the " Wilts Game Law
Reporter," as I entered the town, taking the middle of the
street, a fat old gentleman in top-boots eagerly took out his
watch and timed me, evidently supposing it was some inter
esting affair on a wager. Finding the post-office, but not
finding any note for me, I hastened on still to the station,
which was well out of the town on the other side, and which
I reached at the same moment with the delaying stage-coach.
The train started a moment after. The policeman in at
tendance was certain that no persons such as I described had

f THE TRAVELLERS HOME. 135

entered the station-house, and I returned to the town, and
going first to the cathedral, there found J. and C. lying under
the trees in delighted contemplation of its beauty.

We spent Sunday at Salisbury. We were fortunate in
finding a comfortable, quiet, old inn, in which we were the
only lodgers. After once getting acquainted with the crooked,
elaborate stairways and passages, and learning the relative
position of our chambers and the common rooms, we were as
much at home, as quiet, and as able to command whatever we
had occasion for, as if we had leased the house, furnished, and
manned it. The landlady was our housekeeper, the servants
our domestics. We saw no one but them, (till night, when
we happened to discover, in a remote subterranean corner, a
warm, smoky, stone-cavern, in which a soldier, a stage-coach
man, and others, were making merry with ladies, beer, and
song,) and them we saw only as we chose to. We had a
large, comfortable parlour, with dark-coloured furniture, of an
age in which ease was not sacrificed to elegance ; a dais and
bow-window, old prints of Nelson's victories and Garrick and
Siddons in Shakspearian characters, a smouldering sea-coal
fire, several country newspapers, and a second-hand last week's
Times. Preposterous orders were listened to without a smile,
receipts for novel Yankee dishes distinctly understood in all
their elaboration without impatience, and to the extent of the
resources of the establishment faithfully executed. Only once
was the mild business-manner of our hostess disturbed by an
appearance of surprise ; when we told her that we were Amer
icans, she raised her eyes in blank incredulity, and asked, " You
don't mean you were born in America, sir ]" The servants
kept out of sight ; our room was " put to rights," our clothes
arranged in a bureau, while we were at breakfast ; and when
we were seated, and had got fairly under way with an ex
cellent home-like dinner, the girl who acted for waiter, seem-

136 AN AMERICAN FARMER IN ENGLAND.

ing to understand our humour put a hand-bell on the table
arid withdrew, saying that we " would please to call her when
we wanted any thing."

Along the sides of many of the streets of Salisbury there
flows, in little canals some six feet wide by two or three deep,
with frequent bridges to the houses, a beautifully clear, rapid
stream of water. Otherwise, the general appearance of the
town is of meagre interest compared with others we have
been in. But it has one crowning glory — the cathedral.

The cathedral, in many of its parts, and from certain
positions, as a whole, is very beautiful ; the clear, cutting,
symmetrical spire, especially against an evening sky, is very
fine. It is taller by several feet than any other in England,
though overtopped by several of the Continental churches.

We have more pleasure in contemplating it, and enjoy
more to wrander around and through it, than any we have seen
before. It is more satisfactory to us. This, I believe, is partly
because of its greater size, partly because of its completeness,
its unity : though six hundred years old, you would not read
ily perceive in approaching it that it was not entirely a new
edifice ; no repairs, no additions, especially no meddlesome
restorations, which are almost always offensive to me. Its
history is worthy of note with respect to this : it was only
thirty-eight years in construction ; except the spire, which
was added rather later, and is more florid, which is to be
regretted.

We admire and enjoy it, and yet not nearly so much as
we should have expected to from an imagination of what such
a great, expensive, and artistic pile would be. You will won
der why. I don't know that I can tell you. It fails in massive-
ness and grandeur. From some quarters it appears a mere
clutter of wall, windows, buttresses, and pinnacles, each of which
may be fine enough in itself, but gaining nothing from their

SALISBURY CATHEDRAL. 137

combination. There is nowhere a sufficient breadth and mass
of wall, I suspect, to be grand. Once or twice only did it
awaken any thing like a sense of sublimity, and then it did not
appear to me to be due to any architectural intention.

Once, late in the day, and alone, I was walking from the
end of one transept towards the other, when an emotion
came over me, partaking for a moment of awe. Afterwards, in
trying to analyze what had occasioned it, I found that my face
was turned towards two great, dark windows, a considerable
space of unbroken wall about them, and a square, massive
buttress, all in the deep shade between the two transepts.
From the simple, solitary grandeur and solemnity of the dark
recess, there had come a sermon on humility and endurance
to me, more eloquent than all else of the great cathedral.

The wall over and behind this, in an equal space, was bro
ken up by three of the triple windows, which, look at the ca
thedral from any direction you will, you see every where
repeated, until the form becomes tiresome and ugly. Not
ugly in itself, but ugly, small, and paltry, by so much repeti
tion in an edifice of such grandeur. If all these windows,
with all their form, proportion, colour, and fashion of carving,
had been the work of one man, they were evidently that
man's one idea ; if of many men, then they were servile imi
tations. One would be, perhaps, a worthy and beautiful de
sign — a hundred are paltry, ignominious, mechanical copies ;
they might be iron-castings, for all the value the chisel has
given them. Why should there not be, with sufficient regard
to symmetrical uniformity, evidence in the de-tails of every
part of an edifice of such magnitude ?

There is nothing original in these ideas, but they came
upon me freshly and forcibly in trying to see why it was I did
not feel more respect for such a monument of architecture.
I could not help thinking — It is very fine, but it is a failure.

138 AN AMERICAN FARMER IN ENGLAND.

Yet the simple beauty of proportion and the breadth of light
and shade, in that little unimportant space, I did feel truly and
spontaneously.

From all the little, but not unloving, study that I was able
to give the Old- World architecture, my advice to all building-
committee gentlemen of no more cultivated taste than my
own, (that to such these crude thoughts may give hints of
value, is my apology for printing them,) would be, Stick to
simplicity. The grand effect of architecture must be from form
and proportion. Favour designs, therefore, which, in their
grand outlines, are at once satisfactory ; then beware of en
feebling their strong features by childish ornaments and baby-
house appendages. Simplicity of form is especially neces
sary to any thing like dignity in an edifice of moderate size.
There is a church in New York, a cathedral in cabinet size,
that one could hardly look at without being reminded of a
grand dinner confectionary. The smallest parish churches of
the old Saxon architecture, with thick, rude, unchiselled walls,
strong enough to have needed no buttresses, and therefore
having none — a low square tower or belfry, with flat lead,
roof, and a very few irregularly-placed, deep, round-arched
windows and portals, I have found far more inspiring of the
solemnity of humility which should accompany the formal
worship of the Almighty, than most of the very large churches
that have been built with the greater wealth and more finical
taste of later generations.

ife

SCENERY OF SALISBURY PLAIN. 139

CHAPTER XVII.

SALISBURY PLAIN. — STRANGE DESERT CHARACTER OF THE SCENERY. — THE

AGRICULTURE. SAINFOIN AND LUCERNE. LARGE FARMS. EFFECT ON

LABOURERS. — PARING AND BURNING. WHEN EXPEDIENT. — EXPENSE.

SHEEP-FOLDING. HOVEABLE RAILWAYS AND SHEDS.

June 11th.

" STANDING across the downs : course E. by N., muggy
M weather and light airs," — regularly at sea, without chart
or compass. A strange, weary waste of elevated land, undu
lating like a prairie, sparsely greened over its gray surfaces
with short grass, uninhabited and treeless ; only, at some
miles asunder, broken by charming vales of rich meadows and
clusters of farm-houses and shepherds' cottages, darkly bow-
ered about with the concentrated foliage of the whole country.

For long intervals we were entirely out of sight of tree or
house or man, or even sign of man, more than an indistinct
cart-track or trail. Had you any idea there was such a desert
in England ?

The trails run crookedly, divide and cross frequently, and
only rarely is there a rude guide-post. Twice or thrice we
were as completely lost as Oregon emigrants might be in the
wilderness, and walked for miles with only the dim, yellowish
spot that stood for the sun in the misty firmament, to be
guided by. Large flocks, with shepherds and dogs, we some
times saw, and here and there a square clump of beech or
fir trees, intended probably as an occasional retreat for the

140 AN AMERICAN FARMER IN ENGLAND.

sheep. More rarely a great farm-house, with stacks and sta
bles and great sheep-yards, always so sheltered about by
steep slopes and trees, close planted upon some artificially-ele
vated soil, that we came by chance and unexpectedly in near
proximity before* we saw them. Occasionally, too, even on
the downs, and entirely unenclosed, there is cultivated land
and very large breadths of some single crop, much of good
promise, too, but the wheat universally infested with charlock.

But the valleys are finely cultivated, and the crops, espe
cially of sainfoin and lucerne, which is extensively grown
here, very heavy.

Sainfoin and lucerne are both forage crops, somewhat of
the character of clover. Sainfoin only succeeds well, I be
lieve, on chalky soils or where there is much lime, and has
not been found of value in the United States. Lucerne has
been extensively cultivated in some parts, but not generally
with us. I have heard of its doing well in a cold, bleak ex
posure upon our north-eastern coast, but it should have a
warm, rich soil, deeply cultivated, and be started well clean
of weeds, when it may be depended upon to yield three to
five heavy cuttings of green fodder, equal in value to clover,
or three to seven tons of hay, of the value of which I am not
well informed.

The valley lands are sometimes miles wide, and cultivation
is extended often far up the hills. The farms are all very
large, often including a thousand acres of tillage land, and
two, three, or four thousand of down, A farm of less than
a thousand acres is spoken of as small, and it often appears
that one farmer, renting all the land in the vicinity, gives
employment to all the people of a village. Whether it is
owing to this (to me) most repugnant state of things, or not,
it is certainly just what I had expected to hear in connection
with it, that labourers' wages are lower than any where else

CULTIVATION OF THE DOWNS. 141

in England — seven, and sometimes six, shillings ($1.68 and
$1.44) being all that a man usually receives for a week's
work.

We saw seven ploughs at work together, and thirteen
swarths of lucerne falling together before thirteen mowers,
thirteen women following and shaking it out. It is not un
common to have four or five hundred acres of wheat or two
or three hundred of turnips growing on one farm. One down
farmer has eight hundred in wheat annually. The prairie
farmer would not despise such crops.

As there is no chalk soil in America, I will not dwell long
upon its peculiarities or the system of agriculture adopted
upon it. The manner in which the downs are brought into
cultivation may, however, afford some hints of value for the
improvement of other poor, thin soils. " The sheepfold and
artificial manures are looked upon as the mainstay of the
Wiltshire down farmer. When the downs are first broken
up, the land is invariably pared and burnt, and then sown
with wheat. Barley is usually taken after wheat, and this is
followed by turnips eaten upon the ground, and succeeded by
wheat. It then falls into the usual four or five-field course,
a piece being laid out annually in sainfoin, to rest for several
years before being broken up again. The sheepfold is shifted
daily until the whole space required to be covered (i. e., ma
nured) is gone over. Turnips and other green crops are
consumed where they grow, which saves the labour of taking
home the crop and fetching back the manure. The sheep are
made the manure carriers for any portion of the land on
which it is thought desirable to apply it. Much of the corn
crop is stacked in the distant fields, as it would be almost im
possible to carry it home so far, with the despatch necessary
in harvest operations. In many cases it is thrashed where
stacked, a travelling steam-thrashing machine being hired for

142 AN AMERICAN FARMER IN ENQLANU.

the purpose. The straw is carried out and spread on the grass
lands from which clover hay had been cut the previous year.
Only a small proportion of the root crop is carried home for
consumption by cattle, the number of which, in these large
farms, is quite inconsiderable."*

Sheep-folding, and paring and burning, are both processes
nearly unknown in America, and which will probably be ad
vantageously employed in some situations among us.

Paring and burning. — "All soils," says Sir Humphrey
Davy, " that contain too much dead vegetable fibre," (such as
the sour black soils of our reclaimed swamps,) " and all such
as contain their earthy constituents in an impalpable state of
division, such as stiff clays and marls, are improved by burn-
ing" It is therefore a common practice in the stiff-clay dis
tricts as well as upon the downs of England. In Suffolk, for
instance, it has been adapted with most successful results, the
effect being to render the heavy clay soil light, friable, porous,
and highly absorbent of gaseous matters. It increases the
efficiency of drains, (by letting water more rapidly into them,)
and, being more friable, the land works better and at less ex
pense. It further promotes vegetation by converting into
soluble matters available to plants, vegetable remains ;, which,
in consequence of the usually wet, impervious nature of the
soil, have become, as it were, indigestible, and therefore inert
and useless. It is also advocated as being destructive of the
roots and seeds of weeds ; of insects, their larvse and eggs ;
and, as is pretty clearly demonstrated, it enables land to
bear the same crop in quicker succession, by its supposed
effect upon the exudations left by former crops.f In execu
ting the process, the surface, generally to the depth of three
inches, is ploughed or pared up (there are instruments made

* CAIRO.

t Report by practical farmers in Suffolk, 1846.

PARIXG AND BURNING. 143

on purpose for it) and allowed to dry. It is then thoroughly
harrowed and made fine ; and in the downs the vegetable
matter is raked out so far as practicable, and thrown into
small heaps ; a little earth is thrown over these and they are
fired, the grass forming the fuel. The remainder of the
earth whichrhas been ploughed up is shovelled on as soon, and
to as great a depth, as it can be without danger of extinguish
ing the fire.

In the clay districts and where there is much timber grow
ing, brushwood is laid in rows, and the pared soil heaped over
it, the sod being thrown as far as possible nearest the fuel,
and the fine earth thrown over all to prevent too quick a fire.

The burnt soil is spread again over the field and ploughed
in. The first crop following is usually turnips. The cost of
the operation is reckoned, in Suffolk, (where it is called
denturing,) to be only about four dollars an acre, of which
one-third is for fuel. Supposing the expense of labour
to be doubled and that of fuel halved for the United
States, it may be expected to cost us six dollars an acre.
The effect, probably, is never lost to the land; but in
those parts of England where it is most practised, I be
lieve it is usual to repeat the operation once in seven years,
or at the beginning of every rotation. By feeding turnips
upon the ground the autumn following the burning, it is suf
ficiently stocked with manure to require no further applica
tion during the course. Caird mentions crossing a field in
which this had been repeated, burning every seven years, and
no other application of manure than what arose from the con
sumption of its own produce on the ground being made, with
out any diminution of crops for fifty years.

On the downs, however, paring and burning is not usually
resorted to, except at the first breaking up of the original soil,
fertility being afterwards sustained by bones and guano, or

144 AX AMERICAN FARMER IN J&'tiLASD.

by feeding off the crops of herbage at the end of every rota
tion by sheep ; of which operation, common in all parts of
Great Britain, I shall presently speak.

In land greatly infested with weeds, or grubs or wire- worm,
in black, peaty soils, and in many stiff-clay soils, particularly
where they are to be prepared for gardens or orchards, I have
no doubt paring and burning often might be profitably per
formed in the United States. In thin, sandy soils it is likely
to be injurious. If the soil has not a pretty thick old sward,
it will be best to sow some grain crop upon it the year be
fore burning, that the roots and stubble may afford fuel. Old
pasture will be most readily burnt. In England, clay is some
times charred in pits, and, after being mashed fine, applied
broadcast or drilled with seeds, as a manure. It is sometimes
found, surprisingly effective, probably owing to its absorbent
quality ; but it is an expensive operation, and has not gene
rally recommended itself.

Sheep-folding is the practice of enriching a portion of
ground by confining sheep upon it. Thus, in Wiltshire, the
flocks are pastured during the day upon the beak-land and
kept at night upon the comparatively small portion of ground
which it is desired to manure, and which thus receives the bene
fit of the fertilizing droppings which have been obtained from
the pastured ground ; or a portion of a field of sainfoin, or clo
ver, or turnips, is enclosed by a moveable fence, (either iron or
wooden hurdles or strong hempen nets fastened to stakes,)
and the sheep confined to it until they have eaten the crop
clean, (they will eat the turnip in the ground,) and left upon
it a large amount of excrement ; the fence is then moved on
to a fresh spot, where the process is repeated, and so on day
after day until the required space has been travelled over.

Sometimes naked ground or stubble-land is thus served ;
turnips or sainfoin being brought from where they grow and

MOVE ABLE SHEEP-SHEDS. 145

fed within the hurdles, which are daily moved on a bit. Lat
terly, moveable sheds with slatted floors, running upon plank
railroads, which are easily taken up and relaid across the turnip
fields, have been tried. The object is to avoid driving carts
to take the crop off", or the treading of the sheep to feed it, on
the ground, upon heavy clay soils, in which the pressure of
these operations must be very objectionable. Twelve sheep
are kept in each shed-car, and the turnips pulled and
thrown in to them. The expense of drawing off the crop and
returning the manure is avoided, and the sheep have shelter
and a dry bed, while the ordinary custom subjects them to
danger of foot-rot and other diseases, and also must be
attended with some waste of the crop.

PART II. 7

146 AN AMERICAN FARMER IN ENGLAND.

CHAPTER XVIII.

AN ARCADIAN HAMLET. — OUT OF THE WOULD, BUT NOT BEYOND THE REACH

OF THE YANKEE PEDDLER. THE COTTAGES OF THE DOWNS. GROUT

AND COBBLE-STONES. CHARACTER OF THE LABOURING CLASS OF THE

DOWNS. WANT OF CURIOSITY. OLD STOCKBRIDGE, WINCHESTER, WILLIAM

OF WYKEHAM. HIS LEGACY TO WAYFARERS. THE CATHEDRAL. SOME

REMARKS ON ARCHITECTURAL SITUATION. SEARCH FOR LODGINGS.

MOTHERLY KINDNESS. RAILROAD MISMANAGEMENT. WATERLOO DAY AT

PORTSMOUTH.

WALLOP, where we spend the night, is a most poetical
hamlet, so hidden by trees, that as we came over the
downs, after we were within a few moments' walk of it, we
had to inquire where it was. It is a narrow road and string
of cottages some miles long, by the bank of a cool, silvery
brook, at which, when we first saw it, we rushed to drink like
camels in the desert ; and the water was indeed delicious. It
is an exceedingly quiet, peaceful place. As we sit at our win
dow at the " Lower George," we can hear nothing but the rip
pling of the brook, which threads its way through the trees and
among the cottages across the street, the rustling of the trees
in the gentle air, the peeping of chickens, and the chirping of
small birds. There is a blacksmith's shop, but no smoke
ascends from it, and the anvil is silent. There is a grist-mill
further down ; there is a little, square, heavy-roofed school-
house, and there is a church and graveyard. But there is no
stage-coach, no public conveyance, not even a carrier's cart by
which we might send on our packs, runs through or from the

OLD CONNECTICUT. 147

hamlet. Yet this is a good inn, clean, and well provided ; we
have a large room, comfortably furnished, and the landlord
seems to understand what a tired traveller wants ; and down
stairs, in the parlour, there is — would you ever guess'? It tells
its own story thus : —

"IMPKOVED BEASS CLOCK,

MANUFACTURED BY
H. WELTON, TERRYVILLE, CONNECTICUT.

( Warranted, if well used")

It cost twelve shillings, and was a capital time-piece, only
lately it had got a-going too fast, and the landlord wished Mr.
Wei ton would send his man over and have it fixed according
to contract. It marked the hour rather behind our watches,
but as it was the liveliest thing in the village, we have set it
back to the landlord's notion, lengthened the pendulum, and
oiled the " pallet," all to save the reputation of Mr. Welton
and the universal Yankee nation.

The cottages here are generally built of a chalk grout,
sometimes with lines of flint stones for ornament. In others,
flint pebbles are laid regularly in tiers set in grout, like the
" cobble-stone houses" in western New York ; in others, grout,
and stones set in grout, alternately ; or brick and stone in
grout, in alternate tiers a foot thick. The village fences and
the stock-yard walls about here are also made of white grout,
f very thick, and with a coping of thatch. The thatch on the
cottages is very heavy, sometimes two feet deep.

148 AN AMERICAN FARMER IN ENGLAND.

The labouring class upon the downs have generally a quiet,
sleepy, stupid expression, with less evident viciousness and
licentious coarseness of character, and with more simplicity,
frankness, and good-nature, than those we have previously
been among. The utter want of curiosity and intelligent
observation, among a people living so retired from the busy
world, is remarkable. We have met but two to-day whose
minds showed any inclination to move of their own accord :
one of them was a pensioned soldier who had served at Hali
fax, and who made inquiries about several old comrades who
had deserted and escaped to " the States," and whom he
seemed to suppose we must have seen as we were Yankees ;
the other, an old woman in Newtown-Tawney, at whose cottage
we stopped to get water ; she had at first taken us, as we
came one after the other over the stile, for a " detachment of
the Rifles," and on discovering her error was quite anxious
to know what we were and what we were after, what we
carried in our knapsacks, &c.

June \$th.

In the morning we walked from Wallop through Stock-
bridge to Winchester. A down-land district still, as yester
day, but a well-travelled road, with houses, inns, and guide-
boards ; more frequent plantations of trees and more culti
vated land, yet but little of it is fenced, and the sheep are
restrained from crops by shepherds and dogs. Since we left
Salisbury we have seen but three cows, each of which was
tethered or tied to a woman or child. We have seen no don
keys for the last hundred miles.

Stockbridge is a small village of one wide street, with two
clear streams and a canal crossing it, the surface of the ground
a dead flat ; all as unlike its Massachusetts namesake as it is
to a Pawnee village. We saw some fine horses near here.

Winchester — a name we remember as that of the school-

WILLIAM OF WYKEHAM. 149

place of many a good man — is an interesting old town in a
cleft of the downs. All who have heard Mr. Emerson's
lecture upon England will remember it also as the town of
" William of Wykeham."

We visited the cathedral, the college, and the other notable
institutions and monuments, and demanded and received our
share of the legacy bequeathed by William of Wykeham,
five hundred years ago, to all wayfarers passing by — a gen
erous slice of good bread, and a draught of ale, served in an
ancient horn. There is certainly no humbug about it, but the
good bishop's hospitable will, in this particular, is yet as sin
cerely executed as if by servants under his own eye. Mr.
Emerson was, nevertheless, unfortunate in his eloquent use of
this circumstance to illustrate the simple honesty of English
character, and the permanence and reliability of English in
stitutions ; for it now appears that, notwithstanding the sub
stantial bread and unadulterated beer, this is but the cleanliness
of the cup and platter, and that in the real and worthy legacy
which the far-reaching piety of the good prelate left to the
future of England, there is much rottenness. Generally, the
means which the piety of Englishmen of former generations
bequeathed, for the furnishing to the poor aliment of mind,
have been notoriously wrenched aside to the emolument and
support, in luxurious sinecures, of a few individuals, whom, but
for the association of their titles with religion, loyalty, law, and
order, and the poor conscience-salve that it is the system and
not they that are wrong, every man woulfr know for perjured
. hypocrites, liars, swindlers ; far more detestable than Ameri
can repudiators, French sycophants, or Irish demagogues.

The cathedral is low and heavy, covering much ground ;
and exhibits, curiously interworked, the styles of Saxon, Nor
man, and early and later English architects. I again wrote in
my note-book, " unimpressive ;" but now, after two years, I

150 AN AMERICAN FARlfER IN ENGLAND.

find that my mind was strongly, though it would seem uncon
sciously, impressed by it ; for there returns to me, as I very
vividly remember its appearance, a feeling of quiet, wholly
uncritical veneration, of which I believe a part must be due to
the breadth of green turf of the graveyard, and deep shade of
the old trees in which it is upreared. There were scarcely
any edifices that I saw in Europe that produced in me tho
slightest thrill of such emotion from sublimity as I have often
had in contemplation of the ocean, or of mountains, that it
was not plainly due less to the architectural style, than to the
connection and harmony of the mass with the ground upon
which it was placed. The only church that stopped me sud
denly with a sensation of deep solemnity, as I came un
expectedly under it, as it were, in turning the corner of a
street, was one that stood upon a bold, natural terrace, and in
which the lines of the angles of a heavy tower were continuous
and unbroken from base to summit.

At half-past six we took seats in the second-class cars for
Portsmouth, and were favoured with a specimen of a corpora
tion's disregard for the convenience of the public, and the ac
complishment of their own promises, that a New Jerseyman
would almost have growled at. There was a full hour's un
necessary detention at the way-stations, and after having
arrived near the terminus, that much behind the time-tables,
the tickets were collected and the doors locked upon us, and
we were kept waiting a long time within a few rods of the
station-house. Some one at length got out at the windows,
but was sent back by the guard. When we requested to
know what was the objection to our leaving, we were
answered it was against the rules of the company for any
passengers to be allowed upon the ground without the station.
After waiting some time longer, we rose in numbers too
strong for the guards, who, however, promised that we should

A HOLIDAY NIGHT. 151

be prosecuted for trespass, and made our escape. I may say,
in passing, that the speed upon the English roads is, on an
average, not better than on ours. It is commonly only from,
fifteen to twenty miles an hour. The express trains, however,
upon the main lines, run usually as fast as fifty miles an hour,
sometimes sixty. For the accommodation, comfort, and ad
vantage of all but those who choose and can afford to pay
extravagantly, their whole railroad system is very inferior to
ours.

It was Waterloo Day, and there had been a review of the
forces at Portsmouth, before the Duke of Wellington and
Prince Albert ; the Queen had been off the harbour in her
yacht, and received a salute ; there had been a balloon ascen
sion ; there had been a carousal with long and eloquently-re
ported speeches, and in one way and the other a great deal of
powder and gas spent. There was to be an illumination yet»
and the town was full — some of the streets packed with sol
diers and sailors and women. We spent several hours trying
to get lodgings ; every hotel, inn, tavern, and lodging-house,
high and low, was full. The best thing that kindness or cov-
etousness could be induced to offer, was room to lay upon
a carpet on the floor, and this nowhere that we thought it
likely we should be allowed to sleep. We got supper some
where, and the landlady informed us frankly that she charged
us twice as much for it as she usually would, because it was
"holiday."

It was late at night when, by advice of policemen and fa
vour of sentinels, we had passed out through a series of ram
parts, and were going up a broad street of the adjoining town
of Portsea. "Good-night, my dear," we heard a kindly-
toned voice ; and a woman closed a door, and, after walking
on a moment, ascended the steps to another. " Could you be
good enough, madam," one of us took the liberty of inqui-

152 AN AMERICAN FARMER IN ENGLAND.

ring, " to tell us of any house in this vicinity where we should
be likely to obtain lodging for the night ?"

" No — dear me ! — who are you 1"

" We are strangers in the town ; travellers, who reached
here this evening, and we have been looking for several hours
to find some place where we could sleep, but all the inns are
full."

" Come here ; let me look at you. You are young men, are
you not ? come up to me, you need not be afraid — yes, I see;
youths" (we had caps on, which is unusual in England except
for school-boys). " Why, poor youths, I am sorry for you —
strangers — you wait here, and I will call my servant and see
if she does not think she can find where you can get a bed."

She then went in, and in a few minutes returned with a
maid whom she called Susan, to whom she repeated what we
had said ; and then inquired further what wras our business,
were we " travelling with the consent of our parents," &c., and
remarked — " Your parents are reputable people, I think : —
yes — yes — dear me ! — yes — poor youths. Yes, I will find
beds for you. You are good youths, and Susan shall — but
come in : you will sit in the parlour, and my servant, Susan,
shall sit with you a few minutes, and I will see. Come ia,
come in, good youths."

While we remained in the parlour it was infinitely droll
to hear the kind old woman talking with another in the next
room about the safety and propriety of lodging us. " I have
Icnoiv.n the world, and I cannot be deceived : these are good
youths"

It was at length concluded that if we would each of us
pay a shilling, (" and then we could give whatever we liked
besides to Susan") and if we would be willing to have our
doors locked on the outside, we should be provided then and
there with beds. The old woman then came in again to us,

A HOLIDAY NIGHT. 153

and with great severity re-examined us, and finally informed
us that we were to spend the night in her house. She then,
became exceedingly kind again, asked much about our pa
rents and America, and at length asked us, with a whimper
ing laugh,- as if she feared how we would take it, but begged
that it might be considered a joke — " We wouldn't be offend
ed if our doors should be locked on the outside 1"

PART II. 7*

154 AN AMERICAN FARMER IN ENGLAND.

CHAPTER XIX.

THE DECEIT OF DESCRIPTIONS OF SCENERY. THE SOUL OF A LANDSCAPE. —

THE ISLE OF WIGHT, ITS CHARACTERISTICS. APPROPRIATE DOMESTIC

ARCHITECTURE. GENIAL CLIMATE. TROPICAL VERDURE. THE CLIFFS

OF ALBION. OSBORNE. THE ROYAL VILLA. COUNTRY LIKE OF THE

BOYAL FAMILY. AGRICULTURAL INCLINATION AND RURAL TASTES. THE

BOYAL TENANTRY. — A RURAL FETE AT OSBORNE.

IT1HERE is always a strong temptation upon the traveller to
•*• endeavour to so describe fine scenery, and the feelings which
it has occasioned him, that they may be reproduced to the
imagination of his friends. Judging from my own experience,
this purpose always fails. I have never yet seen any thing
celebrated in scenery, of which I had previously obtained a
correct conception. Certain striking, prominent points, that the
power of language has been most directed to the painting of,
almost invariably disappoint, and seem little and common
place, after the exaggerated forms which have been brought be
fore the mind's eye. Beauty, grandeur, impressiveness in any
way, from scenery, is not often to be found in a few promi
nent, distinguishable features, but in the manner and the un
observed materials with which these are connected and com
bined. Clouds, lights, states of the atmosphere, and circum
stances that we cannot always detect, affect all landscapes, and
especially landscapes in which the vicinity of a body of water
is an element, much more than we are often aware. So
it is that the impatient first glance of the young traveller,

FAVOUR OF NATURE. 155

or the impertinent critical stare of the old tourist, is almost
never satisfied, if the honest truth be admitted, in what it
has been led to previously imagine. I have heard " Niagara is
a mill-dam," " Rome is a humbug."

The deep sentiments of Nature that we sometimes seem to
have been made the confidant of, when among the mountains,
or on the moors or the ocean, — even those of man wrought out
in architecture and sculpture and painting, or of man work
ing in unison with Nature, as sometimes in the English parks,
on the Rhine, and here on the Isle of Wight, — such revealings
are beyond words ; they never could be transcribed into
note-books and diaries, and so descriptions of them be
come caricatures, and when we see them, we at first say we
are disappointed that we find not the monsters we were
told of.

Dame Nature is a gentlewoman. No guide's fee will obtain
you her favour, no abrupt demand; hardly will she bear
questioning, or direct, curious gazing at her beauty ; least of
all, will she reveal it truly to the hurried glance of the passing
traveller, while he waits for his dinner, or fresh horses, or fuel
and water ; always we must quietly and unimpatiently waifc
upon it. Gradually and silently the charm comes over us ; the
beauty has entered our souls ; we know not exactly when or
how, but going away we remember it with a tender, subdued,
filial-like joy.

Does this seem nonsense to you 1 Very likely, for I am
talking of what I don't understand. Nature treats me so
strangely ; it's past my speaking sensibly of, and yet, as a part
of my travelling experience, I would speak of it. At times I
seem myself to be her favourite, and she brings me to my
knees in deep feeling, such as she blesses no other with ; oftener
I see others in ecstasies, while I am left to sentimentalize and
mourn, or to be critical, and sneering, and infidel. Nonsense

150 AN AMERICAN FARMER IN ENGLAND.

still ; but tell me, do you think it is only for greed of trouts thafc
your great and sensitive man lingers long, intently stooping
over dark pools in the spray of the mountain torrents, or steal
ing softly a way through the bending rushes, or kneeling lowly
on the darkest verdure of the shaded meadow 1 What else ?
I know not what he thinks, but of this I am assured : while his
mind is most intent upon his trivial sport, his heart and soul
will be far more absorbent of the rugged strength, the diffuse,
impetuous brilliance, the indefinite gliding grace, or the peace
ful twilight loveliness, of the scenes around him, than if he went
out searching, labouring directly for it as for bread and fame.
The greater part of the Isle of Wight is more dreary, deso
late, bare, and monotonous, than any equal extent of land you
probably ever saw in America — would be, rather, if it were
not that you are rarely out of sight of the sea ; and no land
scape, of which that is a part, ever can be without variety and
ever-changing interest. It is, in fact, down-land in the interior,
exactly like that I described in Wiltshire, and sometimes
breaking down into such bright dells as I there told of. But
on the south shore it is rocky, craggy ; and after you have
walked through a rather dull country, though pleasing on the
whole, for hours after landing, you come gradually to where
the majesty of vastness, peculiar to the downs and the ocean,
alternates or mingles with dark, picturesque, rugged ravines,
chasms, and water-gaps, sublime rock-masses, and soft, warm,
smiling, inviting dells and dingles ; and, withal, there is a
strange and fascinating enrichment of half-tropical foliage, so
deep, graceful, and luxuriant, as I never saw before any where
in the world. All this district is thickly inhabited, and yet so
well covered with verdure, or often so tastefully appropriate — •
•quiet, cosy, ungenteel, yet elegant — are the cottages, that they
often add to, rather than insult and destroy, the natural charm
of their neighbourhood. I am sorry to say, that among the

VICTORIA AT HOME. 157

later erections there are a number of very strong exceptions
to this remark.

In this paradise the climate, by favour of its shelter of hills
on the north, and the equalising influence of the ocean on the
south, is, perhaps, the most equable and genial in the northern
temperate zone. The mercury does not fall as low in winter
as at Rome; deciduous trees lose their verdure but for a
brief interval ; greensward is evergreen ; tender-roses, fuschias,
and the dark, glossy shrubs of Canaan and of Florida, feel
themselves at home, and flourish through the winter.

Where the chalky downs reach the shore without an inter
vening barrier of rock, or a gradual sloping descent, they are
broken off abruptly and precipitously ; and thus are formed the
" white cliffs of Albion" and a coast scenery with which, for
grandeur, there is nothing on our Atlantic shore that will in
the least compare : notwithstanding which, and although they
really are often higher than our church-steeples and monu
ments — the familiar standards with which we compare their
number of feet — they have not the stupendous effect upon the
mind that I had always imagined that they must have.

We were rambling for the greater part of two days upon
the island, spending a night near Black-gang-Chine. Return
ing, we passed near Osborne, a private estate purchased some
years since by the Queen, upon which she has had erected a
villa, said to be an adaptation of the Grecian style to modern
tastes and habits, but of which nothing is to be seen from
without the grounds but the top of a lofty campanile, from
which is now displayed the banner with the royal arms, which
always indicates the presence of the reigning sovereign of
Great Britain. It is the custom of the royal family, when
here, to live in as retired and unstately a way as they can
ever be permitted to. The Prince himself turns farmer, and
engages with much ardour in improving the agricultural capa-

158 AN AMERICAN FARMER IN ENGLAND.

bilities of the soil, much of which was not originally of a
fertile character, but by thorough drainage, and judicious till
age and manuring, is now producing greatly enlarged crops.
The Prince is well known as a successful breeder and stock-
farmer, having taken several prizes for fat cattle, &c., at the
great annual shows. Her Majesty personally interests herself
in the embellishment of the grounds and the extensive oak
plantations which are being made, and is in the habit of
driving herself a pair of ponies, unattended, through the es
tate, studying the comfort of her little cottage tenantry, and
in every way she can trying to seem to herself the good-wife
of a respectable country gentleman.

On the last birth-day of Prince Albert, a dinner was given
to the labourers on the estate, with the seamen, boys, and
marines of the Royal Yacht, and the coast-guard and soldiers
stationed in the neighbourhood, (altogether about four hundred
persons.) The dinner was provided in a large tent which was
pitched on the lawn in front of the house, and consisted of a
plentiful supply of beef, mutton, and plum-pudding, with
strong ale. After grace had been said by the bailiff, (overseer,)
and the company were seated, the Queen and Prince walked
through the tent, and at the conclusion, after the usual loyal
toasts, all adjourned to the greensward without, and in the
presence of all the royal -family engaged in a country dance,
and afterwards in foot-races and in games of cricket and foot
ball, and other old-fashioned rural sports, the Queen remain
ing with them for several hours.

ROYAL TAG JIT- CLUB SQUADRON. 159

CHAPTER XX.

THE QUEEN'S YACHT. — YACHTS OF THE R. Y. CLUB, THEIR BUILD AND RIG.
COMPARISON WITH AMERICAN YACHTS AND PILOT-BOATS. — SEAMAN
SHIP. — CUT OF SAILS. — THE NAVY-YARD AT PORTSMOUTH. GUN-BOATS.

STEAMERS. — NAVAL FORCE OF GREAT BRITAIN. — EVENING AT PORTSEA.
CURIOSITY. ABOUT BOASTING AND SOME ENGLISH CHARACTERISTICS.

CONVERSATION WITH A SHOPKEEPER ON " THE GLORY OF ENGLAND."

IN crossing the Solent, on our return to Portsmouth, we saw
the Queen's yacht, and passed through a squadron of the
Royal Yacht-Club yachts. The former was a large, heavily-
hampered, brig-rigged steamer, with great plate-glass ports,
and a large oak-coloured house on deck, less seaman-like in
appearance and more in the American style than most En
glish steam-vessels. The yachts were as sweet craft as I can
imagine, most of them over two hundred tons in burden and
schooner-rigged; but, whether one or two-masted, spreading
more canvas for the length of their hulls than I ever saw be
fore. They were all painted black, and their ornaments and
deck-arrangements struck me as being more simple, snug, and
seaman-like than those of most of our Union Clubs' yachts.
The reverse is the case aloft. My guess was that they would
be more than a match for any thing on our side in light
winds, but that in bad weather, particularly if working to
windward, they would do nothing against a New York pilot-
boat. Like all the English small craft, when going before
the wind, the cutters and schooners always hauled up the tack

160 AN AMERICAN FARMER IN ENGLAND.

of the mainsail that the wind might draw under it to fill the
foresail and jib. Another reason given for it is, that the wind,
drawing downward from the belly of the sail, tends to make
the vessel bury, and by lifting the tack she is made more
buoyant. It is never done in America.

My opinion is, that the superior sailing of the " America,"
in the great matches of 1851, was more owing to her pecu
liarities of rig, the cut and material of her sails, and to sea
manship, than to the model of her hull. I have no doubt we
can still build and rig a vessel that will be her superior.
While the English stick to flax canvas, long gaffs, heavy top
sails, and graceful curves, I do not think there is any danger
that they will. When the Englishman is close-hauled with
his boom as near amidships as he can get it, his long gaif
will swing off so far that there must always be a considerable
part of his canvas in the peak that actually retards more than
it assists him. The Englishman thinks much of beauty of form
in his sails, but his standard of beauty is arbitrary — a fashion.
To my eye, without regard to the primary beauty of utility,
the simplicity of the cut of our sails is much more agreeable.

On the deck of the flag-schooner, which we ran very near
to, we saw the commodore of the Club, (an Earl,) a gray-
haired old gentleman, who sat in an arm-chair, reading from
a newspaper to some ladies.

On reaching Portsmouth we took a boat to visit the navy-
yard, within the walls of which, being foreigners, not having a
pass, we could not enter. Our boatmen told us that if we
chose to enter we should not be challenged, as no one would
suspect us as being other than Englishmen, and that the prohi
bition was a silly old form that prevented no one from seeing
the yard that wished to enough to lie for it.
. The number of vessels (of the navy) in port was much

NAVAL FORCE OF GREAT BRITAIN. 161

less than I had anticipated seeing, and most of these were
hulks, or advance ships, (with guns and water-tanks on board.)
Those we went on board of, (one of them ready for sea,)
seemed to me, compared with ours of the same class, inferior
in all respects, except it might be in some novelties in their
rigging, of the efficiency of which I could not judge. The
extent to which wire-rigging was employed in some of them
surprised me. We saw four gun-boats, (large barges with a
swivel-gun in the bow,) manned by the workmen of the yard,
whose awkward evolutions were very amusing. The lands
men working in the yard are divided into two squads, one of
which, alternately with the other, is drilled in the Jefferson
plan of harbour defence two evenings in each week. They
are dressed in a simple uniform, and armed as boarders.

There were more steamers in the harbour than in all our
navy.

The present naval force of Great Britain, by official
returns, consists of 671 ships of war, either in ordinary or in
commission, varying from 2 to 120 guns each j of this number
187 are armed steamers. This fleet, the largest of any
maritime power on the globe, employs in time of peace,
35,000 to 40,000 able-bodied seamen, 2000 strong lads, and
13,000 royal marines, consisting of 102 companies, divided
into four divisions.

The American navy consists of 70 vessels, large and small,
of which 8 are sea-steamers.

The army of Great Britain, exclusive of the East India
Company's troops, and several native colonial regiments,
numbers 135,000 men ; about 80,000 of these are considered
available for home-service, the remainder being required for
the defence of the colonies.

The regular army of the United States consists of 10,300
men. The militia force is returned as over 2,000,000.

162 AN AMERICAN FARMER IN ENGLAND.

The army of Russia numbers 675,000 men.

France "

400,000

Austria "

400,000

Sardinia «

140,000

Spain «

100,000

Great Britain "

135,000

United States "

10,000

Great Britain " 135,000 "
« TTni'fori Sf Qf oo « in nnn «

In the evening we called at the old lady's in Portsea,
and received from Susan some clothes, which she had under
taken to get washed for us, and a watch which my brother
had left in his bedroom. The kind old woman received us
cordially, apologized again for the prudence which had led her
to lock us in, and introduced us to some friends. Of their
simplicity and curiosity, as shown in their questioning of us, I
might, if I chose to report our conversations, give as amusing
a picture as English travellers enjoy to do, of that of those
they meet in American boarding-houses. Of fidgetty anxiety
lest we should not discover that every body and every thing
in the country is most astonishing and wonderfully superior to
any body arid any thing every where else in the world, which
so distresses visitors to the United States, I must confess that
we have seen but little in England. With the poorer class of
Englishmen, patriotism seems to have been starved out.
If they ever speak of , their country's greatness and prosperity,
it is as a servant speaks of his master's wealth ; they would
see it become a dependency of France or Russia with entire
indifference, certainly with exultation if it were promised
them that wages should be higher and bread cheaper for it.
Again, the Radicals and men of earnest religious faith, with
the strongest affection to their country, are in the habit of
looking much at what is wrong and shameful in her institutions

ENGLISH CHARACTERISTICS. 163

and qualities, and of comparing them with what is better in
other lands. There has always been a great many — now
almost enough to be looked upon as a party — that have a
strong admiration for our country, and who even glory in all
our glory as their own.

Cultivated and large-minded people of all classes, of course,
in England as every where else, rise above prejudice and
vanity, and think and speak fairly and frankly equally of
their own or foreign states ; of such eminently we recognise
the Earl of Carlisle and Sir Charles Lyell, and of such are, I
believe, a great number of the higher rank of commercial
men. The traditional self-complacency of an Englishman, as
ah Englishman, is more often to be detected, at the present
day, by some unnecessary pains he will take to point out to
you deficiencies and defects of a trivial character in the article
or institution or custom you are considering, he having entire
confidence that in contrast with that of any other country it
will but be exalted by any such faint disparagement of it as is
possible. Among the lower class in towns, or in the country
those who have been servants, or in some way connected with
or dependent on wealthy old families, there is sometimes to
be found the most ludicrously absurd old Tory ideas and
prejudices, quite in character with the John Bull of the old
farce ; but the best specimens of it that I have seen were
among the smaller sort of shopkeepers, particularly those
who advertised themselves to be under the patronage of
some noble lady. I remember one that we encountered, soon
after we resumed our walks in England after we had been
on the Continent, that amused us very much — a little, flit,
florid, bald-headed John Gilpin of a man. He was wrapping
the article we had purchased in a paper, and, while we waited,
asked,

" Travellers, gentlemen T

104 AN AMERICAN FARMER IN ENGLAND.

" Yes, sir."

" On foot, it appears ?"

" Yes, sir."

" Travelled far, so might I ask ?"

"Oh, yes — a number of hundred miles."

" Indeed — :you must have seen a good bit of old England.
. . . Ever was on the Continent, gentlemen '?"

" Yes."

" In France, it might be ?"

« Yes."

" Any where else but France ?"

« Yes — in Holland, Germany, and Belgium."

" Ah ! . . Gentlemen, I should like to ask you now, if I
might be so bold, I should like to ask you a question, just
one question. I haven't been myself, you see, to France nor
to Holland nor to those other countries, but I have read of
them, and according to the best sources of information I could
reach, I have informed my mind about them and formed my
own independent opinion, you see, in which I may be right, of
course, and I may be wrong, but I think I'm right. And I have
had a coming in here a many of travelling gentlemen like you,
that had seen all those foreign countries, and had also in
course seen England, — which is advantagious. Well, I always
asks these gentlemen one question when they does me the
honour, and they have always been so good as to answer me
with the very same identical, and now I should be pleased to
ask you the same question, if I may be so bold. Though, to
be sure, I can imagine what you'll answer, but then to confirm
the independent, which I had arrived at from my own, you
see, and for edification, — thank you. Now then, gentlemen
— (John, you can discontinue a moment.)"

He laid the parcel on the counter, and, holding it firmly
with his left hand, continued to tap it lightly with the fore-

"THE GLORY OF ENGLAND." 165

finger of the other, looking at us as if our lives depended
upon our answering truthfully.

" So it appears, gentlemen, (if I might be so bold,) that
you have wandered far and near over the face of the inhabited
world, and have seen many foreign parts and lands, and cast
your lot among other peoples and nations, that all thought as
their inheritances was very fine, doubtless : but now, gentle
men ! can you say on candid reflection — now have you ever
seen any where's else, for instance, any castle as was compa
rable compared to Winsor Castle ?"

" No, sir,"

" Or any park like unto Winsor Park — that is, in foreign
parts r

" No, sir."

" Nor any country of them all, what, on the whole, take her
altogether, taking her castles and parks, also her towns and
her rail'ays and station-houses, her forests and her manufac
tures, and her coal and iron ; her church and her constitution,
her people and her horses, and such like — did you ever, in all
your wanderings — taking her altogether so — did you ever
now, gentlemen — I want to know — ever see any place exactly
like your own country after all T'

" No, indeed, sir."

" ' No, indeed, sir !' I know you didn't — you hear that ?
4 No, indeed, sir' — and so say you all, gentlemen ? and so say
you all. Well, then, I am satisfied, and much obliged to you,
gentlemen. There isn't none of the foreign principalities that
is like this blessed land ; and that's what I am always telling
them, and only goes to confirm the independent conviction
which I had previously arrived to of my own preliminaries.
Thank you, gentlemen ;" (handing us the parcel ;) " good-morn
ing. I wish you a pleasant continuance of your promenade in
our glorious old land."

166 AN AMERICAN FARMER IN ENGLAND.

CHAPTER XXI.

RURAL POLICE. THE "ANCHOR" INN. THE GARDEN. " OLD COACHING

TIMES." HEATH LAND. A DREARY LANDSCAPE. — MURDER AND A HIGH
WAY ADVENTURE. — HUMAN VANITY,

Liphook, June 20t7i.

¥ALKED hither from Portsmouth to-day. . For twenty
miles the road is through a hilly chalk country, much
of it unenclosed downs, generally interesting, and the walk at
this season agreeable.

We had, for a short distance, the company of a rural po
liceman. He had his quarters, with several others, in a small
cottage in a village, was paid $4.70 a-week, and furnished with
three suits of clothes every year — one for winter, one for
summer, and one for Sundays, besides gloves, &c. The uni
form is of blue cloth, of a simple, semi-military fashion. He
said no one was employed in the force who was less than six
feet high, and that they were exercised in the use of small-
arms. Of duties he seemed to have no definite idea himself,
but was ready to do any thing he could in the way of fighting
roguery, when he should be called upon by the officers. The
only crime which he seemed to apprehend in the neighbour
hood was rick-burning — labourers who were discontented and
envious, or who had for any reason become angry with the
farmers who employed them, setting fire to their stacks of
grain. This was common.

We spent the night at the "Anchor" a good, large, old inn,

" OLD CO ACHING- TIMES.^ 167

with a finely-shaven plot of turf and well-kept gravelled walks,
and a good vegetable and fruit garden, with famous goose
berry and apple bushes (apples on dwarf stocks), in the rear.
The landlord, a bluff, stout, old man, a little while ago
brought us in samples of five different sorts of malt liquor
that he had in his cellar. They vary in strength in the pro
portions from 8 to 32, and somewhat more in price.

Before the railways, thirty-two four-horse coaches stopped
at this house daily, besides post-coaches, which, when the fleet
was about to sail from Portsmouth, passed through the village
" like a procession." He then kept 100 horses, and had usually
ten postboys to breakfast, that had been left during the night.
Now, there was but one coach and one van that passed
through the town.

June 2lst.

Near Liphook, instead of the broad, bleak chalk-downs,
with their even surface of spare green grass, we find
extensive tracts of a most sterile, brown, dry, sandy land,
sometimes boggy, (moory,) producing even more scanty
pasturage than the downs, but with scattered tufts of heath
or ling. Most of this is in commons,, and a few lean sheep,
donkeys, and starveling ponies are earnestly occupied in
seeking for something to eat upon it. Very little of it, for
miles that we have passed over, is enclosed or improved, ex
cept that there are extensive plantations of trees. Timber
grows slowly upon it ; but the shade of the foliage and the
decay of leaves so improves the soil that it is worth cultiva
ting after its removal. It is also improved so as to bear tol
erable crops, by paring-and-burning and sheep-folding — as
described on the downs of Wiltshire.

We had walked half-a-dozen miles this morning, when I
discovered I had lost my watch, and turned back. When

168 AN AMERICAN FARMER IN ENGLAND.

about three miles from Liphook, I met our landlord of " The
Anchor." lie had found the watch in my room, and imme
diately mounted a horse, and rode hard to overtake us. lie
refused any compensation, unless it were " a glass of grog to
drink my health." 1 had happened to show him one of those
villainous Spanish quarters that so successfully hold their
place against our legitimate currency, which I had had left in
my pocket on leaving New York, and he said, if I didn't value
it, he would be glad to take it as a keepsake of us. I have
no doubt he will always remember us as the three gentlemen
that had the good taste not to go from Portsmouth to London
by " the infernal railways."

It was a day of thick, rapidly-passing clouds, and in a part
of my walk, which was through a well-wooded, rolling country
with very steep hill-sides and deep narrow valleys, I saw some
most charming effects of broad shadows, chasing over waving
foliage, with angel-flights of sunshine, often disclosing long,
narrow vistas of distant, deep glens, or glances of still water,
becalmed and warm under high, dark, quivering, leafy bluffs.
But the greater part of this country (but a day's walk from
London) is the most dreary, desolate, God-forsaken-looking
land that I ever saw or imagined. Hills and dales, pictu
resque enough in form, high, deep, and broad ; all brown, gray,
and black; sterile, parched, uninhabited — dead : the only sign
of life or vegetation a little crisp moss, or singed, prostrate,
despairing ling — seeming exactly as if an intense fire had
not long since swept over it.

Such was the whole dreary landscape, far and near — only this
" blasted heath." A great black squall-cloud had for some time
thrown additional gloom — a new intensity of gloom — over it ;
and I was walking slowly, in bereavement of all sympathizing
life in this sepulchral ground of Nature, when my eye fell
upon a block of stone, bearing inscription — " In detestation

A lUanWAY ADVENTURE. 1G0

of the murder of a sailor on this spot by [three persons
whose names are given], who were hung near here. ' Whoso
sheddeth man's blood, by man shall his blood be shed.' Look
on the other side."

1 was still half kneeling and musing before this monu
ment, when I heard myself gruffly addressed, " Wull tell me
what's the time o' day ?"

Without rising, I turned my head and saw over my
shoulder a tall, heavily-whiskered, ruffianly-faced fellow, half
sportsman, half sailor in dress, carrying a stout stick and a
bundle in a handkerchief. How did he get there ? I must
have seen him before if he had come either way by the road ;
he must have approached from over the hill behind me, and that
cautiously ; apparently he had been concealed there. I con
fess that I wished for a moment that I had in " my interior
reservoirs a sufficient Birmingham horse-pistol," wherewith to
make myself alike tall with him if he should give me need ;
but, still bending over the memorial of murder, I drew my
watch and answered him civilly, whereupon, without even a
" growl," he " sidled off," and soon passed from my sight. My
friends had seen the same man, in company with another,
near the same place, an hour and a-half before.

On " the other side" — oh, human vanity ! — was the name
of the man who had caused the stone to be placed there.
Posterity is requested to remember the murderers and the
murdered, and especially not to forget the detester.

PART II. 8

170 AX AMERICAN FARM.ER IN ENULAHl*.

CHAPTER XXIT.

LONDON LADS. RAILWAY RIDE. OBSERVATIONS IN NATURAL HISTORY,

AT half-past five, having overtaken my friends and dined at
Godalming, I took seat with them in the third-class car
riages of a train bound to London, intending, however, only to
take a lift so that we might walk in before dark.

The carriages were nearly empty, till, stopping at a way-
station, they were suddenly and with boisterous merry haste
taken' possession of, filled full and over-filled with a class of
people differing in their countenances, manners, language, and
tone of voice from any we had before seen in England. They
were more like New York tflioys, a little less rowdy and a
shade more vulgar. " London lads," one of them very civilly
told, me they were, employed in a factory out here in
the country, and having just received their week's wages
were going in to spend them. They were pale, and many
effeminate, in features, rather oily and grimy, probably from
their employment ; talked loudly and rapidly, using many
cant words, and often addressing those at a distance by
familiar, abbreviated names; lively, keen, quick-eyed, with
a peculiarly fearless, straightforward, uneducated way of
making original remarks, that showed considerable wit and
powers of observation ; rough, turbulent, and profane, yet
using a good many polite forms, and courteous enough in
action.

Two or three men, as soon as the train was in motion,

THE LONDON B'HOYS. 171

held up each a brace or two of rabbits, at which there wag
cheering and laughter from the rest. All, indeed, were in
the greatest possible good humour, joking and bantering and
making engagements, or telling of their plans for dining to
gether, or meeting for some degrading excitement on Sunday.
Of us and others in the car, when they entered, they took
little notice, though treating us with respect in not jostling or
crowding us ; but as soon as they were well settled in their
places they began to make game of one another ; to tell
stories, evidently improvising comical anecdotes of their
employers and other common acquaintances, both absent and
present. A dignified " old chap," who stood near upon the
platform, was made very uncomfortable, and reduced con
siderably in height and stiffness, by urgent invitations to join
them. The " guard," too, was made an especial butt, and
several illustrations were given of the ignorant character of
railway-people in general. " There vas von them Mefodis
wi si tin-coves, you know, wot 'awks tracs and suchlike, in here
a Vensdy wen we come up ; and ven the guard come along
he arks him did he know the Lord's prayer ? ' Lorspraer V
says he, ' vot is he V says he ; ' is he a stoker or a driver P
says he, ha ! ha ! ha ! I'm blowed 'f 'e didn't."

" I saw one of them same fellows other night," continued
another, " wot 'ad 'old of another on 'em. He treats 'im to
a go o' gin first, you see, to make him sharp like, and then he
axes him did he know any think about the eternal world.
4 'Turnulwool V says he — ' 'Turnulwool ? — no such place in
the Farnham branch, sir — hadn't you best enkvire of the
station-master, sir T says he."

" 'Ternal world's the place where they hadn't got the rails
down to yet — last adwices ; aren't it ? — and they carries the
nobs on there with lays o' busses wot runs erry day in the
year oney Sunneys and her Majestee's birth-day,"

172 AN AMERICAN FARMER IN ENGLAND.

" No, no ; I'll tell you where 'tis — tarnal world — it's the
kentry what the coves in Astraly cuts to wen the Kangarwoos
gets short and the gin-trees gives out and they's 'ard up."

" Kangurerhoos — what's them ?"

" Kind of fish as is covered with feathers 'stead o' scales."

. " I know it — fact I tell you, 'pon my honour — needn't laugh

— I see a sailor as 'ad a vestcoat made on't, short vethers

like spangled welwet, black and goold, regular 'ristocratic —

stunnenest thing you ever see."

" Well, what's a gin-tree 1 — that bangs me."

" I know — there is — a big tree wot runs gin wen yer tap
her — and there's a bread-tree, too "

" What bears fresh kortern loavs erry morning."

" Hurray for Polytechny ! Ain't they all sliced and but
tered r

" In course they is, and ven you shakes 'em off, the skins
cracks open, and they all vails buttered side up — coz vy?
Vy the trees is werry 'igh and the buttered side's the lightest
to be sure."

" Hi ! that's the place for this chile — I'm bound to —
' over the seas for to go' — only waitin' for an act of Parlia
ment, and wen I get there — hi ! Buffalo gals /"

" When he gets there you know what he'll do 1 When
he comes to the gin trees he'll treat the company. First
time in his life. Ha ! ha !"

And with such constantly combining streams a flood of
original information and entertainment was poured out to us
until we reached the little station about nine miles out of
London, to which we had taken tickets.

WALK TO LONDON. 173

CHAPTER XXIII.

RURAL LABOURERS NEAR LONDON. — OUR MOTHER TONGUE. — COCKNEYS. 1'RO-

VINCIALISTS. ON THE NATURALIZATION OF FOREIGN WORDS. AUTHOR
ITIES. — SUBURBAN LONDON. LONDON. THE THAMES. " SAINT PAUL'S

FROM BLACKFRIAR'S BRIDGE."

UPON our asking directions, a gentleman who left the first-
class carriage offered to be our guide for ^ little way.
He led us between fields in which some men were hay
making. We spoke of the " London lads" we had been riding
with, and the gentleman agreed with us that, wicked as they
might appear, they were less degraded than the mass of
agricultural labourers.

"We could not stop to rest here on the stile," said he,
" but that every single man in that field, in the course of five
minutes', would come to us to ask something for drink ; and
the worst of it is, it is not an excuse to obtain money by
indirect begging for the support of their families, but they
would actually spend it immediately at the public-house."

We told him we had never been in London, and after a
little conversation he said that he had been trying to discover
where we came from, as from our accent he should have
thought us Londoners. He had thought that he could always
tell from what part of England any stranger in London came,
but he could not detect any of thd provincial accents or
idioms in our language. We told him that we had supposed
the cockney dialect was quite distinct, but certainly never

174 AN AMERICAN FARMER IN ENGLAND.

imagined it at all like our own. On the contrary, he said,
except among the vulgar classes, the Londoner alone has no
dialect, but, much more than the native of any other part of
England, speaks our language from infancy in its purity, and
with the accent generally approved by our most elegant
orators and generally acknowledged authorities.

" But a liberal education must remove provincialisms, both
of idiom and accent."

" In a degree only. A boy will generally retain a good
deal of his provincial accent through the public school and
university. At least, I have paid considerable attention to the
matter, and I think I am always able to detect it, and say
with confidence in which quarter of the kingdom a man spent
his youth. You would yourself probably have no difficulty
in detecting a Scotchman."

" I have noticed that Scotchmen who have resided long in
England, and who had in a considerable degree lost their
original peculiarities, usually spoke in a disagreeably high
key and with great exactness and distinctness of utterance."

" That is the result of the original effort which it was ne
cessary for them to use to speak correctly. They speak from
the book, as it were, and the same is more or less noticeable
in all provincialists who do not habitually speak with the
accent of their youth."

We then informed him that we were Americans, which
much surprised him. I somewhat doubt myself the correct
ness of his observation. I am aware of habitually using many
Yankeeisms myself, and have no desire to avoid them. The
New England accent of words, except such as are not very
commonly used, I should think might be generally agreeable
to the most approved standards in England. The educated
English certainly speak with much greater distinctness and
more elegance than we commonly do ; perhaps they generally

WORDS AND THEIR AUTHORITIES. 175

err in being too precise and methodical, and it may be that
the Londoners converse with more rapidity and ease, or
carelessness, than others. That what are shown to us as
peculiarities of cockney dialect are mere vulgarisms and
slang, not altogether peculiar to the metropolis, is very true.
Agreeably to Walker, the educated English often give the
dound of a to e, pronouncing Derby, Darby ; clerk, clark, &c.
This at first seemed very odd ; but when I returned home,
our own way had become foreign to me. Vase is universally
vawze or vaze ; route, rute. With us, except in society which
has a more than ordinary European element, these, and some
other foreign words in common use, are Anglicized; and
though when one is accustomed to the more polite sound
there may seem an affectation of simplicity in this, I cannot
but wish that the custom was more general. The French
almost universally adapt foreign words of which they have
need for common use to the requirements of their habitual
tongue, changing not only the pronunciation but the spelling :
they write rosbiffor the old English roast beef, biftek for beef
steak. So we write and pronounce cotelette cutlet ; why need
we say "angtremay" for entremets? or if we choose that
sound, and like it also better than "side-dishes" why not print
it " angtremay ?" We write Cologne for Koln ; why not
Leeong for Lyons 1 or if Lyons, let us also speak it Lyons,
and consider Leeong an affectation except when we speak it
in connection with other plainly French words. The only
rule with regard to such matters is, to follow custom. Sin
gularity is impertinent where it can be gracefully avoided ;
but as there is more tendency to Anglicize foreign words that
are in general use in America than in England, and this is a
good and sensible tendency, let us not look for our rules to
English custom. Let us read Venus de Medicis Venus de
Medicis, rather than stammer and blush over it because we

176 AN AMERICAN FARMER IN ENGLAND.

are not perfect in Italian. I onoe heard a clergyman call it
"Venu-de-Medisy :" two-thirds of his congregation understood
what he meant as well as if he had given it the true Italian
pronunciation ; but if he had read it with the sound they
would naturally attach in English reading to that connection
of letters, nearly all would have known what he meant, and
no one would have had a reasonable occasion to laugh at him.
But why is not our own language fit to speak of it in — the
Medicean Venus? Why should the French \vord envelope
be used by us when we have the English envelop ? Why
the Italian chiaro-oscuro, when there is the English clare-
obscure expressing the same ? I am glad to see some of our
railroad companies accepting the word station, which is good
old English, in place of the word depot, which, as we pro
nounce it, is neither French nor English. In England, the
designation station is invariable. Depot is only used as a
military technicality, with the French pronunciation, dapo.
If we really want a foreign word or phrase to express our
selves, it shows a deficiency in our language. Supply this by
making your foreigner English : we in America must not be
chary of admitting strangers. Naturalize it as soon as pos
sible.

Neither let us think it of great consequence whether we
say Rush-an or Ru-skan for Russian ; trawf or truf (as usual
in England) for trough ; def or deef for deaf ; or whether we
spell according to Johnson, or Walker, or Webster, (or Web
ster modified ;) the custom varies, not only between England
and America, but between elegant scholars of each country
in itself. The man is impudent who condemns me, let me
speak or write almost how I may, for I always have some
giant to back me.

Half-a-mile's walk brought us to a village of plain, low,

SUBURBAN LONDON. 177

detached, paltry shops, where our guide, having given us a
very simple direction, took leave of us. We followed up
the broad street ; the shops, a large number of which were
ale-houses, soon were displaced in a great measure by plain,
small villas, of stone, or stuccoed brick, standing two or three
rods back from the street, with dense shrubbery, enclosed by
high brick walls before them. Gradually the houses ran
together and became blocks ; omnibuses, market-carts, heavy
vans, (covered luggage-wagons,) and pleasure-carriages, con
stantly met and passed, and when we had walked about
three miles, the village had become a compact, busy town —
strangely interrupted once by a large, wild, wholly rustic
common. Then the town again : the side-walk encroached
upon by the grocers and hucksters ; monster signs of " entire"
ales and ready-made coffins, and " great sacrifices" of haber
dashery and ladies' goods; the street wide and admirably
paved, and crossed at short but irregular intervals by other
narrower streets, and growing more busy every moment.
Still it is nothing remarkable ; a wide street, plain brick
houses, a smell of gas now and then, and a crowd. I would
hardly have known, from any thing to be seen, that I was
not entering some large town in our country, that I had never
visited before. Indeed, it's quite like coming down the
Bowery.

People were looking up ; following the direction of their
eyes, we saw a balloon ascending. The air was calm, and it
rose to a great height — greater, says the Times this morning,
than any ever reached before.

A shrill cry in the distance, rising faintly above the rumble
of the wheels, and hum and patter of the side-walks, grows
rapidly more distinct, until we distinguish, sung in a high
key, " Strawberrie— Sixpenny-pottle. Who'll buy?" The
first of " London cries."

PART II. 8*

178 AN AMERICAN FARMER IN ENGLAND.

We have been walking steadily, in a nearly straight line,
for two hours, and now the crowd thickens rapidly until it is
for a moment at full tide of Broadway density. There is a
long break in the brick house-fronts, and we forge aside out
of the crowd and halt to take an observation. We are lean
ing over the parapet of Elackfriar 's Bridge. The Thames
looks much as I had supposed ; something wider than our
travellers like to represent it, hardly an " insignificant stream"
even to an eye accustomed to American rivers, but wide
enough and deep enough and strong enough to make bridges
of magnificence necessary to cross it, and answering all the
requirements needed in a ship-canal passing through the midst
of a vast town. A strong current setting upward from the
sea gurgles under the arches ; heavy coal-barges slowly sweep
along with it ; dancing, needle-like wherries shoot lightly
across it, and numerous small, narrow steamboats, crowded
with passengers, plough white furrows up and down its dark
surface.

Upon the bank opposite — almost upon the bank, and not
distant in an artist's haze — stand blackened walls and a noble
old dome, familiar to us from childhood. It is only nearer,
blacker, and smaller — wofully smaller — than it has always
been. We do not even think of telling each other it is
SAINT PAUL'S.

There is a low darkness, and the houses and all are sooty
in streaks, but there is a pure — so far as our lungs and noses
know — pure, fresh, cool breeze sweeping up the river, and
overhead a cloudless sky ; and in the clear ether, clear as
Cincinnati's, there is a new satellite — beautiful, beautiful as
the moon's young daughter. It is the balloon, now so high
that the car is invisible, and without any perceptible motion
it blushes in golden sunlight, — while we have been some time
since left to evening's dusk.

"MOVE OX!" 179

" Move on ! move on, if you please, gentlemen," says a
policeman. The crowd tramps hastily behind us. We turn
and are sucked into the motley channel, which soon throws
us out from the bridge upon a very broad street ; up this, in
a slackening tide, we are still unresistingly carried, for it is
London, and that was what we were looking for ; and for a
while we allow ourselves to be absorbed in it without asking
what is to become of us next.

APPENDIX C.

INFORMATION AND ADVICE FOR THOSE WISHING TO MAKE A
PEDESTRIAN TOUR IN ENGLAND, AT THE LEAST PRACTICABLE

EXPENSE.

A YOUNG man with small means, and who is willing to " rough it,"
wishes to know with how low a sum of money it would be prac
ticable for him to undertake a trip to England. I have no doubt there
are many such who would visit the Old World if they were aware how
cheaply and pleasantly they could do so. I have heretofore expressed
my own obligation to Bayard Taylor, and it is probable that what I
shall have to say will be, to some extent, a repetition of the instruc
tions given in a chapter upon the subject in the later editions of the
" Views Afoot." It will, however, have more especial reference to
travelling on foot in England.

The Passage. — There are no regular arrangements made in the
packet-ships for those who wish to go to England decently and in
tolerable comfort at a moderate price. It will be with more or less
difficulty, according as freights are active or dull, that you may obtain
a proper " second cabin passage and found." You stand the best
chance to do so in the London lines. A special arrangement with the
Captain is necessary. A party of three or four may at almost any time,
by application to the Captain shortly before a ship sails, engage a
state-room, provide themselves with stores,* and hire their cooking
done, <fcc. ; so that the passage shall cost them but from twenty to
thirty dollars. With good messmates, good catering, a liberal gratuity

* See « Walks and Talks," Vol. I. p. 21, and consult the ship's cook or steward.

18'2 4PPEXDLI.

to the cook, steward, or ship's servant that waits upon you, and in a
clean ship, you may make the passage so, more agreeably than in any
other way ; more so than in the first cabin at four times the expense.
The price of the regular first-cabin passage out is $90. In the steerage,
you pay $10 to $12 for a mere sleeping-place, provide yourself with
stores, cook for yourself, or hire some fellow-passenger, who does not
suffer equally from sea-sickness, to cook for you. You must provide
yourself with bedding, cooking utensils, &c. It will cost you about $20.
Secure, if possible, an upper berth, near the hatchway ; be provided
with an abundance of old clothes ; look out for pilferers ; spend an hour
each morning in sweeping and keeping clean the steerage ; nurse the
sick ; take care of the women and children ; and keep the deck all the
time that you otherwise can. You will probably have a very miser
able time, but it will be over after a while, and you will have seen a
peculiar and memorable exhibition of human nature, and will go ashore
with a pleasure not to be imagined. You can go to Liverpool or
Glasgow by the screw-steamers, (second cabin and found,) decently and
quickly, for from $50 to $75. The same by the mail-steamers, not so
comfortably, but more quickly. Most disagreeably, but soon over with,
in the steerage of some of the steamers for $40.

Returning. — You have the same (and rather increased second-cabin
accommodations by the London packets), at about 10 per cent, higher
prices. You can live comfortably for two months, and see " the lions"
in Paris or London, for the difference between the first and second-cabin
fare out and home.

Our Expenses for board and bed, while in the country in England,
averaged seventy-five cents a-day. Expenses of short conveyance by
rail, coach, and boat ; fees to showmen and guides ; washing, postage,
and incidentals, (properly included as travelling expenses,) added to
this, made our average expenses about one dollar a-day each. How
we fared, and with what degree of comfort or luxury we were content,
the reader should have already been informed. I have, however,
dwelt more upon the agreeable than the disagreeable side of such
travelling. We often, on entering a town, looked from one inn to an
other, in doubt which to select, desiring to avoid unnecessary expense,
while we secured quiet and cleanliness. Sometimes we would enter a
house and ask to see the rooms and know the charges. No offence was
ever taken at thfe, though once or twice, where we were going to spend
a Sunday, and the rooms were not agreeable, or convenient to write in,

ADVICE TO THE PEDESTRIAN. 183

we proceeded further. We soon, however, were able to guess very
well the character of a house by its outside appearauce, and could
regulate our disbursements with great exactness.

Inns. — The great difference between the large "first-class" inns and
the second and third class is, that in the latter the lodgers are so few
that one or two servants can take the place of three or four at the
former. Frequently the landlord may be porter and Boots, (and will
act as commissionaire or cicerone ;) the mistress, cook ; and their
daughter, waiter and chambermaid, <fec. In such cases, generally, no
servants' fees at all are expected, and at most a third or half of what is
honestly due the servants of the stylish inn will be satisfactory. The
small inns are really often more comfortable to the pedestrian than the
large ones ; because he can be more at his ease ; need not care how he
appears ; can wheel the sofa up to the fire or open all the windows ;
dine in his slippers, and smoke, if he likes, in the parlour : take com
mand of the house, in short ; see for himself that his shoes are greased
and his linen washed and drying, his knapsack-straps repaired, lost
buttons replaced, and all his rig a-taunto for an early start without
delays in the morning.

If you call for any thing for your table that the house is not provided
with, it will be at once procured from the shops ; the cooking is gen
erally good, and the bread always fine. We usuall3T contented ourselves
with one hot meal in a day. Two of us were without the habit of
drinking tea or coffee, and would often make our breakfast of bread
and milk ; lunch on bread and cheese and beer, and take a substantial
meal at the end of our day's walk. We thought we walked better
with this arrangement than any other.

For less than seventy cents a-day it is possible to travel in England
without hardship or injury to health. For how much less I cannot say.
I once stopped alone at a house where I dined with the family on boiled
bacon and potatoes and a bag-pudding, for which I was charged six
pence ; breakfasted on scalded milk and bread for twopence ; and was
asked sixpence in advance for lodging. I had a good, clean bed and
washing conveniences in my room. Add to this twopence for tea, and
the clay's living is 33 cents. This was in the north of England, and was
extraordinary. The usual charge for lodging is a shilling, sometimes
ninepence, and sometimes only sixpence. At the first-class inns they
will make you pay well in one way or another. Where we did not dine
we have been charged threepence each for the use of the public room,

184 APPENDIX.

that is to say, for sitting in it instead of out-of-doors or in our rooms,
while waiting for tea to be prepared. With regard to servants, the
best way is to ask the landlord to pay them and charge it in the bill.
It relieves you of a great annoyance, and in such cases we never found
the charge added extravagant.

Equipment. — Shoes can be obtained much cheaper in England than
America, and, indeed, first-rate shoes are hardly to be had in America ;
but English shoes, that you would have to buy at the shops, always have
a seam across the instep that is very hard upon a foot unaccustomed to
it ; and for this reason, and to ensure a shape to suit you, you had best
get them made at home. The leather should be well-tanned and dressed
thick kip or cowhide, the best that can be procured ; the soles of " En
glish bend," three-eighths of an inch in thickness ; double this in the heel,
which should come so far forward that the break will be perpendicular
with the point of the ankle. Give your order, if possible, six months
beforehand, (I never have known a shoemaker who would get his work
done when he promised to for any consideration,) and go to the workman
yourself to make sure that he understands what you want, otherwise
you will probably receive, just as you are going on board ship, a parcel
by express containing a pair of butterfly pumps with soles of humming
bird hide. Have a distinct agreement that they shall be returned if
they do not come in time, and if they do not answer to your order. They
should be high enough (64- inches, including heel, commonly) to well
cover the ankle, and lace up with but two crossings over the instep. The
laces must be made of the best leather, and you should carry half-a-dozen
spare ones.

If, finally, the shoes are not large enough to go easily over two woollen
socks on your foot, reject them. Get Shaker woollen socks of an exact
fit to your foot, or as large as they may be without danger of folding or
rubbing into welts under your shoes. Wear them with the " wrong
side" outward. You do not want to wear them double, but your feet
will swell so in a long hot day's walk, that you will want that there
should have been room enough in your shoes for them to be double be
fore you started. Break your shoes in on the passage.

Gaiters are worn to protect the feet from dust and gravel coming over
the top of the shoe. They increase the heat of the feet to that degree
that they are best dispensed with. Bathe your feet at every convenient
opportunity on the road, and always as soon as you stop for the night,
and change your socks and put on slippers.

ADVICE TO THE PEDESTRIAN. 185

I could give good reasons for all that I have recommended with regard
to shoes ; and you had better neglect nothing. I took all these precau
tions and yet suffered a thousand times more, and was delayed more,
from foot-soreness than from fatigue. English pedestrians and sports
men often wear much heavier and clumsier shoes than I have advised.

Knapsack. — We had the India-rubber army knapsack, made at ISTauga-
tuck, Connecticut. If you can get them well " seasoned," so that they
will not stick or smell, and with a good harness, they will probably be
the best you can procure. Ours were so, and we found them convenient
and to wear well.

Clothing you can get in England better than at home, if you wish to
buy any. You must dispense with every thing not absolutely essential
to your comfort ; for every ounce is felt in a hot day. We carried in our
knapsacks each about as follows :

Four shirts, 1 pair cloth pantaloons, 2 pair socks, slippers, handker
chiefs, mending materials, toilet articles, coarse towel, napkin, leather
drinking-cup, cap, oil-silk cape, portfolio with writing and sketching ma
terials, knife and fork, candle of tallow (that it may be used to grease
shoes with upon occasion), matches, a book, map, pocket-compass, ad
hesive plaster, cord, shoe-lacings.

Every thing selected with great care for lightness and compactness,
and the whole weighing ten pounds and a-half, including knapsack and
straps. We wore upon the road light cloth coats and waistcoats, and
linen dusters or blouses, and light cassimere pantaloons. We each car
ried a strong, hooked hickory-stick, and it will be found best to do so.
We usually wore broad-brimmed, pliable felt hats of the best quality ;
they were excellent both in sun and rain. We also had light linen caps.

For rainy weather a cape of the best black oiled silk, 22 inches long
before, and 16 inches behind, with a low collar, and buttoning in front,
weighing half-a-pound, and folding so small that it could be carried in a
coat pocket — a most capital and serviceable article. With a loop and
a tape it may be gathered tight at the waist under the knapsack, so as
not to be lifted by the wind.

A flask for drink is hardly worth its carriage in England. A man
every way in health should be able to walk a dozen miles or more with
out wanting to drink. Where good water is constantly to be had, it is
refreshing to taste it very frequently, and there are no ill effects to be
apprehended from doing so. You will perspire more freely, and I think
stand the heat better ; but cold water will not quench thirst, except mo-

186 APPENDIX.

mentarily ; on the contrary, I believe it increases it. Malt liquors and
spirituous liquors have different effects upon different individuals. Both
are disagreeable to me. Most English pedestrians drink very freely of
malt liquors, and find them very wholesome. On the Continent I would
carry a flask for light wine, such as every peasant has to his dinner. Its
cost is trifling, and there is nothing in the world which will quench thirst
like it, except, perhaps, tea. It is not very palatable at first, but ex
ceedingly refreshing, and I believe every way healthful. It has no intoxi
cating, and very slight stimulating, qualities. I think it would be a great
moral blessing, and have an excellent effect on the public health, if it
could be produced cheaply, and used as freely as tea and coffee now are
in the United States.

Here I will give you " a secret," which may, some time, be of use to
you. When you feel very much jaded with a long walk, and hardly
able to go any further, if you can swallow a cup of tea and a bit of
toast or biscuit, and pour a wine-glass of whiskey into your shoes, keep
ing yourself warm during the halt, you will find yourself good for
another hour or two of hard tramping.

Routes and Distances. — Unless you are considerably familiar with
the language and history of a Continental nation, I would advise you
to spend most of your time in England. It is better to study thoroughly
the character of one people, and remain so long, if possible, in their
country, that you may feel as if you had lived in it, and made yourself
a part of it, than to run superficially over a dozen. It is, however, much
cheaper, and in many respects more agreeable, to walk in Germany than
in England ; and a true American, mingling with the peasant people,
can hardly fail to do them good, and have his own heart enlightened
and expanded by their spirit longing for liberty and universal affection
for his country. It is of walking in England, however, that I wish now
especially to speak.

Your route should be determined by your tastes and objects. If they
are as general as ours, and you design to employ the same time in En
gland that we did, I could advise but very slight variation from our route.

With a week's more time, you should see more of North Wales,
(though, in general, mountain and lake country is not England, and you
can get what tourists go to those districts for better nearer home ;)
extend your walk into Devonshire, and keep along the south coast to
Portsmouth. After visiting the Isle of Wight, the old road to London,
running, I believe, through Guildford, is said to be much pleasanter than

ADVICE TO THE PEDESTRIAN. 187

the more direct way we came. After spending some weeks in and
about London, follow up the Thames by Henley, and as near the south
bank as you can, to Oxford — then by Strat ford-on- Avon, Warwick, and
Kenilworth, to Birmingham ; thence, according to your interest, through
the manufacturing districts, and by Chatsworth and the Derbyshire moors
to York ; thence by Fountain's Abbey, through the curious hill-country
of West Yorkshire and Lancashire, into Westmoreland ; thence either
north to Scotland, or by Liverpool to Ireland, crossing afterwards to
Scotland from Belfast. Guide-books can be obtained, I believe, of Mr.
Putnam, in New York, by the aid of which and a good map, you may,
before you leave home, judge how much time you will want to spend
in examining various objects of interest, and ascertain distances, &c.
You can thus plot off your route and calculate the time at which you
will arrive at any particular point. Guide-books are very expensive
and heavy, and this is their principal use ; further, you are liable to
pass through a town and neglect to see something for which it is pecu
liarly distinguished, without you have something to remind you of it.

We travelled at first at the rate of one hundred miles in six days,
at last at the rate of about two hundred ; sometimes going forty miles,
and ordinarily thirty, in a day. We usually did thirty miles in eleven
hours, one of which might be spent in nooning under a hedge or in a
wayside inn, and about one mile an hour lost in loitering ; looking at
things on the wayside or talking to people that we met, our actual pace
was just about four miles an hour.

You can start with twelve miles in a day, and calculate to average
twenty -five after the first fortnight.

If you can make any thing like a harmonious noise upon any instru
ment, for that purpose I woxild advise you to strap it on. You will
understand its value by reading the life of Goldsmith. It will make
you welcome in many a peasant circle, where you might otherwise have
been only a damper upon all naturalness and geniality.

APPENDIX D.

Principles of the Mark System, framed to mix persuasion
with punishment, and make their effect improving, yet
their operation severe. By CAPTAIN MACHONOCHIE, R. N.,
K. H., late superintendent of the British penal settlement
at Norfolk Island.

" Our present punishments resemble every thing that is most deteriorating in
ordinary life: and they deteriorate accordingly. If we would infuse into them
those impulses which, under Providential guidance, make other forms of adver
sity improving, we would make them improving also."

nptlE constituent elements in secondary punishment are labour and
^ time. Men are sentenced to hard labour for a given time : — but the
time is here made to measure the labour, — and the first proposal of the
Mark System is, that instead of this the labour be made to measure the
time. This idea is not peculiar to it. In his letter to Earl Grey the
Archbishop of Dublin uses these words : " The best plan, as it appears
to me, would be, instead of sentencing men to imprisonment for a certain
time, to sentence them to render a certain amount of labour. A fixed
daily task may be imposed on them, but with power to exceed this at
their own discretion, thereby shortening their period of detention. The
effect would be, not only that criminals would thus acquire habits of
labour, but of attaching an agreeable idea to labour. By each additional
step they took on the tread- wheel they would be walking out of prison —
by each additional cut of the spade they would be cutting a way to re
turn to society."

It would be difficult to express the direct primary effect of the system

THE MARK SYSTEM. 189

in happier or terser terms ; and even when thus stated, the improvement
contemplated on existing practice appears immense. But much more
when the ulterior consequences are also considered. By substituting a
powerful internal stimulus to exertion for that physical coercion which
must ever be at best an imperfect external one, while all necessary bond
age and suffering as the consequences of crime would be retained, direct
" slavery" would be banished from among our secondary punishments.
The tendencies of our management would be to good, whereas those of
the existing system are " to evil continually." Men would improve under
it, instead of becoming worse. And the administration of public justice
would acquire a place among the Christian agencies of our land : it is
painful to thinkhow far it is at present removed in operation from any
such character.

But another view may be also taken of the question thus involved,
not less interesting. If we look abroad into ordinary life, we cannot but
be struck with the resemblance which our present forms of secondary
punishment bear to every thing that is in this most enfeebling and dete
riorating, and how directly opposed they are to those forms of adversity
which, under the influence of Providential wisdom, reform character and
invigorate it. Slavery deteriorates — long seclusion deteriorates — every
condition, in a word, more or less deteriorates, which leaves no choice
of action, requires no virtue but obedience, affords no stimulus to exer
tion beyond this, supplies the wants of nature without effort with a view
to them, and restores to prosperity, through lapse of time, without evi
dence that such restoration is deserved. Yet this is our present system
of secondary punishment. What improves, on the contrary, is a con
dition of adversity from which there is no escape but by continuous
effort, — which leaves the degree of that effort much in the individual's
own power, but if lie relaxes his suffering is deepened and prolonged,
and it is only alleviated and shortened if he struggles manfully — which
makes exertion necessary even to earn daily bread — and something
more, prudence, self-command, voluntary economy, and the like, to re
cover prosperity. To this, as yet, secondary punishment bears no resem
blance ; but were our sentences measured by labour instead of time,— -
were they to the performance of certain tasks, not to the occupation of
a certain time in evading any, — the approximation might be made in
definitely close.

Labour being a vague term, the system next proposes that it be rep
resented by marks, — the earning of so many thousands of which, in a

190 APPENDIX.

prison or penal settlement, as the case may be, to be made the punish
ment of all offences according to their degree. A proportion of these
marks to be credited to individuals daily, according to the exertion made
in whatever labour is allotted them, — all supplies of food and clothing
to be charged in them, — all misconduct to be punished by fines in them,—
and only the clear balance to be carried to account towards liberation.
By this means both wages and savings' banks would be introduced into
prisons — wages to stimulate labour, and give an interest in it, and
savings' banks to give a similar interest to habits of economy and self-
command. To make the resemblance to ordinary life still closer, and at
the same time promote kindly and social, as opposed to selfish, feeling,
it is further proposed that during a portion of their entire period of de
tention criminals be distributed into parties or families of six, with com
mon interests and accounts, rising or falling together, and thus all inter
ested in the good conduct of each. By this means a strong physical
check would be laid on crime in prisons, with a yet stronger moral one ;
and an apparatus would be gained by which good conduct and exertion
would be made popular, and offence unpopular, in the community, and
all would be interested in promoting the one and keeping down the
other. My experience on Norfolk Island — (which was imperfect, because
my views were not then sustained, as I trust they yet will be, at home,
my powers and apparatus were consequently imperfect, and my results
rather indicated tendencies than gave precise conclusions) yet leads me
to attach great value to this, as to several other details explained in other
papers. But I regard them all only as they seem to me to carry out
the principles laid down. If these are right, when once established, the
best details to found on them will soon become of themselves apparent.
"With a near tangible end, like individual reform, in view, no mistakes,
however at first great, can be long persisted in.

Severity, then, with a directly benevolent purpose, — modelled with a
view to recover criminals as well as punish them, — controlled and guided
by the enlightened pursuit of this noble end, made as great, for the benefit
both of the individual and the community, as is compatible with it, but
neither greater nor other than strictly subordinate to it, — this is the guide
here sought to be introduced into secondary punishment: and unless it
is attentively considered, it will be found difficult to believe the number
of new views that it will open up of interest and promise. It will ad
just the controversy between harshness and lenity which has long divided
reasoners on the subject, — the one impulse having authorized the most

THE MARK SYSTEM. 191

distressing cruelties, while the other has occasionally led to indulgences
scarcely less injurious in their ultimate consequences to both the crimi
nal and society, enfeebling the one, and leading the honest labourer, in
the other, painfully to contrast his own position with that of the con
victed felon. It will thus solve many preliminary difficulties, and con
duct to many important conclusions. It will give a new spirit to pun
ishment by giving it a new direction. By raising its object it will raise
its administration. It will be difficult to be either cruel or careless with
such an object as individual reform in view, and while wielding an agency
offering a reasonable probability of attaining it. (The last is of great
importance : we become indifferent, in spite of ourselves, when engaged
in a hopeless task.) It will assimilate this branch of our administration
to those ways of Providence to men which must always be our surest
guides when we seek to influence them. It will thus imitate the highest
wisdom, and thereby enable us to obey the highest precept. We may
love while we chasten, and be substantially kind even when enforcing
the strictest commands of punitive law. It will succeed with little effort,
because it will study the human nature implanted in us, instead of
trampling its impulses under foot. It will further conduct to great
economy as well as efficiency, partly through this cause, partly because
the virtues of industry and self-command which it will be its great aim
to foster will equally bring about both results. The practical change may
be thought a small one on which to found such anticipations — the change
from measuring labour by time to that of measuring time by labour —
or, in other words, from giving our criminals time-sentences to allotting
them tasks : — but the one course is the direct reverse of the other, and
the difference may be thus the whole difference between right and
wrong, success and failure. It seems, indeed, even impossible to follow
out the chain of reasoning suggested without coming to this conclusion.
When men are smitten with adversity in ordinary life, and thus punished
for previous follies or misconduct,they are not condemned to this adrersity
for a certain fo'we.but until they can retrieve their position. They suffer
under this task ; they sorrow over it (but without resentment) ; they strug
gle with it ; their characters improve under the various efforts and emo- .
tions called out by it, (both deepened if they have others to care for
as well as themselves ;) frequently they rise even higher than befofe ; —
and society is instructed by such examples in everyway — it shrinks from
the preliminary sufferings exhibited in them, and emulates, in due .pro
portion as its own case may require, the manly struggle that has at

192 APPENDIX.

length overcome them. And so it might be with our punishments, if we
would model them on the same type. They are now for the most part
barbarous in every sense, in their want of skill and adaptation to high
purpose, and in the crime and misery they thus gratuitously produce.
We might make them beneficent in every sense, merely by copying the
wisdom that is around us; — and when this is fully understood, it is not
to be imagined but that every lover of his kind will take even an eager
interest in bringing about the change. The real difficulty is to influence
to the inquiry.

I must add, that in this condensed statement of the princi
ples of his system, Captain Machonochie has made no allusion
to a very important part of it — the anti-criminal part, if I may
so express it. He proposes, as a preventive measure, the
establishment of Industrial Schools, to which the children of
the poorer classes or vagrants should be encouraged to come
and give their cheerful and active labour, by receiving marks
exchangeable for a good, substantial, but coarse, meal in the
middle of the day, and some other food to carry home at
night. The employments to be as much as possible rural and
agricultural, and in every case at least laborious, fitting those
subjected to them to face hard work in after life.

THE END.

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