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UC-NRLF 


773 


LIBRA.RY 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 


PACIFIC  THEOLOGICAL  SEMINARY. 

Accession         .84627...       Claz* 


ALCOVE, 


aeifie   f2|lt£ologleal 


PRESENTED    BY 


SHELF, 


WALKS   AND   TALKS 


AMERICAN    FARMER    IN   ENGLAND. 


GF  JRGE    P.   PUTNAM,    155    BROADWAY. 

M.  D  CCG  .  LI  J. 


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

BY  GEORRK  P.  PUTNAM, 

In  the  Clerk'*  Offie«  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the  Southern  District 
of  New  York. 


B1LLIX  A  BROTHERS, 

0    NORTH  WILLIAM- ST..   N.  I 


.T.   K.  TROW,  PRINTS*, 

ANN-STRKMT. 


TO 

GEORGE     GEDDES, 

Xate  oftlje  lunate  of  $m  fork, 

VICE-PRESIDENT  OK  THE  STATE   AGRICULTURAL  SOCIETY, 
PRESIDENT     OF     THE    ONONDAGA     COUNTY     AGRICULTURAL    SOCIETY, 

ETC.,    ETC.,    ETC., 
THIS   VOLUME   IS   MOST  RESPECTFULLY    AND   GRATEFULLY 


.84627 


PREFACE. 


I  DO  not  deem  it  necessary  to  apologize  for  this  memoir  of  a  farmer's 
visit  to  England.  Every  man  in  travelling  will  be  directed  in  peculiar 
paths  of  observation  by  his  peculiar  tastes,  habits,  and  personal  interests, 
and  there  will  always  be  a  greater  or  less  class  who  will  like  to  hear  of 
just  what  he  liked  to  see.  With  a  hearty  country  appetite  for  narrative,  I 
have  spent,  previous  to  my  own  journey,  a  great  many  long  winter  even 
ings  in  reading  the  books  so  frequently  written  by  our  literary  tourists, 
upon  England ;  and  although  I  do  not  recollect  one  of  them,  the  author 
of  which  was  a  farmer,  or  whose  habits  of  life,  professional  interests, 
associations  in  society,  and  ordinary  standards  of  comparison  were  not 
altogether  different  from  my  own,  I  remember  none  from  which  I  did 
not  derive  entertainment  and  instruction. 

Notwithstanding,  therefore,  the  triteness  of  the  field,  I  may  presume 
to  think,  that  there  will  be  a  great  many  who  will  yet  enjoy  to  follow 
me  over  it,  and  this  although  my  gait  and  carriage  should  not  be 
very  elegant,  but  so  only  as  one  farmer's  leg  and  one  sailor's  leg  with 
the  help  of  a  short,  crooked,  half-grown  academic  sapling,  for  a  walking 
stick,  might  be  expected  to  carry  a  man  along  with  a  head  and  a  heart 
of  his  own. 

And  as  it  is  especially  for  farmers  and  farmers'  families  that  I  have 
written,  I  trust  that  all  who  try  to  read  the  book,  will  be  willing  to 
come  into  a  warm,  good-natured,  broad  country  kitchen  fireside  rela 
tion  with  me,  and  permit  me  to  speak  my  mind  freely,  and  in  such  lan 
guage  as  I  can  readily  command  on  all  sorts  of  subjects  that  come  in 
my  way,  forming  their  own  views  from  the  facts  that  I  give  them,  and 
taking  my  opinions  for  only  just  what  they  shall  seem  to  be  worth. 

Some  explanation  of  a  "few  of  the  intentions  that  gave  direction  to 
my  movements  in  travelling  may  be  of  service  to  the  reader. 

The  wages,  and  the  cost  and  manner  of  living  of  the  labouring  men,  and 
the  customs  with  regard  to  labour  of  those  countries  and  districts,  from 
which  foreign  writers  on  economical  subjects  are  in  the  habit  of  deriving 
their  data,  had  been  made  a  subject  of  more  than  ordinary  and  other  than 
merely  philanthropical  interest  to  me.  from  an  experience  of  the  diffi 
culty  of  applying  their  calculations  to  the  different  circumstances  under 
which  work  must  be  executed  in  the  United  States.  My  vocation  as  a 


2  PREFACE. 

farmer,  too,  had  led  me  for  a  long  time  to  desire  to  know  more  of  the 
prevailing,  ordinary,  and  generally  accepted  practices  of  agriculture, 
than  I  could  learn  from  Mr.  Coleman's  book,  or  from  the  observations 
of  most  of  the  European  correspondents  of  our  agricultural  periodicals, 
the  attention  of  these  gentlemen  having  been  usually  directed  to  the  ex 
ceptional  improved  modes  of  cultivation  which  prevail  only  among  the 
amateur  agriculturists  and  the  bolder  and  more  enterprising  farmers. 

The  tour  was  made  in  company  with  two  friends,  whose  purposes 
somewhat  influence  the  character  of  the  narrative.  One  of  them,  my 
brother,  hoped  by  a  course  of  invigorating  exercise,  simple  diet,  and 
restraint  from  books  and  other  in-door  and  sedentary  luxuries,  to  re 
establish  his  weakened  health,  and  especially  to  strengthen  his  eyes, 
frequent  failures  of  which  often  seriously  annoyed  and  interrupted  him 
in  the  study  of  his  profession.  The  other,  our  intimate  friend  from 
boyhood,  desired  to  add  somewhat  to  the  qualifications  usually  inquired 
after  in  a  professed  teacher  and  adviser  of  mankind,  by  such  a  term  and 
method  of  study  as  he  could  afford  to  make,  of  the  varying  develop 
ments  of  human  nature  under  different  biases  and  institutions  from 
those  of  his  own  land. 

We  all  considered,  finally,  that  it  should  be  among  those  classes  which 
form  the  majority  of  the  people  of  a  country  that  the  truest  exhibition 
of  national  character  should  be  looked  for,  and  that  in  their  condition 
should  be  found  the  best  evidence  of  the  wisdom  of  national  institutions. 

In  forming  the  details  of  a  plan  by  which  we  could,  within  certain 
limits  of  time  and  money,  best  accomplish  such  purposes  as  I  have 
indicated,  we  were  much  indebted  to  the  information  and  advice  given 
by  Bayard  Taylor  in  his  "  Views  a- Foot." 

The  part  now  published  contains  the  narrative  of  the  earlier,  and  to 
us  most  interesting,  though  not  the  most  practically  valuable,  part  of 
our  journey.  I  was  in  the  habit  of  writing  my  diary  usually  in  the 
form  of  a  letter,  to  be  sent  as  occasion  offered  to  friends  at  home.  It  is 
from  this  desultory  letter-diary,  with  such  revision  and  extension  and 
rilling  up  of  gaps,  as  my  memory  and  pocket-book  notes  afford,  that  this 
volume  has  been  formed.  I  have  most  desired  to  bring  before  my 
brother  farmers  and  their  families  such  things  that  I  saw  in  England 
as  have  conveyed  practical  agricultural  information  or  useful  sugges 
tions  to  myself,  and  such  evidences  of  simply  refined  tastes,  good  feel 
ings,  and  enlarged  Christian  sentiments  among  our  English  brethren, 
as  all  should  enjoy  to  read  of.  It  was  my  design  to  have  somewhat  ex 
tended  this  volume,  that  it  might  contain  a  greater  proportion  of  more 
distinctly  rural  matter,  but  the  liberal  proposal  of  Mr.  Putnam  to  in 
clude  it  in  the  excellent  popular  Series  he  is  now  publishing,  makes  a 
limit  to  its  length  necessary.  Should  I  have  reason  to  believe,  however, 
that  I  have  succeeded  in  the  purposes  which  led  me  to  write  for  the 
public,  I  shall  be  most  happy  at  another  time  to  continue  my  narrative. 

FEED.  LAW  OLMSTED. 
Toaomock  Farm,  ftuthride,  Staten  blmd. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 
Emigrant  Passenger  Agents. — Second  Cabin. — Mutiny. — Delay. — Departure. ...      9 

CHAPTER  II. 

At  Sea.— Incidents.— Sea  Sociability.— A  Yarn.— Sea  Life.— Characters.— En 
glish  Radicals,— Skeptics.— Education.— French  Infidelity.— Phrenology.— 
Theology 14 

CHAPTER  III. 
Sailors. — "  Sogers." — Books. — Anecdotes 37 

CHAPTER  IV. 
On  Soundings. — English  Small  Craft. — Harbour  of  Liverpool 41 

CHAPTER  V. 

The  first  of  England —The  Streets.— A  Railway  Station.— The  Docks  at  Night.— 
Prostitutes.— Temperance.— The  Still  Life  of  Li verpool.— A  Market 50 

CHAPTER  VI. 

The  People  at  Liverpool. — Poverty. — Merchants. — Shopkeepers. — Women. — 
Soldiers. — Children. — Donkeys  and  Dray  Horses 60 

CHAPTER  VII. 

Irish  Beggars. — Condition  of  Labourers. — Cost  of  Living. — Prices. — Bath  House. 
— Quarantine. — The  Docks. — Street  Scene. — "  Coming  Yankee  "  over  Non 
sense.— Artistic  Begging 65 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

Birkenhead. — Ferry-Boats. — Gruff  Englishman. — The  Abbey. — Flour. — Market. 

—The  Park.— A  Democratic  Institution.— Suburban  Villas;  &c 74 

1* 


4  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  IX. 

A  Railway  Ride. — Second  Class. — Inconvenient  Arrangements. — First  Walk  in 
the  Country. — England  itself. — A  Rural  Landscape. — Hedges. — Approach 
to  a  Hamlet.— The  old  Ale-House  and  the  old  John  Bull.— A  Talk  with  Coun 
try  People. — Notions  of  America. — Free  Trade. — The  Yew  Tree. — The  old 
Rural  Church  and  Graveyard. — A  Park  Gate. — A  Model  Farmer. — The  old 
Village  Inn.— A  Model  Kitchen.— A  Model  Landlady 85 

CHAPTER  X. 

Talk  with  a  Farmer; — With  a  Tender-Hearted  Wheelwright. — An  Amusing 
Story. — Notions  of  America. — Supper. — Speech  of  the  English. — Pleasant 
Tones.— Quaint  Expressions.— The  twenty-ninth  of  May.— Zaccheus  in  the 
Oak  Tree.— Education.— Bed-chambor.— A  Nightcap  and— a  Nightcap 92 

CHAPTER  XL 

The  Break  of  Day.— A  Full  Heart.— Familiar  Things.— The  Village  at  Sunrise.— 
Flowers.— Birds.— Dog  Kennels.—"  The  Squire"  and  "  The  Hall."— Rooks.— 
Visit  to  a  Small  Farm.— The  Cows.— The  Milking.— The  Dairy-Maids.— The 
Stables.— Manure.— Bones.— Pasture.— White  Clover.— Implements.— Carts. 
—The  English  Plough  and  Harrow : .  99 

CHAPTER  XII. 

Breakfast  at  the  Inn.— A  Tale  of  High  Life.— The  Garden  of  the  Inn.— An  old 
Farm-House.— Timber  Houses.— Labourer's  Cottages.— Wattles  and  Nog 
gin  Walls. — A  "Ferme  Ornee." — A  Lawn  Pasture. — The  Copper-Leaved 
Beech.— Tame  Black  Cattle.— Approach  to  Chester 104 

CHAPTER  XIII 
Chester  without.— A  Walk  on  the  Walls.— Antiquities.— Striking  Contrasts. . .  Ill 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

Chester  within.— Peculiarities  of  Building.— The  Rows.— The  old  Sea-Captain. 
—Romancing.— An  Old  Inn.— Old  English  Town  Houses.— Timber  Houses.— 
Claiming  an  Inheritance.— A  Cook  Shop.— One  of  the  Alleys.— Breaking  into 
the  Cathedral.— Expulsion.— The  Curfew 119 

CHAPTER  XV. 

Chester  Market.— The  Town  Common.— Race-Course.— The  Yeomanry  Cavalry, 
and  the  Militia  of  England.— Public  Wash-House.— "  Mr.  Chairman." 128 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

Visit  to  Eaton  Hall.— The  largest  Arch  in  the  World.— The  Outer  Park.— Back 
woods'  Farming.— The  Deer  Park.— The  Hall.— The  Parterre.— The  Lawn.— 
The  Fruit  Garden.— Stables 133 


CONTENTS.  5 

CHAPTER  XVII. 

Gamekeeper— Game  Preserves.— Eccleston,  a  Pretty  Village.— The  School- 
House.  —  Draining.  —  Children  Playing.  —  The  River-side  Walk.  —  Pleasure 
Parties.— A  Contrasting  Glimpse  of  a  Sad  Heart.— Saturday  Night.— Ballad 
Singer.— Mendicants.— Row  in  the  Tap-Room.— Woman's  Feebleness.— 
Chester  Beer,  and  Beer-Drinking 140 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 

Character  of  the  Welsh.— The  Cathedral ;  the  Clergy,  Service,  Intoning,  the 
Ludicrous  and  the  Sublime.— A  Reverie.— A  Revelation.— The  Sermon.— 
Communion.  —  Other  Churches.  —  Sunday  Evening.  —  Character  of  the 
Townspeople 150 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

Clandestine  Architectural  Studies.— A  Visit  to  the  Marquis  of  Westminster's 
Stud.— Stable  Matters 162 

CHAPTER  XX. 

The  Cheshire  Cheese  District  and  English  Husbandry  upon  Heavy  Soils.— Pas 
tures.— Their  Permanence.— The  Use  of  Bones  as  a  Manure  in  Cheshire.— A 
Valuable  Remark  to  Owners  of  Improved  Neat  Stock.— Breeds  of  Dairy 
Stock.— Horses 169 

CHAPTER  XXI. 

Tillage. — Size  of  Farms. — Condition  of  Labourers. — Fences. — Hedges. — Surface 
Drainage.— Under  Drainage.— Valuable  Implements  for  Stiff  Soils,  not  used 
in  the  United  States 177 

CHAPTER  XXII. 

The  General  Condition  of  Agriculture. — Rotation  of  Crops. — Productiveness. — 
Seeding  down  to  Grass. — Comparison  of  English  and  American  Practice.— 
Practical  Remarks.— Rye-Grass,  Clover.— Biennial  Grasses.— Guano.— Lime. 
—The  Condition  of  Labourers,  Wages,  etc.— Dairy-Maids.— Allowance  of 
Beer 183 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 
Remarks  on  the  Cultivation  of  Beet  and  Mangel- Wurzel 191 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 

Delightful  Walk  by  the  Dee  Banks,  and  through  Eaton  Park.— Wrexham.— A 
Fair. — Maids  by  a  Fountain. — The  Church. — Jackdaws. — The  Tap-Room  and 
Tap-Room  Talk. — Political  Deadness  of  the  Labouring  Class. — A  Methodist 
Bagman 194 


6  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  XXV. 

Morning  Walk  through  a  Coal  District.— Ruabon.— An  Optimist  with  a  Welsh 
Wife.  —  Graveyard  Notes.  —  A  Stage- Wagon.  —  Taxes.  —  Wynstay  Park.— 
Thorough  Draining — A  Glimpse  of  Cottage  Life. — "  Sir  Watkins  Williams 
Wyn." 199 

CHAPTER  XXVI. 

Stone  Houses. — Ivy. — Virginia  Creeper. — A  Visit  to  a  Welsh  Horse-Fair. — En 
glish  Vehicles.— Agricultural  Notes.— Horses.— Breeds  of  Cattle  ;  Herefords, 
Welsh,  and  Smutty  Pates.— Character  of  the  People.— Dress.— Powis  Park. .  206 

CHAPTER  XXVII. 

English  Vehicles. — A  Feudal  Castle  and  Modern  Aristocratic  Mansion. — Aris 
tocracy  in  1850.— Primogeniture.— Democratic  Tendency  of  Political  Senti 
ments.— Disposition  towards  the  United  States.— Combativeness.— Slavery.  212 

CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

Paintings. — Cromwell. — Pastoral  Ships. — Family  Portraits  and  Distant  Rela 
tions. — Family  Apartments. — Personal  Cleanliness. — The  Wrekin 224 

CHAPTER  XXIX. 

Visit  to  a  Farm.— Farm-House  and  Farmery.— Fatting  Cattle.— Sheep.— Vetches. 
— Stack  Yard.  —  Steam  Threshing.  —  Turnip  Sowing.  —  Excellent  Work.  — 
Tram  Road.— Wages 228 

CHAPTER  XXX. 
Visit  to  two  English  Common  Schools 232 

Appendix  A 235 

Appendix  B 246 


LIST    OF    CUTS, 

DRAWN        ON        WOOD        BT       A.       FIELD, 
FROM  SKETCHES    BY    THE   AUTHOR. 


1.  THE  SCHOOL-HOUSE  (vignette, 

2.  THE  ENGLISH  COASTEB  (calm),  .  .  .  .  .45 

3.  THE  ENGLISH  COASTER  (squalls*),               ....  47 

4.  THE  ENGLISH  PLOUGH  (vertical),         .....  103 

5.  THE  ENGLISH  PLOUGH  (horizontal),           ....  103 

6.  THE  TIMBER  HOUSE  (old farm-house),             ....  10T 

7.  OLD  ENGLISH  DOMESTIC  ARCHITECTURE  (Chester,  IQtTi  century), .  124 

8.  OLD  ENGLISH  DOMESTIC  ARCHITECTURE  (Chester,  IQtk  century),       .  149 

9.  THE  CLOD  CRUSHER,            ......  180 

10.  THE  ULET  CULTIVATOR,           .......  182 

11.  THE  STAGE  WAGON,            ......  202 

12.  OLD  ENGLISH  DOMESTIC  ARCHITECTURE  (the  village  schoolmaster's 

cottage),     ........  207 


SBulfos  anii 


AMERICAN   FARMER  IN  ENGLAND, 


CHAPTER  I. 

EMIGRANT    PASSENGER    AGENTS. SECOND    CABIN. MUTINY. DELAY. 

DEPARTURE. 

¥E  intended,  if  we  could  be  suited,  to  take  a  second-cabin 
state-room  for  our  party  of  three,  and  to  accommodate 
me  my  friends  had  agreed  to  wait  till  "  after  planting" 
While  I  therefore  hurried  on  the  spring  work  upon  my  farm, 
they  in  the  city  were  examining  ships  and  consulting  passen 
ger  agents.  The  confidence  in  imposition  those  acquire  who 
are  in  the  habit  of  dealing  with  emigrant  passengers,  was 
amusingly  shown  in  the  assurance  with  which  they  would 
attempt  to  lie  down  the  most  obvious  objections  to  what  they 
had  to  offer ;  declaring  that  a  cabin  disgusting  with  filth  and 
the  stench  of  bilge- water  was  sweet  and  clean,  that  darkness 
in  which  they  would  be  groping  was  very  light  (a  trick,  cer- 

84627 


10  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

tainly,  not  confined  to  their  trade),  that  a  space  in  which  one 
could  not  stand  erect,  or  a  berth  like  a  coffin,  was  very  roomy, 
and  so  forth. 

Finally  we  were  taken  in  by  the  perfect  impudence  and 
utter  simplicity  in  falsehood  of  one  of  them,  an  underling  of 
"  a  respectable  house" — advertised  passenger  agents  of  the 
ship — which,  on  the  lie  being  represented  to  it,  thought  proper 
to  express  its  "  regret"  at  the  young  man's  error,  but  could 
not  be  made  to  see  that  it  was  proper  for  them  to  do  any 
thing  more, — the  error  not  having  been  discovered  in  time  for 
us  to  conveniently  make  other  arrangements. 

We  had  engaged  a  "  family-room"  exclusively  for  our 
selves,  in  the  very  large  and  neatly-fitted  cabin  of  a  new, 
clean  first-class  packet.  We  thought  the  price  asked  for  it 
very  low,  and  to  secure  it  beyond  a  doubt,  had  paid  half  the 
money  down  at  the  agent's  desk,  and  taken  a  receipt,  put 
some  of  our  baggage  in  it,  locked  the  door,  and  taken  the  key. 
The  ship  was  hauling  out  from  her  pier  when  we  went  on 
board  with  our  trunks,  and  found  the  spacious  second  cabin 
had  been  stored  half  full  of  cotton,  and  the  remaining  space 
was  lumbered  up  with  ship  stores,  spare  sails,  &c.  The  ad 
joining  rooms  were  occupied  by  steerage  passengers,  and  the 
steward  was  trying  keys  to  let  them  into  ours.  The  mate 
cursed  us  for  taking  the  key,  and  the  captain  declared  no  one 
had  been  authorized  to  make  such  arrangements  as  had  been 
entered  into  with  us,  and  that  he  should  put  whom  he  pleased 
into  the  room. 

We  held  on  to  the  key,  and  appealed  first  to  the  agents 
and  then  to  the  owners.  Finally  we  agreed  to  take  a  single 
room-mate,  a  young  man  whom  they  introduced  to  us,  and 
whose  appearance  promised  agreeably,  and  with  this  compro 
mise  were  allowed  to  retain  possession.  The  distinction 
between  second  cabin  and  steerage  proved  to  be  an  imagina- 


PASSENGER  AGENTS.— MUTINY.  \\ 

tion  of  the  agents — those  who  had  asked  for  a  steerage  pas 
sage  were  asked  a  little  less,  and  had  berths  given  them  in 
the  second-cabin  state-rooms,  the  proper  steerage  being  filled 
up  with  freight.  The  captain,  however,  directed  the  cook  to 
serve  us,  allowed  us  a  light  at  night  in  our  room,  and  some 
other  extra  conveniences  and  privileges,  and  generally  treated 
us  after  we  got  to  sea  as  if  he  considered  us  rather  more  of 
the  "  gentleman"  class  than  the  rest ; — about  two  dollars 
apiece  more,  I  suppose 

After  the  ship  had  hauled  out  into  the  stream,  and  while 
she  lay  in  charge  of  the  first  mate,  the  captain  having  gone 
ashore,  there  was  a  bit  of  mutiny  among  the  seamen.  Nearly 
the  whole  crew  refused  to  do  duty,  and  pledged  each  other  never 
to  take  the  ship  to  sea.  Seeing  that  the  officers,  though  pre 
pared  with  loaded  pistols,  were  not  disposed  to  act  rashly,  we 
offered  to  assist  them,  for  the  men  had  brought  up  their  chests 
and  \vere  collecting  handspikes  and  weapons,  and  threatened 
to  take  a  boat  from  the  davits  if  they  were  not  sent  on  shore. 
It  was  curious  to  see  how  the  steerage  passengers,  before  they 
had  any  idea  of  the  grounds  of  the  quarrel,  but  as  if  by  in 
stinct,  almost  to  a  man,  took  sides  against  the  lawful  authority. 

Having  had  some  experience  with  the  ways  of  seamen,  I 
also  went  forward  to  try  to  pacify  them.  (Like  most  Con- 
necticut  boys,  I  knocked  about  the  world  a  few  years  before 
I  settled  down,  and  one  of  these  I  spent  in  a  ship's  forecastle.) 
The  only  thing  the  soberest  of  them  could  say  was,  that  a  man 
had  been  killed  on  the  ship,  and  they  knew  she  was  going  to 
be  unlucky ;  and  that  they  had  been  shipped  in  her  when  too 
drunk  to  know  what  they  were  about.  Perceiving  that  all 
that  the  most  of  them  wanted  was  to  get  ashore,  that  they 
might  have  their  spree  out,  and  as  there  was  no  reason 
ing  with  them,  I  advised  the  mate  to  send  them  a  fiddle  and 
let  them  get  to  dancing.  He  liked  the  kfafr,  but  had  no  fid- 


12  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

die,  so  as  the  next  most  pacifying  amusement,  ordered  the 
cook  to  give  them  supper.  They  took  to  this  kindly,  and 
after  using  it  up  went  to  playing  monkey  shines,  and  with 
singing,  dancing,  and  shouting  kept  themselves  in  good 
humour  until  late  in  the  evening,  when  they,  one  by  one, 
dropped  off,  and  turned  in.  The  next  morning  they  were  all 
drunk  and  sulky,  and  contented  themselves  with  refusing  tc 
come  on  deck  when  ordered. 

When  the  captain  came  on  board  and  learned  the  state 
of  things,  he  took  a  hatchet,  and  with  the  officers  and 
carpenter  jumped  into  the  forecastle,  and  with  a  general 
knocking  down  and  kicking  out,  got  them  all  on  deck.  He 
then  broke  open  their  chests  and  took  from  them  six  jugs  of 
grog  which  they  had  concealed,  and  threw  them  overboard. 
As  thejr  floated  astern,  a  Whitehall  boatman  picked  them 
up,  and  after  securing  the  last,  took  a  drink  and  loudly 
wished  us  good  luck. 

Two  or  three  of  the  most  violent  were  sent  on  shore  (not 
punished,  but  so  rewarded),  and  their  places  supplied  by 
others.  The  rest  looked  a  little  sour,  and  contrived  to  meet 
with  a  good  many  accidents  as  long  as  the  shore  boats  kept 
about  us  ;  but  when  we  were  fairly  getting  clear  of  the  land, 
and  the  wind  hauled  a  bit  more  aft,  and  the  passengers  began 
to  wish  she  would  stop  for  just  one  moment,  and  there  came 
a  whirr-rushing  noise  from  under  the  bows — the  hearty  yo- 
ho — heave-o-hoii — with  which  they  roused  out  the  stu'n-sails 
was  such  as  nobody  the  least  bit  sulky  could  have  begun  to 
have  found  voice  for. 

A  handsome  Napoleonic  performance  it  was  of  the  cap 
tain's  : — the  more  need  that  I  should  say  that  in  my  mind  he 
A  disgraced  himself  by  it ;  because,  while  we  lay  almost  within 
hail  of  the  properly  constituted  officers  of  the  law,  and  under 
the  guns  of  a  United  States  fortress  such  dashing  violence 


THE  START.  13 

was  unnecessary  and  lawless ; — only  at  sea  had  he  the  right, 
or  could  he  be  justified  in  using  it. 

I  suppose  that  some  such  difficulties  occur  at  the  sailing 
of  half  the  ships  that  leave  New  York.  I  have  been  on  board 
a  number  as  they  were  getting  under  way,  and  in  every  one 
of  them  there  has  been  more  or  less  trouble  arising  from  the 
intoxicated  condition  of  the  crew.  Twice  I  have  seen  men 
fall  overboard,  when  first  ordered  aloft,  in  going  down  the 
harbour. 

The  ship  did  not  go  to  sea  until  three  days  after  she  was 
advertised  to  sail,  though  she  had  her  crew,  stores,  and  steerage 
passengers  on  board  all  that  time.  I  do  not  know  the  cause 
of  her  detention  ;  it  seemed  unnecessary,  as  other  large  ships 
sailed  while  we  lay  idle;  and  if  unnecessary,  it  was  not 
honest.  The  loss  of  three  days'  board,  and  diminution  by  so 
much  of  the  stores,  calculated  to  last  out  the  passage,  and  all 
the  other  expenses  and  inconveniences  occasioned  by  it  to  the 
poor  steerage  passengers,  may  seem  hardly  worthy  of  notice ; 
and  I  should  not  mention  it,  if  such  delays,  often  much  more 
protracted,  were  not  frequent,  sometimes  adding  materially 
to  the  suffering  always  attending  a  long  passage. 

At  noon  on  the  3d  of  May  we  passed  out  by  the  light 
ship  of  the  outer  bar,  and  soon  after  eight  o'clock  that  even 
ing  the  last  gleam  of  Fire-Island  light  disappeared  behind 
the  dark  line  of  unbroken  horizon. 

2 


14  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 


CHAPTER  II. 

AT  SEA. — INCIDENTS. — SEA  SOCIABILITY. — A  YARN. — SEA   LIFE. CHARACTERS. 

ENGLISH     RADICALS. SKEPTICS. EDUCATION. FRENCH      INFIDELITY. 

PHRENOLOGY. THEOLOGY. 

At  Sea,  May  23. 

TT7~E  are  reckoned  to-day  to  be  about  one  hundred  and  fifty 
' '  miles  to  the  westward  of  Cape  Clear ;  ship  close-hauled, 
heading  north,  with  a  very  dim  prospect  of  the  termination 
of  our  voyage.  It  has  been  thus  far  rather  dull  and  unevent 
ful.  We  three  have  never  been  obliged  to  own  ourselves 
actually  sea-sick,  but  at  any  time  during  the  first  week  we 
could  hardly  have  declared  that  we  felt  perfectly  well,  and 
our  appetites  seemed  influenced  at  every  meal  as  if  by  a 
gloomy  apprehension  of  what  an  hour  might  bring  forth. 
Most  of  the  other  passengers  have  been  very  miserable  in 
deed.  I  notice  they  recover  more  rapidly  in  the  steerage 
than  in  the  cabin.  This  I  suppose  to  be  owing  to  their  situa 
tion  in  the  middle  of  the  ship,  where  there  is  the  least  motion, 
to  their  simple  diet,  and  probably  to  their  having  less  temp 
tation  to  eat  freely,  and  greater  necessity  to  "  make  an  effort," 
and  move  about  in  fresh  air. 

We  have  met  one  school  of  small  whales.  There  might 
have  been  fifty  of  them,  tumbling  ponderously  over  the 
waves,  in  sight  at  once.  Occasionally  one  would  rise  lazily 
up  so  near,  that,  as  he  caught  sight  of  us,  we  could  seem  to 
see  an  expression  of  surprise  and  alarm  in  his  stolid,  black 


THE   VOYAGE.  15 

face,  and  then  he  would  hastily  throw  himself  under  again, 
with  an  energetic  slap  of  his  flukes. 

One  dark,  foggy  night,  while  we  were  "  on  the  Banks," 
we  witnessed  a  rather  remarkable  exhibition  of  marine  pyro- 
techny.  The  whole  water,  as  far  as  we  could  see,  was  lustrous 
white,  while  nearer  the  eye  it  was  full  of  spangles,  and  every 
disturbance,  as  that  caused  by  the  movement  of  the  ship,  or 
the  ripples  from  the  wind,  or  the  surging  of  the  sea,  was 
marked  by  fire  flashes.  Very  singular  spots,  from  the  size  of 
one's  hand  to  minute  sparks,  frequently  floated  by,  looking 
like  stars  in  the  milky-way.  We  noticed  also  several  schools, 
numbering  hundreds,  of  what  seemed  little  fishes  (perhaps  an 
inch  long),  that  darted  here  and  there,  comet-like,  with  great 
velocity.  I  tried,  without  success,  to  catch  some  of  these.  It 
w^as  evident  that,  besides  the  ordinary  phosphorescent  animal- 
cula,  there  were  various  and  distinct  varieties  of  animated 
nature  around  us,  such  as  are  not  often  to  be  observed. 

Some  kind  of  sea-bird  we  have  seen,  I  think,  every  day, 
and  when  at  the  greatest  distance  from  land.  Where  is  their 
home  1  is  an  oft-repeated  question,  and,  What  do  they  eat  1 
They  are  mysteries,  these  feathered  Bedouins.  To-day,  land 
and  long-legged  shore  birds  are  coming  on  board  of  us.  They 
fly  tremulously  about  the  ship,  sometimes  going  off  out  of 
sight  and  back  again,  then  lighting  for  a  few  moments  on  a 
spar  or  line  of  rigging.  Some  have  fallen  asleep  so  ;  or  suf 
fered  themselves,  though  panting  with  apprehension,  to  be 
taken.  One  of  these  is  a  swallow,  and  another  a  wheatear. 
Some  kind  of  a  lark,  but  not  recognisable  by  the  English  on 
board,  was  taken  several  days  since.  It  had  probably  been 
lost  from  the  Western  Islands. 

We  have  seen  but  very  few  vessels ;  but  the  meeting  with 
one  of  them  was  quite  an  event  in  sea  life.  She  was  coming 
from  the  eastward,  wind  north,  and  running  free,  when  we 


16  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

first  saw  her,  but  soon  after  took  in  her  studding-sails  and 
hauled  up  so  as  to  come  near  us.  When  abeam,  and  about 
three  miles  distant,  she  showed  German  colours,  laid  aback 
her  mainsail  and  lowered  a  quarter-boat,  which  we  immedi 
ately  squared  away  to  meet,  and  ran  up  our  bunting,  every 
body  on  deck,  and  great  excitement.  With  a  glass  we  could 
see  her  decks  loaded  with  emigrants ;  and  as  her  masts  and 
sails  appeared  entirely  uninjured,  it  could  only  be  conjectured 
that  she  was  distressed  for  provisions  or  water.  The  carpen 
ter  was  sent  to  sound  the  water  tanks,  and  the  mate  to  make 
an  estimate  of  what  stores  might  be  safely  spared,  while  we 
hastened  to  our  rooms  to  scribble  notes  to  send  home.  We 
finished  them  soon  enough  to  see  a  neat  boat,  rowed  by  four 
men,  come  alongside,  and  a  gentlemanly  young  officer  mount 
nimbly  up  the  side-ladder.  He  was  received  on  deck  by  our 
second  mate,  and  conducted  aft  by  him  to  the  cabin  compan 
ion,  where  the  captain,  having  put  on  his  best  dress-coat  and 
new  Broadway  stove-pipe  hat,  stood,  like  a  small  king,  digni- 
fiedly  waiting.  After  the  ceremony  of  presentation,  the  cap 
tain  inquired,  "  Well,  sir,  what  can  I  have  the  pleasure  of 
doing  for  you  ?"  The  young  man  replied  that  he  came  from 

the  ship  so  and  so,  Captain ,  who  sent  his  compliments, 

and  desired  "  Vaat  is  te  news  ?"  This  cool  motive  for  stop 
ping  two  ships  in  mid-ocean,  with  a  fresh  and  favourable  wind 
blowing  for  each,  took  the  captain  plainly  aback;  but  he 
directly  recovered,  and  taking  him  into  the  cabin,  gave  him 
a  glass  of  wine  and  a  few  minutes'  conversation  with  a 
most  creditable  politeness  ;  a  chunk  of  ice  and  a  piece  of  fresh 
meat  were  passed  into  the  boat,  and  the  steerage  passengers 
threw  some  tobacco  to  the  men  in  her.  The  young  officer 
took  our  letters,  with  some  cigars  and  newspapers,  and  went 
over  the  side  again,  without  probably  having  perceived  that 
we  were  any  less  gregarious  beings  than  himself.  The  curbed 


A   "BOARDING-"   ANECDOTE.  17 

energy  and  suppressed  vexation  of  our  officers,  however, 
showed  itself  before  he  was  well  seated  in  his  boat,  by  the 
violent  language  of  command,  and  the  rapidity  with  which 
the  yards  were  sharpened  and  the  ship  again  brought  to  her 
course.  ^ 

This  occurrence  brought  to  the  mind  of  our  "second  dickey" 
that  night,  a  boarding  affair  of  his  own,  which  he  told  us  of 
in  the  drollest  manner  possible.  I  wish  you  could  hear  his 
drawl,  and  see  his  immoveably  sober  face,  but  twinkling  eye, 
that  made  it  all  seem  natural  and  just  like  him,  as  he  spun 
us  the  yarn. 

He  was  once,  he  said,  round  in  the  Pacific,  in  a  Sag-Har 
bour  whaler,  "rayther  smart,  we  accounted  her,"  when  they 
tried  to  speak  an  English  frigate,  and  did  not  get  quite  near 
enough.  So,  as  they  had  nothing  else  to  do,  they  "  up't  and 
chased  her,"  and  kept  after  her  without  ever  getting  any 
nearer  for  nearly  three  days.  Finally,  the  wind  hauled  round 
ahead  and  began  to  blow  a  little  fresh,  and  they  overhauled 
her  very  rapidly,  so  that  along  about  sunset  they  found  them 
selves  coming  well  to  windward  of  her,  as  they  ran  upon 
opposite  tacks.  They  then  hove-to,  and  he  was  sent  in  a 
boat  to  board  her,  and  she  promptly  came-to  also,  and  waited 
for  him. 

Dressed  in  a  dungaree  jumper,  yellow  oil-skin  hat,  and 
canvass  trowsers,  he  climbed  on  board  the  frigate  and  was 
immediately  addressed  by  the  officer  of  the  deck. 

"  Now  then,  sir,  what  is  it  ?" 

"  Are  you  the  cap'en  of  this  here  frigate,  sir  ?" 

"  What's  your  business  ?" 

"  Why,  our  cap'en  sent  his  compliments  to  yourn,  sir,  and 
— if  you  are  a  going  home — he  wished  you'd  report  the  bark 
Lucreetshy  Ann,  of  Sag,-Harbour,  Cap'en  J.  Coffin  Starbuck, 
thirty-seven  days  from  Wahoo  (Oahu),  seven  hundred  and 

2* 


18  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

fifty  barrels  of  sperm,  and  two  hundred  and  fifty  of  whale ; 
guess  we  shall  go  in  to  Tuckeywarner  (Talcahuano)." 

"Is  that  all,  sir?" 

"  Well,  no  ;  the  old  man  did  say,  if  you  was  a  mind  to, 
he'd  like  to  have  me  see  if  I  could  make  a  trade  with  yer  for 
some  tobacky.  We  hadn't  had  none  now  a  going  on  two 
week,  and  he's  a  most  sick.  How  is't — yer  mind  to  ?" 

"Is  that  all  your  business,  sir?" 

"Well — yes;  I  guess  'tis  about  all." 

"  I  think  you  had  better  get  into  your  boat,  sir." 

He  thought  so  too,  when  he  saw  the  main-yard  imme 
diately  after  begin  to  swing  round.  As  the  officer  stepped 
below,  he  went  over  the  side.  When  he  called  out  to  have 
the  painter  let  go  though,  he  was  told  to  wait  a  bit,  and  di 
rectly  a  small  parcel  of  tobacco  was  handed  down  and  the 
same  officer,  looking  over  the  rail,  asked, 

"  Did  you  say  the  Lucretia  Ann?" 

"  Ay,  ay,  sir ;  Lucreetshy  Ann,  of  Sag-Harbour." 

"Mr.  Starboard,  I  believe." 

"  <  Buck;  sir,  '  buck:     How  about  this  'backey  ?" 

The  lieutenant,  raising  his  head,  his  cap,  striking  the  main- 
sheet  as  it  was  being  hauled  down,  was  knocked  off  and  fell 
into  the  wrater,  when  one  of  the  whalers  immediately  lanced 
it  and  held  it  up  dripping. 

"  Hallo,  mister ;  I  say,  what  shall  we  do  with  this  cap  1 
Did  you  mean  ter  throw  it  in." 

The  officer  once  more  looked  over  the  side,  with  half  a 
dozen  grinning  middies,  and  imperturbably  dignified,  replied, 

"  You  will  do  me  the  favor  to  present  it  to  Captain  Buck, 
and  say  to  him,  if  you  please,  that  when  he  wishes  to  com 
municate  with  one  of  Her  Majesty's  ships  again,  it  will  be 
proper  for  him  to  do  so  in  person." 

"  Oh,  certainly — oh,  yes ;  good  night  to  yer.     Here,  let's 


A   GALE.  19 

have  that  cap.  Give  way,  now,  boys,"  so  saying  he  clapped 
it  on  the  top  of  his  old  souwester,  and  as  the  frigate  forged 
ahead,  the  boat  dropped  astern,  and  was  pulled  back  to  the 
Lucretia  Ann. 

We  have  had  only  three  days  of  any  thing  like  bad  weather, 
and  those  we  enjoyed,  I  think,  quite  as  much  as  any.  The 
storm  was  preceded  by  some  twenty-four  hours  of  a  clear, 
fresh  northwester,  driving  us  along  on  our  course  with  foaming, 
sparkling,  and  most  exhilarating  speed.  It  gives  a  fine  sensa 
tion  to  be  so  borne  along,  like  that  of  riding  a  great,  power 
ful,  and  spirited  horse,  or  of  dashing  yourself  through  the 
crashing  surf,  and  in  your  own  body  breasting  away  the  bil 
lows  as  they  sweep  down  upon  you.  Gradually  it  grew 
more  and  more  ahead,  and  blew  harder  and  harder.  When 
we  came  on  deck  early  in  the  morning,  the  horizon  seemed 
within  a  stone's  throw,  and  there  was  a  grand  sight  of  dark- 
marbled  swelling  waves,  rushing  on  tumultuously,  crowding 
away  and  trampling  under  each  other,  as  if  panic-struck  by 
the  grey,  lowering,  misty  clouds  that  were  sweeping  down 
with  an  appearance  of  intense  mysterious  purpose  over  them. 
The  expression  was  of  vehement  energy  blindly  directed. 
The  ship,  lying-to  under  trifling  storm-sail,  seemed  to  have 
composed  herself  for  a  trial,  and,  neither  advancing  nor  shrink 
ing  back,  rose  and  fell  with  more  than  habitual  ease  and  dig 
nity.  Having  been  previously  accustomed  only  to  the 
fidgety  movements  of  a  smaller  class  of  vessels,  I  was  greatly 
surprised  and  impressed  by  her  deliberate  'movements ;  the 
quietness  and  simplicity  with  which  she  answered  the  threats 
of  the  turbulent  elements. 

"  If  only  that  northwester  had  continued" — every  body  is 
saying — "  we  might  have  been  in  Liverpool  by  this."  It's 
not  unfashionable  yet  at  sea  to  talk  about  the  weather.  I  am 


20  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

to  write  about  what  is  most  interesting  us  !  Well,  the  wind 
and  weather.  Bad  time  when  it  comes  to  that  ?  Well,  now, 
— here  I  am,  sitting  on  a  trunk,  bracing  myself  between  two 
berths,  with  my  portfolio  on  my  knees — imagine  the  motion 
of  the  vessel,  the  flickering,  inconstant  half-light  that  comes 
through  a  narrow  piece  of  inch-thick  glass,  which  the  people 
on  deck  are  constantly  crossing,  exclamations  from  them, 
dash  of  waves  and  creaking  of  timber,  and  various  noises 
both  distracting  and  lullaby  ing,  and  if  you  can't  understand 
the  difficulty  of  thinking  connectedly,  you  may  begin  to  that 
of  writing. 

John's  eyes  have  been  bad,  and  we  have  read  aloud  with 
him  a  good  deal ;  but  I  tell  you  it  is  hard  work  even  to  read 
on  board  ship.  We  have  had  some  good  talks,  have  listened 
to  a  good  deal  of  music,  and  to  a  bad  deal,  and  had  a  few 
staggering  hops  with  the  ladies  on  the  quarter  deck.  We 
contrived  a  set  of  chess-men,  cutting  them  out  of  card-board, 
fitting  them  with  cork  pedestals,  and  a  pin-point  to  attach 
them  to  the  board  so  they  would  not  slip  off  or  blow  away. 
Charley  has  had  some  capital  games,  and  I  believe  found  his 
match  with  Dr.  M.,  one  of  the  cabin  passengers  returning 
home  from  the  East  Indies  by  way  of  California,  who  prom 
ises  to  introduce  him  at  a  London  chess  club. 

I  told  you  in  my  letter  by  the  pilot-boat,  how  we  had 
been  humbugged  about  the  second  cabin.  While  this  has 
reduced  the  cost  of  our  passage  to  a  very  small  sum,  we  have 
had  almost  every  comfort  that  we  should  have  asked.  Our 
room  is  considerably  more  spacious,  having  been  intended 
for  a  family  apartment,  and  has  the  advantage  of  much  less 
motion  than  those  of  the  first  cabin.  For  a  ship's  accommo 
dations  it  has,  too,  a  quite  luxurious  degree  of  ventilation  and 
light.  There  is  a  large  port  in  it  that  we  can  open  at  pleasure, 
having  only  been  obliged  to  close  it  during  two  nights  of  the 


THE    VOYAGE.  21 

gale.  Our  stores  have  held  out  well,  and  the  cook  has  served 
us  excellently,  giving  us,  particularly,  nice  fresh  rolls,  soups, 
omelettes,  and  puddings.  We  have  hardly  tasted  our  cured 
meat,  and  with  this  and  our  hard  bread  we  are  now  helping 
out  some  of  our  more  unfortunate  neighbors.  Split  peas  and 
portable  soup  (bouillon),  with  fresh  and  dried  fruit,  have 
been  valuable  stores ;  even  our  friends  in  the  cabin  have  been 
gladly  indebted  to  us  for  the  latter.  Don't  forget  when  you 
come  to  sea  to  have  plenty  of  fruit. 

As  the  captain  desired  us  to  use  the  quarter-deck  privi 
leges,  we  have  associated  as  we  pleased  with  the  first-cabin 
passengers,  and  found  several  valuable  acquaintances  among 
them.  (Friend,  rather,  I  should  call  one  now.) 

Our  room-mate,  a  young  Irish  surgeon,  is  a  very  good 
fellow,  apparently  of  high  professional  attainments,  and  pos 
sessed  of  a  power  of  so  concentrating  his  attention  on  a  book 
or  whatever  he  is  engaged  with,  as  not  to  be  easily  disturbed, 
and  a  general  politeness  in  yielding  to  the  tastes  of  the 
majority  that  we  are  greatly  beholden  to.  He  is  a  devoted 
admirer  of  Smith  O'Brien,  and  thinks  the  Irish  rising  of  '48 
would  have  been  successful,  if 'he  (O'B.)  had  not  been  too 
strictly  honest  and  honorable  a  man  to  lead  a  popular  revolt. 
Of  what  he  saw  and  knew  at  that  time,  he  has  given  us  some 
interesting  particulars,  which  lead  me  to  think  that  the  revo 
lutionary  purpose,  insurrection,  or  at  least  the  insurrectionary 
purpose,  and  preparation  was  much  more  general,  respectable, 
and  formidable,  than  I  have  hitherto  supposed. 

Of  his  last  winter's  passage,  in  an  emigrant  ship,  across 
the  Atlantic,  he  gives  us  a  most  thrilling  account. 

He  had  been  appointed  surgeon  of  a  vessel  aK&ut  to  sail 
from  a  small  port  in  Ireland.  She  was  nearly  ready  for  sea, 
the  passengers  collecting  and  stores  taken  on  board,  when 
some  discovery  was  made  that  involved  the  necessity  of 


22  A^'  AMERICAS  FARMER   IN  ENGLAND. 

withdrawing  her.  Another  ship  was  procured  from  Liver 
pool,  and  the  stores,  passengers,  doctor,  and  all,  hastily  trans 
ferred  to  her  in  the  night,  as  soon  as  she  arrived.  They  got 
to  sea,  and  he  found  there  was  hardly  a  particle  of  any  thing 
in  the  medicine  chest.  He  begged  the  captain  to  put  back, 
but  the  captain  was  a  stubborn,  reckless,  devil-may-care  fel 
low,  and  only  laughed  at  him.  That  very  night  the  cholera 
broke  out.  He  went  again  to  the  captain,  he  beseeched  him, 
he  threatened  him ;  he  told  him  that  on  his  head  must  be 
the  consequences ;  the  captain  didn't  care  a  rope  yarn  for  the 
consequences,  he  would  do  any  thing  else  to  oblige  the  doctor, 
but  go  back  he  would  not.  The  doctor  turned  the  pigs  out 
of  the  long-boat,  and  made  a  temporary  hospital  of  it.  It 
was  a  cold  place,  but  any  thing  was  better  than  that  horrible 
steerage.  Nevertheless,  down  into  the  steerage  the  doctor 
would  himself  go  every  morning,  nor  leave  it  till  every  soul 
had  gone  or  been  carried  on  deck  before  him.  He  searched 
the  ship  for  something  he  could  make  medicine  of.  The  car 
penter's  chalk  was  the  only  thing  that  turned  up.  This  he 
calcined  and  saved,  to  be  used  sparingly.  He  forced  those 
who  were  the  least  sea-sick  to  become  nurses ;  convalescents 
and  those  with  less  dangerous  illness,  he  placed  beds  for  on 
the  galley  and  the  hen-coops,  and  made  the  captain  give  up 
his  fowls  and  other  delicacies  to  them.  Fortunately  fair 
weather  continued,  and  with  sleepless  vigilance,  and  strength, 
as  it  seemed  to  him,  almost  miraculously  sustained,  he  con 
tinued  to  examine  and  send  on  deck  for  some  hours  each  day, 
every  one  of  the  three  hundred  passengers.  On  the  first 
cholera  symptoms  appearing,  he  gave  the  patient  chalk,  and 
continued  administering  it  in  small  but  frequent  doses  until 
the  spasmodic  crisis  commenced;  thence  he  troubled  him 
only  with  hot  fomentations.  The  third  day  out  a  man  died 
and  was  buried.  The  captain  read  the  funeral  service,  and 


EMIGRANT  PASSENGERS.  23 

after  the  body  had  disappeared  beneath  the  blue  water,  the 
doctor  took  advantage  of  the  solemn  moment  again  to  appeal 
to  him. 

"  Captain,  there  are  three  hundred  souls  in  this  ship — " 

"Belay  that,  doctor;  I'll  see  every  soul  of  'em  in 
Davy's  locker,  sir,  before  I'll  put  my  ship  back  for  your 
cursed  physic." 

The  doctor  said  no  more,  but  turned  away  with  a  heavy 
heart  to  do  his  duty  as  best  he  could. 

I  cannot  describe  the  horrors  of  that  passage  as  he  would. 
Nevertheless,  as  far  as  simple  numbers  can  give  it,  you  shall 
have  the  result. 

Out  of  those  three  hundred  souls,  before  the  ship  reached 
New  York,  there  died  one,  and  he,  the  doctor  declared  most 
soberly,  was  a  very  old  man,  and  half  dead  with  a  chronic 
(something)  when  he  came  on  board.  So  much  for  burnt 
chalk  and — fresh  air  ! 

But  seriously,  this  story,  which,  as  I  have  repeated  it,  I 
believe  is  essentially  true,  though  not  in  itself  a  painful  one, 
not  the  less  strikingly  shows  with  what  villanous  barbarity, 
by  disregard  or  evasion  of  the  laws  of  England,  and  the 
neglect  or  connivance  of  the  port  officers,  the  emigrant  traffic 
is  carried  on.  Some  of  the  accounts  of  the  three  other 
medical  men  on  board,  who  are  also  returning  from  passages 
in  emigrant  ships,  would  disgust  a  slave-trader.  They  say 
that  many  of  the  passengers  will  never  go  on  deck  unless 
they  are  driven  or  carried,  and  frequently  the  number  of 
these  is  so  great,  that  it  is  impossible  to  force  them  out  of 
their  berths,  and  they  sometimes  lie  in  them  in  the  most 
filthy  manner  possible,  without  ever  stepping  out  from  the 
first  heave  of  the  sickening  sea  .till  the  American  pilot  is 
received  on  board.  Then  their  wives,  husbands,  children,  as 
the  case  may  be,  who  have  served  them  with  food  during 


24  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

their  prostration,  get  them  up,  and,  if  they  can  afford  it, 
change  their  garments,  throwing  the  old  ones,  with  the  bed 
and  its  accumulations,  overboard.  So,  as  any  one  may  see, 
from  a  dozen  ships  a  day  often  in  New  York,  they  come 
ashore  with  no  disease  but  want  of  energy,  but  emaciated, 
enfeebled,  infected,  and  covered  with  vermin.  When  we 
observe  the  listlessness,  even  cheerfulness,  with  which  they 
accept  the  precarious  and  dog-like  subsistence  which,  while  in 
this  condition,  the  already  crowded  city  affords  them,  we 
see  the  misery  and  degradation  to  which  they  must  have 
been  habituated  in  their  native  land.  When  in  a  year  after 
wards  we  find  that  the  same  poor  fellows  are  plainly  growing 
active,  hopeful,  enterprising,  prudent,  and,  if  they  have  been 
favourably  situated,  cleanly,  tidy,  and  actually  changing  to 
their  very  bones  as  it  seems — tight,  elastic,  well-knit  muscles 
taking  the  place  of  flabby  flesh,  as  ambition  and  blessed 
discontent  take  the  place  of  stupid  indifference, — -'we  appre 
ciate,  as  the  landlords  and  the  government  men  of  Ireland 
never  can,  what  are  the  causes  of  that  degradation  and 
misery. 

Dr.  M.  gives  much  happier  accounts  of  the  English 
governmental  emigrant  ships  to  Australia,  in  which  he  has 
made  two  voyages.  Some  few  of  their  arrangements  are  so 
entirely  commendable,  and  so  obviously  demanded  by  every 
consideration  of  decency,  humanity,  and  virtue,  that  I  can 
only  wonder  that  the  law  does  not  require  all  emigrant 
vessels  to  adopt  them.  Among  these,  that  which  is  most 
plainly  required,  is  the  division  of  the  steerage  into  three 
compartments :  married  parties  with  their  children  in  the 
central  one,  and  unmarried  men  and  women  having  separate 
sleeping  accommodations  in  the  other  two. 

The  others  of  our  midship  passengers  are  mostly  English 
artisans,  or  manufacturing  workmen.  There  are  two  or  three 


MIDSHIP   PASSENGERS.  25 

farmers,  a  number  of  Irish  servants,  male  and  female,  and 
several  nondescript  adventurers ;  two  Scotchmen  only, 
brothers,  both  returning  from  Cuba  sugar  plantations  where 
they  have  been  employed  as  engineers.  They  tell  us  the 
people  there  are  all  for  annexation  to  the  United  States,  but 
as  they  cannot  speak  Spanish,  their  information  on  this  point 
cannot  be  very  extensive.  Besides  ourselves,  there  is  but 
one  American-born  person  among  them.  She  is  a  young 
woman  of  quite  superior  mind,  fair  and  engaging,  rather  ill 
in  health,  going  to  England  in  hopes  to  improve  it,  and  to 
visit  some  family  friends  there.  The  young  men  are  all 
hoping  the  ship  will  be  wrecked,  so  they  can  have  the  pleasure 
of  saving  her — or  dying  in  the  attempt.  One  goes  into  the 
main-chains  and  sits  there  for  several  hours,  all  alone,  every 
fine  day,  for  no  other  reason  that  we  can  conceive,  but  to 
drop  himself  easily  into  the  water  after  her,  in  case  she 
should  fall  overboard.  There  are  three  or  four  other  women, 
and  as  many  babies,  and  little  boys  and  girls.  They  do  not 
cry  very  often,  but  are  generally  in  high  spirits,  always  in 
the  way,  frolicking  or  eating,  much  fondled  and  scolded,  and 
very  dirty. 

The  most  notable  character  in  our  part  of  the  ship,  is  one 
Dr.  T.,  another  returning  emigrant  physician.  He  appears 
to  have  been  well  educated^  and  is  of  a  wealthy  Irish  family. 
His  diploma  is  signed  by  Sir  Astley  Cooper,  whose  autograph 
we  have  thus  seen.  Though  a  young  man,  he  is  all  broken 
down  in  spirit  and  body  from  hard  drinking.  He  makes 
himself  a  buffoon  for  the  amusement  of  the  passengers,  and 
some  of  the  young  men  of  the  first  cabin  are  so  foolish  as  to 
reward  him  sometimes  with  liquor,  which  makes  him  down 
right  crazy.  Even  the  pale-faced  student,  who  kept  his 
neighbours  awake  with  his  midnight  prayers  while  he  was  sea 
sick,  has  participated  in  this  cruel  fun.  Dr.  T.  has  been 

3 


26  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND, 

smutten,  as  the  second  mate  says,  by  a  young  lady  of  the  first 
cabin,  who  does  not  altogether  discourage  his  gallant  atten 
tions.  He  keeps  up  the  habits  of  a  gentleman  in  the  reduc 
tion  of  his  circumstances,  eating  his  dinner  at  four  o'clock, 
(being  thus  enabled  to  cook  it  while  the  first-cabin  people 
are  below  eating  theirs,  which  is  served  at  half-past  three). 
He  declares  it  was  only  to  oblige  the  owners  that  he  took  a 
berth  in  the  second  cabin,  and  he  certainly  should  not  have 
done  so,  if  he  had  suspected  the  promiscuous  character  of  the 
company  he  should  be  associated  with  there.  The  forenoon 
he  spends  in  combing  his  hair  and  whiskers,  cleaning  his 
threadbare  coat,  smoothing  his  crushed  hat,  and  polishing  his 
shoes.  Now,  indeed,  since  he  has  become  conscious  of  the  ten 
der  passion,  and  can  feed  on  love,  he  has  traded  off  a  part  of 
his  stock  of  bread  for  a  pair  of  boots,  which  enables  nim  to 
dispense  with  stockings  and  straps,  much  to  his  relief  in  dances 
and  fencing  bouts.  Towards  noon  he  comes  on  deck  with 
his  coat  buttoned  to  the  neck  ;  he  wears  a  stock  and  no  col 
lar  ;  his  hat  is  set  on  rakishly ;  he  has  a  yellow  kid  glove  for 
his  right  hand,  the  thumb  only  is  missing — his  thumb,  there 
fore,  is  stuck  under  the  breast  of  his  coat  allowing  the  rest  to 
be  advantageously  displayed ;  his  other  hand  is  carried  habit 
ually  in  the  mode  of  Mr.  Pickwick,  under  the  skirt  of  his 
coat.  He  has  in  his  mouth  the  stump  of  a  cigar  that  he 
found  last  night  upon  the  deck,  and  has  saved  for  the  occa. 
sion.  After  walking  until  it  is  smoked  out  with  the  gentle 
men — to  whom  he  manages  to  give  the  impression  that  he 
has  just  finished  his  breakfast — he  approaches,  with  a  really 
elegant  air  to  the  ladies,  and,  gracefully  bowing,  inquires 
after  their  health.-  Then,  after  gazing  upwards  at  the  sun 
a  moment,  he  takes  the  attitude,  "  Napoleon  at  St.  Helena," 
his  left  hand  hidden  under  his  right  arm,  and,  in  a  deep, 
tremulous  voice,  says,  "  Ourre  nooble  barruck  still  cleaves 


CHARACTERS.— A   POET.  27 

the  breeny  ailiment,  and  bears  us  on  with  velucitay  'twarrd 
th'  expectant  shoorres  of  Albeeon's  eel.  Ah !  what  a  grrand 
expanse  it  is  of  weeld- washing  waterrers !  Deleeghtful 
waytherr,  'pon  my  worrud."  He  is  a  good  fencer,  boxer, 
card  player,  and  trickster ;  a  safe  waltzer,  even  in  a  rolling 
ship,  and,  when  half-seas  over,  dances  a  jig,  hornpipe,  or 
French  pas  seul,  and  turns  a  pirouette  on  the  top  of  the  cap 
stan  ;  plays  a  cracked  clarionet,  and  can  get  something  out 
of  every  sort  of  musical  instrument;  he  spouts  theatrically, 
gives  imitations  of  living  actors,  sings  every  thing,  improvises, 
and  on  Sunday  chants  from  the  prayer-book,  so  that  even 
then  the  religiously  inclined  may  conscientiously  enjoy  his  en 
tertainment.  A  most  rare  treasure  for  a  long  passage.  Some 
of  our  passengers  declare  they  would  have  died  of  dulness  if 
it  had  not  been  for  him  ! 

There  is  another  Irishman  (from  the  North),  who  has 
written  a  poem  as  long  as  Paradise  Lost,  the  manuscript  of 
which  he  keeps  under  lock  and  key,  in  a  small  trunk,  at  the 
head  of  his  bed,  and,  as  they  say,  fastened  to  a  life-preserver. 
It  is  never  out  of  his  head,  however,  and  he  manages  to  find 
something  to  quote  from  it  appropriate  to  every  occasion. 
You  might  suppose  he  would  be  made  use  of  as  a  butt,  but 
somehow  he  is  not,  and  is  only  regarded  as  a  bore.  I  incline 
to  think  him  a  true  poet,  for  he  is  a  strange  fellow,  often 
blundering,  stupidly  as  it  seems,  upon  "  good  hits,"  and, 
however  inconsistently,  always  speaking  with  the  confidence 
of  true  inspiration.  We  have  a  godless  set  around  us,  and 
he  is  very  impatient  of  their  card-playing  and  profanity — par 
ticularly  if  the  weather  is  at  all  bad — declaring  that  he  is  not 
superstitious,  but  that  he  thinks,  if  a  man  is  ever  to  stand  by 
his  faith,  it  should  be  when  he  is  in  the  midst  of  the  awful 
ocean,  and  in  an  unlucky  ship.  "Nay,"  he  asserts  again, 
"  he  is  not  superstitious,  and  no  one  must  accuse  him  of  it, 


28  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

but  if  he  were  not  principled  against  it,  he  would  lay  a  large 
wager  that  this  ship  never  does  arrive  at  her  destined  port." 
His  poem  runs  somewhat  upon  socialism,  whether  approv 
ingly  or  condemnatory  I  have  not  yet  been  able  quite  to  un 
derstand.  I  rather  think  he  has  a  scheme  of  his  own  for 
remodelling  society.  He  uses  a  good  deal  of  religious  phrase 
ology  ;  he  is  liberal  on  doctrinal  points,  does  not  enlist  under 
any  particular  church  banner,  and  says  himself,  that  he  can 
bear  "  any  sort  of  religion  (or  irreligion)  in  a  man,  so  he  is 
not  a  papist."  Towards  all  persons  of  the  Roman  church  he 
entertains  the  most  orthodox  contempt  and  undisguised 
hatred,  as  becomes,  in  his  opinion,  an  Irish  Protestant-born 
man. 

There  is  a  good-natured  fellow  who  has  been  a  flat-boat 
man  on  the  Mississippi,  and  more  lately  a  squatter  some 
where  in  the  wilds  of  the  West.  His  painter  and  cat-fish 
stories,  with  all  his  reckless  airs  and  cant  river  phrases,  have 
much  entertained  us;  of  course  he  has  no  baggage,  but  a 
"heap  of  plunder."  He  has  a  rough,  rowdy,  blustering,  half- 
barbarous  way  with  him,  and  you  would  judge  from  his  talk 
sometimes,  that  he  was  a  perfectly  lawless,  heartless  savage ; 
yet  again  there  is  often  evident  in  his  behaviour  to  individ 
uals  a  singularly  delicate  sense  of  propriety  and  fitness,  and 
there  is  not  a  man  in  the  ship  with  whom  I  would  sooner 
trust  the  safety  of  a  woman  or  child  in  a  time  of  peril.  The 
great  fault  of  the  man  is  his  terrific  and  uncontrollable  indig 
nation  at  any  thing  which  seems  to  him  mean  or  unjust,  and 
his  judgment  or  insight  of  narrow-mindedness  is  not  always 
reliable. 

He  has  formed  a  strong  friendship,  or  crony-ship,  for  an 
Englishman  on  board,  who  is  a  man  of  about  the  same  native 
intelligence,  but  a  strange  contrast  to  him  in  manner,  appear, 
ance,  and  opinions,  being  short,  thick-set,  slow  of  speech,  and 


CHARACTERS.  29 

husky  voiced.  He  is  a  stone-cutter  by  trade,  and  returns  to 
England  because,  as  he  says,  there  is  no  demand  for  so  fine 
work  as  he  is  able  to  do,  in  America,  and  he  will  be  better 
paid  in  London.  These  two  men  are  always  together,  and 
always  quarrelling.  Indeed,  the  Englishman  has,  with  his 
slowness  and  obstinate  deafness  to  reason  on  any  matter  that 
he  has  once  stated  his  views  of,  an  endless  battery  of  logic 
and  bante rings  to  reply  to,  for  he  is  the  only  defender  of  an 
aristocratic  form  of  government  amongst  us,  every  other  man, 
Irish,  Scotch,  or  English,  being  a  thorough-going,  violent, 
radical  democrat.  Most  of  them,  indeed,  claim  the  name  of 
red  republican,  and  carry  their  ideas  of  "  liberty"  far  beyond 
any  native  American  I  have  known.  What  is  more  remark 
able  and  painful,  nearly  all  of  them,  except  the  Irish,  are  pro 
fessedly  Deists  or  Atheists,  or  something  of  the  sort,  for  all 
their  ideas  are  evidently  most  crude  and  confused  upon  the 
subject,  and  amount  to  nothing  but  pity,  hatred,  or  contempt 
for  all  religious  people,  as  either  fools  or  hypocrites,  impos 
tors  or  imposed  upon.  There  is  only  one  of  them  that  seems 
to  have  ever  thought  upon  the  matter  at  all  carefully,  or  to 
be  able  to  argue  upon  it,  and  he  is  so  self-satisfied  (precisely 
what  he  says,  by  the  way,  of  every  one  that  argues  against 
him),  that  he  never  stops  arguing.  Of  him  I  will  speak  again. 
A  remark  of  one  of  the  farmers,  an  Englishman,  and  a 
very  sensible  fellow,  upon  these  sentiments  so  generally  held 
among  our  company,  seemed  to  me  true  and  well  expressed. 
I  think  my  observation  of  the  lower  class  of  Englishmen  in 
the  United  States  generally  confirms  it.  "  I  have  often  no 
ticed  of  my  countrymen,"  said  he,  "  that  when  they  cease  to 
honour  the  king,  they  no  longer  fear  God."  That  is,  as  I  un 
derstand  it,  when  they  are  led  to  change  the  political  theory 
in  which  they  have  been  instructed,  they  must  lose  confi 
dence  in  a  religious  creed  which  they  owe  about  equally  to 

3* 


30  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

the  circumstances  of  their  birth,  neither  having  been  adopted 
from  a  rational  process  in  their  own  minds.  Seeing  the 
childish  absurdity  of  many  forms  which  they  have  been 
trained  to  consider  necessary,  natural,  and  ordered  of  God, 
they  lose  confidence  in  all  their  previous  ideas  that  have  re 
sulted  from  a  merely  receptive  education,  and  religion  and 
royalty  are  classed  together  as  old-fashioned  notions,  nursery 
bugbears,  and  romances.  It  is  partly  the  result  of  the 
abominable  masquerade  of  words  which  is  still  constantly 
played  off  in  England  on  all  public  occasions,  clothing  gov 
ernment  with  antiquated  false  forms  of  sacredness.  The 
simple  majesty  and  holy  authority  that  depends  on  the  exer 
cise  of  justice,  love,  and  good  judgment,  so  far  from  being 
made  more  imposing  by  this  mummery,  is  lost  sight  of; 
while  all  the  folly,  indiscretion,  and  injustice  of  the  adminis 
tration  of  the  law  by  fallible  and  unsanctified  agents,  is  inev 
itably  associated  in  the  minds  of  the  ignorant  with  all  that 
is  holy  and  true. 

The  only  idea  now,  these  our  shipmates  entertain  of 
Christianity,  seemed  to  be  the  particular  humbug  by  which  the 
bishops  and  clergy  make  the  people  think  that  they  must 
support  them  in  purple  and  fine  linen,  just  as  royalty  is 
the  humbug  on  which  the  queen  is  borne,  and  government 
the  humbug  by  which  the  aristocracy  are  carried  on  their 
shoulders,  all,  of  course,  in  combination.  And  nothing  would 
convince  them  of  the  sincerity  of  the  clergy  short  of  their 
martyrdom — even  that,  I  fear,  should  the  time  come  for  them 
to  act  as  judges,  they  would  rather  attribute  to  pride,  or,  at 
best,  to  an  exceptional  deluded  mind.  With  these  ideas, 
nothing  but  thorough  contempt  for  him,  or  fear  of  punish 
ment,  would  prevent  them  from  putting  a  bishop  to  the  test 
of  the  stake,  if  he  should  fall  into  their  hands. 

While  this  explanation,  if  it  is  correct,  should  not  hinder 


DEMOCRACY.— SKEPTICISM.  31 

the  promulgation  of  sound  republican  views,  it  strongly  op 
poses  the  fear  that  many  have,  of  providing  for  the  lower 
classes  an  education  that  shall  make  them  capable  of  free 
independent  thinking.  It  is  long  ago  too  late  in  any  coun 
try  in  the  world,  to  prevent  the  masses  from  learning  that 
little  that  is  dangerous.  Yet,  even  in  England,  it  is  argued 
by  churchmen  that  education,  unless  managed  by  the  church, 
is  the  foe  of  their  religion  !  Surely,  there  must  be  conscious 
ness  of  evil  in  this  fear  of  the  light.  True  religion  is  not  a 
machinery  for  fitting  men  with  beliefs  and  morals.  The  free 
man  in  Christ  cannot  be  the  subject  of  ignorance.  It  is  as 
much  slavish  and  disloyal  to  God  to  be  blindly  led  by  a 
priest,  as  to  be  wheedled  by  a  politician ;  and  more  than  it 
is  to  be  ruled  over  and  crushed  by  a  tyrant.  Let  us  remem 
ber,  too,  that  slaves  to  party  or  to  creed  are  not  confined  to 
monarchies,  but  that  all  churches  and  governments  whose 
authority  is  not  dependent  on  the  untrammelled  and  honest 
judgment  of  free  intelligent  minds,  are  alike  ungodly  and 
degrading. 

If  this  view  of  the  connection  of  liberal  politics  with  reli 
gious  skepticism  is  correct,  it  follows  that  we  may  look  with 
less  of  horror  and  more  of  hope  upon  the  infidelity  which  has 
so  scandalized  the  national  character  of  France.  We  may 
conceive  it  as  the  unnatural  and  convulsive  action  of  a  mind 
which  the  last  thrust  of  tyranny  has  suddenly  aroused  from  a 
long,  false  dream.  Sitting  in  judgment  over  the  wickedness 
of  tyrants  and  the  licentiousness  of  courts,  it  would  be 
strange,  unnatural,  almost  unreasonable,  that  a  people  whose 
religious  teachers  had  been  dependent  on  those  tyrants, — had 
been  the  most  active  sycophants  of  those  courts, — teachers, 
who  had  taught  them  that  the  power  there  seated  was  sacred, 
should  hold  in  reverence  for  a  moment  longer,  any  of  the 
dogmas  of  a  religion  so  debased.  The  authority,  the  stability 


32  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLANJJ. 

of  the  throne,  which  they  have  ground  to  powder  and  thrown 
to  the  free  winds,  was  a  part  of  the  very  idea  of  the  being  and 
government  of  the  God  in  whom  they  had  been  instructed  to 
believe.  Would  they  not  be  fools  still  to  worship  such  an 
idol  of  the  imagination  ?  And  what  then  ?  The  natural  and 
fearful  reaction  here  also,  from  torpidity  and  stupid  delusion, 
which  a  little  knowledge  must  provoke.  And  which  is  best 
— a  dead,  superstitious  morality,  or  a  live,  working-onward 
infidelity — a  slow  poison,  swallowed  in  a  sugar-coated  bolus, 
or  an  active,  painful,  purging  black-draught  ?  Let  us  yet 
hope  (for  years  are  but  hours  wTith  a  nation),  that  repudiation 
of  lying  forms  and  ignoble  use  of  the  name  of  God,  and  His 
Holy  Word  is  but  a  symptom  which  precedes  a  return  of 
healthy  fidelity  to  the  truth  of  God. 

To  return  to  the  man  that  I  mentioned  as  being  more 
thoughtful  and  fond  of  argument  than  the  others,  and  who  for 
that  reason  I  have  reserved  to  speak  of  more  particularly,  as 
affording  a  more  tangible  illustration  of  English  popular  skep 
ticism  and  agrarianism  of  the  day. 

He  was  born  near  Sheffield,  had  been  a  good  while  in  the 
United  States,  and  now  returned  to  England,  thinking  that 
some  particular  art,  in  smelting,  I  believe,  that  he  had  acquired, 
would  be  more  valued  there.  He  had  certainly  been  a  serious 
and  constant  thinker,  but  his  information  was  limited,  super 
ficial,  and  inaccurate,  and  he  was  better  at  quibbling  and 
picking  inconsistencies,  than  at  sustained  and  thorough  rea 
soning.  He  was  a  man  that  would  have  a  strong  influence 
with  a  certain  kind  of  honest  people,  not  able  to  think  far 
originally ;  and  as  his  activity  would  infuse  itself  into  them, 
and  he  was  generally  in  earnest  after  something,  his  influence 
might  possibly  in  the  end  be  more  good  than  bad.  No  one 
could  sleep  easily,  at  all  events,  while  he  was  near  them  (as, 


A  DEIST.  33 

literally,  some  of  us  had  uncomfortable  experience).  He  had 
been  brought  up  to  the  best  of  the  cunning  of  his  parents  and 
friends,  a  strict ist ;  and  nothing  can  be  more  character 
istic  of  the  blundering  progress  likely  to  be  made  by  a  man 
cramped  with  an  "  education,"  after  the  cowardly  fashion  to 
which  the  stiff-necked  people  of  England  so  generally  condemn 
their  children,  than  his  account  of  his  coming  to  Deism. 

While  quite  young,  he  said  that  he  saw  inconsistencies  in 
the  religious  doctrines  wrhich  had  been  battered  into  him,  and 
for  years  labored  painfully  and  devoutly  to  reconcile  them ; 
yet  each  dogma,  however  contradicted  by  another,  seemed 
plainly  to  rest  on  Bible  language  (always  understanding  that 
language  as  interpreted  by  his  teachers),  constantly  looking 
into  every  thing  else  that  came  in  his  way,  he  obtained  from 
itinerant  lecturers  some  knowledge  of  phrenology,  and  read 
ing  a  few  books  upon  it,  and  practising  among  his  fellow- 
workmen,  he  soon  acquired  not  only  a  good  deal  of  theo 
retical  understanding  of  the  science,  and  acuteness  in  discern 
ing  character,  but  considerable  skill  as  a  manipulator.  So, 
as  he  moved  from  place  to  place,  sometimes,  I  suspect,  giving 
lectures  himself  also  upon  it,  he  had  accumulated  experience 
that  to  him  incontestably  proved  the  foundation  in  nature  of 
the  science.  He  was  still  a  church-going  man,  and  still  wor 
shipped  under  the  shadow  of  his  congenital  creed,  still  trying 
to  reconcile  what  seemed  its  discrepancies,  when  one  day  he 
read  in  the  religious  newspapers  of  his  sect  an  article  on 
phrenology,  in  which  the  reverend  editor,  in  strong  terms, 
declared  its  devilish  origin  and  untruth. 

His  argument,  what  there  was  of  it,  for  his  strength  was 
mostly  spent  in  ridicule,  denunciation,  and  everlasting  con- 
demnation,  was  based  on  the  assumption  that  phrenology 
was  inconsistent  with  free  will  and  moral  responsibility, 
therefore  irreconcilable  with  the  Bible.  To  listen  to  phre- 


34  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

nologists,  then,  was  to  close  the  eye  of  faith  ;  "  if  you  accept 
phrenology  as  truth,  you  deny  God.  If  the  Bible  is  true, 
phrenology  is  false ;  if  phrenology  is  true,  the  Bible  is  a  lie 
Phrenology  is  infidelity." 

"  Then,"  exclaimed  he,  "  /  am  an  infidel,  for  I  know  as 
well  as  the  nose  on  my  face,  that  phrenology  is  true."  He 
forthwith  began  to  study  infidel  books,  soon  so  scandalized 
his  church,  that  he  was  publicly  expelled  from  it,  and  thence 
forth  he  had  looked  upon  the  Bible  only  as  a  block  in  the 
road,  over  which  every  man  must  leap  before  he  can  become 
free  to  truth.  As  the  great  barrier  to  the  progress  of  his 
race,  he  set  himself  diligently  to  searching  out  every  cranny 
of  error  and  crevice  of  inconsistency  from  which  he  could 
proudly  poke  the  dust,  and  expose  to  reasoners  equally  shal 
low  with  himself;  unconscious,  poor  fellow,  that  he  was  merely 
picking  into  blind  traditions,  uninspired  translations,  and  hard- 
squeezed  interpretations ;  rubbish  of  mortal  church-builders 
and  vain-glorious  creed-idolaters,  accumulating  for  nineteen 
centuries  over  the  real  under-laying  adamant  of  divine  truth. 

He  had  even  yet,  while  with  us,  all  the  zeal  and  activity 
in  this  purpose  that  characterizes  the  young  convert  to  any 
faith ;  talked  to  every  one  that  would  listen  to  him,  and 
lugged  in  his  "  cause"  most  pertinaciously  with  every  com 
pany  he  joined,  no  matter  what  might  be  the  subject  of  con 
versation  before  he  entered.  There  was  little  use  to  argue 
with  him,  for  he  would  shift  his  ground  as  fast  as  it  was 
weakened  under  him,  and  by  changing  the  question,  never 
knew  that  he  failed  to  sustain  himself.  He  would  insist  on 
making  the  Bible  responsible  for  every  ridiculous  notion  that 
foolish  or  designing  men  have  ever  professed  to  ground  upon 
it,  and  constantly  insisted  on  taking  part  in  those  quarrels,  it 
was  little  matter  to  him  on  which  side,  which,  like  the  fierce 
little  disputes  one  often  hears  in  a  family,  only  show  the  real 


A  DEIST.  35 

bond  of  love,  in  the  common  interest,  that  can  make  matters 
so  trivial  seem  important.  On  the  grand  and  simple  purpose 
of  the  Bible,  from  which  all  Christendom  is  nursed,  he  would 
always  avoid  to  look  or  argue. 

I  had  myself  always  managed  to  avoid  discussion  with 
him,  till  one  night,  as  he  came  to  me  on  deck  to  repeat  the 
good  things  with  which  he  had  successively  sent  to  bed  the 
Episcopalian,  the  Unitarian,  the  Calvinist,  and  the  poet,  fear 
ing  that  he  presumed  from  my  silence  that  I  sympathized 
with  his  opinions,  and  would  enjoy  his  triumphs,  I  thought  it 
not  honest  to  do  so  longer ;  but  as  I  really  cared  very  little 
for  the  views  one  way  or  the  other  against  which  the  shafts 
of  his  wit  had  been  directed,  I  desired,  if  possible,  to  get  him 
to  examine  the  broad,  catholic  citadel  of  which  these,  at  best, 
were  insignificant  outworks,  in  which  alone,  too,  I  had  suffi 
cient  confidence  to  be  willing  to  encounter  him.  I  found  it 
almost  impossible,  however,  to  draw  his  attention  from  them. 
They  had  been  made  to  appear  to  him  so  much  the  most 
important  part  of  Christianity,  that  he  could  hardly  for  an 
instant  raise  his  eyes  above  them,  or  see  through  their  ob 
struction.  This  difficulty,  common  enough  perhaps  anywhere, 
is  peculiarly  characteristic  of  English. working-men,  and  is,  as 
I  imagine,  a  direct  result  of  the  prevalent  views  of  education 
among  the  religious  classes  of  their  country.  I  have  seen 
immense  evil,  as  I  think,  arising  from  it,  and  have  a  strong 
conviction  of  its  exceeding  folly  and  danger.  I  cannot,  how 
ever,  presume  upon  the  general  interest  of  my  readers  in  the 
subject,  and  will  not  pursue  it ;  but  as  illustrating  what  I 
mean,  and  also  as  showing  what  seems  to  me  the  best  way 
to  meet  the  difficulties  I  have  referred  to,  I  will  endeavour  to 
give,  in  the  Appendix,  for  those  who  care  to  listen  to  it,  a  re 
port  of  our  conversation.*  It  is,  of  course,  impossible  to 

*  See  Appendix  A. 


36  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

report  minutely  a  conversation  after  a  considerable  lapse  of 
time.  I  wish  to  give  the  general  ideas  brought  out,  with  so 
much  of  their  connection  as  shall  show  the  manner  in  which 
they  were  suggested,  and  the  motive  of  presenting  them,  as 
this  must  often  greatly  affect  their  force  and  character.  The 
reader  is  requested  to  bear  this  remark  in  mind  in  other  con 
versations  which  will  be  found  in  this  book.  It  is  the  idea 
given,  and  the  exhibition  of  character  presented  in  any  way, 
that  I  endeavour  to  recall  and  dramatize  with  all  the  truth 
of  my  memory. 


OUR  SHIPS  CREW.  37 


CHAPTER  III. 

SAILORS. — "SOGERS." — BOOKS. — ANECDOTES. 

IF  the  purport  of  my  title  would  permit  it,  I  should  like  to 
write  a  long  chapter  on  our  ship's  crew,  and  the  general 
subject  of  American  officers  and  seamen.  I  will,  however, 
but  give,  in  this  one  word,  my  testimony,  as  one  having  had 
some  experience  as  to  the  tyranny,  barbarity,  and  lawlessness 
with  which  in  most  of  our  merchant  ships  the  common  sea 
men  are  treated ;  and  the  vice,  misery,  and  hopelessness  to 
which,  as  a  body,  they  are  left  on  our  shores,  by  the  neglect 
or  ill-judged  and  parsimonious  assistance  of  those  who  com 
pass  sea  and  land  to  make  proselytes  of  the  foreign  heathen. 
Our  ship's  crew,  as  is  usual  in  a  Liverpool  packet,  are 
nearly  all  foreigners — English,  Scotch,  Irish,  Danes,  French, 
and  Portuguese.  One  boasts  of  being  "  half-Welsh  and  half- 
Heelander,"  judging  from  this  specimen,  I  have  not  a  very 
high  opinion  of  the  cross.  The  mate  is  a  Dane,  the  second 
and  third  mates,  Connecticut  men.  The  captain,  also,  is 
from  somewhere  down  east.  He  is  a  good  and  careful 
seaman,  courteous  in  his  manners,  and  a  religious  man,  much 
more  consistently  so  than  pious  captains  I  have  known  before 
proved  to  be,  after  getting  on  blue  water.  He  never  speaks 
to  the  seamen,  or  directly  has  any  thing  to  do  with  them. 
In  fact,  except  when  he  is  taking  observations,  or  in  bad 
weather,  or  an  emergency,  you  would  never  see  in  him  any 

4 


38  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

thing  but  a  floating-hotel  keeper.  It  is  plain,  nevertheless, 
that  his  eye  is  everywhere,  and  a  single  incident  will  show 
that  the  savage  custom  of  the  sea  has  not  been  without  the 
usual  influence  upon  him.  He  went  to  the  kitchen  the  other 
day  and  told  the  cook  he  must  burn  less  wood  than  he  had 
been  doing.  The  cook,  who  is  a  peculiarly  mild,  polite, 
peaceable,  little  Frenchman,  replied  that  he  had  along  been 
careful  not  to  use  more  than  was  necessary.  The  captain 
immediately  knocked  him  down,  and  then  quietly  remarking, 
"  You'll  take  care  how  you  answer  me  next  time,"  walked 
back  to  join  the  ladies.  The  cook  fell  on  the  stove,  and  was 
badly  burned  and  bruised. 

The  men  complain  that  their  food  is  stinted  and  poor,  and 
they  are  worked  hard,  at  least  they  are  kept  constantly  at 
work ;  men  never  exert  themselves  much  when  that  is  the 
case.  It  has  been  evident  to  me  that  they  all  soger  systemat 
ically.  (Sogering  is  pretending  to  wTork,  and  accomplishing  as 
little  as  possible.)  It  is  usually  considered  an  insult  to 
accuse  one  of  it,  but  one  day  I  saw  a  man  so  evidently  trying 
to  be  as  long  as  he  could  at  some  work  he  had  to  do  in  the 
rigging,  that  I  said  to  him, — 

"  Do  you  think  you'll  make  eight  bells  of  that  job  1" 

He  looked  up  with  a  twirl  of  his  tongue,  but  said  nothing. 

"  Have  you  been  at  it  all  the  watch  1" 

"  Ay,  sir,  I  have." 

"  A  smart  man  would  have  done  it  in  an  hour,  I  should 
think." 

"  Perhaps  he  might." 

"  Do  you  call  yourself  a  soger  ?" 

"  Why,  sir,  we  all  sogers,  reg'lar,  in  this  here  craft.  D'ye 
see,  sir,  the  capten's  a  mean  man,  and  'ould  like  to  get  two 
days'  work  in  one  out  on  us.  If  he'd  give  us  watch-and- 
walch,  sir,  there'd  be  more  work  done,  you  mote  be  sure,  sir." 


SAILORS'   ETHICS.  30 

Sunday  is  observed  by  sparing  the  crew  from  all  labour 
not  necessary  to  the  sailing  of  the  ship,  but  as  it  is  the  only 
day  in  which  they  have  watch-and- watch,  or  time  enough  to 
attend  to  such  matters,  they  are  mostly  engaged  in  washing 
and  mending  their  clothes.  We  had  selected  a  number  of 
books  at  the  Tract-house,  which  we  gave  away  among  them. 
They  were  received  with  gratitude,  and  the  pictures  at  least 
read  with  interest.  The  printed  matter  was  read  somewhat 
also ;  I  noticed  three  men  sitting  close  together,  all  spelling 
out  the  words  from  three  different  books,  and  speaking  them 
aloud  in  a  low,  monotonous  tone.  If  they  had  come  to  a 
paragraph  in,  Latin,  I  doubt  if  they  would  have  understood 
what  they  read  any  less.  The  truth  is,  as  I  have  often  no 
ticed  with  most  sailors,  a  book  is  a  booh,  and  they  read  it 
for  the  sake  of  reading,  not  for  the  ideas  the  words  are  in 
tended  to  convey,  just  as  some  people  like  to  work  out 
mathematical  problems  for  the  enjoyment  of  the  work,  not 
because  they  wish  to  make  use  of  the  result.  I  saw  a  sailor 
once  bargaining  with  a  shipmate  for  his  allowance  of  grog, 
offering  him  for  it  a  little  book,  which  he  said  was  "first-rate 
reading."  After  the  bargain  was  closed  I  looked  at  the  book. 
It  was  a  volume  of  Temperance  tales.  The  man  had  no 
idea  of  making  a  practical  joke,  and  assured  me  with  a  grave 
face,  that  he  had  read  it  all  through.  One  Sunday,  in  the 
latter  part  of  a  passage  from  the  East  Indies,  one  of  my 
watchmates,  an  old  sea-dog,  closed  a  little  carefully  preserved 
Testament,  and  slapping  it  on  his  knee,  said,  with  a  triumph 
ant  air,  as  if  henceforth  there  was  laid  up  for  him  a  crown  of 
glory  and  no  mistake, — "  There !  I've  read  that  book  through, 
every  word  on't,  this  voyage  ;  and,  damme,  if  I  ha'nt  got 
more  good  out  on't  than  I  should  'a  got  going  aft  long  with 
the  rest  on  ye,  to  hear  that  old  pharisee  (the  captain)  make 
his  long  prayers."  Then,  after  gazing  at  it  a  few  moments, 


40  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

he  added,  musingly,  as  if  reflecting  on  the  mutability  of 
human  affairs,  "  I  hookt  that  book  from  a  feller  named  Abe 
Williams,  to  the  Home,  down  to  Providence,  'bout  five  year 
ago.  His  name  was  in't,  but  I  tore  it  out.  I  wonder  what's 
become  on  him  now;  dead, — as  like  as  not"  (puts  it  up  and 
takes  out  his  pipe) ;  "  well,  God'll  have  mercy  on  his  soul, 
I  hope." 


CAPE  CLEAR.— GALE.  41 


CHAPTER   IV. 

ON    SOUNDINGS. ENGLISH    SMALL    CRAFT. — HARBOUR    OF    LIVERPOOL. 

Sunday,  May  Zoih. 

AT  sunset  yestesday  the  mate  went  to  the  royal  yard  to 
look  for  land,  but  could  not  see  it.  By  our  reckoning  we 
were  off  Mizzen  Head,  a  point  to  the  westward  of  Cape  Clear, 
steering  east  by  south,  fresh  wind  and  rising,  going  nine 
knots,  thick  weather  and  rain.  Several  gannets  (a  kind  of 
goose  with  white  body  and  black  wings)  were  about  us. 
Some  one  said  they  would  probably  go  to  land  to  spend  the 
night,  and  there  was  pleasure  in  being  so  made  to  realize  our 
vicinity  to  it.  Several  vessels  were  in  sight,  all  running  inside 
us,  and  steering  northeast.  We  thought  our  captain  over 
anxious  to  give  Cape  Clear  a  wide  berth,  and  were  very  sorry 
not  to  make  the  land  before  dark.  After  sunset  it  grew 
thicker,  and  the  wind,  which  had  been  increasing  all  day,  by 
midnight  was  a  gale.  He  got  all  sail  in  but  the  reefed  top 
sails  ;  then  hove-to,  and  found  bottom  in  fifty-five  fathoms. 
I  was  quite  satisfied  now  with  the  captain's  prudence  ;  the 
sea  was  running  high,  and  the  cliffs  of  Ireland  could  not  be 
many  miles  distant.  As  it  was,  I  felt  perfectly  safe,  and 
turned  in,  sleeping  soundly  till  nine  o'clock  this  morning. 
About  an  hour  later  they  made  the  light  on  the  old  Head  of 
Kinsale,  where  the  Albion  was  lost  some  thirty  years  since. 
The  captain  says  we  passed  within  ten  miles  of  Cape  Clear 
light  without  seeing  it.  He  was  just  right  in  his  reckoning, 

4* 


42  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

and  the  vessels  that  went  inside  of  us  were  all  wrong,  and 
he  thinks  must  have  got  into  trouble.  We  are  now  nearly 
up  to  Waterford,  and  off  a  harbour  where,  many  years  ago,  a 
frigate  was  lost,  with  fifteen  hundred  men.  It  is  foggy  yet, 
and  we  can  only  see  the  loom  of  the  land. 

Monday,  May  tilth. 

The  Channel  yesterday  was  thick  with  vessels,  and  I  was 
much  interested  in  watching  them.  A  collier  brig,  beating 
down  Channel,  passed  close  under  our  stern.  We  were  going 
along  so  steadily  before  it  that  I  had  not  before  thought  of 
the  violence  of  the  wind.  It  was  amazing  to  see  how  she  was 
tossed  about.  Plunging  from  the  height  of  the  sea,  her  white 
figure-head  would  divide  the  water  and  entirely  disappear, 
and  for  a  moment  it  would  seem  as  if  some  monster  below 
had  seized  her  bowsprit  and  was  taking  her  down  head  fore 
most  ;  then  her  stern  would  drop,  a  great  white  sheet  of 
spray  dash  up,  wetting  her  foresail  almost  to  the  foretop ; 
then  she  would  swing  up  again,  and  on  the  crest  of  the  billow 
seem  to  stop  and  shake  herself,  as  a  dog  does  on  corning  out 
of  the  surf;  then,  as  the  wind  acted  on  her,  she  would  fall 
suddenly  over  to  leeward,  and  a  long  curtain  of  white  foam 
from  the  scuppers  would  be  dropped  over  her  glistening  black 
sides.  It  was  very  beautiful,  and  from  our  quiet  though  rapid 
progress,  showed  the  superior  comfort  of  a  large  ship  very 
strikingly.  We  have  not  rolled  or  pitched  enough  during  all 
the  passage  to  make  it  necessary  to  lash  the  furniture  in  our 
room.  Afterwards  we  saw  a  Welsh  schooner,  then  a  French 
lugger  with  three  masts,  then  a  cutter  with  one,  all  quite 
different  in  rig  and  cut  of  sail  from  any  thing  we  ever  see  on 
our  coast. 

About  four  o'clock  we  sighted  Tuscar  light,  and  could  see 
beyond  it,  through  the  fog,  a  dark,  broken  streak,  on  which 


ENGLISH  CHANNEL.  43 

we  imagined  (as  the  dull-eyed  said)  darker  spots  of  wood  and 
lighter  spots  of  houses,  and  which  we  called  Ireland.  We  saw 
also  at  some  distance  the  steamer  which  left  Liverpool  the 
day  before  for  Cork.  She  was  very  long  and  low,  and  more 
clipper-like  in  her  appearance  than  our  sea-going  steamers  of 
the  same  class.  At  sunset  we  were  out  of  sight  of  land  again 
and  driving  on  at  a  glorious  rate,  passing  rapidly  by  several 
large  British  ships  going  the  same  course. 

I  was  up  two  or  three  times  during  the  night,  and  found 
the  captain  all  the  while  on  deck  in  his  India-rubber  clothes, 
the  mate  on  the  forecastle,  look-outs  aloft,  every  thing  draw 
ing  finely,  and  nothing  to  be  seen  around  us  but  fog,  foam, 
and  fire-flashing  surges.  At  three  o'clock  this  morning,  John 
called  me,  and  I  again  came  on  deck.  It  was  still  misty,  but 
there  was  LAND — dark  and  distinct  against  the  eastern  glow — 
no  more  "  imagination."  It  was  only  a  large,  dark  ledge  of 
rocks,  with  a  white  light-house,  and  a  streak  of  white  foam 
separating  between  it  and  the  dark  blue  of  the  sea ;  but  it 
seemed  thrillingly  beautiful.  In  a  few  minutes  the  fog  opened 
on  our  quarter,  and  disclosed,  a  few  miles  off,  a  great,  sublime 
mountain,  its  base  in  the  water,  its  head  in  the  clouds.  The 
rock  was  the  Skerrys  ;  the  mountain,  Holyhead.  Very  soon, 
high,  dark  hills,  piled  together  confusedly,  dimly  appeared  on 
our  right — dimly  and  confused,  but  real,  substantial,  unmis 
takable  solid  ground — none  of  your  fog-banks !  These  were 
on  the  island  of  Anglesea.  Then,  as  the  ship  moved  slowly 
on,  for  the  wind  was  lulling,  past  the  Skerrys,  the  fog  closed 
down  and  hid  it  all  again,  and  we  went  below  to  dress. 
When  again  we  came  up  it  was  much  lighter,  and  the  brown 
hills  of  Anglesea  were  backed  up  by  the  blue  mountains  of 
Wales  distinct  against  the  grey  cloud  behind  them.  Soon  a 
white  dot  or  two  came  out,  and  the  brown  hill-sides  became 
p;reen,  with  only  patches  of  dark  brown — ploughed  ground — 


44  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

real  old  mother  earth.  As  it  grew  still  lighter,  the  white 
spots  took  dark  roofs,  and  coming  to  Point  Linos,  a  telegraph 
station  was  pointed  out  to  us ;  our  signal  was  hoisted,  and  in 
five  minutes  we  had  spoken  our  name  to  a  man  in  Liverpool. 
We  had  just  begun  to  distinguish  the  hedgerows,  when  there 
was  a  sudden  flash  of  light,  disclosing  the  cottage  windows, 
and  Charley,  looking  east,  exclaimed,  "TiiE  SUN  OF  THE 
OLD  WORLD." 

A  long,  narrow,  awkward  ugly  thing — a  cross  of  a  canal- 
boat  with  a  Mystic  fishing-smack — with  a  single  short  mast, 
a  high-peaked  mainsail,  a  narrow  staysail  coming  to  the 
stem-head,  and  without  any  bowsprit ;  so  out  from  the  last 
fog-bank  like  an  apparition  comes  the  pilot-boat.  Directly 
she  makes  more  sail,  and  runs  rapidly  towards  us.  Our 
yachtman-passenger,  coming  on  deck,  calls  her  by  name, 
and  says  that  she  is  here  considered  a  model  of  beauty,  and 
that  a  portrait  of  her  has  been  published.  To  say  the  right 
thing  for  her,  she  does  look  stanch  and  weatherly,  the  sort 
of  craft  altogether,  if  he  were  confined  to  her  tonnage,  and 
more  mindful  of  comfort  than  of  time,  that  one  might  choose 
to  make  a  winter's  cruise  in  off  Hatteras,  or  to  bang  through 
the  ice  after  Sir  John  Franklin.  The  pilot  she  has  now  sent 
aboard  of  us  does  not,  in  his  appearance,  contrast  unfavourably 
with  our  own  pilots,  as  travellers  have  generally  remarked 
Liverpool  pilots  to.  He  is  an  intelligent,  burly,  sharp-voiced 
Englishman — a  reliable-looking  sort  of  man,  only  rather  too 
dressy  for  his  work.  He  brings  no  news ;  pilots  never  do. 
When  we  took  on  board  the  New  York' pilot,  in  my  passage 
from  the  East  Indies,  we  had  had  no  intelligence  from  home 
for  more  than  six  months.  The  greatest  news  the  pilot 
had  for  us,  turned  out  to  be  that  another  edition  of  Blunt's 
Coast  Pilot  was  out.  I  contrived  to  keep  myself  within  ear 
shot  of  him  and  the  captain,  as  they  conversed  for  half  an 


PILOT.— STEAM-TUG.  45 

hour  after  he  came  on  our  deck,  and  this  was  all  I  could  learn, 
and  except  the  late  arrivals  and  departures  and  losses  of  ves 
sels,  this  was  all  we  got  from  him  for  two  days.  Our  Liv 
erpool  pilot,  however,  brings  us  a  Price  Current  and  Shipping- 
List  newspaper,  in  which  we  find  an  allusion  to  "  the 
unfavorable  news  from  France"  as  affecting  the  state  of 
trade,  but  whether  it  is  of  floods,  hurricanes,  or  revolutions, 
there  is  no  knowing.  In  the  same  way  we  understand  that 
the  loyal  English  nation  are  blessed  with  another  baby  prince, 
and  are  stopping  their  mills  to  give  God  thanks  for  it.  There 
is  a  slight  fall  in  cotton  too  reported,  and  since  he  read  of  it, 
our  New  Orleans  man  has  been  very  busy  figuring  and  wri 
ting  letters. 

After  the  pilot  came  the  first  English  shower  ("  It's  a  fine 
day,"  says  the  boatman,  just  now  coming  on  board — we  have 
only  had  three  showers  .this  forenoon),  and  then  it  fell  calm, 
and  the  ship  loitered  as  if  fatigued  with  her  long  journey.  It 
is  now  noon,  and  while  I  am  writing,  a  low,  black,  businesslike 


scullion  of  a  steamboat  has  caught  hold  of  the  ship,  and  means 
to  get  her  up  to  the  docks  before  night.     On  her  paddle-boxes 


4<>  A.\  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

are  the  words  in  letters  once  white,  and  the  only  thing  pre 
tending  to  be  white  about  her,  "The  Steam-Tug  Company's 
Boat,  No.  5,  the  Liver  of  Liverpool."  Long  life  to  her  then, 
for  she  is  a  friendly  hand  stretched  out  from  the  shore  to 
welcome  us.  A  good-looking  little  boat  too  she  is,  much 
better  fitted  for  her  business  than  our  New  York  tow-boats. 

May  28th. 

We  were  several  hours  in  getting  up  to  town  yesterday, 
after  I  had  written  you.  Long  before  any  thing  else  could  be 
seen  of  it  but  a  thick  black  cloud — black  as  a  thunder-cloud, 
ind  waving  and  darkening  one  way  and  the  other,  as  if  from 
a  volcano — our  approach  to  a  great  focus  of  commerce  was 
indicated  by  the  numbers  which  we  met  of  elegant,  graceful, 
well-equipped  and  ship-shape-looking  steamers,  numerous 
ships — graceful  spider-rigged  New  York  liners,  and  sturdy 
quarter-galleried,  carved  and  gilt,  pot-sided,  Bristol  built, 
stump-to'-gallant-masted  old  English  East-Indiamen  (both 
alive  with  cheering  emigrants,  hopeful  of  Australian  and 
Michiganian  riches,  and  yet  defiant  of  sea-sickness),  dropping 
down  with  the  tide,  or  jerked  along  by  brave  little  steam- 
tugs,  each  belching  from  her  chimney,  long,  dense,  swelling 
volumes  of  smoke;  with  hosts  of  small  craft  lounging  lazily 
along,  under  all  sorts  of  sooty  canvass. 

These  small  craft  are  all  painted  dead  black,  and  you 
cannot  imagine  how  clumsy  they  are.  The  greater  part  of 
them  are  single  masted,  as  I  described  the  pilot-boat  to  be. 
In  addition  to  the  mainsail  and  fore-staysail  (an  in-board 
jib),  they  set  a  very  large  gaff  topsail,  hoisting  as  .a  flying 
sail,  with  a  gaff  crossing  the  topmast  (like  our  men-of-war's 
boat  sails),  their  bowsprit  is  a  spar  rigging  out  and  in,  like  a 
steering  sail-boom,  and  with  this  they  stretch  out  an  enor 
mous  jib,  nearly  as  long  in  the  foot  as  in  the  hoist,  and  of 


SAILING    CRAFT  OF  THE  CHANNEL, 


47 


this  too,  before  the  wind,  some  of  them  make  a  beam-sail. 
If  it  blows  fresh,  they  can  shorten  in  their  bowsprit  and  set  a 
smaller  jib  ;  and  about  the  time  our  sloops  would  be  knotting 
their  second  reef  and  taking  their  bonnets  off,  they  have  their 
bowsprit  all  in  board,  their  long  topmast  struck,  and  make 
themselves  comfortable  under  the  staysail  and  a  two-reefed 
mainsail.  If  it  comes  on  to  blow  still  harder,  when  ours  must 
trust  to  a  scud,  they  will  still  be  jumping  through  it  with  a 
little  storm  staysail,  and  a  balance-reefed  mainsail,  as  shown 
in  the  cut. 


These  single-masted  vessels  are  called  cutters,  not  sloops 
(a  proper  sloop  I  did  not  see  in  England) ;  and  our  word  cut 
ter,  wrongly  applied  to  the  revenue  schooners,  is  derived  from 
the  English  term,  revenue  cutter,  the  armed  vessels  of  the 
British  preventive  service,  being  properly  cutters.  Cutters 
frequently  carry  yards  and  square  sails.  We  saw  one  to-day 
with  square-sail,  topsail,  top-gallant,  and  royal  set.  I  have 
heard  old  men  say  that  when  they  were  boys,  our  coasting 
sloops  used  to  have  these  sails,  and  before  the  revolution  our 
small  craft  were,  not  uncommonly,  also  cutter-rigged.  In 
stead  of  being  of  whitewashed  cotton,  the  sails  of  the  coast- 


48  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER   IN  ENGLAND. 

ers  here  are  tanned  hemp,  having  the  appearance,  at  a  little 
distance,  of  old  worn  brown  velvet.  In  sailing  qualities  the 
advantage  is  every  way  with  us ;  in  the  build,  the  rig,  and  in 
the  cut,  as  well  as  the  material  of  the  sails ;  for  our  cotton 
duck  will  hold  the  wind  a  great  deal  the  best.  Ninety-nine 
in  a  hundred  of  our  single-masted  market-boats,  in  a  light 
wind,  would  run  around  the  fastest  coaster  in  the  Mersey 
with  the  greatest  ease.  They  are  not  calculated  at  all  for 
working  to  windward,  but  are  stiff  and  weatherly,  and  do  very 
well  for  boxing  through  the  Channel,  I  suppose ;  but  for  such 
business  we  should  rig  schooner  fashion,  and  save  the  expense 
of  an  extra  hand,  which  must  be  wanted  to  handle  their  heavy 
mainsail  and  boom.  Further  up,  we  saw  on  the  beach  sev 
eral  cutter-rigged  yachts.  They  were  wide  of  beam,  broad 
sterned,  sharp  built,  and  deep,  like  our  sea-going  clippers. 

The  immediate  shores  grew  low  as  we  entered  the  Mersey. 
It  was  nearly  calm,  but  though  the  surface  of  the  water  was 
glassy  smooth,  it  was  still  heaving  with  the  long  muscular 
swell  of  the  sea  until  we  reached  the  town.  We  approached 
nearer  the  land,  where,  on  the  right  hand,  there  was  a  bluff 
point,  bare  of  trees,  with  large  rocks  cropping  out  at  its  base  ; 
beneath  the  rocks  a  broad,  hard,  sand  beach,  and  ]ow  on  the 
water's  edge,  a  castle  of  dark-brown  stone,  the  only  artificial 
defence,  that  I  noticed,  of  the  harbour.  The  high  ground  was 
occupied  by  villas  belonging  to  merchants  of  Liverpool,  and 
the  place  is  called  New  Brighton,  and  bearing  a  resemblance 
to  our  New  Brighton.  There  is  the  same  barrenness  of 
foliage,  and  some  similarity  in  the  style  of  the  houses,  though 
there,  are  none  so  outrageously  out  of  taste  as  some  of  those 
that  obtrude  upon  the  scenery  of  Staten  Island,  and  none 
so  pretty  as  some  of  the  less  prominent  there. 

As  we  entered  the  cloud  that  had  hitherto  interrupted  our 
view  in  front,  we  could  see,  on  the  left,  many  tall  chimneys 


ARRIVAL  AT  LIVERPOOL.  49 

and  steeples,  and  soon  discerned  forests  of  masts.  On  the 
right,  the  bank  continued  rural  and  charming,  with  all  the 
fresh  light  verdure  of  spring.  Below  it  we  could  distinctly 
see,  and  quite  amusing  it  was,  many  people,  mostly  women 
and  children,  riding  donkeys  and  driving  pony-carriages  on 
the  beach.  It  seemed  strange  that  they  did  not  stop  to  look 
at  us.  There  were  bathing-wagons  too,  drawn  by  a  horse 
out  into  three  or  four  feet  water,  and  women  floundering  into 
it  out  of  them  and  getting  back  again  very  hastily,  as  if  they 
found  it  colder  than  they  had  expected.  We  approached  in 
complete  structures  of  stone-work  along  the  water's  edge,  in 
which  men  and  horses  were  clustering  like  bees.  Soon  we 
passed  them,  and  were  looking  up  at  the  immense  walls  of 
the  docks,  each  with  its  city  of  shipping  securely  floating 
fifteen  or  twenty  feet  higher  than  the  water  on  which  we 
were,  it  being  now  low  ebb.  At  five,  in  the  rumble  and  roar 
of  the  town,  our  anchor  dropped.  The  ship  could  not  haul 
into  the  docks  until  midnight  tide,  and  the  steam-tug  took  us, 
who  wished  it,  to  the  shore,  landing  us  across  the  Dublin 
steamer  at  the  Prince's  Dock  quay. 

5 


50  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 


CHAPTER  V. 


THE  FIRST  OF  ENGLAND.—  THE    STREETS.  -  A   RAILWAY   STATION.  -  THE 

AT  NIGHT.  -  PROSTITUTES.  -  TEMPERANCE.  -  THE   STILL  LIFE    OF  LIVERPOOL. 
-  A  MARKET. 

AT  the  head  of  the  gang-plank  stood  a  policeman,  easily 
recognised  and  familiar,  thanks  to  Punch,  who  politely 
helped  us  to  land,  thus  giving  us  immediate  occasion  to 
thank  the  government  for  its  hospitality,  and  its  regard  for 
our  safety  and  convenience.  It  was  a  real  pleasure  to  stamp 
upon  the  neat,  firm,  solid  mason-work  of  the  dock,  and  we 
could  not  but  be  mindful  of  the  shabby  log-wharves  we  had 
stumbled  over  as  we  left  New  York.  We  were  immediately 
beset  by  porters,  not  rudely,  but  with  serious,  anxious  defer 
ence  and  care  to  keep  a  way  open  before  us.  I  was  assisting 
a  lady,  and  carried  her  bag  ;  a  man  followed  me  pertina 
ciously.  "  I  tell  you  I  have  no  baggage,"  said  I.  "  But,  sir, 
this  bag  ?"  "  Oh,  I  can  carry  that."  "  Excuse  me,  sir  ;  you 
must  not,  indeed  ;  gentlemen  never  does  so  in  this  country" 
After  handing  the  lady  into  a  hackney-coach,  we  walked  on. 
The  landing-place  was  spacious,  not  encumbered  with  small 
buildings  or  piles  of  freight,  and  though  there  was  a  little  rain 
falling,  there  was  a  smooth,  clean  stone  pavement,  free  from 
mud,  to  walk  upon.  There  was  a  slight  smell  of  bituminous 
smoke  in  the  air,  not  disagreeable,  but,  to  me,  highly  -pleas 
ant.  I  snuffed  it  as  if  passing  a  field  of  new-mown  hay  — 
snuffed  and  pondered,  and  at  last  was  brought  to  my  mind 


LIVERPOOL.— RAILWAY  STATION.  51 

the  happy  fireside  of  the  friend,  in  the  indistinct  memory  of 
which  this  peculiar  odour  of  English  coal  had  been  gratefully 
associated. 

Coming  on  shore  with  no  luggage  or  any  particular  busi 
ness  to  engage  our  attention,  we  plunged  adventurously  into 
the  confused  tide  of  life  with  which  the  busy  streets  were 
thronged,  careless  whither  it  floated  us.  Emerging  from  the 
crowd  of  porters,  hackmen,  policemen,  and  ragged  Irish  men 
and  women  on  the  dock,  we  entered  the  first  street  that 
opened  before  us.  On  the  corner  stood  a  church — not  un- 
American  in  its  appearance — and  we  passed  without  stopping 
to  the  next  corner,  where  we  paused  to  "look  at  the  dray- 
horses,  immensely  heavy  and  in  elegant  condition,  fat  and 
glossy,  and  docile  and  animated  in  their  expression.  They 
were  harnessed,  generally,  in  couples,  one  before  another,  to 
great,  strong,  low-hung  carts,  heavy  enough  alone  to  be  a 
load  for  one  of  our  cartmen's  light  horses.  Catching  the 
bustling  spirit  of  the  crowd,  we  walked  on  at  a  quick  pace, 
looking  at  the  faces  of  the  men  we  met  more  than  any  thing 
else,  until  we  came  to  a  wall  of  hewn  drab  stone,  some  fifteen 
feet  high,  with  a  handsomely  cut  balustrade  at  the  top.  There 
was  a  large  gateway  in  it,  from  which  a  policeman  was  dri 
ving  away  some  children.  People  were  going  in  and  out,  and 
we  followed  in  to  see  what  it  was.  Up  stairs,  we  found  our 
selves  on  a  broad  terrace,  with  a  handsome  building,  in  Tus 
can  style,  fronting  upon  it.  Another  policeman  here  informed 
us  that  it  was  a  railway  station.  The  door  was  opened  as 
we  approached  it  by  a  man  in  a  simple  uniform,  who  asked 
us  where  we  were  going.  We  answered  that  we  merely 
wished  to  look  at  the  building.  "  Walk  in,  gentlemen ;  you 
will  best  take  the  right-hand  platform,  and  return  by  the 
other."  A  train  was  backing  in ;  a  man  in  the  same  uniform 
stood  in  the  rear  car,  and  moved  his  hand  round  as  if  turning 


52  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

an  imaginary  driving-wheel,  the  engine  at  the  other  end  being 
governed  by  his  motions  : — forward — slower — slower — faster 
— slower — stop — back.  The  train  stopped,  the  doors  were 
unlocked  by  men  in  a  more  brilliant  uniform,  and  there  was 
a  great  rush  of  passengers  to  secure  good  seats.  Women 
with  bundles  and  band-boxes  were  shoved  this  way  and  that, 
as  they  struggled  to  hoist  themselves  into  the  doors ;  their 
parcels  were  knocked  out  of  their  hands,  porters  picked  them 
up  and  threw  them  in,  reckless  where.  So  bewildered  and 
flustered  did  they  all  seem  to  be,  that  we  could  not  refrain 
from  trying  to  assist  them.  There  was  nothing  in  the  plan 
or  fittings  of  the  Building  that  needs  remark,  and  we  soon  re 
turned  to  the  terrace,  where  we  remained  some  time  observ 
ing  the  peculiarities  of  the  houses  and  the  people  passing  in 
the  vicinity. 

Going  into  the  street  again  we  wandered  on  till  it  was 
quite  dark,  with  no  other  object  but  to  get  a  general  impres 
sion  of  the  character  of  the  town.  We  looked  into  a  few 
houses  where  we  saw  a  sign  of  "  Clean  and  well-aired  beds," 
and  found  that  we  should  have  no  difficulty  in  getting  com 
fortable  lodgings  at  a  very  moderate  price.  From  nine  until 
twelve  we  were  waiting  at  the  dock  for  the  ship  to  haul  in, 
or  trying  in  vain  to  get  a  boat  to  go  on  board  of  her.  There 
were  many  vessels  laying  near  the  great  gates,  all  standing 
by,  when  they  should  be  opened  at  high-water,  to  be  hauled 
in. 

The  broad  promenade  outside  the  dock  walls  was  occupied 
by  the  police,  stevedores,  watermen,  boarding-house  keepers, 
and  a  crowd  of  women,  waiting  to  help  in  the  ships  or  to 
receive  their  crews  when  the  tide  should  have  risen  enough 
to  admit  them.  I  was  surprised  at  the  quietness  and  decency 
of  these  "  sailors'  wives,"  as  they  called  themselves ;  they 
were  plainly  and  generally  neatly  dressed,  and  talked  quietly 


PROSTITUTES.— SAILORS.  53 

and  in  kind  tones  to  each  other,  and  I  heard  no  loud  profanity 
or  ribaldry  at  all.  Whether  this  was  owing  to  the  presence 
of  the  police  I  cannot  say,  but  I  am  sure  it  would  be  impos 
sible  to  find,  in  America,  vice,  shame,  and  misery  so  entirely 
unassociated  with  drunkenness  or  excitement  and  riot.  They 
were  not  as  young  as  girls  of  the  same  sort  in  the  streets  of 
New  York,  and  in  the  strong  gas-light  their  faces  seemed 
expressive  of  a  quite  different  character  ;  generally  they  were 
pensive  and  sad,  but  not  ill-natured  or  stupid.  It  occurred  to 
me  that  their  degradation  must  have  been  reached  in  a  dif 
ferent  way,  and  had  not  brought  with  it  that  outcasting  from 
all  good  which  they  would  suffer,  with  us.  As  they  stood, 
companioned  together  with  each  other,  but  friendless,  some 
with  not  even  hats  to  protect  them  from  the  rain,  others,  with 
their  gowns  drawn  up  over  their  head,  and  others,  two  to 
gether,  under  a  scanty  shawl,  it  would  have  been  difficult,  I 
thought,  for  a  woman,  who  is  always  found  most  unforgiving 
of  her  sister's  sin,  not  to  have  been  softened  towards  those 
abandoned  thus  to  seek  support  of  life  that  night.  We  could 
not  but  think  the  kind  words  with  which  the  sailors  recog 
nised  and  greeted  them,  as  the  ships  hauled  near,  were  as 
much  dictated  by  pity  and  sympathy  as  by  any  worse  im 
pulses.  They  said,  "  If  nobody  else  cares  for  you,  we  do." 
If  nobody  else  ;s  waiting  to  welcome  us,  we  know  that  you 
will  be  glad  that  we  are  coming  to  the  land  once  more,  so, 
cheer  up,  and  we  will  help  each  other  again  to  enjoy  a  short 
space  of  jollity,  excitement,  and  forgetfulness. 

There  is  a  benevolent  enterprise  on  foot  here  for  shipping 
these  victims  of  frailty  by  wholesale  to  Australia.  A 
strange  way,  it  seems,  to  think  of  peopling  a  new  Anglo- 
Saxon  world  ;  but  who  is  prouder  of  his  ancestry  than  your 
Virginian,  whose  colony,  it  is  thought,  was  originally  fur 
nished  in  much  the  same  way  with  mothers'?  The  fact  that 

5* 


54  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

the  project  is  favoured  by  intelligent,  practical,  religious  men, 
is  gratifying,  and  the  remarks  they  are  reported  as  making  in 
public  meetings  on  the  subject,  indicate  a  hopeful  apprecia 
tion  of  the  effect  of  circumstances  upon  character. 

Tired  of  waiting  for  the  ship,  and  a  good  deal  fatigued 
with  our  tramps  on  the  pavements,  about  half-past  twelve  we 
went  back  into  the  town,  and  by  the  very  obliging  assistance 
of  the  policemen  found  lodgings  in  a  "  Temperance  Hotel," 
still  open  at  that  late  hour.  We  were  a  little  surprised  to 
find  a  number  of  men  in  the  coffee-room  drinking  beer  and 
smoking.  The  subject  of  their  conversation  was  some  pro 
ject  of  an  association  of  working-men  to  combine  their 
savings,  and  make  more  profitable  investment  of  them  than 
could  be  made  of  the  small  amounts  of  each  separately. 
There  were  late  newspapers  on  the  table,  and  we  sat  up  some 
time  longer  to  read  them,  but  they  were  still  at  it,  puffing 
and  drinking,  and  earnestly  discussing  how  they  could  best 
use  their  money,  when  we  went  up  to  bed.  We  had  good 
beds  in  pleasant  rooms  for  which  we  paid  twenty-five  cents 
each. 

The  next  morning  we  got  our  trunks  from  the  ship,  the 
custom-house  officers  searching  them  before  they  left  the 
dockyard.  Books,  letters,  and  daguerreotypes  were  examined 
minutely,  but  the  officers  were  very  civil  and  accommodating ; 
so  also  were  the  cartmen  that  took  them  to  the  inn  for  us. 
The  expense  of  getting  our  luggage  through  the  searching 
office,  and  carting  it  a  mile,  was  only  twenty-five  cents  for 
each  trunk,  and  "  tuppence  for  beer." 

We  went  to  a  small  lodging-house  that  we  had  examined 
last  night,  and  found  neat  and  comfortable,  and  kept  by  an 
agreeable  woman.  We  have  a  large  front  room,  comfortably 
furnished,  and  down  stairs  is  a  quiet  parlor  and  dining-room. 
We  breakfast  in  the  house,  and  dine  and  sup  at  eating  shops. 


COST  OF  LIVING-.— BUILDING  MATERIALS.  55 

The  whole  cost  of  living  so  we  make  but  about  seventy-five 
cents  each  a  day.  As  good  entertainment  would  cost  more 
than  that  in  New  York.  We  have  made  a  few  purchases  of 
clothing,  and  find  every  thing  we  want  cheaper  than  in  New 
York. 

Liverpool,  Tuesday,  2Qth  May. 

The  common  building  material  here  is  a  light,  greyish-red 
brick.  Stone  of  different  colours  is  used  in  about  the  same 
proportion  that  it  is  in  New  York.  The  warehouses  are 
generally  higher  than  the  same  class  of  buildings  there,  but 
the  dwelling-houses  lower,  seldom  over  three  stories.  The 
old  houses,  in  narrow  streets,  are  generally  small,  and  often 
picturesque  from  the  carvings  of  time  upon  them,  or  from  the 
incongruous  additions  and  improvements  that  have  been  made 
to  them  at  intervals.  At  the  railway  station  we  noticed  such 
differences  in  the  windows  of  a  two-story  house  near  us,  as 
these.  There  were  two  below ;  one  of  these,  being  a  shop 
front,  was  entirely  modern,  with  large  panes  of  glass  in  light 
wooden  sashes.  The  other  was  of  small  panes,  set  in  heavy 
wood-work,  such  as  you  see  in  our  oldest  houses.  One  of 
the  upper  windows  had  small  square  panes  set  in  lead  ;  those 
of  the  other  were  foze/^e-shaped,  and  in  neither  were  they 
more  than  three  inches  wide.  The  frames  were  much  wider 
than  they  were  high,  and  they  opened  sideways.  In  the 
newer  part  of  the  city,  the  fashionable  quarter,  there  are  a 
good  many  brick-walled  houses  faced  with  stucco.  Others 
are  of  Bath  stone,  and  these  are  not  unfrequently  painted  over 
of  the  original  colour  of  the  stone.  Bath  stone,  which  is  the 
most  common  material  of  mason  work,  is  a  fine-grained  free 
stone,  very  easy  to  the  chisel.  It  is  furnished  much  cheaper 
than  our  brown  stone,  so  much  so  that  there  would  be  a 
chance  of  exporting  it  to  America  with  profit.  There  is  a  finer 
sort  of  it,  called  by  the  masons  Caen  stone,  which  is  brought 


56  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

from  Normandy.  The  colour  of  both  is  at  first  buff,  but  rapidly 
changes  to  a  dark  brown.  There  are  some  buildings  of  red 
sandstone,  of  a  little  lighter  colour  than  that  now  so  much 
used  in  New  York.  In  buildings  mainly  of  brick,  stone  is 
used  more  considerably  than  with  us  ;  and  there  are  none  of 
those  equivocating,  sanded-wood  parapets,  porticos,  steps,  &c. ; 
all  is  the  real  grit.  The  bricks  are  mottled,  half  red  and  half 
greyish  yellow  ;  the  effect,  at  a  little  distance,  being  as  I  said 
a  yellow  or  greyish  red,  much  pleasanter  than  the  bright  red 
colour  of  our  Eastern  brick.  Every  thing  out  of  doors  here 
soon  gets  toned  down,  as  the  artists  say,  by  the  smoke.  Per 
haps  it  is  partly  on  this  account  that  pure  white  paint  is  never 
used  ;  but  the  prevailing  taste  is  evidently  for  darker  colours 
than  with  us.  The  common  hues  of  the  furniture  and  fitting 
up  of  shops,  for  instance,  is  nearly  as  dark  as  old  mahogany. 
This  gives  even  the  dram-shops  such  a  rich,  substantial  look, 
that  we  can  hardly  recognise  them  as  of  the  same  species  as 
our  tawdry  "  saloons,"  that  are  so  painted,  gilded,  and  bedi 
zened  to  catch  flies  with  their  flare.  There  are  no -"oyster 
cellars,"  but  oysters  "  raw  and  in  the  shell,"  are  exposed  in 
stands  about  the  street,  like  those  of  our  "  hot  corn,"  and 
apple  wromen.  Liquor  shops,  always  with  the  ominous  sign 
of  "  Vaults"  are  very  frequent,  and  often  splendid.  The  tea 
and  coffee  shops  are  among  the  richest  in  the  streets.  The 
bakers'  fronts  are  also  generally  showy,  and  there  are  a  great 
many  of  them.  It  seems  to  be  the  general  custom,  for  poor 
families  at  least,  to  make  their  own  bread,  and  send  it  in  to 
them  to  be  baked.  The  first  night  we  were  ashore,  we  got 
some  bread  and  butter,  and  American  cheese,  at  a  baker's;, 
and  saw  in  ten  minutes  a  dozen  loaves  called  for.  They  had 
sheet-iron  checks,  with  numbers  on  them,  which  were  given 
up  on  the  presentation  of  a  corresponding  check,  and,  for  a 
loaf  of  ten  or  twelve  pounds,  a  penny  for  baking — in  the 


LIVERPOOL.— STREETS.  57 

same  way  that  passengers'  baggage  is  checked  on  our  rail 
roads. 

Wood  is  used  in  the  interior  of  houses  more  than  I  had 
imagined  it  would  be.  Its  cost  is  high.  I  inquired  the  price 
of  what  looked  like  a  common  "Albany  board,"  such  as  I  buy 
in  New  York  for  sixteen  cents ;  it  was  of  the  value  of  about 
thirty -five  cents.  The  kitchens,  as  far  as  we  have  observed, 
are  on  the  street  floor,  level  with  the  living  apartments. 
Coarse  pottery  and  wicker-work  utensils  are  more  common 
than  with  us.  Few  of  the  houses  in  the  town  have  trees  about 
them.  Occasionally  an  old  mansion  is  set  a  little  back,  and 
has  a  little  shrubby  foliage  in  front  of  it — most  commonly  of 
elms  dwarfed  to  the  size  and  natural  shape  of  a  green-gage 
plum-tree.  There  are,  though,  in  the  better  part  of  the  town, 
some  most  charming  public  grounds.  I  have  never  seen  any 
thing  in  America  to  compare  with  them.  I  will  speak  of 
them  more  particularly  at  another  time. 

The  surface  of  the  ground  on  which  the  town  is  built  is 
irregular,  and  the  streets  crooked  and  running  at  every  angle 
with  each  other.  Generally  they  are  short,  and  if  long,  at 
every  few  blocks  the  names  are  changed.  The  names  are 
often  singular ;  many,  far  apart,  have  the  same  with  different 
prefixes,  as  Great  and  Little,  North  and  South,  &c.  We  are 
in  "  Great  Cross  Hall  street ;"  after  a  slight  turn  it  is  called 
"Tythe  Bam  street,"  and  further  on  Chapel  street.  Tythe 
Barn,  I  understand,  is  derived  from  the  name  of  the  building 
in  which  the  tithes  were  deposited  when  they  were  taken  in. 
kind — a  tenth  of  the  hay,  wheat,  poultry,  &c.  There  is  a 
steep  ascent  near  us  called  "  Shaw's  Brow ;"  it  is  fitted  with 
smooth  stone  tracks  for  cart-wheels,  with  narrow  stones  be 
tween  them  set  on  end  for  the  horses'  feet,  double  teams  here 
generally  going  tandem.  The  best  streets  are  paved,  as  in  New 
York,  only  one-quarter  the  distance  across  them,  the  intermedi- 


58  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

ate  space  being  macadamized.  This  makes  a  very  pleasant 
road.  There  is  generally  a  wide  side-walk,  which  is  flagged  as 
in  our  cities ;  but  in  the  commercial  streets  it  is  oflener  paved 
like  the  carriage-way,  and  in  the  narrowest  there  is  none  at 
all.  The  streets  are  very  clean,  and  all  the  side-walks,  gut 
ters,  and  untravelled  spaces  appear  to  be  swept  every  day. 

I  have  been  through  two  markets.  One  of  them  is  an 
immensely  large  building,  covering  about  two  acres,  right  in 
the  centre  of  the  town ;  it  is  clean,  light,  and  well  ventilated. 
What  a  wonder  it  is  that  the  people  of  New  York  will  put 
up  with  such  miserable,  filthy,  crowded  hovels  as  their  mar 
kets  are !  In  this  building  there  are  over  five  hundred  stalls 
and  tables.  It  has  its  own  superintendant  of  weights  and 
measures,  and  a  thorough  and  constant  police.  There  are 
twelve  men  whose  employment  is  to  keep  it  clean.  The 
garbage  is  passed  readily  through  traps  into  vaults  below, 
from  which  it  is  removed  at  night.  The  rules  for  those  who 
use  it,  are  excellent  to  secure  healthy  condition  of  food,  neat 
ness,  order,  and  fair  play,  and  they  are  strictly  enforced.  To 
my  mind,  this  structure,  and  the  arrangements  connected  with 
it,  is  an  honour  to  Liverpool,  not  second  to  her  docks.  And 
she  has  three  other  large  public  markets,  besides  small  ones 
for  particular  purposes.  The  meat  stalls  are  frequently  owned 
by  women,  and,  except  a  better  supply  of  birds  and  rabbits, 
did  not  offer  any  thing  different  from  those  of  our  butchers. 
A  part  of  the  market  seemed  to  be  occupied  by  country 
women  for  the  sale  of  miscellaneous  wares. 

The  fish  market  was  in  another  building,  which  was  en 
tirely  occupied  by  women,  nice  and  neat,  though  skinning 
eels  and  cleaning  fish.  The  milk  market  also  seemed  to  be 
altogether  in  the  hands  of  women.  Milk  is  not  peddled  about 
as  in  New  York,  but  sold  from  cellar-shops.  If  one  wants  a 
cup  of  tea,  our  landlady  runs  across  the  street  for  a  penny- 


MARKETS.— ECONOMIES.— HOURS.  59 

worth  of  it.  "  From  hand  to  mouth"  so,  seems  to  be  com 
mon  with  many  things.  The  material  for  our  breakfast  is 
mostly  bought  after  we  have  ordered  it.  As  we  did  not 
mention  what  we  would  have  till  after  the  shops  were  closed 
last  night,  we  had  to  wait  till  nine  o'clock  for  it  this  morning. 
Business  hours  begin  later  than  in  America.  I  think  the 
market  is  not  open  till  eight,  which  they  speak  of  as  "  very 
early."  In  this  respect  we  have  found  no  difficulty  in  accom 
modating  ourselves  to  English  customs. 


60  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE      PEOPLE       AT      LIVERPOOL. POVERTY. MERCHANTS. SHOPKEEPERS.— 

WOMEN. SOLDIERS. CHILDREN. DONKEYS  AND  DRAY  HORSES. 

I  HAVE  mentioned  the  most  general  features  of  the  town 
which,  at  first  sight,  on  landing  in  Europe  from  New  York, 
strike  me  as  peculiar.     Having  given  you  its  still  life,  you 
will  wish  me  to  people  it. 

After  we  had  wandered  for  about  an  hour  through  the 
streets  the  first  afternoon  we  were  ashore,  I  remarked  that 
we  had  not  yet  seen  a  single  well-dressed  man,  not  one  per 
son  that  in  America  would  have  been  described  as  "of 
respectable  appearance."  We  were  astonished  to  observe 
with  what  an  unmingled  stream  of  poverty  the  streets  were 
swollen,  and  J.  remarked  that  if  what  we  had  seen  was  a  fair 
indication  of  the  general  condition  of  the  masses  here,  he 
should  hardly  feel  justified  in  dissuading  them  from  using 
violent  and  anarchical  means  to  bring  down  to  themselves  a 
share  of  the  opportunities  and  comforts  of  those  "higher 
classes"  that  seem  to  be  so  utterly  separated  from  them. 
There  are  a  great  many  Irish  in  Liverpool,  but  the  most  that 
we  had  thus  far  seen  evidently  were  English,  yet  not  En 
glish  as  we  have  known  them.  Instead  of  the  stout,  full-faced 
John  Bulls,  we  had  seen  but  few  that  were  not  thin,  meagre, 
and  pale.  There  w^s  somewhat  rarely  an  appearance  of  ac 
tual  misery,  but  a  stupid,  hopeless,  state-prison-for-life  sort 
of  expression.  There  were  not  unfrequently  some  exceptions 


LIVERPOOL  PEOPLE.  61 

to  this,  but  these  were  men  almost  invariably  in  some  uni 
form  or  livery,  as  railroad  hands,  servants,  and  soldiers. 

The  next  morning,  in  the  court-yard  of  the  Exchange  (the 
regular  'Change  assemblage  seemed  to  meet  out  of  doors), 
we  saw  a  large  collection  of  the  merchants.  There  was  noth 
ing  to  distinguish  them  from  a  company  of  a  similar  kind 
with  us,  beyond  a  general  Englishness  of  features  and  an  en 
tire  absence  of  all  oddities — with  astonishing  beards  and  sin 
gularities  of  costume.  One  young  man  only  wore  small 
clothes  and  leggins,  which  would  perhaps  have  disagreeably 
subjected  him  to  be  noticed  with  us.  They  were  stouter  than 
our  merchants,  and  more  chubby-faced,  yet  not  looking  in 
vigorous  health.  They  were,  on  the  whole,  judging  by  a 
glance  at  their  outsides,  to  be  more  respected  than  any  lot 
of  men  of  the  same  number  that  I  ever  saw  together  in  Wall 
street.  Many  of  them,  and  most  of  the  well-dressed  men 
that  we  have  seen  in  the  streets,  have  had  a  green  leaf  and 
simple  posy  in  a  button-hole  of  their  coats. 

The  shopkeepers  of  the  better  class,  or  retail  merchants, 
are  exactly  the  same  men,  to  all  appearance,  that  stand  be 
hind  the  counters  with  us.  Merchant,  means  only  a  whole 
sale  dealer  in  England ;  retailers  are  shopkeepers.  The  word 
store  is  never  applied  to  a  building;  but  the  building  in 
which  goods  are  stored  is  a  warehouse. 

Women  are  more  employed  in  trade  than  with  us ;  I  have 
no  doubt  with  every  way  great  advantage.  The  women  in 
the  streets  are  more  noticeably  different  from  ours  than  the 
men.  In  general,  they  are  very  cheaply  and  coarsely  clad. 
Many  of  the  lower  class  have  their  outer  garments  ordinarily 
drawn  up  behind,  in  the  scrubbing-floor  fashion.  Caps  are 
universally  worn,  and  being  generally  nice  and  white,  they 
have  a  pleasant  effect  upon  the  face.  The  very  poorest  wom 
en  look  very  miserably.  We  see  bruised  eyes  not  unfre- 

6 


62  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

quently>  and  there  is  evidently  a  good  deal  of  hard  drinking 
among  them.  They  are  larger  and  stouter,  and  have  coarser 
features.  There  are  neither  as  many  pretty  nor  as  many 
ugly  faces  as  with  us ;  indeed,  there  are  very  few  remarkably 
ill-favoured  in  that  respect,  and  almost  none  strikingly  hand 
some.  The  best  faces  we  have  seen  were  among  the  fish- 
stalls  in  market.  With  scarcely  an  exception,  the  fish-women 
were  very  large  and  tall,  and  though  many  of  them  were  in 
the  neighbourhood  of  fifty,  they  had  invariably  full,  bright, 
unwrinkled  faces,  beautiful  red  cheeks,  and  a  cheerful  expres 
sion.  English  women,  generally,  appear  more  bold  and  self- 
reliant,  their  action  is  more  energetic,  and  their  carriage  less 
graceful  and  drooping  than  ours.  Those  well  dressed  that 
we  have  seen,  while  shopping,  for  instance,  are  no  exceptions. 
Those  we  have  met  to  converse  with  are  as  modest  and  com 
plaisant  as  could  be  desired,  yet  speak  with  a  marked  prompt 
ness  and  confidence  which  is  animating  and  attractive.  We 
met  a  small  company  last  night  at  the  residence  of  a  gentle 
man  to  whom  we  had  a  letter,  and  spent  the  evening  precisely 
as  we  should  at  a  small  tea-party  at  home ;  we  might  easily 
have  imagined  ourselves  in  New  England.  The  gentlemen 
were  no  way  different,  that  we  noticed,  from  cultivated  men 
with  us,  and  the  ladies  only  seemed  rather  more  frank,  hearty, 
and  sincere-natured  than  we  should  expect  ours  to  be  to  stran 
gers.*  There  was  nothing  in  their  dresses  that  I  can  think  of 
as  peculiar,  yet  a  general  air,  not  American — a  heavier  look 
and  more  crinkles,  and  darker  and  more  mixed-up  colours. 
We  see  many  rather  nice-looking  females,  probably  coming 
in  from  the  country,  driving  themselves  about  town  as  if 
they  understood  it,  in  jaunty-looking  chaises  and  spring-carts. 

*  These  ladies  were  Irish.  The  remark  hardly  applies  to  English  ladies, 
certainly  not  unless  you  meet  them  domestically.  The  English  in  their 
homes,  and  the  English  "  m  company,"  are  singularly  opposite  characters. 


CHILDREN'S  DRESS.— DONKEYS.  65 

As  J.  and  I  were  standing  this  noon  by  the  window  of  a  curi 
osity-shop,  a  lady  addressed  us :  "  This  is  very  curious ;  have 
you  noticed  it  ?"  (pointing  at  something  within  the  window). 
"  I  wish  you  would  help  me  to  read  what  is  written  upon  it." 
She  spoke  exactly  as  if  she  belonged  to  our  party.  She  was 
not  young  or  gayly-dressed,  but  had  all  the  appearance  and 
used  the  language  of  a  well-bred  and  educated  woman.  We 
conversed  with  her  for  a  minute  or  two  about  the  article, 
which  was  some  specimen  of  Australian  natural  history. 

There  are  a  good  many  soldiers  moving  about  in  fine  un 
dress  uniforms ;  one  regiment  is  in  blue,  which  I  did  not 
suppose  the  British  ever  used.  The  men  look  well — more 
intelligent  than  you  would  suppose.  Many  are  quite  old, 
grey-headed,  and  all  are  very  neat  and  orderly  in  the  streets. 

The  children  look  really  punchy.  It  strikes  me  the  young 
ones  are  dressed  much  older,  while  the  young  men  are  clothed 
much  more  boyishly  than  in  America.  Quite  large  children, 
of  both  sexes,  are  dressed  exactly  alike,  and  whether  girls  or 
boys  (they  look  between  both),  you  cannot  guess — girls 
with  fur  hats,  such  as  full-grown  men  wear,  and  boys  in  short 
dresses  and  pantalettes. 

There  are  lots  of  the  queerest  little  donkeys  in  the  streets ; 
some  of  them  would  not  weigh  more  than  Nep  (my  New 
foundland  dog),  and  most  of  them  are  not  as  large  as  our  two- 
year-old  steers.  They  are  made  to  draw  most  enormous 
loads.  I  saw  one  tugging  a  load  of  coal,  on  the  top  of  which 
two  stout  Irishmen  sat,  and  stopped  them  to  ask  the  weight. 
It  was  1200  (besides  themselves),  and  the  top  of  the  donkey's 
back  was  just  even  with  my  waist.  The  driver  said  he  bought 
her  five  years  ago  for  two  pounds  ($10),  and  she  was  then 
called  an  old  one.  Here  is  one  now  coming  up  the  hill  with 
a  great  load  of  furniture,  a  man  on  behind  it,  and  a  boy  on 


64  AN  AMERICA^  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

the  shafts — a  poor  little  rat  of  a  thing,  with  thi  meekest  ex 
pression  you  can  conceive  of.  It  is  just  as  mu^h  as  he  can 
stagger  along  with,  and  the  boy  jumps  off  to  relieve — no  ! 
the  young  satan  has  gone  to  his  head  and  is  cudgelling  him. 
The  poor  little  donkey  winks  and  turns  his  head,  and  drops 
his  ears,  and  nearly  falls  down.  The  boy  stops  (probably  a 
policeman  heaves  in  sight)  and  takes  his  seat  on  the  shaft 
again,  and  the  donkey  reels  on.  The  man  aft  has  continued 
his  smoking  all  the  while,  without  taking  any  notice  of  the 
delay.  As  I  write,  there  goes  by  another — a  very  handsome, 
large  fat  one,  drawing  a  market  cart,  with  a  pretty  country 
girl  among  the  hampers  driving. 


BEGGARS.— PLACARD.  65 


CHAPTER  VII. 

LIVERPOOL    CONTINUED. IRISH    BEGGARS. CONDITION  OF  LABOURERS. COST 

OF  LIVING. PRICES. BATH    HOUSE. QUARANTINE. THE    DOCKS. STREET 

SCENE. "  COMING    YANKEE  "    OVER   NONSENSE. ARTISTIC   BEGGING. 

I  HAVE  learned  nothing  reliable  about  the  price  of  labour 
here ;  the  Irish  emigration  keeps  it  lower  in  Liverpool 
than  elsewhere.  This  reminds  me  of  beggars,  and  of  a  placard 
posted  everywhere  about  the  streets  to-day.  The  beggars  are 
not  very  frequent,  and  are  mostly  poor,  pitiable,  sickly 
women,  carrying  half-naked  babies.  The  placard  is  as  fol 
lows: — "The  SELECT  VESTRY  inform  their  fellow-citizens, 
that  in  consequence  of  the  extremely  low  price  of  passage 
from  Ireland — 4d.  (8  cts.),  great  numbers  are  coming  here  ap 
parently  with  no  other  object  than  to  beg.  They  earnestly 
desire  that  nothing  should  be  given  them."  As  a  specimen, 
they  mention  the  following :  an  Irish  woman,  pretending  to  be 
a  widow,  was  taken  up,  who  had  obtained  3s.  2d.  (80  cts.)  in 
an  hour  and  a  half  after  her  arrival.  Her  husband  was  found 
already  in  custody. 

The  people  all  seem  to  be  enjoying  life  more,  or  else  to 
be  much  more  miserable  than  in  America.*     The  labourers 

*  I  was  surprised  to  find  this  remark  in  my  first  letter  from  Liverpool, 
for  it  is  the  precise  counterpart  of  my  impression  on  landing  again  in  the 
United  States,  after  six  months  absence  in  Europe.  I  observe  lately,  'that 
the  Earl  of  Carlisle  has  said  something  of  similar  import.  I  do  believe  the 
people  of  the  United  States  have  less  of  pleasure  and  less  of  actual  suffering 

6* 


66  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

seem  haggard  and  stupid,  and  all  with  whom  I  have  talked, 
say  a  poor  man  can  hardly  live  here.  There  is  a  strong 
anti-free-trade  growling  among  them,  and  they  complain  much 
of  the  repeal  of  the  Navigation  Laws,  asserting  that  American 
ships  are  now  getting  business  that  was  formerly  in  the  hands 
of  the  English  alone,  and  so  American  sailors  do  the  labour  in 
the  docks  which  was  formerly  given  to  the  stevedores  and 
working-men  of  the  town. 

Clothing,  shoes,  &c.,  and  rents,  are  a  good  deal  cheaper 
than  in  New  York,  and  common  articles  of  food  but  little 
higher.  I  have  obtained  the  following,  as  specimens  of  prices 
for  a  few  ordinary  necessaries  of  life  (1st  of  June)  : 

Beef,  mutton,  and  pork,  fine,  12J  cts.  a  pound;  lamb, 
16  cts. ;  veal,  10  cts. 

Salmon,  33  cts.  a  pound ;  fresh  butter,  27  cts. ;  potatoes, 
31  cts.  a  peck. 

Foivls,  75  cts.  a  pair  ;  rabbits,  50  cts.  a  pair ;  pigeons,  37 
cts.  each. 

Best  Ohio  flour  ("  superfine  "),  $6  25  a  barrel. 

Bread,  2J  cts.  a  pound,  or  a  loaf  of  12  Ibs.,  30  cts. 

Bread  of  best  quality,  3  cts.  per  lb.,  or  loaf  of  12  Ibs., 
35  cts. 

Sugar  is  higher,  and  tropical  fruits,  pine-apples,  oranges, 
&c.,  are  sold  by  the  hucksters  for  more  money  than  in  New 
York. 

$as. — The  town  is  well  lighted  by  gas.  and  it  is  much 
used  in  private  houses — much  more  generally  than  in  New 
York.  Price  $1  12  per  1000  feet. 

Water. — Water  is  conveyed  through  the  town  and  to  the 

than  any  other  in  the  world.  Hopefulness,  but  hope  ever  unsatisfied,  is 
marked  in  every  American's  face.  In  contrast  with  Germany,  it  is  partic 
ularly  evident  that  most  of  us  know  but  little  of  the  virtuous  pleasure  God 
has  fitted  us  to  enjoy  in  this  world. 


PRICES.— BATHING-.— DOCKS.  67 

shipping  in  tubes,  through  which  I  believe  it  is  forced  by 
steam-engines  by  several  companies.  The  manner  in  which 
they  are  remunerated  I  did  not  learn. 

Bathing. — There  is  a  very  large  and  elegant  bath-house 
(covering  half  an  acre),  built  of  stone,  by  the  corporation,  at 
an  expense  of  $177,000.  It  is  fitted  with  suitable  accommo 
dations  for  all  classes  of  bathers,  at  various  prices.  There  is 
a  public  bath  (45  by  27  feet)  for  gentlemen,  and  another  for 
ladies.  The  water  is  all  filtered,  and  the  cold  baths  have  a 
constant  fresh  supply  and  outflow.  A  steam-engine  is  em 
ployed  for  pumping,  etc.  From  what  I  saw,  I  should  sup 
pose  the  use  of  this  establishment  was  fashionable.  There 
are  also  floating  baths  in  the  river,  as  at  New  York ;  and 
beach-bathing  and  sea-swimming  can  be  enjoyed  at  a  few 
minutes'  distance,  by  ferry,  from  the  town. 

Quarantine. — There  are  no  buildings  or  ground  employed 
for  quarantine,  but  a  number  of  large  hulks  are  moored  in 
the  bay  for  this  purpose.  Quarantine  vessels  are  anchored 
near  them,  and  keep  a  yellow  flag  flying.  It  is  a  great  many 
years  since  a  vessel  has  been  quarantined  here,  however,  the 
medical  men  being  generally  agreed  that  such  precaution  is 
useless,  or  effective  of  more  harm  than  good. 

We  have  not  made  a  business  of  sight  seeing,  and  I 
want  to  give  you  the  general  aspect  of  the  town,  rather  than 
show  up  the  lions.  The  Liverpool  docks,  howrever,  are  so 
extensive,  and  so  different  from  any  thing  we  have  of  the  kind 
in  America,  that  you  will  wish  me  to  give  a  few  particulars 
of  them. 

The  Docks  are  immense  basins,  enclosed  from  the  river, 
or  dug  out  from  the  bank,  walled  up  on  all  sides  by  masonry, 
and  protected  on  the  outside,  from  the  sea,  by  solid  stone 
piers  or  quays.  In  these  quays  are  gates  or  locks,  through 


68  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

which,  at  high-water,  vessels  enter  or  leave.  When  the  water 
has  slightly  fallen  they  are  closed,  and  the  water  being 
retained,  the  ships  are  left  securely  floating  at  a  height  con 
venient  for  removing  their  cargoes.  The  docks  are  all  en 
closed  by  high  brick  walls,  but  between  these  and  the  water 
there  is  room  enough  for  passing  of  carts,  and  for  the  tempo 
rary  protection  of  goods  under  wooden  sheds,  as  they  are 
hoisted  out,  and  before  they  can  be  removed.  The  streets 
about  the  docks  are  mostly  lined  with  very  large  and  strong 
fire-proof  warehouses.  The  quay  outside  the  docks  is  broad 
enough  to  afford  a  wide  terrace  upon  the  river,  which  is  called 
the  Marine  Parade,  and  is  much  resorted  to  as  a  promenade. 
Stone  stairs  at  intervals  descend  to  the  bottom  of  the  river, 
and  there  are  similar  ones  within  the  docks  to  give  access  to 
small  boats.  There  are  buoys  and  life-preservers  lashed  to 
the  rails  of  the  bridges,  and  small  houses,  occasionally  fur 
nished  with  instruments  and  remedies,  for  the  resuscitation  of 
drowning  persons. 

There  are  graving  docks  in  which  the  depth  of  water  can 
be  regulated  at  pleasure,  for  the  inspection  and  repair  of  the 
bottoms  of  vessels  ;  and  there  are  large  basins  for  coasters,  to 
which  there  are  no  gates,  and  in  which  the  tide  rises  and  falls, 
leaving  them  in  the  mud  at  the  ebb.  The  large  docks  are 
connected  with  each  other,  and  with  the  graving  docks,  by 
canals,  so  a  vessel  can  go  from  one  to  another  at  any  time  of 
tide,  and  without  going  into  the  river. 

But  you  have  yet  no  idea  of  the  spaciousness  and  gran 
deur  of  the  docks.  Some  of  them  enclose  within  their  walls 
ten  or  twelve  acres,  half  of  which,  or  more,  is  occupied  by 
vessels.  The  twelve  now  completed  (there  are  more  build 
ing)  extend  along  in  front  of  the  town  uninterrupted  by 
buildings  for  more  than  two  miles,  or  farther  than  from 
Whitehall  Stairs  to  Corl ear's  Hook,  in  New  York.  On  the 


LIVERPOOL.— DO  OKS.  69 

other  side  of  the  river,  a  considerably  larger  extent  of  docks 
is  laid  out  and  constructing.  A  basin  for  coasters,  which 
covers  over  sixteen  acres,  and  in  which  there  is  twelve  feet  at 
low  water,  is  just  completed  there. 

Each  dock  has  its  own  dock-master,  custom-house  super- 
intendant,  and  police  force.  The  police  is  the  most  perfect 
imaginable.  It  is  composed  of  intelligent  and  well-instructed 
young  men,  most  courteous  and  obliging,  at  the  same  time 
prompt  and  efficient.  It  quite  surprised  me  to  see  our  fierce 
captains  submit  like  lambs  to  have  their  orders  countermand 
ed  by  them. 

There  are  three  docks  for  the  convenience  of  steamers 
alone.  The  American  steamers,  I  suppose,  are  too  large  to 
go  into  them,  for  they  are  lying  in  the  stream. 

The  docks  were  built  by  the  town,  and  besides  the  won 
derful  increase  of  its  commerce  which  they  have  effected,  the 
direct  revenue  from  them  gives  a  large  interest  on  their  cost. 
The  charges  are  more  moderate  than  at  other  British  ports, 
and  this  has,  no  doubt,  greatly  helped  to  draw  their  commerce 
here.  This  is  the  principal  ground,  for  instance,  of  the  selec 
tion  of  Liverpool  in  preference  to  Bristol  as  the  port  of 
departure  for  transatlantic  steamers.  The  foreign  commerce 
of  Liverpool  is  the  most  valuable  of  any  town  in  the  world. 
Its  immense  business  is  probably  owing  to  its  being  the  best 
port  in  the  vicinity  of  the  thickest  manufacturing  district  of 
England.  It  is  not  naturally  a  good  harbour,  but  a  very 
exposed  and  inconvenient  one.  The  port  charges  at  Bristol 
have  been  lately  greatly  reduced,  and  are  now  lower  than 
those  of  Liverpool,  or  any  other  port  in  the  United  Kingdom. 
The  amount  paid  by  vessels  for  dockage  has  in  some  years 
been  $1,000,000,  and  the  whole  is  expended  by  the  corpora 
tion  in  improvements  of  the  town  and  for  public  purposes. 

The  small  steam  craft  do  not  usually  go  into  the  docks,  but 


70  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

land  passengers  on  the  quays  outside.  The  ferry-boats,  of 
which  there  are  half  a  dozen  lines  crossing  the  Mersey,  all 
come  to  one  large  floating  wharf,  from  which  the  ascent  to 
the  quays  is  made  easy  at  all  times  of  tide,  by  a  sufficiently 
long,  hinged  bridge. 

There  is  a  Sailor's  Home  now  building  here,  which  will 
certainly  be  a  noble  record  of  the  justice  and  liberality  of  the 
merchants  of  the  port  to  their  humble  associates  on  the  sea. 
It  is  situated  in  an  open  public  place,  not  far  from  the  Custom 
House  and  City  Hall.  It  is  built  of  stone,  in  the  Elizabethan 
Gothic  style,  and  was  considered  a  design  worthy  of  giving 
Prince  Albert  honour  in  the  laying  of  its  corner-stone.  It  is 
already  a  stately  edifice. 

There  are  chapels  for  seamen  in  several  (possibly  in  all) 
of  the  docks.* 

Later.  We  have  left  Liverpool,  and  while  breathing  this 
delicious  fragrance  of  hawthorn  and  clover,  it  is  hard  to  think 
back  to  the  stirring  dusty  town,  but  I  will  try  for  a  few  min 
utes  to  do  so,  and  then  bring  you  with  me  (I  wish  I  could !) 
out  into  the  country. 

A  great  deal  that  interested  us  at  Liverpool  I  must  omit 
to  tell  you  of.  I  should  like  to  introduce  you  to  some  of  the 
agreeable  acquaintances  we  met  there,  but  in  what  we  saw 
of  social  life  there,  there  was  hardly  any  thing  to  distinguish 

*  The  laws  of  the  port  req.tire,  That  for  three  hours  at  high  water,  there 
shall  be  an  efficient  person  on  the  deck  of  every  vessel  in  the  docks  or  ba 
sins  :  That  the  anchor  shall  be  in-board,  jib-boom  run  in,  &c. :  That  no 
article  of  freight  shall  be  allowed  to  remain  on  the  dock-quays  for  more 
than  forty-eight  hours  [penalty,  $1.25  an  hour] :  That  no  light  or  fire  shall 
be  allowed  [without  special  permission]  on  any  vessel  in  the  docks  or  ba 
sins  at  any  time.  This  last  regulation  prevents  cooking  on  board,  and 
makes  it  necessary  for  the  crews  to  live  on  shore.  The  consequent  cus 
toms  are  very  inconvenient,  expensive,  and  demoralizing  to  the  seamen. 


COMPARATIVE  STREET-POVERTY.  71 

it  from  America.  We  were  much  pleased  with  some  of  the 
public  gardens  and  pleasure-grounds  that  we  visited,  and 
when  we  return  here  I  may  give  you  some  account  of  them. 
I  meant  to  have  said  a  little  more  about  the  style  of  building 
in  the  newer  and  extending  parts  of  the  city ;  it  did  not  differ 
much,  however,  from  what  you  might  see  at  home,  in  some 
of  the  suburbs  of  Boston  for  instance. 

It  would  be  more  strange  to  you  to  see  long,  narrow 
streets,  full  from  one  end  to  the  other,  of  the  poorest-looking 
people  you  ever  saw,  women  and  children  only,  the  men 
being  off  at  work,  I  suppose,  sitting,  lounging,  leaning  on  the 
door-steps  and  side- walks,  smoking,  knitting,  and  chatting; 
the  boys  playing  ball  in  the  street,  or  marbles  on  the  flagging ; 
no  break  in  the  line  of  tall,  dreary  houses,  but  strings  of 
clothes  hung  across  from  opposite  second-story  windows  to 
dry ;  all  dwellings,  except  a  few  cellar,  beer,  or  junk  shops. 
You  can  see  nothing  like  such  a  dead  mass  of  pure  poverty 
in  the  worst  quarter  of  our  worst  city.  In  New  York,  such 
a  street  would  be  ten  times  as  filthy  and  stinking,  and  ten 
times  as  lively ;  in  the  middle  of  it  there  would  be  a  large 
fair  building,  set  a  little  back  (would  that  I  could  say  with  a 
few  roods  of  green  turf  and  shrubbery  between  it  and  the 
gutter  in  which  the  children  are  playing),  with  the  inscription 
upon  it,  "  Public  Free  School ;"  across  from  the  windows 
would  be  a  banner  with  the  "  Democratic  Republican  Nomi 
nations  ;"  hand-organs  would  be  playing,  hogs  squealing,  per- 
haps  a  stampede  of  firemen ;  boys  would  be  crying  newspa 
pers,  and  the  walls  would  be  posted  with  placards,  appealing, 
with  whatever  motive,  to  patriotism  and  duty,  showing  that 
statesmen  and  demagogues  could  calculate  on  the  people's 
reading  and  thinking  there.  There  would  be  gay  grog-shops 
too,  with  liberty  poles  before  them,  and  churches  and  Sunday- 
«4chool  rooms  (with  lying  faces  of  granite-painted  pine)  by 


72  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

their  side.  The  countenances  of  the  people  here,  too,  exhib 
ited  much  less,  either  of  virtuous  or  vicious  character,  than 
you  would  discern  among  an  equally  poor  multitude  in 
America,  yet  among  the  most  miserable  of  them  (they 
were  Irish),  I  was  struck  with  some  singularly  intelligent,  and 
even  beautiful  faces,  so  strangely  out  of  place,  that  if  they  had 
been  cleaned  and  put  in  frames,  so  the  surroundings  would 
not  appear,  you  would  have  taken  them  for  those  of  delicate, 
refined,  and  intellectual  ladies. 

TJiursday  morning,  May  8Qth. 

We  packed  all  our  travelling  matter,  except  a  few  necessa 
ries,  in  two  trunks  and  a  carpet-bag,  and  I  took  them  in  a 
public  carriage  to  the  freight  station,  to  be  sent  to  London. 
The  trunks  were  received,  but  the  bag  the  clerks  refused,  and 
said  it  must  be  sent  from  the  passenger  station.  I  had  en 
gaged  to  meet  my  friends  in  a  few  minutes  at  the  opposite 
side  of  the  town  from  the  passenger  station,  and  the  delay 
of  going  there  would  vexatiously  disarrange  our  plans.  I 
therefore  urged  them  to  take  it,  offering  to  pay  the  passenger 
luggage  extra,  freight,  &c.  They  would  be  happy  to  accom 
modate  me,  but  their  rules  did  not  admit  of  it.  A  carpet-bag 
could  not  be  sent  from  that  station  at  any  price.  I  jumped 
on  to  the  box,  and  drove  quickly  to  the  nearest  street  of  shops, 
where,  at  a  grocer's,  I  bought  for  twopence  a  coffee-sack,  and 
enclosing  the  bag,  brought  it  in  a  few  minutes  back  to  the 
station.  There  was  a  good  laugh,  and  they  gave  me  a  receipt 
at  once  for  a  sack — to  be  kept  in  London  until  called  for. 

On  the  quay,  I  noticed  a  bareheaded  man  drawing  with 
coloured  crayons  on  a  broad,  smooth  flagstone.  He  had  rep 
resented,  in  a  very  skilful  and  beautiful  manner,  a  salmon  laid 
on  a  china  platter,  opposite  a  broken  plate  of  coarse  crockery ; 
between  these  were  some  lines  about  a  "  rich  man's  dish"  and 


STREET  BEG-G-ING.  73 

a  "poor  man's  dinner."  He  was  making  an  ornamental  bor 
der  about  it,  and  over  all  was  written,  "  Friends  !  I  can  get 
NO  WORK  ;  I  must  do  this  or  starve" 

His  hat,  with  a  few  pence  in  it,  stood  by  the  side  of  this. 
Was  it  not  eloquent  ? 

7 


74  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

BIRKENHEAD. FERRY-BOATS. — GRUFF  ENGLISHMAN. — THE  ABBEY. — FLOUR. 

MARKET. THE  PARK. A  DEMOCRATIC  INSTITUTION. SUBURBAN  VILLAS,  &C. 

rriHE  ferry-boat  by  which  we  crossed  to  Birkenhead  was 
-L  very  small  and  dingy.  There  was  no  protection  from  the 
weather  on  board  of  her,  except  a  narrow,  dark  cabin  under 
deck.  There  were  uncushioned  seats  all  around  the  outside, 
against  the  rail,  and  the  rest  of  the  deck  was  mostly  filled  up 
with  freight,  spars,  &c.  She  had  a  bowsprit,  and  a  beautiful 
light,  rakish  mast,  and  topmast  fitted  to  carry  a  gaffsail.  She 
was  steered  with  a  wheel  in  the  stern.  The  pilot  or  master 
(a  gentleman  with  a  gold  band  on  his  hat  and  naval  buttons), 
stood  on  the  paddle-boxes  to  direct,  and  a  boy  stood  over  the 
engine  to  pass  orders  below.  The  engine  was  under  deck, 
the  tops  of  the  cylinders  only  appearing  above  it.  It  was, 
however,  entirely  exposed  to  observation,  and  showed  excel 
lent  workmanship,  and  was  kept  perfectly  clean  and  highly 
polished.  It  was  of  entirely  different  construction  from  any 
American  engine,  having  three  oscillating  cylinders.  The 
"hands'^  looked  like  regular  tars,  wearing  tarpaulins,  with  the 
name  of  the  boat  in  gilt  letters  on  the  ribbon,  blue  baize 
shirts,  and  broad-bottomed  trowsers  hung  tight  on  the  hips. 
The  boat  came  alongside  the  wharf,  ran  out  her  hawsers,  and 
took  in  her  passengers  by  a  narrow  gang-plank ;  and  yet  she 
makes  her  trip  once  in  ten  minutes.  There  would  not  be 


BIRKENHEAD.  75 

room  enough  on  her  decks  for  one  of  our  Rockaways  to  stand, 
and  she  seemed  to  have  no  idea  of  ferrying  any  thing  but 
foot-passengers.  What  would  the  good  people  of  Birkenhead 
think  of  a  Fulton  ferry-boat,  with  its  long,  light,  and  airy 
rooms,  their  floors  level  with  the  street,  and  broad  carriage- 
roads  from  stem  to  stern,  crossing  and  recrossing  without 
turning  round,  or  ever  a  word  of  command,  or  a  rope  lifted 
from  morning  till  evening  and  from  evening  till  morning? 
The  length  of  the  ferry  is  about  the  same  as  the  South  Ferry 
of  Brooklyn,  and  the  fare  one  penny. 

BIRKENHEAD  is  the  most  important  suburb  of  Liverpool, 
having  the  same  relation  to  it  that  Charlestown  has  to  Boston' 
or  Brooklyn  to  New  York.  When  the  first  line  of  Liverpool 
packets  was  established,  there  were  not  half  a  dozen  houses 
here ;  it  now  has  a  population  of  many  thousands,  and  is 
increasing  with  a  rapidity  hardly  paralleled  in  the  New 
World.  This  is  greatly  owing  to  the  very  liberal  and  enter- 
prising  policy  of  the  land-owners,  which  affords  an  example 
that  might  be  profitably  followed  in  the  vicinity  of  many  of 
our  own  large  towns.  There  are  several  public  squares,  and 
the  streets  and  places  are  broad,  and  well  paved  and  lighted 
A  considerable  part  of  the  town  has  been  built  with  reference 
to  generaLeffect,  from  the  plans  and  under  the  direction  of  a 
talented  architect,  GILESPIE  GRAHAM. 

We  received  this  information  while  crossing  in  the  ferry 
boat  from  a  fellow-passenger,  who,  though  a  stranger,  entered 
into  conversation,  and  answered  our  inquiries  with  a  frank- 
ness  and  courtesy  that  we  have  thus  far  received  from  every 
one  in  England.  By  his  direction,  we  found  near  the  landing 
a  square  of  eight  or  ten  acres,  about  half  of  it  enclosed  by  an 
iron  fence,  and  laid  out  with  tasteful  masses  of  shrubbery 
(not  trees),  and  gravel  walks.  The  houses  about  it  stood 
detached,  and  though  of  the  same  general  style,  were  suffi- 


76  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

ciently  varied  in  details,  not  to  appear  monotonous.  These 
were  all  of  stone. 

We  left  this,  and  were  walking  up  a  long,  broad  street, 
looking  for  a  place  where  we  could  get  a  bite  of  something 
to  eat,  when  the  gentleman  who  had  crossed  at  the  ferry  with 
us  joined  us  again,  and  said  that  as  we  were  strangers  we 
might  like  to  look  at  the  ruins  of  an  ABBEY  which  were  in  the 
vicinity,  and  he  had  come  after  us  that  if  we  pleased  he  might 
conduct  us  to  it. 

Eight  in  the  midst  of  the  town,  at  the  corner  of  a  new 
brick  house,  we  came  upon  an  old  pile  of  stone  work.  Old, 
indeed ! — under  the  broken  arch  of  a  Gothic  window,  the 
rain-water  had  been  so  long  trickling  as  to  wear  deep  chan 
nels  ;  cracking,  crumbling,  bending  over  with  age,  it  seemed 
in  many  places  as  if  the  threatening  mass  had  only  been  till 
now  withheld  from  falling  prostrate  by  the  faithful  ivy  that 
clung  to  it,  and  clasped  it  tight  with  every  fibre. 

You  cannot  imagine  the  contrast  to  the  hot,  hurrying, 
noisy  world  without,  that  we  found  on  entering  the  little 
enclosure  of  the  old  churchyard  and  abbey  walls.  It  was 
all  overshadowed  with  dense  foliage,  and  only  here  and  there 
through  the  leaves,  or  a  shattered  arch  round  which  the  ivy 
curled  with  enchanting  grace,  would  there  be  a  glimpse  of 
the  blue  sky  above.  By  listening,  we  could  still  hear  the 
roar  of  wheels,  rumbling  of  rail-cars,  clanging  of  steamboat 
bells,  and  the  shouts  of  jovial  sea-captains,  drinking  gin  and 
water  in  a  neighbouring  tea-garden,  over  which  the  American 
flag  was  flying.  But  within  the  walls  there  was  no  sound  but 
the  chirps  of  a  wren,  looking  for  her  nest  in  a  dark  cranny ; 
the  hum  of  bees  about  an  old  hawthorn  bush ;  the  piping  of 
a  cricket  under  a  gravestone,  and  our  own  footsteps  echoed 
from  mysterious  crypts. 

Our  gui^e  having  pointed  out  to  us  the  form  of  the  ancient 


BIRKENHEAD   ABBEY.— SCHOOL-HOUSE.  77 

structure,  and  been  requited  for  his  trouble  by  seeing  the 
pleasure  he  had  given  us,  took  his  leave.  We  remained  a 
long  time,  and  enjoyed  it  as  you  may  think. 

Did  you  ever  hear  of  Birkenhead  Abbey  ?  I  never  had 
before.  It  has  no  celebrity;  but  coming  upon  it  so  fresh 
from  the  land  of  youth,  as  we  did,  so  unexpecting  of  any 
thing  of  the  kind — though  I  have  since  seen  far  older  ruins, 
and  more  renowned — I  have  never  found  any  so  impressively 


A  ruined  end  of  the  old  prior's  house  had  been  repaired 
and  roofed  over  many  years  ago,  and  was  used  as  a  school- 
house—many  years  ago,  for  the  ivy  on  it  was  very  strong 
and  knarled,  and  bushes  and  grass  were  growing  all  over  the 
roof.  I  send  you  a  hasty  sketch  of  it ; — wouldn't  you  like 
the  memory  of  such  a  school1?  (See  vignette,  title  page.} 

At  the  market-place  we  went  into  a  baker's  shop,  and, 
while  eating  some  buns,  learned  that  the  poorest  flour  in  mar 
ket  was  American  and  the  best  French.  Upon  examination 
of  his  stock,  we  thought  he  had  hardly  a  fair  sample  of 
American  flour,  but  his  French  flour  was  certainly  remarka 
bly  fine,  and  would  be  so  considered  at  Rochester.  He  said 
it  made  much  whiter  bread  than  either  American  or  English, 
and  he  used  but  little  of  it  unmixed,  except  for  the  most 
delicate  pastry.  French  and  English  flour  is  sold  in  sacks, 
American  in  barrels.  He  thought  American  flour  was  not 
generally  kiln-dried,*  and  was  much  injured  in  consequence. 

*  The  great  bulk  of  the  flour  we  are  now  exporting  to  England  is  of 
inferior  quality,  worth  about  $3  50  when  common  superfine  is  $4  50.  It 
is  used  extensively  by  the  millers  in  England  to  mix  with  a  superior  quality 
of  their  own  grinding  of  English  wheat.  By  the  way,  the  custom  of  taking 
a  toll  in  kind,  as  a  compensation  for  grinding  at  grist-mills,  which  our 
fathers  brought  from  England,  and  which  we  retain,  is  now  obsolete  there. 
The  millers  make  their  charges  in  money,  and  are  paid  as  in  any  other 
business. 


78  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

When  we  left  he  obligingly  directed  us  to  several  objects  of 
interest  in  the  vicinity,  and  showed  us  through  the  market. 
It  is  but  little  less  in  size,  and  really  appears  finer  and  more 
convenient  than  the  one  I  described  in  Liverpool. 

The  roof,  which  is  mostly  of  glass,  is  high  and  airy,  and 
is  supported  by  two  rows  of  slender  iron  columns,  giving  to 
the  interior  the  appearance  of  three  light  and  elegant  arcades. 
The  contrivances  to  effect  ventilation  and  cleanliness  are  very 
complete.  It  was  built  by  the  town,  upon  land  given  to  it 
for  the  purpose,  and  cost  8175,000. 

The  baker  had  begged  of  us  not  to  leave  Birkenhead 
without  seeing  their  new  park,  and  at  his  suggestion  we  left 
our  knapsacks  with  him,  and  proceeded  to  it.  As  we  ap 
proached  the  entrance,  we  were  met  by  women  and  girls, 
who,  holding  out  a  cup  of  milk,  asked  us — "  Will  you  take  a 
cup  of  milk,  sirs? — good,  cool,  sweet,  cow's  milk,  gentlemen, 
or  right  warm  from  the  ass  /"  And  at  the  gate  was  a  herd 
of  donkeys,  some  with  cans  of  milk  strapped  to  th$m,  others 
saddled  and  bridled,  to  be  let  for  ladies  and  children  to  ride. 

The  gateway,  which  is  about  a  mile  and  a  half  from  the 
ferry,  and  quite  back  of  the  town,  is  a  great,  massive  block 
of  handsome  Ionic  architecture,  standing  alone,  and  unsup 
ported  by  any  thing  else  in  the  vicinity,  and  looking,  as  I 
think,  heavy  and  awkward.  There  is  a  sort  of  grandeur 
about  it  that  the  English  are  fond  of,  but  which,  when  it  is 
entirely  separate  from  all  other  architectural  constructions, 
always  strikes  me  unpleasantly.  It  seems  intended  as  an 
impressive  preface  to  a  great  display  of  art  within  ;  but  here, 
as  well  as  at  Eaton  Park,  and  other  places  I  have  since  seen, 
it  is  not  followed  up  with  great  things,  the  grounds  immedi 
ately  within  the  grand  entrance  being  very  simple,  and  appa 
rently  rather  overlooked  by  the  gardener.  There  is  a  large 
archway  for  carriages,  and  two  smaller  ones  for  those  on  foot, 


PEOPLES   GARDEN.  79 

and,  on  either  side,  and  over  these,  are  rooms,  which  probably 
serve  as  inconvenient  lodges  for  the  labourers.  No  porter 
appears,  and  the  gates  are  freely  open  to  the  public. 

Walking  a  short  distance  up  an  avenue,  we  passed  through 
another  light  iron  gate  into  a  thick,  luxuriant,  and  diversified 
garden.     Five  minutes  of  admiration,  and  a  few  more  spent 
in  studying  the  manner  in  which  art  had  been  employed  to 
obtain  from  nature  so  much  beauty,  and  I  was  ready  to  admit 
that  in  democratic  America  there  was  nothing  to  be  thought 
of  as  comparable  with  this  People's  Garden.     Indeed,  gar 
dening,  had  here  reached  a  perfection  that  I  had  never  before 
dreamed  of.     I  cannot  undertake  to  describe  the  effect  of  so 
much  taste  and  skill  as  had  evidently  been  employed ;  I  will 
only  tell  you,  that  we  passed  by  winding  paths,  over  acres 
and  acres,  with  a  constant  varying  surface,  where  on  all  sides 
were  growing  every  variety  of  shrubs  and  flowers,  with  more 
than  natural  grace,  all  set  in  borders  of  greenest,  closest  turf, 
and  all  kept  with  most  consummate  neatness.     At  a  distance 
of  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the  gate,  we  came  to  an  open  field 
of  clean,  bright,  green-sward,  closely  mown,  on  which  a  large 
tent  was  pitched,  and  a  party  of  boys  in  one  part,  and  a  party 
of  gentlemen  in  another,  were  playing  cricket.     Beyond  this 
was  a  large  meadow  with  rich  groups  of  trees,  under  which  a 
flock  of  sheep  were  reposing,  and  girls  and  women  with  chil 
dren,  were  playing.     While  watching  the  cricketers,  we  were 
threatened  with  a  shower,   and  hastened  back  to  look  for 
shelter,  which  we  found  in  a  pagoda,  on  an  island  approached 
by  a  Chinese  bridge.     It  was  soon  filled,  as  were  the  other 
ornamental  buildings,  by  a  crowd  of  those  who,  like  ourselves, 
had  been  overtaken  in  the  grounds  by  the  rain ;  arid  I  was 
glad  to  observe  that  the  privileges  of  the  garden  were  enjoyed 
about  equally  by  all  classes.     There  were  some  who  were 
attended  by  servants,  and  sent  at  once  for  their  carriages, 


80  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

but  a  large  proportion  were  of  the  common  ranks,  and  a  few 
women  with  children,  or  suffering  from  ill  health,  were  evi 
dently  the  wives  of  very  humble  labourers.  There  were  a 
number  of  strangers,  and  some  we  observed  with  note-books 
and  portfolios,  that  seemed  to  have  come  from  a  distance  to 
study  from  the  garden.  The  summer-houses,  lodges,  bridges, 
&c.,  were  all  well  constructed,  and  of  undecaying  materials. 
One  of  the  bridges  which  we  crossed  was  of  our  countryman, 
EEMINGTON'S  patent,  an  extremely  light  and  graceful  erection. 

I  obtained  most  of  the  following  information  from  the 
head  working-gardener. 

The  site  of  the  park  and  garden  was,  ten  years  ago,  a  flat, 
sterile,  clay  farm.  It  was  placed  in  the  hands  of  Mr.  PAXTON, 
in  June,  1844,  by  whom  it  was  laid  out  in  its  present  form 
by  June  of  the  following  year.  Carriage  roads,  thirty-four 
feet  wide,  with  borders  of  ten  feet,  and  walks  varying  in 
width,  were  first  drawn  and  made.  The  excavation  for  a 
pond  was  also  made,  and  the  earth  obtained  from  these 
sources  used  for  making  mounds  and  to  vary  the  surface, 
which  has  been  done  with  much  naturalness  and  taste.  The 
whole  ground  was  thoroughly  under-drained,  the  minor  drains 
of  stone,  the  main,  of  tile.  By  these  sufficient  water  is  ob 
tained  to  fully  supply  the  pond,  or  lake,  as  they  call  it,  which 
is  from  twenty  to  forty  feet  wide,  and  about  three  feet  deep, 
and  meanders  for  a  long  distance  through  the  garden.  It  is 
stocked  with  aquatic  plants,  gold  fish,  and  swans. 

The  roads  are  macadamized.  On  each  side  of  the  carriage 
way,  and  of  all  the  walks,  pipes  for  drainage  are  laid,  which 
communicate  with  deep  main  drains  that  run  under  the  edge 
of  all  the  mounds  or  flower  beds.  The  walks  are  laid  first 
with  six  inches  of  fine  broken  stone,  then  three  inches  cinders, 
and  the  surface  with  six  inches  of  fine  rolled  gravel.  All  the 
stones  on  the  ground  which  were  not  used  for  these  purposes, 


A   MODEL  FOR   AMERICAN  TOWNS.  81 

were  laid  in  masses  of  rock-work,  and  mosses  and  rock-plants 
attached  to  them.  The  mounds  were  then  planted  with 
shrubs,  and  heaths  and  ferns,  and  the  beds  with  flowering 
plants.  Between  these,  and  the  walks  and  drives,  is  every 
where  a  belt  of  turf  (which,  by  the  way,  is  kept  close  cut 
with  short,  broad  scythes,  and  shears,  and  swept  with  hair- 
brooms,  as  we  saw).  Then  the  rural  lodges,  temple,  pavilion, 
bridges,  orchestra  for  a  band  of  instrumental  music,  &c.,  were 
built.  And  so,  in  one  year,  the  skeleton  of  this  delightful 
garden  was  complete. 

But  this  is  but  a  small  part.  Besides  the  cricket  and  an 
archery  ground,  large  valleys  were  made  verdant,  extensive 
drives  arranged— plantations,  clumps,  and  avenues  of  trees 
formed,  and  a  large  park  laid  out.  And  all  this  magnifi 
cent  pleasure-ground  is  entirely,  unreservedly,  and  for  ever 
the  people's  own.  The  poorest  British  peasant  is  as  free 
to  enjoy  it  in  all  its  parts  as  the  British  queen.  More 
than  that,  the  baker  of  Birkenhead  has  the  pride  of  an  OWNER 
in  it. 

Is  it  not  a  grand  good  thing  ?  But  you  are  inquiring  who 
paid  for  it.  The  honest  owners — the  most  wise  and  worthy 
townspeople  of  Birkenhead— in  the  same  way  that  the  New- 
Yorkers  pay  for  "  the  Tombs,"  and  the  Hospital,  and  the 
cleaning  (as  they  amusingly  say)  of  their  streets. 

Of  the  farm  which  was  purchased,  one  hundred  and  twenty 
acres  have  been  disposed  of  in  the  way  I  have  described. 
The  remaining  sixty  acres,  encircling  the  park  and  garden, 
were  reserved  to  be  sold  or  rented,  after  being  well  graded, 
streeted,  and  planted,  for  private  building  lots.  Several  fine 
mansions  are  already  built  on  these  (having  private  entrances 
to  the  park),  and  the  rest  now  sell  at  $1.25  a  square  yard. 
The  whole  concern  cost  the  town  between  five  and  six  hun 
dred  thousand  dollars.  It  gives  employment  at  present, 


82  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

to  ten  gardeners  and  labourers  in  summer,  and  to  five  in 
winter.* 

The  generous  spirit  and  fearless  enterprise,  that  has  ac 
complished  this,  has  not  been  otherwise  forgetful  of  the 
health  and  comfort  of  the  poor.f  Among  other  things,  I 
remember,  a  public  washing  and  bathing  house  for  the 
town  is  provided.  I  should  have  mentioned  also,  in  connec 
tion  with  the  market,  that  in  the  outskirts  of  the  town  there 
is  a  range  ot  stone  slaughter-houses,  with  stables,  yards,  pens, 
supplies  of  hot  and  cold  water,  and  other  arrangements  and 
conveniences,  that  enlightened  regard  for  health  and  decency 
vvould  suggest. 

The  consequence  of  all  these  sorts  of  things  is,  that  all 
about  the  town,  lands,  which  a  few  years  ago  were  almost 
worthless  wastes,  have  become  of  priceless  value ;  where  no 
sound  was  heard  but  the  bleating  of  goats  and  braying  of 
asses  complaining  of  their  pasturage,  there  is  now  the  hasty 
click  and  clatter  of  many  hundred  busy  trowels  and  hammers. 
You  may  drive  through  wide  and  thronged  streets  of  stately 
edifices,  where  were  only  a  few  scattered  huts,  surrounded  by 
quagmires.  Docks  of  unequalled  size  and  grandeur  are 
building,  and  a  forest  of  masts  grows  along  the  shore ;  and 


*  "When  the  important  advantages  to  the  poorer  classes,  of  such  an 
extensive  and  delightful  pleasure-ground,  are  taken  into  consideration,  no 
one  will  be  inclined  to  say  that  such  an  expenditure  does  not  merit  the 
most  unbounded  success,  and  the  deepest  public  gratitude.  Here  nature 
may  be  viewed  in  her  loveliest  garb,  the  most  obdurate  heart  may  be  soft 
ened,  and  the  mind  gently  led  to  pursuits  which  refine,  purify,  and  alleviate 
the  humblest  of  the  toil-worn." 

t  "  Few  towns,  in  modern  times,  have  been  built  with  such  regard  to 
sanitary  regulations,  as  Birkenhead,  and  in  no  instance  has  so  much  been 
done  for  the  health,  comfort,  and  enjoyment  of  a  people,  as  by  those  ener 
getic  individuals  with  whose  names  the  rise  and  progress  of  Birkenhead 
are  so  intimately  connected." — Dr.  J.  H.  Robertson. 


LIBERAL  ENTERPRISE  AND  PROSPERITY.  83 

there  is  no  doubt  that  this  young  town  is  to  be  not  only  re 
markable  as  a  most  agreeable  and  healthy  place  of  residence, 
but  that  it  will  soon  be  distinguished  for  extensive  and  profit 
able  commerce.  It  seems  to  me  to  be  the  only  town  I  ever 
saw  that  has  been  really  built  at  all  in  accordance  with  the 
advanced  science,  taste,  and  enterprising  spirit  that  are  sup 
posed  to  distinguish  the  nineteenth  century.  I  do  not  doubt 
it  might  be  found  to  have  plenty  of  exceptions  to  its  general 
character,  but  I  did  not  inquire  for  these,  nor  did  I  happen  to 
observe  them.  Certainly,  in  what  I  have  noticed,  it  is  a 
model  town,  and  may  be  held  up  as  an  example,  not  only  to 
philanthropists  and  men  of  taste,  but  to  speculators  and  men 
of  business. 

After  leaving  the  park,  we  ascended  a  hill,  from  the  top 
of  which  we  had  a  fine  view  of  Liverpool  and  Birkenhead. 
Its  sides  were  covered  with  villas,  with  little  gardens  about 
them.  The  architecture  was  generally  less  fantastic,  and  the 
style  and  materials  of  building  more  substantial  ^han  is  usu 
ally  employed  in  the  same  class  of  residences  with  us.  Yet 
there  was  a  good  deal  of  the  same  stuck  up  and  uneasy  pre 
tentious  air  about  them  that  the  suburban  houses  of  our  own 
city  people  so  commonly  have.  Possibly  this  is  the  effect 
of  association,  in  my  mind,  of  steady,  reliable  worth  and 
friendship  with  plain  or  old-fashioned  dwellings,  for  I  often 
find  it  difficult  to  discover  in  the  buildings  themselves  the 
elements  of  such  expression.  I  am  inclined  to  think  it  is 
more  generally  owing  to  some  disunity  in  the  design — often, 
perhaps,  to  a  want  of  keeping  between  the  mansion  and  its 
grounds  or  its  situation.  The  architect  and  the  gardener  do 
not  understand  each  other,  and  commonly  the  owner  or  resi 
dent  is  totally  at  variance  in  his  tastes  and  intentions  from 
both ;  or  the  man  whose  ideas  the  plan  is  made  to  serve,  or 
who  pays  for  it,  has  no  true  independent  taste,  but  had  fancies 


84  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER   IN  ENGLAND. 

to  be  accommodated,  which  only  follow  confusedly  after 
custom  or  fashion.  I  think,  with  Ruskin,  it  is  a  pity  that 
every  man's  house  cannot  be  really  his  own,  and  that  he  can 
not  make  all  that  is  true,  beautiful,  and  good  in  his  own 
character,  tastes,  pursuits,  and  history  manifest  in  it. 

But  however  fanciful  and  uncomfortable  many  of  the  villa 
houses  about  Liverpool  and  Birkenhead  appear  at  first  sight, 
the  substantial  and  thorough  manner  in  which  most  of  them 
are  built  will  atone  for  many  faults.  The  friendship  of  nature 
has  been  secured  to  them.  Dampness,  heat,  cold,  will  be 
welcome  to  do  their  best.  Every  day  they  will  improve. 
In  fifty  or  a  hundred  years  fashions  may  change,  and  they 
will  appear,  perhaps,  quaint,  possibly  grotesque;  but  still 
strong,  HOME-LIKE,  and  hospitable.  They  have  no  shingles  to 
rot,  no  glued  and  puttied  and  painted  gimcrackery,  to  warp 
and  crack  and  moulder ;  and  can  never  look  so  shabby,  and 
desolate,  and  dreary,  as  will  nine-tenths  of  the  buildings  of 
the  same  denomination  now  erecting  about  New  York,  almost 
as  soon  as  they  lose  the  raw,  cheerless,  impostor-like  airs 
which  seem  almost  inseparable  from  their  newness. 


RAILROAD   SCENES.  85 


CHAPTER  IX. 

A    RAILWAY    RIDE. SECOND    CLASS. INCONVENIENT    ARRANGEMENTS. FIRST 

WALK    IN     THE     COUNTRY.— ENGLAND     ITSELF.— A     RURAL     LANDSCAPE.— 

HEDGES. APPROACH    TO  A  HAMLET. THE    OLD    ALE-HOUSE   AND   THE    OLD 

JOHN    BULL. A   TALK    WITH    COUNTRY    PEOPLE. NOTIONS    OF    AMERICA. 

FREE    TRADE. THft    YEW    TREE. THE   OLD    RURAL    CHURCH    AND    GRAVE 
YARD. A    PARK    GATE. A   MODEL    FARMER. THE    OLD    VILLAGE    INN. A 

MODEL  KITCHEN. A  MODEL  LANDLADY. 

TF"E  were  very  tired  when  we  again  reached  the  baker's. 
After  passenger-life  at  sea,  a  man's  legs  need  to  be 
brought  into  active  service  somewhat  gradually.  As  we  had 
spent  more  time  than  we  had  meant  to  at  Birkenhead,  we 
determined  to  rest  ourselves  for  a  few  minutes,  and  get  a 
start  of  a  few  miles  into  the  country  by  the  railroad.  A  seat, 
however,  on  the  hard  board  benches  of  an  English  second- 
class  car,  crowded,  and  your  feet  cramped  under  you,  does 
not  remove  fatigue  very  rapidly. 

A  heavy  cloud  darkened  the  landscape,  and  as  we  emerged 
in  a  few  moments  from  the  dark  tunnel,  whirling  out  of  town, 
big  drops  of  rain  came  slanting  in  upon  us.  A  lady  coughed, 
and  we  closed  the  window.  The  road  ran  through  a  deep  cut 
ting,  with  only  occasionally  such  depressions  of  its  green- 
sodded  bank,  that  we  could,  through  the  dusty  glass,  get 
glimpses  of  the  country.  In  successive  gleams  : — 

A  market-garden,  with  rows  of  early  cabbages,  and  let 
tuce,  and  peas ; — 

8 


86  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

Over  a  hedge,  a  nice,  new  stone  villas  with  the  gardener 
shoving  up  the  sashes  of  the  conservatory,  and  the  maids 
tearing  clothes  from  the  drying-lines ; — 

A  bridge,  with  children  shouting  and  waving  hats ; — 

A  field  of  wheat,  in  drills  as  precisely  straight,  and  in 
earth  as  clean  and  finely-tilled,  as  if  it  were  a  garden-plant ; — 

A  bit  of  broad  pasture,  with  colts  and  cows  turning  tail 
to  the  squall ;  long  hills  in  the  back,  with  some  trees  and  a 
steeple  rising  beyond  them  ; — 

Another  few  minutes  of  green  bank  ; — 

A  jerk — a  stop.  A  gruff  shout,  "BROMBRO!"  A  great 
fuss  to  get  the  window  on  the  other  side  from  us  open ;  call 
ing  the  conductor ;  having  the  door  unlocked ;  squeezing 
through  the  ladies'  knees,  and  dragging  our  packs  over  their 
laps — all  borne  with  a  composure  that  thews  them  to  be  used 
to  it,  and  that  they  take  it  as  a  necessary  evil  of  railroad 
travelling.  The  preparations  for  rain  are  just  completed  as 
we  emerge  upon  a  platform,  and  now  down  it  comes  in  a 
torrent.  We  rush,  with  a  quantity  of  floating  muslin,  white 
ankles,  and  thin  shoes,  under  an  arch.  With  a  sharp  whistle 
and  hoarse  puffing  the  train  rumbles  onward ;  grooms  pick 
up  the  lap-dog  and  baskets;  flaunting  white  skirts  are 
moved  again  across  the  track ;  another  rush,  in  which  a 
diminutive  French  sun-shade  is  assisted  by  a  New  York  um 
brella  to  protect  a  new  English  bonnet ;  a  graceful  bow  m 
return,  with  lifting  eyebrows,  as  if  in  inquiry ;  and  we  are 
altogether  crowded  in  the  station-house. 

In  a  few  minutes  they  go  off  in  carriages,  and  room  is  left 
us  in  the  little  waiting-room  to  strap  on  our  knapsacks.  The 
rain  slackens — ceases,  and  we  mount,  by  stone  steps  up  a 
bank  of  roses  and  closely-shaven  turf,  to  the  top  of  the  bridge 
over  the  cutting. 

There  we  were  right  in  the  midst  of  it !     The  country — 


FIRST  GLIMPSE  OF  THE  "COUNTRY".  87 

and  such  a  country  !— green,  dripping,  glistening,  gorgeous! 
We  stood  dumb-stricken  by  its  loveliness,  as,  from  the  bleak 
•  April  and  bare  boughs  we  had  left  at  home,  broke  upon  us 
that  English  May— sunny,  leafy,  blooming  May— in  an  En- 
ghshlane;  with  hedges,    English  hedges,  hawthorn  hedges 
all  in  blossom  ;  homely  old  farm-houses,  quaint  stables,  and 
haystacks;  the  old  church  spire  over  the  distant  trees;  the 
mild  sun  beaming  through  the  watery  atmosphere,  and  all  so 
quiet— the  only  sounds  the  hum  of  bees  and  the  crisp  grass- 
tearing  of  a  silken-skinned,  real  (unimported)  Hereford  cow 
over  the  hedge.     No  longer  excited  by  daring  to  think  we 
should  see  it,  as  we  discussed  the  scheme  round  the  old 
home-fire ;  no  longer  cheering  ourselves  with  it  in  the  stupid, 
tedious  ship;  no  more  forgetful  of  it  in  the  bewilderment  of 
the  busy  town-but  there  we  were,  right  in  the  midst  of  it ; 
long  time  silent,  and  then  speaking  softly,  as  if  it  were  en 
chantment  indeed,  we  gazed  upon  it  and  breathed  it— never 
to  be  forgotten. 

At  length  we  walked  on— rapidly— but  frequently  stop 
ping,  one   side   and   the  other,  like  children  in  a  garden  • 
hedges  still,  with  delicious  fragrance,  on  each  side  of  us,  and 
on,  as  far  as  we  can  see,  true  farm-fencing  hedges ;  nothing 
trim,  stiff,  nice,  and  amateur-like,  but  the  verdure  broken 
tufty,  low,  and  natural.     They  are  set  on  a  ridge  of  eartli 
thrown   out   from   a   ditch   beside  them,  which  raises  and 
strengthens  them  as  a  fence.     They  are  nearly  all  hawthorn 
which  is  now  covered  in  patches,  as  if  after  a  slight  fall  of 
snow,  with  clusters  of  white  or  pink  blossoms. over  its  light 
green  foliage.     Here  and  there  a  holly  bush,  with  bunches  of 
scarlet  berries,  and  a  few  other  shrubs,  mingle  with  it.     A 
cart    meets   us— a   real   heavy,  big-wheeled   English    cart; 
and   English  horses— real  big,  shaggy-hoofed,  sleek,  heavy 
English  cart-horses ;  and  a  carter— a  real  apple-faced,  smock- 


88  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

frocked,  red-headed,  wool-hatted  carter — breeches,  stockings, 
hob-nailed  shoes,  and  "  Gee-up  Dobbin"  English  carter.  Little 
birds  hop  along  in  the  road  before  us,  and  we  guess  at  their 
names,  first  of  all  electing  one  to  be  Robin-Redbreast.  We 
study  the  flowers  under  the  hedge,  and  determine  them 
nothing  else  than  primroses  and  buttercups.  Through  the 
gates  we  admire  the  great,  fat,  clean-licked,  contented-faced 
cows,  and  large,  white,  long-wooled  sheep.  What  else  was 
there  ?  I  cannot  remember  ;  but  there  was  that  altogether 
that  made  us  forget  our  fatigue,  disregard  the  rain,  thought 
less  of  the  way  we  were  going — serious,  happy,  and  grateful. 
And  this  excitement  continued  for  many  days. 

At  length  as  it  becomes  drenching  again,  we  approach  a 
stone  spire.  A  stone  house  interrupts  our  view  in  front ;  the 
road  winds  round  it,  between  it  and  another ;  turns  again, 
and  there  on  our  left  is  the  church—the  old  ivy-covered, 
brown-stone  village  church,  with  the  yew-tree — we  knew  it 
at  once,  and  the  heaped-up,  green,  old  English  churchyard. 
We  turn  to  the  right ;  there  is  the  old  ale-house,  long,  low, 
thatched-roofed.  We  run  in  at  the  open  door ;  there  he  sits, 
the  same  bluff  and  hearty  old  fellow,  with  the  long-stemmed 
pipe  and  the  foaming  pewter  mug  on  the  little  table  before 
him.  At  the  same  moment  with  us  comes  in  another  man. 
He  drops  in  a  seat — raps  with  his  whip.  Enter  a  young 
woman,  neat  and  trim,  with  exactly -the  white  cap,  smooth 
hair,  shiny  face,  bright  eyes,  and  red  cheeks,  we  are  looking 
for — "  Muggoyail,  lass  /" 

_*     » •-..     .     »     .     Mug  of  ale  ! — ay,  that's  it!     Mug  of 
ale !— Fill  up !     Fill  up !  and  the  toast  shall  be 
"MERRIE  ENGLAND  !    HURRAH  !" 

We  sit  with  them  for  some  time,  and  between  puffs  of 
smoke,  the  talk  is  of  "  the  weather  and  the  crops."  The  maid 


VILLAGE  ALE-HOUSE.  89 

leaves  the  door  open,  so  we  can  look  into  the  kitchen,  where 
a  smart  old  woman  is  ironing  by  a  bright  coal  fire.     Two 
little  children  venture  before  us.     I  have  just  succeeded  in 
coaxing  the  girl  on  to  my  knee,  as  C.  mentions  that  we  are 
Americans.     The  old  woman  lays  down  her  iron  and  puts  on 
her  spectacles  to  look  at  us.     The  stout  man  who  had  risen 
to  take  an  observation  of  the  weather,  seats  himself  again  and 
calls  for  another  mug  and  twist.     The  landlord  (a  tall  thin 
man,  unfortunately)  looks  in  and  asks  how  times  go  where 
we  come  from.     Plenty  of  questions  follow  that  show  alike 
the   interest   and   the   ignorance  of  our  companions   about 
America,  it  being  confused  apparently  in  their  minds  with 
Ireland,  Guinea,  and  the  poetical  Indies.   After  a  little  straight- 
ening  out,  and  explanation  of  the  distance  to  it,  its  climate 
and  civilized  condition,  they  ask  about  the  present  crops,  the 
price  of  wheat,  about  rents,  tithes,  and  taxes.     In  return,  we 
get  only  grumbling.     "The   country  is   ruined;"    "things 
weren't  so  when  they  were  young  as  they  be  now,"  and  so 
on,  just  as  a  company  of  our  tavern-lounging  farmers  would 
talk,  except  that  every  complaint  ends  with  blaming  Free- 
Trade.     "  Free-Trade— hoye  sirs,— free-trade  be  killing  the 
varmers." 

We  left  them  as  soon  as  the  shower  slackened,  but  stopped 
again  immediately  to  look  at  the  yew  through  the  churchyard 
gate.  It  was  a  very  old  and  decrepit*  tree,  with  dark  and 
funereal  foliage— the  stiff  trunk  and  branches  of  our  red-cedar, 
with  the  leaf  of  the  hemlock,  but  much  more  dark  and  glossy 
than  either.  The  walls  of  the  church  are  low,  but  higher  in 
one  part  than  another.  The  roof,  which  is  slated,  is  high  amf 
steep.  The  tower  is  square,  with  buttresses  on  the  corners, 
on  the  tops  of  which  are  quaint  lions  rampant.  It  is  sur 
mounted  by  a  tall,  symmetrical  spire— solid  stone  to  the 
ball,  over  which,  as  I  am  the  son  of  a  Puritan,  is  a  weather- 


90  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

cock.  There  are  little,  narrow  windows  in  the  steeple,  and 
swallows  are  flying  in  and  out  of  them.  Old  weather-beaten 
stone  and  mortar,  glass,  lead,  iron,  and  matted  ivy,  but  not  a 
splinter  of  wood  or  a  daub  of  paint.  Old  England  for  ever  ! 
Amen. 

A  mile  or  two  more  of  such  walking  as  before  the  shower, 
and  we  came  to  a  park  gate.  It  was,  with  the  lodges  by  its 
side,  neat,  simple,  and  substantial.  The  park  was  a  handsome 
piece  of  old  woods,  but,  as  seen  from  the  road,  not  remarkable. 
We  were  told,  however,  that  there  was  a  grand  old  hall  and 
fine  grounds  a  long  ways  within.  Near  the  park  there  were 
signs  of  an  improving  farmer :  broad  fields  of  mangel-wurzel 
in  drills ;  large  fields,  partly  divided  by  wire  fences,  within 
which  were  large  flocks  of  sheep;  marks  of  recent  under- 
draining  ;  hedges  trimmed  square,  and  every  thing  neat, 
straight,  and  business-like. 

As  it  grows  dark  we  approach  another  village.  The  first 
house  on  the  left  is  an  inn — a  low,  two-story  house  of  light 
drab-coloured  stone.  A  bunch  of  grapes  (cast  in  iron)  and  a 
lantern  are  hung  out  from  it  over  the  foot-path,  and  over 
the  front  door  is  a  square  sign — "  THE  RED  LION— licensed 
to  sell  foreign  spirits  and  beer,  to  be  drunk  on  the  premises" 
We  turn  into  a  dark  hall,  and  opening  a  door  to  the  left,  en 
ter — the  kitchen.  S^uch  a  kitchen  !  You  would  not  believe 
me  if  I  could  describe  how  bright  every  thing  is.  You  would 
think  the  fireplace  a  show-model,  for  the  very  bars  of  the 
grate  are  glistening.  It  is  all  glowing  with  red-hot  coals ;  a 
bright  brass  tea-kettle  swings  and  sings  from  a  polished 
steel  crane — hook,  jack,  and  all  like  silver ;  the  brass  coal 
scuttle,  tongs,  shovel,  and  warming-pan  are  in  a  blazing  glow, 
and  the  walls  and  mantel-piece  are  covered  with  bright  plate- 
covers,  and  I  know  not  what  other  metallic  furniture,  all  bur 
nished  to  the  highest  degree. 


THE  COUNTRY  INN.  91 

The  landlady  rises  and  begs  to  take  our  wet  hats— a 
model-landlady,  too.  What  a  fine  eye  !— a  kind  and  welcom- 
ing  black  eye.  Fair  and  stout;  elderly — a  little  silver  in 
her  hair,  just  showing  its  otherwise  thick  blackness  to  be 
no  lie;  a  broad-frilled,  clean  white  cap  and  collar,  and  a 
black  dress.  Ah  ha !  one  of  the  widows  that  we  have  read 
of.  We  hesitated  to  cross  the  clean-scoured,  buff,  tile  floor 
with  our  muddy  shoes ;  but  she  draws  arm-chairs  about  the 
grate,  and  lays  slippers  before  them,  stirs  up  the  fire,  though 
it  is  far  from  needing  it,  and  turns  to  take  our  knapsacks. 
"  We  must  be  fatigued— it's  not  easy  walking  in  the  rain  ;  she 
hopes  we  can  make  ourselves  comfortable." 

There  is  every  prospect  that  we  shall. 


92  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 


CHAPTER  X. 

TALK    WITH     A    FARMER; WITH     A    TENDER-HEARTED     WHEELWRIGHT  — rAN 

AMUSING    STORY. NOTIONS    OF    AMERICA. SUPPER. SPEECH    OF    THE  EN 
GLISH. PLEASANT  TONES. QUAINT  EXPRESSIONS. THE  TWENTY-NINTH  OF 

MAY. ZACCHEUS     IN      THE      OAK     TREE. EDUCATION. BED-CHAMBER. A 

NIGHTCAP  AND A  NIGHTCAP. 

one  side  near  the  fire  there  was  a  recess  in  the  wall,  in 
which  was  a  settle  (a  long,  high-backed,  wooden  seat). 
Two  men  with  pipes  and  beer  sat  in  it,  with  whom  we  fell  to 
talking.  One  of  them  proved  to  be  a  farmer,  the  other  a 
jack-of-all-trades,  but  more  distinctly  of  the  wheelwright's, 
and  a  worshipper  of  and  searcher  after  ideal  women,  as  he 
more  than  once  intimated  to  us.  We  were  again  told  by  the 
farmer  that  free  trade  was  ruining  the  country — no  farmer 
could  live  long  in  it.  He  spoke  with  a  bitter  jocoseness  of 
the  regularity  of  his  taxes,  and  said  that  though  they  played 
the  devil  with  every  thing  else,  he  always  knew  how  tithes 
would  be.  He  paid,  I  think  he  said,  about  a  dollar  an  acre 
every  year  to  the  church,  though  he  never  went  to  it  in  his 
life  ;  always  went  to  chapel,  as  his  father  did  before  him.  He 
was  an  Independent ;  but  there  were  so  few  of  them  there 
abouts  that  they  could  not  afford  to  keep  a  minister,  and  onlv 
occasionally  had  preaching.  When  he  learned  that  we  were 
from  America,  he  was  anxious  to  know  how  church  matters 
were  there.  Though  a  rather  intelligent  man,  he  was  utterly 
ignorant  that  we  had  no  state  church;  and  though  a  dis 


TALK   WITH  A    FARMER.  93 

senter,  the  idea  of  a  government  giving  free  trade  to  all  sorts 
of  religious  doctrine  seemed  to  be  startling  and  fearful  to  him. 
But  when  I  told  him  what  the  rent  (or  the  interest  on  the 
value)  of  my  farm  was,  and  what  were  its  taxes,  he  wished 
that  he  was  young  that  he  might  go  to  America  himself;  he 
really  did  not  see  how  he  should  be  able  to  live  here  much 
longer.  He  rented  a  farm  of  about  fifty  acres,  and  was  a  man 
of  about  the  same  degree  of  intelligence  and  information  that 
you  would  expect  of  the  majority  of  those  owning  a  similar 
'farm  with  us.  Except  that  he  was  somewhat  stouter  than 
most  Yankees,  he  did  not  differ  much  in  appearance  or  dress 
from  many  of  our  rather  old-fashioned  farmers. 

The  tender-hearted  wheelwright  could  hardly  believe  that 
we  were  really  born  and  brought  up  in  America.  He  never 
thought  any  foreigners  could  learn  to  speak  the  language  so 
well.  He  too  was  rather  favourably  struck  with  the  idea  of 
going  to  America,  when  we  answered  his  inquiries  with  re 
gard  to  mechanics'  wages.  He  was  very  cautious,  however, 
and  cross-questioned  us  a  long  time  about  the  cost  of  every 
thing  there — the  passage,  the  great  heat  of  the  climate,  the 
price  of  beer ;  and  at  length,  touching  his  particular  weak 
ness,  he  desired  to  be  told  candidly  how  it  would  be  if  he 
should  marry  before  he  went.  If  he  should  get  a  wife,  a  real 
handsome  one,  would  it  be  safe  for  him  to  take  her  there  ] 
He  had  heard  a  story — perhaps  we  knew  whether  it  was  true 
or  not — of  a  man  who  took  a  handsome  wife  out  with  him, 
and  a  black  man,  that  was  a  great  rich  lord  in  our  country, 
took  a  great  liking  to  her,  and  offered  the  man  ten  thousand 
pounds  for  her,  which  he  refused ;  and  so  the  great  black  lord 
went  away  very  wroth  and  vexed.  When  he  was  gone,  the 
woman  upbraided  her  husband:  "Thou  fool,  why  didst  thee 
not  take  it  and  let  me  go  with  him  1  I  would  have  returned 
to  thee  to-morrow."  Then  the  man  followed  after  the  black 


94  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

lord,  and  sold  his  \vife  to  him  for  ten  thousand  pounds.  But 
the  next  day  she  did  not  return,  nor  the  next,  neither  the 
next ;  and  so  the  man  went  to  look  for  her ;  and  lo  !  he  found 
her  all  dressed  up  in  silk  and  satin,  'lighting  from  a  coach,  and 
footmen  waiting  upon  her.  So  he  says  to  her,  "  Why  didst 
thee  not  return  the  next  day1?"  "Dost  take  me  for  a  fool, 
goodman  ?"  quoth  she,  and  stepped  back  into  her  fine  coach 
and  drove  off;  and  so  he  lost  his  handsome  wife. 

Besides  the  kitchen,  there  were,  on  the  lower  floor  of  the 
inn,  two  or  three  small  dining  or  tea  rooms,  a  little  office  or' 
accounting  closet  for  the  mistress,  and  &  tap-room,  which  is  a 
small  apartment  for  smoking  and  drinking.  These  are  all 
plainly  but  neatly  furnished.  There  is  a  large  parlour  above 
stairs,  somewhat  elegantly  furnished.  The  kitchen,  tap-room, 
and  office  are  low  rooms,  and  over  these  is  the  parlour.  The 
dining-rooms  are  higher,  and  over  them  are  the  bed-chambers. 
Thus  the  parlour  is  allowed  a  high  ceiling,  level  with  the  eaves 
of  the  roof,  and  you  enter  it  from  a  landing  some  steps  lower 
than  the  bed-chambers.  The  latter  are  carried  up  under  the 
roof,  with  dormer  windows,  and  are  very  pleasant  rooms.  It 
will  be  seen  that  all  the^travellers'  rooms  or  apartments  are 
thus  made  spacious  at  the  expense  of  height  in  the  others, 
and  that  yet  there  is  a  convenient  arrangement  and  connec 
tion  of  the  whole. 

We  had  supper  in  a  little  back  room,  as  neat  as  care  and 
scouring  could  make  and  keep  it.  The  table  was  much  such 
a  one  as  Mrs.  Marcombe,  in  Hanover,  would  have  set  for  a 
couple  of  tired  White  Mountain  pedestrians,  except  the  ab 
sence  of  any  kind  of  cakes  or  pies.  The  ham  had  a  peculiar 
taste,  and  was  very  good,  C.  says,  the  least  unpleasant  of 
any  he  was  ever  tempted  to  eat.  It  had  been  dried  by 
hanging  from  the  ceiling  of  the  kitchen,  instead  of  being 
regularly  smoked,  as  is  our  practice.  The  milk  and  butter 


THE  ENGLISH  IN  CONVERSATION.  95 

(which  was  not  in  the  least  salted)  were  very  sweet  and  high- 
flavoured. 

In  the  evening  we  had  a  long  talk  with  the  old  woman 
and  her  daughter.  The  latter  was  a  handsome  person  with 
much  such  a  good,  beaming  face  as  her  mother,  but  with  youth, 
and  more  refinement  from  education  and  intelligence.  She 
also  was  a  widow  with  two  sweet,  shy  little  girls. 

There  are  peculiarities  in  the  speech  of  these  women  that 
would  distinguish  them  anywhere  from  native  Americans. 
Perhaps  the  novelty  of  them  is  pleasing,  but  it  has  seemed 
to  us  that  the  speech  of  most  of  the  people  above  the  lowest 
class  of  labourers  that  we  have  met,  is  more  agreeable  and 
better  than  we  often  hear  at  home.  Perhaps  the  climate 
may  have  effect  in  making  the  people  more  habitually  ani 
mated — the  utterance  more  distinct  and  varied.  Sentences 
are  more  generally  finished  with  a  rising  inflection,  syllables 
are  more  forcibly  accented,  and  quite  often,  as  with  our  land 
lady,  there  is  a  rich  musical  tone  in  the  conversational  voice 
to  which  we  are  not  yet  so  much  accustomed,  but  that  it 
compels  us  to  listen  deferentially.  1  wonder  that  beauty  of 
speech  is  not  more  thought  of  as  an  accomplishment.  It  is 
surely  capable  of  great  cultivation,  and  should  not  be  for 
gotten  in  education. 

Except  in  the  lower  class,  the  choice  of  words  seems 
often  elegant,  and  we  hear  very  few  idiomatic  phrases  or 
provincialisms.  Where  we  do  notice  them,  in  the  class  I  am 
now  speaking  of,  it  would  not  seem  an  affectation  of  singular 
language  in  an  educated  person  with  us,  but  rather  a  fortunate 
command  of  vigorous  Saxon  words.  We  have  never  any 
difficulty  in  understanding  them,  while  we  do  sometimes 
have  to  reconstruct  our  sentences,  and  find  substitutes  for 
some  of  our  words,  before  we  are  plainly  understood.  The 
"H"  difficulty  is  an  exception  to  all  this,  with  nearly  all  the 


96  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

people,  except  the  most  polished,  that  we  have  met.  Is  i\ 
not  singular  1  Among  the  lowest  classes,  however,  there  are 
many  words  used  that  puzzle  us  ;  others  are  pronounced 
curiously,  and  many  of  our  common  words  are  used  in  new 
combinations.  There  is  an  old-fashioned,  quaint  set  of  words 
in  common  use  that  we  only  understand  from  having  met 
with  them  in  old  books — in  the  Bible,  for  instance.  The 
words  Master  and  Mistress  (instead  of  Mister  and  Misses,  as 
we  have  got  to  pronounce  them),  and  lad  and  lass,  are  usual. 
"Here,  lad!"  "  Well,  Maister?"  I  first  heard  in  the  Liver 
pool  market.  I  passed  a  man  there,  too,  leading  a  dray- 
horse,  with  a  heavy  load,  up  one  of  the  steep  streets.  He 
was  encouraging  him  in  this  way :  "  Coom  on,  my  lad  ! 
Coom  on,  my  good  lad  !"  When  he  had  reached  the  brow 
he  stopped  and  went  before  the  noble  beast,  who,  with  glisten 
ing  eyes,  and  ears  playing  beautifully,  bowed  his  head  to  be 
patted,  "  Good  lad!  good  lad!  Well,  thee's  done  it!"* 

We  had  noticed  yesterday  in  Liverpool  that  the  omni 
buses  were  decorated  with  branches  of  trees,  ribbons,  and 
flags ;  the  union-jack  (British  ensign)  was  hoisted  in  several 
places,  the  children  seemed  to  be  enjoying  a  half-holiday  in 
the  afternoon,  and  once  we  saw  them  going  together  in  an 
irregular  procession,  carrying  a  little  one  dressed  with  leaves 
and  crowned  with  a  gilt-paper  cap,  and  singing  together  in 
shrill  chorus  some  verses,  of  which  we  only  understood  the 
frequent  repetition  of  the  words :  "  The  twenty-ninth  of 
May  !  the  twenty-ninth  of  May  !"  It  occurred  to  C.  to  ask 
whether  all  this  was  intended  to  celebrate  any  thing.  "  Oh, 

*  A  gentleman,  riding  towards  Chowbet,  and  seeing  a  boy  in  the  road, 
shouted  out  to  him,  "  My  lad,  am  I  half-way  to  Chowbet  1"  Young 
Lancashire  looked  up  at  the  querist,  and  said,  "Hah  con  aw  tell,  tha' 
foo',  when  I  doon't  know  wheear  ta'  coom  fra  ?" — Liverpool  paper. 


SCRIPTURAL   EDUCATION.  97 


surely,"  our  hostess  said,  "it  was  the  twenty-ninth  of 
—  King-Charles-and-the-Oak  day."  In  her  husband's  time, 
they  used  always  to  keep  it  in  good  style,  ornamenting  their 
house  all  over  with  oak  boughs,  and  all  the  stage-coaches  and 
the  horses  used  to  be  decked  with  oak  boughs  too.  "  How 
beautifully,"  says  C.,  aside,  "do  such  pretty  simple  customs 
keep  alive  the  remembrance  of  old  historic  facts  !"  "  But 
why  do  they  carry  about  the  child  ?"  She  did  not  recollect 
clearly,  but  she  had  the  impression  that  King  Charles  was  a 
baby  when  it  occurred.  She  had  forgotten  exactly  how  it 
was,  she  said,  "  but  it  told  all  about  it  in  the  Bible."  "  In 
the  Bible  !  mother  ;  you  mean  in  the  History  of  England,  do 
you  not  1"  said  her  daughter,  smiling.  "  Was  it  1"  replied 
the  old  lady,  "  I  never  had  time  to  read  much  in  the  large  His 
tory  of  England.  Let  me  see  —  why,  no  ;  nowr  I  am  sure  it 
was  in  the  Bible.  Don't  you  remember  —  what's  his  name 
—  Zack  —  Zack  —  Zacheriah  ?  yes,  Zacheriah  ;  how  he  climbed 
up  into  an  oak  tree  to  see  King  Charles  go  by  !" 

A  large  and  most  powerful  class,  including  many  even  of 
the  more  conservative  of  the  dissenters  in  England,  are  terri 
bly  afraid  of  a  national  system  of  education  that  shall  be 
free  from  Church  influence.  The  people  had  better  be  left  to 
grow  up  in  ignorance,  rather  than  that  they  should  not  be 
instructed  in  theological  dogmas.  I  have  actually  heard  a 
refined  and  educated  gentleman,  occupying  an  influential  po 
sition,  advocate  the  idea  that  all  the  education  the  common 
people  needed  was  so  much  as  attild  enable  them  to  read 
their  Bible,  prayer-book,  and  ca^Biism.  Except  for  this,  he 

Icftiever  let  them  have  a  t^Bner,  but  would  leave  them 
He  would  break  up  every  dissenter's  school 


— have  no  school  in  the  land  that  was  not  a  part^>f  the 
The  godless  system  of  education  which  was  now 
favoured  in  high  quarters  (on  the  plan  of  our  New- England 

9 


98  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

common  schools !)  he  verily  believed,  if  adopted,  would  be 
a  national  sin  that  God  would  arise  in  his  anger  to  punish. 

Our  landlady  had  lived  almost  to  old  age  under  the  shadow 
of  the  Church,  in  which  the  story  of  Zaccheus  is  every  year 
read  aloud,  and  in  which  a  religious  celebration  of  the  resto 
ration  of  King  Charles  is  by  law  performed  every  29th  of 
May.  But  a  person  of  sound  faculties,  native-born,  could  not 
probably  be  found  in  New-England,  whose  godless  education 
would  not  have  made  impossible  such  a  confusion  of  religious 
instruction  as  had  been  given  her.* 

I  am  writing  now  in  my  bedroom.  Though  the  ceiling  is 
low,  it  is  large  and  well  furnished.  There  are  large  pitchers 
of  water,  foot-bath,  and  half-a-dozen  towels.  The  bed  is  very 
large,  clean,  and  richly  curtained.  The  landlady  has  sent  me 
up  a  glass  of  her  home-brew^ed  beer,  with  a  nightcap  which  I 
noticed  she  hung  by  the  fire  when  I  left  the  kitchen.  The 
chambermaid  has  drawn  down  the  bed-clothes,  and  says, 
"  The  bed  has  been  well  aired,  sir."  Good  night. 

*  There  is  a  service  for  the  29th  of  May  in  the  Book  of  Common  Prayer, 
which,  by  royal  order  (commencing  "  Victoria  Regina.  It  is  our  Eoyal 
Will  and  Pleasure,"  &c.,  and  countersigned  by  Lord  John  Kussell  on  the 
21st  of  June,  1837),  is  to  be  performed  in  every  church,  college,  and 
chapel  in  the  United  Kingdom  every  year.  It  is  most  blasphemously 
absurd  and  false  in  its  historical  allusions  and  slavish  moralizings. 


\ 


FAMILIAR  ENGLISH  LANDSCAPE.  99 


CHAPTER  XI. 

THE  BREAK  OF    DAY.— A  FULL  HEART.— FAMILIAR  THINGS.— THE    VILLAGE    AT 

SUNRISE. FLOWERS. BIRDS. DOG  KENNELS. "THE  SQUIRE"  AND  "THE 

HALL." ROOKS. VISIT  TO  A  SMALL  FARM. THE  COWS. THE  MILKING. 

THE  DAIRY-MAIDS. THE  STABLES. MANURE. BONES. PASTURE. WHITE 

CLOVER. IMPLEMENTS. CARTS. THE  ENGLISH  PLOUGH  AND  HARROW. 

Slst  May. 

TT  was  very  early  this  morning  when  I  became  gradually 
J-  aware  of  the  twittering  of  house-sparrows,  and  was  soon 
after  brought  to  more  distinct  consciousness  of  time  and  place 
b;y  the  long  clear  note  of  some  other  stranger  bird.  I  stepped 
from  bed  and  kneeled  at  a  little,  low,  latticed  window,  cur 
tained  without  by  a  woodbine.  Parting  the  foliage  with  ray 
hands,  I  looked  out  upon  a  cluster  of  low-thatched  cottages, 
half  overgrown  with  ivy  ;  a  bloQming  hawthorn  hedge,  enclo 
sing  a  field  of  heavy  grass  and  clover  glistening  with  dew ;  a 
few  haystacks  ;  another  field  beyond,  spotted  with  sheep ; 
a  group  of  trees  ;  and  then  some  low  hills,  over  which  the 
dawn  was  kindling,  with  a  faint  blush,  the  quiet,  smoky 
clouds  in  a  grey  sky.  It  may  seem  an  uninteresting  land 
scape,  but  I  gazed  upon  it  with  great  emotion,  so  great  that 
I  wondered  at  it.  Such  a  scene  I  had  never  looked  upon  be 
fore,  and  yet  it  was  in  all  its  parts  as  familiar  to  me  as  my 
native  valley.  Land  of  our  poets  !  Home  of  our  fathers  ! 
Dear  old  mother  England  !  It  would  be  strange  if  I  were 
not  affected  at  meeting  thee  at  last  face  to  face. 


100  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

I  dressed,  and  worked  my  way  through  the  dark,  crooked 
stairs  to  the  kitchen,  where,  on  the  bright  steel  fender,  I 
found  ray  shoes  dry  and  polished.  I  walked  through  the 
single  short  street  of  the  hamlet.  The  houses  were  set  closely 
together,  with  neat  little  gardens  about  them.  They  were  of 
every  age ;  one  I  noticed  marked  with  the  date  1630 — about 
the  time  of  the  first  settlement  in  Connecticut.  It  was  of 
stone,  narrow,  with  a  steep  roof  covered  with  very  small 
slates ;  the  windows  much  wider  than  high,  and  filled  with 
little  panes  of  glass  set  in  strips  of  lead.  Except  in  this  and 
the  materials  of  which  it  was  built,  it  was  not  unlike  some  of 
the  oldest  houses  that  we  yet  see  in  our  first  Puritan  villages, 
as  Hadley  and  Wethersfield. 

A  blackbird  hopped  before  me,  but  did  not  whistle,  and 
plenty  of  little  birds  were  chirping  on  the  walls  and  rose 
bushes,  but  there  was  nothing  like  the  singing  we  have  at 
home  of  a  spring  morning.*  At  the  other  end  of  the  vil 
lage  was  another  inn — "  The  Blue  Lion,"  I  believe,  and  a  tall 
hostler  opening  the  stable  doors  was  dressed  just  as  I  wanted 
to  see  him — jockey -cap,  long  striped  waistcoat,  breeches,  and 
boots. 

As  I  returned  I  saw  the  'farmer  that  had  been  at  the  inn 
the  night  before,  and  asked  him  to  let  me  see  his  cows.  He 
said  they  were  coming  down  the  lane,  and  if  I  went  with  him 
I  should  meet  them.  Passing  a  group  of  well-built,  neat, 
low  buildings,  he  said  they  were  the  squire's  kennels.  They 
were  intended  for  greyhounds,  but  he  had  his  pointers  in 
them  now. 

"  The  squire's  !     But  where's  the  squire's  house  ?" 

"  Yon's  the  hall,"  pointing  to  a  distant  group  of  trees, 
above  which  a  light  smoke  was  rising  straight  up  in  the  calm 

*  An  English  friend,  now  in  America,  thinks  I  ain  wr-onj  in  this. 


ROOKS.— VISIT  TO  A  FARM.  101 

air,  and  a  number  of  large  black  birds  were  rapidly  rising 
and  falling.     "  Ton's  the  hall ;  ye  see  the  rooks." 
"  The  rooks  !     Then  those  are  rooks,  are  they  f 
"  Ay,  be  they— rooks— do  ye  not  know  what  rooks  be  f 
"  Yes,  but  we  don't  have  them  in  America." 
"  No  !  not  have  rooks  ?   They  be  main  good  in. a  pie,  sir." 
We  met  the  cows,  of  which  there  were  about  a  dozen, 
driven  by  a  boy  towards  the  farm-house.     Any  one  of  them 
would  have  been  considered  remarkably  fine  in  America. 
They  were  large  and  in  good  order;  with  soft,  sleek  skin,  and 
like  every  cow  I  have  seen  in  England,  look  as  if  they  had 
just  been  polished  up  for  exhibition.     He  could  tell  nothing 
of  their  breed  except  of  one,  a  handsome  heifer,  which  he  said 
came  partly  of  Welsh  stock.     He  took  me  across  a  field  or 
two  to  look  at  a  few  cows  of  the  squire's.     They  were  finer 
than  any  of  his,  and  seemed  to  be  grade  short-horns. 

The  cows  were  driven  into  hovels,  which  he  called  ship, 
pens,  and  fastened  at  their  mangers  by  a  chain  and  ring 
sliding  on  an  upright  post  (the  latest  fashion  with  us),  eight 
of  them  in  an  apartment,  standing  back  to  back.  Three  or 
four  of  his  daughters  came  out  to  milk — very  good-looking, 
modest  young  women,  dressed  in  long,  loose,  grey,  homespun 
gowns.  They  had  those  high  wooden  tubs  to  milk  in  that 
we  see  in  the  old  pictures  of  sentimental  milkmaids.  It 
seems  constantly  like  dreaming  to  see  so  many  of  these 
things  that  we  have  only  known  before  in  poetry  or  painting. 
The  dairy-house  and  all  the  farm  buildings  were  of  brick, 
interworked  with  beams  of  wood  and  thatched.  They  were 
very  small,  the  farm  being  only  of  fifty  acres,  and  the 
hay  and  grain  always  kept  in  stacks.  The  arrangements  for 
saving  manure  were  poor— much  the  same  as  on  any  tolerably 
good  farm  with  us— a  hollowed  yard  with  a  pool  of  liquid  on 
one  side.  He  bought  some  dung  and  bones  in  Liverpool 

9* 


102  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

but  not  much.  He  esteemed  bones  most  highly,  and  said 
they  did  immense  good  hereabout.  They  made  a  sweeter, 
stronger,  and  more  permanent  pasture.  Where  he  had  ap 
plied  them  twelve  years  ago,  at  the  rate  of  a  ton  to  an  acre, 
he  could  see  their  effect  yet.  He  took  me  into  an  adjoining 
field  which,  he  said,  was  one  of  the  best  pastures  in  the  village. 
It  had  been  ploughed  in  narrow  lands,  and  the  ridges  left 
high,  when  it  was  laid  down.  The  sward  was  thicker,  better 
bottomed,  than  any  I  ever  saw  in  America.  He  sowed  about 
a  bushel  of  grass  seeds  to  the  acre,  seeding  down  with  oats. 
For  cheese  pasture,  he  valued  white  clover  more  than  any 
thing  else,  and  had  judged,  from  the  taste  of  American 
cheese,  that  we  did  not  have  it.  For  meadows  to  be  mowed 
for  hay,  he  preferred  sainfoin  and  ray -grass.  He  had  lately 
underdrained  some  of  his  lowest  land  with  good  effect.  His 
soil  is  mostly  a  stiff  clay  resting  on  a  ledge  of  rocks. 

The  farm-carts  were  clumsy  and  heavy  (for  horses),  with 
very  large  wheels  with  broad  tires  and  huge  hubs,  as  you 
have  seen  the  English  carts  pictured.  The  plough  was  a  very 
long,  sharp,  narrow  one,  calculated  to  plough  about  seven 
inches  deep,  and  turn  a  slice  ten  inches  wide,  with  a  single 
pair  of  horses.  The  stilts,  of  iron,  were  long  and  low,  and 
the  beam,  also  of  iron,  very  high,  with  a  goose-neck  curve. 
It  is  a  very  beautiful  instrument,  graceful  and  strong ;  but  its 
appearance  of  lightness  is  deceptive,  the  whole  being  of  iron ; 
and  this,  with  its  great  length,  though  adding  to  its  efficiency 
for  nice,  accurate  work  in  perfectly  smooth  and  clear,  long 
fields,  would  entirely  unfit  it  for  most  of  our  purposes.  On 
the  rocky,  irregular,  hill-side  farms  of  New  England,  or  the 
stump  lands  of  the  West,  it  would  be  perfectly  useless ;  but 
I  should  think  it  might  be  an  admirable  plough  for  our  New 
York  wheat  lands,  or  perhaps  for  the  prairies  after  they  had 
oeen  once  broken. 


THE  ENGLISH  PLOUGH. 


103 


The  harrow  used  on  the  farm  was  also  of  iron,  frame  and 
all,  in  three  oblong  sections,  hinged  together.     These  were 


about  all  the  tools  I  saw,  and  they  were  left  in  a  slovenly 
way,  lying  about  the  farm-yard  and  in  the  road. 


104  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

BREAKFAST  AT  THE  INN. A  TALE    OF    HIGH    LIFE. THE  GARDEN  OF  THE  INN. 

AN  OLD  FARM-HOUSE. TIMBER  HOUSES. LABOURERS'  COTTAGES. WAT 
TLES  AND  NOGGIN  WALLS. A  "  FERME  ORNEE." A  LAWN  PASTURE. COP 
PER-LEAVED  BEECHES. TAME  BLACK  CATTLE. APPROACH  TO  CHESTER. 

T  RETURNED  to  my  room  in  the  inn,  and  had  written  a 
-*-  page  or  two  of  this  before  any  one  was  stirring.  Then  I 
heard  the  mistress  waking  the  servants,  and  soon  after  "John 
the  boots"  came  to  my  door  to  call  me,  as  I  had  requested 
him  to. 

After  with  difficulty  prevailing  upon  the  landlady  and  her 
daughter  to  breakfast  with  us,  we  had  a  very  sociable  time 
with  them  over  the  tea  and  eggs  which  they  had  prepared  for 
us.  They  were  interested  to  hear  of  the  hard  coal  we  burned 
(anthracite)  that  made  no  smoke,  and  of  wood  fires,  and  of 
our  peculiar  breakfast  dishes,  griddle-cakes,  and  Indian  bread. 
They  told  us  of  other  members  of  their  family — two  or  three 
in  Australia — and  of  the  clergy  and  gentry  of  the  neighbour 
hood.  They  spoke  kindly  and  respectfully  of  the  vicar — "  a 
sporting  man,  sir,  and  fond  of  good  living,"  the  old  lady 
added,  after  mentioning  his  charity  and  benevolence.  In 
speaking  of  the  gentry,  it  was  difficult  for  her  to  believe  that 
we  did  not  know  the  general  history  of  all  the  families.  We 

asked  about  a  park  we  had  passed.     It  was Park,  and 

had  a  remarkable  story  to  be  told  of  it ;  but  so  constantly 
did  she  anticipate  our  knowledge,  taking  for  granted  that  we 


A  TALE  OF  man  LIFE.  105 

knew  all  that  had  occurred  until  within  a  short  time,  that  it 
was  long  before  we  could  at  all  understand  the  news  about  it. 
As  you  are  probably  equally  ignorant,  I  will  tell  you  the  tale 
connectedly,  as  we  finally  got  it. 

It  had  been  the  property  of  Sir  T ,  who  occupied  the 

hall  in  it  until  his  death,  a  year  or  two  ago,  and  had  been  in 
his  family  many  hundred  years.  The  estate  included  several 
villages — the  whole  of  them,  every  house  and  shop,  even  the 
churches— and  was  valued  at  £800,000  ($4,000,000).  On  the 
death  of  Sir  T.,  Sir  W.,  his  son,  inherited  his  title  and  estate. 
But  Sir  W.  was  a  sporting  man,  and  had  previously  gambled 
himself  in  debt  to  Jews  in  London  £600,000.  He  came  to 
the  hall,  however,  and  remained  there  some  time,  keeping 
two  packs  of  hounds.  He  was  a  good  landlord,  and  the 
family  were  beloved.  Lady  M.  had  established  and  main 
tained  a  national  (church)  school ;  and  in  the  winter  was  in 
the  habit  of  serving  out  a  large  quantity  of  soup  every  day 
to  the  poor  of  the  estate.  But-at  length  the  bailiffs  came,  and 
Sir  W.  went  to  France,  and  his  family  dispersed  among  their 
relatives  all  over  the  kingdom.  Lady  M.  last  winter  had 
been  very  ill,  and  nothing  ailed  her,  the  physicians  said,  but 
sorrow. 

And  now  they  were  going  to  sell  it — they  did  not  know 
how  they  could — but  they  showed  us  a  considerable  volume, 
illustrated  with  maps  and  lithographs,  of"  plans  and  particu 
lars"  of  the  estate,  on  the  first  page  of  which,  "  Messrs. 

had  the  honour  to  announce  that  they  had  been  instructed  by 
the  honourable  proprietor,  to  sell  at  auction,  on  a  certain  six 
days,  upwards  of  fifteen  hundred  acres  of  very  fine  rich  land, 
let  to  an  old  and  respectable  tenantry,  including  the  whole 

of  the  town  of ,  together  with  several  manors  and 

manorial  rights,  which  have  been  commuted  at  £500  per  an 
num"  They  showed  us  also  another  volume,  containing  in 


106  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

one  hundred  and  twelve  quarto  pages,  descriptions  of  the  fur 
niture,  plate,  library,  paintings,  wines,  &c.,  with  many  en 
gravings — a  strange  exposure  of  noble  housekeeping  to  our 
republican  eyes.  Seeing  that  we  were  much  interested  in 
this,  the  landlady  offered  to  give  it  to  us ;  it  was  of  no  use 
to  her,  she  said,  and  we  were  quite  welcome  to  it.  It  was 
really  of  some  value  in  several  ways,  and  we  offered  to  pay 
for  it,  but  she  would  not  sell  it. 

Before  we  left,  they  showed  us  through  the  little  garden 
of  the  inn ;  it  was  beautifully  kept,  and  every  thing  growing 
strongly.  Then,  after  buckling  on  our  knapsacks,  and  bring 
ing  us  another  mug  of  home-brewed,  our  kind  entertainers 
took  leave  of  us  with  as  much  good-feeling  and  cordiality  as 
if  we  were  old  friends,  who  had  been  making  them  a  short 
visit,  following  us  out  into  the  street,  with  parting  advice 
about  the  roads  and  the  inns,  and  at  last  a  warm  shaking  of 
hands. 

The  country  we  walked  over  for  a  few  miles  after  leaving 
the  village,  was  similar  to  that  we  saw  yesterday — flattish, 
with  long,  low  undulations — the  greater  part  in  pasture,  and 
that  which  was  not,  less  highly  cultivated  than  I  had  expected 
to  find  much  land  in  England,  the  stock  upon  it  almost 
altogether  cows,  and  these  always  looking  admirably  well ; 
the  fields  universally  divided  by  hedges,  which,  though  they 
add  much  to  the  beauty  of  the  landscape,  when  you  are  in  a 
position  to  look  over  it,  greatly  interrupt  the  view,  and  al 
ways  are  ill- trimmed,  irregular,  and  apparently  insecure.  We 
met  no  one  on  the  road,  saw  very  few  habitations,  and  only 
two  men  at  work,  ploughing,  for  several  miles  ;  then  a 
cluster  of  cottages,  an  inn,  and  a  large  old  timber-house.  As 
i  had  been  informed  (very  wrongly)  that  these  were  getting 
rare  in  England,  and  it  was  very  peculiar  and  striking,  I 
stopped  to  sketch  it. 


OLD   TIMBER  FARM  HOUSE.  107 

Imagine  a  very  large,  old-fashioned  New  England  farm- 
house  with  the  weather-boarding  stripped  off  and  all  the  tim 
ber  exposed.  Fill  up  the  intervals  with  brick,  and  plaster 
them  over  even  with  the  outer  surface  of  the  beams;  then 
whitewash  this  plastered  surface  and  blacken  the  timber,  and 
you  have  the  walls  of  the  house.  A  New  England  house, 
however,  would  have  three  times  as  many  windows.  The 


roof  is  mostly  of  very  small  old  slates,  set  with  mortar,  and 
capped  (ridged)  with  thick  quarried  stones.  It  is  repaired 
with  large  new  slates  in  several  places,  and  an  addition  that 
has  been  made  since  the  main  part  was  erected,  which  is 
entirely  of  brick  in  the  walls,  with  no  timber,  is  heavily 
thatched  with  straw,  as  are  also  all  the  out-buildings. 

The  rear  of  the  farm-house  probably  contains  the  dairy, 
and  is  covered  with  thatch  to  secure  a  more  equable  temper 
ature. 

^All  the  other  buildings  in  the  hamlet  were  similarly 
built— timber  and  whitewashed  walls,  and  thatch  roofs. 
While  I  was  sketching,  the  farmer,  a  great  stout  old  man,  and 
the  first  we  have  seen  in  top-boots,  came  out  and  entered  into 


108  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

conversation  with  us.  He  was  much  amused  that  I  should 
think  his  house  worth  sketching,  and  told  us  it  had  been  long 
(rented)  in  his  family.  He  had  no  idea  how  old  it  was.  He 
described  the  cottages,  which  were  certainly  very  pretty  to 
look  at,  as  exceedingly  uncomfortable  and  unhealthy — the 
floors,  which  were  of  clay,  being  generally  lower  than  the 
road  and  the  surrounding  land,  and  often  wret,  and  always 
damp,  while  the  roofs  and  w^alls  were  old  and  leaky,  and  full 
of  vermin.  The  walls  of  these  cottages  were  all  made  by 
interlacing  twigs  (called  wattles)  between  the  timbers,  and 
then  plashing  these  with  mud  (noggin),  inside  and  out,  one 
layer  over  another  as  they  dried,  until  it  was  as  thick  as  was 
desired  ;  then  the  surface  was  made  smooth  with  a  trowel  and 
whitewashed. 

A  few  miles  further  on  we  came  to  a  large,  park-like  pas 
ture,  bounded  by  a  neatly  trimmed  hedge,  and  entered  by  a 
simple  gate,  from  which  a  private  road  ran  curving  among  a 
few  clumps  of  trees  to  a  mansion  about  a  furlong  distant. 
We  entered,  and  rested  ourselves  awhile  at  the  foot  of  some 
large  oaks.  The  house  was  nearly  hidden  among  trees,  and 
these,  seen  across  the  clear  grass  land,  were  the  finest  groups 
of  foliage  we  had  ever  seen.  A  peculiar  character  was  given 
it  by  one  or  two  copper-leaved  beeches — large,  tall  trees, 
thickly  branched  from  the  very  surface  of  the  ground.  (These 
trees,  which  are  frequently  used  with  great  good  effect  in 
landscape  gardening  in  England,  are  rare  in  America,  though 
they  may  be  had  at  the  nurseries.  There  are  two  sorts,  one 
much  less  red  than  the  other.)  The  cattle  in  this  pasture- 
lawn  were  small  and  black,  brisk  and  wild-looking,  but  so 
tame  in  reality,  that  as  we  lay  under  the  tree,  they  came  up 
and  licked  our  hands  like  dogs.  The  whole  picture  com 
pletely  realized  Willis's  beautiful  ideal,  "  The  Cottage  Insou- 
cieuse" 


APPROACH  TO    CHESTER.  109 

The  country  hence  to  Chester  was  more  elevated  and 
broken,  and  the  walk  delightful.  We  saw  many  beautiful 
things,  but  have  seen  so  many  more  interesting  ones  since, 
that  I  can  hardly  remember  them.  The  road,  too,  was  more 
travelled.  We  met  a  stage-coach,  with  no  inside  passengers, 
and  the  top  overloaded,  and  a  handsome  carriage  and  four, 
the  near  wheeler  and  leader  ridden  by  postilions  in  bright 
livery,  and  within,  an  old  gentleman  under  a  velvet  cap,  and 
young  lady  under  a  blue  silken  calash.  The  fields,  too,  were 
more  tilled ;  and  one  of  fifty  acres,  which  was  ridged  for 
some  root  crop,  was  the  most  thoroughly  cultivated  piece  of 
merely  farming  ground  I  ever  saw.  There  were  several  wom 
en  at  work  in  the  back  part  of  it.  I  could  not  make  out 
what  they  were  doing. 

About  the  middle  of  the  forenoon,  we  came  to  the  top  of 
a  higher  hill  than  we  had  before  crossed,  from  which  we 
looked  down  upon  a  beautiful  rich  valley,  bounded  on  the 
side  opposite  us  by  blue  billowy  hills.  In  the  midst  of  it 
was  the  smoke  and  chimneys  and  steeples  of  a  town.  One 
square,  heavy  brown  tower  was  conspicuous  over  the  rest, 
and  we  recognised  by  it  the  first  cathedral  we  had  seen. 

As  we  approached  the  town,  the  road  became  a  crooked 
paved  street,  lined  with  curious  small  antique  houses,  between 
which  we  passed,  stopping  often  to  admire  some  singular 
gable,  or  porch,  or  grotesque  carving,  until  it  was  spanned  by 
a  handsome  brown  stone  arch,  not  the  viaduct  of  a  railroad, 
as  at  first  seemed  likely,  nor  an  arch  of  triumph,  of  the  pic 
tures  of  which  it  reminded  us,  but  one  of  the  four  gateways 
of  the  city.  Passing  under  it,  we  found  on  the  inner  side  a 
flight  of  broad  stone  stairs  leading  on  to  the  wall,  which  we 
ascended.  At  the  top,  on  the  inside  of  the  wall,  was  a  printer's 
shop,  in  which  guide-books  were  offered  for  sale.  Entering  this 
we  were  received  by  an  intelligent  and  obliging  young  man 

10 


110  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

who  left  the  press  to  give  us  chairs,  and  with  whom  we  had  an 
interesting  conversation  about  the  town  and  about  his  trade. 
Printers'  wages,  if  I  recollect  rightly,  were  about  one  quarter 
more  in  New  York  than  in  Chester.  After  purchasing  a 
guide-book  and  a  few  prints  of  him,  we  accepted  his  invita 
tion  to  leave  our  knapsacks  in  his  shop,  and  take  a  walk  on 
the  walls  before  entering  the  town. 


A    WALK  ABOUT  CHESTER.  Ill 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

CHESTER     WITHOUT. — A    "WALK      ON     THE     WALLS. ANTIQUITIES. — STRIKING 

CONTRASTS. 

Chester,  June  2d. 

Tl/TY  journal  is  behindhand  several  days,  what  little  time 
-"•*•  I  have  had  to  write  being  occupied  in  finishing  my  last 
letter.  Meantime,  I  have  seen  so  much,  that  if  I  had  a  week 
of  leisure  I  should  despair  of  giving  you  a  good  idea  of  this 
strange  place.  But  that  you  may  understand  a  little  how 
greatly  we  are  interested,  I  will  mention  some  of  the  objects 
that  we  have  seen,  and  are  seeing.  Use  your  imagination  to 
the  utmost  to  fill  up  the  hints,  rather  than  descriptions,  of 
these  that  I  shall  give  you.  You  need  not  fear  that  when 
you  come  here  the  reality  will  disappoint  you,  or  fail  to  as 
tonish  you  with  its  novelty,  its  quaintness,  and  the  strange 
mingling  of  venerable  associations  with  its  modern  art  and 
civilization. 

We  were  about  to  leave  the  printer's  for  a  walk  on  the 
wall.  I  will  not  detain  myself  with  a  detailed  account  of  our 
proceedings,  but  imagine  that  you  are  with  me,  while  1  point 
out  to  you  a  few  of  the  note-worthy  objects. 

We  are  on  the  top  of  the  wall,  a  few  feet  from  the  side  of 
the  archway  through  which  we  entered  the  town.  Look  down 
now  on  the  outside.  The  road,  just  before  it  enters  the  gate, 
crosses,  by  a  bridge,  a  deep  ravine.  In  it,  some  seventy  feet 


112  AX  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

below  us,  you  see  the  dark  water,  perhaps  of  old  the  fosse, 
but  now  a  modern  commercial  canal.  A  long,  narrow  boat, 
much  narrower  than  our  canal-boats,  laden  with  coals,  is  com 
ing  from  under  the  bridge ;  a  woman  is  steering  it,  and  on 
the  cabin,  in  large,  red  letters,  you  see  her  name,  "  Margaret 
Francis"  and  the  name  of  the  boat,  the  "  Telegraph."  That 
arch  was  turned  by  a  man  now  living,  but  that  course  of  stones 
— the  dark  ones  between  the  ivy  and  the  abutment — was  laid 
by  a  Roman  mason,  when  Rome  was  mistress  of  the  world. 
Walk  on.  The  wall  is  five  feet  wide  on  the  top,  with 
a  parapet  of  stone  on  the  outside,  and  an  iron  rail  within. 
Don't  fear,  though  it  is  so  far  and  deep  to  the  canal,  and  the 
stone  looks  so  time-worn  and  crumbling ;  it  is  firm  with  true 
Roman  cement,  the  blood  of  brave  men.  Here  it  is  strength 
ened  by  a  heavy  tower,  now  somewhat  dilapidated.  Look 
up,  and  you  see  upon  it  a  rude  carving  of  a  phoenix ;  under  it 
an  old  tablet,  with  these  words  : — 

"  ON  THIS  TOWER  STOOD  CHARLES  THE  FIRST,  AND  SAW  HIS  ARMY  DEFEATED." 

Within  the  tower  is  the  stall  of  a  newsman.  Buy  the 
London  Times,  which  has  come  some  hundred  miles  since 
morning,  with  the  information  that  yesterday  the  honourable 
president  of  a  Peace  Society  was  shot  in  a  duel.  (A  fact.) 

Pass  on.  On  one  side  of  us  are  tall  chimneys,  through 
which,  from  fierce  forge  fires,  ascend  black  smoke  and  incense 
of  bitumen  to  the  glory  of  mammon.  Close  on  the  other 
side  stands  a  venerable  cathedral,  built  by  pious  labour  of  de 
vout  men  to  the  laud  and  service  of  their  God.  We  look  into 
the  burying-ground,  and  on  the  old  gravestones  observe  many 
familiar  names  of  New  England  neighbours. 

Narrow  brick  houses  are  built  close  up  to  the  wall  again, 
and  now  on  both  sides  ;  the  wall,  which  you  can  stride  across, 
being  their  only  street  or  way  of  access.  Here,  again,  it 


STREET  SCENES.  113 

crosses  another  broad  road,  and  we  are  over  another  entrance 
to  the  city — the  "  new  gate ;"  it  is  not  quite  a  century  old. 
We  look  from  it  into  the  market-place.  Narrow,  steep-ga 
bled  houses,  with  their  second  story  frowning  threateningly 
over  the  sidewalks,  surround  it.  But  the  market-building  is 
modern.  See  !  the  sparrow  lighting  on  the  iron  roof  burns 
her'  feet  and  flies  hastily  over  to  the  heavy,  old,  brown  thatch, 
where  the  little  dormers  stick  out  so  clumsily  cosy. 

Odd-looking  vehicles  and  oddly-dressed  people  are  pass 
ing  in  the  street  below  us :  a  woman  with  a  jacket,  driving 
two  stout  horses  in  one  of  those  heavy  farm-carts ;  an  omni 
bus,  very  broad,  and  carrying  passengers  on  the  top  as  well 
as  inside,  with  the  sign  of  "The  Green  Dragon ;"  the  driver, 
smartly-dressed,  tips  his  whip  with  a  knowing  nod  to  a  pretty 
Welsh  girl  who  is  carrying  a  tub  upon  her  head.  There  are 
lots  of  such  damsels  here,  neat  as  possible,  with  dark  eyes  and 
glossy  hair,  half  covered  by  white  caps,  and  fine,  plump  forms, 
in  short  striped  petticoats  and  hob-nailed  shoes.  There  goes 
one,  straight  as  a  gun-barrel,  with  a  great  jar  of  milk  upon 
her  head.  And  here  is  a  little  donkey,  with  cans  of  milk 
slung  on  each  side  of  him,  and  behind  them,  so  you  cannot 
see  why  he  does  not  slip  off  over  his  tail,  is  a  great  brute, 
with  two  legs  in  knee-breeches  and  blue  stockings,  bent  up 
so  as  to  be  clear  of  the  ground,  striking  him  with  a  stout  stick 
across  his  long,  expressive  ears.  A  sooty-faced  boy,  with  a 
Kilmarnock  bonnet  on  his  head,  carrying  two  pewter  mugs, 
coming  towards  us,  jumps  suddenly  one  side,  and,  ha !  out 
from  under  us,  at  a  rattling  pace,  comes  a  beautiful  sorrel 
mare,  with  a  handsome,  tall,  slightly-made  young  man  in 
undress  military  uniform ;  close  behind,  and  not  badly 
mounted  either,  follow  two  others — one  also  in  uniform, 
with  a  scarlet  cap  and  a  bright  bugle  swinging  at  his  side ; 
the  other  a  groom  in  livery,  neat  as  a  pin ;  odd  again,  to 


114  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

American  eyes,  those  leather  breeches  and  bright  top-boots. 
Who  was  it  ?  Colonel  Lord  Grosvenor,  going  to  review  the 
yeomanry.  We  shall  see  them  the  other  side  of  the  city. 
His  grandfather  built  this  gate  and  presented  it  to  the  corpo 
ration  ;  you  may  see  his  arms  on  the  key-stone.  But  now 
go  on. 

On  the  left,  you  see  an  old  church  tower,  and  under  it 
the  ragged  outline  and  darker  coloured  stone  of  still  older 
masonry.  A  swallow  has  just  found  a  cranny  big  enough 
to  build  her  nest  in,  that  Father  Time  has  been  chiselling 
at  now  for  eight  hundred  years.  Eight  hundred  ?  Yes  ;  it 
was  rebuilt  then.  You  can  see  some  of  the  older,  original 
w^all  at  the  other  end — no,  not  that  round  Saxon  arch,  but 
beyond  the  trees — a  low  wall  with  a  heavy  clothing  of  ivy. 
The  steamboat  is  just  coming  out  from  behind  it  now.  In 
the  year  973,  King  Edgar  landed  at  this  church  from  a  boat, 
in  which  he  had  been  rowed  by  eight  kings,  whom  he  had 
conquered.  An  ugly,  smoky  old  tub  is  that  steamboat ;  it 
would  hardly  be  thought  fit  for  the  conveyance  of  criminals 
to  prison  in  America.  But  doubtless  it  is  a  faster  and 
more  commodious  craft  than  King  Edgar's  eight-king  power 
packet. 

We  cross  another  gateway,  and  pass  a  big  mill.  The 
dam  was  built,  I  don't  know  when.  The  Puritans,  they  say, 
tried  to  destroy  it,  for  its  bad  name,  perhaps,  but  could  not, 
because,  like  a  duck,  it  kept  under  a  high  flood  of  water  until 
the  Cavaliers,  making  a  rush  to  save  it,  spiked  their  guns. 

Our  path  turns  suddenly,  and  runs  along  the  face  of  a 
stone  wall,  supported  by  brackets  high  above  the  water  of 
the  river,  but  some  distance  below  the  parapets — parapets  of 
a  castle.  Soon  we  pass  a  red-coated  sentry,  and  now  you 
see  a  tower  that  looks  older  than  the  rest.  The  battle-axes 
of  William  the  Conqueror  once  clanged  where  that  fellow  is 


QUEENS  AND   BEGGARS.  115 

lounging  with  a  cigar.  Beyond,  on  the  esplanade,  were  wont 
to  assemble  the  formidable  feudal  armies  of  the  Earls  of 
Chester,  whose  title  is  now  borne  by  the  German  Prince  Al 
bert's  eldest  son.  Quite  a  different  appearance  they  must 
have  made  from  this  regiment  of  Irishmen  in  red-cloth  coats 
and  leather  helmets. 

Stop  a  moment  to  look  at  the  old  bridge — step  back  to 
the  angle — there  you  see  it — half-a-dozen  arches  of  different 
forms  and  shades  of  colour,  not  particularly  handsome,  but 
worth  noticing.  The  blackest  of  the  arches  was  turned  half  a 
century  before  Jamestown  was  founded — that  is,  it  was  then 
rebuilt.  The  old  bridge,  from  which  the  stones  for  it  were 
taken,  was  built  by  Queen  Ethefleda.  Who  was  she  ?  I  am 
sure  I  don't  know — some  one  who  reigned  ,here  a  thousand 
years  ago,  I  believe,  though  I  never  heard  any  thing  else  of 
her.  You'll  be  shown  her  great-grandmother's  cradle  some 
where  about  town  very  likely. 

Just  above  is  another  bridge.  What  a  fine  arch !  Yes ; 
the  longest  in  the  world,  it  is  said.  That  was  not  built  by  a 
queen,  but  a  little  girl  was  the  first  to  cross  it,  who  afterwards 
developed  up  into  "her  most  gracious  Majesty,  Victoria, 
whom  God  long  preserve,"  as  the  loyal  guide-book  has  it. 

" .  .  .  .     Poor  fellow !  he  is  very  lame,  isn't  he  !" 

"  Oh,  he  is  begging ;  probably  an  impostor.  Don't  encour 
age  him." 

"  He  only  asks  a  penny  to  keep  him  from  starving ;  his 
son  has  not  been  able  to  get  any  work  lately,  or  he  would  not 
let  him  beg." 

"  Let  him  go  to  America  ;  there's  enough  work  for  him  if 
he  really  wants  it ;  its  what  they  all  say.  Give  him  a 
ha'penny  then,  and  be  rid  of  him.  Now,  look  over  there, 
between  the  trees,  and  see  the  entrance  to  the  Marquis  of 


116  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

Westminster's  park." — A  great,  fresh  pile  of  bombasti 
towers  and  battlements  to  shelter  a  gate  and  protect  the 
woman  who  opens  it  from — rain  and  frost.  It  is  but  re 
cently  finished,  and  costs,  says  the  printer,  £10,000. 

What  says  the  beggar  ?  Free  trade  and  the  Irish  havt 
cut  down  wages,  since  he  used  to  work  on  the  farms,  from 
five  shillings  to  eighteen  pence.  I  don't  believe  it. 

He  reasserts  it,  though.  He  has  stood  himself  at  Chester 
Cross  on  the  market  day,  and  refused  to  work  for  four  and 
sixpence,  and  all  the  beer  he  could  drink.  It  may  be  true — 
the  printer  tells  us ;  in  the  old  Bonaparte  years,  in  harvest 
time,  it  was  not  unlikely  to  have  been  so.  With  wheat 
at  a  guinea  a  bushel,  the  farmers  did  not  have  the  worst  of 
it  even  then.  Those  were  good  times  for  farmers.  Soldiers 
can't  reap,  but  they  must  eat.  The  government  borrowed 
money  to  pay  the  farmers  for  supporting  the  war,  and  now 
the  farmers  are  paying  the  debt. 

"  Give  me  something  to  buy  a  little  bread,  good  sirs,' 
repeats  the  old  man ;    "I  can't  work,  and  my  son   .... 
These  dirty  Irish  and  this  cussed  free  trade " 

Hark  !  horns  and  kettle-drums !  Come  on.  It  is  the 

band  of  the  yeomanry ;  we  shall  see  them  directly 

There  !  Five  squadrons  of  mounted  men  trotting  over  a 
broad  green  meadow  below  us.  Well  mounted  they  seem 
to  be,  and  well  seated  too.  Ay ;  fox  hunting  will  make 
good  cavalry.  Doubtless  many  of  those  fellows  have  been 
after  the  hounds. 

Possibly.  But  never  one  of  them  charged  a  buffalo  herd, 
I'll  be  bound. 

This  green  plain — a  sort  of  public  lawn  in  front  of  the 
town — is  about  twice  as  large  as  Boston  Common,  and  is 
called  "The  Roodee."  It  is  free  from  trees,  nothing  but  a 


RUINS  AND  RAILROADS.  117 

handsome  meadow,  and  a  race-course  runs  round  it.  On  this 
course,  by  the  way,  the  greatest  number  of  horses  ever  en 
gaged  in  a  single  match  have  been  run.  In  1848,  the  entries 
were  one  hundred  and  fifty-six,  of  which  one  hundred  and  six 
accepted. 

Right  below  us,  on  the  meadow,  there  is  pitched  a  mar 
quee.  It  belongs  to  a  cricket  club.  I  want  you  to  notice 
the  beautiful  green  sward  of  their  playing  ground.  It  is 
shaven  so  clean  and  close.  You  see  men  are  sweeping  it 
with  hair-brooms. 

Here  again,  in  this  garden  on  the  other  side  of  the  wall, 
there  used  to  be  a  nunnery.  There  is  the  entrance  to  a  sub 
terranean  passage,  by  which,  if  you  could  keep  a  candle  burn 
ing,  you  might  pass  under  the  city  back  to  the  cathedral. 

....  Are  you  tired  of  ruins  1  Here  is  one  more  that 
may  rouse  your  Puritan  blood :  a  heavy  tower  built  into 
the  wall,  connected  with  a  larger  one  at  some  distance  out 
side.  How  old  they  look  !  No  paintings  and  no  descriptions 
had  ever  conveyed  to  me  the  effect  of  age  upon  the  stone  it 
self  of  these  very  old  structures.  How  venerable!  how 
stern  !  how  silent — yet  telling  what  long  stories !  We  will 
not  ask  for  the  oldest  of  them,  but — you  see  there,  where 
the  battlements  are  broken  down  in  one  place — that  breach 
was  made  by  a  ball  thrown  from  the  hill  yonder ;  and  the 
cannon  that  sent  it  was  aimed  by  OLIVER  CROMWELL. 

How  beautiful,  how  indescribably  beautiful,  are  those  thick 
masses  of  dark,  glossy,  green  ivy,  falling  over  the  blackened 
old  ramparts,  like  the  curls  of  a  child  asleep  on  its  grand 
father's  shoulder ! —  Whew  I  dont  let  the  sparks  get  in  your 
eye  \  They  have  pierced  the  wall  right  under  us,  and  here 
goes  an  express  train  fifty  miles  an  hour,  from  Ireland  to 
London  by  way  of  Holyhead,  with  dispatches  for  her  Ma- 


118  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

jesty  (by  way  of  Lord  Palmerston's  head).  The  Roman 
masonry  that  resisted  the  Roundhead  batteries,  has  yielded 
to  the  engines  of  peace. 

But,  as  we  move  on,  even  higher  marks  of  civilization  are 
pointed  out  to  us.  Here,  close  to  the  wall,  and  in  the  shadow 
of  the  old  tower,  is  a  public  bath  and  wash-house.  A  little 
back  is  a  hospital  for  the  poor,  and  near  it  a  house  of  correc 
tion.  Across  the  valley  is  a  gloomy-looking  workhouse, 
and  in  another  direction  a  much  more  cheering  institution, 
beautifully  placed  on  a  hill,  among  fine,  dark,  evergreen 
trees,  through  which  you  can  see  the  bright  sunshine  and 
smile  of  God  falling  upon  it.  It  is  the  Training  College — a 
normal  school,  for  preparing  teachers  for  the  church  schools 
of  the  diocese.  And  here,  on  the  left,  as  we  approach  the 
north  gate  again,  is  an  old  charity  school-house,  the  Blue-coat 
Hospital.  The  boys  at  play  are  all  young  George  Washing- 
tons,  dressed  in  long-skirted  blue  coats,  and  breeches,  and 
stockings. 

....  So  here  we  are,  back  at  the  good-natured  printer's 
office,  having  been  a  circuit  of  three  miles  on  the  walls  of  the 
city.  Its  population  is  twenty -five  thousand  (mostly  within). 
If  you  have  observed  that  nearly  all  the  houses  are  low,  you 
will  not  suppose  that  much  room  is  taken  up  by  streets  and 
unoccupied  grounds,  where  that  number  is  accommodated  in 
such  limited  space,  and  you  will  be  .ready  to  explore  the  in 
terior  with  great  curiosity.  If  your  taste  for  the  quaint  and 
picturesque  is  at  all  like  mine,  you  will  be  in  no  danger  of  dis 
appointment. 


OLD  STREET  ARRANGEMENT.  119 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

CHESTEE    WITH IX. PECULIARITIES    OF    BUILDING. THE    ROWS. A   SEA-CAP 
TAIN. ROMANCING. AN  OLD  INN. OLD  ENGLISH  TOWN    HOUSES. TIMBER 

HOUSES. CLAIMING    AN    INHERITANCE. A    COOK    SHOP. ONE    OF    THE    AL 
LEYS. BREAKING  INTO  THE  CATHEDRAL. EXPULSION. THE  CURFEW. 

THE  four  gates  of  the  city  are  opposite,  and  about  equally 
distant  from  each  other.  Four  streets  run  from  them, 
meeting  in  the  centre  and  dividing  it  into  four  quarters. 
These  principal  streets  are  from  one  to  three  rods  wide,  and 
besides  them  there  are  only  a  few  narrow  alleys,  in  which 
carts  can  pass.  But  the  whole  city  is  honeycombed  with 
by-ways,  varying  from  two  to  five  feet  in  width ;  sometimes 
open  above,  and  sometimes  built  over ;  crooked  and  intri 
cate,  and  if  he  cares  where  they  lead  him  to,  most  puzzling 
to  a  stranger.  Besides  these  courts,  alleys,  and  foot-paths, 
there  is  another  highway  peculiarity  in  Chester,  which  it  will 
be  difficult  to  describe. 

Imagine  you  have  entered  the  gate  with  us  after  the  walk 
about  the  wall.  The  second  story  of  most  the  old  houses  is 
thrown  forward,  as  you  have  seen  it  in  the  "  old  settler's" 
houses  at  home.  Sometimes  it  projects  several  feet,  and  is 
supported  by  posts  in  the  sidewalk.  Soon  this  becomes  a 
frequent,  and  then  a  continuous  arrangement ;  the  posts  are 
generally  of  stone,  forming  an  arcade,  and  you  walk  behind 
them  in  the  shade.  Sometimes,  instead  of  posts,  a  solid  wall 
supports  the  upper  house.  You  observe,  as  would  be  likely 


120  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

in  an  old  city,  that  the  surface  is  irregular ;  we  are  ascending 
a  slight  elevation.  Notwithstanding  the  old  structure  over 
head,  and  the  well-worn,  thick,  old  flagging  under  foot,  we 
notice  the  shop  fronts  are  finished  with  plate-glass,  and  all  the 
brilliancy  of  the  most  modern  commercial  art  and  taste. 
Turning,  to  make  the  contrast  more  striking,  by  looking  at 
the  little  windows  and  rude  carvings  of  the  houses  opposite, 
we  see  a  bannister  or  hand-rail  separates  the  sidewalk  from 
the  carriage-way,  and  are  astonished,  in  stepping  out  to  it,  to 
find  the  street  is  some  ten  feet  below  us.  We  are  evidently 
in  the  second  story  of  the  houses.  Finding  steps  leading 
down,  we  descend  into  the  streets  and  discover  another  tier 
of  shops,  on  the  roofs  of  which  we  have  been  waling. 

Going  on,  we  shortly  come  to  where  the  streets  meet  in 
the  centre  of  the  town.  Passing  over  the  ground  where  the 
cross,  and  the  pillory,  and  other  institutions  of  religion,  and 
justice,  and  merry-making  formerly  stood,  we  ascend  steps, 
and  are  again  in  one  of  those  singular  walks  called  by  the 
inhabitants  the  Eows.  There  are  no  more  stylish  shop  fronts, 
but'  dark  doorways  and  old  windows  again,  and  on  almost 
every  door-post  little  black  and  red  checkers,  which  hiero 
glyphics,  if  you  are  not  sufficiently  versed  in  Falstaffian  lore 
to  understand,  you  can  find  rendered  in  plain  black  and  white 
queen's  English  (or  people's  English  by  our  law),  under  some 
woman's  name,  painted  on  the  beam  overhead — "  Licensed  to 
sell  beer,"  &c.  Generally  there  will  be  an  additional  sign, 
naming  the  inn  or  tavern,  always  in  letters  and  almost  never 
in  portraiture.  I  remember  "  The  Crown  and  Castle?"  "  The 
Crown  and  Anchor,"  "The  Castle  and  Falcon,"  "THe,  King's 
Head,"  "The' Black  Bear,"  "The  Blue  Boar,"  "The  .Pied 
Bull,"  "The  Green  Dragon,"  "The  White  Lion,"  "The  Sun 
and  Apple  Tree,"  "The  Colliers'  Arms,"  "The  Arms  of 
Man,"  "The  Malt  Shovel,"  etc.,  etc. 


HOUSE  HUNTING. —THE  OLD  SHIP-MASTER.          121 

Instead  of  columns  and  a  hand-rail,  or  a  dead-wall  on  the 
street  side  of  the  row,  it  is  now  and  then  contracted  by  a 
room,  which  is  sometimes  occupied  by  a  shop,  and  sometimes 
seems  to  be  used  as  a  vestibule  and  staircase  to  apartments 
overhead,  for  we  see  a  brass  plate  with  the  resident's  name, 
and  a  bell-pull,  to  the  door. 

On  the  inner  side  are  frequent  entrances  to  the  narrow 
passages  that  I  mentioned,  which  may  be  long  substitutes  for 
streets,  communicating,  after  a  deal  of  turning  and  splitting 
into  branches,  with  some  distant  alley  or  churchyard,  or 
other  main  street,  with  the  front  doors  of  wealthy  citizens' 
houses  opening  upon  them ;  or  they  may  be  merely  alleys 
between  two  tenements  leading  to  a  common  yard  in  the 
rear;  or  again,  if  you  turn  into  one,  it  may  turn  out  to  be  a 
private  hall,  and  after  one  or  two  short  turns  end  in  a  kitchen. 
Never  mind — don't  retreat ;  put  on  a  bold  face,  take  a  seat 
by  the  fire  as  if  you  were  at  home,  and  call  for  a  mug  of 
beer.  Ten  to  one  it  will  be  all  right.  Every  other  house 
keeper,  at  least,  is  a  licensed  taverner. 

We  had  great  sport  the  first  hour  or  two  we  were  in  town 
hunting  for  lodgings.  We  were  disposed  to  sleep  under  the 
very  oldest  English  architecture  in  which  we  could  be  conv 
fortably  accommodated.  Many  of  the  places  at  which  we 
applied  were  merely  houses  of  refreshment,  and  had  no  spare 
bedrooms.  In  one  of  these,  "  The  Boot  Inn,"  we  found  an 
old  sea-captain,  who,  some  twenty  years  ago,  had  traded  to 
New  York,  and  enjoyed  talking  and  making  inquiries  about 
persons  he  had  met  and  places  he  had  visited.  Fortunately 
we  knepisome  of  them,  and  so  were  constrained  to  sit  down 
to  some  bread  and  cheese  and  beer,  and  listen  to  some  tough 
yarns  of  Yellow  Jack  and  Barbary  pirates.  At  one  end  of 
the  kitchen  was  a  table  with  benches  on  three  sides  of  it,  and 
a  great  arm-chair  on  the  other.  Over  the  chair  hung  a  union 


122  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

jack,  and  before  it  on  the  table  was  a  strongly-bound  book, 
which  proved  to  be  "  The  Record  of  the  Boot  Inn  Birthday 
Club."  The  bond  entered  into  by  each  member  on  entering 
this  association  was,  that  he  should  treat  the  club  to  plenty 
of  good  malt  liquor  on  his  every  future  birthday.  There  was 
a  constitution  and  many  by-laws,  the  penalty  for  breaking 
which  was  always  to  be  paid  in  "  beer  for  the  club." 

At  other  inns  we  would  be  shown,  by  delightfully  steep, 
narrow,  crooked,  and  every  way  possible  inconvenient  stair 
ways,  up  through  low,  dark  spaces  of  inclined  plane,  into 
long,  steep-roofed,  pigeon-house-like  rooms,  having  an  air  as 
gloomy  and  mysterious  as  it  was  hot  and  close.  Then,  upon 
our  declining  to  avail  ourselves  of  such  romantic  and  typhous 
accommodations,  instead  of  being  reconducted  down  by  the 
tortuous  path  of  our  ascent,  we  would  be  shown,  through  a 
back  door  in  the  third  story,  out  upon  a  passage  that  seemed 
to  be  also  used  as  a  public  street  (footway),  doors  opening 
from  it  which  were  evidently  entrances  to  residences  in  the 
rear. 

Finally  we  were  suited  ;  and  now  I  am  writing  on  an  old 
oak  table,  with  spiral  legs,  sitting  in  an  old  oak  chair,  with  an 
Elizabethan  carved  back,  my  feet  on  an  old  oak  floor  (rather 
wavy),  stout  old  oak  beams  over  my  head,  and  low  walls  of 
old  oak  wainscot  all  around  me.  Resting  on  an  old  oak  bench 
by  the  window,  is  a  young  man  with  a  broad-brimmed  felt 
hat  slouched  half  over  his  face.  Across  the  street,  so  near 
we  might  jump  into  it  if  we  were  attacked  from  the  rear, 
is  a  house  with  the  most  grotesquely-carved  and  acutely- 
pointed  gable  possible  to  be  believed  real,  and  not  a  paste 
board  scene,  with  the  date  "1539"  cut  in  awkward  figures 
over  the  cockloft  window,  high  in  the  apex.  For  fifteen  min 
utes  there  has  been  a  regular  "clink,  clink"  deadening  all 
other  sounds  but  the  clash  of  sabres  against  spurs,  and  distant 


OLD  ENGLISH  INTERIOR.  123 

bugle-calls,  as  a  body  of  horsemen  are  passing  in  compact 
columns  through  the  narrow  street,  from  the  castle,  out  by 
the  north  gate,  towards  Roioton  Moor. 

To  be  sure,  it  is  a  California  and  not  a  Cavalier  sombrero 
that  shades  my  friend,  and  the  men  of  war  outside  are  but 
mild  militiamen,  carrying  percussion-lock  carbines  indeed, 
but  who  have  fought  for  nothing  so  valiantly  as  for  the  corn 
laws.  But  when  shall  I  again  get  as  near  as  this  to  Prince 
Charlie  and  the  Ironsides  1  and  shall  I  not  make  the  most  of 
it  ]  At  least,  there  is  no  prompter's  bell,  no  carpenters  in 
their  shirt-sleeves  rushing  in  and  sliding  off  the  scenery.  That 
1539  over  the  way  is  TRUE  ;  I  can  see  the  sun  shine  into  the 
figures.  Away,  then,  with  your  1850 !  I  will  drink  only  old 
wine — or  better — What  ho  !  a  cup  of  sack  !  Shall  I  not  take 
it  easy  in  mine  inn  ? 

The  house  is  full  of  most  unexplainable  passages  and  un 
accountable  recesses,  of  great  low  rooms  and  little  high 
rooms,  with  ceilings  in  various  angles  to  the  walls,  and  the 
floor  of  every  one  at  a  different  elevation  from  every  other, 
so  that  from  the  same  landing  you  step  up  into  one  and  down 
into  another,  and  so  on.  Back  of  a  little  kitchen  and  big 
pantry,  down  stairs,  we  have  another  parlour.  In  it  is  a  grand 
old  chimney,  and  opposite  the  fireplace  a  window,  the  only 
one  in  the  room.  It  is  but  three  feet  high,  but,  except  the 
room  occupied  by  a  glass  buffet  in  one  corner  and  a  turned-up 
round-table  in  the  other,  reaches  from  wall  to  wall.  To  look 
out  of  it,  you  step  on  to  a  raised  platform,  about  three  feet 
broad,  in  front  of  it,  and  on  this  is  an  old,  long,  high-backed 
settee.  I  must  confess  that  it  is  not  the  less  pleasant  in  the 
evening  for  an  unantique  gas-light. 

As  I  lay  in  bed  last  night,  I  counted  against  the  moon 
seventy-five  panes  of  glass  in  the  single  window  of  our  sleep 
ing  apartment.  The  largest  of  them  was  four  by  three,  and 


124 


AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 


the  smallest  three  by  one  inches.  They  are  set  in  lead 
sashes,  and  the  outer  frame  is  of  iron,  opening  horizontally 
on  hinges. 

There  are  none  but  timber  houses  all  about  us ;  the  walls 
white  or  yellow,  and  the  timbers  black.  The  roofs  are  often 
as  steep  as  forty-five  degrees  with  the  horizon,  and  the  gables 
always  front  on  the  street.  If  the  house  is  large  there 
will  be  several  gables,  and  each  successive  story  juts  out, 


overhanging  the  face  of  that  below.  There  is  no  finical  verge- 
board,  or  flimsy  "  drapery"  in  the  gable,  but  the  outermost 
rafter  (a  stout  beam  that  you  cannot  expect  to  see  warped 


OLD    CARVINGS.— THE  FATHER   LAND.  125 

off  or  blown  away)  is  boldly  projected,  and  your  attention 
perhaps  invited  to  it  by  ornamental  carving.  Porches,  bow- 
windows,  dormers,  galleries  (in  the  rows),  and  all  the  promi 
nent  features  of  the  building  are  generally  more  or  less  rudely 
carved.  One  house  near  us  is  completely  covered  with 
figures.  C.  says  they  represent  Bible  scenes.  There  is  one 
compartment  which  he  supposes  a  tableau  of  the  sacrifice  of 
Isaac,  Abraham  being  represented,  according  to  his  exeyesis, 
by  a  bearded  figure  dressed  in  long  flapped  waistcoat  and 
knee-breeches. 

Another  house  has  these  words  cut  in  the  principal  hori 
zontal  beam  :  God"1  s  Providence  is  mine  Inheritance — 1652. 
It  is  said  the  family  residing  in  it  was  the  only  one  in  the  city 
that  entirely  escaped  the  great  plague  of  that  year. 

You  may  imagine  how  intensely  interesting  all  this  is. 
We  cannot  keep  still,  but  run  about  with  a  real  boyish 
excitement.  We  feel  indeed  like  children  that  have  come 
back  to  visit  the  paternal  house,  and  who  are  rummaging 
about  in  the  garret  among  their  father's  playthings,  ever  and 
anon  shouting,  "  See  what  I've  found !  see  what  I've  found  !" 
If  we  had  been  brought  here  blindfolded  from  America,  and 
were  now,  after  two  days'  visit,  sent  back  again,  we  should 
feel  well  repaid  for  the  long  sea-passage.  If  we  were  to  stay 
here  a  month,  we  should  scarcely  enjoy  less  than  we  now  do, 
rambling  about  among  these  relics  of  our  old  England.* 

*  Some  months  later  than  this  we  were  at  a  supper  party,  after  some 
old  English  ballads  and  songs  had  been  sung,  when  one  of  the  company 
apologized  for  it,  saying,  "  We  forget  our  American  friends.  It  is  selfish 
in  us  to  sing  only  these  national  songs  in  which  we  are  peculiarly  interested. 
Have  you  nothing  American,  now?"  "Excuse  me,  sir,"  I  replied,  "those 
are  our  national  songs  as  much  as  yours.  You  forget  that  we  are  also 
countrymen  of  Will  Shakspeare,  and  Eobin  Hood,  and  Eichard  the  Lion- 
hearted.  Our  mothers  danced  with  your  fathers  under  that  same  '  green 
wood,'  and  around  the  '  May-pole.'  Our  fathers  fought  for  their  right  in 

11* 


126  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

Going  into  a  cook-shop  for  supper,  the  first  afternoon  we 
were  in  Chester,  we  were  shown  through  three  apartments 
into  a  kitchen,  and  from  that  into  a  long,  narrow,  irregularly- 
shaped  room,  with  one  little  window  high  above  our  heads, 
and  twenty-seven  old  wood  engravings  in  frames  about  the 
walls.  We  had  a  very  tolerable  supper  given  us,  and  were 
served  by  a  six-foot-high  Welsh  girl  that  could  understand  but 
little  of  our  English.  When  we  were  ready  to  leave,  a  back 
door  was  opened,  and  we  were  told  that  the  first  opening  to 
the  left  would  bring  us  to  the  street.  We  found  ourselves  in 
one  of  the  narrow  covered  ways,  and  instead  of  turning  off 
to  the  street  as  directed,  kept  on  in  it  to  go  where  it  should 
happen  to  lead.  Sometimes  wide,  sometimes  narrow,  run 
ning  first,  as  it  appeared,  between  a  man's  kitchen  and  his 
dining-room  ;  then  into  a  dust-yard ;  then  suddenly  narrowed, 
and  turned  one  side  by  a  stable ;  then  opening  into  a  yard, 
across  which  a  woman  over  a  \vash-tub  was  scolding  her  hus 
band,  sitting  with  a  baby  and  smoking  at  a  window ;  then 
through  a  blacksmith's  shop  into  a  long,  dark,  crooked, 
passage,  like  the  gallery  of  a  mine,  at  the  other  end  of  which 
we  found  ourselves  on  a  paved  street  not  far  from  the 
cathedral. 

We  entered  the  burying-ground,  and  seeing  tnat  a  small 
door,  that  is  cut  in  the  large  door  of  the  cathedral,  was  ajar, 
pushed  it  open  and  went  in.  It  was  dark,  silent,  and  chill. 
We  felt  strangely  as  we  groped  our  way  over  the  unobstruct 
ed  stone  floor,  and  could  make  nothing  of  it  until  our  eyes, 

this  land  against  Turk,  Frenchman,  Spaniard,  and  Pretender.  We  have 
as  much  pride  in  Old  England,  gentlemen,  as  any  of  you.  "We  claim  the 
right  to  make  ourselves  at  home  on  that  ground  with  you.  You  must  not 
treat  us  as  strangers."  "You  are  right ;  you  are  welcome.  Give  us  your 
hand.  The  old  blood  will  tell !"  And  the  whole  table  rose  with  a  hurrah, 
shaking  our  hands  with  a  warmth  that  only  patriotic  pride  will  excuse 
among  Englishmen. 


THE  CURFEW  BELL.  127 

becoming  adapted  to  the  dimness,  we  discovered  gilded  organ- 
pipes,  and  were  going  towards  them,  when  a  small  door  in 
front  of  us  was  opened,  and  a  man  came  out,  saying  impa 
tiently,  "  Who  are  you  ]  what  do  you  want  ?  Take  off 
your  hats." 

"  We  are  strangers,  looking  at  the  cathedral." 

"  Can't  see  it,  now ;  can't  see  it,  now.  Service  every  day 
at  four  and  ten  o'clock." 

As  we  were  going  out,  a  great  bell  began  to  toll.  "  What 
is  that,  sir?"  said  I. 

"What?" 

"  That  bell  tolling— what  is  it  for  f 

"  Why,  that's  the  cuffew,"  and  he  closed  and  bolted  the 
door,  while  we  stood  still  without ;  and  as  the  long  weaving 
boom  of  the  bell  pulsed  through  us,  looked  wonderingly  at  each 
other,  as  if  America  and  the  nineteenth  century  were  a  fading 
dream,  slowly  repeating,  "  The  curfew ;  the  curfew." 


128  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

CHESTER     MARKET.— -THE    TOWN     COMMON. RACE-COURSE. THE     YEOMANR7 

CAVALRY,    AND    THE    MILITIA  OF    ENGLAND. PUBLIC    WASH-HOUSE. "  MR. 

CHAIRMAN." 

lE  day  after  we  came  to  Chester  was  market-day,  and 
the  streets  were  busy  at  an  early  hour  with  people  corn 
ing  in  from  the  country  to  sell  produce  or  purchase  the  sup 
plies  for  their  families  for  the  coming  week.  The  quantity 
of  butter  exposed  for  sale  was  very  large,  and  the  quality 
excellent.  The  fish-market  also  was  finely  supplied.  The 
dealing  in  both  these  articles  was  mostly  done  by  women.* 

After  walking  through  the  market  we  went  to  the  Roodee, 
and  ther6  saw  the  yeomanry  reviewed.  They  wore  a  snug 
blue  uniform,  were  armed  with  sabres,  carbines,  and  pistols, 
and  were  rather  better  mounted  and  drilled  than  any  of  our 
mounted  militia  that  I  have  seen.  The  active  commander 
seemed  to  be  a  regular  martinet.  If  the  lines  got  much  out 
of  dress  while  on  the  trot,  he  would  dash  up,  shaking  his  fist, 
and  loudly  cursing  the  squadron  at  fault.  I  noticed,  also, 
that  when  pleased  he  sometimes  addressed  them  in  the  ranks 

*  We  noted  the  following  as  the  common  prices  : — 
Butchers'  meat,  10  to  14  cents  per  Ib. 
Best  fresh  butter  in  balls  of  H  Ibs.,  35  cents. 
Salmon,  fresh  from  the  Dee,  35  cents  per  Ib. 
Turbot,  35  cents  per  Ib. 
Soles  and  other  fish,  16  cents  per  Ib. 


MILITIA   SYSTEM  OF  ENGLAND.  129 

as  "gentlemen."     He  was  probably  some  old  army  officer, 
engaged  to  drill  them. 

A  young  man  in  the  dress  of  an  officer,  but  dismounted, 
said,  in  answer  to  our  inquiries,  that  their  number  was  800, 
in  five  companies.  Most  of  them  were  farmers,  every  farmer 
of  a  certain  age  in  the  county  (as  we  understood  him)  being 
obliged  to  serve  three  years,  but  allowed  to  send  a  substi 
tute  if  he  chooses,  and  sometimes  is  represented  by  his  servant. 
They  are  out  but  once  a  year  for  training,  and  then  for  eight 
days,  and  while  engaged  receive  75  cents  a  day.  They  can 
not  be  ordered  out  of  the  country,  and  are  never  called  into 
any  active  service,  except  to  quell  liots. 

I  frequently  asked  afterwards  for  more  information  about 
the  yeomanry,  but  never  of  a  person  that  seemed  to  know 
much  about  them.  A  man  in  the  ranks  of  the  Denbighshire 
yeomanry  told  us  the  service  was  optional.  In  some  counties 
there  is  no  such  body,  and  the  organization,  laws,  and  cus 
toms  of  it  seem  to  vary  in  the  different  regiments.  There  is 
a  regular  foot-militia  organization  throughout  England  (the 
"train  bands"),  but  none  of  them,  I  believe,  have  been  para 
ded  for  many  years. 

According  to  a  parliamentary  return  of  1838,  there  were 
then  of  the  mounted  yeomanry,  251  troops  and  13,594  pri 
vates  ;  the  annual  expense  of  maintaining  them  was  $525,000. 
The  enrolled  militia  of  England  in  1838  numbered  200,000 
men.  The  officers  of  these  forces,  when  in  service,  rank  with 
those  of  the  army  of  the  same  grade.  A  part  of  the  uniform 
and  mountings  of  the  yeomanry  are  paid  for  by  the  govern 
ment,  and  some  small  daily  compensation  is  allowed  the  pri 
vates  when  in  service.  A  drill-sergeant  and  a  trumpeter  is 
also  permanently  attached  to  each  troop,  with  a  salary  from 
the  state.  • 

NAPIER  mentions  that  the  greater  part  of  the  16,000  Brit- 


130  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

ish  troops  who  gained  the  battle  of  Talavera  were  men  drafted 
from  the  militia  at  home,  and  that  they  had  but  very  recently 
joined  the  army  in  Spain. 

Coming  up  from  the  Eoodee,  we  visited  the  castle.  It  is 
of  no  importance  in  a  military  way,  except  as  a  depot.  There 
are  30,000  stand  of  arms,  and  a  large  quantity  of  gunpowder 
stored  in  it.  It  is  garrisoned  by  an  Irish  regiment  at  present, 
which,  as  well  as  the  yeomanry,  has  a  very  good  band  of 
music,  by  which  the  town  benefits. 

We  afterwards  visited  the  public  baths  and  wash-house. 
In  its  basement  there  are  twenty  square  tubs,  each  with  hot 
and  cold  water  cocks,  wash-board,  and  pounder,  a  drying- 
closet  heated  by  steam  to  212°  F.,  &c.  In  the  first  story  are 
the  usual  private  baths,  and  a  swimming  tank  or  public  bath, 
having  a  constant  influx  of  fresh  water  by  a  jet  from  below, 
and  an  overflow.  It  is  45  by  36  feet,  2^  feet  deep  at  one 
end,  6  at  the  other,  contains  -36,000  gallons,  and  is  furnished 
with  swings,  diving-stage,  life-buoys,  &c.  It  was  built  by  a 
committee  of  the  citizens,  and  bought  by  the  town  very  soon 
after  it  went  into  operation.  The  whole  cost  was  $10,000, 
most  of  which  was  raised  by  a  stock  subscription.  The  water 
is  supplied  from  the  canal,  and  is  all  filtered — the  cost  of  the 
filtering  machine  being  $200.  The  principal  items  of  current 
expenses  are  fuel  and  salaries.  The  cost  of  coal  (very  low 
here)  is  $5  a  week.  There  are  four  persons  constantly  em 
ployed  in  the  establishment,  viz.,  superintendent  and  wife,  who 
are  paid  $10  a  week,  and  receive  something  besides  as  perqui 
sites  (supplying  bathing-dresses,  for  instance,  at  a  small  charge); 
the  bath- attendant,  and  the  fireman,  who  each  have  $7  50  a 
week.  Total  salaries  $25  a  week.  The  charges  for  the  use  of 
the  clothes-washing  conveniences  is  about  one  cent  an  hour. 
For  the  baths  it  varies  from  two  to  twenty-five  cents,  select 


PUBLIC    WASHHO USE.— MODERATE  DRINKER.        131 

hours  being  appointed  for  those  who  choose,  by  paying  a  larger 
sum,  to  avoid  a  crowd.  There  are  also  commutations  by  the 
year  at  lower  rates :  boys,  for  instance,  have  a  yearly  ticket 
for  a  little  over  a  dollar.  During  the  first  year  it  has  some 
thing  more  than  paid  expenses.  The  number  of  bathers  the 
last  week  (in  May)  was  over  one  thousand.  I  mention  these 
statistics,  as  this  establishment  is  rather  smaller  than  most  of 
the  kind,  and  they  may  serve  the  projectors  of  a  similar  one 
in  some  of  our  smaller  cities. 

We  had  had  at  breakfast  the  company  of  a  little,  fat  dig 
nified  person,  whose  talk  much  amused  us  by  its  likeness  to 
that  of  some  of  Dickens'  characters.  On  returning  to  the  inn 
at  noon,  wre  found  sitting  with  him  a  cadaverous-faced  man, 
with  long  hair,  and  very  seedy  clothes,  who  seemed  from  his 
expressions  to  be  an  artist.  Beer  had  just  been  brought  into 
them  as  we  entered,  but  the  painter  after  taking  a  long 
draught,  mildly  suggested  that  "something  stronger  might 
facilitate  business."  The  fussy  man  replied  that  he  never 
took  any  thing  but  malt  liquors  before  dinner.  The  artist 
said  that  he  required  something  more.  "  I  haven't  had  any 
thing  but  beer  this  morning,  except  a  couple  of  glasses  of 
brandy,  and  a  little  go  o'rum  with  a  dab  of  butter  and  sugar 
in  it."  Here  he  looked  at  me  with  a  smile  and  a  nod,  that 
invited  my  good  fellowship,  and  I  ventured  to  ask  how 
much  beer  he  might  have  had  besides  that.  "  Not  more  than 
half  a  dozen  glasses,  sir."  "  Really,  I  should  have  supposed 
that  would  be  drink  enough  for  half  a  day."  "  Not  for  a 
man  like  me;  I  have  drank  thirty-six  glasses — half  pints — of 
strong  Welsh  ale  in  a  day,  and  all  the  better  of  it."  The 
stout  man  said  he  never  drank  over  a  dozen,  or  at  the  high 
est,  fifteen,  in  a  day,  and  never,  except  in  peculiar  circum 
stances,  took  spirits  before  dinner;  after  dinner  he  would  go 


132  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

as  far  as  any  body.  He  often  had  to  preside  at  public  din 
ners,  and  though  of  course,  he  then,  for  the  sake  of  example, 
had  to  drink  more  than  any  one  else,  he  always  kept  on  his 
seat  as  long  as  there  was  any  one  to  drink  with  him,  "  as  you 
very  well  know,  sir,"  he  added,  appealing  to  the  artist. 
"  Undoubtedly,  Mr.  Chairman,"  the  latter  replied,  "  tmioubt- 
edly,  sir." 


LAND  SO  APE  GARDENING.  133 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

VISIT  TO  EATON  HALL. THE  LARGEST  ARCH  IN  THE  WORLD. THE  OUTER 

PARK. — BACKWOODS'  FARMING. — THE  DEER  PARK. — THE  HALL. — THE  PAR 
TERRE. THE  LAWX. THE  FRUIT  GARDEN. STABLES. 

IN  the  afternoon  we  walked  to  Eaton  park. 
Probably  there  is  no  object  of  art  that  Americans  of 
cultivated  taste  generally  more  long  to  see  in  Europe,  than 
an  English  park.  What  artist,  so  noble,  has  often  been  my 
thought,  as  he,  who  with  far-reaching  conception  of  beauty 
and  designing  power,  sketches  the  outline,  writes  the  colours, 
and  directs  the  shadows  of  a  picture  so  great  that  Nature 
shall  be  employed  upon  it  for  generations,  before  the  work 
he  has  arranged  for  her  shall  realize  his  intentions. 

Eaton  hall  and  park  is  one  of  the  seats  of  the  Marquis  of 
Westminster,  a  very  wealthy  nobleman,  who  has  lately  been 
named  "  Lord  High  Chamberlain  to  her  Majesty,"  a  kind  of 
state-housekeeper  or  steward,  I  take  it — an  office  which 
Punch,  and  a  common  report  of  a  niggardly  disposition  in 
his  private  affairs,  deems  him  particularly  appropriate  to. 

We  left  town  by  the  new,  or  Grosvenor  bridge — a  sim 
ple,  grand,  and  every  way  excellent  work,  crossing  the  Dee 
by  a  single  arch,  which  we  are  told  is  the  largest  in  the 
world.  It  is  entirely  free  from  decorative  ornament,  and  the 
effect  of  it,  as  seen  looking  from  the  river  side,  is  most  im 
posing.  I  know  of  nothing  in  America  to  compare  with  it. 

12 


134  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

It  was  built  by  the  marquis,  whose  family  name  is  Grosve- 
nor,  at  a  cost  of  $180,000  (£36,000).  The  designer  was 
Thomas  Harrison,  an  architect  of  note,  who  formerly  lived 
in  Chester.* 

By  the  side  of  the  road  we  found  an  oratory,  or  small 
chapel,  building,  and  gardeners  laying  out  grounds  for  a  rural 
cemetery.  Beyond  this  we  came  to  the  great  castellated  edi 
fice  that  I  have  before  spoken  of  as  the  gateway  to  the  park. 
Such  we  were  told  it  was,  and  were  therefore  surprised  to  find 
within  only  a  long,  straight  road,  with  but  tolerable  mowing 
lots  alternating  by  the  side  of  it,  with  thick  plantations  of 
trees,  no  way  differing  from  the  twenty-year  old  natural  wood 
of  my  own  farm,  except  that  hollies,  laurels,  and  our  common 
dog-wood  were  planted  regularly  along  the  edge.  After  a 
while  we  pushed  into  this  wood,  to  see  if  we  could  not  scare 
up  some  of  the  deer.  We  soon  saw  daylight  on  the  outside, 
and  about  twelve  rods  from  the  road,  came  to  an  open  field, 
separated  from  the  road  only  by  a  common  Yankee  three-rail 
fence,  which  I  had  not  expected  to  see  in  England ;  very  poor 
it  was  too,  at  that. 

A  stout  boy,  leaning  heavily  on  the  stilts,  was  ploughing 
the  stubble-ground  (apparently  a  summer  fallow}.  We  jumped 
over  and  asked  what  crop  the  ground  was  preparing  for.  The 
horses  stopped  of  their  own  accord  when  we  spoke.  The  boy 
turned  and  sat  upon  the  stilts-brace,  and  then  answered — 
"  Erdnow." 

The  same  answer,  or  some  other  sounds  that  we  could  not 
guess  the  meaning  of,  followed  several  other  questions.  The 

*  The  main  arch  spans  two  hundred  feet,  and  its  height  is  forty  feet, 
and  there  two  dry  arches,  each  twenty  feet  wide  and  forty  feet  high. 
From  the  surface  of  the  water  to  the  road  is  over  sixty  feet.  The  parapet 
walls  are  three  hundred  and  fifty  feet  long,  with  a  carriage-way  and  foot 
path  between,  oftlairty  f«Bt. 


GENTLEMAN  FARMING.-PARK  SCENERY.  135 

plough  had  a  wooden  beam,  bound  round  with  hoop  iron  The 
horses,  one  black  and  the  other  white,  seemed  to  be  worn-out 
hacks  ;  the  harness  was  mended  with  bits  of  rope  -  the  fur 
rows  were  crooked  and  badly  turned.  Altogether^  a  more 
iiRfarmer-like  turn-out,  and  a  worse  piece  of  work  I  never  saw 
m  our  own  backwoods.  When  we  last  saw  the  ploughman, 
he  had  taKen  off  his  woollen  cap  and  seemed  about  lighting  a 
pipe  and  the  horses  were  beginning  to  nibble  at  the  stubble 
which  stuck  up  in  tufts  all  over  the  ploughed  ground.  In  get 
ting  back  to  the  road  we  crossed  a  low  spot,  sinkin.  ankle 
eep  m  mire,  and  noticed  several  trees  not  eight  inches  thick 
which  showed  signs  of  decay. 

We  tramped  on  for  several  miles  through  this  tame 
scenery  and  most  ungentlemanly  forming,  until  it  became 
really  tiresome.  At  length  the  wood  fell  back,  and  the  road 
was  lined  for  some  way  with  a  double  row  of  fine  elms. 
U  no  deer.  A  little  further,  and  we  came  to  a  cottage 
most  beautifully  draped  with  ivy;  passed  through  another 
gate.  Ah  !  here  is  the  real  park  at  last. 

A  gracefully,  irregular,  gently  undulating  surface  of  close- 
cropped  pasture  land,  reaching  way  off  inimitably  dark 
green  in  colour;  very  old,  but  not  very  large  trees  scattered 
singly  and  m  groups-so  far  apart  as  to  throw  long  unbroken 
shadows  across  broad  openings  of  light,  and  leave  the  view  in 
several  directions  unobstructed  for  a  long  distance.  Herds 
fallow-deer,  fawns,  cattle,  sheep,  and  lambs  quietly  feedin^ 
near  us,  and  moving  slowly  in  masses  at  a  distance  ;  a  warm 
atmosphere,  descending  sun,  and  sublime  shadows -from  fleecy 
cloudy  transiently  darkening  in  succession,  sunny  surface,  cool 
woodside,  flocks  and  herds,  and  foliage. 

The  road  ran  on  winding  through  this.  We  drew  a  long 
breath,  and  walked  slowly  for  a  little  way,  then  turned  aside 
at  the  nearest  tree,  and.  lay  down  to  take  it  all  in  satisfac- 


136  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

torily.  Then  we  rose  and  went  among  the  deer.  They  were 
small  and  lean,  all  with  their  heads  down  feeding.  Among 
them  was  one  pure  white  fawn.  I  believe  none  of  them  had 
antlers,  or  more  than  mere  prongs.  They  seemed  to  be  quite 
as  tame  as  the  sheep ;  but  suddenly,  as  we  came  still  nearer, 
all,  as  if  one,  raised  high  their  heads,  and  bounded  off  in  a 
high  springing  gallop.  After  going  a  few  rods,  one  stopped 
short,  and  facing  about,  stood  alone  with  ears  erect,  and 
gleaming  eyes,  intent  upon  us.  A  few  rods  further  the  whole 
herd  stopped  and  stood  in  the  same  way,  looking  at  us. 
One  by  one  the  heads  again  dropped  ;  a  fawn  stepped  out 
from  among  them ;  the  one  nearest  us  turned  and  trotted  to 
it,  and  then  all  fell  quietly  to  feeding  again. 

The  sheep  were  of  a  large,  coarse-wuolled  variety,  some  of 
them  nearly  as  large,  only  not  standing  quite  so  high,  as  the 
deer — not  handsome  at  all  (as  sheep)  even  for  a  mutton 
breed ;  but  in  groups  at  a  distance,  and  against  the  shadows, 
far  prettier  than  the  deer.  The  cattle  were  short  horned, 
large,  dapple  skinned,  sleek,  and  handsome,  but  not  remark 
able. 

We  concluded  that  the  sheep  and  cattle  were  of  the  most 
value  for  their  effect  in  the  landscape ;  but  it  was  a  little  ex 
citing  to  us  to  watch  the  deer,  particularly  as  we  would  some 
times  see  them  in  a  large  herd  leisurely  moving  across  an 
opening  among  the  trees,  a  long  way  off,  and  barely  distin 
guishable  ;  or  still  more  when  one,  two,  or  three,  which  had 
been  separated  from  a  nearer  herd,  .suddenly  started,  and 
dashed  wildly  by  us,  within  pistol  shot. 

"  I  don't  think  they  are  as  large  as  our  Maine  fallow  deer.'* 

"I  wonder  if  they'd  taste  as  good  as  they  did  that  niglit" 

"  Well,  I  reckon  not — no  hemlock  to  toast  them  over." 

"  Or  to  sleep  on  afterwards,  eh !" 

'*  And  no  wolves  to  keep  you  awake." 


ETON  HALL.— THE  POINTED   GOTHIC.  137 

"  No  !  How  the  bloody  rascals  did  howl  that  night 
though,  didn't  they  T 

Following  the  carriage  road,  we  came  near  a  mass  of 
shrubbery,  over  and  beyond  which  the  trees  were  closer  and 
taller.  It  was  separated  from  the  deer  park  by  an  iron  fence. 
Passing  this  by  another  light  gate,  and  through  a  screen  of 
thick  underwood,  we  found  ourselves  close  to  the  entrance 
front  of  the  Hall. 

"  It  is  considered  the  most  splendid  specimen  of  the  pointed  Gothic. 
It  consists  of  a  centre  and  three  stories,  finished  with  octagonal  turrets, 
connected  -with  the  main  part  by  lofty  intermediate  towers,  the  whole  en 
riched  by  buttresses,  niches,  and  pinnacles,  and  adorned  with  elaborately 
carved  heraldic  designs,  fretwork,  and  foliage,  surmounted  throughout  by 
an  enriched  battlement." 

So  much  from  the  Guide  Book.  It  is  not  my  business  to 
attempt  a  criticism  of  "  the  finest  specimen  of  the  pointed 
Gothic"  iu  England ;  but  I  may  honestly  say  that  it  did  not, 
as  a  \vhole,  produce  the  expected  effect  of  grandeur  or  sub 
limity  upon  us,  without  trying  to  find  reasons  for  the  failure. 
Even  when  we  came  to  look  at  it  closely,  we  found  little  to 
admire.  There  wras  no  great  simple  beauty  in  it  as  a  mass, 
nor  yet  vigorous  original  character  enough  in  the  details  to 
make  them  an  interesting  study.  The  edifice  is  long  and 
low,  and  covered  with  an  immense  amount  of  meaningless 
decoration. 

Such  wTas  our  first  impression,  and  we  were  greatly  dis 
appointed,  you  may  be,  sure.  We  admired  it  more  after 
wards  on  the  other  side,  from  the  middle  of  a  great  garden, 
where  it  seems  to  stand  much  higher,  being  set  up  on  ter 
races,  and  gaining  much,  I  suspect,  from  the  extension  of 
architectural  character  to  the  grounds  in  its  front.  Here  we 
acknowledged  a  good  deal  of  magnificence  in  its  effect.  Still 
it  seemed  as  if  it  might  have  been  obtained  in  some  other 

12* 


138  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

style,  with  less  labour,  and  was  much  frittered  away  in  the 
confusion  of  ornament. 

This  garden  is  a  curiosity.  It  is  in  the  geometrical  style, 
and  covers  eight  acres,  it  is  said,  though  it  does  not  seem  nearly 
that  to  the  eye.  It  is  merely  a  succession  of  small  arabesque 
figures  of  fine  grass  or  flower  beds,  set  in  hard,  rolled,  dark- 
coloured  gravel.  The  surface,  dropping  by  long  terraces  from 
the  steps  of  the  hall  to  the  river,  is  otherwise  only  varied  by 
stiff  pyramidal  yews  and  box,  and  a  few  vases.  On  the  whole, 
the  effect  of  it  in  connection  with  the  house,  and  looking  towards 
it,  is  good,  more  so  than  I  should  have  expected  ;  and  it  falls 
so  rapidly,  that  it  affects  the  landscape  seen  in  this  direction 
from  the  house  but  very  little.  This  is  exquisitely  beautiful, 
looking  across  the  Dee,  over  a  lovely  valley  towards  some 
high,  blue  mountains.  From  other  parts  of  the  hall  grand 
vistas  open  through  long  avenues  of  elms,  and  there  are  some 
noble  single  trees  about  the  lawn. 

This  English  elm  is  a  much  finer  tree  than  I  had  been 
aware  of — very  tall,  yet  with  drooping  limbs  and  fine  thick 
foliage ;  not  nearly  as  fine  as  a  single  tree  as  our  elm,  but 
even  more  effective,  I  think,  in  masses,  because  thicker  and 
better  filled  out  in  its  general  outline. 

The  hall  was  undergoing  extensive  alterations  and  re 
pairs  ;  and  all*  the  grounds  immediately  about  it,  except  the 
terrace  garden,  were  lumbered  up  with  brick  and  stone,  and 
masons'  sheds,  and  in  complete  confusion.  Being  Saturday, 
all  the  workmen  had  left,  and  it  was  long  before  we  could 
find  any  one  about  the  house.  We  had  got  very  thirsty,  and 
considering  that  such  a  place  would  not  be  left  without  any 
tenants,  determined  to  rouse  them  out  and  get  a  drink. 
After  hammering  for  some  time  at  a  door  under  the  principal 
entrance,  a  woman  came  and  opened  it  a  few  inches,  and 
learning  our  wish,  brought  us  a  glass  of  water,  which  she 


BOX  STABLES.  139 

passed  out  through  the  narrow  opening,  never  showing  her 
face.  We  were  amused  at  this,  which  she  perceiving,  told  us 
the  door  was  chained  and  padlocked,  so  she  could  not  open 
it  wider. 

Soon  after,  while  looking  for  an  entrance  to  the  fruit  gar 
den,  we  met  a  gamekeeper,  who  was  followed  by  a  pet  cub 
fox.  He  very  obligingly,  and  with  a  gentlemanly  manner 
showed  us  through  such  parts  of  the  establishment  as  he  was 
able  to.  There  was  nothing  remarkable  in  the  gardens  or  glass 
houses,  except  some  very  large  and  wonderfully  wTell-trained 
fruit  trees  on  walls.  Every  thing  was  neglected  now,  however, 
and  we  did  no  more  than  glance  at  them.  There  were  some 
new  stables  nearly  finished,  the  plans  of  which  I  studied  with 
interest.  Each  horse  is  to  have  a  private  box  for  himself. 
1  do  not  recollect  the  exact  size,  but  it  is  at  least  twelve  feet 
square  on  the  floor,  and  more  than  that  high.  In  the  ceiling 
is  a  ventilator,  and  in  one  corner  an  iron  rack  for  hay  (much 
like  a  fire-grate),  and  there  is  probably  intended  to  be  a, 
small  manger  for  fine  and  wet  feed.  There  is  a  grating  for 
drainage  in  the  floor,  and,  besides  these,  no  other  fixtures 
whatever.  The  horse  is  to  be  left  free  within  the  walls. 


140  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

GAMEKEEPER. GAME     PRESERVES. ECCLESTON,     A     PRETTY    VILLAGE. THE 

SCHOOL-HOUSE. DRAINING. CHILDREN  PLAYING. THE  RIVER-SIDE  WALK. 

PLEASURE     PARTIES. A     CONTRASTING     GLIMPSE     OF    A    SAD    HEART. 

SATURDAY    NIGHT. BALLAD     SINGER. MENDICANTS. ROW     IN     THE     TAP 
ROOM. — WOMAN'S  FEEBLENESS. — CHESTER  BEER,  AND  BEER-DRINKING 

FT1HE  gamekeeper  advised  us  to  return  to  Chester  by  another 
J-  read,  and  following  his  direction,  we  found  a  delightful 
path  by  the  river  side.  We  had  not  gone  far  before  we 
overtook  another  keeper  carrying  a  gun.  It  is  hard  for  us  to 
look  upon  wild  game  as  property,  and  it  seemed  as  if  the 
temptation  to  poach  upon  it  must  be  often  irresistible  to  a 
poor  man.  It  must  have  a  bad  effect  upon  the  moral  charac 
ter  of  a  community  for  the  law  to  deal  with  any  man  as  a 
criminal  for  an  act  which  in  his  own  conscience  is  not  deemed 
sinful.  Even  this  keeper  seemed  to  look  upon  poaching  as 
not  at  all  wrong — merely  a  trial  of  adroitness  between  the 
poacher  and  himself,  though  it  was  plain  that  detection  would 
place  the  poacher  among  common  swindlers  and  thieves,  ex 
clude  him  from  the  society  of  the  religious,  and  from  reputa 
ble  employment,  and  make  the  future  support  of  life  by 
unlawful  means  almost  a  necessity.  He  said,  however,  there 
was  very  little  poaching  in  the  neighbourhood.  Most  of  the 
farmers  were  allowed  to  shoot  within  certain  limits,  and  the 
labouring  class  were  generally  wanting  in  either  the  means 
or  the  pluck  to  attempt  it. 


GAME  PRESERVES.  141 

Evidently  a  man  has  a  right  to  foster  and  increase  the 
natural  stock  of  wild  game  upon  his  own  land,  that  is,  in  a 
degree  to  domesticate  it ;  and  the  law  should  protect  him  in 
the  enjoyment  of  the  results  of  the  labour  and  pains  he  has 
taken  for  this  purpose.  The  exceedingly  indefinite  and  unde- 
fmable  character  of  such  property,  however,  makes  the  attempt 
to  preserve  it  inexpedient,  and  often  leads  to  injustice ;  and 
when  the  preserve  is  sustained  at  the  expense  of  very  great 
injury  to  more  important  means  of  sustaining  human  life  in 
a  half-starved  community,  the  poacher  is  more  excusable 
than  the  proprietor. 

That  this  is  often  the  case  in  England  I  more  than  once 
saw  evidence.  A  picture,  drawn  by  the  agricultural  corres 
pondent  of  the  London  Times  of  Nov.  11,  1851,  represents  a 
scene  of  this  kind,  more  remarkable  however  than  anjsthat 
came  under  ray  notice  : 

';  At  Stamford  we  passed  into  Northamptonshire;  obtain 
ing  a  glimpse  of  the  Marquis  of  Exeter's  finely  wooded  park 
and  mansion  of  Buiieigh.  This  magnificent  place,  founded  by 
Queen  Elizabeth's  Lord  Treasurer  Cecil,  with  its  grand  old  trees 
and  noble  park,  is  just  the  place  to  which  a  foreigner  should 
be  taken  to  give  him  an  idea  of  the  wealth  of  our  English 
nobility. 

"  The  tenants  on  this  estate*  are  represented  as  being  in  the 
most  hopeless  state  of  despondency  on  account  of  the  present 
low  prices  of  agricultural  produce,  and  as  they  were  com 
plaining  vehemently,  the  marquis  offered  to  have  the  farms 
of  any  tenants  who  desired  it  revalued.  Only  one  on  this 
great  estate  accepted  the  offer.  There  have  been  no  farms  of 
any  consequence  yet  given  up,  and  for  those  which  do  come 
into  the  market  there  are  plenty  of  offerers,  though  men  of 
capital  are  becoming  chary,  and  will  only  look  at  very  desira 
ble  farms.  The  estate  is  said  to  be  low-rented.  Small 


142  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

farmers,  of  whom  there  are  many,  are  suffering  most  severely, 
as  they  have  not  saved  any  thing  in  good  times  to  fall  back 
upon  now.  Some  of  them  are,  indeed,  greatly  reduced,  and 
we  heard  of  one  who  had  applied  to  his  parish  for  relief. 
Others  have  sold  every  thing  off  their  farms,  and  some,  we 
were  told,  had  not  even  seed  corn  left  with  M'hich  to  sow 
their  fields. 

"  In  a  fine  country,  with  a  gently  undulating  surface  and  a 
soil  dry  and  easy  of  culture,  laid  into  large  fields  moderately 
rented,  one  is  surprised  to  hear  that  there  is  so  much  com 
plaint  and  so  much  real  suffering  among  the  poorer  class  of 
farmers.  It  is  only  in  part  accounted  for  by  the  devastation 
of  game,  which  on  this  and  some  other  noblemen's  estates  in 
North  Northamptonshire  is  still  most  strictly  preserved.  On 
the  24th  of  January  last,  seven  guns,  as  we  were  told,  on  the 
marquis's  estate  killed  430  head  of  game,  a  most  immoderate 
quantity  at  such  a  late  period  of  the  season.  The  fields  are 
all  stuck  about  with  bushes  to  prevent  the  poachers  netting; 
and  the  farmers  feel  most  severely  the  losses  they  sustain  in 
order  that  their  landlord  and  his  friends  may  not  be  deprived 
of  their  sport.  The  strict  preservation  of  game  on  this  and 
some  other  estates  in  the  northern  parts  of  the  county  was 
described  to  us  in  the  bitterest  terms,  as  '  completely  eating 
up  the  tenant  farmer,  and  against  which  no  man  can  farm  or 
live  upon  the  farm.'  It  is  '  the  last  ounce  that  breaks  the 
camel's  back,'  and  men  who  might  have  made  a  manful 
struggle  against  blighted  crops  and  low  prices,  are  overborne 
by  a  burden  which  they  feel  to  be  needlessly  inflicted  and  of 
which  they  dare  not  openly  complain. 

"  In  consequence  of  the  distress  among  the  small  farmers 
many  of  the  labourers  would  have  been  thrown  out  of  em 
ployment  had  work  not  been  found  for  them  by  the  marquis 
in  stubbing  and  clearing  woodland,  which  will  thus  be  re- 


A  PICTURESQUE   VILLAGE.  143 

claimed  for  cultivation.  The  improvement  is  expected  to  be 
amply  remunerative  in  the  end,  and  it  is  one  of  the  unlooked- 
for  results  of  free  trade,  which  are  to  be  met  with  in  every 
part  of  the  country,  that  a  landlord  is  compelled  by  circum 
stances,  various  in  kind,  to  improve  the  neglected  portions 
of  his  estate,  and  which,  without  such  impelling  cause,  might 
have  long  lain  unproductive.  Every  such  improvement  is 
not  merely  an  addition  to  the  arable  land  of  the  kingdom,  but 
it  becomes  also  an  increased  source  of  employment  to  the 
labourer." 

I  witnessed  immense  injury  done  to  turnip  crops  by 
shooting  over  them  in  Scotland.  I  was  once  visiting  a  farmer 
there,  when  for  a  whole  half  day  a  "gentleman"  with  three 
dogs,  was  trampling  down  his  Swedes,  not  once  going  out  of 
the  field.  He  was  a  stranger,  and  the  farmer  said  it  would 
do  no  good  to  remonstrate  ;  he  would  only  be  laughed  at 
and  insulted. 

We  passed  near  a  rookery,  and  the  keeper  was  good 
enough  to  shoot  one  of  the  rooks  for  us  to  look  at.  It  was  a 
shorter-winged  and  rather  heavier  bird  than  our  crow,  with 
also  a  larger  head  and  a  peculiar  thick  bill.  At  a  distance 
the  difference  would  not  be  readily  distinguished.  The  caw 
was  on  a  lower  note,  and  more  of  a  parrot  tone,  much  like 
the  guttural  croak  of  a  fledgling  crow.  The  keeper  did  not 
confirm  the  farmer's  statement  of  their  quality  for  the  table. 
When  they  were  fat  they  made  a  tolerable  pie  only,  he  said, 
not  as  good  as  pigeons.  The  rookery  was,  as  we  have  often 
seen  it  described,  a  collection  of  crows' -like  nests  among  the 
tops  of  some  large  trees. 

We  turned  off  from  the  river  a  little  ways  to  look  at  Eccle- 
ston,  a  kind  of  pet  village  of  the  marquis,  on  the  border 
of  the  park,  and  about  the  prettiest  we  saw  in  England, 
though  rather  too  evidently  kept  up  for  show. 


144  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

The  cottages  were  nearly  all  of  the  timber  and  noggin 
walls  I  have  described  as  common  at  Chester,  covered  with 
thick  thatched  roofs,  with  frequent  and  different-sized  dor 
mers,  often  with  bow-windows,  porches,  well-houses,  &c.,  of 
unpainted  oak  or  of  rustic  work  (boughs  of  trees  with  the 
bark  on),  broad  latticed  windows  opening  on  hinges,  a  profu 
sion  of  creeping  vines  on  trellises,  and  often  covering  all  the 
walls  and  hanging  down  over  the  windows,  little  flower  gar 
dens  full  of  roses,  and  wallflowers,  and  violets,  and  migno 
nette,  enclosed  in  front  by  a  closely-trimmed  hedge  of  yew, 
holly,  or  hawthorn,  sometimes  of  both  the  latter  together, 
and  a  nicely-sloped  bank  of  turf  between  it  and  the  road. 

A  cut  from  a  sketch  I  made  of  one  of  the  largest  houses 
will  be  found  on  page  207.  An  intelligent  labouring  man 
talked  with  me  while  I  was  drawing  it,  and  said  it  was  the 
residence  of  the  schoolmaster,  and  the  village  school  was  kept 
in  it.  The  main  part  (which  was  covered  with  our  American 
ivy)  was  over  three  hundred  years  old ;  a  part  of  the  wing 
was  modern. 

This  labourer  had  been  digging  drains  in  the  vicinity.  He 
said  the  practice  was  to  make  them  from  18  to  36  inches 
deep,  and  from  5  to  7  yards  apart,  or  ':  in  the  old  buts  " — 
"The  buts?"  "Ay,  the  buts."  He  meant  what  we  some 
times  call  the  "  'bouts"  (turnabouts  ?)  or  furrows  between  the 
lands  in  ploughing,  which  here  are  often  kept  unaltered  for 
generations  for  surface  drainage,  and,  oddly  enough,  consider 
ing  the  many  manifest  inconveniences  of  retaining  them, 
as  we  were  often  told,  on  account  of  the  convenience  of 
measuring  or  dividing  fields  by  them  (as  our  farmers  are 
often  guided  in  their  sowing  by  the  lands,  and  estimate  areas 
by  counting  the  panels  offence).  Pipe-tiles,  such  as  are  being 
now  introduced  with  us,  an  inch  or  an  inch  and  a  half  in  di 
ameter  (without  collars),  were  laid  in  the  drains  to  conduct 


CHILDREN  AT  PLAT.  145 

the  water.  The  usual  crop  of  potatoes  in  the  vicinity  he 
thought  about  three  measures  to  a  rood,  or  225  bushels  to  an 
acre ;  of  wheat,  30  bushels. 

We  went  into  a  stylish  inn  to  get  some  refreshment,  and 
while  waiting  for  it,  watched  some  little  girls  playing  in  the 
street.  They  stood,  four,  holding  hands,  dancing  and  singing 
round  one  ("  Dobbin")  lying  on  the  ground : 


Old  Dobbin  is  dead, 

Ay,  ay; 

Dobbin  is  dead, 
He's  laid  in  his  bed, 

Ay,  ay. 

There  let  him  lie, 

Ay,  ay; 

Keep  watch  for  his  eye, 
For  if  he  gets  up 
He'll  eat  us  all  UP— 


and  away  they  scampered  and  Dobbin  after  them.  The  one 
he  first  catches  lays  down  again  for  "  Dobbin,"  when  it  is 
repeated.  (Shown  in  the  cut  page  207.) 

The  church  was  a  little  one  side  of  the  village  on  an  ele 
vation,  and  so  hidden  by  trees  that  we  could  only  see  a 
square  tower  and  vane.  Near  it,  we  passed  a  neat  stone 
building,  which  I  thought  probably  the  parsonage,  and  point 
ing  towards  it  soon  after,  asked  a  man  if  he  knew  who  lived 
in  it.  His  reply  was,  "  Why,  there's  none  but  poor  peoples' 
houses  there,  sir !"  The  vicarage  he  showed  us  in  another 
direction — a  fine  house  in  spacious  grounds. 

From  Eccleston  we  had  a  delightful  walk  in  the  evening 
to  Chester.  There  is  a  good  foot-path  for  miles  along  the 
river  bank,  with  gates  or  stiles  at  all  the  fences  that  run  down 
to  it,  and  we  met  great  numbers  of  persons,  who  generally 

13 


146  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

seemed  walking  for  pleasure.  There  were  pleasure-boats, 
too,  with  parties  of. ladies  under  awnings,  rowing  up  and 
down  the  river,  sometimes  with  music. 

We  were  stopped. by  some  labouring  people  going  home, 
who  asked  us  to  look  after  a  poor  woman  we  should  see  sit 
ting  by  the  water  side  over  the  next  stile,  who,  they  feared, 
had  been  unfortunate,  and  was  going  to  drown  herself.  She 
had  been  there  for  an  hour,  and  they  had  been  for  some  time 
trying  to  prevail  on  her  to  get  up  and  go  home,  but  she  would 
not  reply  to  them.  We  found  her  as  they  had  said — a  very 
tall,  thin  woman,  without  hat  or  cap  on  her  head,  sitting  un 
der  the  bank  behind  some  bushes,  a  little  bundle  in  a  hand 
kerchief  on  her  knees,  her  head  thrown  forward,  resting  upon 
it,  her  hands  clasped  over  her  forehead,  and  looking  moodily 
into  the  dark  stream.  We  drew  back  and  sat  on  the  stile, 
where  we  could  see  if  she  stepped  into  the  water.  'In  a  few 
minutes  she  arose,  and  avoiding  to  turn  her  face  towards  us, 
walked  rapidly  towards  the  town.  We  followed  her  until  she 
was  lost  in  a  crowd  near  the  gate. 

We  found  the  streets  within  the  walls  all  flaring  with  gas 
light,  and  crowded  with  hawkers  and  hucksters  with  donkey- 
carts,  soldiers,  and  policemen,  and  labouring  men  and  women 
making  purchases  with  their  week's  earnings,  which  it  is  a 
universal  custom  in  England  to  have  paid  on  Saturday  night. 
We  heard  a  ballad-monger  singing  with  a  long,  drawling, 
nasal  tone,  on  a  high  key,  and  listened  for  awhile  to  see  what 
he  had.  One  after  another  he  would  hold  them  up  by  a  gas 
light,  and  sing  them.  The  greater  number  were  protection 
songs,  with  "free  trade"  and  "  ruin"  oft  repeated,  and  were  the 
worst  kind  of  doggerel.  One  (sung  to  "  Oh,  Susannah  !")  I 
recollect  as  follows : — 


MENDICANTS.  147 

"  Oh,  poor  farmers, 

Don't  wait  and  cry  in  vain, 
But  bo  off  to  Californy, 

If  you  cannot  drive  the  wain.'1'1 

He  read  also  choice  scraps  from  confessions  of  murderers ; 
parts  of  the  prayer-book  travestied  so  as  to  tell  against  free- 
trade  ;  and  other  such  literature.  In  another  place  we  found 
a  crowd  about  a  man  with  a  flute,  a  woman  with  a  hurdy- 
gurdy,  and  three  little  children  singing  what  we  guessed 
must  be  Welsh  songs — regular  wails.  The  youngest  was  a 
boy,  not  appearing  to  be  over  five  years  old,  and  was  all  but 
naked. 

In  front  of  our  inn  a  man  held  in  his  arms  a  fine,  well- 
dressed  little  boy,  and  cried  in  a  high,  loud,  measured,  monot 
onous  drawl,  continuously  over  and  over — "  His  mother  died 
in  Carlisle  we  have  travelled  twenty-seven  miles  to-day  I 
have  no  money  she  left  this  boy  yesterday  he  walked  eighteen 
miles  I  have  no  supper  he  is  five  years  old  I  have  walked  two 
hundred  miles  this  is  no  deception  I  have  seen  better  days 
friends  his  feet  are  macerated  I  am  in  search  of  work  I  am 
young  and  strong  he  cannot  walk  his  mother  died  in  Carlisle 
help  me  in  my  lamentations  I  have  but  sixpence  for  myself 
and  boy  friends  I  am  compelled  to  beg  I  am  young  and  strono- 
his  mother  died  in  Carlisle  I  am  in  search  of  work  his  feet  are 
lacerated" — and  so  on.  '  We  watched  him  from  the  rows  per 
haps  two  minutes,  and  saw  seven  persons  drop  coppers  into 
his  hat :  two  little  girls  that  a  man  was  leading,  a  boy,  a 
German  lace-pedler,  a  woman  with  a  basket  of  linen  on  her 
head,  another  woman,  and  a  well-dressed  gentleman. 

The  rest  of  the  evening  we  sat  round  a  bright  coal  fire,  in 
what  had  been  the  great  fireplace  of  the  long  back  parlour. 
We  are  the  only  inmates  of  the  inn  except  Mrs.  Jones,  the 
landlady,  and  her  maid.  About  eleven  o'clock  we  were  drs- 


148  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

turbed  by  some  riotous  men  in  the  tap-room,  which  is  the 
other  side  of  the  big  chimney.  Mrs.  Jones  seemed  trying  to 
prevail  on  them  to  leave  the  house,  which  they  refused  to  do, 
singing  "  We  won't  go  home  till  morning."  Mrs.  Jones  is  a 
little,  quiet,  meek,  soft-spoken  woman,  and  we  were  appre 
hensive  for  her  safety.  I  was  about  to  go  to  her  assistance, 
when  the  maid  entered  and  said,  "  If  you  please,  sir,  my  mis 
tress  would  like  to  see  you."  I  went  hastily  round  into  the 
tap-room,  and  found  two  stout,  dirty,  drunken  men,  swinging 
pewter  mugs,  and  trying  to  sing  "  There  was  a  jolly  collier." 
Mrs.  Jones  stood  between  them.  I  pushed  one  of  them  aside, 
and  asked  her  what  she  wished  me  to  do — expecting  that  she 
would  want  me  to  try  to  put  him  into  the  street.  The  men 
made  such  a  noise  that  I  could  not  hear  her  mild  voice  in  re 
ply,  which,  she  perceiving,  turned  again  and  said,  in  a  tone 
that  at  once  quelled  them,  "  Stop  your  noise,  you  brutes !" 
— and  then  to  me,  "will  you  please  step  into  the  kitchen,  sir?" 
She  only  wished  to  know  what  we  would  like  to  have  for  our 
breakfast  and  dinner,  as  the  shops  would  close  soon,  and,  to 
morrow  being  Sunday,  they  would  not  be  open  before  noon. 
You  talk  about  woman's  feebleness ! 

The  next  morning,  when  we  were  going  out,  she  came  to 
unlock  the  door  of  the  passage  or  entry,  and  told  us  she  was 
obliged  by  law  to  keep  it  locked  till  two  o'clock.  At  two 
o'clock  we  found  it  open,  and  immediately  after  saw  a  man 
drinking  beer  in  the  tap-room  again. 

There  is  a  continual  and  universal  beer-drinking  in  Ches 
ter.  Mrs.  Jones  tells  us  that  the  quality  of  the  beer  made 
here  has  long  been  a  matter  of  town  pride,  though  now  there 
is  very  little  brewed  in  families,  every  one  almost  being  sup 
plied,  at  a  great  saving  of  trouble,  from  the  large  breweries. 
She  says  there  used  to  be  a  town  law  that  whoever  brewed 
poor  beer  should  be  publicly  ducked.  Sunday  night,  young 


SUNDAY  NIGHT  AT  THE  INN 


149 


men  with  their  sweethearts  and  sisters,  of  very  reputable  ap 
pearance,  and  quiet,  decent  behaviour,  came  into  our  back- 
parlour,  and  sitting  by  the  round-table  ordered  and  drank 
each  their  glass  or  two  of  beer,  as  in  an  American  town  they 
would  take  ice-cream.  Now  and  then  a  few  remarks  would 
be  made  about  the  sermon  and  who  had  been  at  church,  or 
about  those  who  had  been,  or  were  soon  going  to  be,  married, 
or^  other  town  gossip  ;  but  for  the  most,  they  would  sit  and 
drink  their  beer  in  silence,  perhaps  embarrassed  by  our 
presence. 


SKETCH  IN  CHESTER. 


150  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

CHARACTER    OF   THE   WELSH. THE    CATHEDRAL:    THE    CLERGY,    SERVICE,   IX- 

TONING,  THE    LUDICROUS  AND    THE  SUBLIME. A  REVERIE. A  REVELATION. 

THE   SERMON. COMMUNIONS. OTHER   CHURCHES. SUNDAY  EVENING. 

CHARACTER  OF  THE  TOWNSPEOPLE. 

Sunday,  June  2d. 

"TT7E  were  awakened  this  morning  by  a  sweet  chiming  of 
* '     the  cathedral  bells. 

After  breakfast,  Mrs.  Jones  introduced  us  to  a  young 
female  relative  who  had  come  to  visit  her.  She  was  intelli 
gent  and  handsome,  having  a  beautifully  clear  though  dark 
complexion,  thick,  dark  hair,  and  large  swimming  eyes.  This 
style  of  beauty  seems  common  hereabouts,  and  is  probably 
the  Welsh  type. 

She  lived  among  the  mountains  near  Snowdon,  and  told 
us  the  country  there  was  bleak  and  sterile  ;  agriculture  con 
fined  mostly  to  grazing,  small  patches  only  of  potatoes  and 
oats  being  cultivated.  She  spoke  highly  of  the  character  of 
the  peasantry  in  many  respects,  but  said  they  had  very  strong- 
prejudices,  usually  despising  the  English  and  refusing  to  asso 
ciate  with  them.  Many  of  them  could  not  speak  English, 
and  those  who  could  would  often  affect  not  to  understand  if 
they  were  addressed  by  an  Englishman.  Among  themselves 
they  were  very  neighbourly,  clannish,  honest,  and  generous, 
but  strangers  they  would  impose  upon  most  shamelessly. 
She  had  known  very  few  to  emigrate,  and  those  that  did 


THE  CATHEDRAL.— OLD  MASONRY.        151 

usually  went  to  Australia,  she  thought.  In  her  neighbourhood 
they  were  mostly  dissenters ;  Methodists,  and  Baptists,  and 
with  the  exception  of  deceit  to  strangers,  were  of  good  moral 
character,  much  better  than  the  English  labourers.  They 
had,  however,  many  traditional  superstitions. 

We  attended  service  in  the  morning  at  the  cathedral. 
Its  outline  upon  the  ground  is,  with  some  irregularities,  in 
the  form  of  a  cross.  Its  great  breadths  and  lengths,  the  com 
parative  lowness  and  depth  of  its  walls,  strengthened  by  thick, 
rude  buttresses,  and  its  short  square  massive  tower,  together 
with  its  general  time-worn  aspect,  impressed  me  much  as  an 
expression  of  enduring,  self-sustaining  age.  Like  the  stalwart 
trunk  of  a  very  old  oak,  stripped  by  the  tempests  of  much  of 
the  burden  of  its  over-luxuriant  youth,  its  settled,  compact, 
ungamished  grandeur,  was  vastly  more  imposing  than  the 
feeble  grace  and  pliant  luxuriance  of  more  succulent  struc 
tures.  The  raggedness  of  outline,  the  wrinkles  and  furrows 
and  scars  upon  the  face  of  all  the  old  masonry,  are  very  re 
markable.  The  mortar  has  all  fallen  from  the  outside,  and 
the  edges  of  the  stones  are  worn  off  deeply,  but  irregularly, 
as  they  vary  in  texture  or  are  differently  exposed.  The 
effect  of  rain  and  snaw  and  frost,  and  mossy  vegetation  and 
coal  smoke,  for  six  hundred  years  upon  the  surface,  I  know 
of  no  building  in  America  that  would  give  you  an  idea  of. 
The  material  of  construction  is  a  brown  stone,  originally 
lighter  than  our  Portland  sandstone,  but  now  darker  than  I 
have  ever  seen  that  become.  It  has  had  various  repairs  at 
long  intervals  of  time,  and  is  consequently  in  various  stages 
of  approach  to  ruin — some  small  parts,  not  noticeable  in  a 
cursory  view,  being  in  complete  and  irreparable  demolish- 
in  ent,  and  others  but  yesterday  restored  to  their  original 
lines  and  angles,  with  clean-cut,  bright-coloured  stone  and 
mortar — bad  blotches,  but  fortunately  not  prominent. 


152  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

It  was  once  connected  with  an  abbey,  and  other  religious 
houses  that  stood  near  it,  and  by  a  long  under-ground  pas 
sage  with  the  nunnery  at  the  other  side  of  the  town.  Think 
of  the  poor  girls  walking  with  a  wailing  chant,  through  that 
mile  of  darkness,  to  assist  in  the  morning  service  at  the  ca 
thedral. 

Our  approach  to  it  this  morning  was  by  a  something  less 
gloomy  and  tedious  way.  We  were  accidentally  in  an  alley 
in  the  vicinity,  when  we  saw  a  gentleman  in  a  white  gown, 
and  a  square  or  university  cap  on  his  head,  with  a  lady  on 
his  arm,  enter  an  old,  arched,  and  groined  passage.  We  fol 
lowed  him  adventurously,  not  being  sure  that  it  was  not  the 
entrance  to  his  residence.  After  passing  to  the  rear  of  the 
block  of  buildings  that  fronted  on  the  alley,  we  found  our 
selves  in  a  kind  of  gallery  or  covered  promenade  attached  to 
the  cathedral.  (The  cloisters.)  From  this  we  passed  into 
the  nave  (or  long  arm  of  the  cross).  Its  length,  its  broad, 
flat  stone  floor,  entirely  free  from  obstruction,  except  by  a 
row  of  thick  clustered  columns  near  the  sides,  and  the  great 
height  and  darkness  of  its  oak-ceiled  roof,  produced  a  sensa 
tion  entirely  new  to  us,  from  architecture.  Its  dignity  was 
increased  by  a  general  dimness,  and  -i)y  the  breadth  of  the 
softened,  coloured  light,  that  flowed  in  one  sheet  through  a 
very  large  stained- glass  window  at  one  end.  In  the  end  op 
posite  this  were  wide  piers  that  support  the  tower,  and  be 
tween  the  two  central  of  these  were  the  gilded  organ-pipes 
that  we  had  seen  in  our  nocturnal  visit. 

Under  these  was  an  arched  door,  on  each  side  of  which 
stood  about  thirty  boys,  from  ten  to  fifteen  years  old,  dressed 
in  white  robes  ;  the  "  singing  boys"  or  "  choristers."  Walk 
ing  leisurely  up  and  down  the  otherwise  vacant  floor  of  the 
nave  were  "  my  Lord  Bishop  of  Bath  and  Wells"  (I  believe 
that  is  the  title),  the  dean  and  canons,  &c.  A  lot  of  eccle- 


A    CLERICAL  AND  LAY  PROCESSION.  153 

siastical  dignitaries,  whose  very  titles  were  all  strange  to 
me;  but  altogether  forming,  what  Mrs.  Jones  said  we  should 
«e,  «  a  very  pretty  pack  of  priests."     The  bishop  was  a  thin 
man,  with  a  mean  face  and  crisp  hair,  brushed  back  from  his 
forehead;  dressed  in  a  black  gown  with  white  lawn  sleeves 
and  a  cap  on  his  head.     The  dean,  a  burly  red-faced  man,' 
strikingly   contrasting   with   the   bishop,  particularly    when 
hey  laughed,  in  white  gown  with  a  sort  of  bag  of  scarlet 
>ilk,  perhaps  a  degenerate  cowl,  tied  around  his  neck,  and 
dangling  by  strings  down  his  back.     The  others  had  some- 
tnng  of  the  same  sort,  of  different  colours.     We  were  told 
afterwards,  that   these  were  university  badges,  and  that  the 
colour  was  a  mark  of  rank,  not  in  university  honours,  but  in 
the  scale  of  society— as  nobleman  or  commoner— (a  pretty 
thing  to  carry  into  the  worship  of  the  Father,  is  it  not  ?)    The 
others  were  in  black. 

We  walked  about  for  a  few  minutes  outside  the  columns 
reading  the  inscriptions  on  the  stones  of  the  floor,  which 
showed  that  they  covered  vaults  for  the  dead,  and  looking  at 
the  tablets  and  monumental  effigies  that  were  attached  to  the 
walls  and  columns.  They  were  mostly  of  elaborate  heraldic 
design,  many  with  military  insignia,  and  nearly  all  excessive- 
ly  ugly,  and  entirely  inappropriate  to  a  place  of  religious 
meditation  and  worship. 

After  a  while  the  great  bell  ceased  tolling,  and  some  men 
m  black  serge  loose  gowns,  two  bearing  maces  of  steel  with 
silver  cups  on  the  ends,  the  rest  carrying  black  rods,  entered 
and  saluted  the  bishop.     A  procession  then  formed,  headed 
by  the  boys,  in  double  file,  followed  by  the  bishop,  dean 
subdean,  canons  major  and  minor,  archdeacon,  prebendaries' 
&c,  and  closed  by  three  Yankees  in  plain  clothes;   passed 
between   the  vergers,  who  bowed  reverently  and  presented 
arms,  through  the  door  under  the  organ  into  the  choir— a 


154  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

part  of  the  edifice  (in  the  centre  of  the  cross)  which  is  fitted 
up  inconveniently  for  public  worship. 

It  is  a  small,  narrow  apartment,  having  galleries,  the  occu 
pants  of  which  are  hidden  behind  a  beautiful  open-work  carv 
ed  wood  screen,  and  furnished  below  with  three  or  four  tiers  of 
pews  (slips),  and  a  few  benches.  Under  the  organ  loft  were 
elevated  armed  seats,  which  were  occupied  indiscriminately 
by  the  unofficiating  clergy  and  military  officers  in  uniform  :  the 
governor  of  the  castle  ;  Lord  Grosvenor  (as  "  colonel  of  the 
militia,")  Lord  de  Tapley,  and  others.  Stationing  soldiers 
among  the  canons,  it  struck  us,  was  well  enough  for  a  joke, 
but  as  part  of  a  display  of  worshipping  the  God  of  peace, 
very  objectionable.  It  is  one  of  those  incongruities  that  a 
state  church  must  be  constantly  subject  to.* 

Half  way  between  these  elevated  seats  and  the  chancel 
was  the  reading  desk  and  pulpit,  and  on  each  side  of  this  the 
choristers  were  seated.  Several  persons  rose  to  offer  us  their 
seats  as  we  approached  them,  and  when  we  were  seated, 
placed  prayer-books  before  us.  The  pews  were  all  furnished 
with  foot-stools,  or  hassocks,  of  straw  rope  made  up  like  a 
straw  bee-hive. 

Much  of  the  service  which  in  our  churches  is  read,  was 
sung,  or,  as  they  say,  intoned.  Intoning  is  what  in  school 
children  is  called  "  sing-song'1''  reading,  only  the  worst  kind, 
or  most  exaggerated  sing-songing.  I  had  never  heard  it  be 
fore  in  religious  service,  except  in  a  mitigated  way  from  some 
of  the  old-fashioned  Quaker  and  Methodist  female  exhorters, 

*  I  remember  when  I  was  a  child,  seeing  on  the  Sunday  preceding  the 
first  Monday  in  May — the  atonual  training  day — in  one  of  the  most  old-fash 
ioned  villages  in  Connecticut,  the  officers  of  the  militia  come  into  the  meet 
ing-house  in  their  uniforms.  The  leader  of  the  choir  was  a  corporal,  and  the 
red  stripes  on  his  pantaloons,  the  red  facings  and  bell-buttons  of  his  coat, 
as  he  stood  up  alone,  and  pitched  the  psalm  tunes,  was  impressed  irre 
trievably  on  my  mind. 


INTONETG  A   DEVOUT  EXPRESSION.  155 

and  I  was  surprised  to  hear  it  among  the  higher  class  of  En- 
glish  clergy,  and  for  a  time  perplexed  to  account  for  it.     But 
I  at  length  remembered  that  nearly  all  men  in  reading  Scrip 
ture,  or  in  oral  prayer,  or  in  almost  any  public  religious  ex 
ercises,  use  a  very  different  tone  and  mode  of  utterance  from 
that  which  is  usual  or  natural  with  them,  either  in  conversa 
tion  or  in  ordinary  reading.     And  this  is  more  noticeable  in 
persons  of  uncultivated  minds;  so  it  is  probably  an  impulse 
to  distinguish  and  disassociate  religious  exercises  from  the 
common  duties  of  life,  that  induces  it.     The  effect  is,  that  the 
reading  of  the  Bible,  for  instance,  instead  of  being  a  study  of 
truth,  or  an  excitement  to  devotion  and  duty,  as  the  indi 
vidual  may  intend,  becomes  an  act  of  praise  or   prayer— the 
real,  unconscious  purpose  of  the  reader,  finding  expression  in 
his  tone  and  manner.     So- we  may  often  hear  the  most  arrant 
nonsense  in  oral  prayers;   a  stringing  together  of  scriptural 
phrases  and  devout  words  in  confusing  and  contradicting  sen 
tences,  while  the  tone  and  gesture  and  the  whole  manner  of 
the  devotee  show  that  he  is  most  sincerely,  feelingly,  enthu 
siastically  in  earnest  supplication.     What  for  ?     Not  for  that 
which  his  words  express,  for  they  may  express  nonsense  or 
utter  blasphemy.     It  is  simply  an  expression  or  manifesta 
tion  by  the  act  of  uttering  words  in  a  supplicating  tone,  of  the 
sense  of  dependence  on  a  superior  Being— of  love,  of  grati 
tude,  and  of  reverence.     David  did  the  same  thing  by  dancing 
and  playing  upon  the  harp.     It  is  done  now,  as  it  seems  to 
us,  more  solemnly,  by  the  playing  upon  church  organs.     It  is 
done  by  monuments,  as  in  the  decorations  of  churches.     It  is 
done  by  the  Catholics,  in  listening  and  responding  to  prayers 
in  a  language  which  they  don't  pretend  to  understand,  and  in 
mechanically  repeating  others,  the  number  of  them  counted 
by  beads,  measuring  the  importance  or  intensity. of  their  pur 
pose.     It  is  done  by  abstaining  from  meat  on  Friday,  and  by 


156  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

confession  to  one  another,  in  the  form  prescribed  by  their 
church  government.  It  is  done  by  the  Japanese,  in  twirling 
a  teetotum  ;  by  the  Chinese,  in  burning  Joss-sticks ;  by  the 
Fakirs,  in  standing  on  one  leg ;  by  the  Methodists,  in  groans 
and  inarticulate  cries ;  by  the  Shakers,  in  their  dance ;  by 
the  Baptists,  in  ice-water  immersions  ;  by  Churchmen,  in 
kneeling  ;  by  Presbyterians,  in  standing  ;  by  New-England- 
ers,  in  eating  a  cold  dinner  and  regularly  going  to  meeting  on 
Sunday ;  by  the  English,  in  feasting,  and  the  Germans,  in 
social  intercourse  on  that  day  as  well  as  by  more  distinctly 
devout  exercises. 

It  was  plain  to  me  that  the  tone  of  the  reader  was  meant 
to  express — "  Note  ye  that  this  reading  is  no  common  read 
ing,  but  is  the  word  derived  from  God,  not  now  repeated  for 
your  instruction,  plainly  and  with  its  true  emphasis,  but 
markedly  otherwise,  that  we  may  show  our  faith  in  its  sacred 
character,  and  through  it  acknowledge  our  God — I  by  repeat 
ing  its  wrords  as  men  do  not  those  of  another  book — you  by 
your  presence  and  reverent  silence  while  I  do  so." 

It  was  evident,  too,  by  the  occasional  difficulties  and  con 
sequent  embarrassment  and  confusion  of  our  reader,  causing 
blushing  and  stammering,  that  it  was  not  with  him  a  natural 
expression  of  this  purpose  as  was  the  nasal  tone  of  the  Puri 
tan,  but  a  studied  form,  which  had  originated  in  some  person 
more  musically  constituted. 

Whether  I  was  right  with  regard  to  the  theory  or  not, 
there  was  no  doubt  that  practically  such  was  the  operation  of 
much  of  the  service.  The  portion  of  the  Old  Testament  read 
was  one  of  those  tedious  genealogical  registers  that  nobody 
but  an  antiquary  or  a  blood  nobleman  would  pretend  to  be 
interested  in.  The  psalm,  one  of  the  most  fearful  of  David's 
songs  of  vengeance  and  imprecation,  alternately  sung  by 
the.  choristers  and  intoned  by  the  reader,  one  often  running 


THE  COMICALITIES  OF  THE  CATHEDRAL.  157 

into  the  other  with  most  unpleasant  discord.  The  same  with 
the  Litany.  Even  the  prayers  could  with  difficulty  be  under 
stood,  owing  partly  to  echoes,  in  which  all  distinctness  was 
lost. 

Despairing  of  being  assisted  by  the  words  of  the  service, 
therefore,  I  endeavoured  to  "  work  up"  in  myself  the  solem 
nity  and  awe  that  seemed  due  to  the  place  and  the  occasion 
by  appropriate  reflections.  Under  this  vaulted  ceiling,  what 
holy  thoughts,  what  heavenly  aspirations  have  been  kindled 
—what  true  praise  of  noble  resolution  has,  like  unconscious 
incense,  grateful  to  God,  ascended  from  these  seats.  On  these 
venerable  walls,  for  hundreds  of  years,  have  the  eyes  of  good 
men  rested,  as  from  their  firm  and  untottering  consistency 
they  gained  new  strength  and  courage  to  fight  the  good  fight, 
— and  again  I  raised  my  eyes  to  eaten  communion  with  them. 
They  fell  upon  a  most  infamous  countenance,  like  to  the 
representations  of  FalstafF's, — a  man  with  one  eye  closed  and 
his  tongue  tucked  out  the  side  of  his  mouth,— his  body  tied 
up  in  a  sack,  his  knees  being  brought  up  each  side  of  his  chin 
to  make  a  snugger  bundle.  I  turned  away  from  it  imme 
diately  ;  but  there  was  another  face  in  most  doleful  grimace, 
as  if  a  man  that  had  been  buried  alive  had  suddenly  thrust 
his  head  out  of  his  coffin,  and  was  greatly  perplexed  and  dis 
mayed  at  his  situation.  Again  I  turned  my  eyes — they  fell 
upon  the  face  of  a  woman  under  the  influence  of  an  emetic — 
again  upon  a  woman  with  the  grin  of  drunkenness.  Every 
where  that  any  thing  like  a  knob  would  be  appropriate  to  the 
architecture  were  faces  sculptured  on  the  walls  that  would 
be  a  fortune  in  a  comic  almanac. 

I  closed  my  eyes  again,  and  tried  to  bring  my  mind  to  a 
reverent  mood,  but  the  more  I  tried  the  more  difficult  I  found 
it.  My  imagination  was  taken  possession  of  by  the  funny 
things,  and  refused  to  search  out  the  sublime.  Not  but  that 

14 


158  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

the  sublime,  the  grand,  and  the  awful  were  not  apparent 
also,  all  over  and  around — ay,  and  consciously  within  me; 
but,  like  a  stubborn  child,  my  mind  would  resist  force.  I 
gave  it  up,  envying  those  who  would  have  been  so  naturally 
elevated  by  all  these  incitements  and  aids  to  devotion. 

I  could  not  understand  a  sentence  of  the  service,  but  sat, 
and  rose,  and  kneeled,  thus  only  being  able  to  join  in  the 
prayer,  and  praise,  and  communion  of  the  congregation. 

Soon  my  thoughts,  now  wandering  freely,  fell  to  moving 
in  those  directions  of  reverie  that  I  have  found  they  are  apt 
to  take  when  I  am  hearing  what  those  who  listen  with  critical 
ear  shall  call  fine  music :  doubtless  it  is  the  best  and  truest 
that  can  effect  this;  though  when  I  listen  attentively  and  try 
to  appreciate  it,  my  opinion  would  only  be  laughed  at  by 
them.  I  had  been  wantlering  in  a  deep,  sad  day-dream,  far 
away,  beyond  the  ocean — beyond  the  earth  .  .  .  dark — lost 
to  remembrance — when  I  was  of  a  sudden  brought  back  and 
awakened  again  in  the  dim  old  cathedral  with  such  emotion, 
as  if  from  eternity  and  infinity,  I  was  remanded  to  mysterious 
identity  and  sense  of  time,  that  I  choked  and  throbbed ;  and 
then,  as  the  richest,  deepest  melody  I  must  ever  have  heard 
passed  away,  softly  swelling  through  the  vaulted  ceiling,  caught 
up  tenderly  by  mild  echoes  in  the  nave,  and  again  and  again 
faintly  returning  from  its  deepest  distances,  I  kneeled  and 
bowed  my  head  with  the  worshippers  around  me,  acknowl 
edging  in  all  my  heart  the  beauty  and  sublimity  of  the  place 
and  the  services.* 

The  sermon  was  from  an  elderly  man,  with  a  voice  slightly 

*  I  try  in  vain  to  express  a  sensation,  which  I  have  many  times  in  my 
life  experienced,  and  which,  I  presume,  is  common  to  other  men,  that  forces 
on  me  a  belief,  strong  at  the  time  as  knowledge,  of  immortality  and  eter 
nity,  both  backward  and  forward,  vastly  stronger  than  all  arguments  can 
effect. 


SERMON  ON  MODERN  PHARISEEISM.  159 

broken,  and  an  impressive  manner,  whom  we  were  afterwards 
told  was  Canon  Slade,  a  somewhat  distinguished  divine.  It 
was  one  of  the  best,  plain,  practical,  Christ-like  discourses  I 
ever  heard  from  a  pulpit.  It  was  delivered  with  emphasis 
and  animation,  in  a  natural,  sometimes  almost  conversational 
tone,  directly  to  individuals,  high  and  low,  then  and  there  pre 
sent,  and  of  course  was  listened  to  with  respectful  attention. 
The  main  drift  of  it  was  to  enforce  the  idea,  that  a  knowledge 
of  the  truth  of  God  was  never  to  be  arrived  at  by  mere  learn 
ing  and  dry  study ;  that  these  were  sometimes  rather  encum 
brances  ;  that  love  was  of  more  value  than  learning.  He  had 
been  describing  the  Pharisees  of  old,  and  concluded  by  say 
ing,  that  the  Pharisees,  satisfied  with  their  own  notions,  and 
scorning  new  light,  were  not  scarce  in  our  day.  "There  are 
some  of  them  in  our  Church  of  England :  would  that  there  were 
fewer;  that  there  were  less  parade  and  more  reality  of  heav 
enly  knowledge."  He  made  but  little  use  of  his  notes,  and 
pronounced  an  extemporaneous  prayer  at  the  conclusion  with 
extreme  solemnity. 

I  remained  in  company  with  a  large  proportion  of  the 
women  present,  and  half  a  dozen  men,  at  the  communion  ser 
vice.  The  Church  of  England  service,  which  has  always 
seemed  to  me  more  effective  than  most  others  to  the  practical 
end  of  the  ceremony,  never  was  so  solemn,  impressive,  and 
affecting.  It  was  administered  by  the  bishop,  unassisted, 
with  great  feeling  and  simplicity.  There  was  not  the  least 
unnecessary  parade  or  affectation  of  sanctity;  but  a  low, 
earnest  voice,  and  a  quiet,  unprofessional  manner  that  be 
tokened  a  sense  of  the  common  brotherhood  of  us  all  united 
by  God  in  Christ.  The  singing  was  "  congregational,"  the 
choristers  having  left,  and  without  assistance  from  the  organ. 
A  considerable  proportion  of  the  congregation  were  ser 
vants  in  livery ;  and  besides  these  and  the  soldiers  and  clergy, 


160  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

the  men  present  were  generally  plainly,  and  many  shabbily, 
dressed.  The  women,  many  of  them,  seemed  of  a  higher 
class,  but  were  also  simply  dressed,  generally  in  dark  calicoes. 

In  the  south  transept  (or  short  arm  of  the  cross)  of  the 
cathedral  another  congregation  were  assembling  as  I  came 
out.  I  followed  in  a  company  of  boys,  marching  like  soldiers, 
dressed  in  long-skirted  blue  coats,  long  waistcoats,  breeches, 
and  stockings,  and  with  the  clerical  bands  from  their  cravats. 
Within  were  several  other  such  companies — boys  and  girls  in 
uniform,  from  charity  schools,  I  suppose.  ,The  girls  were 
dressed  in  the  fashion  of  Goody-Two-Shoes,  with  high-backed 
white  caps,  and  white  "  pinafores  "  over  blue  check  gowns. 

This  transept  is  a  large  place  of  worship  in  itself,  though 
but  a  small  part  of  the  cathedral,  and  is  occupied  by  the 
parish  of  St.  Oswald,  morning  and  evening  service  being  held 
in  it  immediately  after  that  of  the  cathedral  church.  On  the 
doors  were  notices,  posted  in  placards,  addressed  to  persons  in 
certain  circumstances,  among  others,  to  all  who  used  hair- 
powder,  to  give  notice  to  the  appointed  officers  that  they  might 
be  rightfully  taxed. 

In  the  afternoon  we  visited  a  Sunday-school  of  the  Unita 
rians,  where  we  saw  about  sixty  well-behaved  children, — the 
exercises,  much  the  same  as  in  ours.  Afterwards  we  heard  a 
sensible  sermon,  on  faith  and  works,  in  the  Independent 
chapel.  The  clergyman,  who  has  been  a  missionary  in  the 
East,  and  has  also  travelled  in  America,  was  good  enough  to 
call  on  us  and  invite  us  to  his  house  the  next  day.  The  con 
gregation  seemed  to  be  of  a  higher  grade  than  most  of  that  we 
had  seen  at  the  cathedral,  more  intelligent  and  animated,  and 
more  carefully  dressed,  yet  very  much  plainer,  more  modestly 
and  becomingly,  and  far  less  expensively  than  you  could  often 
see  any  congregation  with  us. 

We  had  a  delightful  walk,  later  in  the  afternoon,  on  the 


SUNDAY  EVENING  RECREATION.  161 

walls,  where  we  met  a  very  large  number  of  apparently  very 
happy  people.     I  never  saw  so  many  neat,  quiet,  ungenteel, 
happy,  and  healthy-looking  women,  all  in  plain  clean  dresses, 
and  conversing  in  mild,  pleasant  tones  ;  squads   of  children' 
too,  all  dressed  ridiculously,  bright  and  clean  and  stiff,  not 
a  dirty  one  among  them,  and  as  well  behaved  as  dolls,  most 
comically  sober  and  stately.     The  walls  form  a  good  prom- 
enade,  elevated  and   dry.     The  landscape  view  across  the 
river,  in  the  sunset  haze,  seemed  in   communion  with  the 
minds  of  the  people,  tranquil  and  loving.     An  hour  later,  and 
we  found  the  streets  lighted  up  and  almost  as  crowded  as  on 
Saturday  night,  yet  very  quiet,  and  no  impudence,  black, 
guardism,  or  indecency  shown  us.     On  the  whole,  spite  of  the 
universal  beer-drinking,  we  received  a  high  opinion  of  the 
character  of  Chester  people,  quite  as  high,  as  respects  moral 
ity  and  courtesy,  as  a  stranger  passing  a  Sunday  in  a  New 
England  town  of  the  same  size  would  be  likely  to  obtain  of  it. 


162  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


CLANDESTINE  ARCHITECTURAL  STUDIES. A  VISIT  TO  THE  MARQUIS  OF 

WESTMINSTER'S  STUD. — STABLE  MATTERS. 


Monday, 

EARLY  in  the  morning  we  visited  the  old  church  of  St. 
John's,  and  afterwards  several  curious  places,  relics  of  Ro 
mans,  Saxons,  and  Normans,  in  the  suburbs — after  all,  noth 
ing  so  interesting  to  me  as  the  commonest  relics  of  English 
men  but  two  or  three  centuries  old.  As  we  returned  through 
the  town  at  seven,  the  early  risers  seemed  to  be  just  getting 
up.  Passing  the  cathedral  as  the  bell  tolled  for  morning 
prayer,  we  turned  in.  There  are  services  every  day  at  7,  11, 
and  3  o'clock.  The  service  was  performed  in  the  Lady  Chapel, 
which  we  did  not  enter.  The  attendance  must  have  been 
rather  meagre,  as  we  saw  no  one  going  to  it  but  two  ladies 
with  an  old  man-servant.  We  remained  some  time  hunting 
on  tip-toe  for  traces  of  the  Norman  transition  in  the  architec 
ture,  and  found  we  had  had  already  practice  enough  to  readily 
detect  it  in  various  parts.  Stealing  softly  into  the  choir, 
from  which  the  Lady  Chapel  opens,  we  examined  the  bishop's 
throne.  It  is  adorned  with  many  figures  of  saints  and  angels, 
kings  and  queens,  and  having  been  once  broken  to  pieces, 
in  the  repairs  upon  it  the  old  heads  were  generally  put  on 
young  shoulders,  and  vice  versa ,  producing  in  some  instances 
a  very  ludicrous  effect,  particularly  where  the  men's  heads, 
beards  and  all.  are  set  on  female  bodies.  We  then  got  out 


ELECTION  ROWS.— AMERICAN  BOOKS.  163 

into  the  cloisters,  and  from  them  into  the  chapter-house,  in 
which  the  heavy-groined  arches,  simple,  and  without  the 
slightest  ornament,  have  a  grand  effect.  The  date  is  about 
1190.  We  saw  here  some  very  strongly  marked  faces  which 
in  stone  represent  certain  Norman  abbots  whose  graves  were 
under  us. 

Without  the  cathedral  yard,  the  ruins  of  the  old  abbey 
appear  frequently  among  the  houses,  the  old  black  oak  tim 
ber  and  brick  work  of  the  time  of  Cromwell,  mingling  pictu 
resquely  with  the  water-worn  carvings  of  the  older,  old  ma 
sonry.  This  morning  we  saw  a  stout,  round,  old  Saxon  arch 
giving  protection  to  a  fire-engine,  which  brought  to  mind  the 
improbability  of  the  present  race  of  New-Yorkers  sending 
down  to  posterity  such  memorials  of  itself.  Well,  it  will 
send  better  perhaps,  and  more  lasting  than  in  stones — or 
stocks. 

On  the  town-hall  is  a  large  statue,  said  to  be  of  Queen 
Anne,  but  so  battered  and  chipped,  that  it  might  stand  for 
any  body  else,  in  a  long  dress.  The  hands  and  nose,  and  all 
the  regalia  are  knocked  off.  And  how,  do  you  suppose  ?  By 
the  super-sovereign  people  in  election  demonstrations.  Thank 
God,  we  may  yet  boast,  that  in  our  thoroughly  democratic 
elections,  where  the  whole  national  policy  is  turning,  and  the 
most  important  private  and  local  interests  are  at  issue,  we 
leave  no  such  memorials  of  our  time.  (I  beg  pardon  of  the 
"  bloody  Sixth.") 

Going  into  a  book-shop  for  a  direction,  we  saw  Emerson's 
"  Representative  Men."  and  Irving's  "  Sketch-Book,"  on  the 
counter,  with  newspapers  and  railway  guides,  and  the  propri 
etor  told  us  he  had  sold  a  great  many  of  them. 

We  passed  through  a  crockery  shop  to  see  a  Roman  bath, 
which  had  been  discovered  in  excavating  a  cellar  in  the  rear 
of  it.  Such  things  are  being  every  year  brought  to  light. 


164  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

After  breakfast  we  once  more  took  our  knapsacks,  and 
left  Chester  by  the  foot-path  on  the  bank  of  the  Dee. 

The  Marquis  of  Westminster  owns  some  of  the  finest 
horses  in  the  kingdom;  in  passing  through  Eccleston,  we 
asked  a  man  if  he  could  direct  us  where  we  could  see  some 
of  them.  He  informed  us  that  he  was  head  groom  of  the 
stud  to  the  marquis,  and  he  would  take  pleasure  in  showing 
it  to  us.  He  took  us  first  to  the  paddocks,  which  are  fields 
of  from  two  to  five  acres,  enclosed  by  stone  walls,  ten  feet 
high,  some  of  them  with  sheds  and  stables  attached,  and 
some  without.  In  these  were  thirty  or  forty  of  the  highest 
bred,  and  most  valuable  mares  and  fillies  in  the  world.  Un 
fortunately  I  am  not  a  horse-man,  and  cannot  attempt  to  de 
scribe  them  particularly.  It  needed  but  a  glance,  however,  to 
show  us  that  they  were  almost  any  of  them  far  the  most 
beautiful  animals  we  had  ever  seen.  The  groom,  whose  name 
is  Nutting,  and  whose  acquaintance  I  recommend  every  trav 
eller  this  way  to  endeavour  to  make,  was  exceedingly  obli 
ging,  not  only  taking  us  into  every  paddock  and  stable,  and 
giving  us  an  account  of  the  pedigree,  history,  and  perform 
ances  of  every  horse,  but  calling  our  attention  to  the  points, 
all  the  peculiarities  of  form  which  distinguished  each  individ 
ual.  It  was  evident  his  heart  was  in  his  business,  and  that 
his  regard  was  appreciated,  for  as  soon  as  he  unlocked  the 
gate,  and  showed  himself  within  the  enclosure,  some  of  the 
older,  mares  would  trot  up  to  be  caressed  with  the  most  ani 
mated,  intelligent,  and  gratified  expression.  The  most  cele 
brated  among  them  was  Bee's-wing.  She  is  seventeen  years 
old,  and  very  large,  but  most  perfect  in  form ;  I  should  think 
better  than  her  daughter,  Queen-Bee,  who  is  lighter  and  more 
delicate.  The  extraordinary  beauty  of  "  Ghuznee"  and  "  Cru 
cifix,"  both  distinguished  on  the  turf,  was  also  obvious.  These, 
I  think,  do  not  belong  to  the  marquis.  In  one  of  the  pad- 


THE  ETON  STUD.  165 

docks  were  a  number  of  foals,  pretty,  agile,  fawn-like  crea 
tures.  They  came  around  us  dancing  and  capering,  catching 
our  knapsacks  with  their  teeth,  then  springing  off,  and  coming 
back  again,  like  dogs  at  play.  The  mares,  fillies,  and  colts 
were  all  of  dark  bay  colour,  but  one,  which  was  dark  iron- 
grey,  nearly  black. 

Just  as  we  left  the  colts,  a  great  cart-horse,  belonging  to 
the  marquis,  was  passing  on  the  road.  The  contrast  was 
wonderful.  He  was  seventeen  hands  and  one  inch  high  (with 
in  a  trifle,  six  feet),  and  putting  both  my  thumbs  to  the 
smallest  part  of  his  leg,  I  could  not  make  my  fingers  meet 
around  it. 

From  the  paddocks  we  went  to  the  stables  to  see  the 
stallions.     They  were  all  loose  boxes   (no  stalls),  thirteen 
feet  by  sixteen,  some  with  rack  and  manger  across  the  side, 
some  with  the  same  in  a  corner.     Touchstone  is  a  magnificent 
creature,  beyond  conception.     It  is  impossible  to  imagine 
such  high  condition,  indicated  not  less  in  the  happy  and  spir 
ited  expression  and  action,  than  in  the  bright,  smooth,  supple, 
and  elastic  feel  of  his  skin.     I  never  saw  any  thing  to  equal 
it  in  America  ;  and  it  was  nearly  as  remarkable  in  the  mares. 
Five  thousand  guineas  (over  $25,000)  have  been  offered  and 
refused  for  Touchstone.*     Springy. Jack  is  a  younger  stallion ; 
by  Nutting  esteemed  even  higher  than  Touchstone.     Nothing 
in  the  world  of  animal  life  can  be  finer  than  the  muscular  de 
velopment  of  his  neck.     Touchstone  is  a  little  coarse  in  the 
withers.     They  were  intending  to  put  him  in  pasture  the  next 
week,  and  in  preparation  for  it,  he  had  some  fresh  grass  mixed 
with  hay  to  eat.     He  stood  in  a  deep  bed  of  straw,  and 

*  Mares  are  sent  here  from  all  parts  of  the  kingdom,  to  be  served  by 
Touchstone,  perhaps  the  most  esteemed  stock-getter  in  England.  He  is 
allowed  forty  in  a  year,  and  the  charge  is  $150  to  $200,  and  $2.25  a  week 
for  pasture. 


166  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

was  not  curried — groomed  merely  with  a  cloth,  yet  he  was 
so  clean,  that  it  would  not  have  soiled  a  white  linen  handker 
chief  to  have  been  rubbed  upon  him. 

In  the  granary  we  saw  some  very  plump  and  bright 
Scotch  oats.  They  were  bought  for  42  Ibs.  to  the  bushel, 
but  would  overweigh  that.  The  common  feed  was  oat  and 
bean  meal  mixed  with  cut  hay.  The  hay  was  cut  very 
fine  (not  more  than  \  inch  lengths)  by  a  hand  machine.  I 
believe,  cut  as  it  usually  is  by  our  machines  (-J  inch  to  1  inch), 
it  is  more  thoroughly  digested.  I  use  Sinclair's,  of  Baltimore, 
which  is  intended  for  corn-stalks,  driven  by  horse-power,  and 
cuts  hay  and  straw  from  one  to  three  inches,  which  I  prefer 
to  the  finer.*  The  machine  here  cost  £6  ($30),  and  was  in  no 
way  superior,  that  I  could  see,  to  Ruggles',  of  Boston,  which 
is  sold  at  half  that  price. 

The  farm  buildings  were  not  fine  or  in  good  order,  ma 
nure  wasting,  old  carts  and  broken  implements  thrown  care 
lessly  about,  and  nothing  neat.  Nor  were  the  cattle  remark 
able — most  of  them  below  the  average  that  we  have  seen  on 
the  road-side.  It  is  evident  the  marquis  is  more  of  a  horse- 
jockey  than  a  farmer. 

The  groom's  house,  which  we  entered,  was  very  neat  and 
handsomely  built  of  stone.  All  the  cottages  hereabout  are 
floored  with  tiles,  nine  inches  square.  They  vary  in  colour,  but 
are  most  commonly  light  brown. 

Nutting  showed  us  a  cow  of  his  own,  which  I  took  to  be 
a  direct  cross  of  Devon  and  Ayrshire,  and  which  had  as  fine 
points  for  a  milker  as  I  ever  sa*v  in  any  thing.  She  was  very 
large,  red  and  white,  and  a  good  feeler.  He  assured  us  she 
was  giving  now  on  pasture  feed  thirty-two  quarts  a  day. 

*  I  do  not  wish  to  recommend  this  machine  for  hay  and  straw,  which 
it  does  not  cut  as  rapidly  as  some  others,  but  for  stalks  it  cannot  be  sur 
passed — cutting  and  splitting  them  in  small  dice. 


DUTCH  BARNS,— A   POLITE    GROOM.  167 

The  hay  was  partly  stored  under  slate  roofs,  supported  by 
four  strong  stone  columns,  the  sides  open.  This  plan  differs 
from  the  hay  barracks,  common  where  the  Dutch  settled  in 
America,  in  which  the  roof,  thatched  or  boarded,  is  attached 
to  posts  in  such  a  way  that  it  can  be  easily  set  up  or  down, 
and  adjusted  to  the  quantity  of  hay  under  it.  These  erections 
are  here  called  Dutch  barns.  Nutting  thought  hay  was  pre 
served  in  them  better  than  in  any  way  he  knew,  and  this  has 
been  my  opinion  of  that  from  our  barracks.  Close  barns  he 
particularly  objected  to.  Probably  hay  suffers  more  in  them 
here  than  it  does  in  America. 

After  showing  us  all  about  the  farmery,  he  walked  on  with 
us  to  a  shady  pasture  by  the  river  side,  where  was  a  herd  of 
fine  mares.  We  sat  here  under  an  old  elm  for  some  time, 
looking  at  them  as  they  clustered  around  us,  and  talking  with 
him  about  the  agriculture  of  the  district.  He  was  so  easily 
good-natured,  and  conversed  so  freely,  asking  as  well  as  an 
swering  questions,  that  we  were  greatly  puzzled  to  tell 
whether  he  expected  a  fee,  or  would  be  offended  by  our  offer- 
ing  it.  At  length,  when  he  was  about  to  leave,  we  frankly 
stated  our  difficulty,  explaining  that  we  were  foreigners,  and 
not  familiar  with  the  English  customs  on  such  occasions.  He 
answered  pleasantly,  that  he  was  always  glad  of  a  chance  to 
converse  with  gentlemen  on  such  subjects  as  we  appeared  to 
be  interested  in ;  if  they  liked  to  give  him  something  he  did 
not  refuse  it,  but  he  did  not  wish  any  thing  from  us.  We 
assured  him  that  we  were  much  indebted  to  him,  and  begged 
that  he  would  not  make  an  exception  of  us,  handing  him  a 
half  crown,  which  he  dropped  into  his  pocket  without  looking 
at  it  or  thanking  us,  but  politely  replying  that  he  considered 
himself  fortunate  in  having  met  us.  He  then  said  he  would 
walk  on  a  little  further  to  direct  us  on  a  path  much  pleas- 
anter  than  the  regular  travel,  and  from  which  we  might  see 


168  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

one  of  the  best  dairy  farms  in  the  country,  with  an  excellent 
herd  of  one  hundred  and  fifty  cows.  The  path  would  run 
through  the  park,  and  was  not  public,  but  if  we  would  men 
tion  his  name  at  the  lodges  they  would  let  us  pass. 

We  soon  came  in  sight  of  the  cows.  They  were  large, 
half-bred  Ayrshires,  which  seem  to  be  the  favourite  dairy 
stock  throughout  the  country.  Pure-bred  stock  of  any  breed 
were  not  in  favour,  but  the  Ayrshire  blood  was  most  valued. 


SOIL  AND   CLIMATE  IN  CHEESE-MAKING.  169 


CHAPTER  XX. 

THE  CHESHIRE  CHEESE  DISTRICT  AND  ENGLISH  HUSBANDRY  UPON  HEAVY 
SOILS. PASTURES.— THEIR  PERMANENCE. THE  USE  OF  BONES  AS  A  MA 
NURE  IN  CHESHIRE. A  VALUABLE  REMARK  TO  OWNERS  OF  IMPROVED 

NEAT    STOCK. BREEDS    OF    DAIRY    STOCK. HORSES. 


soil  of  a  considerable  part  of  this  county  being  a 
tenacious  clay,  favourable  to  the  growth  of  grasses,  and 
difficult  of  tillage,  its  inhabitants  are  naturally  dairy-men, 
and  it  has  been  particularly  distinguished  for  many  centuries 
for  its  manufacture  of  cheese.  Its  distinction  in  this  respect 
does  not  appear  to  be  the  result  of  remarkable  skill  or  pecu 
liar  dairy  processes,  but  is  probably  due  to  the  particular 
varieties  of  herbage,  to  the  natural  productions  of  which,  the 
properties  of  its  soil,  and  perhaps  of  its  climate,  are  peculiarly 
favourable.* 

The  grounds  for  this  conclusion  are  the  general  value 
placed  by  the  farmers  upon  their  old  pastures,  where  the 
natural  assortment  of  herbage  may  be  considered  to  have 
entirely  obtained  and  taken  the  place  of  the  limited  number 
of  varieties  which  are  artificially  sowed,  the  fact  that  the 
butter  of  the  district  is  not,  as  a  general  rule,  highly  esteemed, 

*  The  best  cheese  is  made  on  cold,  stiff,  clay-soils  (but  not  on  the 
purest  clays),  and  from  the  most  natural  herbage,  even  from  weedy,  sterile 
pastures  ;  but  much  the  largest  quantity  is  made  from  an  equal  extent  of 
nore  moderately  tenacious  and  drained  or  permeable  soils  spontaneously 
producing  close,  luxuriant,  fine  (not  rank)  grasses  and  white  clover. 

15 


170  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

and  that  I  cannot  learn  that  the  process  of  cheese-making  dif 
fers  any  more  from,  that  of  other  districts  in  England  or  the 
United  States,  than  between  different  dairies  producing  cheese 
of  equal  value  in  this  district  itself. 

It  is  by  no  means  to  be  inferred,  however,  that  the  quality 
of  cheese  is  not  affected  by  the  process  of  manufacture. 
There  is  no  doubt  that  the  skill  and  nicety  of  a  superior 
dairy-maid  will  produce  cheese  of  a  superior  quality  on  a 
farm  of  poor  herbage,  while  an  ignorant  and  careless  one  will 
make  only  an  inferior  description,  no  matter  what  the  natural 
advantages  may  be.  The  best  cheese  made  in  the  United 
States  is  quite  equal  to  the  best  I  have  tasted  here,  but  the 
average  quality  is  by  no  means  equal  to  the  average  quality 
of  Cheshire  cheese. 

Superiority  in  the  manufacture  seems  not  to  depend,  how 
ever,  upon  any  describable  peculiarities  of  the  process,  which 
differs  in  no  essential  particular  from  that  common  in  our 
dairies.  Excellence  is  well  understood  to  depend  greatly 
upon  extreme  cleanliness  in  all  the  implements  employed, 
and  upon  the  purity  and  moderate  temperature  of  the  atmo 
sphere.  Means  to  secure  the  latter  are  used  much  the  same 
as  with  us.  Stoves  and  hot-water  pipes  are  sometimes  em 
ployed  in  the  cheese-room ;  and  I  may  mention  that  where 
this  is  in  a  detached  building  of  one  story,  it  is  considered 
essential  that  it  should  have  a  thatched  roof.  In  some  cases 
where  the  roof  has  been  slated,  it  has  been  found  necessary 
in  the  warmest  weather  to  remove  the  cheese  to  the  cellar  of 
the  farm-house.  Plank  shelves  are  more  generally  used,  and 
are  esteemed  better  than  stone. 

Not  only  is  there  no  uniformity  in  the  methods  of  the 
different  dairies  to  distinguish  them  from  those  of  the  United 
States,  but  rarely  in  any  single  dairy  are  there  any  exact 
rules  with  regard  to  the  time  to  be  employed  in  any  parts  of 


THE  CHEESE-MAKING-  PROCESS.  171 

the  process,  or  as  to  the  temperature  or  the  measure  of  any 
ingredients.  Thus  the  degree  of  heat  at  setting  the  milk, 
although  the  skill  to  feel  when  it  is  right  is  deemed  highly 
important,  is  almost  never  measured,  even  in  the  best  dairies. 
The  quantity  of  rennet  is  guessed  at,  and  its  strength  not  ex 
actly  known.  The  quantity  of  salt  used  is  undefined,  and  the 
time  for  sweating  or  curing  of  the  cheese,  when  made,  is  left 
to  be  accidental. 

With  regard  to  some  of  these  points,  however,  it  has  been 
found  (as  reported  to  the  Royal  Agricultural  Society)  that 
in  some  of  the  best  dairies  the  milk,  when  judged  to  be  of 
the  right  temperature  for  coagulating,  was  by  the  thermome 
ter  at  82°  F.  (variations  from  76°  to  88°).  From  four  to  six 
teen  square  inches  of  rennet  skin  in  a  pint  of  water  (generally 
four  square  inches)  were  used  to  make  the  cheese  from  fifty 
gallons  of  milk,  and  1  Ib.  to  1  Ib.  4  ounces  salt  to  the  same 
quantity.  It  is  thought  that  the  best  cheese  is  made  with 
less  salt  than  this.  The  heat  of  the  milk-room  was  found  to 
vary  from  64°  to  78°  in  August,  and  it  was  thought  desirable 
that  it  should  be  cooler  than  this.  The  reporter  thought  that 
a  temperature  of  50°  would  be  most  approved  throughout  the 
year.  I  never  saw  or  heard  of  ice  being  used  in  any  way  in 
a  Cheshire  dairy. 

Some  of  the  best  dairy-maids  claim  to  have  secrets  by 
which  they  are  enabled  to  surpass  others,  but  it  is  certain  that 
they  do  not  lessen  the  necessity  for  extreme  cleanliness,  ni 
cety,  and  close  observation  and  judgment,  and  that  with  this, 
in  addition  to  what  is  everywhere  known  and  practised,  there 
is  no  mystery  necessary  to  produce  the  best.* 

"  A  cheese  dairy  is  a  manufactory— a  workshop— and  is,  in  truth,  a 
place  of  hard  work.  That  studied  outward  neatness  which  is  to  be  seen  in 
the  show  dairies  of  different  distfccts  may  be  in  character  where  butter  is 
the  only  object,  but  would  be  superfluous  in  a  cheese  dairy.  If  the  room, 


172  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

The  Cheshire  cheese  in  market  always  has  an  unnaturally 
deep,  yellow  colour,  though  of  late  less  so  than  formerly.  It 
is  given  by  the  addition  of  "  colouring"  to  .the  milk  imme 
diately  before  the  rennet  steep  is  applied.  This  "  colouring" 
is  manufactured  and  sold  at  the  shops  for  the  purpose.  It  is 
an  imitation  of  annatto,  formed  chiefly  of  a  small  quantity 
of  real  annatto  mixed  with  tumeric  and  soft  soap.  I  think  it 
is  never  used  in  sufficient  quantity  to  affect  the  flavour  at  all, 
but  I  observe  that  the  farmers  and  people  in  the  country  pre 
fer  cheese  for  their  own  use  that  is  not  coloured. 

Whey  Butter.  It  is  commonjn  Cheshire  to  make  butter 
from  the  whey.  It  will  probably  surprise  many  to  learn  that 
there  is  any  cream  left  in  whey  ;  but  there  undoubtedly  is,  and 
it  may  be  extracted  by  the  same  means  as  from  milk.  The 
only  difference  in  the  process  is,  that  it  is  set  in  large  tubs, 
instead  of  small  pans,  and  that  the  whey  is  drawn  off  by  a 
faucet  from  the  bottom  after  the  cream  has  risen.  If  allow 
ed  to  remain  too  long  it  will  give  a  disagreeable  flavour  to  the 
cream.  One  hundred  gallons  of  milk  will  give  ninety  of  whey, 
which  will  give  ten  or  twelve  gallons  of  cream,  which  will 
make  three  or  four  pounds  of  butter.  So  that  besides  the 
cheese,  twenty  to  twenty -five  pounds  of  butter  are  made  in  a 
year  from  the  milk  of  each  cow,  an  item  of  some  value  in  a 
large  dairy.  The  butter  is  of  second-rate  quality,  but  not 
bad — worth  perhaps  three  cents  a  pound  less  than  milk  but 
ter. 

the  utensils,  the  dairy-woman  and  her  assistants  be  sufficiently  clean  to 
give  perfect  sweetness  to  the  produce,  no  matter  for  the  colour  or  the  ar 
rangement.  The  scouring-wisp  gives  an  outward  fairness,  but  is  frequently 
an  enemy  to  real  cleanliness." — MARSHALL'S  VALE  OF  GLOUCESTER.  Besides 
the  means  of  securing  this  inner  cleanliness,  sweetness,  and  purity,  which 
must  be  of  the  air  too,  as  well  as  of  the  utensils,  &c.,  it  is  probable  that  the 
dairy-maids'  secrets  are  in  a  knowledge1  of  the  best  temperature,  particu 
larly  of  that  at  which  the  milk  should  be  curdled. 


MILKING.— PASTURES.— B  ONES.  \  73 

The  farms  in  the  country  over  which  we  walked  in  Che 
shire  were  generally  small,  less,  I  should  think,  than  one  hun 
dred  acres.  Frequently  the  farmer's  family  supplied  all  the 
labour  upon  them,— himself  and  his  sons  in  the  field,  and  his 
wife  and  daughters  in  the  dairy,— except  that  in  the  harvest 
month  one  or  two  Irish  reapers  would  be  employed.  The 
cows,  in  the  summer,  are  kept  during  the.  day  in  distant  pas 
tures,  and  always  at  night  in  a  home  lot.  During  the  cheese- 
making  season,  which  on  these  small  farms  is  from  the  first 
of  May  till  November,  they  are  driven  home  and  fastened  in 
shippens,  or  sheds,  between  five  and  six  o'clock,  morning  and 
night,  and  then  milked  by  the  girls,  sometimes  assisted  by 
the  men.  On  a  farm  of  one  hundred  acres,  fifteen  to  twenty 
cows  are  kept,  and  three  persons  are  about  an  hour  in  milk 
ing  them.  From  twenty  to  thirty  gallons  of  milk  (say  six 
quarts  from  each  cow)  is  expected  to  be  obtained  on  an  av 
erage,  and  about  one  pound  of  dried  cheese  from  a  gallon  of 
milk.  From  two  to  five  cwt.  (of  1 12  Ibs.)  of  cheese  may  be 
made  from  the  milk  of  each  cow  during  the  year.  Three 
cwt.  is  thought  a  fair  return  on  the  best  farms.  In  a  mode- 
rately  dry  and  temperate  summer,  more  cheese  is  made  than 
in  one  which  is  very  wet. 

The  pastures  are  generally  looked  upon  as  permanent , 
the  night  pastures  are  sometimes  absolutely  so,  as  it  is  sup 
posed  that  they  have  not  generally  been  broken  up  for  many 
hundred  years.  During  the  last  ten  years  the  pasture  lands 
have  been  very  greatly,  and,  as  they  tell  me,  almost  incredi 
bly  improved  by  the  use  of  bone  dust.  It  is  applied  in  the 
quantity  of  from  twenty  to  forty  cwt.  on  an  acre  as  top- 
dressing,  and  I  was  told  that  pastures  on  which  it  had  been 
, applied  at  the  rate  of  a  ton  to  an  acre,  eight  or  nine  years 
ago,  had  continued  as  good  (or  able  on  an  average  of  the 
years  to  bear  as  many  cows)  as  similar  land  top-dressed  with 

15* 


174  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

farm-yard  dung  every  two  years,  probably  at  the  rate  of 
thirty  cubic  yards  to  an  acre.  There  seems  to  be  no  doubt  at 
all  that  land  to  which  inch  bones  were  applied  ten  years  ago 
are  yet  much  the  better  for  it.  They  are  usually  applied  in 
April,  and  the  ground  is  lightly  pastured,  or  perhaps  not  at  all 
until  the  following  year.  The  effect,  the  farmers  say,  is  not 
merely  to  make  the  growth  stronger,  but  to  make  it  sweeter ; 
the  cattle  will  even  eat  the  weeds  which  before  they  would 
not  taste  of.  However,  in  poor  land  especially,  it  is  found 
to  encourage  the  growth  of  the  more  valuable  grasses  more 
than  that  of  the  weeds,  so  that  the  latter  are  crowded  out,  and 
a  clean,  thick,  close  turf  is  formed.  If  the  ground  has  been 
drained,  all  these  improvements  are  much  accelerated  and 
increased.  Upon  newly  laid  down  lands,  however,  the  effect 
is  not  so  great ;  it  is  especially  on  old  pastures  (from  which 
the  extraction  of  the  phosphates  in  the  milk  has  been  going 
on  for  ages  sometimes,  uninterruptedly)  that  the  improve 
ment  is  most  magical.  The  productive  value  of  such  lands 
is  very  frequently  known  to  have  been  doubled  by  the  first 
dressing  of  bones. 

Both  boiled  and  raw  bones  are  used,  and  though  there  is 
a  general  belief  that  the  latter  are  more  valuable,  I  do  not 
hear  of  any  experience  that  has  shown  it ;  on  the  contrary, 
I  am  told  of  one  field  which  wras  dressed  on  different  sides 
equally  with  each  sort,  and  now,  several  years  after,  no  dif 
ference  has  been  observed  in  their  effect.  A  comparison 
must,  of  course,  be  made  by  measure,  as  boiled  bones  are 
generally  bought  wet,  and  overweigh  equal  bulks  of  raw  about 
25  per  cent.  Dry  bone-dust  weighs  from  45  to  50  Ibs.  to  a 
bushel. 

I  have  not  heard  of  super-phosphate  of  lime,  or  bones  dis 
solved  in  sulphuric  acid,  being  used  as  a  top-dressing  for  pas- 
lures. 


IMPROVED  DAIRY  STOCK.  175 

I  quote  the  following  from  the  journal  of  the  Royal  Agri 
cultural  Society,  as  a  mark  of  deep  significance  to  American 
farmers,  beyond  its  proof  of  the  value  of  bones: — "Before 
bones  came  into  use  in  this  country,  the  farmers  made  a  point 
of  selecting  a  hardy  and  inferior  description  of  stock  for  their 
clay  lands,  farmers  finding  that  large,  well-bred  cows  did  not  at 
all  answer  upon  them;  but  now  they  find  "  (in  improved  pas 
ture)  "  that  the  best  of  stock  find  ample  support,  not  only  to 
supply  the  cheese-tub  freely,  but  also  to  do  justice  to  their 
lineage,  by  retaining,  if  not  improving,  their  size  and  symme 
try,  so  that  the  farmer  has  not  only  the  advantage  of  making 
considerably  more  cheese,  but  also  of  making  more  money  by 
his  turn  of  stock." 

I  cannot  now  ascertain  the  amount  of  bones  annually  ex 
ported  from  the  United  States  to  England,  but  it  must  be 
very  great,  as  I  know  one  bone-miller,  near  New  York,  that 
has  a  standing  order  to  ship  all  he  can  furnish  at  a  certain  price, 
and  who  last  year  thus  disposed  of  80,000  bushels. 

Breeds  of  Dairy  Stock. — I  have  already  described  most  of 
the  dairy  stock  that  we  have  observed  along  the  road.  We 
have  seen  scarcely  any  pure  bred  stock  of  any  kind.  Ayr 
shire  blood  seems  to  predominate  and  be  most  in  favour  on 
the  best  farms.  The  points  of  the  short-horns  are  also  common, 
and  in  the  south  we  saw  some  Herefords.  The  best  milkers 
seemed  to'  be  a  mixed  blood  of  Ayrshires  and  some  other 
large  and  long-horned  cattle  with  a  smaller  red  and  black 
breed,  probably  Welsh.  I  incline  to  think  that  experience 
has  taught  the  dairy-men  to  prefer  half  or  quarter  bred  stock 
to  full  bloods  of  any  breed.  For  beef-making  it  is  otherwise. 
I  have  seen  no  working  oxen.  Horses  are  the  only  beasts  of 
draught  on  the  farms ;  they  vary  greatly  in  quality,  but  are 
generally  stout,  heavy,  hardy,  and  very  powerful.  On  a  farm 
of  one  hundred  acres,  three  will  be  kept,  sometimes  four,  and 


176  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

at  about  that  rate  on  the  larger  farms,  with  an  additional 
saddle-horse  or  two  for  his  own  use,  if  the  farmer  can  afford 
it.  Farmers  generally  raise  their  own  cows,  choosing  heifer 
calves  from  their  best  milker  for  the  purpose.  Cattle  are  not 
commonly  reared  for  sale  here.  Few  sheep  are  raised,  but 
many  are  brought  lean  from  Wales  and  Ireland,  and  fatted 
here. 


GENERAL  AGRICULTURAL    CHARACTER.  177 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

TILLAGE. SIZE  OF  FARMS. CONDITION  OF  LABOURERS. — FENCES. HEDGES. 

SURFACE     DRAINAGE. UNDER     DRAINAGE. VALUABLE     IMPLEMENTS     FOR 

STIFF  SOILS,  NOT  USED  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES. 

T  SHOULD  think  that  more  than  three-quarters  of  the  land 
L  we  have  seen  was  in  grass  and  pasture.  I  suppose  that  it 
would  be  more  productive  of  human  food,  and  support  a  much 
larger  population,  if  it  were  cultivated  ;  but  the  farmers  being 
generally  men  of  small  means,  barely  making  a  living,  are  in 
disposed  to  take  the  trouble  to  break  up  and  till  the  tough 
sward  and  stiff  soil  from  which,  while  it  is  in  pasture,  they 
are  always  sure  to  realize  a  certain  product  of  cheese  without 
any  severe  labour.  The  cultivation  is  not,  either,  very  thorough, 
because  the  strongest  and  most  efficient  implements  and  great 
brute  forces  are  needed  to  effectually  act  upon  such  a  soil 
Accordingly  we  have  observed  on  the  large  farms,  where  the 
extent  of  ground  to  be,  of  necessity,  cultivated,  warranted  the 
purchase  of  clod-crushers  and  other  strong  and  expensive  im 
plements,  and  made  it  necessary  to  employ  a  considerable 
number  of  labourers,  the  proportion  of  land  under  tillage  was 
more  extensive,  and  much  more  thorough  work  was  made 
with  it. 

I  wish  I  could  say  that  the  condition  of  the  labourers  ap 
peared  to  be  elevated  with  that  of  agriculture,  by  the  leasing 


178  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

of  the  land  in  larger  tracts,  and  to  men  of  larger  capital.  It  is 
true  that  the  tendency  is  to  increase  the  rate  of  wages  and 
give  employment  to  more  hands,  but  it  is  also  evident  that 
by  the  engrossment  of  several  small  farms  in  one  large  one, 
a  number  of  persons  must  be  reduced  from  the  comparatively 
independent  position  of  small  farmers  to  that  of  labourers,  and 
I  cannot  see  that  for  this  there  is  any  compensating  moral 
advantage. 

Another  evil  of  the  small  farms  (not  exclusively,  how 
ever),  is  the  quantity  of  land  injured  or  withdrawn  from  cul 
tivation  by  the  fences.  These  are  almost  universally  hedges, 
and  not  only  are  they  left  untrimmed  and  straggling,  thereby 
shading  and  feeding  upon  the  adjoining  land,  but  a  great 
many  large  trees  have  been  allowed  to  grow  up  in  them,  of 
course  to  the  injury  of  any  crops  under  their  branches.  These 
are  sometimes  kept  low,  the  limbs  being  trimmed  off  for 
firewood  (in  which  case  they  are  called  -pollards},  or  are  left 
to  grow  naturally.  In  the  latter  case,  of  course,  they  add 
exceedingly  to  the  beauty  of  the  landscape,  and  eventually 
become  of  value  for  timber ;  but  high  as  this  is  here,  I  can 
not  at  all  believe  it  will  ever  compensate  for  the  loss  occa 
sioned  to  the  farm-crops.  Where  every  five  or  ten  acres  is 
surrounded  by  a  hedge  and  ditch,  the  damage  done  cannot  be 
slight.  By  way  of  improvement  we  have  seen  where  lately 
some  hedges  have  been  grubbed  up,  two  old  fields  being  thrown 
together.  We  have  also  seen  a  few  wire  fences  in  use.  These 
latter  were  very  slightly  set  up,  and  could  hardly  be  intended 
for  permanence.  We  have  also  seen  some  fine,  low,  narrow 
hedges,  taking  up  but  little  room,  and  casting  but  little  shade. 
When  a  hedge  is  thus  well  made  and  kept,  I  am  inclined  to 
esteem  it  the  most  economical  fence.  The  yearly  expense  of 
trimming  it  is  but  trifling  (less  than  one  cent  a  rod),  and  it  is 
a  perfect  barrier  to  every  thing  larger  than  a  sparrow.  I 


HEDGES.— THOROUGH  DRAINAGE.  ]79 

should  add  that  the  farmers  seem  to  set  much  value  upon  the 
shelter  from  cold  winds  which  the  hedges  afford. 

Drainage.— The  need  of  thorough  draining  is  nowhere  so 
obvious  as  upon  clay  soils  with  stiff  sub-soils.     There  will 
be  but  a  few  weeks  in  a  year  when  such  soils  are  not  too  wet 
and  mortary,  or  too  dry  and  bricky,  to  be  ploughed  or  tilled 
in  any  way  to  advantage.     In  the  spring,  it  is  difficult  to  cart 
over  them,  and  in  the  summer,  if  the  heat  is  severe  and  long- 
continued,  without  copious  rain,  the  crops  upon  them  actually 
dwindle  and  suffer  more  than  upon  the  driest  sandy  loams. 
To  get  rid  of  the  surface  water,  the  greater  part  of  the  culti 
vated  land  of  Cheshire  (and,  I  may  add,  of  all  the  heavy  land 
of  England)  was,  ages  ago,  ploughed  into  beds  or  "  butts" 
('bouts).     These   are  comr.iouly  from  five  to  seven  yards 
wide,  with  a  rise,  from  the  furrows  (called  the  "  reins")  to  the 
crown,  of  three  or  four  inches  in  a  yard.     The  course  of  the 
butts  is  with  the  slope  of  the  ground ;  a  cross  butt  and  rein, 
or  a  wide,  open  ditch  by  the  side  of  the  hedge,  at  the  foot  of 
the  field,  conducting  off  the  water  which  has  collected  from 
its  whole  surface.     When  the  land  is  broken  up  for  tillage, 
and  often  even  after  thorough  under-drainage,  these  butts  are 
still  sacredly  regarded  and  preserved. 

Thorough  under-draining,  by  which  all  the  water  is  col 
lected  after  filtering  through  the  soil  to  some  depth,  was 
introduced  here  as  an  agricultural  improvement  within  the 
last  eight  years.  The  great  profit  of  the  process  upon  the 
stiff  soil  was  so  manifest  that  it  was  very  soon  generally  fol 
lowed.  The  landlords  commonly  furnished  their  tenants 
with  tile  for  the  purpose,  and  the  latter  very  willingly  ware 
at  the  expense  of  digging  the  drains  and  laying  them.  W  ish- 
ing,  however,  to  do  their  share  of  the  improvement  at  the 
least  cost,  the  tenants  have  been  too  often  accustomed  to 
make  the  drains  in  a  very  inefficient  manner,  being  guided  as 


180  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

to  distance  by  the  old  reins,  and  laying  their  tile  under  these, 
often  less  than  eighteen  inches  from  the  surface.  The  action 
of  the  drains  was  thus  often  imperfect.  It  is  now  customary 
for  the  landlords,  when  they  furnish  tile,  to  stipulate  the  depth 
at  which  they  shall  be  laid.  They  sometimes  also  lay  out 
the  courses  and  distances  of  the  drains.  The  Marquis  of 
Westminster  employs  an  engineer,  who  appoints  foremen, 
and,  to  a  certain  extent,  suitably-trained  labourers,  to  secure 
the  drainage  of  his  tenant-lands  in  the  most  lastingly  econom 
ical  and  beneficial  manner.  Last  winter  he  had  two  hun 
dred  men  so  employed,  in  addition  to  the  labour  furnished  by 
the  tenants  themselves,  and  over  one  million  tiles  were  laid 
by  them.  I  heard  nowhere  any  thing  but  gratification  and 
satisfaction  expressed  with  the  operation  of  the  thorough- 
drains. 

Implements. — After  breaking  up  the  sward  of  these  heavy 
lands  with  a  deep,  narrow,  furrow-slicing  plough,  a  most  ad 
mirable  instrument,  quite  commonly  in  use  and  everywhere 
spoken  well  of,  for  crushing  and  pulverizing  the  soil  in  a 
much  more  effectual  and  rapid  manner  than  the  harrow,  is 


"  This  implement,"  according  to  the  inventor's  advertise 
ment,  "  consists  of  twenty-three  roller  parts,  with  serrated 
and  uneven  surfaces,  placed  upon  a  round  axle,  six  feet  wide 
by  two  and  a  half  feet  in  diameter.  The  roller-parts  act  inde- 


IMPLEMENTS  FOR  STIFF  SOILS.  181 

pendent  of  each  other  upon  the  axle,  thus  producing  a  self- 
.    cleaning  movement.     Of  course  the  roller  must  only  be  used 
when  the  land  is  so  dry  as  not  to  stick. 

"  The  following  are  the  various  uses  to  which  this  imple 
ment  is  applied : 

"  1. — For  rolling  corn  as  soon  as  sown  upon  light  lands ; 
also  upon  strong  lands,  that  are  cloddy,  before  harrowing. 

"  2. — For  rolling  wheats  upon  light  lands  in  the  spring, 
after  frosts  and  winds  have  left  the  plants  bare. 

"  3- — For  stopping  the  ravages  of  the  wire-worm  and  grub. 
"  4. — For  crushing  clods  after  turnip  crops,  to  sow  barley. 
"  5. — For  rolling  barley,  oats,  &c.,  when  the  plants  are 
three  inches  out  of  the  ground,  before  sowing  clover,  &c. 

"  6. — For  rolling  turnips  in  the  rough  leaf  before  hoeing, 
where  the  plants  are  attacked  by  wire-worm. 

"  7. — For  rolling  grass  lands  and  mossy  lands  after  com 
post. 

"8.— For  rolling  between  the  rows  of  potatoes,  when  the 
plants  are  several  inches  out  of  the  ground. 

"  Cash  prices,  with  travelling  wheels  complete,  6  feet  6 
inches,  £21 ;  6  feet,  £19  10s. ;  5  feet  6  inches,  £18." 

For  still  more  deeply  stirring,  and  for  bringing  weeds  to 
the  surface  of  soil  recently  ploughed,  a  great  variety  of  in 
struments  entirely  unknown  in  America  are  in  common  use 
here.  They  all  consist  of  sets  of  tines,  or  teeth,  placed  be 
tween  a  pair  of  wheels,  and  so  attached  to  them  that,  by  means 
of,  a  lever,  having  the  axletree  of  the  wheels  for  a  fulcrum, 
the  depth  to  which  they  shall  penetrate  is  regulated,  and  they 
may  at  any  time  be  raised  entirely  above  the  surface,  drop 
ping  and  relieving  themselves  from  the  weeds  and  roots  which 
they  have  collected.  Thus  they  may  be  described  as  com 
bining  the  action  of  the  harrow,  the  cultivator,  and  the  horse- 
rake.  (The  wire-tooth  horse-rake  is  used  as  an  instrument  of 

16 


182  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

tillage  by  Judge  Van  Bergen,  at  Coxsackie,  N.  Y.)  They  are 
designated  variously  by  different  manufacturers,  as  grubbers, 
scarifiers,  extirpators,  harrows,  and  cultivators.  The  "  ULEY 
CULTIVATOR,"  of  which  a  cut  is  appended,  is  one  of  the  sim 
plest  and  most  efficient.  In  this  the  tines  are  raised  by  turn 
ing  a  crank,  each  complete  turn  of  which  raises  or  depresses 
them  one  inch.  The  depth  to  which  they  are  penetrating  at 
any  time,  is  marked  by  a  dial  near  the  handle  of  the  crank. 
Something  of  the  kind  more  effectual  than  any  thing  we  yet 
have,  is  much  needed  to  be  introduced  with  us.  Clean  an/3 
thorough  culture  of  stiff  clay  soils  can  hardly  be  performed 
without  it. 


I  should  remark  of  English  agricultural  implements  in 
general,  that  they  seem  to  me  very  unnecessarily  cumbrous 
and  complicated. 

I  have  lately  had  in  use  on  my  farm,  a  plough  furnished 
me  by  A.  B.  Allen  &  Co.,  of  New  York  ("  Euggle's  Deep 
Tiller"),  which,  I  think,  has  all  the  advantages  of  the  best 
English  ploughs,  with  much  less  weight,  and  which  is  sold  at 
half  their  cost. 


ENGLAND,    A    LANDSCAPE  GARDEN.  183 


CHAPTER 

THE  GENERAL  CONDITION  OF  AGRICULTURE.— ROTATION  OF  CROPS.— PRODUC 
TIVENESS.— SEEDING  DOWN  TO  GRASS.— COMPARISON  OF  ENGLISH  AND 
AMERICAN  PRACTICE. PRACTICAL  REMARKS. RYE-GRASS,  CLOVER. BIEN 
NIAL  GRASSES.— GUANO.— LIME.— THE  CONDITION  OF  LABOURERS,  WAGES, 
ETC. DAIRY-MAIDS. ALLOWANCE  OF  BEER. 

["  MUST  say  that,  on  the  whole,  the  agriculture  of  Cheshire, 
L  as  the  first  sample  of  that  of  England  which  is  presented 
to  me,  is  far  below  my  expectations.  There  are  sufficient 
reasons  to  expect  that  we  shall  find  other  parts  much  superior 
to  it ;  but  what  we  have  seen  quite  disposes  of  the  common 
picture  which  our  railroad  and  stage-coach  travellers  are  in 
the  habit  of  giving  to  our  imagination,  by  saying  that  "all 
England  is  like  a  garden."  Meaning  only  a  "  landscape  gar- 
den,"  a  beautiful  and  harmonious  combination  of  hill  and  dale, 
with  the  richest  masses  of  trees,  and  groups  and  lines  of  shrub 
bery,  the  greenest  turf  and  most  picturesque  buildings,  it  might 
be  appropriately  said  of  many  parts,  particularly  in  the  south 
of  the  county.  But,  with  reference  to  cultivation,  and  the 
productiveness  of  the  land,  it  might  be  quite  as  truly  applied 
to  some  small  districts  of  our  own  country  as  to  this  part  of 
England. 

In  commencing  the  cultivation  of  land  that  has  been  in 
grass,  the  first  crop  is  usually  oats,  and  the  most  approved 
practice  upon  the  stiff  soils  seems  to  be,  to  plough  deeply  in 
the  .fall  or  winter,  and  in  the  spring  to  prepare  the  ground 


184  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

with  some  strong  implement  of  the  cultivator  sort.  Oats  are 
sowed  much  thicker  than  is  usual  with  us.  I  hear  of  six  bush 
els  to  the  acre ;  but  with  regard  to  this  there  is  much  differ 
ence  of  opinion.  The  crop  of  oats  is  not  often  large  (from  thirty 
to  forty  bushels  from  an  acre  is  common)  ;  but  oats  seldom 
make  a  large  crop  upon  clay  soils.  The  next  year  the  ground 
will  be  summer-fallowed,  or,  by  the  more  enterprising  farm 
ers,  cropped  with  turnips,  beets,  or  with  potatoes.  The  pota 
toes  are  sold,  the  turnips  and  beets  fed  to  the  cows  during  the 
winter.  On  the  poorer  farms,  the  cows  get  little  but  hay 
from  December  to  April ;  and  cheese-making  is  given  up  du 
ring  the  winter.  Others,  by  the  help  of  turnips,  beets,  and 
linseed  cake,  keep  a  constant  flow  of  milk,  and  cheese-making 
is  never  interrupted.  (Of  course  the  milking  of  each  cow  is 
interrupted  for  a  while  at  her  calving  time,  which  they  try  to 
have  in  March.) 

The  crop  after  roots  is  commonly  barley  ;  after  fallow, 
wheat,  of  which  twenty-five  to  thirty  bushels  is  a  common 
crop,  and  forty  not  uncommon.  After  wheat,  oats  again,  and 
perhaps  after  the  oats  another  crop  of  wheat ;  if  so,  the  land 
is  manured  with  bones  or  boughten  manure,  and  sometimes 
limed  at  the  rate,  say  of  four  tons  to  the  acre  of  stone  lime. 

Grass. — With  the  last  crop  of  oats  or  wheat,  clover  and 
grass  seeds  are  sowed.  Grass  was  thought  to  come  better 
after  wheat  upon  under-drained  land.  The  best  farmers  sow 
a  very  great  variety  and  large  measure  of  grass  seeds  ;  the 
poorer  ones  are  often  content  with  what  they  can  find  under 
their  hay  bays,  sowing  it,  weeds  and  all,  purchasing  only 
clover  seed. 

The  quantity  of  grass  seeds  sowed  is  always  much  greater 
here  than  in  America.  I  should  think  it  was  commonly  from 
a  bushel  to  three  bushels  on  an  acre  ;  rarely  less  than  one,  or 
more  than  three.  I  do  not  think  more  than  one  quarter  of  a 


QUANTITY  OF  GBASS  SEED    TO  AN  AGUE.  185 

bushel,  or  perhaps  half  a  bushel  of  the  lighter  seeds,  is  often 
sowed  in   the  United  States.     I  should  attribute  the  more 
general  evenness  and  closeness  of  the  English  meadows  in 
a  great  degree  to  this,  though,  doubtless,  much  is  due  to  the 
moister  climate.     Land  intended  for  permanent  pasture  re 
ceives  much  more  seed,  and  a  larger  variety,  than  that  which 
is  intended  to  be  mown  only  for  a  few  years,  and  then  be 
brought  to  tillage  again.     Of  the  good  policy  of  the  English 
practice  for  pastures   (and  the   same  applies   to  lawns  and 
public  greens)  I  have  no  doubt.     Among  the  great  variety  of 
grasses  in  an  English  meadow,  there  will  be  one  that  springs 
up  and  grows  strongly,  furnishing  a  wholesome  and  delicious 
bite  to  the  cattle,  as  early  after  the  first  warm  breath  of 
spring  as  the  ground  will  be  dry  enough  to  bear  a  hoof  (and 
on  drained  lands  it  is  rarely  not  so).     This  will  be  succeeded 
by  others,  and  in  May  by  others  ;  and  in  July,  those  natural 
to  the  driest  and  warmest  soils  will  be  in  perfection ;  and  so 
through  the  year  there  is  a  constantly  renewing  perfection. 
A  ranker  sward,  and  one   that  would  for  a  season   support 
more  cattle,  I  think  would  be  obtained  from  sowing  a  smaller 
quantity  and  less  variety  of  seed. 

I  am  not  prepared  to  recommend  the  English  practice  for 
mowing  lands.  To  obtain  the  largest  quantity  of  grass  hay 
from  an  acre,  without  regard  to  quality,  plough  deep,  manure 
deep,  and  sow  one  variety  of  seed  in  such  quantity  that  when 
it  comes  up  it  will  speedily  tiller,  and  occupy  the  whole 
ground,  yet  not  stand  so  closely  as  to  greatly  crowd  and 
compress  the  stools,  thereby  dwarfing  the  reeds  from  their 
natural  size,  and  obstructing  the  flow  of  sap  in  their  vessels. 
Cut  it  when  it  has  attained  to  its  greatest  size,  while  it  is 
yet  entirely  succulent,  just  at  the  time  that  the  blood  of  the 
plant  begins  to  be  drawn  up  into  the  forming  seed,  and  the 
bottom  dries  into  such  tough,  close,  ligneous  fibre  that 

16* 


186  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER   IN  ENGLAND. 

nourishment  can  no  longer  ascend  from  the  root.  The  right 
quantity  of  seed  for  this  will  vary  in  different  soils — a  very 
rich,  deep  soil  needing  less  than  a  more  sterile  one,  because 
in  the  latter  the  roots  cannot  extend  far  enough  to  collect 
the  requisite  food  and  drink  to  make  a  large,  strong,  open 
stool,  and  more  herbage  will  grow  upon  the  same  space  by 
having  the  stools  stand  closer. 

In  some  degree  proportionately  to  the  closeness  of  the 
fibre  and  the  fineness  of  the  grass,  will  be  its  nourishing 
quality,  so  that  ninety  pounds  of  fine,  close-grown  hay,  from 
a  thick-seeded  meadow,  may  be  of  equal  value  with  a  hun 
dred  pounds  of  a  coarser,  ranker  quality.  But  the  nourish 
ment  is  by  no  means  in  the  inverse  ratio  of  size ;  so  that  for 
all  ordinary  purposes,  with  all  the  usual  hay-grasses,  the  far 
mer  will  find  his  profit  in  studying  to  obtain  the  largest  bur 
then  of  grass.  For  this  end,  I  am  inclined  to  think  English 
farmers  often  sow  too  much  seed,  Americans  not  enough.  It 
seems,  however,  to  be  the  best  farmers  in  other  respects  that 
sow  the  most  seed  in  England. 

There  is  one  consideration  that  I  have  omitted  to  mention 
against  the  common  practice  on  American  farms,  where  hay 
is  an  important  staple  crop :  it  is  generally  an  object  to  re 
tain  a  clean  sward  of  grass  as  long  as  possible,  without  the 
necessity  of  breaking  up,  from  the  grass  having  run  out,  that 
is,  given  place  to  weeds,  or  to  finer  and  less  profitable  grasses. 
Where  the  seed  has  been  thickly  sown,  the  grass  takes  more 
entire  possession  of  the  surface,  and  retains  it  longer.  The 
thicker  grass  seed  is  sown,  therefore,  other  things  being  equal, 
the  longer  it  will  lay. 

I  have  known,  in  a  district  where  it  was  the  custom  to 
sow  four  to  eight  quarts  of  timothy  seed,  on  two  occasions, 
twenty  quarts  sowed.  The  result  wras  a  finer  grass  in  both 
cases ;  in  one  it  was  thought  the  crop  was  much  larger,  and 


RYJ&-&SASS  AND   TIMOTHY.  187 

in  the  other  that  it  was  somewhat  smaller,  than  where  ten 
quarts  was  sowed  alongside.  The  probability  is,  that  in  an 
average  of  ten  years  it  will  prove  the  larger  crop  on  the 
thickest  sown,  in  both  fields. 

The  commonest  grass-seed  sowed  in  England,  what  may 
be  called  the  staple  grass,  is  rye-grass,  or  ray-grass  (perennial). 
It  is  a  .much  smaller,  closer-growing  grass  than  our  timothy ; 
I  think  it  has  a  sweeter  taste,  is  probably,  bulk  for  bulk,  con 
siderably  more  nutritious,  and  perhaps  so  pound  for  pound ; 
but  I  think  more  fat  and  muscle  can  be  made  from  an  acre  if 
sowed  with  timothy,  than  with  rye-grass.  A  valuable  quality 
of  rye-grass  is  its  early  spring  growth.  A  field  of  rye-grass 
will  be  up  some  inches,  offering  a  tempting  bite  to  cattle,  be 
fore  a  field  of  other  grasses  will  begin  to  show  a  green  surface. 
I  believe  that  it  ripens  earlier,  too,  than  timothy,  and  is  better 
for  mowing-ground  on  that  account,  to  be  sown  with  clover, 
which  is  much  injured  by  over-ripeness,  if  not  cut  till  timothy 
is  in  its  best  state  to  make  hay.  I  have  seen  no  timothy  in 
England,  but  I  know  it  is  sometimes  sowed. 

Rye-grass  has  stood  at  the  head  of  the  mowing  grasses  in 
some  parts  of  England  for  centuries.  In  districts  of  light  and 
dry  soil,  it  is  least  in  favour  than  elsewhere,  but  I  judge  be 
comes  of  more  value  with  the  improvement  of  husbandry 
generally.  Marshall  (1796),  writing  from  Gloucestershire, 
speaks  of  the  general  strong  prejudice  of  the  farmers  against 
ray-grass,  which  he  calls  his  favourite  grass,  "  smothering  every 
thing  and  impoverishing  the  soil,  until  it  will  grow  nothing!" 
they  say  ;  and  arguing  against  them,  he  makes  an  observation 
of  value  with  reference  to  the  question  of  quantity  of  seed. 
"  If  real  ray -grass  has  ever  been  tried  alone,  and  without  suc 
cess,  it  has  probably  risen  from  too  great  a  quantity  having 
been  sown.  Be  it  ray-grass  or  rubbish,  I  understand  seldom 
less  than  a  sackful "  (three  heaped  bushels)  "  an  acre  is  thrown 


188  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

on,  whereas  one  gallon  an  acre  of  clean-winnowed  real  ray- 
grass  seed  is  abundantly  sufficient  on  such  soil  as  the  vale  in 
general  is  covered  with."  The  soil  is  "  a  rich,  deep  loam." 

Clover  (red  and  Dutch)  is  more  sowed  here  for  hay  than 
with  us,  though  it  is  much  more  difficult  to  make  good  hay 
of  it  in  this  climate.  It  is  sowed  in  the  spring,  as  with  us, 
perhaps  20  Ibs.  to  the  acre.  We  commonly  sow  5  to  10 
Ibs.  Arthur  Young  tried  about  a  dozen  experiments  to  as 
certain  the  most  profitable  quantity  of  clover  seed  to  sow,  and 
concluded  his  record  of  them  as  follows : 

"  The  more  seed,  as  far  as  20  Ibs.  per  acre,  undoubtedly 
the  better.  This  is  a  plain  fact,  contradicted  by  no  part  of 
the  experiments  ;  and  the  great  inferiority  of  5  to  7  Ibs.  shows 
equally  clear  that  such  portion  of  seed  is  too  small  for  an 
acre.  Where  land  is  well  manured,  less  seed  is  required  ;  12  J 
Ibs.  seems  the  proper  quantity"  (on  very  rich,  gravelly  soil.) 

A  bushel  of  clover  seed  weighs  60  to  64  Ibs. 

In  ground  intended  for  mowing  but  one  or  two  years,  bi 
ennial  varieties  of  the  rye-grass  are  sown,  wrhich  are  of  strong 
er  growth  than  the  perennial.  They  are  also  sowed  sometimes 
with  permanent  grasses,  giving,  on  a  deep,  rich  soil,  a  heavier 
burthen  of  grass  the  first  year  of  cutting  than  these  would  do. 
For  this  purpose,  I  have  thought  it  might  be  well  to  sow  the 
biennial  or  sub-perennial  rye-grass  seed  with  timothy,  which 
does  not  usually  yield  a  fair  crop  at  its  first  cutting,  and  have 
twice  attempted  to  make  trial  of  the  Italian  rye-grass,  but  in 
both  cases  the  seeds  that  I  had  procured  failed  of  germination. 

I  shall  have  occasion  hereafter  to  notice  several  species 
of  herbage  that  are  much  valued  in  England,  that  have  not 
be^n  generally  introduced  in  the  United  States.* 

*  Fifteen  or  twenty  varieties  of  grass  secjcls  are  sowed  together,  and  the 
expense  for  seed  in  laying  down  for  pasture  is  often  ten  or  twelve  dollars 
an  a'.1  re. 


TOP-DRESSING.—  a  UANO.—  WA  G£S.  189 


The  grass  is  mowed  for  hay  for  a  longer  or  shorter  course 
of  years  ;  sometimes  broken  up  after  one  or  two  seasons, 
sometimes  becoming  permanent  or  perennial  pasture,  and  so 
running  on  indefinitely  ;  and  sometimes  being  mowed  for  a 
number  of  years.     One  field  I  saw  that  had   been  mowed 
eight  years,  and  having  received  a  dressing  of  30  cwt.   of 
bones,  promised   fair  yet   to   bear  heavy  swaths.     Mowing 
lands  are  usually  top-dressed  at  the  end  of  the  second  year, 
and  afterwards  every  second  or  third  year.     All  the  home 
stead  dung  is  commonly  reserved  for  this  purpose,  and  all 
other  manure  is  purchased  from  the  towns.     Guano  for  tur 
nips  and  wheat  is  coming  into  general  use  ;   some  think  very 
profitably,  others  have  been  disappointed.     For  wheat,  it  is 
applied  at  the  seed  sowing,  and  sometimes  again  as  a  top 
dressing  in  the  spring  ;  but  in  a  dry  season  it  is  thought  that 
this   second   application   has  done  more   harm   than   good. 
Guano  has  been  a  good  deal  tried  as  a  top  dressing  for  pas 
tures,  and   it  has  been  said  to  improve  the  quality  of  cheese 
when  so  used.     The  immediate   effect  upon  grass,  when  ap 
plied  in  the  spring,  is  always  very  advantageous  ;  but  later 
in  the  summer,  particularly  if  the  season  is  dry,  the  good 
effect  disappears,  and  sometimes  the  result  is  unfavourable. 

Of  course  the  round  of  crop  varies  according  to  every 
farmer's  notion.  What  I  have  described  is  as  common  as 
any,  though  not  probably  among  the  best  farmers.  Another 
crop  is  beans,  which  is  introduced  between  either  of  thpse  1 
have  mentioned,  sometimes  at  the  head.  Not  uncommonly 
the  first  crop  is  wheat,  the  ground  having  been  summer  fal 
lowed.  Wheat  is  drilled  or  sowed  broadcast  ;  most  commonly 
sowed  in  this  county,  and  is  either  ploughed  or  harrowed  in, 
opinions  varying  as  to  which  is  best.  My  own  experience  on 
a  stiff  soil  is  decidedly  in  favour  of  ploughing  in. 

Labourers.—  Wages,  as  they  have  been  reported  to  me, 


190  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

vary  much,  and  unaccountably.  I  should  think  the  average 
for  able-bodied  men  as  day-labourers,  working  and  receiving 
pay  only  in  days  that  commence  fair,  was  $2.25  a  week,  per 
haps  averaging  thirty-three  cents  a  day.  The  rent  of  a  labour 
er's  cottage,  with  a  bit  of  garden  attached  (less  than  a  quarter 
of  an  acre),  is  from  $15  to  $25.  In  addition  they  have  some 
times  a  few  perquisites  from  the  farmers  who  regularly  em 
ploy  them.  A  great  many  labourers  in  winter  are  without 
work,  and  wages  are  then  a  trifle  less  than  I  have  mentioned, 
as  in  harvest  time  they  are  also  a  trifle  more.  The  reader 
will  understand  that  out  of  this  thirty-three  cents,  which  I 
have  supposed  to  be  the  average  receipts  of  a  labourer  per 
day,  he  has  to  pay  his  rent,  and  provide  food  and  raiment  for 
his  family.  Of  course  his  diet  cannot  be  very  sumptuous  (the 
cost  of  provisions  being,  perhaps,  ten  per  cent,  higher  than 
with  us),  but  I  have  not  learned  particulars. 

The  wages  of  farm  servants,  hired  by  the  month  or  year, 
and  boarded  in  the  family,  are  for  men,  from  $45  to  $65  a 
year;  for  boys,  $15  to  $25;  maid-servants,  $30  to  40; 
dairy-maids,  greatly  varying,  say  from  $50  to  $100. 

It  is  customary  to  give  all  labourers  and  servants  a  certain 
allowance  of  beer  besides  their  wages.  It  is  served  out  several 
times  a  day,  and  may  be  supposed  to  cost,  on  an  average,  ten 
cents  a  day  for  each  person.  One  farmer  estimated  it  at 
twice  that. 


EXTENSIVE  CULTIVATION  OF  THE  BEET.  191 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

REMARKS  ON  THE  CULTIVATION  OF  BEET  AND  MANGEL-WURZEL. 

T  FOUND  the  best  farmers  in  all  the  south  of  England, 
L  and  throughout  Ireland,  where  the  soils  were  at  all  stiff, 
increasing  their  crops  of  these  roots.  For  the  production  of 
milk  they  are,  undoubtedly,  a  more  valuable  crop  than  turnips 
or  ruta  bagas,  though  it  is  asserted  that  the  milk  is  more  thin 
and  watery.  Some  thought  them  equal,  and  even  superior, 
weight  for  weight,  for  fattening  cattle.  I  think  it  is  certain 
that  in  such  soils  a  larger  amount  of  nutriment  can  be  ob 
tained  from  a  crop  of  them  on  an  equal  measure  of  ground. 
Donaldson  says  the  beet  yields  a  larger  weight  per  acre,  both 
in  roots  and  leaves,  than  any  other  root  crop  known.  I  have 
heard  of  crops  of  from  fifteen  to  thirty-five  tons  an  acre ;  and 
in  one  instance,  near  New- York,  at  the  rate  of  forty-four  tons 
an  acre,  from  one  quarter  of  an  acre.  Chemical  analyses  and 
practical  experiments  in  feeding,  to  ascertain  their  value  as 
compared  with  other  roots,  or  with  hay,  differ  so  very  greatly, 
that  nothing  can  be  said  with  any  certainty  about  it.  The 
climate  of  the  United  States,  like  that  of  France,  is  much 
better  adapted  to  the  beet,  and  much  less  favourable  to  the 
ruta  baga,  than  that  of  England.  The  beet  is  much  less  liable 
to  be  injured  by  insects  or  worms  than  the  turnip  or  ruta 
baga,  though  I  incline  to  think  the  latter  is  much  more 
favoured  with  us  than  in  England  in  this  respect. 


192  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  2N  ENGLAND. 

The  ground  for  beet  crops  is  wepared  the  same  as  for 
turnips ;  that  is,  it  is  finely  and  deeply  tilled  (and  there  is  no 
crop  which  will  better  show  the  value  of  draining  and  subsoil 
ploughing),  and  manured  with  well-decomposed  dung,  com 
post,  bones,  or  guano,  in  drills  from  twenty-seven  inches  to 
three  feet  apart.  The  seed  is  usually  prepared  by  steeping 
for  from  twenty-four  to  forty- eight  hours,  and  is  then  rolled 
in  lime.  As  rapidly  as  possible  after  the  manure  is  deposited, 
it  is  covered  with  soil  and  the  seed  dropped,  sometimes  be 
ing  drilled  like  turnip  seed,  but  more  commonly  dibbled. 
There  are  two  simple  machines  used  here  for  dibbling.  What 
ever  way  the  seed  is  planted,  it  must  be  expected  that  a  large 
part  will  fail  to  germinate. 

I  have  found  dibbling  by  hand  not  very  tedious,  as  fol 
lows  :  One  man  making  holes  an  inch  deep,  and  six  or  eight 
inches  apart,  with  a  round  stick  an  inch  in  diameter,  another 
following  and  dropping  three  seeds  in  a  hole,  and  a  third  cov 
ering  by  a  single  stroke,  and  pressing,  with  a  hoe.  I  have 
obtained  a  large  crop  planting  so  late  as  the  middle  of  July, 
in  the  climate  of  New  York. 

A  rapid  early  growth  of  the  plant  is  important.  When 
the  weeds  come  up,  the  horse-hoe  or  cultivator  is  run  through, 
and  as  often  afterwards  as  there  is  need,  while  the  size  of  the 
beets  will  permit  it,  they  are  horse  and  hand  hoed.  It  is 
found  that  earthing-up  with  a  plough  is  injurious.  When  two 
or  three  inches  high,  the  plants  are  thinned  to  twelve  inches 
apart.  When  two  or  three  plants  come  up  in  a  bunch,  one 
only  of  them  must  be  left.  It  will  wilt  down  flat  upon  the 
ground  at  first,  but  soon  recovers. 

The  outer  leaves  begin  to  dry  and  decay  early  in  the  fall, 
and  may  then  be  plucked  and  fed  to  cows  with  profit,  and 
without  retarding  the  continued  growth  of  the  root.  The  root 
may  be  pulled  by  hand,  and  is  harvested  more  readily  than 


A   HINT  TO   AMATEUR  FARMERS.  193 

any  other.  It  will  keep  (at  New  York)  in  the  open  air,  in 
stacks  four  feet  wide  and  high,  covered  with  straw  and  six 
inches  of  earth,  a  small  hole  being  left  in  the  top  for  ventila 
tion,  until  April,  and  is  then  of  great  value  to  new  milch- 
cows  and  ewes  with  lamb. 

I  particularly  recommend  the  cultivation  of  the  sugar  and 
mangel-wurzel  beets  to  cottage-farming  gentlemen,  who  wish 
to  keep  a  small  dairy  with  a  limited  extent  of  land. 

17 


194  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

DELIGHTFUL  WALK  BY  THE  DEE  BANKS,  AND  THROUGH    EATON  PARK. WREX- 

HAM. A     FAIR. MAIDS     BY     A    FOUNTAIN. THE     CHURCH. JACKDAWS. — 

THE  TAP-ROOM  AND  TAP-ROOM  TALK. POLITICAL  DEADNESS  OF  THE  LABOUR 
ING  CLASS. A  METHODIST  BAGMAN. 

T710LLOWING  Nutting's  directions,  we  had  a  most  delight- 
-L  ful  walk  along  the  river  bank  and  under  some  noble  trees, 
then  through  thick  woods  and  over  a  bit  of  low,  rushy  land, 
where  some  Irishmen  were  opening  drains,  and  out  at  length 
into  the  private  park-road ;  a  pleasant  avenue,  which  we  fol 
lowed  some  miles.  The  park  here  was  well  stocked  with 
game ;  rabbits  were  constantly  leaping  out  before  us,  and  we 
frequently  started  partridges  and  pheasants  from  a  cover  of 
laurels,  holly,  and  hawthorn  with  which  the  road  was  lined. 

We  came  out  at  Pulford,  when  we  lunched  at  the  Post 
Office  Inn,  and  thence  walked  by  an  interesting  road,  through 
a  village  of  model  cottages  not  very  pretty  ;  over  a  long  hill, 
from  the  top  of  which  a  grand  view  back ;  and  by  a  park  that 
formerly  belonged  to  Judge  Jeffreys,  of  infamous  memory,  to 
Wrexham. 

Wrexham  is  a  queer,  dirty,  higglety-piggelty  kind  of 
town,  said  to  be  the  largest  in  Wales  (it  is  about  as  large 
as  Northampton).  It  was  the  latter  part  of  a  fair-day,  and 
there  had  been  a  mustering  of  the  yeomanry  of  the  shire,  so 
that  the  streets  were  crowded  as  we  entered.  In  the  balcony  of 
an  hotel  in  the  market-place  a  military  band  was  pjaying  to  a 


WREXHAH  JACKDAWS.  195 

mass  of  up-turned,  gaping  faces,  through  which  we  worked 
our  way.  The  inns  were  generally  full  of  guzzling  troopers, 
dressed  in  a  very  ugly  fashion,  but  we  finally  found  one ; 
some  colour  of  the  bear  family,  blue,  I  believe,  which  seemed 
tolerably  quiet,  where  we  stopped  for  the  night. 

After  dining  and  resting  awhile,  we  took  a  walk  about  the 
town.  Most  of  the  houses  out  of  the  market-place  are  very 
mean  and  low,  the  walls  plastered  with  mud,  and  white 
washed,  and  the  roofs  thatched.  Noticing  a  kind  of  grotto 
in  a  back  street  about  which  a  pretty  group  of  girls,  in  short 
blue  dresses,  engaged  in  lively  talk,  were  standing  with  pitch 
ers,  we  approached  it.  We  came  close  upon  them  before 
they  noticed  us,  but,  instead  of  showing  any  timidity,  they 
glanced  at  our  hats  and  laughed  clear  and  heartily,  looking 
us  boldly  in  the  face.  Catching  one  alone,  however,  as  we 
descended  to  the  fountain,  and  asking  her  to  let  us  take  her 
mug  to  drink  from,  she  handed  it  to  us,  blushing  deeply,  and 
said  nothing,  so  we  were  glad  to  leave  quickly  to  relieve  her. 
There  was  a  spring  and  pool  of  remarkably  clear,  cool  water, 
within  the  grotto,  from  which  all  the  neighbourhood  seem  to 
be  supplied.  Our  California  hats  attracted  more  attention  at 
Wrexham  than  anywhere  else  in  Europe,  but  we  met  with 
no  incivility  or  impertinence  beyond  a  smile  or  laugh. 

The  church  at  Wrexham  is  curious,  from  the  multitude 
of  grotesque  faces  and  figures  carved  upon  it.  It  is  a  large 
and  fine  structure,  and  the  tower  is  particularly  beautiful,  as 
seen  from  the  village.  There  were  jackdaws'  nests  in  it,  and 
a  flock  of  these  birds,  the  first  we  have  seen,  were  hovering 
and  screeching  around  them.  They  are  of  the  crow  tribe, 
black,  and  somewhat  larger  than  a  blue-jay. 

Returning  to  our  inn  we  found  in  the  parlour  a  couple  of 
lisping  clerks,  who  were  sipping  wine  in  a  genteel  way,  and 
trying  to  say  smart  things  while  they  ogled  the  landlady's 


196  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

daughter.  Retreating  from  their  twaddle,  I  called  for  a  pipe 
and  mug  of  ale,  and  joined  the  circle  in  the  tap-room.  There 
was  a  tall,  scarlet-coated  fellow  who  told  me  he  was  a  ser 
geant  in  the  Queen's  guards  recruiting  here ;  an  older  man 
who  had  been  a  soldier,  and  had  served  in  Canada  and  China ; 
a  half-tipsy  miller  with  a  pleasant-speaking,  good-natured 
wife  trying  to  coax  him  to  come  home,  and  half  a  dozen 
more  countrymen,  all  muddling  themselves  with  beer  and 
tobacco. 

The  conversation  was  running  on  politics,  and  was  not  at 
all  interrupted  by  my  entrance ;  on  the  contrary,  I  thought 
the  old  soldier  was  glad  of  a  stranger  to  show  himself  off  be 
fore.  He  was  the  orator  of  the  night,  and  the  others  did  lit 
tle  but  express  assent  to  his  sentiments,  except  the  miller, 
who  every  few  moments  interrupted  him  with  a  plain  and 
emphatic  contradiction.  The  sergeant  said  very  little  either 
way  except  he  was  appealed  to,  to  substantiate  some  asser 
tion,  "  as  a  military  man"  but  leaned  on  the  bar,  drinking  hot 
gin-and-water,  and  whispering  with  the  bar-maid. 

There  was  news  that  the  French  minister  had  taken  dip 
lomatic  offence  and  demanded  his  passports,  and  war  was 
threatened.  War  there  certainly  would  be,  according  to  the 
ex-soldier,  and  a  terrible  time  was  coming  with  it.  England 
was  going  to  be  whipped-out  most  certainly — it  was  inevita 
ble.  Every  body  assented — it  was  "  inevitable" — except  the 
miller,  who  said  it  was  fol-de-rol.  "Why,"  continued  the  ex- 
soldier,  "  isn't  every  country  in  Europe  against  England  ? — 
don't  they  all  hate  her?  and  isn't  every  Frenchman  a  sol 
dier  1"  Then  he  described  the  inefficient  state  of  the  national 
defences,  and  showed  how  easy  it  would  be  for  a  fleet  of 
steamers,  some  dark  night  the  next  week,  to  land  an  army 
jomewhere  on  the  coast  of  Wales,  and  before  they  heard  of 
.t,  it  might  be  right  there  amongst  them  !  He  would  like  to 


TAP-ROOM  POLITICS.  197 

know  what  there  was  to  oppose  them.  The  miller  said  there 
was — "  gammon."  The  sergeant,  on  being  asked,  admitted  that 
he  was  not  aware  of  any  respectable  force  stationed  in  that 
vicinity,  and  the  miller  told  him  he  was  a  "  traitor  then."  Ex- 
soldier  said  miller  knew  nothing  about  war,  any  way,  and  the 
company  unanimously  acquiesced.  Ex-soldier  then  resumed 
his  speech — asked  if  government  would  dare  to  give  arms  to 
the  people,  and  pictured  an  immense  army  of  Chartists  arising 
in  the  night,  and  with  firebrands  and  Frenchmen,  sweep 
ing  the  government,  queen  and  all,  out  of  the  land,  and  estab 
lishing  a  republican  kingdom,  where  the  poor  man  was  as  good 
as  the  rich.  The  company  all  thought  it  very  probable,  and 
each  added  something  to  make  the  picture  more  vivid.  A 
coarse  joke  about  the  queen's  bundling  off  with  her  children 
produced  much  laughter ;  and  the  hope  that  the  parsons  and 
lawyers  would  have  to  go  to  work  for  a  living,  was  much  ap 
plauded. 

It  was  strange  what  a  complete  indifference  they  all  seemed 
to  have  about  it,  as  if  they  would  be  mere  spectators,  outsiders, 
and  not,  in  any  way,  personally  interested.  They  spoke  of 
the  Government  and  the  Chartists,  and  the  landlords  and  the 
farmers,  but  not  a  word  of  themselves. 

Late  in  the  evening  there  was  some  most  doleful  singing, 
and  a  woman  came  in  and  performed  some  sleight-of-hand 
tricks,  every  one  giving  her  a  penny  when  she  had  concluded. 
We  were  obliged  to  sleep  two  in  a  bed,  one  of  us  with  a 
Methodist  young  man,  who  travelled  to  make  sales  of  tea 
among  country  grocers  and  innkeepers,  for  a  Liverpool  house. 
He  said  that  what  we  had  seen  in  the  tap-room  would  give  us 
a  very  good  notion  of  the  character  of  a  large  part  of  the 
labouring  class  about  here.  He  thought  their  moral  condition 
most  deplorable,  and  laid  it  much  to  the  small  quantity 
and  bad  quality  of  the  spiritual  food  that  was  provided  for 

17* 


198  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

them.  He  seemed  well  informed  about  America,  and,  except 
ing  for  slavery  and  steamboat  explosions,  greatly  to  admire 
our  country.  He  had  some  idea  of  going  to  it,  and  said  his 
present  business  was  exceedingly  disagreeable,  as  it  com 
pelled  him  to  be  so  much  at  inns,  where  he  rarely  found  any 
one  with  whom  he  could  pleasantly  associate. 


GOAL  DISTRICT.— AN  OPTIMIST.  199 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

MORNING  WALK  THROUGH  A  COAL  DISTRICT. — RUABON. AN  OPTIMIST  WITH  A 

WELSH  WIFE. GRAVEYARD    NOTES. A    STAGE-WAGON. TAXES. WYNSTAY 

PARK. — THOROUGH    DRAINING. A  GLIMPSE  OF  COTTAGE  LIFE. "  SIR  WAT- 
KINS  WILLIAMS  WYN." 

June  4th. 

THE  most  agreeable  chimes,  from  the  church  tower,  we  had 
ever  heard,  awoke  us  this  morning  at  three  o'clock.  It  is 
light  enough  here  at  that  time  to  read  or  write,  and  the  twi 
light  at  evening  does  not  seem  to  be  over  at  half-past  ten.  I 
felt  very  stiff  and  sore,  but  arose  and  wrote  till  half-past  six, 
when  we  got  the  bar-maid  up,  paid  our  bill  (we  were  charged 
only  sixpence  a  piece  for  our  lodging),  and  were  let  out  into 
the  street ;  no  signs  that  any  one  else  in  the  town  was  yet 
stirring. 

Our  road  ran  through  a  coal  district,  tall  chimneys  throw 
ing  out  long  black  clouds  of  smoke,  and  pump-levers  working 
along  the  hill-tops ;  the  road  darkened  with  cinders ;  sooty 
men  coming  home  from  the  night- work  to  low,  dirty,  thatched 
cottages — the  least  interesting  and  poorest  farmed  country  we 
had  yet  travelled  over.  After  walking  six  miles,  we  stopped 
at  the  Talbot  Inn,  Ruabon,  to  breakfast. 

In  the  tap-room,  over  his  beer,  was  a  middle-aged  man,  a 
currier  by  trade,  who  told  us  he  had  come  hither  nine  years 
ago  from  Staffordshire,  had  married  a  nice  Welsh  girl,  and  set 
tled  himself  very  comfortably.  He  said  wages  were  good  here, 


200  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

and  it  did  not  cost  so  much  to  live  as  it  used  to.  He  had  a 
cottage  in  the  village;  the  landlord,  Sir  Watkins  Wyn,  was 
an  excellent  man,  and  his  agent  was  very  kind  to  poor  people. 
He  did  not  see  any  need  of  grumbling,  and,  for  his  part, 
thought  the  world  a  pretty  fair  world. 

After  a  good  breakfast  in  a  room  adorned  with  sporting 
pictures  and  a  likeness  of  Sir  Watkins  Wyn,  I  returned  to 
talk  with  him.  When  he  had  work,  his  wages  were  six  dollars 
a  week,  but  just  now  he  was  out  of  work.  The  rent  of  his 
cottage  and  four  roods  of  land  was  one  hundred  and  twenty 
dollars,  and  Sir  Watkins  paid  the  poor-rates.  Sir  Watkins 
was  not  very  generally  liked  by  his  tenants,  because  he  was 
not  so  liberal  with  them  as  his  father ;  but  his  father  had  been 
extravagant,  and  run  the  estate  deeply  in  debt,  and  he  had 
need  to  be  more  particular :  and  he  was  sure  he  was  always  very 
easy  with  poor  folks.  He  had  had  a  deduction  made  on  his 
rent  more  than  once  when  the  times  were  hard  with  him,  and 
this  year  the  farmers  all  were  allowed  ten  per  cent,  of  their 
rents  because  corn  is  so  low. 

I  had  told  him  I  was  from  America,  and  he  was  asking  me 
some  questions  about  it,  when  he  suddenly  stopped,  fidgeted 
about  a  moment,  and  then,  looking  at  a  woman  coming  across 
the  street,  said,  with  a  laughing,  swaggering  air,  "  There's  my 
wife  coming ;  now  you'll  see  a  specimen  of  a  Welsh  girl !" 
His  wife,  a  stout,  hard-looking  \voman,  walked  briskly  in, 
stood  up  straight  before  him,  folded  her  arms,  and,  in  a  deep, 
quiet,  determined  way,  gave  him  a  regular  Caudliny.  He 
tried  for  a  while  to  make  a  joke  of  it,  and  to  appease  her. 
"  Come  now,  missus,  don't  be  hard  upon  un' ;  sit  ye  down  now, 
and  take  a  pint ;  these  gentlemen  be  from  Ameriky,  and  I 
talks  with  'um  about  going  there.  Come  now,  how'd  thee 
like  to  go  to  Ameriky '?"  As  we  were  thus  introduced,  she 
glanced  fiercely  at  us,  and  we  retreated  at  once  without  the 


FREIGHT   WAGONS.  201 

door.  He  tried  for  a  moment  longer  to  brave  her,  and  called 
loudly  for  another  mug  of  ale.  She  turned  her  head  to  the 
bar-maid,  and  said,  "  You'll  get  no  more  ale !"  and  the  bar 
maid  minded  her. 

She  said  he  had  been  there  before,  this  morning,  and  when 
he  began  drinking  in  the  morning  it  was  always  the  last  of 
him  for  the  day.  He  whimpered  out  that  he  had  come  home 
and  breakfast  wasn't  ready,  and  he  hadn't  any  thing  else  to 
do  but  to  come  back  here.  It  was  ready,  she  said,  and  he 
might  have  been  looking  for  some  work,  and  so  on.  In  a 
few  minutes  they  went  off  arm  in  arm. 

Opposite  the  inn  was  an  old  church  and  a  graveyard. 
There  were  more  monkey-faces  on  the  church,  and  two  effi 
gies  in  stone,  of  knights — the  forms  of  their  bodies  with 
shields,  barely  distinguishable,  and  their  faces  entirely  effaced. 
Many  of  the  gravestones  had  inscriptions  in  Welsh,  and 
both  here  and  at  Wrexham  I  noticed  the  business  of  the  de 
ceased  person  was  given,  as  John  Johnes,  Wheelright;  Wil 
liam  Lloyd,  Tanner,  d'c.  On  a  flat  stone  near  the  church, 
the  following  was  inscribed  (letter  for  letter),  probably  by  a 
Welsh  stone-cutter  following  an  English  order,  given  verbal 
ly — "  This  his  the  end  of  the  vault''1 

Returning  from  the  church,  we  found  the  currier  again 
drinking  beer  in  the  tap-room,  with  a  number  of  other  men, 
a  drunken  set,  that  probably  had  come  passengers  by  a  stage 
wagon  that  stood  in  the  road.  This  was  an  immense  vehicle, 
of  pre-railroad  origin,  like  our  Pennsylvania  wagons,  but  hea 
vier  and  higher.  It  had  a  heavy  freight  of  barrels,  cases,  and 
small  parcels,  on  the  top  of  which,  under  the  canvass  hooped 
cover,  a  few  passengers  were  cheaply  accommodated,  there  be 
ing  a  ladder  in  the  rear  for  them  to  ascend  by.  Behind  one  of 
the  hind- wheels  was  a  roller,  attached  by  chains  on  either  side 
the  wheel  to  the  axle-tree,  so  that  if  the  wagon  fell  back  any,  it 


202  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

scotched  it — a  good  idea  for  heavy  loads  in  a  hilly  coun 
try.  There  were  six  stout  cart-horses  to  draw  it,  and  all 
in  a  line,  the  wheeler  being  in  shafts.  The  driver  said  he  had 
a  load  of  eight  or  ten  tons,  and  drove  three  miles  an  hour 
with  it.  He  paid  about  sixteen  dollars  a  year  taxes  for  his 


horses,  and  two  dollars  for  a  very  ugly  bull-dog  that  stood 
guard  over  the  establishment  for  more  than  an  hour  while  he 
was  refreshing  himself  in  the  inn.  At  length  we  saw  the 
whole  company  come  out,  and  the  wagon  started  again,  all 
very  jolly  ;  the  currier  and  another  man,  with  their  hands  on 
each  other's  shoulders,  staggered  across  the  street,  singing 
"  Oh,  Susannah !"  At  the  churchyard  gate  both  fell,  rolled  over 
and  embraced  each  other,  once  or  twice  tried  ineffectually  to 
get  up,  and  then  both  went  to  sleep  there  on  the  ground.  No 
wonder  the  specimen  Welsh  girl  had  a  hard  look. 

After  finishing  our  letters  to  send  by  the  steamer,  we  vis 
ited  Wynstay  Park.  It  is  much  more  picturesque  than 
Eaton,  the  ground  being  diversified  and  the  trees  larger. 
The  deer  also  were  larger ;  a  servant  told  us  there  were  fif 
teen  hundred  of  them.  The  hall,  which  is  a  plain  building, 
;vas  undergoing  repairs. 

We  separated  here  for  a  few  days,  my  friends  wishing  to 


THOROUGH  DRAINING.  203 

see  more  of  Welsh  scenery,  and  going  to  the  vale  of  Llan- 
gollen  (pronounced  Langothlan),  while  I  had  a  letter  I  wished 
to  deliver  in  another  direction. 

The  park  was  covered  with  lines  of  recently-made  under- 
drains,  and  I  hunted  over  it  in  hopes  to  find  men  at  work,  that 
I  might  see  the  manner  in  which  they  were  constructed. 
Going  to  a  pretty  checkered  timber-house  to  make  inquiries,  I 
was  so  fortunate  as  to  meet  the  foreman  of  the  draining  op 
erations,  Mr.  Green,  an  intelligent  Warwickshire  man,  who 
obligingly  took  me  to  a  field  a  mile  or  two  distant,  where  he 
had  thirty  men  at  work.  The  soil  was  a  gravelly  loam,  with 
a  little  heavier  subsoil.  The  drums  were  laid  twenty-seven 
feet  apart,  and  dug  three  feet  deep  (ordinarily),  and  one  foot 
wide  from  top  to  bottom  ;  in  the  middle  of  the  bottom  a 
groove  was  cut  for  the  pipe,  so  the  top  of  it  would  be  three 
feet  from  the  surface.  No  narrow  tools  were  used,  except  to 
cut  the  grooves  for  the  pipe.  The  foreman  said  that  though 
a  man  could  work  to  much  better  advantage  in  a  wider- 
mouthed  drain,  the  extra  dirt  to  be  moved  compensated  for 
it,  and  made  this  plan  the  cheapest. 

I  thought  then,  and  since,  until  I  came  to  try  it  in  gravelly 
and  stony  land,  that  the  work  might  be  done  much  more 
rapidly  with  the  long,  narrow  tools  described  by  Mr.  Dela- 
field,*  making  the  bottom  of  the  drain  only  of  the  width  of 
the  pipe  intended  to  be  laid ;  but  I  find  these  can  only  be 
used  to  advantage  in  free  ground.  The  method  here  described 
is  probably  the  best  for  draining  soils,  where  many  stones 
larger  than  a  hen's  egg  are  to  be  met  with. 

Cylindrical  pipes,  of  either  one  or  one  and  a  half  inch 
bore,  were  laid  in  the  grooves  at  the  bottom  of  the  drain ; 
mllars,  connecting  them,  were  only  used  in  the  loosest  soils. 

*  Transactions  N.  T.  State  Agricultural  S&c.,  1848,  p.  232.  •    ; 


204  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

The  mains  were  laid  one  foot  deeper  than  the  collecting  drains, 
and  the  pipes  in  them  were  from  two  to  six  inches  bore.  No 
series  of  drains  were  run  more  than  seventy  yards  in  length 
without  a  main,  and  all  the  mains  emptied  into  an  open  ditch 
at  the  lowest  side  of  the  field,  which  was  made  deep  enough 
to  allow  of  a  drop  of  one  foot  from  the  mouths  of  the  pipes. 
Where  such  a  ditch  was  likely  to  gully,  the  sides  were  sloped 
and  turfed. 

I  will  hereafter  give  a  chapter  on  the  process  of  thorough 
draining  in  its  most  approved  British  methods,  with  estimates 
of  cost,  and  a  discussion  of  ho\v  far  it  may  be  profitably  em 
ployed  in  the  United  States.  For  Great  Britain,  it  is  the 
most  important  agricultural  improvement  ever  made,  and  it 
is  hardly  absurd  to  assert  that  its  general  introduction  during 
the  last  ten  years  has  saved  England  from  a  revolution ;  cer 
tainly  it  is  of  the  greatest  political  and  social  consequence  to 
her ;  I  trust,  therefore,  even  my  non-agricultural  readers  will 
have  some  interest  in  the  subject. 

The  wages  of  the  men  employed  at  this  wrork  averaged 
$2.25  a  week ;  boys,  16  cents  a  day. 

Mr.  Green  sent  a  lad  to  guide  me  across  the  park  to  the 
road  I  wished  to  take — a  remarkably  bright,  amiable  boy, 
with  whom  I  had  a  pleasant  talk  as  he  led  me  on  by  the  most 
charming  way,  among  the  old  oaks,  and  through  herds  of 
deer.  He  could  read  and  write,  and  knew  something  of  ge 
ography  and  arithmetic,  having  been  instructed  by  the  curate 
of  Ruabon,  whom  he  seemed  to  have  much  loved.  (I  think  he 
had  died  lately.)  He  also  spoke  kindly  of  Sir  Watkins  and 
his  lady,  to  whom  his  father  was  shepherd,  and  said  that  all 
their  servants  and  poor  people  were  much  attached  to  them. 
Passing  near  the  hall,  I  asked  for  some  water,  and  he  took 
me  into  one  of  the  servants'  cottages  to  get  it.  There  was  an 
old  woman  rocking  a  cradle,  and  a  young  woman  ironing 


THE  GOOD  LANDLORD.  205 

linen,  both  very  neatly  dressed,  the  furniture  plain  and  mea 
gre,  but  every  thing  clean,  and  an  appearance  of  a  good  deal 
of  comfort  about  the  room. 

While  the  repairs  were  being  made  upon  the  hall,  the 
family  lived  in  a  cottage  completely  embowered  among  trees 
and  shrubs,  which  we  afterwards  passed,  and  I  had  the  honour 
of  catching  a  glimpse,  through  the  foliage,  of  a  form  in  a  grey 
coat,  which,  I  was  assured,  was  the  good  Sir  Watkins  himself. 

Soon  after  leaving  the  park,  I  crossed  the  Esk  by  a  very 
high  stone  arch,  built  "by  Sir  Watkins,"  as  some  ragged 
boys  and  girls,  who  were  employed  in  collecting  for  manure 
the  horsedung  that  dropped  upon  the  road,  informed  me,  and 
this  was  the  last  I  heard  of  Sir  Watkins. 

18 


206  ^V  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

STONE  HOUSES. IVY. VIRGINIA  CREEPER. A  VISIT  TO  A  AYKLSH  HORSE-FAIR. 

ENGLISH  VEHICLES. AGRICULTURAL  NOTES. HORSES. BREEDS  OF  CAT 
TLE. HEREFORDS,  WELSH,  AND  SMUTHY  PATES. CHARACTER  OF  THE  PEOPLE. 

DRESS. POWIS  PARK. 

Shrewsbury,  June  1th. 

F  HAVE  been  visiting  a  gentleman  to  whom  I  was  intro- 
L  duced  by  Prof.  Norton.  His  residence  is  on  the  east 
border  of  Wales,  amidst  very  beautiful  scenery  of  round- 
topped  hills,  and  deep,  verdant,  genial  dells.  He  has  the 
superintendence  of  a  large  number  of  mines  of  coal  and  metals, 
and  of  several  agricultural  estates,  the  extent  of  which  may 
be  imagined  from  the  fact,  that  he  is  preparing  to  thorough- 
drain  5000  acres  next  winter.  He  is  building  a  tileery,  and 
will  employ  seven  engineers,  each  with  two  foremen  to  oversee 
the  workmen.  The  cost,  it  is  estimated,  will  be  from  $23  to 
$25  an  acre ;  drains,  seventeen  feet  apart  and  three  feet  deep. 
The  house  is  of  stone,  and  is  covered  with  ivy,  which  I 
mention  that  I  may  contradict  a  common  report  that  ivy 
upon  the  wall  of  a  house  makes  it  damp.  The  contrary,  I  have 
no  doubt,  is  the  fact.  The  ivy-leaves  fall  one  over  another, 
shedding  off  the  rain  like  shingles ;  and  it  is  well  ascertained 
that  in  a  long  storm  the  inside  walls  of  a  house,  or  of  those 
rooms  in  it  which  are  protected  by  the  ivy,  are  much  less  damp 
than  those  not  so  shielded.  It  is  also  generally  supposed  in 
America  that  stone  houses  are  much  damper  than  wood.  This 


STONE  B  UILDING-S.  —I  VY. 


207 


may  be  so  with  some  kinds  of  porous  stone,  but  I  can  testify 
from  my  own  experience  that  it  is  not  so  with  others.  A 
slight  furring  out  on  the  inside,  and  lath  and  plaster,  will 
in  all  cases  remove  this  objection  to  any  stone.  A  good 
stone  house  is  warmer  in  winter,  cooler  in  summer,*  equally 
dry  and  healthful,  and,  if  built  in  convenient  and  appro 
priate  style,  every  way  much  more  satisfactory  and  comfort 
able  than  our  common,  slight-framed  buildings.  As  for  the 
ivy,  I  think  it  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful  things  God  has 


given  us,  and  the  man  who  can  and  does  not  let  it  beautify 
his  habitation,  is  sinfully  ungrateful.  It  is  perfectly  hardy,  and 
grows  luxuriously  on  the  north  side  of  a  house  or  wall  in 
the  climate  of  New  York.  (My  experience  is  with  the  Irish 
iv7-) 

The  cut  represents  the  schoolmaster's  house  at  Eccleston, 

*  In  a  late  rapid  change  of  weather,  the  thermometer  on  the  outside  of 
my  house  rose  in  18  hours  from  19°  to  35°,  while  that  within  the  walls  re 
mained  stationary  at  20°,  not  rising  even  one  degree ! 


208  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

and  is  inserted  here  to  show  the  great  beauty  given  by  the 
creeper  to  that  part  of  the  house  which  it  has  grown  upon, 
contrasted,  as  it  is,  with  the  bare  wall  of  the  modern  addition. 
The  vine,  in  this  case,  is  our  Virginian  creeper  (ampclopsis 
quinquefolia,  the  common  five-leaved  vine  of  our  fences — not 
the  poison  ity)-  a  very  beautiful  plant  certainly,  and  growing 
more  rapidly  than  the  European  ivy,  but  having  this  im 
measurable  disadvantage,  that  it  is  not  evergreen. 

The  day  after  I  reached  here,  my  host  had  occasion  to  go 
to  a  horse-fair  at  Welsh  Pool,  a  place  some  twenty  miles  dis 
tant,  and  invited  me  to  accompany  him.  We  went  in  a  dog 
cart,  a  kind  of  heavy  gig,  which  here  takes  the  place  of  our 
light  boat-wagon.  It  is  a  box  (large  enough  to  hold  a  dog 
or  two  in  driving  to  sporting  ground),  hung  low,  between  two 
small,  heavy  wheels,  with  a  seat  on  the  top  of  it  for  two,  look 
ing  forward,  and  sometimes  another  in  which  two  more  can 
sit  looking  backward.  On  the  back,  to  exempt  it  from  the 
tax  upon  more  luxurious  vehicles,  is  painted  the  owner's  name, 
business,  and  place  of  residence,  thus:  "John  Brown,  Farmer, 
Owestry,  Shrops."  All  the  humbler  class  of  carriages  are 
thus  marked  here,  including  farm  carts. 

The  landscapes  were  agreeable  in  the  country  we  passed 
through,  but  the  farming  in  much  of  it  no  better  than  in  some 
parts  of  the  Connecticut  valley.  Coarse,  rushy  grass,  indi 
cating  the  need  of  draining,  grew  in  much  of  the  meadow 
land,  as  I  think  it  does  to  the  exclusion  of  more  valuable 
grasses  in  land  that  is  ordinarily  dryer  than  such  as  would 
spontaneously  produce  it  in  America.  The  buildings  along 
the  road  were  such  as  I  have  previously  described ;  but  I  saw 
one  old  shackling  board  barn  which,  but  for  its  thatched  roof, 
would  have  looked  very  home-like. 

Welsh  Pool  is  a  small  compact  town  (population  5,000) 
with  a  market-house,  and  a  single  small  church,  on  the  towei 


WELSH  CHARACTER.— RUSTIC  DRESS.  209 

of  which  a  union-jack  was  hoisted,  and  within  which  there  is 
a  peal  of  three  bells,  that  continually,  all  day  long,  did  ring 
most  unmusically;  there  were  booths  in  the  main  street, 
in  which  women  sold  dry  goods,  hosiery,  pottery,  &c.  In 
another  street  horses  were  paraded,  and  in  other  places  cows 
and  swine. 

There  was  present  a  considerable  crowd  of  the  country 
people,  which  I  observed  carefully.  I  verily  believe  if  five 
hundred  of  the  common  class  of  farmers  and  farm-labouring 
men,  such  as  would  have  come  together  on  similar  business 
— say  from  all  parts  of  Litchfield  county  in  Connecticut — had 
been  introduced  among  them,  I  should  not  have  known  it, 
except  from  some  peculiarities  of  dress.  I  think  our  farmers, 
and  particularly  our  labourers,  would  have  been  dressed  up 
a  little  nearer  the  town  fashions,  and  would  have  seemed  a 
little  more  wide  awake,  perhaps,  and  that's  all.  I  not  only 
saw  no  drunkenness,  except  a  very  few  solitary  cases  late  in 
the  day,  no  rioting,  though  there  were  some  policemen 
present,  but  no  gayety ;  every  body  wore  a  sober  business 
face,  very  New  England  like. 

The  small  farmers  and  labouring  men  all  wore  leggins, 
buttoning  from  the  knee  to  the  ankle ;  heavy  hob-nailed 
shoes ;  little,  low,  narrow-brimmed,  round-topped  felt  hats, 
and  frocks  of  linen,  blue  or  wrhite  in  colour,  the  skirts  reach 
ing  below  the  knee,  very  short  waists,  a  kind  of  broad  ep 
aulette,  or  cape,  gathered  in,  boddice  fashion,  before  and  be 
hind,  loose  shirt-like  sleeves,  and  the  whole  profusely  covered 
with  needle-work.  I  suppose  this  is  the  original  smock-frock. 
An  uglier  garment  could  not  well  be  contrived,  for  it  makes 
every  man  who  wears  it  appear  to  have  a  spare,  pinched-up. 
narrow-chested,  hump-backed  figure.  The  women  generally 
wore  printed  calico  jackets,  gathered  at  the  waist,  with  a  few 
inches  only  of  skirt,  and  blue  or  grey  worsted  stuff  petti- 

18* 


210  £N  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

coats,  fairing  to  within  a  few  inches  of  the  ankle — a  pictu 
resque,  comfortable,  and  serviceable  habit,  making  them 
appear  more  as  n"  they  were  accustomed  to  walk  and  to  work, 
and  were  not  ashamed  of  it,  than  women  generally  do.  Most 
incongruously,  as  a  topping  off  to  this  sensible  costume,  a 
number  of  women  had  crowded  their  heads  into  that  ultima 
thule  of  absurd  invention,  a  stiff,  narrow-brimmed,  high- 
crowned,  cylindrical  fur  hat.  What  they  did  with  their  hair, 
and  how  they  managed  to  keep  the  thing  on  their  heads,  I 
cannot  explain.  I  assert  that  they  did  do  it,  notwithstanding 
something  of  a  breeze,  as  well  as  the  most  practised  man, 
and  without  showing  evidence  of  any  particular  suffering. 

There  were,  perhaps,  a  hundred  horses  offered  for  sale ; 
among  them  one  pair  only  of  fine  carriage-horses,  one  large 
and  fine  thorough  bred  cart-horse,  and  a  few  pretty  ponies. 
All  the  rest  were  very  ordinary  stout  working-horses,  much 
like  our  Pennsylvania  horses.  The  average  price  of  them 
was  but  a  trifle  over  $100,  about  what  they  would  bring  at 
New  York. 

There  were  still  fewer  cattle,  and  they  were  all  comprised 
in  three  breeds  and  their  intermixtures  :  first,  Hereford,  which 
predominated ;  second,  Welsh,  small,  low,  black  beasts,  with 
large  heads  and  white  faces,  black  muzzles  and  long  spread 
ing  horns ;  third,  Smutty  pates,  an  old  Welsh  breed  hardly  to 
be  found  in  purity  now.  They  are  longer  and  somewhat 
larger  than  Devons,  a  little  lighter  red  in  colour,  with  invari 
ably  black  or  brindle  faces.  They  were  generally  in  fair 
condition,  tolerable  feelers,  and  would  cut  up  particularly 
heavy  in  their  hind  quarters.  A  Smithfield  man  told  me  that 
he  thought  a  cross  of  this  breed  with  the  Hereford  made  the 
best  beef  in  the  world. 

After  dining  with  a  number  of  gentlemen,  most  of  whom 
had  come  from  a  distance  to  attend  the  fair,  I  took  a  walk 


A   REPULSE.— THE  MASTIFF.  211 

out  into  the  country  about  the  town.  The  only  object  of 
interest  that  I  remember  was  "Powis  Castle,"  the  seat  of  a 
nobleman,  finely  situated  in  a  picturesque,  mountain-side  park. 
The  castle  itself  is  upon  a  spur  of  the  mountain  and  is  entirely 
hidden  among  fine  evergreen  trees.  I  had  toiled  up  to  within 
about  ten  feet  of  the  edge  of  the  plateau  upon  which  it  stands, 
when  I  heard  a  low  deep  growl,  and  looking  up  saw  above  me 
a  great  dog  asking  me,  with  bristling  back,  curling  fangs,  and 
fierce  grinning  teeth,  what  business  I  had  to  be  there.  Con 
sidering  that  I  had  no  right  to  be  visiting  the  residence  of  a 
gentleman  who  was  a  stranger  to  me  unless  I  had  some  busi 
ness  with  him,  and  concluding  upon  short  reflection  that  in 
deed  I  had  none,  I  determined  upon  a  retrograde  movement, 
and  taking  care  not  to  attempt  even  to  apologize  to  his  dog- 
ship  for  the  intrusion  until  I  had  brought  a  few  trees  between 
us,  I  found  that  he  backed  down  just  about  as  fast  as  I  did,  so 
that  at  a  distance  of  half  a  dozen  rods  he  appeared  a  hand 
some,  smooth,  generous-natured  mastiff,  and  I  began  to  con 
sider  whether  the  earl  would  not  probably  be  pleased  to  have 
an  intelligent  stranger  see  the  beauty  of  his  castle ;  but  the 
moment  I  stopped,  the  dog's  lips  began  to  part  and  his  back  to 
rise  again,  and  I  concluded  that  whatever  the  earl's  wishes 
might  be,  I  could  not  make  it  convenient  just  then  to  accom 
modate  him  in  that  way,  and  returned  forthwith  to  the  village. 
The  true  mastiff  is  a  somewhat  rare  dog  in  England,  and  I 
dos  \  think  that  I  ever  saw  one  in  America.  He  is  very  large 
an-*  powerful,  and  smooth  haired. 


212  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

ENGLISH  VEHICLES. A  FEUDAL   CASTLE  AND  MODERN  ARISTOCRATIC  MANSION 

ARISTOCRACY    IN    1850. PRIMOGENITURE. DEMOCRATIC    TENDENCY    OF 

POLITICAL    SENTIMENTS. DISPOSITION    TOWARDS    THE     UNITED     STATES. 

COMBATIVENESS. SLAVERY. 

JAND  C.,  after  a  tramp  among  the  mountains  of  Wales, 
•  which  they  have  much  enjoyed,  reached  the  village  nearest 
to  where  I  was  visiting  last  night.     This  morning  a  party  was 

made  with  us  to  visit Castle.     We  were  driven  in  n 

"  Welsh  car,"  which  is  much  the  same  kind  of  vehicle  as  the 
two-wheeled  hackney  cabs  that  a  few  years  ago  filled  the 
streets  of  New  York,  and  then  suddenly  and  mysteriously 
disappeared.  Two-wheeled  vehicles  are  "  all  the  go"  in  En 
gland.  They  are  excessively  heavy  and  cumbrous  compared 
with  ours,  the  wheels  much  less  in  diameter,  and  they  must 
run  much  harder,  and  yet,  over  these  magnificent  roads,  they 
can  load  them  much  more  heavily. 

The  castle  is  on  high  ground,  in  the  midst  of  the  finest 
park  and  largest  trees  we  have  seen.  The  moat  is  filled  up, 
and  there  are  a  few  large  modern  windows  in  the  upper  part, 
otherwise  it  differs  but  little  probably  from  what  it  appeared 
in  the  time  of  the  crusaders.  The  whole  structure  is  in  the 
form  of  a  square  on  the  ground,  with  four  low  round  towers 
at  the  corners,  and  a  spacious  court-yard  in  the  centre.  The 
entrance  is  by  a  great  arched  gateway,  over  which  the  old 
portcullis  still  hangs. 


ARISTOCRATIC  LUXURY.  213 

We  were  kindly  shown  through  all  its  parts,  including 
much  not  ordinarily  exhibited  to  strangers,  and  I  confess  that 
I  was  not  more  interested  in  those  parts  which  were  its  pecu 
liar  features  as  a  feudal  stronghold,  than  in  those  that  dis 
played   the   sumptuous   taste,   luxury,  and   splendour  of  a 
modern  aristocratic  mansion.     The  state  apartments  were 
truly  palatial,  and  their  garniture  of  paintings,  sculpture, 
bijoutry,  furniture,  and  upholstery,  magnificent  and  delightful 
to  the  eye,  beyond  any  conception  I  had  previously  had  of 
such  things.     Let  no  one  say  it  will  be  soon  reproduced,  if  it 
is  not  already  excelled,  in  the  mansions  of  our  merchant- 
princes  in  America.     Excelled  it  may  be,  but  no  such  effect 
can  be  reproduced  or  furnished  at  once  to  the  order  of  taste 
and  wealth,  for  it  is  the  result  of  generations  of  taste  and 
wealth.     There  was  in  all,  never  a  marvellous  thing,  or  one 
that  demanded  especial  attention,  or  that  proclaimed  in  itself 
great  costliness  ;  and  while  nothing  seemed  new,  though  much 
was  modern,  most  of  the  old  things  were  of  such  materials, 
and  so  fashioned,  that  age  was  of  no  account,  and  not  a  word 
was  said  by  them  of  fleeting  time.    The  tone  of  all— yes,  the 
tone— musical  to  all  who  entered,  was,  Be  quiet  and  comfort 
able,  move  slowly  and  enjoy  what  is  nearest  to  you  without 
straining  your  eyes  or  your  admiration ;— nothing  to  excite 
curiosity  or  astonishment,  only  quiet  esthetic  contemplation 
and  calm  satisfaction. 

I  liked  it,  liked  to  be  in  it,  and  thought  that  if  I  had  come 
honestly  to  the  inheritance  of  it,  I  could  abandon  myself  to  a 
few  months  living  in  the  way  of  it  with  a  good  deal  of  heart. 
But  in  the  first  breath  of  this  day-dreaming  I  was  interrupted 
by  the  question,  Is  it  right  and  best  that  this  should  be  for 
the  few,  the  very  few  of  us,  when  for  many  of  the  rest  of  us 
there  must  be  but  bare  walls,  tile  floors  and  every  thing 
besides  harshly  screaming,  scrabble  for  life  1  This  question"" 


214  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

again,  was  immediately  shoved  aside  unanswered  "by  another, 
whether  in  this  nineteenth  century  of  the  carpenter's  son, 
and  first  of  vulgar,  whistling,  snorting,  roaring  locomotives, 
new-world  steamers,  and  submarine  electric  telegraphs  ; 
penny  newspapers,  state  free-schools,  and  mechanic's  lyce- 
urns,  this  still  soft  atmosphere  of  elegant  longevity  was  ex 
actly  the  most  favourable  for  the  production  of  thorough, 
sound,  influential  manhood,  and  especially  for  the  growth 
of  the  right  sort  of  legislators  and  lawgivers  for  the  peo- 
pie. 

It  seems  certainly  that  it  would  be  hard  for  a  man  whose 
mind  has  been  mainly  formed  and  habited  in  the  midst  of 
this  abundance  of  quiet,  and  beauty,  and  pleasantness,  tc 
rightly  understand  and  judiciously  work  for  the  wants  of 
those  whose  "native  air"  is  as  different  from  this  as  is  that 
of  another  planet.  Especially  hard  must  it  be  to  look  witl 
perfect  honesty  and  appreciating  candour  upon  principles 
ideas,  measures  that  are  utterly  discordant  with,  and  threater 
to  interrupt,  this  costly  nursery  song  to  which  his  philosophy 
religion,  and  habits  have  been  studiously  harmonized. 

Hard,  by  the  way,  very  hard  sometimes,  must  be  the 
trial  of  a  younger  son  in  one  of  these  families.  One  son  only 
is  the  real  son,  to  sympathize  with  and  make  his  own,  his 
father's  interests,  arrangements,  and  hopes ;  the  others  are 
but  hangers-on  for  a  time,  and  while  so  must  grow  accus 
tomed  to  all  this  beauty  and  splendour — must  be  enhomea 
to  it,  and  then  they  are  thrust  out  and  return  only  as  inferior? 
or  as  guests. 

Strange  !  I  find  this  monstrous  primogeniture  seems  nat 
ural  and  Heaven-inspired  law  to  Englishmen.  I  can  conceive 
how,  in  its  origin,  it  might  have  been  so — in  the  patriarchal 
state,  where  it  was  the  general  direction  of  the  common  in 
heritance,  rather  than  the  inheritance  itself,  that  was  taken  b\ 


DEMOCRATIC  TENDENCY.  215 

the  eldest  of  each  succeeding  generation ;  but  in  modern  civ 
ilized  society,  with  its  constant  re-familization,  and  in  En 
gland  especially,  where  immediate  isolated  domiciliation  of 
every  newly-wedded  pair  is  deemed  essential  to  harmony 
and  happiness,  it  seems  to  me  more  naturally  abhorrent  and 
wrong  than  polygamy  or  chattel-slavery. 

Doubtless,  if  you  take  it  up  as  a  matter  to  be  reasoned 
upon,  there  is  much  to  be  said  for  it,  as  there  is  for  slavery, 
or,  among  the  Turks,  for  extra  wiveing,  I  suppose  ;— and  first,  I 
fully  appreciate  that  without  it,  could  in  no  way  be  sustained 
such  noble  buildings  and  grounds — national  banner-bearers 
of  dignity — schools  of  art  and  systematic  encouragement  of 
art,  and  perhaps  I  should  add,  systematic,  enterprising  ag 
ricultural  improvements,  such  as  this  of  five  thousand  acres 
thorough-drained  in  the  best  manner,  by  the  conviction  of  its 
profit  in  one  man's  brain  instead  of  fifty  men's,  as  it  must  be 
with  us.  And  finally,  it  may  be  that  for  some  few,  there  is 
sustained  by  it  a  local  home,  a  family  nucleus,  more  perma 
nently  than  it  can  be  with  us. 

But  there  is  every  thing  to  be  said  against  it,  too,  that 
there  is  against  an  aristocratical  government  and  society,  for 
the  customs  of  primogeniture  and  entail  are  in  fact  the  basis 
of  aristocracy.  And  between  an  aristocratical  government 
and  society,  with  all  its  dignities,  and  amenities,  and  refine 
ments,  and  a  democracy  with  all  its  dangers,  and  annoy 
ances,  and  humiliations,  I  do  not  believe  that  any  man  that 
has  had  fair  observation  of  our  two  countries,  and  who  is  not 
utterly  faithless  in  God  and  man,  a  thorough  coward,  or 
whose  judgment  ys  not  shamefully  warped  by  prejudice,  habit, 
or  selfishness,  can  hesitate  a  moment.  I  think  that  few  En- 
glishmen,  few  even  of  the  English  nobility,  and  no  English 
statesman,  would  advise  us  to  return  to  their  system.  I  think 
that  most  of  them  would  be  sorry  to  believe  that  England 


216  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

herself  would  fail  of  being  a  democratic  nation  a  hundred 
years  hence. 

This  opinion  has  been  strengthened  by  the  further  ac 
quaintance  I  have  had  with  Englishmen.  I  have  little  doubt 
that  the  majority  of  those  who  ultimately  control  the  British 
government,  do  wish  and  purpose,  as  fast  as  it  may  be  expe 
dient,  to  extend  the  elective  franchise  until  it  shall  become 
universal  male  adult  suffrage.  That  they  do  not  do  this  as 
fast  as  we  should  think  expedient,  is  probably  to  be  explained 
by  the  fact  that  they  have  not  yet  experienced,  and  cannot 
see  with  sufficient  faith,  how  very  rapidly,  in  God's  provi 
dence,  the  self-governing  strength  and  discernment  of  a  man 
is  stimulated  and  increased  by  the  freedom  to  exercise  it. 
And  yet  one  would  think  that  it  was  on  this  that  they  de 
pended  alone,  so  entirely  indifferent  are  they  in  general  to 
the  educational  preparation  of  their  subject  class  to  enter  the 
sovereign  class. 

It  may  be  proper  for  me  here  to  record  my  observation 
of  the  general  disposition  of  the  English  people  towards  our 
nation,  which  I  confess  I  did  not  find  to  be  exactly  what  I  had 
anticipated,  and  which  I  think  must  be  generally  much  mis 
conceived  in  the  United  States. 

There  is  a  certain  class  of  the  English,  conservative  whigs 
more  than  tories,  as  I  met  them,  that  look  upon  the  United 
States  people  as  a  nation  of  vulgar,  blustering,  impertinent, 
rowdy  radicals  ;  very  much  as  a  certain  set  with  us  look  up 
on  the  young  mechanics  and  butcher-boys  of  the  town — 
troublesome,  dangerous,  and  very  "  low,"  but  who  are  neces 
sary  to  put  out  fires,  and  whose  votes  are  of  value  at  elec 
tions,  and  whom  it  therefore  pays  to  make  some  occasional 
show  of  respect  to,  and  it  is  best  to  keep  on  civil  terms  with. 
A  considerable  number  of  snobbish,  pretending,  awkwardly 


FEELING-   TOWARDS  THE   UNITED  STATES.          217 

positioned,  sub-aristocratic,  super-sensible  people,  that  swear 
by  the  Times,  and  have  taken  their  cue  from  Trollope,  follow 
in  their  wake.  But  the  great  mass  of  the  educated  classes 
regard  us  very  differently  ;  not  with  unqualified  respect  and 
unalloyed  admiration,  but  much  as  we  of  the  Atlantic  States 
regard  our  own  California  —  a  wild,  dare-devil,  younger 
brother,  with  some  most  dangerpus  and  reprehensible  habits, 
and  some  most  noble  qualities,  a  capital  fellow,  in  fact,  if  he 
would  but  have  done  sowing  his  wild  oats. 

This  may  be  well  enough  understood  in  the  United  States, 
but  further,  there  is  not  in  the  English  people,  so  far  as  I 
have  seen  them,  rich  or  poor,  learned  or  ignorant,  high  or 
low,  the  slighest  soreness  or  rancorous  feeling  on  account  of 
our  separation  from  them,  or  our  war  of  separation.  Of  our 
success  as  a  republic  many  of  their  aristocratic  politicians 
are  no  doubt  jealous ;  and  many  having  naval  and  military 
tastes,  do  not  feel  quite  satisfied  to  hear  our  everlasting  boast 
ing  about  the  last  war,  and  would  like  to  have  another  round  or 
two  with  us  to  satisfy  themselves  that  they  know  how  to  fight 
'a  ship,  if  they  don't  know  how  to  build  her,  as  well  as  we. 
There  is  also  a  party  of  "  aged  women  of  both  sexes,"  that 
worship  the  ghost  of  that  old  fool,  "  the  good  king  George," 
who,  I  suppose,  look  upon  us  with  unaffected  horror,  as  they 
do  equally  upon  their  own  dissenters  and  liberals.  Yet  it 
never  happened  to  me,  though  I  met  and  conversed  freely 
with  all  classes,  except  the  noble,  while  I  was  in  England,  to 
encounter  the  first  man  who  did  not  think  that  we  did  exactly 
right,  or  who  was  sorry  that  we  succeeded  as  we  did  in  de 
claring  and  maintaining  our  independence. 

The  truth  is  that,  at  that  time,  the  great  mass  of  thinking 
men  in  England  were  much  of  that  opinion.  Our  war  was 
with  king  George  and  his  cabinet,  not  with  the  people  of  En 
gland,  and  if  they  did  reluctantly  sustain  the  foolish  measures 

19 


218  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

of  the  king,  it  was  precisely  as  our  Whigs,  who  were  opposed 
to  the  measures  that  led  to  the  war  with  Mexico,  sustained, 
with  money  and  with  blood,  that  war  when  it  did  come.  Jt 
is  a  remarkable  thing,  that  I  have  noticed  that  there  are  many 
men  in  England  who  were  born  at  the  time  of,  or  shortly 
subsequent  to  our  revolutionary  war,  who  are  named  after 
the  American  heroes  of  that  war,  Washington,  Jefferson,  and 
Franklin. 

This  and  other  circumstances,  early  in  my  visit  to  En 
gland,  made  me  reflect  that  the  hostile  feeling  of  the  people 
had  never  been  deeply  engaged  against  us,  while  it  soon  be 
came  also  evident  that  very  much  less  of  so  much  hostility  as 
they  once  had  towards  us,  had  descended  to  the  present,  than 
we  are  in  the  habit  of  calculating  for. 

The  reason  of  the  great  difference  in  this  respect  of  the 
popular  feeling  in  the  two  countries  is  evident,  though  it  often 
extremely  puzzles  and  offends  a  liberal  Englishman  who  has 
been  in  the  habit  of  looking  with  the  greatest  feeling  of  fra 
ternity  towards  the  people  of  the  United  States,  to  find  him 
self  when  he  comes  among  them  expected  in  all  his  opinions 
and  feelings  to  be  either  a  traitor  to  his  own  country  or  an 
enemy  of  ours.  It  is  easily  explained  however. 

There  is  a  love  of  hostility  in  our  nature  that  wants  some 
object  to  direct  itself  towards.  Seventy  years  ago,  and  forty 
years  ago,  that  object  to  us  as  a  nation  was  the  kingdom  of 
Great  Britain.  No  other  object  until  within  a  few  years  has 
been  offered  to  us  to  weaken  that  traditional  hostility.  All 
our  military  and  naval  glory,  the  most  blazing,  though  by  no 
means  the  most  valuable,  jewels  of  our  national  pride,  have 
been  our  victories  in  war  with  Great  Britain.  Almost  our 
only  national  holidays  have  been  in  a  great  part  exultations 
over  our  successful  hostilities  with  Great  Britain.  "  The  ene 
my"  and  "  the  British,"  came  to  me  from  my  fighting  grand- 


THE  AMERICAN  RE  VOL  UTION.  219 

father  as  synonymous  terms.  When  I  was  a  child  I  never 
saw  an  Englishman  but  I  was  on  my  guard  against  him  as  a 
spy,  and  would  look  behind  the  fences  to  see  that  there  was 
no  ambuscade  of  red-coats.  I  made  secret  coverts  about  the 
house,  so  that  when  they  came  to  sack  and  burn  it,  and  take 
our  women  and  children  and  household  gods  into  captivity,  I 
could  lay  in  wait  to  rescue  them.  In  our  school-boy  games 
the  beaten  party  was  always  called  "British"  (the  term 
"  Britisher"  I  never  saw  except  in  a  British  book  or  heard  ex 
cept  in  England).  If  a  law  was  odious  it  was  termed  a 
British  law ;  if  a  man  was  odious  he  was  called  an  "  old  Tory  ;" 
and  it  has  been  with  us  a  common  piece  of  blackguardism  till 
within  a  short  time,  if  not  now,  to  speak  of  those  of  an  oppo 
sing  party  as  under  British  influence. 

The  war  had  been  with  us  a  war  of  the  people ;  not  a 
woman  as  she  sipped  her  tea  but  imbibed  hatred  to  the 
taxing  British,  and  suckled  her  offspring  with  its  nourish 
ment  ;  not  a  man  of  spunk  in  the  country  but  was  hand  to 
hand  fighting  with  the  British,  and  teaching  his  sons  never  to 
yield  to  them. 

In  England,  on  the  other  hand,  comparatively  few  of 
the  people  knew  or  cared  at  all  about  the  war ;  even  the 
soldiers  engaged  in  it  were  in  considerable  numbers  mere 
hirelings  from  another  people,  whom  the  true  English  would 
have  rather  seen  whipped  than  not,  so  far  as  they  had  any 
national  feeling  about  it.  Their  hostile  feeling  was  even  then 
more  directed  towards  France  than  towards  America ;  and 
now,  I  do  not  believe  there  is  one  in  a  thousand  of  the  people 
of  England  that  has  the  slightest  feeling  of  hostility  towards 
us,  descending  or  inherited,  from  that  time.  It  was  much  so 
again  in  the  later  war.  England  was  at  war  with  half  the 
world  in  those  days,  and  if  a  general  disposition  of  enmity 
towards  us  had  been  at  all  aroused  in  the  course  of  it,  all 


220  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

recollection  of  it  was  lost  in  the  fiercer  wars  with  other  na 
tions  that  immediately  followed.  I  doubt  if  one-half  the 
voters  of  England  could  tell  the  name  of  a  single  ship  en 
gaged  in  the  war  of  1812 ;  whether  it  was  General  Hull  or 
Commodore  Hull  that  was  heroized  in  it ;  whether,  in  the 
assault  upon  New  Orleans  or  Washington,  it  was  that  their 
forces  were  successful ;  or  whether,  finally,  they  carried  or 
lost  the  diplomatic  point  for  which  their  soldiers  and  sailors 
had  been  set  to  fighting. 

Even  if  the  people  of  England  could  remember  us  equally 
among  other  important  nations  as  their  enemy,  it  would  be 
a  very  different  feeling  towards  us  that  it  would  lead  to,  from 
the  remembrance  of  us  as  their  old  and  only  enemy  ;  so  that 
not  only  was  our  original  share  of  the  hostile  feeling  of  the 
people  of  England  a  very  small  one,  being  principally  con 
fined  to  the  king  and  his  sycophants,  and  the  idolaters  of  the 
divine  right,  but  the  pugnacious  element  in  the  nature  of  an 
Englishman,  of  our  day,  is  directed  by  much  more  vivid 
remembrances  towards  France,  or  Spain,  or  Germany,  than 
towards  us. 

Nothing  can  be  more  friendly  than  the  general  disposition 
•of  the  English  people  at  present  towards  us.  The  liberals,  espe 
cially,  have  great  respect  for  us,  and  look  upon  us  as  their  allies 
against  the  world  of  injustice,  oppression,  and  bigotry.  (Just 
now  the  free-traders,  however,  seem  to  be  a  little  miffed  with  us 
because  we  have  not  gone  over  stock  and  fluke  all  at  once  to  per 
fect  reciprocity  with  them,  and  the  Tories  are  consequently  our 
greatest  flatterers.)  The  uneducated,  common  people  in  gen 
eral  know  no  difference  between  America  and  Russia,  but  the 
more  intelligent  of  the  working  classes  are  often  very  fairly 
informed  with  regard  to  our  country,  and  are  our  most  sin 
cere  admirers  and  friends.  All  the  more  sober  and  religious 
people  have  a  great  horror  of  our  slavery  and  of  the  occasional 


THE  RADICALS  AND  SLAVERY.  221 

Lynch-law  performances  on  our  western  border,  of  which  they 
always  get  the  first  and  darkest  reports,  and  none  of  the  cor 
rections  and  extenuating  circumstances  that  come  in  later 
and  cooler  despatches.  On  slavery  they  are  usually  greatly 
misinformed,  and  view  it  only  as  an  unmitigated  and  wholly 
inexcusable  wrong,  injustice,  and  barbarous  tyranny  for  which 
all  Americans  are  equally  responsible,  and  all  equally  con- 
demnable,  and  with  regard  to  which  all  are  to  be  held  respon 
sible,  and  everlastingly  to  be  scolded  at  (except  a  few  mar 
tyrs,  called  abolitionists,  that  obtain  a  precarious  livelihood 
through  their  contributions).  The  Chartists  and  Radicals, 
too,  are  generally  down  very  hard  upon  an  American  about 
slavery,  and  are  commonly  grossly  misinformed  about  it.  I 
wish  our  Southern  brethren  would  send  a  few  lecturers  upon 
the  subject  to  England;  the  abolitionists  have  it  all  their  own 
way  there  now,  and  take  advantage  of  it  to  give  the  ignorant 
people  ideas  about  our  country  which  it  is  very  desirable 
should  be  contradicted.  I  wish  especially  that  they  could 
make  them  comprehend  how  it  is  that  we  at  the  north  have 
nothing  to  do  with  their  peculiar  institution,  and  are  not  to 
be  expected  to  carry  pistols  and  bowie-knives  and  fight  every 
body  that  chooses  to  attack  it  all  over  the  world.  This  is 
no  more  nor  less  than  a  great  many  people  in  some  parts  of 
England  seem  to  expect,  when  they  are  told  that  one  is  an 
American,  and  it  comes  sometimes  to  be  a  regular  bore  to  a 
traveller  to  have  to  disappoint  them.  There  is,  in  truth,  a 
hundred  times  more  hard  feeling  in  England  towards  Amer 
ica  from  this  cause,  than  from  all  others,  and  it  is  unfortu 
nately  strongest  with  the  most  earnestly  republican  and  radi 
cally  democratic  of  her  citizens. 

Within  this  year  or  two  there  has  been  much  more  interest 
with  regard  to  America  among  all  classes  in  England  than 
previously,  more  hope  and  more  fear  of  us  than  ever  before. 

19* 


222  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

The  works  of  our  best  authors — Irving,  Emerson,  Bancroft, ' 
Bryant,  Channing,  Cooper,  Hawthorne,  and  Whittier — are, 
many  of  them,  as  well  known  and  as  generally  read  in  En 
gland  as  in  America.  The  introduction  of  American  provi 
sions,  cutting  under  the  native  products,  has  brought  even  the 
farmers  to  scowlingly  glance  at  us,  and  as,  just  at  this  time, 
most  of  them  are  forced  to  be  thinking  of  emigration  for 
themselves  or  their  children,  they  are  generally  disposed  to 
honestly  inquire  about  us.  Among  all  making  inquiries  of 
me,  I  never  found  one  to  whom  our  form  of  government 
was  an  objection.  Finally,  the  present  of  food  which,  in  the 
famine,  we  sent  to  Ireland — a  most  mean  portion  out  of  our 
plenty  and  superabundance  to  dole  out  to  an  actual  STARVING 
neighbour,  a  most  unworthy  expression  of  our  Christian  chari 
ty  and  brotherly  regard  for  her,  it  has  always  seemed  to  me, 
but  such  as  it  was — obtained  for  us  not  only  in  Ireland,  but 
all  through  Great  Britain,  a  strange  degree  of  a  sort  of  affec 
tionate  respect,  not  altogether  unmingled  with  jealousy  and 
soreness  because  they  cannot  pay  it  back. 

Altogether,  considering  the  exceedingly  queer  company 
English  travellers  seem  usually  to  keep  when  in  the  United 
States,  and  the  atrocious  caricatures  in  which,  with  few  excep 
tions,  they  have  represented  our  manners  and  customs  to  their 
countrymen,  I  was  surprised  at  the  general  respect  and  the 
degree  of  correct  appreciation  of  us  that  I  commonly  found. 
There  is  no  country  not  covered  by  a  British  flag  in  the  world, 
that  the  British  of  1850  have  any  thing  like  the  degree  of 
sympathy  with,  and  affection  for,  that  they  have  for  the  United 
States. 

On  the  other  hand,  it  is  happily  evident,  that  since  our 
war  with  Mexico  has  given  us  a  new  military  glory,  it  has 
also  diverted  our  national  combativeness,  in  a  degree,  from 
our  old  enemy,  and  that  since  the  English  liberals  in  so  many 


OCEAN  PENNY  POSTAGE.  223 

ways,  if  not  very  valuable,  at  least  as  much  so  as  ours,  have 
shown  their  sympathy  and  desire  to  assist  our  common  breth 
ren  struggling  for  freedom  on  the  Continent ;  since  the  lynch 
ing  of  the  Butcher  of  Austria  by  the  beer-men  of  Bankside, 
and  the  general  exultation  of  the  British  people  over  it ;  since 
the  general  intercommunication  between  the  countries  has  been 
made  so  much  more  frequent  and  speedy,  and  cheaper  than  it 
used  to  be,  the  disposition  of  our  people  towards  the  British 
has  been  much  less  suspicious,  guarded,  and  quarrelsome  than 
it  very  naturally,  if  not  very  reasonably,  was,  until  within  a 
few  years. 

God  grant  that  every  tie  grow  constantly  tighter  that  binds 
us  together  to  peace,  and  to  mutual  assistance  and  co-labour — 
for  justice,  for  freedom,  for  the  salvation  of  the  world.  If  there 
is  any  body  who  does  not  heartily  say  Amen  to  this,  I  com 
mend  him  to  Elihu  Burritt ;  and  all  who  do,  I  call  upon,  from 
him,  to  go  to  work  for  OCEAN  PENNY  POSTAGE — so  shall  our 
prayer  not  fail.  (See  Appendix,  B.) 


224  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

PAINTINGS. — CROMWELL. — PASTORAL    SHIPS. FAMILY    PORTRAITS    AND    DIS 
TANT   RELATIONS. FAMILY    APARTMENTS. PERSONAL    CLEANLINESS. THB 

WREKIN. 

THE  pictures  which  most  interested  me  were  portraits  of 
Cromwell  and  Charles,  one  of  Rubens,  two  of  very  beau 
tiful  women  of  the  family,  by  Sir  Peter  Lely,  a  female  face  by 
Carlo  Dolci,  and  two  or  three  little  things  by  Rubens.  The 
portrait  of  Cromwell  appears  as  if  he  might  have  sat  for  it,  as, 
if  I  remember  rightly,  is  asserted.  It  looks  like  one's  idea 
of  him,  but  not  in  the  best  light  of  his  character — a  melan 
choly,  sour,  deep,  stern  face. 

There  is  a  large  landscape  representing  a  brook  tumbling 
over  a  rock  into  the  sea,  on  which  is  a  fleet  of  shipping.  The 
story  is,  that  it  was  painted  by  a  French  artist  on  a  visit  here, 
and  when  first  exhibited  had,  in  place  of  the  sea,  a  broad 

meadow  through  which  the  brook  meandered.  Lady 

suggested  that  a  few  sheep  on  the  broad  green  ground  of  the 
meadow  would  be  a  pleasing  addition.  "  Sheeps  !  mi  lady  V 
said  the  chagrined  artist,  "suppose  you  better  like  it  with 
sheeps,  I  shall  make  de  sheeps :"  and  so  he  painted  a  blue 
sea  over  the  green  meadow,  and  abruptly  embouched  his 

brook  into  it,  that  he  might  appropriately  gratify  Lady *'s 

maritime  penchant. 

Among  the  family  portraits  one  was  shown  having  a  title 


INTERIOR  DECORATIONS.  225 

that  sounded  familiarly  to  us,  and  after  a  moment's  thought 
we  both  remembered  it  to  be  that  of  the  single  nobleman 
whom  an  antiquarian  friend  had  informed  us  that  our  family 
had  been,  long  before  its  emigration  with  the  Plymouth  Pil 
grims,  by  marriage  connected  with.  If  it  had  been  a  Scotch 
castle,  we  might  perhaps  have  felt  ourselves  a  good  deal  more 
at  home  in  consequence.  It  was  an  odd  coincidence,  and 
made  us  realize  the  relationship  of  our  democracy  even  to 
aristocratic  England  quite  vividly.* 

In  consideration  of  this  I  think  I  may  say  a  few  words  of 
the  private  apartments  of  the  family,  through  nearly  all  which, 
apparently,  we  were  shown.  They  were  comparatively  small, 
not  larger,  or  more  numerous,  or  probably  as  expensively  fur 
nished  as  those  of  many  of  our  wealthy  New  York  mercantile 
families  ;  but  some  of  them  were  very  delightful,  and  would 
be  most  tempting  of  covetousness  to  a  man  of  domestic  tastes 
or  to  a  lover  of  art  or-  of  literary  ease.  Generally  there  was 
most  exquisite  taste  evident  in  colours  and  arrangements  and 
forms  of  furniture,  and  there  were  proofs  of  high  artistic  skill 
in  some  members  of  the  family,  as  well  as  a  general  love  and 
appreciation  of  the  beautiful  and  the  excellent.  Some  of  the 
rooms  were  painted  in  very  high  colours,  deep  blue  and 
scarlet  and  gold,  and  in  bizarre  figures  and  lines.  I  hardly 
could  tell  how  it  would  please  me  if  I  were  accustomed  to  it, 
but  I  did  not  much  admire  it  at  first  sight ;  it  did  not  seem 
English  or  home-like.  It  is  just  the  thing  for  New  York 
though,  and  I  have  no  doubt  you'll  soon  see  the  fashion  in 
troduced  there,  and  dining-rooms,  dressing-rooms,  counting- 
rooms,  and  steamboat  state-rooms  all  equally  flaring. 

*  In  speaking  of  our  relationship  as  a  nation  to  England,  I  do  not  mean 
to  ignore  our  relationship  also  to  other  nations.  I  think  Mr.  Eobinson 
has  very  conclusively  proved  that,  taking  the  people  of  the  United  States 
altogether,  the  majority  are  by  no  means  of  Anglo-Saxon  origin. 


226  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

The  bed-chambers  and  dressing-rooms  were  furnished  to 
look  exceedingly  cosy  and  comfortable,  but  there  was  nothing 
very  remarkable  about  them,  except,  perhaps,  the  immense 
preparation  made  for  washing  the  person.  I  confess  if  I  had 
been  quartered  in  one  of  them,  I  should  have  needed  all  my 
Yankee  capabilities  to  guess  in  what  way  I  could  make  a  good 
use  of  it  all. 

There  is  a  story  told  of  two  members  of  our  legislature 
that  came  together  from  "  the  rural  districts,"  and  were  fellow- 
lodgers.  One  of  them  was  rather  mortified  by  the  rough  ap 
pearance  of  his  companion  who  was  of  the  "  bone-and-sinew" 
sort,  and  by  way  of  opening  a  conversation  in  which  he  could 
give  him  a  few  hints,  complained  of  the  necessity  which  a 
Representative  was  under  to  pay  so  much  for  "  washing." 
"  How  often  do  you  shift  1"  said  the  Hon.  Simon  Pure. 
"  Why,  of  course  I  have  to  change  my  linen  every  day,"  he 
answered.  "  You  do  ?"  responded  his  unabashed  friend. 
"  Why,  what  an  awful  dirty  man  you  must  be  !  I  can  always 
make  mine  last  a  week." 

Among  the  other  bedrooms  there  were  two  with  their  beds 
which  had  been  occupied  by  kings.  I  do  not  recollect  any 
thing  peculiar  in  their  appearance. 

The  ball-room,  or  ancient  banqueting-room,  was  a  grand 
hall  (120  feet  long,  I  should  think),  with  a  good  deal  of  inter 
esting  old  furniture,  armour,  relics,  &c.  It  also  contained  bil 
liard-tables,  and  other  conveniences  for  in-door  exercise.  A 
secret  door,  cut  through  the  old  oak  wainscot  which  lined  its 
wall,  admitted  us  to  the  private  apartments. 

We  peeped  into  a  kind  of  broad  well  into  which  prisoners 
used  to  be  lowered  like  butter  for  safe  keeping,  and  ascended 
to  the  battlements  of  one  of  the  towers,  from  which  there  is  a 
very  extensive  and  beautiful  view,  extending  it  is  said  into 
sixteen  counties.  A  gauzy  blue  swelling  on  the  horizon  was 


A  BORDER  FORTRESS.  227 

pointed  to  as  the  Wrekin,  a  high  mountain — the  highest 
in  midland  England ;  hence  the  generous  old  toast,  "  To  all 
around  the  Wrekin."  We  were  let  out  through  a  narrow 
postern,  which  gave  us  an  opportunity  to  see  the  thickness  of 
the  wall :  it  was  ten  feet,  and  in  some  parts  it  was  said  to  be 
sixteen, — of  solid  stone  and  mortar.  The  castle  was  a  border 
fortress  of  Wales,  on  the  dyke  or  ancient  military  wall  between 
that  country  and  England,  remains  of  which  can  be  seen  run 
ning  each  way  from  it.  It  has  withstood  many  sieges,  the 
last  by  Cromwell,  the  effect  of  whose  artillery  upon  it  is 
largely  manifest  within  the  court.  A  decree  of  the  long  par 
liament  is  on  record  ordering  it  to  be  razed  to  the  ground. 


228  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

VISIT  TO  A  FARM. FARM-HOUSE   AND   FARMERY. FATTING    CATTLE. SHEEP, 

VETCHES. — STOCK    YARD. — STEAM     THRESHING. TURNIP    SOWING. EX 
CELLENT  WORK. TRAM  ROAD. WAGES. 

IN  the  afternoon  we  were  taken  to  visit  a  farmer  who  was 
considered  about  the  best  in  the  district  (Shropshire).  The 
house  was  in  the  middle  of  a  farm  of  three  hundred  acres,  and 
was  approached  by  a  narrow  lane ;  there  were  no  grounds  but 
a  little  court  yard,  with  a  few  trees  in  it,  in  front  of  the  house, 
which  was  a  snug,  two-story,  plain  brick  building. 

On  entering,  we  found  the  farmer,  a  stout  elderly  man, 
sitting  alone  at  a  dinner-table,  on  which  were  dishes  of  fruit 
and  decanters.  He  insisted  on  our  joining  him,  and  we  were 
obliged  to  sit  some  time  with  him  over  his  wine  while  he 
talked  of  free-trade  and  questioned  us  how  low  we  could  afford 
to  send  wheat  from  America,  and  how  large  the  supply  was 
likely  to  be. 

He  then  led  us  into  the  farmery,  which  was  close  by  the 
house,  the  rear  door  almost  opening  into  a  cattle  yard.  I  men 
tion  this  as  it  would  be  considered  extraordinary  for  an  Ameri 
can  gentleman  who  could  afford  wines  at  his  dinner,  to  be  con 
tent  with  such  an  arrangement.  There  was  not  the  least 
attempt  at  ornament  anywhere  to  be  seen,  beyond  the  few 
trees  and  rose-bushes  in  the  enclosure  of  a  rod  or  two.,  in  front 
of  the  house :  not  the  least  regard  had  been  had  to  beauty  ex- 


> 


A   SHROPSHIRE  FARMERY.  229 

cept  the  beauty  of  fitness,  but  every  thing  was  neat,  useful, 
well  ordered,  and  thoroughly  made  of  the  best  material — the 
barns,  stables,  and  out-buildings  of  hewn  stone,  with  slated 
roofs,  grout  floors,  and  iron  fixtures.  The  cattle  stables  were 
roomy,  well  ventilated  and  drained,  their  mangers  of  stone 
and  iron ;  fastenings,  sliding  chains ;  food,  fresh-cut  vetches, 
and  the  cattle  standing  knee  deep  in  straw. 

The  fatting  cattle  were  the  finest  lot  I  ever  saw,  notwith 
standing  the  forty  finest  cows  that  had  been  wintered  had  been 
sold  within  a  fortnight.  These  forty  had  been  fattened  on  ruta 
baga  and  oil-cake,  and  their  average  weight  was  over  10  cwt., 
some  of  them  weighing  over  12  cwt.  They  were  mostly  short 
horns.  Those  remaining  were  mostly  Hereford  bullocks. 

Sheep  were  fatting  on  a  field  of  heavy  vetches :  Cheviots 
and  Leicesters,  and  crosses  of  these  breeds. 

The  VETCH  is  a  plant  in  appearance  something  like  a  dwarf 
pea ;  it  is  sown  in  the  autumn  upon  wheat  stubble,  grows  very 
rapidly,  and  at  this  season  gives  a  fine  supply  of  green  food, 
when  it  is  very  valuable.  It  requires  a  rich,  clean  soil,  but 
grows  well  on  clay  lands.  I  think  it  has  not  been  found  to 
succeed  well  in  the  United  States. 

In  the  rear  of  the  barns  was  a  yard  half  filled  with  very 
large  and  beautifully  made-up  stacks  of  hay,  wheat,  oats,  and 
peas.  The  hay  was  of  rye-grass,  a  much  finer  (smaller)  sort 
than  our  timothy.  The  peas  were  thatched  with  wheat-straw. 
The  grain  stacks  were  very  beautiful,  several  of  them 
stood  three  years,  and  could  not  be  distinguished  from  tho 
made  last  year.  The  butts  of  the  straw  had  been  all  turn/a 
over  at  regular  distances,  those  of  one  tier  to  the  top  of  t/at 
below  it,  and  driven  in,  so  the  stack  appeared  precisely  f>  if 
it  had  been  served  with  straw-rope,  and  I  supposed  that  ^had 
been,  until  I  was  told.  The  threshing  of  the  farm  is  d/ne  by 
Bteam,  the  engine  being  in  the  stack-yard,  the  furnac/under- 

20 


230  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

ground,  and  the  smoke  and  sparks  being  carried  off  by  a 
subterranean  flue  to  a  tall  chimney  a  hundred  yards  distant. 
(I  have  seen  a  hundred  steam-engines  in  stackyards  since, 
without  this  precaution,  and  never  heard  of  a  fire  occasioned 
by  the  practice.) 

The  grain  on  the  farm  had  all  been  sowed  in  drills.  The 
proprietor  said  that  if  he  could  be  sure  of  having  the  seed 
perfectly  distributed,  he  should  prefer  broad-cast  sowing  (i.  e., 
as  well  as  a  first-rate  sower  could  distribute  it  in  a  perfectly 
calm  day).  The  wheat  was  the  strongest  we  have '  yet  seen, 
and  of  remarkably  equal  height,  and  uniform  dark  colour.  The 
ground  was  almost  wholly  free  from  weeds,  and  the  wheat 
was  not  expected  to  be  hoed. 

We  found  fourteen  men  engaged  in  preparing  a  field  for  tur 
nips  :  opening  drills  with  plough,  carting  dung,  which  had  been 
heaped  up,  turned,  and  made  fine,  distributing  it  along  the  drills, 
ploughs  covering  it  immediately,  and  forming  ridges  27  inches 
apart  over  it ;  after  all,  a  peculiar  iron-roller,  formed  so  as  to 
fit  the  ridges  and  furrows,  followed,  leaving  the  field  precisely 
like  a  fluted  collar.  The  ridges  were  as  straight  as  the  lines 
of  a  printed  page ;  and  any  inequality,  to  the  height  of  half  an 
inch,  was  removed  by  the  equal  pressing  of  the  roller.  A 
more  perfect  piece  of  work  could  not  be  conceived  of.  Seed 
(3  Ibs.  to  the  acre)  will  be  sown  immediately  on  the  ridges, 
by  a  machine  opening,  dropping,  closing,  and  rolling  six  drills 
at  once.  The  field  is  thorough-drained  (as  is  all  the  farm, 
ftree  feet  deep)  and  sub-soil  ploughed. 

I  saw  no  farming  that  pleased  me  better  than  this  in  all 
England.  It  was  no  gentleman  or  school  fanning,  but  was 
directed  by  an  old  man,  all  his  life  a  fanner,  on  a  leased  farm, 
without  the  least  thought  of  taste  or  fancy  to  be  gratified,  but 
with  an  eye  single  to  quick  profit ;  with  a  prejudice  against 
"  high  farming,"  indeed,  because  it  is  advised  by  the  free-tra- 


1 


FARM-ROAD.— WAGES.  231 

ders  as  a  remedy  for  low  prices.  He  declared  no  money  was 
to  be  made  by  farming :  do  his  best,  he  could  not  pay  his 
rent  and  leave  himself  a  profit  under  the  present  prices.  He 
had  been  holding  on  to  his  wheat  for  three  years  in  hopes  of 
a  rise,  but  now  despaired  of  it,  except  the  protective  policy 
was  returned  to. 

There  was  a  coal  mine  and  lime-kiln  on  the  farm,  and  a 
tram-road  from  it  to  the  railroad  about  two  miles  distant.  A 
tram-road  is  a  narrow  track  of  wooden  rails,  on  which  cars 
are  moved  by  stationary  power  or  horses.  On  extensive 
farms  they  might  be  advantageously  made  use  of.  A  road 
running  through  the  barns  and  out-buildings  of  a  farmstead, 
on  which  straw,  feed,  dung,  &c.,  could  be  easily  moved  by 
hand,  would  cost  but  little,  and  often  afford  a  great  saving  of 
labour. 

The  fences  were  all  of  hawthorn,  low,  and  close-trimmed. 

The  farm  servants  had  from  $65  to  $75  a  year  and  their 
board.  (The  very  next  day  a  man  told  me  he  paid  just  half 
these  sums.)  Day-labourers  from  $2  to  $2.50  a  week  (fair 
weather)  and  board  themselves.  A  boy  just  over  fourteen 
years  old  (under  which  age  it  is  by  law  forbidden)  told  me 
he  worked  in  the  coal  mines  for  sixteen  cents  a  dar. 


°32  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

VISIT  TO  TWO  ENGLISH  COMMON  SCHOOLS. 

TN  compliance  with  our  desire  to  visit  an  English  common 
•*•  school,  we  were  driven  from  the  castle  to  a  village  in  the 
vicinity,  in  which  was  a  school  for  boys  under  the  guidance 
of  the  British  Foreign  Society,  and  one  for  girls  under  the 
control  of  the  National,  or  State  Church,  Society.  The  school- 
house  of  the  former  was  a  simple  but  tasteful  stone  building, 
standing  a  little  one  side,  but  not  fenced  off,  from  the  prin 
cipal  street,  with  a  few  large  trees  and  a  playground  about  it. 
The  interior  was  all  in  one  room,  except  a  small  vestibule. 
It  was  well  lighted,  the  walls  were  plastered  and  whitewashed, 
and  had  mottoes,  texts  of  Scripture,  tables,  charts,  &c.,  hung 
upon  them ;  there  was  no  ceiling,  but  the  rafters  of  the  roof, 
which  was  high-peaked,  were  exposed ;  the  floor  was  of  stone. 
There  were  long  desks  and  benches  all  around  against  the 
wall,  and  others,  the  form  of  which  I  do  not  remember,  filling 
up  the  most  of  the  body.  The  house  and  furniture  was  much 
too  small  and  scanty  for  the  number  of  scholars  present,  and 
the  labour  of  the  teacher  must  have  been  very  arduous. 

The  boys  all  rose  as  we  entered,  and  remained  standing 
during  our  visit,  a  request  from  us  that  they  might  be  seated 
not  being  regarded.  Classes  in  arithmetic,  geography,  and 
spelling  were  examined  before  us.  The  absence  of  all  em 
barrassment,  and  the  promptness  and  confidence  of  the  schol- 


COMMON  SCHOOLS.  233 

ars  in  replying  to  our  questions  was  remarkable.  In  mental 
arithmetic  great  proficiency  was  shown  in  complicate  reduc 
tions  of  sterling  money.  In  geography  their  knowledge  of 
America  was  limited  to  the  more  important  points  of  infor 
mation,  but  so  far  as  it  went  was  very  accurate  and  ready. 
With  regard  to  Great  Britain,  their  information  was  very  mi 
nute.  The  boys  were  particularly  bright,  ready-witted,  and 
well-behaved,  and  surprisingly  free  from  all  excitement  or 
embarrassment  before  strangers. 

O 

The  schoolmaster  was  also  parish-clerk,  and  his  pay  from 
the  two  offices  was  about  $500  a  year.*  I  judged  that  he 
had  intended  to  make  teaching  his  business  for  life,  and  had 
thoroughly  prepared  and  accomplished  himself  for  it.  His 
manner  to  us,  and  two  or  three  incidents  which  it  would  be 
impossible  to  relate,  gave  me  the  impression  that  his  position 
in  society  was  far  from  being  a  pleasant,  or  what  we  should 
deem  a  proper  one  for  a  teacher. 

The  "  National  School"  for  girls  was  a  building  of  more 
highly  finished  architectural  character,  and  had  a  dwelling  for 
the  schoolmistress  attached  to  it.  The  whole  school  was 
engaged  in  sewing  when  we  entered,  the  mistress,  assisted  by 
some  of  the  older  scholars,  going  from  one  to  another,  giving 
instructions  and  examining  the  work.  It  was  not  interrupted 
by  our  entrance,  though  the  girls  all  rose,  curtseyed,  and  con 
tinued  standing.  There  were  one  hundred  and  thirty  present 
in  a  room  about  twelve  yards  by  six  in  area.  The  girls  were 
neatly,  though  exceedingly  plainly,  dressed,  and  were  gener 
ally  very  pleasing  in  their  appearance.  They  seemed  well 
instructed,  and  without  the  least  want  of  desirable  modesty, 

*  Advertisements  for  common-school  teachers,  "  capable  to  instruct  in 
reading,  writing,  arithmetic,  and  the  principles  of  the  Christian  religion," 
appear  in  the  Times,  offering  salaries  of  from  $150  to  $300,  with  lodging 
and  board. 

20* 


234 


AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 


showed  much  more  presence  of  mind,  and  answered  our  ques 
tions  with  more  promptness  and  distinctness  than  any  school 
of  girls  I  ever  visited  before. 

Both  schools  are  conducted  on  the  Lancasterian  plan.* 

*  I  propose,  in  some  future  letter,  to  give  a  general  account  of  the  En 
glish  common  schools. 


APPENDIX  A. 


¥E  were  leaning  over  the  gunwale,  where  I  had  been  watching  the 
curious,  nebulous-like  life  that  was  revealed  in  the  sea-fire  splashing 
from  the  ship's  sides,  and  our  conversation  turning  upon  this,  we  talked 
of  a  number  of  marine  mysteries.  He  believed  that  there  was  a  large 
class  of  animated  nature  fitted  to  exist  only  in  dense  waters  at  the 
depths  of  the  ocean,  and  which  only  appeared  on  the  surface  when  in  a 
diseased  state.  He  had  great  confidence  that  such  must  be  the  case,  and 
he  cited  several  cases,  known  to  naturalists,  where  nature  has  very  pecu 
liarly  fitted  animals  and  vegetables  to  enjoy  life  under  circumstances  in 
which  nothing  could  exist  of  the  more  ordinary  organisms.  I  remarked 
that  there  was  a  wonderful  connection  and  fitting  together  of  one  thing 
to  another,  through  the  whole  of  nature,  as  if  it  were  all  designed 
together,  and  every  part  contrived  with  reference  to  all  the  rest ;  to 
which  he  assented. 

"  And  does  not  that  irresistibly  impress  you  with  the  idea  of  a  rea 
soning  mind  having  constructed  it  for  certain  purposes  of  his  own,  to 
which  purposes  all  this  working  together  must  have  reference  ?" 

"  Humph !  Suppose  it  does.  Say  every  thing  must  have  a  cause, 
and  call  the  cause  of  the  world,  God,  if  you  like.  What  do  they  stop 
there  for  ?  I  want  to  know  what's  the  cause  of  God  ;  what  is  God's 
God.  You  see,  you  must  back  up  farther  for  that  cause." 

"  But  we  can  take  one  step.  Suppose  we  do  take  that,  and  see  what 
we  can  make  of  it  first.  There  must  be,  or  there  seems  likely  to  have 
been,  a  constructing  mind — a  will — above  us — " 

"  An  imaginary  something  that  put  the  world  together.  Well,  sup 
pose  there  is." 


I 


236  APPENDIX. 

"  That  put  our  minds  and  bodies  together,  that  made  us  with  our 
own  peculiar  characters  and  wills,  distinct  apparently  from  each  other's 
and  from  His." 

"  Well,  well ! — that  created  us.  Suppose  he  did  ;  what's  the  good 
of  saying  that,  if  you  don't  know  any  thing  more.  What  did  he  create 
us  for  ? — what  is  he  going  to  make  of  us  ? — what's  the  will  he  put  into 
my  body  going  to  do  for  him  ? — what  did  he  want  to  make  me  so  for, 
and  you  a  different  way,  and  a  hog  in  another  way  for  ?  My  will  is 
independent  of  his ;  I  know  nothing  about  his  will,  and  I  have  nothing 
to  do  with  him.  I  can  talk  to  you,  and  you  talk  back,  and  I  can  see 
you,  and  I  know  you  ;  but  him,  supposing  there  is  such  a  being,  I  know 
nothing  about,  and  what's  the  use,  like  a  fool,  of  talking  of  him  by 
name  as  if  I  did  ?" 

"  My  dear  fellow,  how  do  I  know  there's  such  a'place  as  Liverpool  ? 
I  never  have  seen  it  any  more  than  I  have  God.  From  the  evidence  of 
my  senses  I  know  nothing  of  it ;  and  yet  I  am  fool  enough  (if  you 
please  to  call  me  so)  to  come  aboard  this  ship  with  provisions  for  sixty 
days,  calculating  that  in  that  time  I  shall  be  carried  to  an  imaginary 
something  which  I  talk  about  by  the  name  of  Liverpool." 

"  I  reckon  you  will  in  twenty  if  this  wind  holds." 

"  I  think  it  likely,  but  what  do  I  know  about  it  ? — actually  nothing, 
except  that  you  and  others  tell  me  you  have  been  there,  and  that  the 
ship  will  go  there,  and  I  have  faith  enough  in  your  word,  and  the 
promises  of  the  captain,  to  put  out  here  where  I  have  never  been  before, 
and  don't  know  from  any  thing  I  can  see,  any  more  than  a  fool,  where 
or  what  it  is  I  am  being  taken  to.  Now,  though  I  never  saw  this  being 
with  the  creating  will,  which  we  will  call  God,  I  can  tell  you  something 
more  about  him,  not  that  I  actually  know,  only  I  have  heard — " 

"Heard!  heard!  how?" 

"  Why,  people  tell  me  and  I've  read,  just  as  I  have  read  travellers' 
accounts  of  Liverpool,  that  there  was  a  man  once  that  professed  to  know 
all  about  it, — in  fact,  that  he  made  it  all  himself — " 

"  Made  it  himself,  a  man  !  I  thought  we  agreed  to  call  the  maker  of 
it,  God." 

"  Very  well ;  out  of  this  form  of  a  man,  for  so  it  is  described,  there 
expressed  itself — a  mind,  declaring  itself  to  be  the  same  mind  that  made 
the  world ;  and  that  it  had  entered  that  form  that  it  might  tell  us  in  the 
language,  not  only  of  the  lips  and  tongue  and  breath,  but  in  all  the 
language  of  all  the  members  in  all  the  actions  of  a  man,  what  he 


APPENDIX.  237 

thought  it  desirable  for  us  to  know  about  him,— the  God  ;  about  his 
purposes  in  creating  the  world  and  us,  and  what  now  he  wanted  of  us. 
Something  of  this  he  said  in  words,  Hebrew  words,  which  some  of  the 
people  translated  into  Greek,  and  they  have  been  again  turned  into 
English,  and  in  this  way  I  have  read  considerable  of  it ;  but  more  he 
told  in  the  actions  of  the  life  of  that  man.  If  a  stranger  comes  to  me, 
and  says  that  he  loves  me,  I  don't  well  know  what  he  means,  for  there's 
all  sorts  of  love,  and  some  of  it  not  worth  many  thanks.  I  should  be 
still  more  uncertain  if  he  spake  in  the  Chinese  tongue,  and  it  had  to  be 
carried  through  Portuguese  into  English  ;  but  if  I  had  been  detected  in 
some  disgraceful  crime,  and  every  body  scorned  and  hissed  at  me,  and  a 
man  should  come,  alone  of  all  a  crowd,  and  lift  me  out  of  the  dust 
where  I  lay  in  expectation  of  death,  and  cheer  me  with  hopeful  and 
encouraging  words,  I  should  not  need  to  be  told  that  he  loved  me,  to  be 
grateful  to  him;  and  if  you  were  an  Indian,  and  it  was  told  to  you  in 
Choctaw,  you'd  understand  it  exactly  as  I  would,  and  have  no  mistake 
and  no  doubt  about  what  he  meant.  Now  supposing  the  great  power 
and  wisdom  that  contrived  and  executed  this  world,  and  all  we  know 
of  material  things,  was  showing  itself  in  that  man  that  so  pretended, 
and  we  have  a  reliable  account  of  the  way  he  lived,  we  can  infer  what 
at  least  is  the  general  character  and  tendency  of  his  motives  and  pur 
poses,  and  judge  pretty  well  what  he  wants  of  us." 

"  But  is  it  not  altogether  more  likely  a  man  making  such  pretensions, 
was  an  impostor  ?" 

"  We  must  judge  of  that  too  by  his  character  as  displayed  otherwise 
than  in  professions.  Now  what  do  we  find  ?  An  earnest,  serious  man, 
seemingly  living  only  to  do  and  be  good;  subduing  extraordinary  temp 
tations  of  passion  and  ambition;  helping  and  healing  the  sick,  and  the 
crippled,  and  the  outcast,  in  season  and  out  of  season ;  speaking  his 
mind  truly  and  freely,  no  matter  who  he  hits ;  persevering  in  what  he 
thinks  is  right,  and  just,  and  merciful,  though  it  is  disreputable  and 
directly  in  the  teeth  of  the  prevailing  standard  of  morals ;  sticking  to 
it,  though  he  is  misunderstood,  reproached,  and  forsaken  for  it,  as  a 
wilful,  stubborn  fanatic,  by  his  friends,  and  it  destroys  his  influence 
over  all  the  respectable  part  of  the  community." 

"  Good  for  him,  by  jingo !  They  didn't  excommunicate  him,  did  they  ? 
If  it  had  been  in  the  United  States  or  in  England,  they  would  have  said 
he  was  damned,  body  and  soul,  past  recovery,  and  utterly  unworthy  of 
the  means  of  grace !" 


238  APPENDIX. 

"They  said  the  devil  was  in  him  and  turned  him  out  of  the  syna 
gogue,  which  is  much  the  same,  I  take  it." 

"  Right — I  never  thought  of  that ;  he  must  have  been  a  true  honest 
man." 

"  Just  such  a  man  as  you  would  like  to  be  yourself  Mr.  C.,  only  a 
great  deal  more  so — a  thorough-going  brave  man  of  the  people,  an  out- 
and-out  democrat,  fraternizing  with  the  very  lowest  classes,  and  seeing 
and  trying  all  sorts  of  life.  More  than  that,  sir,  he  could  endure  mis 
representation  and  the  ingratitude  and  unfaithfulnesss  of  friends  with 
out  impatience  ;  and  finally,  to  realize  his  purpose  more  effectually,  he 
could  suffer  without  wavering  the  severest  mental  and  bodily  agony, 
and  at  length  could  die,  without  the  least  stain  of  inconsistency  on  his 
noble,  manly  character,  not  as  you  might  be  willing  to  on  the  barri 
cades,  but  alone,  and  by  slow  process  of  law." 

"  All  right,  sir,  and  a  true  man,  call  him  what  you  will." 

"  A  true  man,  sir,  and  no  time-server,  and  now,  what  taught  he  ? 
That  goodness,  truth,  and  love,  and  happiness  are  one  and  inseparable. 
Further,  that  all  the  good  in  the  universe  is  a  commonwealth  (kingdom 
of  God),  and  that  one's  enjoyment  of  it  cannot  be  separate  from  an 
other's.  He  always  seemed  to  think  every  body  else's  good  just  as  much 
his  business  as  his  own,  and  taught  his  followers  to  find  their  happiness 
in  that  of  others ;  always  to  do  that  for  others  which  they  would  have 
done  for  themselves." 

"  And  that's  just  what  they  don't  do." 

"  They  don't  pretend  they  do,  but  they  believe  it's  the  right  plan,  and 
they  wish  to  and  try  to,  and  they  say  he  never  did  any  other  way. 
His  whole  life,  as  it  is  described  to  us,  does  seem  to  be  in  accordance 
with  the  idea,  and  if  no  other  man's  ever  was,  so  much  the  better  for 
him.  Perfect  love  always  guiding  him,  entire  annihilation  of  self,  sel 
fish  purpose  all  merged  in  desire  for  the  general  good  of  mankind." 

"  A  very  nice  model  of  a  man,  no  doubt,  if one  must  believe 

the  story ;  but  you  see  I  don't."  Here  he  went  off  into  a  long  and 
laboured  attack  upon  the  Bible  as  being  called  an  infallible  guide,  and 
upon  the  theory  of  plenary  inspiration.  If  it  teaches  one  thousand  men 
one  doctrine,  and  one  thousand  other  men,  of  an  average  equal  capacity, 
directly  the  opposite  doctrine,  he  would  like  to  know  what  it  infallibly 
guided  to — and  so  on  :  some  few  of  his  points  being  fair  and  reasonable, 
some  of  them  utterly  absurd,  and  the  greater  part  of  his  argument  mere 
narrow-minded  cavilling  and  play  upon  words.  I  attempted  very  little 


APPENDIX.  239 

reply,  as  it  was  evident  he  was  perfectly  at  home  on  the  subject,  and 
would  sail  tack  for  tack  with  me  all  night,  if  he  lost  confidence  in  his 
opinions  on  one  gaining  more  on  another.  At  length  he  fell  into  a 
fierce  tirade  upon  the  character  of  the  Apostles.  He  thought  them 
cunning,  selfish  plotters,  "  the  same  as  their  descendants,  our  reverend 
aristocrats,  that  cannot  find  any  better  way  of  living  than  by  pulling 
wool  over  the  poor  workies'  eyes,  while  they  draw  fat  salaries  from 
their  pockets." 

"  A  nice,  lazy,  comfortable  sort  of  life  they  seem  to  have  had  of  it, 
don't  they  ?"  I  answered.  "  A  jolly  life,  to  be  sure,  loafing  about  with 
their  fat  salaries.  You  remember  what  Dr.  Paul's  was  :  '  Of  the  Jews 
five  times  forty  stripes  save  one,  thrice  beaten  with  rods,  once  stoned, 
shipwrecked,  <fcc.,  weariness,  painfulness,  &c.,  <fcc.' — So  runs  his  receipt ! 
very  fat,  all  that,  isn't  it?  Now,  are  you  not  ashamed  of  yourself? 
Talk  about  '  aristocratic  parsons !'  Every  one  of  them  started  a  work 
ing  man — not  one  even  of  the  bourgeoisie  among  them,  unless  it  was 
that  same  Paul,  and  he  had  his  trade,  and  worked  honestly  at  it  to  pay 
his  travelling  expenses.  You  call  them  aristocratic.  What  do  you 
mean  ?  Why,  sir,  they  were  democratic  socialists,  and  the  worst  sort, 
'  having  all  things  in  common,'  the  record  of  their  acts  says.  And  they 
seem  to  have  had  a  sufficiently  generous  spirit  to  make  the  idea  work, 
while  all  your  modern  communists  only  make  themselves  ridiculous 
whenever  they  attempt  it." 

He  laughed  aloud,  and  said  that  he  wouldn't  say  another  word 
against  the  Apostles,  if  I  would  admit  that  they  were  socialists.  They 
certainly  were  not  aristocrats.  "  But,"  he  complained,  "  that  does 
not  make  them  infallible  guides,  by  a  long  shot.  I  want  you  to  answer 
my  arguments  against  the  infallibility  of  the  Bible,  if  you  can." 

"  I  don't  wish  to,"  I  said ;  "  it  is  not  at  all  necessary.  Suppose  you 
can  detect  a  few  inconsistencies,  misquotations,  and  puzzling  expres 
sions  in  the  New  Testament.  The  books  have  come  a  long  journey  be 
tween  them  and  us,  and  have  passed  through  various  hands.  Wouldn't 
it  be  strange  if  there  were  not  some  things  knocked  out  of  them  and  a 
few  tacked  on  ?  You  know  there  are  three  biographies  of  Christ, 
written  by  different  persons,  among  whom  you  cannot  find  any  evi 
dence  of  conspiracy  or  collusion,  while  there  is  much  to  the  contrary. 
Yet  are  they  not  consistent  in  every  essential  particular  ?  I  think  they 
are ;  and  I  am  convinced  the  writers  meant  to  give  an  honest,  fair,  and 
correct  account  of  what  He  said  and  did  within  their  personal  knowl- 


240  APPENDIX. 

edge.  Now,  when  they  report,  as  each  of  them  frequently  do,  that  he 
took  upon  himself  the  authority  and  omniscience  proper  only  to  God,  in 
instructing  and  governing  them ;  when  they  make  him  declare  that  in 
that  life  of  his  flesh  was  the  Spirit  of  God  manifest,  they  must  have  so 
understood  him.  He  probably  meant  them  to,  and  as  he  was  a  wise, 
good,  and  true  man,  we  can  have  reasonable  faith  that,  in  some  fair  and 
honest  understanding  of  the  words,  it  was  so.  What  if  there  is  room 
for  some  difference  of  opinion,  as  to  the  precise  meaning  of  language, 
so  written  in  a  narrative,  two  or  three  times  translated,  and  that 
through  heathen  tongues,  and  God  only  knows  how  many  times  copied 
by  humanly  imperfect  hands.  I  am  willing  you  should  understand 
it  as  seems,  on  the  whole  and  in  sincerity,  most  natural  to  you.  I  say 
that  I  do  not  believe  it  will  make  any  very  essential  difference  in 
your  idea  of  God,  but  that  you  will  still  see  him,  through  Christ,  a  God 
of  eternal  Truth,  Justice,  Love — a  Father  worthy  of  your  deepest  rever 
ence  and  affection." 

"  Suppose  I  did ;  and  when  you've  done  and  said  all,  what  good  is  it  ? 
But  I  tell  you,  you  don't  convince  me  of  the  inspiration  of  the  Bible." 

"  I  don't  now  undertake  to  convince  you  of  it.  If  it  does  not  appear 
evident  to  you  on  the  face  of  it  that  it  is  an  inspired  production,  I  don't 
think  I  can  bring  you  to  it  by  argument.  All  I  ask  of  you  now  is  to  look 
upon  those  three  men,  Matthew,  Luke,  and  John,  simply  as  honest 
biographers.  Suppose  Hume,  Gibbon,  or  Jared  Sparks  had  described 
such  a  character,  made  such  a  character  to  appear  in  the  life  of  some 
historical  personage  with  regard  to  whom  they  had  had  facilities  to  be 
particularly  well  informed,  would  you  not  respect,  honor,  love — yes, 
and  worship — " 

"  No,  no  !     I'd  worship  nothing  human." 

"  But  you  would  worship  divine  qualities,  and,  so  far  as  these  go  to 
make  up  the  character  of  a  man,  you  would  worship  them  in  him — " 

"  Yes,  the  divine  qualities,  not  the  human." 

"  Not  the  human — purely  human  ;  nobody  asks  you  to.  But  here  is  a 
man  who,  in  all  his  actions  for  thirty  years,  you  cannot  suppose  to  have 
been  governed  by  any  motives  inconsistent  with  justice,  magnanimity, 
and  benevolence.  His  life  is  described  with  a  good  deal  of  minute  de 
tail,  but  you  cannot  find  that  he  ever  said,  or  thought,  or  did  a  single 
mean,  unmanly,  ungentlemanly  thing.  A  man  who  avoided  kingly 
honors ;  who  did  not  labor  for  riches ;  who  neither  sought  nor  avoided 
the  luxuries  of  life ;  who  endured  to  ba  forsaken  of  his  friends ;  who 


241 

put  up  with  contempt,  reproach,  and  ridicule  ;  who  was  always  going 
about  doing  good,  without  either  ostentation  or  secrecy — a  man  so  great 
and  true,  as  he  appears  among  the  pettifogging  saints  of  the  day,  in  the 
case  of  the  adulterous  -woman,  or  at  the  picking  of  corn  on  the  Sabbath, 
or  in  his  ideas  of  morality  as  brought  out  in  his  sermon  on  the  mount, 

so  simple,  so  grand,  so  truly  divine — do  you  think,  can  you  think 

that  such  a  man  would  be  mean  enough  and  wicked  enough  to  declare 
a  most  monstrous  falsehood,  and  stick  to  it  all  his  life,  suffer  all  sorts  of 
shame,  and  finally  die  ignominiously  rather  than  give  it  up  ?  No,  sir ; 
that  man  was  no  impostor !  .  .  .  .  Nor  is  there  any  thing  that  looks 
like  the  fanatic  or  crazy  man  about  him  either.  Yet  he  plainly  thought, 
and  had  some  good  reason  for  thinking,  that  in  all  his  peculiar  character 
he  was  "exhibiting  the  peculiar  qualities  of  God.  And  were  not  those 
qualities  such  as  are  consistent  with  the  Li-liest  wisdom  that  we  can 
conceive  of?  And  what  good,  you  were  asking,  does  it  do  us  to  believe 
in  them  ?  If  you  had  never  seen  your  father,  but  your  elder  brother 
should  say  : '  Father  is  like  me  in  all  that  you  like  in  me,  in  all  that  you 
love  me  for'— you  would  not  need  to  see  your  father  face  to  face,  but 
would  love  him,  and  would  lovingly  respond  to  his  will,  and  when  he 
sent  for  you  to  come  home,  you  would  look  forward  to  meeting  him,  not 
with  dread,  but  with  a  joyful  trust.  If  you  can  have  as  much  faith  in 
the  word  of  that  noble  man  as  I  have  in  yours  and  the  captain's  about 
this  ship's  going  towards  Liverpool,  you  will  love  and  worship  him, 
and  strive  to  be  like  him."  -. 

"  Christ  said  he  was  God,  which  is  nonsense,  and  I  don't  swallow  it," 
"  Look  here  !     When  I  tell  you  that  I  am  a  man,  what  do  I  mean  ? 
A  man  has  two  legs,  two  arms,  and  two  eyes ;  suppose  I  had  but  one  leg, 
one  arm,  and  one  eye,  would  it  be  nonsense  to  call  me  a  man  ?     Or  sup 
pose  that  I  had  twelve  fingers  instead  of  ten,  or  my  body  all  covered 
with  hair,  would  it  be  nonsense  to  call  me  a  man  because  I  had  more 
than  the  ordinary  qualities  of  a  man  ?     I  might  call  myself  a  hirsute, 
but  I  should  still  be  a  man." 
"  I  don't  understand  you." 

"  Why,  I  mean  that  because  Jesus  Christ  asserted  himself  to  be  God 
it  does  not  follow  that  he  asserted  himself  nothing  but  God,  or  even  that 
he  exhibited  the  whole  of  God,  but  that  he  spoke  in  the  name  of  God, 
with  the  authority  of  God,  that  the  word  of  God  was  spoken  in  him. 
It  is  absurd  for  us,  and  evidently  was  never  intended  that  we  should, 
take  the  exact  weight  and  measure  of  the  words  of  his  familiar  conver- 

21 


242  APPENDIX. 

sation,  and  reduce  it  to  the  English  standard,  from  the  simple  narratives 
of  Hebrews  writing  in  the  Greek  tongue.  You  can  understand  it  so  as 
to  make  it  nonsense  if  you  are  determined  to,  but  that's  your  nonsense 
and  not  Christ's.  There  is  plenty  of  room  to  fight  over  it  if  you  like, 
but  was  that  what  it  was  intended  for  ?  You  may  understand  it  some 
what  differently  from  me.  but  practically,  if  you  believe  it  at  all.  will 
the  difference  in  our  understanding  of  it  make  an  essential  difference  in 
our  lives  ?  I  believe  that  Channing  and  Calvin,  standing  at  two  opposite 
theoretical  extremes  with  regard  to  this,  both  showed  in  their  characters 
the  influence  of  a  common  faith  in  the  divinity  of  Christ." 

"  You  do  ?  You  don't  suppose  Channing  believed  in  the  divinity  of 
Christ  ?  You  ought  to  know  better  than  that." 

"  He  might  not  express  his  belief  in  that  way,  because  that  mind  had 
got  to  be  employed  technically  to  denote  a  different  view  from  his,  but 
plainly  it  was  the  God  revealed  in  Christ  to  whose  service  he  gave  his 
life.  You  must  remember  that  language  is  a  human  and  exceedingly 
imperfect  and  inefficient  means  of  conveying  thought.  Neither  Calvin  nor 
Channing  believed  that  in  Chri-st  was  the  whole  of  God  concentrated  and 
made  manifest  to  us,  or  that  God  was  and  could  be  revealed  to  us  in 
no  other  way ;  but  both  believed  that  in  Christ  God  was  speaking,  that 
in  Christ's  life,  far  more  truly  and  distinctly  than  in  any  other,  was 
uttered  the  true  and  eternal  and  soul-saving  word  of  God.  '  In  truth, 
in  love,  in  all  that  deserves  your  love,  your  gratitude,  your  adoration, 
and  whole-hearted  devotion,  I  AM.'  " 

We  were  both  silent  for  a  few  moments,  and  then  he  laughed. 

"  What's  the  matter  ?"  said  I. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  are  getting  into  the  bond  of  iniquity ;  don't  you 
know  that's  very  dangerous  the  way  you  talk.  Tisn't  orthodox  by  a 
long  shot." 

"  I've  no  particular  passion  for  being  called  orthodox,"  I  replied. 

"  You  haven't,  eh  ?     What  is  your  religion  then  ?" 

'( That  of  Christ,  I  wish  it  to  be." 

"No,  but  what  do  you  believe  in  ?" 

"  The  God  revealed  in  Christ." 

"  Pshaw !  What  sect — what  church  do  you  run  with  ?" 

"  None  of  your  business — that  is,  the  question's  not  in  order." 

"  But,  good  heavens,  man !  I  want  to  know  what  you  pretend  to 
believe.  What  do  you  want  to  have  me  believe  ?  Was  he  very  God  of 
verv  God,  all  God  and  all  man,  or  only  half  God  and  half  man,  or  a 


APPENDIX.  243 

whole   man  and  no   God,  only   an   extra-inspired  prophet,  or  what? 
There's  no  use  talking  with  you  till  I  know  where  you  stand." 

"  What  do  you  want  to  bother  with  such  nonsense  for  ?  Christians 
themselves  don't  agree  about  those  matters.  I  won't  answer  you.  You 
admitted  that  you  had  seen  enough  in  the  ordinary  works  of  God  to 
impress  you  with  the  belief  of  a  designing  wisdom  above  us,  and  you 
asked  me  how  any  one  could  know  any  more  than  that.  Now  I  tell  you : 
Look  to  Christ,  his  most  perfect  work.  Believe,  if  you  like,  that  in 
him — his  life — God  is  manifest  only  in  the  same  way  that  he  is  in  all 
the  works  of  his  hand,  as  you  would  be  in  yours,  as  Powers  is  in  the 
Greek  Slave,  and  Bell  and  Brown  are  in  this  ship,  only  he  must  be 
peculiarly  manifest  in.  man  (created  in  his  image),  and  most  distinctly 
and  obviously  manifest  in  the  man  most  perfect  and  altogether  lovely, 
the  express  image  of  his  person.  Mustn't  he  ?  Take  him  as  a  sheer 
man,  if  you  will,  not  even  a  prophet,  simply  a  wise  man — the  wisest 
and  best  man.  Must  not  his  pure  heart,  his  self-forgetful  spirit,  his 
wisdom  who  spake  as  never  man  else  spake,  have  attained  to  the  best 
and  truest  idea  of  God  ?  Must  not  that  be,  in  the  first  place,  the  most 
reasonable  relation  for  us  to  assume  towards  God — that  in  which 
he  placed  himself — a  son  to  a  loving,  personally-interested  father — 
a  Father  whose  almighty  power  moves  only  in  love  ?  If  that's  the 
utmost  you  can  make  out  of  the  life  of  Christ,  why,  take  that ;  don't 
lose  so  much  good  of  it  because  others  can  take  more.  But  if  you  can 
take  more  than  that,  and  it's  better  for  you  to  call  him — what  is  it  you 
say  ?  '  very  God  of  very  God  ?' — not  merely  seen  as  manifested  in  the 
man  Christ,  but  peculiarly,  indescribably,  incomprehensibly,  and  con- 
tradictorilv  both  God  and  man  and  neither  man  or  God — have  it  so, 
and  welcome.  Describe  him  in  Latin,  or  Hebrew-Greek,  if  you  like  it 
better  than  plain  English.  It  may  seem  one  thing  in  the  dim,  religious 
light  of  worship,  and  another  in  the  flickering  lamplight  of  study,  but 
you  will  find  both  the  same  in  the  clear  daylight  of  life.  After  all,  it 
is  the  WORD  that  is  wanted,  and  not  the  image  through  which  it  is 
spoken.  Look  at  Christ  in  whatever  way  you  can  read  that  Word  with 
the  most  faith.  I  care  not  in  what  language  you  receive  it,  so  you  can 
translate  it  into  love,  joy,  faith,  long-suffering,  goodness,  peace,  meek 
ness,  and  temperance  (the  fruits  of  the  Spirit)."  He  was  laughing  again 
and  I  asked,  "  What  is  there  ridiculous  about  this,  Mr.  C.  ?" 

"  Why,  I  don't  know  as  there's  any  thing — don't  know  as  I  can  ob 
ject  to  it,  only— eh, ha!  ha  !" 


244  APPENDIX. 

"  Only  what  I" 

"  Don't  you  think  if  your  minister  heard  you  talking  so,  he'd  be~ 
rather — hauling  you  over  the  coals,  eh  ?" 

"  My  minister  !  What  under  the  sun  has  my  minister  got  to  do  with 
it  ?  I  am  not  a  Roman  Catholic." 

"  What  the  devil  are  you,  any  how  ?" 

"  I've  told  you." 

"  Well,  you  arn't  what  I  call  a  Christian.  What  do  you  call  me  an 
infidel  for  ?" 

"  I  never  called  you  an  infidel ;  infidel  means  unfaithful.  God  only 
knows  whether  you  are  unfaithful  to  your  light  or  not.  That's  none  of 
my  business." 

"  Well,  but  now  do  you  believe  in  fore -ordination  and  total  deprav 
ity  ?  Do  you  hold  to  salvation  by  grace  ?" 

"  I  believe,  certainly,  that  if  a  man  is  not  saved  it  is  because,  as 
Christ  said,  he  '  would  not!  I  believe  that  every  man  shall  be  judged 
according  to  his  works,  and  so  did  Christ — " 

"  Ah,  then  you  don't  go  those  doctrines.     Now — " 

"  I  don't  want  to  discuss  them  with  you." 

"  Why,  you  can't  believe  them — it's  inconsistent." 

"  I  don't  much  think  it  is,  but  if  it  was — " 

"  What's  that  striking— eight  bells  ?  I  declare  it's  twelve  o'clock." 

"  Wait  a  bit,  let  me  tell  you  a  story,  and  then  we  will  turn  in.  I 
once  fell  in  with  an  old  Quaker.  He  was  the  first  one  I  ever  met  to 
converse  with :  a  simple-hearted,  honest  man,  and  I  was  glad  of  a 
chance  to  talk  with  him  about  his  society.  He  finally  spoke  of  some 
of  their  doctrines,  and  defended  them  in  a  sensible,  manly  way  that  I 
liked.  He  took  up  a  Bible  and  showed  me  how  some  idea  of  his  that  I 
doubted  about  was  sustained  in  it.  I  turned  over  a  leaf  or  two  further, 
and  showed  him  another  passage  that  I  thought  pretty  flatly  opposed 
his  understanding  of  the  verse  he  had  brought  as  proof,  and  said,  '  What 
do  you  make  of  that  ?'  He  looked  at  it  a  moment,  read  each  side  of  it, 
didn't  say  any  thing,  shook  his  head,  and  sighed,  and  I  begun  to  feel 
ashamed  of  myself  for  troubling  him  with  it.  At  length  his  face  lighted 
up,  and  he  turned  to  me  with  a  beautiful  smile  and  said  softly,  '  I  can 
see  the  truth  the  Lord  testified  to  in  the  verse  I  showed  thee,  but  for 
this  I  have  not  yet  sight  enough.  If  thee  cannot  yet  see  the  truth  that 
cometh  to  me  from  the  verse  I  showed  thee,  wilt  thee  not  be  content  to 
also  wait  for  thy  light  ?'  No\v>  Mr.  C.,  I  a4vise  you  to  take  what  truth 


APPENDIX.  245 

you  can  find  ;  and  if  other  people  profess  to  believe  what  seems  to  you 
absurdities,  don't  be  so  sorry  for  them  as  not  to  let  them  enjoy  the  ben 
efit  of  what  light  they  have  got ;  don't  yourself  be  so  foolish  as  to  shut 
your  eyes  to  what  of  God's  word  is  plainly  enough  set  before  you  in 
Christ,  because  you  have  not  turned  over  the  next  page  and  can't  see 
through  the  whole  book  at  once.  I  don't  want  you  to  try  to  force  upon 
yourself  any  belief  that  is  unnatural,  and  which  honestly  appears  illogi 
cal  to  you.  No  kind  of  heresy  is  so  bad  as  hypocrisy.  I  think  those 
Christians  were  exceedingly  wrong  that  felt  that  the  sacredness  and 
chief  power  of  their  religion  consisted  so  much  in  the  doctrines  which 
they  had  agreed  together  to  stand  by,  that  they  must  summarily  ex 
clude  you  from  their  fellowship  when  you  began  to  question  the  sound 
ness  of  them.  On  the  other  hand,  I  must  tell  you  that  I  think  you  are 
equally  wrong  to  hold  them  and  their  opinions  in  contempt,  and  to  have 
such  entire  confidence,  as  you  seem  to,  that  you  are  yourself  right.  The 
fact  that  so  many  men  differ  with  you,  whom  you  cannot  help  respect 
ing  as  having  equal  powers  of  mind  and  equally  good  spirit  with  your 
self,  should  at  least  make  you  hold  your  opinions  with  humility." 

"  Well !  Now  let's  go  and  see  them  heave  the  log.  She's  going  a 
bit  faster ;  the  fog  isn't  so  thick  as  'twas  either.  Hallo  !  there's  that 
old  Irishwoman  again.  She  always  gets  in  behind  the  harness  cask  to 
say  her  prayers.  You  will  hear  her  muttering  there  for  two  or  three 
hours  every  night." 

"  She  must  have  strong  faith." 

"  Faith  in  the  devil !  Fear  and  ignorance,  I  call  it.  She's  a  good 
old  thing  though,  I  must  say.  She  takes  care  of  that  sick  woman's 
child  as  if  it  were^her  own  ;  and  last  night  she  asked  the  doctor  to  let 
her  darn  his  stockings,  and  he  did,  the  conceited  old  dandy." 

"  She  has  a  good  deal  of  true  religion,  then,  for  all  her  ignorance 
and  fear." 

"  Then  it's  true  religion  to  believe  in  the  Pope  and  the  Virgin  Mary !" 
"  Oh  no  !  oh  no  !  '  True  religion  before  God  is  this  :  to  visit  the 
widows  and  fatherless  in  their  affliction,  and  to  keep  oneself  unspotted 
in  the  world.'  Yet  it  may  be  worth  your  while,  Mr.  C.,  to  consider 
whether  she  would  have  been  as  likely  to  pity  that  sick  mother,  and 
take  care  of  her  child,  if  she  hadn't  been  in  the  habit  of  praying  in  this 
way  every  night,  although  in  her  ignorance  she  addresses  the  mother 
of  Christ  instead  of  the  Father.  Good-night." 

21* 


246  APPENDIX. 


APPENDIX    B. 


ter  on  the  disposition  of  the  people  of  England  towards  the 
•*•  United  States  was  written  before,  and  not  in  anticipation  of  the 
coming  of  Kossuth  to  this  country.  The  general  discussion  of  the  sub 
ject  which  that  event  has  occasioned  makes  it  proper  for  me  to  men 
tion  this.  Opinions  opposing  the  views  I  have  presented  having  been 
expressed  by  several  persons  in  honorable  positions,  for  one  at  least  of 
whom  I  entertain  the  highest  respect,  I  wish  to  repeat  that,  during  five 
months  that  I  travelled  in  Great  Britain,  in  almost  every  day  of  which 
time  I  heard  the  United  States  talked  about  with  every  appearance  of 
candor  and  honesty,  I  do  not  recollect  ever  to  have  heard  any  expres 
sion  of  hostile  feeling  (except  from  a  few  physical- force  Chartists,  with 
regard  to  slavery)  towards  our  government  or  our  people,  and  only 
from  a  few  stanch  church-and-state  men  against  our  principles  of  gov 
ernment.  Perhaps  the  highest  eulogy  on  Washington  ever  put  in 
words  was  written  by  Lord  Brougham.  The  Duke  of  "Wellington 
lately  took  part  in  a  banquet  in  honour  of  American  independence.  I 
myself  attended  a  Fourth-of-July  dinner  in  an  old  palace  of  George  III., 
and  saw  there  a  member  of  Parliament,  and  other  distinguished  English 
men,  drink  to  the  memory  of  "Washington,  and  in  honour  of  the  day. 
Having  observed  that  Mr.  Howard  was  threatened  with  a  mob,  for 
keeping  an  English  ensign  flying  from  a  corner  of  the  Irving  House,  I 
will  add  that  I  more  than  once  saw  the  American  ensign  so  displayed 
in  England,  without  exciting  remark ;  and  I  know  one  gentleman  living 
in  the  country  who  regularly  sets  it  over  his  house  on  the  Fourth  of 
July,  and  salutes  it  with  gun-firing  and  festivities,  so  that  the  day  is 
well  known,  and  kindly  regarded  by  all  his  neighbours,  as  "  the  Ameri- 
•an  holiday." 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

BERKELEY 

18  1      ft.  Mm  I  Pk     If  ^  *ij^'€        jiitffhi 

Return  to  desk  from  which  borrowed. 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


30Nov!56JQ 
O  Ld 

NOV27  1956 


_CffiC  DEPT 

22J«'f 

REG  D  LD 


JDN 


20Feb'63DB 

'•»%  ^w«rf  4**^  4  TP"*k         *          — Mfc  ' 

fxEC  D  LD 

•    FEB    71963 


JUN2     1974,0 


LD  21-1007re-9,'48(B399sl6)476 


V  1  6  1975  0  0 
m.  cm  mavis 


DEC  0  5  1995 

U-  C.  BERKELEY 
4  00 


YB  77087 


O6, 


...   «.