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LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 


OK 


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


ALCOVE, 


SHELF, 


PRESENTED     BY 


r 


PUTNAM'S 

SEMI-MONTHLY   LIBRARY. 


WALKS  AND  TALKS  OF  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN 
ENGLAND. 


WALKS    AND    TALKS 


OF    AN 


AMERICAN  FAEMEB   IN  ENGLAND. 
EfiruJL . 

**• 


IN  TIIE  YEARS  1850-51. 


PART     II. 


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

M  .  DCCC-.  LI  I. 


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

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


TO   THE   MEMORY    OF 

ANDREW    JACKSON    DOWNING: 

WHATEVER    OF    GOOD,    TRITE,    AND    PLEASANT    THOUGHT   THIS 

VOLUME    MAT    CONTAIN,    IS    HUMBLY     AND 

REVERENTLY    INSCRIBED. 


-84628 


PKEFACE. 


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

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

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

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


' 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

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

CHAPTER  II. 

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

CHAPTER  III. 

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

CHAPTER  IV. 

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

CHAPTER  V. 

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

CHAPTER  VI. 

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


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

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

CHAPTER  VIII. 

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

CHAPTER   IX. 

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

CHAPTER   X. 

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

CHAPTER   XI. 

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

CHAPTER   XII. 

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

CHAPTER    XIII. 

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

CHAPTER  XIV. 

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


CONTENTS.  7 

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

CHAPTER  XV. 

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

CHAPTER  XVI. 

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

CHAPTER  XVII. 

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

CHAPTER  XVIII. 

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

CHAPTER  XIX. 

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

CHAPTER   XX. 

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


8  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  XXI. 

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

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

CHAPTER  XXIII. 

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

APPENDIX 181 


GI 


AMEEICAN  FAEMEE   IN  ENGLAND. 


CHAPTER  I. 

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

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

DRAINING    ON    DRY    SOILS. GORSE. CHURCH     STRETTON. CHURCHYARD 

LITERATURE. ENCOUNTER   WITH   AN    ENTHUSIASTIC    FREE-TRADER. 

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

"Yes." 

"  Was  ye  never  in  this  town  before  ?" 

"Never." 

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

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

PART    II.  1* 


10  AN  AMERIOAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

"  You  are  an  Irishman  like." 

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

"  But  you  were  born  in  Ireland  ?M 

"  I  just  disremember  now." 

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

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

"  What  do  you  want  T 

"  A  pint's  tupence." 

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

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

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

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


CAKES  AND  BE  AWN.  11 

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

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

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

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


12  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

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

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

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

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


CHURCHYARD  LITERATURE.  13 

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

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

I. 

A  "NON  SEQTJ1TTJR." 

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

II. 

"AN  HONEST  MAN." 

"Erected  by  the  Curate  of  Church  Stretton." 


III. 

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


14  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

IV. 

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

V. 

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

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

VI. 

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

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

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

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


AN  ENTHUSIASTIC  FREE-TRADER.  15 

"No." 

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

"  A  remarkable  performance." 

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

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

"  Hem — wool's  heavy !" 

"What,  sir?" 

"Eh— hops  scarce1?" 

"What?" 

"Sheffilline?" 

" !"     (Stare  of  perplexity.) 

"  Tea  ?"  glancing  at  our  packs. 

"Tea!  oh  no!" 

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

way?" 

"We  are— " 

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

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

"Tea?" 

"  Only  our  wearing  apparel." 

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


16  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

"  No,  sir." 

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

"  Yes,  sir  ;  we  are  Americans." 

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

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

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

"Yes." 

"Made  there?" 

"  Probably." 

"  And  the  wool  ?" 

"  Very  likely  from  these  hills." 

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

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


COUNTRY  CARRIER'S  OART.  17 


IT*  ] 


CHAPTER  II. 

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

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

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

HEART. REFRESHMENT. 

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

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


18  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND., 

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

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

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

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


RUSTY  JACK.  19 

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

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

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


20  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

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

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

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

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


AN  APOSTOLIC  CHURCH.  21 

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

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

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

Nothing  could  be  greater  than  the  contrast  of  the  place 


22  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

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

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

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

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


A  FARM-HOUSE  KITUHEN.  23 


CHAPTER  III. 

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

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

Monday,  June  10th. 

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

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


24  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

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

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

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

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


A   TROUT  BROOK.  25 

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

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

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

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

PART    II.  3 


26  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

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

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

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


ENGLISH  ORCHARD  DISTRICTS,  27 


CHAPTER  IV. 

ENGLISH  ORCHARD    DISTRICTS. THE   MOST  FAVOURABLE    SOILS  AND    CLIMATE. 

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

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


29  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

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

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

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

Again,  the  same  writer : 

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

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

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


THE  MOST  FAVOURABLE  Is  OILS  AND  CLIMATE.       29 

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

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

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


30  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

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

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


THE  MOST  FAVOURABLE  SOILS  AND   CLIMATE.        31 

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

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

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


32  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

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

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

It  is  evident  that  the  precautions  and  remedies  which  have 


SUGGESTIONS.  33 

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

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

2* 


34  AN  AMERICAN  BARKER  IN  ENGLAND. 


CHAPTER  V. 

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

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

REMEDIES. HINTS    TO    ORCHARDISTS. SPECIAL     MANURES. PRUNING. 

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

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

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

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


VARIOUS  THEORIES.  35 

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

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

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

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


86  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

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

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

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


SCROFULOUS  TREES.  37 

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

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

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


38  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

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

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

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

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


SPECIAL  MANURES.  39 

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

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

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

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

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


40  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

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

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

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

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

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


UNDER-DRAINING   ORCHARDS.  41 

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

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

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

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

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


42  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

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

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


A  DEVONSHIRE  CIDER  FROLIC.  43 

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

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

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

*  From  the  London  Gardeners'  Chronicle. 


44  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

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

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

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

Hats  full,  caps  full ! 

Bushel,  bushel-sacks  full ! 

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

(Here  the  natives  shoot  at  the  tree.) 


TILE' AND   THATCHED  ROOFS.  45 


CHAPTER  VI. 

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

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

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

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


40  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

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


COTTAGE   WALLS.  47 

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

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

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

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


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


48  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

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

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

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

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

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


HETERODOXY.  49 

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

PART    II.  3 


50  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

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

CHRISTIANITY. A   LIVING    FAITH. 

HEREFORD,  June  Ytih. 

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

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


PRIMITIVE  CHRISTIAN  SPIRIT.  51 

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

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

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


52  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

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

the  theological   students  at  ,  whom  describes  as 

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


HEREFORD  JAIL.  53 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


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

PRESENT. EDUCATION  AND  TAXATION. WHAT  NEXT  ? CAPTAIN  MACHONO 

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

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

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

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


54  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


A  MODEL  PRISON.  55 

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

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

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

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


56  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

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

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

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

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


EDUCATION  AND  CRIME.  57 

out  of   every   hundred    criminals    then  supported    by   the 
state — 

33  had  never  learned  to  read  or  write ; 

56  were  able  to  read  and  write  imperfectly ; 

7  were  able  to  read  and  write  well ;  and  only 

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

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

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

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

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

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


58  AX  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

*  Von  Kaumer. 

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


PRINCIPLES  OF  PUNISHMENT.  59 

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

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

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

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

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


60  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

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

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

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


MORAL  INFLUENCES  ON  THE  PRISONER.  61 

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

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


62  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

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

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

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


WHAT  SHALL    WE    WAR  AGAINST  f  63 

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

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

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


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


64  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

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

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

THE    PUBLIC    PROMENADE. 

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

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

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

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

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


HEREFORD   CATHEDRAL.  65 

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

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

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


66  AS  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

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

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

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


THE  EEPUJBLIG  IN  ENGLAND.  67 

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

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

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

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

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


G8  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 


CHAPTER  X. 

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

RIGHTS. SOCIAL       DIFFERENCES. FRENCHMEN. NATIONAL     VANITIES. 

DEMOCRACY. FREE      TRADE. RETALIATION. ARISTOCRACY. NATURAL 

LAWS. THE    LAW    OF    LOVE. FRATERNITY. 

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


FOUR  IN  HAND.  G9 

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

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


70  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

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

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

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


THE  RING— FEMININE.  71 

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

"  Tut — tut !"  said  the  coachman. 

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

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

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

"  Up  to  timer  whispered  coachee. 

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


7-2  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


SOCIAL  DIFFERENCES.  73 

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

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

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

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

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

" Hall  1     The  family  are  on  the  Continent." 

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

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

"  Undoubtedly." 

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

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

PART    II.  4 


74  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

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

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

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

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

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

The  gentleman  laughed,  and  said, 

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

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

"  A  stage-coachman,  'pon  honour  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  What  for  a  whip  is  he,  sir  T 


AN  AMERICANS  HISTORY.  75 

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

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

"  Good  God !"  breathed  the  coachman. 

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

The  coachman  whistled. 

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

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

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


76  AX  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND, 

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

"  Polkas,  waltzes  and  sch — " 

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

"  She  is  religious,  then  1" 

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

"  Have  you  a  daughter,  coachman  ?" 

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

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

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

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

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

"WJiy  not?" 

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

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

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

It  often  lias  been  told 
That  the  British  sailors  bold 


NATIONAL    VANITIES.  77 

Could  flog  the  tars  of  France 

So  handy  oh ! 

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

Are  the  dandy  oh ! 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Indeed!  is  it  so T 


78 

"  Yes." 

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

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

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

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

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


.YJ  TURAL  LA  WS.  79 

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

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

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

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

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


80  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

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

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

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

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

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

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


NIMROD.  81 

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

*,***** 

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

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

PART  II.  4* 


82  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

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

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

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

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Our  discussion  must  be  interrupted,  then." 

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

"  Something  of  the  kind." 

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


THE  NEW  LA  W.  83 

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

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

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

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

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

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


84  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

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

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

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

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

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

"Tchiup!"  answered  the  coachman,  turning  towards  his 


MATCH  FOR  A  FRENCHMAN.  85 

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

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

communion  have  with  you And  my  country,  in  which 

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

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

"  Ptshut ! — Baby  !"  said  the  coachman. 

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

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

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

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


86  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

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

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

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

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

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

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


ALL  RIGHT.  87 

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

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

"  Adieu,  mes  amis,  adieu  !" 

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

"  Good-bye." 

"  Good-bye." 


88  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

SHADY    LANES. RURAL   SKETCHES. HEREFORDSHIRE    AND     MONMOUTHSHIRE 

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

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

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

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

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


RURAL  SCENES.  89 

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

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

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

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


00  A,V  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

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

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

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

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


LANDSCAPE  PECULIARITIES.  91 

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

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


92  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

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

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

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

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


THE  FARM-HOUSE.  93 

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

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

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


94  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

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

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

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


THE  STABLES.  95 

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

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


0(5  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

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

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

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

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


PRICES.  97 

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

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

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

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

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


98  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  Itf  ENGLAND. 

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

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


THE  BACK  PARISH. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

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

IGNORANCE  AND  DEGRADED  CONDITION  OF  THE    ENGLISH  AGRICULTURAL 

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

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

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

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


lOO  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

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

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

"  Yaaz  they  be— foive  of  'em." 

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

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


BREAD  AND  TOBACCO.  101 

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


102  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

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


THE  PEASANTRY.  103 

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

"  And  how  much  beer  7" 

"  None  at  all !" 

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

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

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

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


104  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

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

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

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


GOVERNMENT.  105 

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

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

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

PART    II.  5* 


106  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

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

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

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

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

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


FOOD  AND  DRINK.  107 

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

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

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

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

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


108  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

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

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

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

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

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


FRESH  MEAT.  109 

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

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


110  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


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

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

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

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


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

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

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


BRISTOL  BUILT.  Ill 

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

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

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

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

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


112  ^LV  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

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

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

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

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


' <  THE  EXAMPLE  FARM. "  113 

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

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

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


114  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

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

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

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

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


LANDLORDS.  115 

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

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

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

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

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


11G  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

BATH. WARMINSTER. SURLY      POSTMASTER. A     DOUBTFUL     CHARACTER. 

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

TO    MARKET. THE    ROAD    IN   A    STORM. SCUDDING. 

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

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


THE  WARMINSTER  ROAD.  117 

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

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

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


118  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

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

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

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


RUSTICS.  119 

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

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

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

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


120  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

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

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

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

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

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


."  THE  ROAD  IN  A  STORM.  121 

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

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

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

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

PART  II.  0 


122  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

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

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

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


WILTSHIRE  LANDSCAPE. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

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

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


124  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

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

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

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


WATER  MEADOWS.  125 

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

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


126  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

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

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

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


SE  WERA  QE  MANURE.  1 27 

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

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


128  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

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

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

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


/  GARDEN  IRRIGATION.  129 

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

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

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

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

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


130  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


MAIDS  AND  MEADOWS.  131 

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

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

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

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

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


132  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND, 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

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

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

REMARKS   AND   ADVICE. VILLAGE    CHURCHES.  0 

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


£  ALMSHOUSES.  133 

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

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


134  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND 

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

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


f  THE  TRAVELLERS  HOME.  135 

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

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


136  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

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

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

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

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

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


SALISBURY  CATHEDRAL.  137 

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

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

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

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


138  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

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

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


ife 


SCENERY  OF  SALISBURY  PLAIN.  139 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

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

AGRICULTURE. SAINFOIN     AND      LUCERNE. LARGE     FARMS. EFFECT      ON 

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

SHEEP-FOLDING. HOVEABLE   RAILWAYS  AND    SHEDS. 

June  11th. 

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

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

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


140  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

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

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

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

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


CULTIVATION  OF  THE  DOWNS.  141 

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

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

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


142  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENQLANU. 

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

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

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

*  CAIRO. 

t  Report  by  practical  farmers  in  Suffolk,  1846. 


PARIXG  AND  BURNING.  143 

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

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

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

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


144  AX  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  J&'tiLASD. 


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

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

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

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


MOVE  ABLE  SHEEP-SHEDS.  145 

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

PART  II.  7 


146  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

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

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

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

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

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

REMARKS     ON     ARCHITECTURAL     SITUATION. SEARCH     FOR      LODGINGS. 

MOTHERLY    KINDNESS. RAILROAD    MISMANAGEMENT. WATERLOO   DAY   AT 

PORTSMOUTH. 

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


OLD   CONNECTICUT.  147 

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


"IMPKOVED    BEASS    CLOCK, 

MANUFACTURED   BY 
H.    WELTON,    TERRYVILLE,    CONNECTICUT. 

(  Warranted,  if  well  used") 


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

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


148  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

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

June  \$th. 

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

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

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


WILLIAM  OF  WYKEHAM.  149 

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

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

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


150  AN  AMERICAN  FARlfER  IN  ENGLAND. 

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

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


A  HOLIDAY  NIGHT.  151 

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

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

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


152  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

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

"  No — dear  me  ! — who  are  you  1" 

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

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

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

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

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


A  HOLIDAY  NIGHT.  153 

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

PART  II.  7* 


154  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

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

THE     ISLE     OF     WIGHT,    ITS     CHARACTERISTICS. APPROPRIATE     DOMESTIC 

ARCHITECTURE. GENIAL     CLIMATE. TROPICAL     VERDURE. THE     CLIFFS 

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

BOYAL  FAMILY. AGRICULTURAL    INCLINATION     AND   RURAL    TASTES. THE 

BOYAL   TENANTRY. — A   RURAL   FETE   AT    OSBORNE. 

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


FAVOUR   OF  NATURE.  155 

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

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

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

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


150  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

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


VICTORIA  AT  HOME.  157 

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

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

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

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


158  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

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

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


ROYAL   TAG  JIT- CLUB  SQUADRON.  159 


CHAPTER  XX. 

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

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

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

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


160  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

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

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

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

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


NAVAL  FORCE  OF  GREAT  BRITAIN.  161 

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

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

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

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

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

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


162  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

The  army  of  Russia      numbers  675,000    men. 


France            " 

400,000 

Austria            " 

400,000 

Sardinia          « 

140,000 

Spain              « 

100,000 

Great  Britain  " 

135,000 

United  States  " 

10,000 

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


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


ENGLISH  CHARACTERISTICS.  163 

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

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

"  Travellers,  gentlemen  T 


104  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  On  foot,  it  appears  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Travelled  far,  so  might  I  ask  ?" 

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

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

"  Yes." 

"  In  France,  it  might  be  ?" 

«  Yes." 

"  Any  where  else  but  France  ?" 

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

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

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


"THE  GLORY  OF  ENGLAND."  165 

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

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

"  No,  sir," 

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

"  No,  sir." 

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

"  No,  indeed,  sir." 

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


166  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

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

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

Liphook,  June  20t7i. 

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

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

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


"  OLD  CO  ACHING-  TIMES.^  167 

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

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

June  2lst. 

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

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


168  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

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

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

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


A  lUanWAY  ADVENTURE.  1G0 

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

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

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

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

PART    II.  8 


170  AX  AMERICAN  FARM.ER  IN  ENULAHl*. 


CHAPTER  XXIT. 

LONDON    LADS. RAILWAY    RIDE. OBSERVATIONS     IN    NATURAL    HISTORY, 

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

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

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


THE  LONDON  B'HOYS.  171 

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

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

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


172  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

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

"  Kangurerhoos — what's  them  ?" 

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

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

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

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

stunnenest  thing  you  ever  see." 

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

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

"  What  bears  fresh  kortern  loavs  erry  morning." 

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

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

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

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

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


WALK  TO  LONDON.  173 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

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

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

FROM  BLACKFRIAR'S  BRIDGE." 

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

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

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


174  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

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

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

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

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

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

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


WORDS  AND   THEIR  AUTHORITIES.  175 

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


176  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

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

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

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


SUBURBAN  LONDON.  177 

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

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

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

PART  II.  8* 


178  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER  IN  ENGLAND. 

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

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

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


"MOVE  OX!"  179 

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


APPENDIX    C. 


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

EXPENSE. 

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

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

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


18'2  4PPEXDLI. 

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

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

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


ADVICE  TO   THE  PEDESTRIAN.  183 

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

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

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

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


184  APPENDIX. 

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

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

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

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


ADVICE  TO  THE  PEDESTRIAN.  185 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


186  APPENDIX. 

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

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

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

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

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


ADVICE  TO  THE  PEDESTRIAN.  187 

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

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

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

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


APPENDIX    D. 


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

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

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

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


THE  MARK  SYSTEM.  189 

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

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

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


190  APPENDIX. 

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

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


THE  MARK  SYSTEM.  191 

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


192  APPENDIX. 

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

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


THE     END. 


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