did. As long as mind endures, as often as the hand of thought reaches
out, it must gather whether it will or not.
It is not far from 6 P. M. of this Sunday. Service is being held, and the great nave is half filled. The audience are trying to hear, and a part of them are sincerely worshipping; the remainder, like ourselves, are "seeing the cathedral." The sounds were confused and the echo troublesome, though not so much so as at other places. We were favorably impressed with the great length of the cathedral, and with its general look of vastness,--not awe-stricken, but filled with delight at the privilege we were enjoying in being in great St. Paul's. The large piers and arches, and the arched ceiling (tunnel-like, but here and there pierced with small and too flat domes), all appeared heavy and substantial,--built to last. Elegant colored-glass windows are about the apse, or chancel end, but the others are of small square lights of clear glass. A common square black and white marble tiled floor; monuments and tablets here and there against the columns and walls; an elegant oak organ-case, in two parts, on the side walls of the choir, and just back of the high, iron screen-work that separates the choir from the nave; the rich oaken stalls,--these make up the interior of St. Paul's. The great central dome has dim paintings by Sir James Thornhill, done at the time the cathedral was built. Seen, as the inside of the great dome is, through smoke, which the rays of light from the large windows above penetrate and make visible (this effect is ever present during the light), the great dome awakens a feeling of solemnity. We felt something of what we were contemplating.
The shades of night were falling; the assembly had broken up, and here and there were solitary visitors, moving about weird-like in the dim light as if loth to leave. We at length passed out, and returned to our lodgings at West End.
What ground has been gone over between the hours of 4 and 8 P. M. Hyde Park, Westminster Abbey and Bridge, Parliament Houses, the almost classic river, a look at St. Paul's,--and we are at home and resting.
The comparatively recent construction of St. Paul's deprives it of such ancient monuments as may be found at the Abbey, and in other English cathedrals. Those here are of white marble; and, although some of them are nearly a century old, they yet have a newness of design akin to statuary. One to the memory of Lord Nelson is the most costly and attractive. It is in one of the alcoves, or small chapels, at the west end, and the entire room, some twenty feet square, is devoted to it. It is elaborate and highly decorated. There is another of some eminence at the left side of the choir. It is a life-size statue of Dr. Samuel Johnson, the great lexicographer. He is buried at the Abbey; but one so poor as to live in the obscurity of a garret, at length became so great as to win the second monument in this important church.
"There's a divinity that shapes our ends, Rough-hew them how we will."
The monuments of this church are of consequence as regards their elegance of design. In no other English cathedral is there so large a percentage of works of this kind. Impediments to the introduction of monuments were offered; and it was not till 1791 that the opposition was overcome, when application was made to erect a stone to the memory of John Howard, the philanthropist, who died at Kherson, Russia, Jan. 26, 1790. The door thus being opened, under the supervision of the Royal Academy many others have been erected, among which those of men of military fame prevail. The first monument was set up in 1795. In the south aisle, against the wall, is a full-size statue of Bishop Reginald Heber. He is dressed in canonical robes, his right hand on his breast, his left resting on a Bible standing endwise. He died at Trichinopoly, India, April 3, 1826, at the age of 42, and is celebrated as being the author of the well-known hymn beginning, "From Greenland's icy mountains." The cathedral has a fine basement, hardly inferior in interest to the great room of the cathedral above it, and always visited by the tourist. Here, as at the Whispering Gallery, the fee of a shilling is charged. The room is fifteen feet high, and is clean and airy. The floor is paved with stone slabs, and a large number of windows thoroughly light it. Innumerable columns of stone, for the support of the arching overhead, and floor resting upon it, give the room a forest-like appearance; though by no means depriving it also of the look of a vast chapel, for at the proper place there is an altar and its appurtenances. In this vicinity are a few effigies and tablets from the first cathedral. Forming an architectural museum, are a lot of relics that were found in the ground at the building of this cathedral, and so are of Roman origin, or were used as parts of the old cathedral.
Under the centre of the great dome, in this crypt, stands the granite sarcophagus in which rests the dust of Arthur Wellesley, the Duke of Wellington, who died at Walmer Castle, near Deal, Sept. 14, 1852, at the age of eighty-three. This sarcophagus is grand. So justly great is the public esteem for the man, that monuments to his memory are almost as common in England as are tablets of "the Lion and the Unicorn fighting for the crown," or as Washington Streets and men named "George W." are in America. In the crypt is the gorgeous catafalque on which were borne the remains of Wellington at the funeral procession,--the elegant wheels made from cannon captured by him. For a small fee persons are admitted within the iron fence to make examinations,--always accompanied by a guide, whose duty is to see that visitors carry away nothing save the story he tells them.
To us the most interesting object in the entire cathedral is in this crypt. At the right hand, as one faces the rear end, and well along on the side, is the last resting-place of the architect of the building, Sir Christopher Wren. The spot was selected by himself, and is really, though unpretending, a choice place of sepulture. It is under one of the windows, and is very light; and, if we mistake not, rays of the sun at times fall on the tomb. There is no imposing monument,--only a level stone slab some three feet wide and six feet long, two feet from the floor, bearing this simple statement:--
HERE LYETH SR. CHRISTOPHER WREN THE BUILDER OF THIS CATHEDRAL CHURCH OF ST. PAUL &C. WHO DYED IN THE YEAR OF OUR LORD MDCCXXIII AND OF HIS AGE XCI.
On the western jamb of the window is a marble tablet, six feet three inches long, and three feet high, sunk into a panel, finished with a well cut egg-and-tongue moulding, and inscribed as follows:--
LECTOR SI MONUMENTUM REQUIRIS CIRCUMSPICE.
(Reader, if you seek his monument, look around you.)
He contracted a cold in coming from Hampton Court to London, which doubtless hastened his death, but he died as he had lived, in great serenity. In the last days of his life he was accustomed to take a nap after dinner. On the 25th of February, 1723, his constant servant, thinking he slept longer than usual, went into his room and found him dead in his chair.
Two events of special interest took place in this year. On the 16th of July was born Sir Joshua Reynolds, the eminent painter. Elmes says:--
The placid soul of Wren might, by a poetical license, be imagined to have informed the equally placid mind of Reynolds, for no two men could be found to form a more just parallel; equally distinguished for industry, love of art, placidity, modesty, communicativeness, and disinterestedness.... At the head of your respected arts, ye both lie in honor, and in possession of the love and reverence of your countrymen, beneath the same vast dome that honors both your memories. Goodness and ye fill up one monument.
In this year also, 1723, was erected our old Christ Church on Salem Street, Boston. The design of this has been attributed to Wren, and we are inclined to think that indirectly he aided its conception. As he died at the great age of ninety-one, and was very feeble before his death, it can hardly be presumed that he made the drawings; but he may have dictated them. More probably he may have made a design some years before, which, being at hand, found its way to Boston; or the plan may have been made by a former apprentice, who carried on his master's work. Again, this design may have been copied, almost without the change of a line, from St. Bartholomew's-by-the-Wardrobe; for that, so far as the interior is concerned, is its prototype, even to the painted cherub-heads in the spandrils of the arches over the galleries. St. Bartholomew's was built from Wren's designs in 1692, and so was 31 years old at the time of the erection of our Boston church. The London church is 79 feet long, 59 feet wide, and 38 feet high. The dimensions of Christ Church are 70 feet, 50 feet, and 35 feet. Aside from the likeness of their interiors, there is a singular agreement in the pillar-capitals and gallery fronts, and also in the mouldings, combinations, altar-work, and vases. Their exteriors have little in common. There are two ranges of windows in each; but those of the London church are circular-headed on the second range, and only segmental for the first, like those at Boston King's Chapel; while at our Christ Church all the windows have circular tops. The London church has a plain flat-roofed tower, 80 feet high, without a steeple, though it is quite possible there may at some time have been one. This tower is at the right-hand corner instead of at the centre of the front.
The steeple on our Christ Church was blown down in the great gale of 1815, and rebuilt by Bulfinch, it is said, according to the original design. In its important features, and even details, this steeple is much like Wren's. This is not the place to argue the case,--but we repeat, the probabilities are that Christ Church was indirectly designed by the distinguished architect of St. Paul's.
The National Gallery of Paintings is a building of large dimensions, situated on Trafalgar Square, one of the main business centres, which is not far from half a mile from the Thames, and about midway between Westminster and St. Paul's. It contains eleven rooms for the display of over six hundred pictures, all of them being choice works of the Masters. The building is open to the public daily.
The British Museum is an enormous building, light and airy. In it, free to the public, is an unsurpassed collection of preserved animals, which can better be imagined than described. How wide is the field to which one is introduced, in the works of art or places of entertainment, in this vast metropolis! Museums and galleries abound. Accessible to the public, they are practically free, and better than can be found elsewhere in the world.
How abundant are the means of travel. The cab system is here at its perfection. The low prices are regulated by law. It costs one passenger a shilling, and two passengers a shilling and sixpence, to go a reasonable distance,--farther than from the Boston North End depots to those at the other part of the city. Cabs are plenty and are to be found standing in the centre of all principal thoroughfares. It is the law also that a tariff-card, in readable type, shall be put up inside of every cab.
Omnibuses abound, always with seats on the top as well as inside. The horse-cars, or trams, are heavier than ours, and not so handsome, but they are clean and well managed. Like the omnibuses, they have seats on top, where the travellers sit back to back. Then there is the underground railway. This runs almost around the entire city, and has a double track. Steam trains, of many carriages, are constantly passing both ways. At convenient points are stations where passengers descend and return by wide stairways through well-lighted and spacious trainhouses. This road is in all respects a great success. Perhaps half of it is through tunnels, but much of it is open to the sky, and the cars are lighted artificially. So frequent are the trains that one goes to the station at random, as he would to an omnibus, sure of not having long to wait.
We have spoken of the oft-running and well-patronized boats on the river. London is perfectly supplied with facilities for transit. Not for a moment would the over-crowded horse-cars, often seen here in our Boston be tolerated. We do not remember once standing in any public conveyance in England or on the Continent.
The public parks of London are very numerous, and are admirably located for convenience. Their total extent is greater than in any other city of the world. Prominent among these are Hyde Park, containing 400 acres; St. James's and Regent's parks, containing 450 acres each; and Kensington Gardens with 290. All these are within the metropolitan district, and are as readily accessible to the public as Boston Common or the Public Garden. Besides these, London's suburban parks are of incredible number and extent. It is enough to name some of them, and say that all these, and many more, are within six or eight miles of the centre of the city and easily reached. Victoria Park has 300 acres, Finsbury 115, Hackney Downs 50, Woolwich Common and Greenwich Park 174 each, Peckham, Rye, and Southwark 63 each, Wandworth Common 302, Wimbledon 628. A little farther off is Richmond Park with 2,253 acres, the largest park near London. Then comes Windsor with 3,800, and Hampton Court and Bushey Park 1,842 each, and finally Kew Park and Gardens (the finest botanic garden in England), containing 684 acres. Most of them date back for centuries. Kew Garden is remarkable for its neatness, and hundreds of thousands annually visit it. In the vicinity are refreshment houses, kept in good order, which make the gardens a favorite place of resort, on Sundays as well other days.
Volumes might be written in regard to these parks, and then only vague descriptions would be given. None of them are finished like Central Park, New York,--that is, as far as bridges and lodges are concerned,--but in all else the London parks are its equals, and the city has done nobly for the comfort and health of the public. The more one experiences of London life, the more he realizes its greatness. Everywhere he discovers what is well adapted to the wants and tastes of our century; the old appears new, and the new old. Within a few minutes' walk of each other are over forty churches built immediately after the fire of 1666, two hundred years ago. Some of them have fine interiors, as St. Bride's, St. Stephen's Walbrook, Bow Church, St. Martin's in the Fields, and St. Clement Danes. In beauty, save perhaps the pews, these excel the churches newly built, with the exception of a few modern Gothic structures. Few of the churches named have many worshippers; the population has removed, but veneration for the old spots, and an inherent disinclination to change, say "Stay!" and so the old churches stand forlorn.
So interesting are all the old churches of London, that it is with an effort we refrain from speaking of them in detail. One, however, we feel justified in naming, and in giving a few items of its history. St. Sepulchre's is near the Old Bailey prison. Here preached John Rogers, the first of the martyrs during the reign of Queen Mary. He was burned at the stake in Smithfield, Feb. 4, 1555. The place of his execution is now a small square near his church. He is the John Rogers of the New England Primer, wherein we are told that "his wife followed him to the place of execution, with nine small children, and one at the breast." The perplexing question of number has been solved, for other accounts say distinctly that there were ten children in all.
Of more than common interest to Americans is the fact that in St. Sepulchre's church are buried the remains of Capt. John Smith, who in 1606 made the settlement of Virginia at Jamestown, and whose life was saved by the intercession of Pocahontas. He was born at Willoughby, England, in 1579, and died in London, June 21, 1631. He made voyages of discovery along the coast of New England, landing at the Isles of Shoals. Just 250 years afterwards, in 1864, a stone monument was erected to his memory on Star Island. There was formerly in this church a monument in remembrance of him, which has long been removed. We have been fortunate enough to obtain the poetical part of the inscription:--
Here lies one conquered, that hath conquered kings, Subdued large territories, and done things Which to the world impossible would seem, But that the truth is held in more esteem. Shall I report his former service done, In honor of his God and Christendom? How that he did divide, from pagans three, Their heads and lives, types of his chivalry?-- For which great service, in that climate done, Brave Sigismundus, King of Hungarion, Did give him, as a coat of arms, to wear, Three conquered heads, got by his sword and spear; Or shall I tell of his adventures since, Done in Virginia, that large continent? How that he subdued kings unto his yoke, And made those heathens flee, as wind doth smoke; And made their land, being of so large a station An habitation for our Christian nation; Where God is glorified, their wants supplied; Which else, for necessaries, must have died. But what avails his conquests, now he lies Interred in earth, a prey to worms and flies? Oh! may his soul in sweet Elysium sleep, Until the keeper, that all souls doth keep, Return to judgment; and that after thence With angels he may have his recompense.
By the will of Robert Dow, a London citizen and merchant-tailor, who died in 1612, the annual sum of 26s. 8d. was bequeathed for the delivery of a solemn exhortation to the condemned prisoners of Newgate near by, on the night previous to their execution. Says the historian Stow:--
It was provided that the clergyman of St. Sepulchre's should come in the night time, and likewise early in the morning, to the window of the prison where they lie, and there ringing certain tolls with a hand-bell appointed for the purpose, should put them in mind of their present condition and ensuing execution, desiring them to be prepared therefore as they ought to be. When they are in the cart, and brought before the wall of the church [on the way to Tyburn], there he shall stand ready with the same bell, and after certain tolls, rehearse the appointed prayer, desiring all the people there present to pray for them.
A work entitled "Annals of Newgate" says, it was for many years a custom for the bellman of St. Sepulchre's, on the eve of execution, to go under the walls of Newgate, and to repeat the following verses in the hearing of the criminals in the condemned cell:--
All you that in the condemn'd cell do lie, Prepare you, for to-morrow you shall die. Watch all and pray, the hour is drawing near, When you before th' Almighty must appear. Examine well yourselves, in time repent, That you may not t' eternal flames be sent; And when St. 'Pulchre's bell to-morrow tolls, The Lord have mercy on your souls! Past twelve o'clock!
We visited many of these venerable churches, generally always on week-days, and found female sextons in attendance,--sometimes almost ready to hang their harps on the willows, as they related the decline from days of old. Our Old South, on Washington Street, is not nearer to commercial activity, nor more removed from the resident population, than are a hundred churches in the world's metropolis.
On our visit to St. Clement Danes, in the Strand,--an elegant structure without and within, nearly 200 years old,--we inquired for Dr. Samuel Johnson's pew, for he there attended church; and we found it near the end of the left gallery, a front pew, No. 18. There are columns as in King's Chapel, Boston, and against one of these the old lexicographer sat for years, often with the smooth-thinking and easy-going Boswell beside him. Making mention of one of these occasions, Boswell says:--
On the 9th of April, 1773, being Good Friday, I breakfasted with him, on tea and cross-buns; Dr. Levet, as Frank called him, making tea. He carried me with him to the church of St. Clement Danes, where he had his seat; and his behavior was, as I had imagined to myself, solemnly devout. I shall never forget the tremulous earnestness with which he pronounced the awful petition of the Litany: "In the hour of death, and at the day of judgment, good Lord deliver us!" We went to church both in the morning and evening. In the interval between the services we did not dine; but he read the Greek Testament, and I turned over several of his books.
In memory of the former occupant, a brass plate, some six inches high and eight inches wide, is let into the back of the pew, and reads as follows:--
In this pew, and beside this pillar, for many years attended divine service the celebrated Dr. Samuel Johnson, the philosopher, the poet, the lexicographer, the profound moralist, and chief writer of his time. Born 1709, died 1784. In the remembrance and honor of noble faculties, nobly employed, some of the inhabitants of the parish of St. Clement Danes have placed this slight memorial, A. D. 1851.
The inscription is said to have been prepared by Dr. Croly, rector of St. Stephen's Walbrook. Each of us sat where the verger informed us Johnson used to sit. The pulpit is placed as it is in King's Chapel, and the Johnson pew is within easy reach of it. We thought of Dr. Taylor, the rector, who was called up at night, when Johnson's wife Tetty died, to go to Johnson's house, and attempt to soothe and assuage his grief. He had a great mind and, when stricken, great was his sorrow. The record is:--
The letter calling him was brought to Dr. Taylor at his house in the cloisters, Westminster, about three in the morning, and as it signified his earnest desire to see him, he got up and went to Johnson and found him in tears, and in extreme agitation. After a little while together Johnson requested him to join with him in prayer. He then prayed extempore, as did Dr. Taylor, and thus, by means of that piety which was ever his primary object, his troubled mind was in some degree soothed and composed.
Dr. Taylor once told Boswell that, on entering the room, Johnson expressed his grief in the strongest manner he had ever read, and that he much regretted his language was not preserved. It was doubtless in this house in Gough Square, that Johnson passed ten melancholy years. Sad indeed must have been his distress, when he was compelled to write the following to his friend Richardson, the novelist.
GOUGH SQUARE, 16th March, 1756.
SIR,--I am obliged to entreat your assistance. I am now under arrest for five pounds eighteen shillings. Mr. Strahan, from whom I would have received the necessary help in this case, is not at home, and I am afraid of not finding Mr. Miller. If you will be so good as to send me this sum, I will very gratefully repay you, and add to it all former obligations. I am, sir, your most obedient and most humble servant,
SAM. JOHNSON.
Sent Six Guineas.
Witness, WILLIAM RICHARDSON.
This reminds us of Will's Coffee House where Johnson, Addison, Goldsmith, and others of like spirit so often congregated. We found it an ordinary three-story brick building, at the corner of a street near Covent Garden. There is a common liquor store in the first story, and a tenement above.
There are three particular things one who visits London should always see,--the Tower, Hampton Court, and the Bunhill Burial-ground.
The Tower, as it is familiarly called, is not a tower simply, nor any single building, but twelve acres of ground enclosed by a massive stone wall, one side of which borders the Thames. Inside the enclosure are stone buildings, the principal of which is the large one in the centre. It is several stories high, square in plan, measures about one hundred and fifty feet on each side, and has square towers at each angle. These are continued up some twenty feet above the main building, and each is crowned with a Moorish dome and a weather vane. The White Tower, as it is called, is another of the buildings, and was erected in 1078.
One finds a comfortable waiting-room just inside the grounds, and there is always a company of visitors in waiting. When twenty are present, one of the guards leads the way hurriedly through the portcullis, calling attention to the several parts of the edifices.
We go through the Museum of Armor. On each side are effigy horses, facing towards the passage-way, and on them are images of the kings dressed in the armor worn in life.
We go into the dungeon where for twelve years Sir Walter Raleigh was confined; the ancient chapel of St. John, five hundred years old; the modern armory; the dungeon-keep where are deposited the crown-jewels and other articles of royal value, all enclosed in glass, and protected by iron-work.
Hastily we see the Traitor's Gate, through which Raleigh, Sidney, and Russell were taken into the Tower; the room opposite, where the two sons of Edward IV. were murdered at the instigation of Richard III.; the Beauchamp Tower, where Anne Boleyn and Lady Jane Gray were detained; the old banquet-hall, in which are sixty thousand rifles. For particulars the reader is referred to "Historical Memorials of the Tower," by Lord de Ros, published at London in 1867.
Hampton Court is reached by steam railway, and is fifteen miles from London. This palace was founded by Cardinal Wolsey; and of his building, three large quadrangles, in the Tudor style, remain. Large additions were made by William III., from designs by Sir Christopher Wren. The state rooms contain a splendid collection of paintings by Holbein, Vandyke, Kneller, and West, and also the seven original cartoons of Raphael. Some of the rooms are still furnished as sleeping-rooms, as they were when occupied by kings and queens centuries ago. The public are freely admitted to the entire premises.
The extensive grounds are laid out in Dutch style, with fine avenues. In its greenhouse is the largest and the most productive grapevine in Europe. It was planted in 1767, and at the time of our visit it was said to have over three thousand bunches of Black Hamburg grapes upon it. The roots of the vine are in a garden, and the trunk, which is about six inches in diameter, extends three feet from the ground, along the wall of the house, which it then enters. Inside, the vine spreads over the entire top, which is built in the usual conservatory style, with a roof having but one slope. It is hardly needful to say that these grapes are raised solely for the royal family.
There are hundreds of acres in the grounds, and adjoining it is a park, the circumference of which is over five miles,--a delightful spot to visit. The trees, embowered avenues, terraces, gardens, and long vistas yet remain as they were centuries ago. The soil, once sacred to the tread of royalty, is now a republican delight to the multitude.
A remarkable depositary of the sainted dead is Bunhill Burial-ground, in one of the busiest parts of London, on a great thoroughfare, opposite the house in which John Wesley died on the 2d of March, 1791. Almost adjoining this is the church in which Wesley preached. The burial-ground was laid out for a sacred purpose; the burial of Non-conformists and their friends, who have made the ground classic. No cathedral cemetery, to which they could not be admitted, has an honor greater than this. Here rests the sacred poet, Isaac Watts, whose monument tells us that he died Nov. 25, 1748. There is a monument to the memory of Susannah Wesley, the mother of nineteen children, two of whom were John and Charles. Here is the grave of John Bunyan, who died Aug. 31, 1688; and that of Daniel Defoe, the author of "Robinson Crusoe." Could the doctrine of a literal resurrection be true, no grander company would assemble at one spot, or walk forth into glory clad in whiter robes than theirs. No pope or bishop, of Roman Church or English, could understand the plaudit, "Well done good and faithful servant, enter thou into the joy of thy Lord," better than would they. These came up out of great tribulation, and so would shine resplendent.
London is great. A volume appropriated to each of a thousand things would not tell the story. Her history has a vast reach and the records have been well kept. Her population is a round four and a half millions,--as much as New York, Philadelphia, Chicago, Cincinnati, Boston, and ten more of our largest New England cities combined. Her great Library at the Museum has as many books as Harvard and Yale colleges, and the Boston Public Library, all put together.
Our stay here was from Sunday, May 12, to Saturday the 25th, about two weeks, and no hour of time was unemployed. We were amid scenes of which history had made the letter somewhat familiar; and now personal observation made the spirit a living reality. No one can know London till he sojourns there for months, visiting its places of interest, and reading anew the history of each in the admirable works written for the purpose.
As regards the habits of daily life we find but little that is peculiar. The influence of the press and of travel have changed the system of domestic as well as political economy. Both nations, American and English, have given and received. It savors perhaps of egotism, but it is exceedingly easy to say that the influence of the daughter excels that of the mother. There are more traces of America in England, than of England in America. The modifications have been from our direction, for it is true now, as in Bishop Berkeley's day, that "Westward the star of empire takes its way." Liberalism in England is not Communism, and will never be. Liberty may be ill-used by fanatics, but the sound sense of England will take care of itself, and "out of the bitter will come forth sweet." There are some points of English polity to be spoken of, but not now.
On this Saturday, May 25, we take a train at 1 P. M. for Oxford.