Part 9

WINDSOR CASTLE, JULY 11.--At the 'White Horse Cellar,' Piccadilly, I perched myself on a Windsor coach, and off we rattled by Apsley House, Hyde-Park, and Kensington Gardens, our coachee skilfully threading his way between the innumerable omnibuses and other vehicles which ply between the modern Babel and the hundred-and-one villages in its environs. We passed through Kensington, Kingsbridge, Hounslow, Brentford, Hammersmith, Kew, Turnham Green, and a series of gardens between. The castle is first seen from the road, crowning an elevation about three miles distant, on the left; the coach makes a short turn through the town of _Eton_, where is the celebrated school, or college, in which noblemen are proud to have been educated; and with a glance at its curious Gothic chapel, we crossed a bridge over the Thames, and were at once in the respectable old town of Windsor, where there are no doubt as many 'merry wives' as in the days of Shakspeare and sweet Anne Page. There are several approaches to the castle, the chief one being from the Great Park; but the public are admitted only on the side of the town, through the two 'outer walls,' each of which are well flanked with towers of stone. The castle itself covers as much space as a small village, and a novice is somewhat puzzled in its labyrinths of arches, donjons, inner and outer walls, towers, and gate-ways. It is indeed a magnificent and kingly structure, or rather assemblage of structures, for the various parts have been built at widely different periods, and in every variety of form; but the whole seems most happily combined in one vast and imposing edifice, in which the strength, grandeur, and castellated style of the old baronial strong holds, is as remarkable, as the elegance, splendor, and _comfort_ of a modern palace. It is well described by Von Raumer, in his letters. His majesty, it appeared, had not been advised of my visit, and had gone to take his _déjeuner_ at Kew; but I found that a couple of his representatives, in the shape of shilling-pieces, would introduce me at once into the state apartments; and I can conscientiously give my full approval of the audience-chambers, the throne room, ball-room, and St. George's Hall, as being magnificent, in the highest degree. This part of the castle has been recently renovated and modernized, at great expense. All the rooms are adorned with fine paintings and tapestries, of which latter, the 'History of Esther' series is particularly beautiful. At the Hampton-Court Palace I saw the duplicate original of those tapestries from Raphael, which we had in New-York. From the terraces of the castle, you have a thoroughly English landscape; green meadows, winding streams, and gentle elevations. St. George's Chapel, adjoining the castle, is considered a gem of Gothic architecture. It contains the twenty-four stalls of the knights of the garter, with their banners suspended above. In the park, adjoining the castle, I looked for Hearne's oak, and sure enough, there was the tree where tradition says Falstaff was enticed and pinched by the fairies; and near it is the foot-path to Dachet Mead, where they ducked him in the buck-basket.

The approach to the castle from the Great Park, and the sweet little lake called Virginia Water, is through a noble avenue, extending three miles in a perfectly strait and level line, shaded by rows of stately elms. One of the best views of the castle is from the hill, at the end of this avenue. I have made up my mind, that Windsor and Warwick cannot be equalled, 'in their way,' as Mr. Cooper says, in all Europe.

On the way back, there was an amusing dispute on the top of the coach between a tory, a moderate reformer, and a fiery radical. I was astonished to observe the freedom and boldness with which they settled the affairs of the nation, and railed at each other's party, or individuals composing it. John Bull certainly allows his children _some_ liberties--those of speech, the press, and conscience--(though perhaps scarcely the last,) and a stranger may gain more insight into the character and opinions of the people, in a mixed company, like that of a stage-coach, than from all the books in the museum.

* * * * *

THE police of London is, perhaps, more efficient, without being oppressive, than any other in the world. In Paris, the agents of the police are very numerous; but they act in _secret service_; they are _spies_ on the people; and though I am not aware of having seen a policeman there, it is extremely probable that I met them daily at the _cafês_ and dining-rooms. But in London, they are in no disguise. They are distinguished by a uniform suit of blue and a cockade, and are to be seen at every turn and corner, day and night, always on the watch for the least show of disturbance. There must be, at least, two or three thousand of these men constantly employed for the seemingly idle purpose of walking the streets. Disorder is consequently rare, and is always checked in the bud; and drunken vagrants, if ever seen, are soon disposed of, for a policeman is always within call. There is, also, a night horse-patrol for the environs. Each of the public buildings is sentinelled by one or more of the 'Life Guards,' who are richly dressed in scarlet, with tremendous black, bushy caps, _à la grenadier Francaise_. These valiant troops also attend the members of the royal family, when they visit public places. A part of them are mounted, and have their head-quarters at the 'Horse Guards' in Whitehall and St. James' Park.

The working classes, and even the 'tradesmen' of England, as well as I could judge, are far from being so well informed as those of the United States. One of the most obvious reasons is, the comparatively high price of books and newspapers in England, which places these luxuries beyond the reach of such as gain the scanty pittance of their daily bread by the sweat of their brow. Many, even those who may be said to belong to the _middle_ classes, appear to have access to newspapers only at the public dining-rooms; and as to the publications of the day, they are well content with the loan of them from a circulating-library, for nearly as much as the whole book may be bought for in New York. How many of the thousands among us who get the last novel of Bulwer, James, or Marryat, for the trifling sum of fifty cents, would make the purchase, if they had to pay one pound eleven shillings and sixpence, or seven dollars, as in London? New novels can only be afforded _there_ by the librarian, the nobility, or the millionaire. But with us, _all_ classes have books; and the mechanic's apprentice, with the penny paper in his hand, may discuss the politics of the day as wisely, perhaps, as his master, or the president himself.

* * * * *

I WOULD not assume a critical nicety in matters which belong to more learned heads, but I must say, that the vulgar _pronunciation_ of many words, not only among the cockney tribe, but, according to Mr. Cooper,[6] reaching even to the bishops, was continually grating on my ear, in London. I inquired for Holborn, which seemed to be a place unknown, until I learned that the _English_ of it was _Hobun_. Lombard, you must call _Lumbud_; Warwick, _Warrick_; Thames, _Tems_; Pall Mall, _Pell-Mell_, and so on. We have even the high authority of Lord Brougham, or rather Lord _Broom_, for calling Birmingham _Brummagem_. I really think that we yankee rebels are far more loyal to the king's English, than his majesty's liege subjects.

There are many words which the English use in quite a different sense from ourselves, and many _articles_ which they call by a different, and often more appropriate, name. Every body knows that by a _clever_ man, they mean a man of genius and talent; and a _very_ clever man would be with them a person of extraordinary celebrity; whereas we only apply the word to a good-natured 'hale fellow well met.' The coachman would feel his dignity insulted, if you called him _driver_; and you should also be careful to say _luggage_ instead of _baggage_, or there may be a whisper of scandal. _Nice_ is peculiarly an English word. Several of our own coining have been endorsed in England, such as _talented_, _dutiable_, etc.

The peasantry, and others of the lowest classes in England, are a robust and hardy, but certainly an ignorant and boorish race. Their highest enjoyment would seem to be a horse-race, a mug of ale, or 'pot o' 'alf-and-'alf;' and they drink these brain-muddling beverages in prodigious quantities. With their ale and roast beef, it is no wonder that the English are not of the lean kind!

* * * * *

IT is to be hoped that ignorance respecting the American people, and groundless prejudice against them, is daily becoming less prevalent in England; but a visitor from the United States is yet often as much astonished as amused, at the notions of the people there about us. A traveller is always sure to fall in with conversible companions; and it is gratifying to find on the way many agreeable and intelligent persons, who, with but partial advances on your part, will enter into your plans, and without impertinent curiosity, will readily impart information, or render assistance. At Warwick, a few days after I first landed at Liverpool, I met with a couple of gentlemen of this stamp; and, in the course of conversation, I mentioned that I was an American. They both seemed surprised, and remarked that I spoke English _very_ well; 'they should never have taken me for an American;' and gravely inquired if 'the English language was usually spoken in the United States.' This was evidently a 'man of substance,' and he had just been complaining of the wretched state of public education in England! I seldom confessed that I was any other than 'a native born and bred,' but whenever I did plead guilty of being an American, I always observed an expression of wonder, if not of absolute incredulity. It will scarcely be believed, but it is not more strange than true, that many in this land of learning expect to see in an 'American' a person of different color, habits, and language, from themselves. They seem to apply the word American only to the aborigines; and the descendants of those who have come from England, Scotland, or other European countries, they consider as still belonging to his 'father-land;' and the mass of people in England have the most vague and crude notions about matters and things in this distant republic. Ten to one you may be asked what state Virginia is in, or if there are 'many Indians in New-York,' meaning the _city_. One good lady had an idea that the Indians were black, and that they were the same as our present slaves! When the Americans, in Paris, joined the English residents in congratulating the king on his escape from assassination, one of the English committee proposed, that the republicans should appear in their 'own court dress!' One would think, that with the present facility of intercourse between the two countries, they might be better informed; but it is certainly the fact, that in the present 1836, you will hear blunders, such as these specimens, from five persons out of eight, in England, who have any thing to say concerning the United States.

FOOTNOTES:

[4] MR. GEORGE JONES, who kindly took measures, when in England, (where he was born,) to prolong the still very respectable literary reputation of SHAKSPEARE, by delivering a most inflated salmagundi at Stratford.

[5] In the crypt, I was shown the elephant's tusk, on which the first deed of the land was inscribed.

[6] Mr. C. was asked by a bishop if he knew _Dr. Hubbart_, in New York, and was quite at fault, till he accidentally discovered that the prelate referred to the late Bishop _Hobart_.

THE WAVES.

'I COULD never tire of gazing upon waves. Whether watching them by the shore of an inland lake, as they roll up, in hues of emerald, to the reedy marge, or listening to their swelling monotone, as they break upon the long sea-beach, or curl into white foam in mid-ocean, they are alike beautiful and inspiring to me.'

LETTER FROM A FRIEND.

I.

THERE'S music in the waves by day, When lightsomely they dance along, And in their wild and sunny play, Awake the raptured soul to song; They tell of childhood's blessed dreams, And hopes that lit young fancy's eye, When life's care-chequer'd journey seems Bright as the sunbeam in the sky.

II.

A spell is on the waves by night, Communing with the spirit's ear; It breathes of hopes which once were bright, Enshrouded now in doubt and fear; And, blent with their low murm'ring swell, Come whisperings unto the heart, Of HIM, whose voice doth ever dwell Mid scenes from busy life apart.

III.

But most at twilight's hush I love The melting cadence of the wave, Bringing sweet greetings from above, Of friends long sundered by the grave; It bids me love, and live again O'er fair existence' vernal morn, Ere sorrow dim'd one hour with pain-- Ere from the heart one tie was torn.

IV.

The waves!--they tell of boyhood's dreams, And joys which after years know not; Of verdant groves and babbling streams, And many a well-remember'd spot; And with their gentle music come Fond longings to the weary breast, For Heaven's own unembitter'd home-- Of pure delight and ceaseless rest.

_Hartford_, 1837. ZELOTES.

OLLAPODIANA.

NUMBER TWENTY.

WHETHER you be gentle or simple, reader--whether poetical or prose-enamored--you have been free from any inflictions or productions of mine--whichsoever you may please to call them--any time these several months. If the omission has been grievous, you have had a monition that your life is not all sunshine, many things being oft anticipated, which come not to hand of him that desireth them; if pleasing, you are now reminded, that pleasures of a sublunary character are too brief to have long uniform continuance, since 'diuturnity of delight is a dream, and folly of expectation.' So much for prefatory philosophy. PLATO, when he paced along the olive-walks, beneath the groves of Academe, or listened to the prattle of shining Grecian streams of yore, never knew what it was to meditate the exordium of a magazine paper. As yet, when he flourished, 'editors and _agents_ of periodicals' never took prominent parts in university processions, with toll-gate keepers, sea-serpents, and American eagles, as was jocosely related of the late conflagratory assemblage in the edifice of Brown, on Providence Plantations.

By the way, I laughed extremely at the piece to which I allude, which was full of delightsome and most facetious things, right aptly conceited. It was an imaginary procession at Brown University, on occasion of burning all the literary productions of the students for the last five or six years. Had the sacrificial mandate extended to the honorary members of her societies, then would OLLAPOD have been obliged to be present with his offering to the insatiate elements; and with 'survivors of the Boston massacre, in coaches,' or 'superannuated toll-keepers of the Pawtucket Turnpike,' followed in the train of the great marine visitor at Nahant, or that supposed bird, met by the dreamer (immortalized by the muse of SANDS) who sailed a-nigh it in his vision, what time his spectral charger waved to the breeze of midnight

----'the long, long tail, that glorified That glorious animal's hinder side!'

* * * * *

I'LL warrant me a dozen of Burgundy, with all olives and appurtenances thereunto properly belonging, that this same humorous description gave offence to those who support the dignity of a time-honored _alma-mater_. But they must have laughed in their sleeves at the witty conception of it. Yet it is an old saying, 'A blow with a word strikes deeper than one with a sword.' 'Many men,' saith the profound old Democritus, Junior, 'are as much gauled with a jest, a pasquil, satyre, apologe, epigram, or the like, as with any misfortune whatever. Princes and potentates, that are otherwise happy, and have all at command, secure and free, are grievously vexed with these pasquilling satyrs: they fear a railing _Aretine_, more than an enemy in the field; which made most princes of his time, as some relate, allow him a liberal pension, that he should not tax them in his satyrs. The gods had their Momus, Homer his Zoïlus, Achilles his Thersites, Philip his Demades: the Cæsars themselves in Rome were commonly taunted. There was never wanting a Petronius, a Lucian, in those times; nor will be a Rabelais, an Euphormio, a Boccalinus, in ours. Adrian the Sixth, pope, was so highly offended and grievously vexed with pasquils at Rome, he gave command that satyre should be demolished and burned, the ashes flung into the river Tiber, and had done it forthwith, had not Ludovicus, a facete companion, dissuaded him to the contrary, by telling him that pasquils would turn to frogs in the bottom of the river, and croak worse and louder than before.' A right pithy description is this, of the effect of wit and words.

* * * * *

I HAVE sometimes guffawed immeasurably, at the sharp cuts and thrusts not seldom indulged in by the current writers of our country, both in periodicals and newspapers. Not that I particularly affect the vapid abortions which appear in each department, as now and then they must inevitably do: but names and sources might readily be mentioned in both, whereat the general lip shall curl you a smile, as if by intuition. Our magazines have a goodly sprinkling of the cheerful; and in dull times, one can but wish that they even had more. There is a spirit--and I mentioned but now the name of its incarnate habitation--which has gone from among us, no more to return. Ah me!--that spirit! It was stored with sublunary lore; calm, philosophical, observant; a lens, through which the colors of a warm heart, full of genuine philanthropy and goodness, shone forth upon the world. It was sportive in its satire, and its very sadness was cheerful. Grasping and depicting the Great, it yet ennobled and beautified the Small. Its messengers of thought, winged and clothed with beautiful plumage, went forth in the world, to please by their changeableness, or to impress the eye of fancy with their enduring loveliness. Such was the spirit of SANDS, whose light was quenched forever, while 'inditing a good matter' for the very pages which now embody this feeble tribute to his genius. I well remember, when I first approached his native city, after his death, how thick-coming were the associations connected with his memory, which brought the tears into my eyes. The distant shades of Hoboken, where he so loved to wander; the spreading bay, whereon his 'rapt, inspired' eye has so often rested; the city, towering sleepily afar; the fairy hues of coming twilight, trembling over the glassy Hudson, sloop-bestrown; the half-silver, half-emerald shades, blending together under the heights of Weehawken--these, appealing to my eye, recalled the Lost to my side. I looked to the shore, and there

'The shadows of departed hours Hung dim upon the early flowers; Even in their sunshine seemed to brood Something more deep than solitude.'

* * * * *

NO BARD, 'holy and true,' was ever more deeply imbued than SANDS with 'the spirit of song.' Sublimity, tenderness, description, all were his. But in his dissertations on all subjects, his struggling humor at last came uppermost. From classic stores, he could educe the novel _jeu d'esprit_; from fanciful premises, the most amusing conclusions. Having given a pleasant line or two from one of his happiest sketches, I feel irresistibly inclined to encompass the whole. It is necessary, beforehand, to discern the preamble of the argument. A fellow-minstrel has indited and published to the world a fanciful picture of the national eagle, in all his original wildness, surrounded with characteristic scenery. The picture is a grand one, but over-colored; and would seem to have been drawn according to the admitted principle of the writer in composition, that 'whatever he writes is either superlatively good, or sheer nonsense.' The former quality predominates; but there is enough of the latter in _all_ he has written. The minstrel just mentioned also gave birth to a midnight phantom, or the sketch of a most supernal steed; the burlesque presentment whereof is hereto annexed, together with certain allusions to the feathery emblem of the republic, which show that the limner knew how to kill two rare objects with one satirical 'fragment of granite:'

'A MISTY dream--and a flashy maze-- Of a sunshiny flush--and a moonshiny haze! I lay asleep with my eyes open wide, When a donkey came to my bedside, And bade me forth to take a ride. It was not a donkey of vulgar breed, But a cloudy vision--a night-mare steed! His ears were abroad like a warrior's plume-- From the bosom of darkness was borrowed the gloom Of his dark, dark hide, and his coal black hair, But his eyes like no earthly eyes they were! Like the fields of heaven where none can see The depths of their blue eternity! Like the crest of a helmet taught proudly to nod, And wave like a meteor's train abroad, Was the long, long tail, that glorified The glorious donkey's hinder side! And his gait description's power surpasses-- 'T was the beau ideal of all jack-asses.

'I strode o'er his back, and he took in his wind-- And he pranced before--and he kicked behind-- And he gave a snort, as when mutterings roll Abroad from pole to answering pole-- While the storm-king sits on the hail-cloud's back, And amuses himself with the thunder-crack! Then off he went, like a bird with red wings, That builds her nest where the cliff-flower springs-- Like a cloudy steed by the light of the moon, When the night's muffled horn plays a windy tune; And away I went, while my garment flew Forth on the night breeze, with a snow-shiny hue-- Like a streak of white foam on a sea of blue. Up-bristled then the night-charger's hair too, Like a bayonet grove, at a 'shoulder-hoo!'

'Hurra! hurra! what a hurry we made! My hairs rose too, but I was not afraid; Like a stand of pikes they stood up all, Each eye stood out like a cannon ball; So rapt I looked, like the god of song; As I shot and whizzed like a rocket along. Thus through the trough of the air as we dash'd, Goodly and glorious visions flash'd Before my sight with a flashing and sparkling, In whose blaze all earthly gems are darkling. As the gushes of morning, the trappings of eve, Or the myriad lights that will dance when you give Yourself a clout on the orb of sight, And see long ribands of rainbow light; Such were the splendors, and so divine, So rosy and starry, and fiëry and fine.

'Then eagle! then stars! and then rainbows! and all That I saw at Niagara's tumbling fall, Where I sung so divinely of them and their glories, While mewed in vile durance, and kept by the tories; Where the red cross flag was abroad on the blast, I sat very mournful, but not downcast. My harp on the willows I did not hang up, Nor the winglets of fancy were suffered to droop,-- But I soared, and I swooped, like a bird with red wings, Who mounts to the cloud-god, and soaringly sings.