Part 40 (1/2)
”_April 26._--Miss Robinson has been telling me, 'When we were in London, we went to a chapel in Bedford Place where Sydney Smith often used to preach, and we were shown into a pew; for, you know, in London you do not sit where you like, but they show you into pews--the women people that keep the church do. There was a strange lady in the seat, and I have never seen her before or since. It was not I that sat next to her--my Sister Surtees was the person. The service was got through very well, and when the preacher got up, it was Sydney Smith. I remember the sermon as if it were to-day. It was from the 106th Psalm. He described the end of man--the ”portals of mortality.” ”Over those portals,” he said, ”are written Death!
Plague! Famine! Pestilence!” &c., and he was most violent. I am sure the poor man that had read the service and was sitting underneath would rather have been at the portals of mortality than where he was just then, for Sydney Smith thumped the cus.h.i.+on till it almost touched his head, and he must have thought the whole thing was coming down upon him. The lady in the pew was quite frightened, and she whispered to my Sister Surtees, ”This is Sir Sydney Smith, who has been so long in the wars, and that is what makes him so violent.”--”Oh dear, no,” said my Sister Surtees, ”you are under a great mistake,” &c.
”Miss Robinson described her youth at Houghton-le-Spring, now almost the blackest place in Durham.
”'Houghton-le-Spring was a lovely rustic village. There was not a pit in the neighbourhood, and the neighbourhood was the best that was known in England. Sixteen or seventeen carriages waited at the church-gate every Sunday. My father lived at Herrington Hall, and our family were buried in Bernard Gilpin's tomb, because they were related.
”'The Lyons[206] of Hetton were a beautiful family, but Mrs.
Fellowes was the loveliest. Jane and Elizabeth died each of a rapid decline. Mrs. Lyon embarked ?60,000 in the pit at Hetton, lost it, and died of a broken heart. People used to say, 'Do you know where Mrs. Lyon's heart is? At the bottom of Hetton coal-pit.'”
After a visit to the George Liddells at Durham, I went on to Northumberland.
_To_ MY MOTHER.
”_Westgate Street, Newcastle, May 6, 1862._--Yesterday afternoon I came here, to the old square dark red brick house of the Claytons, who are like merchant-princes in Newcastle, so enormous is their wealth, but who still live in the utmost simplicity in the old-fas.h.i.+oned family house in this retired shady street. The family are all remarkable. First comes Mr. John Clayton of Chesters, the well-known antiquary of North Tyne, a grand, st.u.r.dy old man, with a head which might be studied for a bust of Jupiter;[207] then there is his brother Matthew, a thin tall lawyer, full of jokes and queer sayings; then the venerable and beautiful old sister, Mrs. Anne Clayton (beloved far and wide by the poor, amongst whom she spends her days, and who are all devoted to 'Mrs. Nancy Claytoun'), is the gentlest and kindest of old ladies. And besides these, there is the nephew, George Nathaniel, a college friend of mine, and his wife, Isabel Ogle, whom we have often met abroad.
”Last night, Dr. Bruce[208] dined, the leader of the 'Romanist'
antiquarians in the county, in opposition to Dr. Charlton and the 'Medi?valists.'”
”_May 7._--How amused my mother would be with this quaintest of families, who live here in the most primitive fas.h.i.+on, always treating each other as if they were acquaintances of the day, and addressing one another by their full t.i.tles, as 'Miss Anne Clayton, will you have the goodness to make the tea?'--'Mr. Town-Clerk of Newcastle, will you have the kindness to hand me the toast?' &c.
Miss Anne is a venerable lady with snow-white hair, but her brother Matthew, who is rather older, is convinced that she is one of the most harum-scarum young girls in the world, and is continually pulling her up with 'Miss Anne Clayton, you are very inaccurate,'--'Miss Anne Clayton, be careful what you say,'--'Miss Anne Clayton, another inaccuracy,'--while the poor old sister goes on her own way without minding a bit.
”This afternoon we have been to Tynemouth, and most refres.h.i.+ng was the sea-air upon the cliffs, and the sight of that enchanting old ruin standing on its rocky height. The journey was very curious through the pit, gla.s.s, and alkali country.
”This evening old Mr. Matthew has been unusually extraordinary, and very fatiguing--talking for exactly two hours about his bootmakers, Messrs. Hoby & Humby, whence they came, what they had done, and how utterly unrivalled they were. 'Miss Anne Clayton,' he said at the end, 'I hope you understand all I've been saying. Now wait before you give an opinion, but above all things, Miss Anne Clayton, don't, don't be inaccurate.'”
”_Dilston Hall, May 8, 1862._--I left Westgate Street this morning directly after breakfast, and getting out of the train at Blaydon, walked by Stella and Ryton to Wylam. Ryton was very interesting to me, because the church is full of monuments of my Simpson relations, including that of old Mrs. Simpson, the mother-in-law of Lady Anne, of whom we have a picture, and of her father, Mr.
Andersen,[209] from whom the property came. As I was going through the churchyard, the s.e.xton poked up his head from an open grave to stare at me. 'Where can I get the church keys?' I said. 'Why, I'll tell you wherefrom you'll get them; you'll just get them out of my coat-pocket,' he answered, and so I did. It was a beautiful church, with rich stained windows, oak stalls, and tombs, and outside it lovely green haughs sloping down to the Tyne.
”Thence I walked on to see Bradley,[210] the home of my great-grandmother Lady Anne Simpson. It is a charming place, with deep wooded glens filled with what Northumbrians call rowan and gane trees, and carpeted with primroses and cowslips.
”I arrived at Dilston by tea-time, and afterwards we went out along the terraced heights, and I longed for you to see the view--the rich hanging woods steeped in gold by the setting sun, while behind rose the deep blue moorlands, and from below the splash of the Devil's Water came through the gnarled oaks and yellow broom.”
”_Old Elvet, Durham, May 4._--On Friday I drew in the lovely woods by the Devil's Water, and then walked, overtaken by a dreadful storm on the way, to Queen Margaret's cave in Deepden, where she met the robber. Yesterday a wild moorland drive took me to Blanchland,[211] a curious place, with a monastic church and gateway, and a village surrounding a square, in the deep ravine of the Derwent. Then a still wilder drive brought me to Stanhope, whence I came here by rail to the kind Liddell cousins.
”George Liddell has been telling me how, when they lived out of the town at Burnopside, a poor woman lived near them at a place called 'Standfast Hill,' who used to have periodical was.h.i.+ngs, and put out all the things to dry afterwards on the bank by the side of the road. One day a tramp came by and carried them all off: when the daughter came out to take the things in, they were all gone, and she rushed back to her mother in despair, saying that they were all ruined, the things were all gone, &c.
”The Liddells went up to see that poor woman afterwards and to tell her how sorry they were; but she said, 'Yes, there's my poor Mary, she goes blearing about like a mad bull; but I say to her, ”Dinna'
fash yersel, but pray to the Lord to have mercy on them that took the things, for they've paid far dearer than I ever paid for them.”'”
In June I was at Chartwell in Kent, when Mr. Colquhoun (who was one of the most perfect types of a truly Christian _gentleman_ I have ever known), told me the following story, from personal knowledge both of the facts and persons:--
”On awaking one morning, Mr. Rutherford of Egerton (in Roxburghs.h.i.+re) found his wife dreadfully agitated, and asked her what was the matter. 'Oh,' she said, 'it is something I really cannot tell you, because you could not possibly sympathise with it.'--'But I insist upon knowing,' he said. 'Well,' she answered, 'if you insist upon knowing, I am agitated because I have had a dream which has distressed me very much. I dreamt that my aunt, Lady Leslie, who brought me up, is going to be murdered; and not only that, but in my dream I have seen the person who is going to murder her:--I have seen him so distinctly, that if I met him in any town of Europe, I should know him again.'--'What bombastical nonsense!' said Mr. Rutherford; 'you really become more and more foolish every day.'--'Well, my dear,' said his wife, 'I told you that it was a thing in which you could not sympathise, and I did not wish to tell you my dream.'
”Coming suddenly into her sitting-room during the morning, Mr.
Rutherford found his wife still very much agitated and distressed, and being of choleric disposition, he said sharply, 'Now do let us have an end once for all of this nonsense. Go down into Fife and see your aunt, Lady Leslie, and then, when you have found her alive and quite well, perhaps you will give up having these foolish imaginations for the future.' Mrs. Rutherford wished no better; she put a few things into a hand-bag, she went to Edinburgh, she crossed the Firth of Forth, and that afternoon at four o'clock she drove up to Lady Leslie's door. The door was opened by a strange servant. It was the man she had seen in her dream.