Volume I Part 7 (2/2)
Now, all this is very charming to people who know already as much about a country as they want to know; but it follows from it that a stranger might travel all through England, from one end to the other and not be on conversing terms with a person in it. He may be at the same hotel, in the same train with people able to give him all imaginable information, yet never touch them at any practicable point of communion. This is more especially the case if his party, as ours was, is just large enough to fill the whole apartment.
As to the comforts of the cars, it is to be said, that for the same price you can get far more comfortable riding in America. Their first cla.s.s cars are beyond all praise, but also beyond all price; their second cla.s.s are comfortless, cus.h.i.+onless, and uninviting. Agreeably with our theory of democratic equality, we have a general car, not so complete as the one, nor so bare as the other, where all ride together; and if the traveller in thus riding sees things that occasionally annoy him, when he remembers that the whole population, from the highest to the lowest, are accommodated here together, he will certainly see hopeful indications in the general comfort, order, and respectability which prevail; all which we talked over most patriotically together, while we were lamenting that there was not a seventh to our party, to instruct us in the localities.
Every thing upon the railroad proceeds with systematic accuracy. There is no chance for the most careless person to commit a blunder, or make a mistake. At the proper time the conductor marches every body into their places and locks them in, gives the word, ”All right,” and away we go.
Somebody has remarked, very characteristically, that the starting word of the English is ”all right,” and that of the Americans ”go ahead.”
Away we go through Lancas.h.i.+re, wide awake, looking out on all sides for any signs of antiquity. In being thus whirled through English scenery, I became conscious of a new understanding of the spirit and phraseology of English poetry. There are many phrases and expressions with which we have been familiar from childhood, and which, we suppose, in a kind of indefinite way, we understand, which, after all, when we come on English ground, start into a new significance: take, for instance, these lines from L'Allegro:--
”Sometimes walking, not unseen, By hedge-row elms on hillocks green.
Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures, While the landscape round it measures; Russet lawns and fallows gray, Where the nibbling flocks do stray; Mountains, on whose barren breast The laboring clouds do often rest; Meadows trim with daisies pied, Shallow brooks and livers wide: Towers and battlements it sees Bosom'd high in tufted trees.”
Now, these hedge-row elms. I had never even asked myself what they were till I saw them; but you know, as I said in a former letter, the hedges are not all of them carefully cut; in fact many of them are only irregular rows of bushes, where, although the hawthorn is the staple element, yet firs, and brambles, and many other interlopers put in their claim, and they all grow up together in a kind of straggling unity; and in the hedges trees are often set out, particularly elms, and have a very pleasing effect.
Then, too, the trees have more of that rounding outline which is expressed by the word ”bosomed.” But here we are, right under the walls of Lancaster, and Mr. S. wakes me up by quoting, ”Old John o' Gaunt, time-honored Lancaster.”
”Time-honored,” said I; ”it looks as fresh as if it had been built yesterday: you do not mean to say that is the real old castle?”
”To be sure, it is the very old castle built in the reign of Edward III., by John of Gaunt.”
It stands on the summit of a hill, seated regally like a queen upon a throne, and every part of it looks as fresh, and sharp, and clear, as if it were the work of modern times. It is used now for a county jail. We have but a moment to stop or admire--the merciless steam car drives on.
We have a little talk about the feudal times, and the old past days; when again the cry goes up,--
”O, there's something! What's that?”
”O, that is Carlisle.”
”Carlisle!” said I; ”what, the Carlisle of Scott's ballad?”
”What ballad?”
”Why, don't you remember, in the Lay of the Last Minstrel, the song of Albert Graeme, which has something about Carlisle's wall in every verse?
'It was an English, laydie bright When sun s.h.i.+nes fair on Carlisle wall, And she would marry a Scottish knight, For love will still be lord of all.'
I used to read this when I was a child, and wonder what 'Carlisle wall'
was.”
Carlisle is one of the most ancient cities in England, dating quite back to the time of the Romans. Wonderful! How these Romans left their mark every where!
Carlisle has also its ancient castle, the lofty, ma.s.sive tower of which forms a striking feature of the town.
This castle was built by William Rufus. David, King of Scots, and Robert Bruce both tried their hands upon it, in the good old times, when England and Scotland were a mutual robbery a.s.sociation. Then the castle of the town was its great feature; castles were every thing in those days. Now the castle has gone to decay, and stands only for a curiosity, and the cotton factory has come up in its place. This place is famous for cottons and ginghams, and moreover for a celebrated biscuit bakery.
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