October 24, 1840
Bristol, England
Just as the sun rose, we left the ship & went on board a sloop with a boiler in it & gave three long hearty cheers which resounded along the shores. The last site of Captain Hoskin was of him standing on the highest part of the vessel waving his cap and along the deck the servants were fat Billy Crawford, the steward Margaret with her plaid turban straining the only eye she had to look us out of sight and Boston’s face, a figure in bold relief against the side of the ship like a bronze figure.
John Smith and the company struck up; “The Western’s a good ‘unto go” and as the ship receded from our view the throng died away.
We had not proceeded far before I knew by the red cap that so gracefully nodded, the tassel on the end of it, that the Colonel was near. There he sat in the stern of a little sailboat as soon as he saw us began; thus, “What can cause this great commotion, motion, motion” and all joined in for Tippecanoe and Tyler too and the welcome rang again. Sir Joseph’s nephew when they sang “Vans a used-up man & will use up Van- would have it” Vans’ a man Vans’ the man!” so Mr. Van Buren had one supporter and it maybe he’ll be the man, but the English papers think otherwise & the Colonel was soon out of sight but not out of mind.
We wound slowly up the Avon which was dark & muddy & as the tide was turning & the meadows were covered with sheep & it seemed as if we had passed through winter & opened our eyes on a bright Spring morning so brilliant & gorgeous was the green.
The banks of the river grew higher & higher & at last we seemed to be in a little valley between the mountains for the cliffs rose to an immense height & in the recesses of the rocks were flocks of birds “cawing & twittering”.
At the base & near the river wound a road passing every now & then a picturesque little cottage covered with ivy which as the song says is literally “creeping when no life is seen & a rare old plant is the ivy green.” Numerous little bowers were around the house where people go to “take tea in the arbour” & in more agreeable style than they did with “the Mistress & Miss Sally Barber”.
At the highest summit of the rocks & 230 feet high was the suspension bridge, in its commencement. When it is finished it will span 600 feet. It seemed like crossing on the clouds from one part of heaven to another.
Soon appeared the village of Clifton built like an amphitheater & here our boat was moored & we really landed & walked on solid ground, twice solid for it was founded on a rock.
We passed several lanes & alleys into the Custom House & into a great hall like a church where were 2 large grates & a blazing fire in each. Being both chilly & damp, for a bright English morning is soon overclouded, & as Cowper says, “thy clime is fickle.” The trunks were ranged round & James was very fortunate in getting through the customhouse for he was the 2nd examined & on taking the officer by the arm & asking him to examine his package, “Not the least objection in the world” said he & felt around the trunks, asked if there were any cigars. James had left his on board the ship, & a satisfactory answer shut the trunks & we were ready to go we departed.
We took a fly which is a low carriage like a cab but often opening in the middle & thrown back a la barouche or landau. Just as we were entering it a waterman came up & said, touching his hat, “a trifle sir to the waterman, sir” but we were as cunning as he, & having paid one waterman, drove off & wound slowly up the streets of Clifton to the Royal Hotel, a large stone building with the Lion & Unicorn over the door, opposite a beautiful park.
The head waiter & maid met us at the door & gave us parlor No. 1 with a bow window opening to the park. Breakfast soon followed & at one I took a bath & was shown upstairs into a little dressing room with a fire, in front of which was an armchair & blanket spread over it & in a small room adjoining was the bath. After that was comfortably over & I had rested awhile, I sent 63 pieces to the laundress, arranged our goods & making my toilette sat down at the window to see the English.
The market women were pounding up & down & as they walk with the power proportioned to the size of their understandings, it is house is horse – power apparently and so of the ladies I saw. The market women had flat gypsy hats with bows round for a crown, just as I had seen in pictures & at the theatre, & bare white arms. Their cheeks of all were as brilliant a scarlet as our forest leaves & many children were playing about, trundling hoops etc dressed very warmly, with the fashion of short clothes carried very high.
There were many servants, some in gorgeous liveries parading the streets all in small clothes, high top boots & looking glasses of boots & shoes, so brilliant were they. There was an old gardener sweeping about the park with a brush illustrating the truth of old Mr. Probyn’s broom story & looking like an “Old Andrew Fairservice” from Rob Roy with his long grey locks. Either there are more old people in England or their hair changes sooner than with us.
So passed the afternoon till dark & then the waiter let the curtains fall & we dined at 5. Never had dinner tasted so good as on this day, so neat, nice & comfortable after the steamboat. The bread looked like snow & so clean the damask tablecloth & napkins. The dinner set was of the costliest china & the tea service Sheffield plate gilt in the inside. Finger glasses & all complete & our waiters in full costume of black small clothes, silk stockings & shoes bright as any mirror, hair combed & frizzled, & we really did take our “ease at our inn”.
At 8:00 we had tea. The hissing urn was brought & I made the tea for there were two canisters placed by me & it seemed quite like keeping house. Our waiter was all outside show, for on inquiring the way to church & the different ones, he said he had only been down 7 months from London & as his business kept him in the house, he had hardly been out of it. In the evening, the man dismissed, & the fire stirring into a cheerful blaze, I attempted to finish a letter to father which I had commenced halfway across on board the ship thus Oct 15, 1840. There we are halfway across the ocean but not in the middle of it, but even the execution of opening my portfolio on board the ship made me sick & this evening at Clifton I was too sleepy to write much more & so retired for the first time in the dominions of a queen.
October 25, 1840
Sunday. It was a sunny day. There was a funeral next door to the Hotel in the morning & seeing the black coaches, black horses, black velvet hangings at their sides, I had some curiosity to watch it. The coachmen had large white lawn scarfs on their hats tied in a bow behind the long ends flowing down, black overcoats with capes & white gloves. Six young women entered the first coach dressed in white lawn gowns, black shoes & white lawn veils cap-like over their heads & falling down at the sides nearly to their feet. A small coffin was placed in their arms & the white & black palls hung out the windows. In the next one followed more white veils & the family in mourning.
At half past ten we were ready for church & our fly was announced. It was one that opened in the centre & threw back each way called a landau fly. The seat was so low that only our heads appeared above the doors but we could see everything. They are very pleasant & comfortable conveyances being so low & light & they are drawn by one large English horse & the coachman has quite an elevated seat in front.
We passed many elegant stone mansions & villas with gardens & hedges, all surrounded & screened by high stone walls which never come to sharp corners but are all rounded & the streets not being at right angles, but serpentine, the lines of beauty are preserved.
We wound down the hills to the banks of the Avon & followed the road beneath the cliffs. Of their immense height I was more fully aware than in the boat by going directly beneath them. The houses are all built of the same kind of stone being of a light colour though some are dingy by ages, dampness & smoke. There is therefore a harmony in the town, for Wordsworth says the houses & fences should be the same color as the natural stones & with us in our cold climate everything is snow color. Here when a house is built it is finished and the more ancient the appearance the more aristocratic and it is not replenished with a new coat of paint every year occasionally cleaned and sometimes painted the original color.
We soon entered Bristol of which Clifton is only a part & rolled through the streets as hard & smooth as a marble floor (which are macadamized) & the sidewalks as neat & polished. We met many carriages going to church, landaus & flys chiefly and I thought of the first fable in Latin ‘musea cum quadrigae’ which here one can take literally with an inanimate fly. We met a great many chairs with a top to them & an iron in front by which they were drawn by a man or boy & often impelled by a man behind. These chairs carried old ladies to & from church, a kind of newfangled sedan. Our fly & horse ‘musea cum equo’, not literally the fly before the horse but as we must render to all their dues and the fly was the principal in this case stopped before the grand cathedral. As we live in New England, I can think of nothing old in the States to compare it to. It was founded in 1140 & was originally the collegiate church of a monastery. The exterior is dingy & moldy but inspiring respect & veneration. Our fly-man escorted us in & presented us to the sexton, a perfect pattern & beau ideal of an old sexton. His hair white, his dress black small clothes & gaiters buttoned down at the sides & a long black gown. The service had commenced & we proceeded into the chancel.
Although I had studied architecture at school, I did not realize, but I was going as we do into church, with the pews facing the altar, until we were ushered in. Old mortality told us he could not give us a seat, only a place to sit down & we were taken to a bench in front & in the middle of the aisle leaving just room enough to pass through.
The organ was pouring forth from its silver lips the accompaniment to the chants which came from most delightful voices as I thought, chiefly females. But on looking round me I found both before & behind seats & places filled with men who sang bass & little boys who sang the treble & alto & whose voices were perfectly harmonious. They all dressed in white linen surplices. Every prayer was chanted by the priest & I thought he must be a Pussey-ite, for he really mewed the prayers out. The Lord’s Prayer was repeated 4 or 5 times while we were there & 3 times “our gracious sovereign the Lady Victoria” for & once all the Royal family were designated. All the Litany was changed & it was twice as long to that used in America. In a word, we had the whole service “comme il faut”.
When the last Amen had died away in the arches, a bustle was made & as all eyes turned to the entrance, we perceived by the approach of the beadle that he was to sweep all before him, for he was followed by the grand pontificate, in a white robe, black crepe scarf down in front, & over his left shoulder was crimson drapery lined with white silk. I have heard of pride, hauteur & scorn, but I never saw such scorn as sat upon his lips, & his step was as if the Earth was not fit for his footstool. In the “illustrious footsteps of his predecessor” followed the deacon, as meek as Moses. Each had a square cap in his hand. They proceeded to the alter & said prayers & then the grand one entered the pulpit just opposite to us & sinking on his knees, covered his face with his cap & read more prayers to be delivered from “vain glory” & the like.
The sermon was a very good orthodox affair but did not exhibit any talent. After it was over & the last prayer said, his face was again buried in his square cap a few moments & then he rose & from the way his lips smacked, I think he proceeded home to dinner.
Old Mortality showed some ladies the Cathedral & we followed. The stained glass was very handsome & we saw the tomb of Rev. W. Mason’s wife with the famous epitaph in which are these lines. “To Bristol’s point her trembling form I bore, She bowed to taste the wave and died”. There is also a monument to Mrs. Elizabeth Draper the celebrated Eliza of Sterne, & one of Powell, an actor of distinction, with a figure of Fame holding his bust, said to be a remarkable likeness of Garrick. Many a lettered stone tells of “The great the wise the reverend heads” that lie beneath. Old Mortality showed us out & we threaded our way back to Clifton.
I fancied where Hannah More & her sister s might have kept school & where Coleridge & Southey might have played in childhood.
The dinner was roast beef. After dinner we walked round till dark and then I read the Book of Timothy and so ended my first Sunday in England, a sunny day.
Monday October 26th, 1840
At 12 we ordered our carriage, previous to which the waiter brought in a book for us to write our names & out of mischief I wrote the Hon. James Dixon & Lady. We did not go à la fly, but in a handsome green carriage lined sage green & coachman in drab livery, gaiters etc. In Broadway we should have pronounced our equipage very stylish. It had a landau top, which we had thrown back while we passed through Bristol, but it was an English day half pleasant, half rainy, chilly & occasionally a few drops fell, but it was not stormy.
We passed the old Cathedral & through the Quay & over the old bridges all of solid stone with high stone balustrades & through the long narrow dingy streets with projecting houses in many places, for Bristol is one of the oldest places in England.
We followed the road so often passed by Hannah More & had a magnificent view of Clifton & the valley of the Avon.
At our right was Ashton Hall, the seat of Sir John Smith, built of yellow stone, standing in the midst of beautiful grounds. On our whole way every tree seemed trimmed of every superfluous limb & not even a stone was to be seen out of its place; the hedges perfectly clipped & the grass as green as it could be. After riding 9 miles we entered a gate & wound slowly up an avenue cut in the lawn, until before us stood.
Barley Wood!
It was not a very high building but extremely picturesque being on one side hexagon & in front there is a large bow with long wings on each side. There are piazzas of trellis work all around the house, literally covered & concealed by vines in full bloom; the clematis & the richest blue & purple flowers & the most delicate white jessamines & other flowers with roses in full bloom, climbing up to the roof & hiding their heads in the thatch that covered it.
The grounds were already filled with the rarest plants, exotics of all kinds were shedding delicious perfume under the windows & in the grass, seats of the most fanciful shapes were appropriately scattered.
We alighted from the carriage at the door & walked round the house. There are four windows in the bow extending to the ground & one curtain was raised I saw the drawing room with articles of virtue; but we determined to ramble first in the grounds & visit the interior of the house on our return.
We commenced the ascent of the gentle hill & there, in effect, stood a birch bower. It was at an opening in the trees & commanded a view of the Mendip hills & intermediate valley, which contains the village of Wrington with its old church & gothic tower & stone cottages & gardens filled with rarest shrubs & flowers. The view was enchanting for occasionally the whole was radiated by a smile from the sun. Cowslip Green is only a mile from but the latter was the favorite residence of Mrs. More. I plucked this ivy leaf from the bower which was over hung with it.
We wandered up the hill after leaving the bower and on our way our steps were arrested by a monument erected to the memory of John Locke by Mrs. Montague & presented to Hannah More.
From there we plucked this moss which quite covered the base of it and the top was covered with an urn. The same beautiful witty Mrs. Montague was the giver whose letters form the most interesting portion of Hannah More’s correspondence and no doubt she superintended the erection of the monument in person and exercised her taste as to its location for it was in quite a little nook shaded and protected by trees.
We followed the paths & presently came to “the green summit of the gentle hill” on which stood a rustic bower composed of knotty branches entirely & so arranged that at every corner, & it was octagon, a hideous monster stared at us.
The first was the head of a human skeleton & entirely of knots of shrubs & trees. The next was a unicorn & then a heart or deer; indeed, heads of deer with huge antlers & monkeys & apes seemed to predominate. The seats were of pieces of sticks, very small & fitted in shapes of diamonds, stars, hearts circled & so was the filling between the pillars, the floor was paved with small stones in the same style & the whole was the most grotesque affair imaginable, one couldn’t choose but laugh & I dare say the grave D. D’s & Mrs. More’ literary friends had many a hearty one there.
The walks terminated in a high hedge & we took a lower path back stopping to rest for a few minutes in a little moss arbour & near to its entrances was monument to George Portens, Bishop of London, by in memory of long & faithful friendship. This path brought us through a labyrinth of shrubs & trees back to our carriage.
We asked the coachman if any of Mrs. More’s friends were there or relatives & in the usual English style he replied; “I don’t know sir, I’m sure, but the place is owned by a coppersmith in Bristol. Mrs. More was Quaker or something of the sort & therefore, I dare say sir, he is some relation”.
We rang the bell & asked if we might be permitted to look through the rooms, but the maid said, no one was allowed to do so for her master was a very particular gentleman. I picked an amaranth nipped by the frost & breathing again the fragrant air I took one flower from this lady’s ear drop which was in the door, & with a sigh, reentered the carriage, & thought of the last day Hannah More was there when she walked slowly round the rooms, looking at the pictures & flowers for the last time, eaten out of house & home by her pampered minions.
As we passed out the gate, we saw a notice that any person found trespassing on these grounds would be prosecuted according to law.
We went to Wrington, just below the Hill & leaving the carriage at the Inn walked to the church.
The sexton’s wife, a pretty woman, came with the keys in her hand & just as we were going into the gate, we were accosted by another woman at a cottage next the church, “Please, sir, would you like to see the cottage John Locke was born”? We said, “Yes, on our return”, & went into the church which Hannah Moore used to attend sat in the seat she did which was next to the pulpit leaning against a pillar there is a monument to her in the church & in the yard is her grave & those of her sisters with this inscription:
“These all died in faith,
Accepted in the Beloved.“
On one side was a yew tree & on the other a willow from which we plucked these twigs.
The church was an old affair & grotesque figures were carved on the sides. Our guide had seen Mrs. More when she (herself) was quite young. Some others came to look at the grave & we left, & again the occupant of the cottage assailed us.
It is a pretty cottage, very old eel covered with ivy. We went round it & our cicerone was very entertaining & seemed to have a great love for show, for the place was crowded with little pictures of “the Queen”, Prince Albert, etc. The mother of John Locke was on a visit to a friend & being taken ill at church, was conveyed to this cottage, being nearest, & here her distinguished son was born.
James asked her if she had ever seen Mrs. More. “Oh, yes,” said she, ” my eldest daughter now at service in London, & a nice pretty girl she is, was a baby, & I took her to Barley Wood one day, & Mrs. More took her & nursed her, & said she was a fine baby, & that she hadn’t nursed a baby this many a day, sir. And told me to say so, that she had nursed her, & next day sent her a new frock & bonnet, sir.”
James thought there was something more & asked her what she meant by her not nursing so fine a baby for many a day.
That was what she wanted, & she replied, “Oh, sir, maybe you don’t know, sir, Mrs. More had a son, sir, & was going to be married, sir, but the gentleman disappointed her, sir, & it was born very soon after, sir, & not long ago, sir, when my husband was sexton, sir, a fine, jolly looking young gentleman came & wanted to see Mrs. More’s grave sir, & he was a little relation, he said, sir, & he was her son I expect, sir, for I was saying so to a lady, & she said it was Mrs. More’s son. It was kept very private till since she’s been dead, sir.”
I now understood what Mrs. Jeffrey meant when I asked her if she knew Mrs. More & she replied “No, I never take any kind of interest in Hannah More. She was a very different kind of person from what her writing would lead one to suppose.” And with Solomon I thought “Who can find a virtuous woman.” —–
James asked the woman why her husband was not Sexton now & said she, “Why the curate, sir is a very crusty gentleman & turned my husband out & a nicer man than he is not in the world, sir only just because he took it the least little drop of in the world.” I thought probably she joined for she had the red lines in her cheeks.
As we were going out another woman accosted us and said, “Sir, would you like to see the room in which John Locke was born, sir?” And we were really vexed & replied, “No, we’ve seen enough.” Everyone likes to see it,” she grumbled but I’d no idea of breaking my neck to go upstairs to see what I thought I had seen once; but it was quite a cunning speculation to let that part & then have the owner comes secondly.
We walked back to the Inn through crookedly streets with very low houses, no basements or steps & many women were out looking at us & children.
At the Inn was a fair or auction & it was crowded with people. We thought we’d take some cake & rest awhile & for that purpose asked if there was a parlor we could go into but the landlady asked us to come into the bar room where a circle of old men sat around the fire with their beer cups & pipes. We found the coachman & while he was preparing went into a store, bought this book & some gingerbread & then departed for Bristol. Cowslip Green was only 2 miles off but I felt no kind of interest in visiting it since the story I heard.
We reached Bristol at 6 and on entering found the landlady dressed up & smiling & bowing & hoping we found ourselves comfortable at her house. James was gracious & I pondered why she was but remembering “the Hon. James Dixon & Lady”, my mind was at rest.
After tea we went to the hotel & ballroom where Evelina and Camellia had danced to the admiring eyes of their Lord Orvilles & Edgar Mandleberts.
The rooms were very lofty & large & separated by marble pillars rot & gilded phases statuary & chandeliers in rich profusion rosewood furniture superb. Mirrors, the orchestra carved & gilded like the cornices of the rooms, a most tasteful & magnificent room.
It seemed as we passed the pump rooms, baths & hot wells & through the old towns, as if all the novels I had ever read passed through my head & I could not divest myself from the idea that the heroes and heroines really had lived.
LOST + FOUND HISTORY 