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GRAY DAYS AND GOLD
GRAY DAYS AND GOLD
[3] YORK CATHEDRAL GRAY DAYS AND GOLD IN ENGLAND AND SCOTLAND BY WILLIAM WINTER New Edition, Revised, with Illustrations New York THE MACMILLAN COMPANY LONDON: MACMILLAN & CO., Ltd. 1896 All rights reserved Copyright, 1892, By MACMILLAN AND CO. Illustrated Edition , Copyright, 1896 , THE MACMILLAN COMPANY. Set up and electrotyped June, 1892. Reprinted November, 1892; January, June, August, 1893; April, 1894. Illustrated edition, revised throughout, in crown 8vo, set up and electrotyped J
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PREFACE TO THE ILLUSTRATED EDITION OF GRAY DAYS AND GOLD
PREFACE TO THE ILLUSTRATED EDITION OF GRAY DAYS AND GOLD
This book, containing description of my Gray Days in England and Scotland, has, in a miniature form, passed through several editions, and it has been received by the public with exceptional sympathy and abundant practical favour. Its publishers are, therefore, encouraged to present it in a more opulent style, and with the embellishment of pictorial illustrations. Its success,—and indeed the success which has attended all my books,—is deeply gratifying to me, the more so that I did not expect it.
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PREFACE
PREFACE
This book, a companion to Shakespeare's England , relates to the gray days of an American wanderer in the British islands, and to the gold of thought and fancy that can be found there. In Shakespeare's England an attempt was made to depict, in an unconventional manner, those lovely scenes that are intertwined with the name and the memory of Shakespeare, and also to reflect the spirit of that English scenery in general which, to an imaginative mind, must always be venerable with historic antiquit
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CHAPTER I CLASSIC SHRINES OF ENGLAND
CHAPTER I CLASSIC SHRINES OF ENGLAND
London, June 29, 1888.—The poet Emerson's injunction, "Set not thy foot on graves," is wise and right; and being in merry England in the month of June it certainly is your own fault if you do not fulfil the rest of the philosophical commandment and "Hear what wine and roses say." Yet the history of England is largely written in her ancient churches and crumbling ruins, and the pilgrim to historic and literary shrines in this country will find it difficult to avoid setting his foot on graves. It
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CHAPTER II HAUNTED GLENS AND HOUSES
CHAPTER II HAUNTED GLENS AND HOUSES
Warwick, July 6, 1888.—One night, many years ago [3] a brutal murder was done, at a lonely place on the highroad between Charlecote Park and Stratford-upon-Avon. The next morning the murdered man was found lying by the roadside, his mangled head resting in a small hole. The assassins were shortly afterward discovered, and they were hanged at Warwick. From that day to this the hole wherein the dead man's head reposed remains unchanged. No matter how often it may be filled, whether by the wash of
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CHAPTER III OLD YORK
CHAPTER III OLD YORK
York, August 12, 1888.—All summer long the sorrowful skies have been weeping over England, and my first prospect of this ancient city was a prospect through drizzle and mist. Yet even so it was impressive. York is one of the quaintest cities in the kingdom. Many of the streets are narrow and crooked. Most of the buildings are of low stature, built of brick, and roofed with red tiles. Here and there you find a house of Queen Elizabeth's time, picturesque with overhanging timber-crossed fronts and
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CHAPTER IV THE HAUNTS OF MOORE
CHAPTER IV THE HAUNTS OF MOORE
Devizes, Wiltshire, August 20, 1888.—The scarlet discs of the poppies and the red and white blooms of the clover, together with wild-flowers of many hues, bespangle now the emerald sod of England, while the air is rich with fragrance of lime-trees and of new-mown hay. The busy and sagacious rooks, fat and bold, wing their way in great clusters, bent on forage and mischief. There is almost a frosty chill in the autumnal air, and the brimming rivers, dark and deep and smoothly flowing through the
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CHAPTER V THE BEAUTIFUL CITY OF BATH
CHAPTER V THE BEAUTIFUL CITY OF BATH
The Avon and Bridge—Bath. August 21, 1888.—From Devizes the traveller naturally turns toward Bath, which is only a few miles distant. A beautiful city, marred somewhat by the feverish, disturbing spirit of the present day, this old place [so old that in it the Saxon King Edgar was crowned, A.D. 973] nevertheless retains many interesting characteristics of its former glory. More than a century has passed since the wigged, powdered, and jewelled days of Beau Nash. The Avon,—for there is another Av
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CHAPTER VI THE LAND OF WORDSWORTH
CHAPTER VI THE LAND OF WORDSWORTH
A good way by which to enter the Lake District of England is to travel to Penrith and thence to drive along the shore of Ullswater, or sail upon its crystal bosom, to the blooming solitude of Patterdale. Penrith lies at the eastern slope of the mountains of Westmoreland, and you may see the ruins of Penrith Castle, once the property and the abode of Richard, Duke of Gloucester, before he became King of England. Penrith Castle was one of the estates that were forfeited by the great Earl of Warwic
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CHAPTER VII SHAKESPEARE RELICS AT WORCESTER
CHAPTER VII SHAKESPEARE RELICS AT WORCESTER
Worcester, July 23, 1889.—The present wanderer came lately to The Faithful City, and these words are written in a midnight hour at the Unicorn Hotel. This place is redolent of the wars of the Stuarts, and the moment you enter it your mind is filled with the presence of Charles the Martyr, Charles the Merry, Prince Rupert, and Oliver Cromwell. From the top of Red Hill and the margin of Perry wood,—now sleeping in the starlight or momentarily vocal with the rustle of leaves and the note of half-aw
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Note on the Missing Register of Hucknall-Torkard Church
Note on the Missing Register of Hucknall-Torkard Church
The Album that was given to Hucknall-Torkard church, in 1825, by Sir John Bowring, to be used as a register of the names of visitors to Byron's tomb, disappeared from that church in the year 1834, or soon after, and it is supposed to have been stolen. In 1834 its contents were printed,—from a manuscript copy of it, which had been obtained from the sexton,—in a book of selections from Byron's prose, edited by "J. M. L." Those initials stand for the name of Joseph Munt Langford, who died in 1884.
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CHAPTER IX HISTORIC NOOKS OF WARWICKSHIRE
CHAPTER IX HISTORIC NOOKS OF WARWICKSHIRE
Stratford-upon-Avon, August 20, 1889.—The traveller who hurries through Warwickshire,—and American travellers mostly do hurry through it,—appreciates but little the things that he sees, and does not understand how much he loses. The customary course is to lodge at the Red Horse, which is one of the most comfortable houses in England, and thus to enjoy the associations that are connected with the visits of Washington Irving. His parlour, his bedroom (number 15), his arm-chair, his poker, and the
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CHAPTER X SHAKESPEARE'S TOWN
CHAPTER X SHAKESPEARE'S TOWN
To traverse Stratford-upon-Avon is to return upon old tracks, but no matter how often you visit that delightful place you will always see new sights in it and find new incidents. After repeated visits to Shakespeare's town the traveller begins to take more notice than perhaps at first he did of its everyday life. In former days the observer had no eyes except for the Shakespeare shrines. The addition of a new wing to the ancient, storied, home-like Red Horse, the new gardens around the Memorial
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CHAPTER XI UP AND DOWN THE AVON
CHAPTER XI UP AND DOWN THE AVON
Evesham. Stratford-upon-Avon, August 22, 1889.—The river life of Stratford is one of the chief delights of this delightful town. The Avon, according to law, is navigable from its mouth, at Tewkesbury, where it empties into the Severn, as far upward as Warwick; but according to fact it is passable only to the resolute navigator who can surmount obstacles. From Tewkesbury up to Evesham there is plain sailing. Above Evesham there are occasional barriers. At Stratford there is an abrupt pause at Luc
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CHAPTER XII RAMBLES IN ARDEN
CHAPTER XII RAMBLES IN ARDEN
Stratford-upon-Avon, August 27, 1889.—Among the many charming rambles that may be enjoyed in the vicinity of Stratford, the ramble to Wootton-Wawen and Henley-in-Arden is not least delightful. Both those places are on the Birmingham road; the former six miles, the latter eight miles, from Stratford. When you stand upon the bridge at Wootton you are only one hundred miles from London, but you might be in a wilderness a thousand miles from any city, for in all the slumberous scene around you there
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CHAPTER XIII THE STRATFORD FOUNTAIN
CHAPTER XIII THE STRATFORD FOUNTAIN
American interest in Stratford-upon-Avon springs out of a love for the works of Shakespeare as profound and passionate as that of the most sensitive and reverent of the poet's countrymen. It was the father of American literature, Washington Irving, who in modern times made the first pilgrimage to that holy land, and set the good example, which since has been followed by thousands, of worship at the shrine of Shakespeare. It was an American, the alert and expeditious P. T. Barnum, who by suddenly
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CHAPTER XIV BOSWORTH FIELD
CHAPTER XIV BOSWORTH FIELD
Warwick, August 29, 1889.—It has long been the conviction of the present writer that the character of King Richard the Third has been distorted and maligned by the old historians from whose authority the accepted view of it is derived. He was, it is certain, a superb soldier, a wise statesman, a judicious legislator, a natural ruler of men, and a prince most accomplished in music and the fine arts and in the graces of social life. Some of the best laws that ever were enacted in England were enac
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CHAPTER XV THE HOME OF DR. JOHNSON
CHAPTER XV THE HOME OF DR. JOHNSON
Lichfield, Staffordshire, July 31, 1890.—To a man of letters there is no name in the long annals of English literature more interesting and significant than the name of Samuel Johnson. It has been truly said that no other man was ever subjected to such a light as Boswell threw upon Johnson, and that few other men could have endured it so well. He was in many ways noble, but of all men of letters he is especially noble as the champion of literature. He vindicated the profession of letters. He liv
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CHAPTER XVI FROM LONDON TO EDINBURGH
CHAPTER XVI FROM LONDON TO EDINBURGH
Edinburgh, September 9, 1889.—Scotland again, and never more beautiful than now! The harvest moon is shining upon the grim old castle, and the bagpipes are playing under my windows to-night. It has been a lovely day. The train rolled out of King's Cross, London, at ten this morning, and it rolled into Waverley, Edinburgh, about seven to-night. The trip by the Great Northern railway is one of the most interesting journeys that can be made in England. At first indeed the scenery is not striking; b
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CHAPTER XVII INTO THE HIGHLANDS
CHAPTER XVII INTO THE HIGHLANDS
Loch Awe, September 14, 1889.—Under a soft gray sky and through fields that still are slumbering in the early morning mist, the train rolls out of Edinburgh, bound for the north. The wind blows gently; the air is cool; strips of thin, fleecy cloud are driving over the distant hill-tops, and the birds are flying low. The track is by Queensferry, and in that region many little low stone cottages are seen, surrounded with simple gardens of flowers. For a long time the train runs through a deep ravi
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CHAPTER XVIII HIGHLAND BEAUTIES
CHAPTER XVIII HIGHLAND BEAUTIES
Oban, September 17, 1889.—Seen in the twilight, as I first saw it, Oban is a pretty and picturesque seaside village, gay with glancing lights and busy with the movements of rapid vehicles and expeditious travellers. It is called the capital of the Western Highlands, and no doubt it deserves the name, for it is the common centre of all the trade and enterprise of this region, and all the threads of travel radiate from it. Built in a semicircle, along the margin of a lovely sheltered bay, it looks
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CHAPTER XIX THE HEART OF SCOTLAND
CHAPTER XIX THE HEART OF SCOTLAND
" The Heart of Scotland, Britain's other eye. "— Ben Jonson Edinburgh, August 24, 1890.—A bright blue sky, across which many masses of thin white cloud are borne swiftly on the cool western wind, bends over the stately city, and all her miles of gray mansions and spacious, cleanly streets sparkle beneath it in a flood of summer sunshine. It is the Lord's Day, and most of the highways are deserted and quiet. From the top of the Calton Hill you look down upon hundreds of blue smoke-wreaths curling
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CHAPTER XX SIR WALTER SCOTT
CHAPTER XX SIR WALTER SCOTT
More than a century has passed since Walter Scott was born—a poet destined to exercise a profound, far-reaching, permanent influence upon the feelings of the human race, and thus to act a conspicuous part in its moral and spiritual development and guidance. To the greatness of his mind, the nobility of his spirit, and the beauty of his life there is abundant testimony in his voluminous and diversified writings, and in his ample and honest biography. Everybody who reads has read something from th
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CHAPTER XXI ELEGIAC MEMORIALS IN EDINBURGH
CHAPTER XXI ELEGIAC MEMORIALS IN EDINBURGH
One denotement, among many, of a genial change, a relaxation of the old ecclesiastical austerity long prevalent in Scotland, is perceptible in the lighter character of her modern sepulchral monuments. In the old churchyard of St. Michael, at Dumfries, the burial-place of Burns, there is a hideous, dismal mass of misshapen, weather-beaten masonry, the mere aspect of which, before any of its gruesome inscriptions are read, is a rebuke to hope and an alarm to despair. Thus the religionists of old t
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CHAPTER XXII SCOTTISH PICTURES
CHAPTER XXII SCOTTISH PICTURES
Stronachlacher, Loch Katrine, September 1, 1890.—No one needs to be told that the Forth bridge is a wonder. All the world knows it, and knows that the art of the engineer has here achieved a masterpiece. The bridge is not beautiful, whether viewed from afar or close at hand. The gazer can see it, or some part of it, from every height in Edinburgh. It is visible from the Calton Hill, from the Nelson column, from the Scott monument, from the ramparts of the Castle, from Salisbury Crags, from the B
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CHAPTER XXIII IMPERIAL RUINS
CHAPTER XXIII IMPERIAL RUINS
Loch Lomond. Oban, September 4, 1890.—Going westward from Stronachlacher, a drive of several delicious miles, through the country of Rob Roy, ends at Inversnaid and the shore of Loch Lomond. The rain had passed, but under a dusky, lowering sky the dense white mists, driven by a fresh morning wind, were drifting along the heath-clad hills, like a pageant of angels trailing robes of light. Loch Arklet and the little shieling where was born Helen, the wife of the Macgregor, were soon passed,—a peac
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