concluding chapter.

she smiles, including in her wide embrace

city, and town, and tower, and sea with ships

sprinkled; be our companion while we track

her rivers populous with gliding life;

while, free as air, o’er printless sands we march,

or pierce the gloom of her majestic woods;

roaming, or resting under grateful shade,

in peace and meditative cheerfulness.

wordsworth.

we have now taken a comprehensive view of the rural life of england; of the mode in which “gentle and simple,” rich and poor, pass their life in the country; of the sports, the pastimes, the labours and various pursuits which fill up the round of rural existence; of the charms and advantages which there await the lovers of peace, of poetry, of natural beauty, and of pure thoughts: and i think it must be confessed that though other countries may boast a more brilliant climate, none can offer a more varied and attractive beauty; other modes of life may be more exciting, but none can be more calmly delightful, none more conducive to a healthful and manly spirit.

the more we see of our own country, the more do we love it; and it is for this reason, that in closing this volume, i cannot take leave of my readers without advising them to do as i have done,—see as much of it as they can. there is no part of it but is filled[604] with some high historical or literary association: it is the land where brave men have contended and poets sung, and philosophers and politicians have meditated works and measures, of which the world is now reaping the honour and enjoyment; there is no part of it but has some trace of those manners and dialects which belong to the living of a thousand years ago, and therefore are most interesting motives to our tracing back the stream of time, and beholding the growth of our country’s fortunes from age to age; there is no part of it, but has its swarming cities, or its fields smiling like a garden beneath the triumphant effect of british tillage,—or its wild hills and forests, that, untouched by the plough, are left to be fruitful of free thoughts, of poetic feelings, of picturesque beauty and magnificence, of health to the hearts and spirits of our countrymen and countrywomen, necessary to generate those high thoughts and maintain those endeavours that shall yet lead noble england to the height of its destined honour.

it is glorious, indeed, to visit the countries of ancient art and renown—greece, italy, egypt, or sacred palestine—my spirit kindles at the very mention of them,—yet whether it were my privilege or not to traverse those glorious regions, i should still wish to wander over every hill, and through every busy city of my native land. to me, i repeat, there is no part of this illustrious country but opens some new feeling of affection. as i pass over her plains, i am filled with admiration of that skill and indefatigable industry which have covered them with such affluence of cattle, such exuberant grass, such depths of waving corn; as i pass by her rural halls and hamlet abodes, i find myself perpetually on classic ground, amid the homes of poets and patriots; when i enter her cities, i am struck with all their busy and swarming children, with their endless manufactures; their institutions for rebutting human evils, and raising the human character; with rich men carrying on gigantic enterprises of commerce or national improvement, and poor men associating to ascertain and defend their rights. these are all animating objects of notice; and i will tell those who may not hope to see much of foreign regions, that there is enough in merry england to fill the longest life with delight, go where they will. i would have those who are young and able, to take their knapsacks on their backs, and with a stick in their hand, they may[605] find pleasures worth enjoying, go which way they will in these islands, though they do as many an adventurer has done, set up their staff as an indicator, and march off in the direction in which it falls.[36]

[36] jamais je n’ai tant pensé, tant existé, tant vécu, tant été moi, si j’ose ainsi dire, que dans ceux voyages que j’ai faits seul et à pied. la marche a quelque chose qui anime et avive mes idées; je ne puis presque penser quand je reste en place; il faut que mon corps soit en branle pour y mettre mon esprit. la vue de la campagne, la succession des aspects agréables, le grand air, le grand appétit, la bonne santé que je gagne en marchant, la liberté du cabaret, l’éloignement de tout ce qui me fait sentir ma dépendance, de tout ce qui me rappelle à ma situation, tout cela dégage mon ame, me donne une plus grande audace de penser, me jette en quelque sorte dans l’immensité des êtres pour les combiner, les choisir, me les approprier sans gêne et sans crainte. je dispose en ma?tre de la nature entière; mon c?ur, errant d’objet en objet, s’unit, s’identifie à ceux qui le flattent, s’entoure d’images charmantes, s’enivre de sentiments délicieux. si pour les fixer je m’amuse à les décrire en moimême, quelle vigueur de pinceau, quelle fra?cheur de coloris, quelle énergie d’expression je leur donne!—rousseau.

what a summer’s delight there lies in any one such progress. suppose you took your route from the metropolis through the south and west. how delightful are the richly cultivated fields, the green hop-grounds, the hanging woods of kent; how pleasant the heathy hills and scattered woodlands of surrey; the thickly-strewn villas of the wealthy, the vine-covered cottages and village greens of the poor. are not the flowery lanes and woody scenery of berkshire, and the open downs of wiltshire worth traversing? what a sweet sylvan retirement in the one; what an airy, wide-spreading amplitude of vision in the other! it were worth somewhat to read miss mitford’s living sketches in her own sweet neighbourhood; it were worth a great deal more to meet miss mitford herself, as she lives amongst her simple neighbours, who know how much she is their friend, or amongst her wealthy and educated ones, who know how much she deserves of their esteem and admiration. would it be nothing to ramble amongst the ancient walls of winchester, every spot of which is as thickly strown with historical recollections as it is venerable in presence? would it be nothing to climb those downs, and see around far-spreading greenness, sinking and swelling in the softest lines of beauty; and below, vales, stretching in different directions, contrasting their rich woodiness most strikingly with the bare solitudes[606] of the down? to see the venerable cathedral lifting its hoary head from the vale, and numbers of subject churches shewing their humbler towers and spires all along the valleys; and catch the glitter of those streams which water those valleys, as they wind to the sun. i have trodden these downs and dales in summer weather with feelings of buoyant delight, that admit of no description. there is stonehenge, standing in the midst of salisbury plain, which is worth a long pilgrimage to see. to see! yes, and to feel in all its lonely grandeur, with all its savage and mysterious antiquity upon it. it is a walk from salisbury, that, on a spring or autumn day, with a congenial spirit, were enough to make that a life’s pleasant memory. ascend first from that truly old english city, along whose streets and past almost every door run living streams of most beautiful water from the sweet brimful avon—to the ramparts of old sarum. what a stupendous work of antiquity you stand upon; what a scene lies all around you! how beautifully rises that noble cathedral above the subject city; how finely the magnificent spire above the fabric itself! and en passant, what a feature of fair and solemn dignity is the cathedral in our english cities! as you approach them, and see afar off these noble monuments of past science towering aloft in sublime dignity, you are at once reminded that you are on classic ground; that you are about to enter a place where our ancestors worked out some portion of the national fame; and are thereby awakened from other thoughts to look about you for all that is worthy of notice. but this is but a passing tribute to the grave beauty of those glorious old piles—they deserve more; but other objects now call us on. see what green and watered valleys allure you forward. see where the downs stretch their solitary heads amid the clear and spiritual hues of the sky. and as you go on, the chime of flocks, and the discovery of sweet hamlets, and the voices of their children at play, and the tinkle of the plough-team bells, shall make you feel that the rural peace and delight of old england are as strong in her heart as ever. for myself, the smallest peculiarity of rural fashions and habits in different parts of the country attracts my attention, and gives me a certain degree of pleasure. the sight of herds of swine grazing in the wide fields of berkshire and hampshire as orderly as sheep do, is what, at[607] the first view, gives an agreeable surprise to the man from the midland and northern counties, where it is never seen. the sight of the clematis, which flings its flowery masses over hedges and copses; of myrtles, hydrangeas, fuchias, and other tender plants, blossoming in the gardens of the south: the appearance of different birds and insects, as the chough, the nightingale in greater frequency, the woodlark sending its voice from the distant uplands; the large stag-beetle, and other insects; these, and other things observed in one part of the island which are never met with in another, small matters though they be in themselves, all give a novel interest to some new spot, and some agreeable hour. nay to me, i say, the very varying of rural costumes and implements are objects of interest. those odd ladders in berkshire, stretching at the feet to a width of sometimes two yards, and then tapering up rapidly; as if berkshire peasants could not stand on such ladders as all england beside stands on. the light wagons and carts in the south, so different from the heavy ones of the midland counties; and some of them so painted and adorned in front with large roses, and other flowers; and their teams, with bells at their bridles, and frames of bells over the leader’s head, and barbaric top-knots on their heads, and scarlet fringes and tassels on their gears; and tails all bound up with ribbons, and curious platting. the wagoners, each in his straw hat and white slop, with

his carter’s-whip, that on his shoulder rests,

in air high towering with a boorish pomp,

the sceptre of his sway.

horses at plough, harnessed with a simple collar of straw, and a few ropes. oxen with their heavy wooden yokes ploughing in one part of the country as primitively as they did in the days of alfred, ay, or of king david; and shepherds with their crooks in another, shew to those who never saw them but in books, that some of our oldest practices still remain.

the various constructions of billhooks, shovels, and wheelbarrows which prevail in different quarters of the island, contribute to the picturesque: from the clumsy rudiment of a barrow seen in cornwall, which lies on the ground without legs, and the sides of which are cut out of two pieces of wood, rudely tapering off into handles; through all the various shapes of that little[608] vehicle, up to its most perfect one. the shovels used by the labourers in the west of england, with handles as tall as themselves, would make the men of the midland counties stare; and again, the billhook of the midland counties, with a back edge as well as a front one, would be equally strange to the chopsticks of surrey and sussex. the various modes of country employment promote the same effect. the ploughman whistling after his team; the shepherds on the downs, driving their white flocks before them like a rolling cloud to evening fold or morning pasture; the dwellers on heaths and moors, paring the turf for fuel, or cutting from the peat-beds their black bricks, and piling their black pyramids on the waste. every different district displays its peculiar employment. durham and northumberland exhibit their extensive and curious coal mines; yorkshire and lancashire their weaving and spinning; the hills of derbyshire their lead mines; nottingham and leicester shires their coals again; lincoln and norfolk their vast corn farms; the southern downs their shepherds; devon and cornwall their tin and copper mines; gloucester and somerset display their fields of teazles again, indicating that there our finest broad-cloths are made; stafford and warwick shires swarm with collieries, iron-founderies, and potteries; and so on. each district has its peculiar pursuit and occupation pointed out by nature, and all these things give variety to the country and its inhabitants, and scatter everywhere interesting subjects of inquiry for the passer-by.

i say then, cross only the south of england, and how delightful were the route to him who has the love of nature and of his country in his heart; and no imperious cares to dispute it with them. walk up, as i have said, from salisbury to stonehenge. sit down amid that solemn circle, on one of its fallen stones:—contemplate the gigantic erection, reflect on its antiquity, and what england has passed through and become while those stones have stood there. walk forth over that beautiful and immense plain,—see the green circles, and lines, and mounds, which ancient superstition or heroism have everywhere traced upon it, and which nature has beautified with a carpet of turf as fine and soft as velvet. join those simple shepherds, and talk with them. reflect, poetical as our poets have made the shepherd and his life,—what must be the monotony of that life in lowland counties—day after day, and[609] month after month, and year after year,—never varying, except from the geniality of summer to winter; and what it must be then; how dreary its long reign of cold, and wet and snow!

when you leave them, plunge into the new forest in hampshire. there is a region where a summer month might be whiled away as in a fairyland. there, in the very heart of that old forest you find the spot where rufus fell by the bolt of tyrell, looking very much as it might look then. all around you lie forest and moorland for many a mile. the fallow and red deer in thousands herd there as of old. the squirrels gambol in the oaks above you; the swine rove in the thick fern and the deep glades of the forest as in a state of nature. the dull tinkle of the cattle bell comes through the wood; and ever and anon, as you wander forward, you catch the blue smoke of some hidden abode curling over the tree tops; and come to sylvan bowers, and little bough-overshadowed cottages, as primitive as any that the reign of the conqueror himself could have shewn. what haunts are in these glades for poets: what streams flow through their bosky banks, to soothe at once the ear and eye enamoured of peace and beauty. what glades for endless grouping and colourings for the painter.

at boldre you may find a spot worth seeing, for it is the parsonage once inhabited by the venerable william gilpin, the descendant of barnard gilpin, the apostle of the north; the author of “forest scenery,”—and near it is the school, which he built and endowed for the poor from the sale of his drawings. not very distant from this, stands the rural dwelling for many years, and till lately, the residence of one of england’s truest-hearted women, caroline bowles, now mrs. southey—and not far off you have the woods of netley abbey—the isle of wight, the solent, and the open sea.

but still move on through the fair fields of dorset and somerset, to the enchanted land of devon. if you want stern grandeur, follow its north-western coast; if peaceful beauty, look down into some one of its rich vales, green as an emerald, and pastured by its herds of red cattle; if all the summer loveliness of woods and rivers, you may ascend the tamar or the tavy, or many another stream; or you may stroll on through valleys that for glorious solitudes, or fair english homes, amid their woods and hills, shall[610] leave you nothing to desire. if you want sternness you may pass into dartmoor. there are wastes and wilds, crags of granite, views into far-off districts, and the sound of waters hurrying away over their rocky beds, enough to satisfy the largest hungering and thirsting after poetical delight. i shall never forget the feelings of delicious entrancement with which i approached the outskirts of dartmoor. i found myself among the woods near haytor crags. it was an autumn evening. the sun, near its setting, threw its yellow beams amongst the trees, and lit up the ruddy tors on the opposite side of the valley into a beautiful glow. below, the deep dark river went sounding on its way with a melancholy music, and as i wound up the steep road beneath the gnarled oaks, i ever and anon caught glimpses of the winding valley to the left, all beautiful with wild thickets and half shrouded faces of rock, and still on high those glowing ruddy tors standing in the blue air in their sublime silence. my road wound up, and up, the heather and the bilberry on either hand shewing me that cultivation had never disturbed the soil they grew in; and one sole woodlark from the far-ascending forest to the right, filled the wide solitude with his wild autumnal note. at that moment i reached an eminence, and at once saw the dark crags of dartmoor high aloft before me, and one large solitary house in the valley beneath the woods. so fair, so silent, save for the woodlark’s note and the moaning river, so unearthly did the whole scene seem—that my imagination delighted to look upon it as an enchanted land,—and to persuade itself that that house stood as it would stand for ages, under the spell of silence, but beyond the reach of death and change.

but even there you need not rest—there lies a land of grey antiquity, of desolate beauty still before you—cornwall. it is a land almost without a tree. that is, all its high and wild plains are destitute of them, and the bulk of its surface is of this character. some sweet and sheltered vales it has, filled with noble wood, as that of tresilian near truro; but over a great portion of it extend grey heaths. it is a land where the wild furze seems never to have been rooted up, and where the huge masses of stone that lie about its hills and valleys are clad with the lichen of centuries. and yet how does this bare and barren land fasten on your imagination! it is a country that seems to have retained its[611] ancient attachments longer than any other. the british tongue here lingered till lately—as the ruins of king arthur’s palace still crown the stormy steep of tintagel; and the saints that succeeded the heroic race, seem to have left their names on almost every town and village.

it were well worth a journey there merely to see the vast mines which perforate the earth, and pass under the very sea; and the swarming population that they employ. it were a beautiful sight to see the bands of young maidens, that sit beneath long sheds, crushing the ore and singing in chorus. but far more were it worth the trip to stand at the land’s-end, on that lofty, savage, and shattered coast, with the atlantic roaring all round you. the hebrides themselves, wild and desolate, and subject to obscuring mists as they are, never made me feel more shipped into a dream-land than that scenery. at one moment the sun shining over the calm sea, in whose transparent depths the tawny rocks were seen far down. right and left extend the dun cliffs and cavernous precipices, and at their feet the white billows playing gracefully to and fro over the nearly sunken rocks, as through the manes of huge sea-lions. at the next moment all wrapt in the thickest obscurity of mist; the sea only cognizable by its sound; the dun crags looming through the fog vast and awfully, and all round you on the land nothing visible, as you trace back your way, but huge grey stones that strew the whole earth. in the midst of such a scene i came to a little deserted hut, standing close by a solitary mere amongst the rocks, and the dreamy effect became most perfect. what a quick and beautiful contrast was it to this, as the very same night i pursued my way along the shore, the clear moon hanging on the distant horizon, the waves of the ocean on one hand coming up all luminous and breaking on the strand in billows of fire, and on the other hand the sloping turf sown with glowworms for some miles, thick as the stars overhead.

i speak of the delight which a solitary man may gather up for ever from such excursions; that will come before him again and again in all their beauty from his past existence, into many a crowd and many a solitary room; but how much more may be reaped by a congenial band of affectionate spirits in such a course.[612] to them, a thousand different incidents or odd adventures, flashes of wit and moments of enjoyment, combine to quicken both their pleasures and friendship. the very flight from a shower, or the dining on a turnip-pie, no very uncommon dish in the rural inns of cornwall, may furnish merriment for the future. and if this one route would be a delicious summer’s ramble, with all its coasting and its sea-ports into the bargain, how many such stretch themselves in every direction through england. the fair orchard-scenes of hereford and worcester, in spring all one region of bloom and fragrance,—the hills of malvern and the wrekin. the fairy dales of derbyshire; the sweet forest and pastoral scenes of staffordshire; the wild dales, the scars and tarns of yorkshire; the equally beautiful valleys and hills of lancashire, with all those quaint old halls that are scattered through it, memorials of past times, and all connected with some incident or other of english history. and then there is northumberland—the classic ground of the ancient ballad—the country of the percy—of chevy chace—of the hermit of warkworth—of otterburn and humbledown—of flodden, and many another stirring scene. and besides all these are the mountain regions of cumberland, of wales, of scotland, and ireland, that by the power of steam are being brought every day more within the reach of thousands. what an inexhaustible wealth of beauty lies in those regions! these, if every other portion of the kingdom were reduced by ploughing and manufacturing and steaming to the veriest common-place, these, in the immortal strength of their nature, bid defiance to the efforts of any antagonist, or reducing spirit. these will still remain wild and fair, the refuge and haunt of the painter and the poet—of all lovers of beauty, and breathers after quiet and freshness. nothing can pull down their lofty and scathed heads; nothing can dry up those everlasting waters, that leap down their cliffs, and run along their vales in gladness; nothing can certainly exterminate those dark heaths, and drain off those mountain lakes, where health and liberty seem to dwell together; nothing can efface the loveliness of those regions, save the hand of him who placed them there. i rejoice to think that while this great nation remains, whatever may be the magnitude of the designs for the good of the world in which providence purposes to employ it,—however populous it may be necessary[613] for it to become,—whatever the machinery and manufactories that may be needfully at work in it; that while cumberland, wales, scotland, and ireland continue, there will continue regions of indestructible beauty—of free and unpruned nature, so fair that those who are not satisfied therewith, would not be satisfied with the whole universe. more sublimity other countries may boast, more beauty has fallen to the lot of none on god’s globe. and what a satisfaction it is, to see that our poetry of late years has awakened the public mind to a full sense of our natural advantages. it may be said that many traverse the continent who never see their own country, but it cannot be said that the beauty of our own fair islands is overlooked. on the contrary, every one who travels through them himself, sees how increasing are the numbers who do the same. to many a point of beauty and historic interest i have been, from the very land’s-end to john o’groat’s; and i do not know one spot of any claims to attention, which i did not find numerously visited from the earliest spring to late in the year. i once was at loch katrine early in april, and there were arrivals of several carriages a day. i was at the land’s-end late in october, and as i reached the logan rock, a very interesting party of young people were just coming away from it. as i have said, i walked up to stonehenge from salisbury in order to enjoy it in all its solitude. this was late in the autumn; yet i found a large party there, and the shepherds assured me that every day, and all day long, it would continue so till severe weather set in. when dr. johnson went as far as the hebrides, it was reckoned a rare thing. in the summer of 1836, i visited staffa and iona in company with seventy persons; and all summer long, three or four times a-week, do those places see scarcely less than a hundred english people land upon them.

who indeed does not know how every pleasant place on our coasts, how the peak of derbyshire, how all wales, the highlands of scotland and many parts of ireland are annually thronged with people, who break away from towns and trade to refresh their spirits with the invigorating spirit of the mountains, and with the sights and sounds of ocean? nay, such is the pressure of the tourist current, that whatever place steam-vessels reach in the mountain districts—it is one of the most ludicrous scenes imaginable to see[614] a packet come to the pier, and its whole swarm of passengers leap ashore and proceed at full gallop to storm the inns for beds and accommodation. i have myself, as i believe i have before stated, been forced in the throng up to the very attics of one of these inns by the rush of people, who filled the whole staircase, and indeed house, calling out for beds, while the poor landlady was wringing her hands in despair of reducing the clamorous chorus into some sort of order.

ludicrous as this recital however is, the spirit which occasions it is an excellent one. it is full of health and good moral feeling. it is one which, if it goes on, hand in hand with our machinery and our literature, must produce the happiest effects. i trust that this volume will add its quota to that love of the country which i would desire to see possessing a corner of every human being’s heart. while that is there, i am sure there must be an undecayed portion of the original heart of humanity,—a remnant, at least, of that tone of spirit which makes heaven desirable, and which is capable of enjoying it. he that loves the country as god has made it, in all its varying beauty and immortal freshness, must love god and man too; and while he seeks in mountain solitudes and on sea shores, relief from the weariness of too long jostling in the crowd, will find with delight how this very solitude will quicken his appetite for human society, and his perception of the comforts and home-pleasures of towns. i declare, that when i have been for weeks roaming amongst forests and mountain wastes, i feel, on coming into a city, a sense of its life, activity, and social condition which was before become comparatively dim. as i have entered one in the early morning, and have seen the neat young housemaids rubbing the knockers and cleaning down the steps of their masters’ doors, and have caught glimpses, as i passed along, of well oil-clothed passages, and well carpeted rooms, and fires already burning cheerfully,—i have felt a sense of the comforts and pleasantness of english homes that i have rarely felt besides. or at evening, as we pass where blinds are yet undrawn, and where fires are seen warmly illumining fair rooms, and happy faces are congregated around them, who has not felt the same thing?

but we must now close this volume; and how can that be more fitly done than by ending as we began, and acknowledging with a[615] rejoicing thankfulness, “that the lines have indeed fallen to us in pleasant places,” in a land which it would be difficult to pronounce more blessed in its literature, its religious spirit, or in the splendid dowry of its natural beauty.