BRIGHTON.
We took cars at London for Brighton one Saturday night, and after a two hours' ride arrived at the famed watering-place. The first impression was that we were in a large and old place, and in anything but one to which people would resort for pleasure; for the place in the vicinity of the station, and especially for the entire length of a long street leading down from it, had a very commercial and business-like appearance; and, as we passed down its entire length and looked to the right and left, compactly built streets, houses, and shops, and even fine stores and warehouses, seemed to extend as far as the eye could reach; no tree nor garden, nor even front-yard anywhere, but one mass of solid buildings, and surely a great population.
Our only hope and tangible evidence that we had not mistaken this for the watering-place Brighton—as we had mistaken the little fishing-place Wells, for the cathedral town—was a very large lot of well-to-do, stylishly dressed people, all passing down this great main street. We of course followed, for just then we considered ourselves watering-place visitors, and so in a sense aristocratic. At length the end of the street gained, all fears were dispelled, for there in front lay the grand harbor, and for aught we could see to the contrary, thousands of miles of good ocean were stretching out from it.
Here, as at Dover, was a grand avenue, along for some two or three miles, with a most remarkable shore, and its fine beach extending for miles. A very good cut-stone wall is built the entire length of the city, dividing the beach from the grand avenue, and along these thousands were promenading. The style of hotels is quite in advance of those at Dover. They are many in number, and are of a quite similar appearance as compared to each other, none of them, however, being striking as works of art or architecture. They are of stone or brick, and of a cream-color; all are from three to five stories high, very plain, without porticos or much of any decoration; and while they had a neat and inviting look, yet none of them appeared to be very new or modern, but substantial, and, perhaps of most appropriate construction for their exposed situation. The land rises amphitheatre-like from the water, and, as before named, has a solid and very substantial look.
It has a population of 90,000, and extends for three miles along the coast, from Kemptown on the east to Hove on the west. It was not a place of especial resort till about a century ago, when Dr. Richard Russell published a work on the use of sea-water which attracted much attention; and its celebrity as a watering-place became established when George IV.—who at the time, 1784, was simply the Prince of Wales—made it his place of residence, and began the erection of a peculiar building, called the Pavilion, which was finished in 1787. The grounds were some five acres in extent, and finely laid out by the building of avenues, paths, lawns, flower-beds, and the setting out of good shrubbery and trees. The estate is very centrally located, and in the midst of a neighborhood of the best inhabitants. The town ultimately purchased it of the crown, for the sum of $265,000, and threw the premises open to the public as pleasure-grounds. In all our travels we saw no finer taste displayed in the arrangement of elegant colored-plant designs, nor on as large a scale, as we saw here. They were indeed marvels of genius and beauty. Our visit to these grounds was after tea Sunday night, when hundreds of people were enjoying the treat; and among the few very choice and pleasant hours in England, these are to be named.
For the pleasure of sojourners, two novel things exist. They are what are called chain-piers, and extend out into the sea; and are as exposed as would be similar structures built out into the ocean from our Chelsea or Nantasket Beach, for the relative situation is the same. One was erected in 1822-3, at an expense of $150,000. It is 1,134 feet long, and extends, of this length, 1,014 feet into the sea. As 5,280 feet are a mile, it will be seen that this is about one quarter of a mile in length. The other, which is located about half a mile or so from that named, was erected in 1867. It is 1,115 feet long. They are built in suspension-bridge style, with good stone towers, and iron-work for cords and suspension. They are frequented by thousands for the fine views and sea air.
The sea-wall before alluded to is a grand structure, varying in height as the rise or fall of the land requires; and is in height, above the beach, all the way from 20 feet,—which is about the average height, for a mile at the central part of the town,—and then rising to full 60 feet, as it extends towards the elevated land at the left. The broad avenue continues to this, and well up on the elevation, and from this the finest imaginable views of the ocean in front and the city are at hand, and to the rear and right may be had. At the base of this wall, and near the shore, is an aquarium, the buildings being low but large, tasty, and admirably adapted for their purpose. It was opened to the public in 1872. In the western quarter is a battery of six 42-pounders, erected in 1793. On the eastern side is Queen's Park, and on the western is a chalybeate spring.
There are twenty-five chapels and churches belonging to the established church, and thirty of other denominations. Of them all, none had so much charm to us as Trinity Chapel, where once the thoughtful and good Frederick W. Robertson preached, and sacrificed himself for humanity. We, as it were instinctively, on Sunday wended our way there, for although long since, as Cotton Mather would have said, he had "passed on to the celestials," yet it was our highest thought to see the place. We found it a very ordinary building, in a fair neighborhood. The edifice was of no especial pretension, outside or inside. It had a frontage of perhaps 45 feet, was of a debased Grecian architecture, with no look of chapel, save what was given to it by a very unpretending cupola, or bell-tower, resting on the roof. Inside it was quite as simple and in the same style; common galleries were on the two sides and the door end; and while all was neat, yet there was no display nor churchly look. Here the scholarly man thought and labored, and, as it were, died. Robertson was born at London, Feb. 3, 1816; graduated at Brazenose College, Oxford, 1840; and, after being curate at Winchester, Cheltenham, and Oxford, in 1847 he became minister here; and after a most laborious experience in his parish, and outside of it, and remarkably so for the working-men and the poor, he fell a victim of overwork and left the scenes of his earthly labors, Aug. 15, 1853, at the age of but 37. His broad views of the divine government and human destiny cost him the loss of sympathy he otherwise would have had. Conscientious to a remarkable degree, intellectual and finished beyond most others, and withal sensitive, he inwardly deplored his conditions and surroundings; but never yielded, and at last passed on, to be fully appreciated only when the spirit and body had parted companionship. Hardly had his sermons been issued from the press before their depth of thought, their comprehensive reach, their elegant diction, and sweet temper were appreciated; and now, no denomination, evangelical or unevangelical, is there whose clergyman will not speak in their praise. Wherever the English language is spoken, the fine productions of Frederick William Robertson will be spoken of as a choice thing, and an honor to the English tongue.
There are five banks and six newspapers in the town; and one hundred fishing-boats are owned and used, manned by 500 men. The principal fish taken, and in abundance, are mackerel, herrings, soles, brill, and turbot; and mullet and whiting are often caught. The place is very old, for in the old Doomsday Book it is spoken of, and there called by the name of Brighthelmstone.
Having before spoken of Doomsday Book, we will take time enough here to say that it is an old register of lands in England, framed by order of William the Conqueror, and was begun somewhere from 1080 to 1085, and was finished sure in 1086. The book is yet preserved in the chapter-house of Westminster. A facsimile was published by the government in 1783, having been ten years in passing through the press. It is a valuable and interesting work, and is in itself a sort of complete registry of English possessions.
Brighton under the longer name is there referred to. It, like Dover, and in fact all border towns, suffered often from invasions, and the French plundered and burnt it in 1513. During the reigns of Henry VIII. and Queen Elizabeth, fortifications were erected for its protection. Two hundred years ago it was a fishing-town, and had 600 families. Now, the fishing still continues, but its many hotels, its grand summer boarding-houses, and its population furnish a ready market at home.
On one portion of the Sunday we attended worship in the Quaker meeting-house. The word church cannot be used with propriety here, for the place was anything but that. We chanced in our walks to fall in with it,—and need we have asked who worshipped there?—a good stone building, unpretending but very neat, end to the road, and back full 100 feet from the street, with a beautiful park-like garden enclosed in front. We went in, and the same nicety was everywhere. Plain, but of a rather higher grade than we were used to seeing in places of worship of this sect. The house was quite large, and was nearly filled. Some four or five of the more elect ones were at their usual place on the high-seats, and facing the audience. All of them were moved by the spirit to speak, and to our pleasure did so. The tone of remark was to speak ill of themselves, and suggest the deplorable conditions incident to an earthly life; but the advice they gave was salutary, the opinion honest and sincere, and good was done. This was the extreme opposite of the ornate Episcopal service, and as we had had that first on entering England, it was well we had this last on leaving it. It was not our intention to furnish evidence against ourselves, and tell that after remaining but a short time in Trinity Chapel we were too uninterested to stay, and so quietly walked out, being near the door, and going we knew not exactly where, came in here; but we have now told the story, and so the reader will not be at a loss to know why we had nothing to say of service there.
Much more would we say of this Brighton,—its fine air, views, fashionable life, and desirable conditions, but we rest the case here. When we have written one of these articles, we find an abundance more material left than we have used. The task of omitting material is a great one. What not to say is what troubles us.
Although an account of the passage to Calais, and a description of that place would not ordinarily be in order in a work pertaining to the places here described; yet there being involved certain items of historical interest to Americans we venture to say a few words pertaining to things across the channel, and with that end our work.
Having digressed this much, we now go back to old Dover, where the last accounts left us, and at 9.30 a. m. of Wednesday, June 19, are on board the steamer for a few hours' sail, across the channel to Calais.
Our voyage was far from being an unpleasant one. We were not entirely out of sight of land, as Dover was behind or Calais before us all the time, for in fair weather these are always in view. The steamers are strong and adapted for their work. They are about the size of those that ply in our harbor, the John A. Andrew if you please; but white paint for a steamer is quite distasteful to people of the region we are in. Black is to them the fine and good color. No money is to be expended for nice inside finish as in the Andrew; but everything is solid and neat, and we ought to be generous enough to say, "as good as need be," and we will say it.
Generally this Channel is rough and boisterous. Currents and winds through this great valley of the land and sea are so in conflict, that seldom is there a calmer or even as calm a time as we had. Now the two hours end, and we are nearing shore. England has been left behind, with pleasant memories that it wouldn't take much reflection to transform into regrets; yet all is lighted up with good anticipations, for we two Bostonians are soon to stand on the soil of Imperial France. The thought even now kindles peculiar emotions. Sunny France! an elastic people, brilliant in exploit; its great metropolis the epitome of a remarkable civilization! We thus thought of it then, and thus we think of it now. The steamer slackens her speed, and we are on the upper deck, ready to land at