Everybody has heard of “a pebble in Carisbrooke well.” I tried the usual experiments, and saw a lamp let down in it, three hundred feet, and then drank of the water, drawn by donkey-power, with all the sublime emotions conceivable on such an occasion. There is a story that the well was originally of Roman construction, and that the Romans had a fortress here, which it first supplied. At any rate, it is a very good well, and no doubt administered many a refreshing draught to the royal prisoners, to whom “a cup of cold water” was well nigh all that the charity of the place afforded.
Crossing from the Isle of Wight to Portsmouth, I had a fine sight, in the incessant broadsides which were fired by her Majesty’s ship, the “Vengeance,” anchored at Spithead, apparently for exercise, or sport. The gallant ship, the blazing port-holes, the rolling clouds of smoke, and the reverberating thunders, made our transit, from shore to shore, one of exciting interest. The “Royal George” went down just in that anchorage, and there she lies now. I paid a visit to the “Victory,” in the harbour of Portsmouth, after an unsuccessful effort to board the beautiful yacht, in which the Queen makes her progresses by sea. On the deck of the “Victory” fell the idolized Nelson: a small brass plate marks the spot. After looking at this, and trying to reproduce the scene, I descended to the cock-pit, and surveyed the dark and gloomy cell in which he breathed his last, reclining against a huge rib of his ship. Poor soul! If he had but served God as he served his King, there would have been a glory in that death, beyond that of “victory, or Westminster Abbey.” After a rapid survey of the dock-yards, I made my way, by rail, to Chichester.
A fine market-cross distinguishes this city, and is kept in excellent repair. But the great attraction is, of course, its cathedral, a mutilated but still noble structure, which I found well worthy of a visit. It exhibits some praiseworthy restorations, and I was pleased to find that its nave is frequently used for sermons. It has many tombs and monuments of note, and many of its architectural peculiarities are attractive. Relics and antiquities connected with the history of the See are shown, and it is painful to find, in one apartment, mysterious evidence of the ill uses to which a church could be put, before the Reformation. In the Bishop’s Consistory Court, there is a secret door in the wainscot looking like a mere panel. This moves with a slide, and covers a massive gate, with a lock, which opens into a strong room, once used as a prison. It was no doubt the scene of suffering for conscience sake, in the days of the Lollards.
After having so lately described other cathedrals of much greater interest, I will only add, concerning this, that I was much pleased to note among its monuments the modern one, by Flaxman, commemorative of the poet Collins. Architecturally, indeed, it is out of place: but the unfortunate bard was a native of the cathedral precinct, and the Christian artist has seized upon that incident in his unhappy life, which attests the consolations which highest genius may derive from the same source that makes childhood wise unto salvation. “I have but one book,” said he to a visitor, shortly before he died, as he held up the New Testament, and added—“the best.”
My next stage was Brighton, where I enjoyed a sea-bath, and a brief survey of that beautiful creation of fashion. But my chief enjoyment here was received in the delightful hospitalities of a distinguished family, which I shall always remember with sincere regard, as embracing some of the most agreeable persons I have ever met. Among the varieties of English character which have most charmed me, those to which I now gratefully refer, are often reviving in memory, as affording a true ideal of domestic happiness, enlivened by sentiment, and hallowed by a spirit of devotion.
I was forced to make a very rapid survey of the southern coast, passing by the old abbey at Lewes and the castle at Pevensey; and pausing scarcely an hour upon the noble beach at Hastings, and amid the ruins of its castle. With greater regret I was forced to omit visits to Battle Abbey, to Hever Castle, and to Penshurst, to the last-named of which I had an especial drawing, for the sake of Hammond and Sir Philip Sydney. I was engaged to spend St. Peter’s day at Canterbury, and to be the anniversary preacher, a privilege to which I was willing to sacrifice, many other pleasures. Passing, therefore, through some pretty Kentish scenery, and pausing to visit the old monuments at Ashford, I made my way, before nightfall, to the city of pilgrimages, and was received as a guest within the Warden’s lodge at St. Augustine’s. An anniversary dinner was served in the hall, at which several distinguished personages were present; and afterwards I saw the ceremony of admitting a scholar to the foundation. I then visited the room over the gateway, which lodged King Charles I., on his bridal tour; and, after service in the chapel, retired to my room in this holy and religious home of the Church’s children.
CHAPTER XXX.
St. Augustine’s Chapel—St. Martin’s—Addison—Thompson.
In the chapel of St. Augustine we kept St. Peter’s Day, and commemorated the benefactors of the college. It was a cheering spectacle to behold around me those missionary youths, devoted to the noblest warfare which can enlist the energies of man, and destined, as I could not but pray, to see and to achieve great things in the extension of the kingdom of Immanuel upon earth. And how inspiring to them the associations with which they are surrounded! On the very spot which they inhabit, the Missionary Augustine preached the Gospel to their ancestors, when Anglo-Saxons were but pagans, and now they go forth from it, as from the very centre of Christian civilization, to bear the precious seed to the uttermost isles of the sea, so that what England is, Australia may become.
In the afternoon, I preached in old St. Martin’s, which probably is the very oldest Church in England. Its name of St. Martin is probably a second designation, given to it when it was fitted up for the use of good Queen Bertha, before the conversion of her husband, Ethelbert. Such a Church is spoken of by Bede, as having been built before the Romans left the island; and as Roman bricks, of unquestionable antiquity, are a large portion of the material of this Church, it is on this and other accounts generally dated from A. D. 187, and supposed to have been originally erected by some good Cornelius of the Roman army. Be that as it may, Queen Bertha’s tomb is in the choir to this day: and the ancient font is with good reason supposed to be that in which Ethelbert was baptized. What hoary antiquity, what venerable and august dignity invest this sacred place! It is of humble dimensions, and both without and within bears the marks of its primitive character, in its plainness and simplicity, but it is kept in good repair, and regarded with the affectionate reverence which is so becoming. The yews and the ivy which adorn it with their shade, are, apparently, almost as old as the Church: and the church-yard gently slopes from the church-door to the road-side, giving a beautiful elevation to the old pile, and presenting a highly picturesque effect to the passer-by.