I surely meant that you should have heard of us long ere this. But there seemed not to be a moment of time during the fortnight we spent in England; Mr. Ward kept us so busy with every sort of engagement and sight-seeing that J. could enjoy. I meant to have written at Dover last evening; but it was not convenient, so now that we are for the first night in a strange country (which England is not) I must tell you, what I trust you have learned from Carey (to whom I had occasion to write hurriedly, last mail), that we had a very pleasant voyage of seventeen and a half days and came near making it in fourteen, as we made land early on the morning of the twelfth day out, no storms, but gentle favoring breezes till we made the Irish coast; and then, to our disappointment, we had head winds to beat against all the way up to Holyhead, and reached Liverpool Saturday morning....
On Monday we left Liverpool, which has vastly improved since you saw it; stopping at Coventry and turning off to Leamington to see, at Darlington’s desire, the descendants of old Peter Collinson,[1] and deliver some books and letters from him, which I did. Mrs. Collinson was ill with a severe fall, but her daughter received the things I brought, and showed me a portrait of Peter. Then Mrs. Gray and I made an excursion to Warwick Castle, the fine ruins of Kenilworth, and Stoneleigh Abbey, driving through six or seven miles of fine park. The next day on to London, to Ward, who had insisted on our visiting him. He lives three and a half miles out of London, in a pleasant and quiet suburban house; his son being established in Wellclose Square.
Boott I saw the same evening I arrived, and two days later, with J., but not later. He has been quite sick with an influenza, and a slight but not altogether pleasant inflammation of the lungs.
To Hooker I went at once also, and got your kind letter there, and saw Kew. Hooker is quite well; but Lady H. is very poorly.... She inquired most particularly and affectionately after yourself, and asked about all your family....
On Monday I made another visit to Kew Gardens, (a grand affair) to show the lions of the place to four or five young Americans I knew, one of them young Brace,[2] J.’s cousin, who is making with two friends a pleasant and profitable pedestrian excursion in England.[3] I cannot begin to tell you the half we have done and seen in England, but we were most busy: Saturday, conversazione of Royal Botanical Society in Regent’s Park. Wednesday, excursion with Linnæan Club to Hertford; saw a great Pinetum, 600 species of Coniferæ, etc., and the Panshanger Oak. (I wrote Carey a few words of this.) Thursday, a most pleasant day with Hooker. Miss Hooker looks quite well; all send their love to you, all most kind and sweet to us. Hooker has altered little, but looks older. Brown looks older perhaps, but decidedly stronger, is as healthy as possible and very lively. In talking with him and showing him about it he gave up about Krameria, and said I must be right. He formerly unequivocally referred it to Polygalaceæ. Bennett is large and fat. I fear he does not work hard enough.
Yesterday we came down to Dover early in the afternoon (a striking place), and embarked late in the evening on steamer for Ostend, which we reached early this morning; came right on to Bruges, which listless and very curious old-world town, and its curiosities, we have all day been exploring, till six o’clock, when we came on twenty-eight miles further by railway to the famous and more lively town of Ghent,—where I have been running about till the dusk arrived, and must now to bed, as we have to finish Ghent to-morrow before dinner, and go on to Antwerp afterwards, thence to Cologne. I think we shall cut Brussels.
At Ghent saw the Belfry and the strange old Town Hall.... I went to the Botanic Garden (did not find Professor Kickx),—hardly as large as ours at Cambridge, and by no means so rich or half so well kept, though said to be the best in Belgium; explored the university library, and strolled through the streets and along the canals....
Antwerp.—Imagine us settled comfortably at Hotel du Parc, Wednesday evening, overlooking the Place Verte, our windows commanding a near and most advantageous view of the finest cathedral in Belgium, with light enough still to see pretty well against the sky the graceful outlines and much of the light tracery and Gothic work of this gem of a steeple, one of the loftiest in the world (403 feet, 7 inches) and probably unsurpassed by any for lightness, grace, and the elaborateness of the carved work. Napoleon compared it to Mechlin lace. And such sweet chimes, every fifteen minutes! The chime at the beginning of the hour still rings in our ears. We have never tired of listening to it....
Bonn, July 22.
We drove through the city (Cologne) to the station of the Bonn railroad. But on the way the driver, of his own motion, stopped at the door of the cathedral. Finding that we had time enough to take a good look before the train left, we could not resist, and saw this wonder and masterpiece of true Gothic architecture; which by the united efforts of most North German powers is going on toward completion, in the style and plan on which it was commenced seven hundred or eight hundred years ago, and in which the choir was finished, and the transepts and nave commenced. It is most grand; the grandest thing we ever saw, though the nave bears only a temporary roof, at thirty or forty feet less than the full height. The ancient stained glass comes fully up to one’s expectation. I have never seen the like.