During my walk through the park, I passed along the bank of the Avon, which runs at the foot of the rock, on which the castle is built. On a small black slate, attached to the rock, there is an inscription, stating that a young man, one of the Bagot family, was drowned there while bathing. The unfortunate father has erected this little monument to the memory of his son. On my return to the castle, I ascended one of the towers, called Gay’s tower, about one hundred and fifty feet high; this tower is very well preserved, and is provided with fortifications. In the interior there is a small room, and from the top of the tower there is a fine and extensive prospect.
On my return to the city, the stage for Stratford-on-Avon was about starting; I took a seat, and after eight miles journey, found myself once more on the grand turnpike leading from Birmingham to Oxford.
Stratford is a small, inconsiderable, ill-built town, but celebrated as the birth place of Shakspeare. One of the smallest houses bears the following inscription, “in this house the great Shakspeare was born.” It is now a butcher’s stall and belongs to strangers, to whom Shakspeare’s posterity were compelled by poverty to dispose of it. It is said that he was born in a room of the Upper story; in this apartment are several old pieces of furniture, the existence of which they flatteringly endeavour to trace from the days of Shakspeare, also a poor portrait of the poet, and a copy of his will; and a spectacle case made of the wood of a mulberry tree, which they say was planted by him.
At Stratford I took a post-chaise, proceeded on my journey, and at ten o’clock in the evening reached Oxford, which is thirty-nine miles from Stratford. I took up my lodgings in the Star Hotel. As I had seen Oxford three years previous, I merely sojourned there half a day, with the intention of beholding once more, in the Bodleïan Library, the lovely portrait of the unfortunate Mary Stuart, painted by Zucchero, and which had formerly pleased me so much that I considered it as the best likeness I had ever seen of that interesting woman. I therefore proceeded to that library: I hurried through the library hall, but made a much longer stay in the gallery of paintings. The sight of the portrait of Mary Stuart renewed all my old impressions, and I gazed intently upon it for a considerable time with the greatest pleasure. I likewise remarked a collection of seven paintings by Schalk, effects of light, representing the seven mortal sins, very well painted, moreover a number of pieces by English painters, and a number of portraits of the patrons and benefactors of the university, of its chancellors, and several of the most celebrated literati who had resided in the university. Also a few by Holbein, among which, the portraits of Luther and Erasmus, pleased me the most. A full-length likeness of Charles XII. of Sweden, by Schroeder, is uncommonly well finished; of the same size, and next to it, hangs the portrait of Frederic William I. King of Prussia. The physiognomy of the former, and the entire form, are expressive of the great and original genius of that monarch; there is something abhorrent, pedantic, and tyrannical in the features of the latter.
The library contains several models of Grecian architecture, which are skilful imitations in plaster; also a model of the Parthenon at Athens, which very agreeably recalled to my mind Philadelphia and the Bank of the United States. Here is likewise to be seen a model of the Amphitheatre of Verona, cut in cork, and an elegant collection of the Elgin marble bas reliefs, well imitated in plaster. A full-length statue of one of the Lords of Warwick, in bronze, representing him in a warlike costume, is also well worthy of the attention of travellers.
After having here satisfied my curiosity, I went to the Radcliff Library, which is built in the form of a cupola, in order to enjoy a view of the city from its roof. Fortunately the weather was very clear, which seldom occurs in England, and as there are no manufactories and steam-engines in Oxford, the atmosphere is not obscured by coal smoke. The city, owing to its ancient university and churches, has a singular appearance, and though I had seen during my travels a great many cities, still I found none to be compared with Oxford. The university, its twenty colleges, and five halls, have the appearance of so many old castles: such is also the appearance of the Bodleïan Library, that stands near the Radcliff library. In the court-yard of the former, there is a gate, in which the five orders of architecture are placed over each other, which produces a strange effect. Near the gate are four Tuscan pillars, over these four Doric, above these four Ionic, and again over these four Corinthian, and this strange conjunction is terminated by four Roman columns. Two columns are always joined together. Between the fourth row, the statue of James I. stands in a niche, next which, on the right, as I believe, there is a Minerva, and on the left the university is personified by a kneeling figure, to whom the learned king most graciously tenders his own works. Four thousand students are said to belong to the university, but there were very few then present, it being vacation time. Therefore the city with its ancient buildings, looked rather dull.
At twelve o’clock, noon, on the 19th of July, I left Oxford in the post-chaise, and proceeded to London, which although fifty-eight miles from Oxford, I reached in six hours. It is incredible how fast one travels on this route and how quick they change horses. I was by chance enabled to retain the chaise all the way from Oxford to Hounslow. The moment I arrived at a post-house, a servant came instantly to demand, whether I wished to stop or proceed; no sooner did I answer in the affirmative, than he would call out for horses, and the whole proceeding lasted at the utmost one minute. The leader was brought out, ready harnessed, and put to; the postillion followed on the saddle-horse from the stable, and remained in the saddle while they were gearing the horses; the stable boy then requested his fee, and off we went. During this journey, I was only detained three minutes at each post. They charge for carriage and horses, eighteen pence a mile, and the drink-money, three pence per mile. Since my journeying in this country three years previous, postage had been raised three pence.
The road lay through a cultivated and woody country, and we traversed several rising grounds. We passed many fine large country-seats, surrounded by extensive parks. From Salt Hill, which is a very pretty little place, there is on the right, a charming view of the castle of Windsor, two miles distant, on the lofty round tower of which was displayed the royal standard as a sign that the king was there. The castle has really a very imposing appearance. The large Gothic church of Eton College, recalled unpleasant recollections to my mind. For on my visit to this college, three years past, they showed me on a shelf a number of elegantly tied, long birch rods, with which youth, engaged there in study, are flogged, and for the supply of which, a regular contract is made with the steward. In a handsome village, called Slough, stands the dwelling of the celebrated German astronomer, Herschel; there is still to be seen in the garden, the stand supporting the telescope, forty-eight feet long, by five feet in diameter, with which Herschel made his great astronomical discoveries. Hounslow is a charming town, and very lively, owing to its proximity to London. The number of stages and other carriage, which I met with in this neighbourhood, is scarcely to be credited. This concourse of vehicles, and afterwards the multitude of country-seats, which follow one another in rapid succession, together with the chain of towns, that continually present themselves, indicated clearly, that I was approaching the greatest city in Europe, and perhaps in the world. I remarked in Hammersmith and in Kensington, a considerable number of new and handsomely built houses, that had been erected within the last three years. We drove through Hyde Park into Piccadilly street, and thence into Albemarle street, where I found excellent quarters in Grillion’s hotel.
I made a stay of six days in London. To speak of the circle of my acquaintance in which I moved during my residence in this bustling city, would ill become this book, and to make any mention of London itself would be both useless and superfluous. Consequently, I shall present but a few particulars.
Whoever is obliged to make many visits to London, or whose business takes him to many houses, loses an enormous quantity of time; to him one day is as nothing. From my hotel to Mr. Goeman’s,[II.40] who resides in the city, in the neighbourhood of the East India company’s stores, it took me three quarters of an hour. At first to a stranger, a walk of this kind is by no means tedious, on account of the great and strange bustle surrounding him. In the stirring part of the city there is a store in almost every house, and as the English are known to possess much taste in displaying their wares, these stores have an amusing, interesting, and charming appearance. In most of the streets the pavement had been cast aside, and the streets were Macadamised; an improvement which is both beneficial to those who ride, and to the poor-built houses, which, owing to the rolling of heavy carriages along the pavement, were dreadfully shaken. I had long been aware that several merchants and tradesmen decorated their signs with the names of those members of the royal family, by whom they were particularly patronised, viz. corset inventress to the Dutchess of Kent, &c.; this time I remarked in Knight’s bridge, on my way to Kensington, a sign bearing the inscription of “only purveyor of asses milk to the royal family.” Through the medium of Mr. Goeman, I received from the celebrated engineer Brunel, an admission to visit the new tunnel, under the Thames; it was a five miles drive from my lodgings. The entrance is near the church of Rotherhithe. To commence the work they had to dig a round pit seventy-five feet deep, above twenty feet in diameter, and walled in with bricks. In the centre of this pit they have constructed a quadrangular wooden scaffold. On this is erected a pumping machine, by which the spring water that gushes out from the tunnel, is pumped off. The water collects itself in a basin under the scaffold. The ejection of it is accomplished by means of an iron pump, which draws off the water from the basin, and forces it into an iron tube, which passes out from the pit. Another pump and tube is in reserve to be immediately used, in case the former should require repair. In the interior of this scaffold there are two buckets, to hoist the earth from out the tunnel, one of which comes up filled while the other goes down empty. These buckets have four small iron wheels, and rest upon a board. The moment it reaches the top, it is received by a workman, who carries it twenty feet along a railway, to the place for depositing the earth, and after emptying it carries it back on its board; that it may be let down while the other is coming up filled. The place, into which the earth is thrown, is a large wooden receiver, which is erected in the manner of a bridge. In the bottom of this receiver are several holes, which can be opened and closed by means of slides. The wagons destined for carrying away the earth, drive underneath such a hole, the slide then is drawn back, and the wagon is filled with earth and drives off. Up to this time none but silicious earth has been dug out of the tunnel, and this was appropriated to the filling up of the swampy ground, near Southwark. But now they find clay, which is used in burning bricks. The machinery, by which the buckets are hoisted and lowered, and that moves the pump, is set in motion by a species of steam-engine, called the expansive engine, an invention of Mr. Brunel. I did not perfectly comprehend its mechanism, and could only perceive that it occupies a very small space, and acts with great facility; there are two boilers and two machines, one of which is unemployed, but can immediately be set in motion, whenever any thing happens to the other, so that nothing may stop the work.