Thanks be to Heaven, I am on land once more, and never do I wish again to experience that hideous nightmare—a voyage across the ocean. We had the warmest welcome at my cousin’s pleasant home.... I went one afternoon to see the casting—that is, when the melted iron, like a river of fire, flows into the moulds which shape it. The Russel Hall Works are close by the town of Dudley. There is a wide extent of smoky country, with many little groups of machinery and brick buildings, each constituting or rather surrounding a pit; many mounds of glowing coal turning into coke; piles of ironstone being burned previous to the smelting; the houses of the managers in various directions, the office at the entrance; and immediately in front the two great blast-furnaces, which burn incessantly day and night, making many thousands of tons a year. Very few workmen were to be seen, but underground a whole army of them were hard at work. The casting was very curious. Twice a day the melted iron is drawn off from the bottom of the great brick towers they call furnaces. Strong men with faces as black and scorched as a coal were busy, armed with iron poles, guiding the sea of fire that rushed out into the moulds that covered a great extent of ground, drawing out the white-hot masses of cinders and dirt, and splashing cold water over the front of the furnace to enable them to stand there. We remained at the farther end, but the heat was so great that we had to cover our faces. Suddenly, with a loud noise, the flames burst out from the furnaces, ascending to the very top, immense volumes of black smoke rolled over our heads, and the rushing noise grew louder and louder. I thought some accident had occurred, and looked out for the safest retreat, when I found it was only the clearing of the furnaces by sending a powerful blast through them, which was always practised after a casting. Within a square of twelve miles one-sixth of the iron used in the world is said to be made.... I paid a visit to Dudley Castle, having a great curiosity to see a veritable old castle, a ruined castle; and I explored every corner, looked up the broad chimneys, and peeped out of the stone window frames and loopholes with a feeling of true antiquarian enthusiasm. We sat down on a stone bench at the foot of the keep, which is very old, and on a little hill on the western side of the courtyard; there we tried to revive the scene as it may have looked hundreds of years ago, when armed men were bustling about the court, and visions of fair ladies gleaming from the upper windows and now ruined terraces. The castle crowns a wooded hill, commanding the town and level country for many miles; the remains of a double wall with a moat between still surround the castle. As I stood by those strong walls and looked down on the wide fields below, I began to imagine how grandly an army would approach, and how noble a defence the castle would make, till I longed to revive the ancient conflicts, and almost frightened my companions by my martial demonstrations and visions of grim warriors peeping through the iron-barred windows. But the illusion could not last long; the country is covered with smoke and coal-pits, the wallflower is smiling on the ruins of the old castle, and instead of subterranean dungeons and dark passages the hill is excavated for limestone; and these artificial caverns of enormous extent, with a canal winding through them and echoing to the voices of the workmen, form one of the most curious features of the place, and show how the same energy and power are still at work, though in a very different direction. We drove home through the little town of Dudley, which presented a most curious spectacle, for it was market day, and the workmen from all the country round, having received their wages, were come in with their wives and children to make their weekly purchases. The streets were crammed with people, and our carriage made its way through a living mass that hardly opened to let it through. I examined the people, as I have constantly done since I entered the country, with great curiosity. I could not see one handsome face in the whole multitude—indeed, the English appear to me a very common-looking people—but neither was I struck by the misery I expected to see. In Liverpool I had peered into all the back alleys and odd corners I could find; I have done the same in Dudley. There is great cleanliness observed everywhere, that compares most favourably with American cities, and the inhabitants of those districts, though miserable, of course, according to a true standard of human life, were neither more numerous nor more wretched than I have been accustomed to see in America. I have very rarely seen a beggar, and in no instance one that has particularly excited my compassion. This district is one of the most thickly peopled in England, and certainly presents an average view of the mining districts, and the poor labourers seem far more comfortable and intelligent than I had supposed. The manufacturing districts, I have no doubt, would present a different spectacle. I have had no opportunity of judging them. I have just learned to my great satisfaction that Mr. Charles Plevins, an old friend of my cousin, is going to London for a few days, and will escort me there and remain during my stay. I can hardly tell you what a relief this is, for the idea of going to that great city an entire stranger, and wandering about it utterly alone, was a most desolate, oppressive thought, and entirely destroyed all the pleasure of the anticipation, though I assumed a very independent tone in speaking of my journey when I found it was utterly impossible for cousin to accompany me. He is an old friend of cousin’s, though young—only twenty-five—and there is an air of youth and immaturity about all his opinions and actions; but his spirit is so beautiful that you have only to see in order to love it, so pure and gentle, so true and genial. In my opinion he belongs to a class of young Englishmen that I find is large and constantly increasing. Cousin S. is one of them. They are reformers in spirit, but not destroyers; they have no clear immediate plan of reform, and so earnestly maintain the present system until they find a better one; but they are all the time seeking for truth, and longing most earnestly to realise that grand future in which they all believe. Fichte is one of their favourite teachers; Carlyle, Emerson, Channing, all we have known and learned from in the past, they worship now; but they have yet to study Fourier and Swedenborg before they can reach that strong hope and clear insight which will make their working strong, happy, and practically efficient. Now, there is too much of metaphysical abstraction in their thoughts, their religious faith is not a glorious reality, and in the case of our friend Charles, he despises the material world too much, and seeks to subdue the body and purify the spirit by privations which proceed from the noblest motive but a mistaken faith.
I have a curious interest in seeing and hearing him; it revives so completely my earlier life, when I thought as he does now, and strove for the same ends by the same means. My medical effort won his admiration before I arrived, and since I came here he has done me every little service in his power. His family is an old and highly respected one in Birmingham, and when he found I wished to see something of medicine in the city he used his influence to arrange a useful day for me. Accordingly, the day before yesterday I went in with him to Birmingham, having received invitations from several physicians. We spent the day in visiting the various institutions together, and as it was my first introduction to the English medical world, and as I consider it a good omen, I must describe our doings particularly.
Mr. Parker, surgeon to the Queen’s Hospital, had some difficulty in believing that it was not an ideal being that was spoken of; but when he found I was really and truly a living woman he sent me an invitation to witness the amputation he was going to perform, and promised to show me all the arrangements of the institution, sending also a note of admission to the college and museum. Dr. Evans, a distinguished physician, invited me to the General Hospital, the largest and oldest one, and expressed much sympathy in my undertaking. Dr. McKay, of the Lying-in Hospital, thought that God and Nature had indicated the unfitness of women for such a pursuit as I had chosen, but still said he would be very happy to show the lady all he could. All the students were on the qui vive to see the lady surgeon, and as we approached the building I saw them peeping through doors and windows. Mr. Parker, a fat, rosy-faced John Bull, received me very politely, introduced me to some M.D.’s who had come to see the sight, showed me the arrangements of the hospital, which is young and not particularly interesting, and then took me to the operating-room. It was crammed with students, and as fresh ones arrived they would peep about, whisper to their neighbours, and then work their way to a place where they could see me. It was just a repetition of old scenes; a few minutes’ curiosity, and then all went on as usual. The students presented the same mixture of faces as our American ones, wore rather better coats, and seemed to be quicker in their movements. I noted nothing peculiar in the operation, which was skilfully performed, without chloroform, which Mr. Parker disliked. Before leaving, he offered me a letter to the famous Roux of Paris.
At the General Hospital, established sixty years, Dr. Heslop received me with the utmost deference, showed me every ward, male and female, pointed out every case of note, let me examine it, and detailed the treatment, particularly one operation for subclavian aneurism, which was so remarkable that they were going to publish the case. Dr. Percy, of Birmingham, a particular friend of S., has promised to meet me in London, and to furnish me with all the necessary introduction to give me an insight into the medical world of the great metropolis. So I look forward now with great hope to a short but delightful visit, and leave for London next Saturday, the 12th, to await my passports, which I shall probably receive with letters on the 16th, and then off again for the land of dancing and wooden shoes. I heard the cuckoo this morning; what a soft human sound it is! Last night the nightingales were singing sweetly in the twilight. Our garden is full of lovely English flowers; the primrose and cowslip, laurustinea, and many others make our garden beautiful, though the weather is a most cold, gloomy nurse to the little darlings.
May 17.—We left Portway yesterday afternoon. I parted from our friends with great regret; we were getting used to one another; a home feeling was growing up there to me, and so it was time to be off. We arrived late in London, so I could only remark the many handsome houses in gardens that marked its environs, the fine and spacious orderly railway station, the wide streets and gay shops. This morning, after seeing Dr. Percy, Cousin S.’s friend, who has promised to give me the necessary introductions to the hospitals to-morrow, we walked about five miles through the city before reaching Mrs. X.’s house in Devonshire Street. During our walk we passed through many handsome squares with monuments and public buildings, not an isolated one, as with us, but row after row of grand pillared edifices, whole streets of palaces, substantial, built of freestone, but all rendered dingy by smoke, which permeates the atmosphere and penetrates everywhere. The most venerable pile of Westminster Abbey is crumbling with age; the cathedral service was being chanted when we entered; the central space was filled with people. The aisles are in the form of a cross, bordered by tall pillars rising lofty and plain to support the long vistas of arches. The spaces are filled up by a wilderness of monuments, a subdued light pouring in, a cool, stony atmosphere filling the cathedral. It is a noble old building, and has impressed me more than anything I’ve seen. From Westminster Bridge I saw the new Houses of Parliament—an immense pile, the ornaments too delicate for its size. The poor little river was covered with boats, and the bridge with people enjoying the Sunday; but London was much quieter than I supposed it would be. I noticed but one ‘confectionery store’ partly open; the day seemed to be very strictly observed. We walked through Regent Street, and through endless rows of handsome houses constituting the ‘West End,’ to Mrs. X.’s. We were shown in by a footman in crimson plush breeches, white stockings, and claret-coloured coat with gold buttons, to the drawing-rooms—the walls lined with figured crimson velvet, and all manner of lounges and tables covered with knick-knackery scattered about. The lady made her appearance in a blue and black satin dress with jet ornaments and a lace headdress—a handsome brunette, with red cheeks and very black eyes and hair, and altogether too much mannerism to please me. She was evidently criticising me, and holding herself in a non-committal attitude. I sat still and talked very quietly, thinking to myself that if I were condemned to live there one week I should overturn the lady and smash everything to atoms. Presently a few fashionable morning visitors dropped in to condole with the lady, who had scratched her throat by swallowing a mouthful too hastily, and so was an invalid; some messages of inquiry and condolence were delivered by an old, grave footman, so very silly, and answered in so absurd a manner, that I wondered how the man could keep a grave countenance; and yet the lady had wit and spirit which occasionally flashed out. Sir J. H. came in with Dr. H. to see me. I had a little very pleasant talk, and am to meet him on Tuesday. We descended to lunch, ladies sitting down in their bonnets. The dining-room and library had ceilings beautifully painted to imitate the sky with clouds; the whole house was hung with paintings. The lady’s manner grew gradually pleasanter; she seemed to like me, admired my hand, and insisted on my drinking a glass of wine—the first I ever took. I told her so, and she was much pleased at her influence. She took us in her barouche through Regent’s Park, and then extended her drive to Hyde Park. These parks are very beautiful—miles of grassy lawn, scattered over with groves, gardens, and clumps of trees, with occasional water, and varied with little valleys. They are surrounded by rows of palace houses, sometimes approaching the carriage road, sometimes lost in gardens and shrubbery. I did enjoy to see the people walking about, sitting under the trees, inhaling a little fresh air on the quiet Sunday, for the most perfect order prevailed. Our hostess became quite agreeable, laughed, and chatted merrily about all manner of nothings. It was impossible to converse with her; she must do the talking with a little support, and she gave forth a good deal of shrewd worldly wisdom. She set us down at the Zoological Gardens in Regent’s Park, with many regrets that an engagement to a dinner-party in the country prevented her asking me home, and the expression of a strong desire to have a long, full conversation.
Monday, May 1849.—This morning I called on Dr. Carpenter, who has written those admirable works on physiology. He lives near Regent’s Park; it was sparkling with dew as I walked through—refreshingly sweet. I found him and his wife exceedingly agreeable. I liked them at once. They questioned me with great interest about my past course. I am to meet some distinguished people at their house to-night, and among them a Miss Gillies, an artist who has watched my steps with the highest pleasure, and who thinks the only true livers are the workers. I received several notes of introduction from Dr. C. He says I must hear Mr. Paget lecture; that he is the most promising surgeon in England. I found an invitation to a pharmaceutical soirée awaiting me on my return, with the information that I might see all the distinguished M.D.’s there assembled.
Evening.—I have just returned from Dr. C.’s delightful little party. The ladies were in regular ball costume; some dresses very elegant; dancing to the piano; music, vocal and instrumental. Dr. C. gave us a very beautiful piece of Mendelssohn’s on the organ; he and his wife sang together with great feeling. His microscopes, said to be the most beautiful in England, were there. His preparations were exquisite: the lung of a frog most minutely injected, a piece of shark skin which seems covered with innumerable teeth, and piles of other specimens. Miss Gillies is a distinguished artist. I am to visit her and see her relation, Dr. Southwood Smith. Chapman, the well-known publisher, was present, and talked a good deal to me, but seemed a little undecided what tone to take. He has a very handsome, intellectual face. I was introduced to many pleasant people; one had the rare, beautiful face of Cowper’s mother. Great interest seemed to be felt in my course.
Before going to Dr. C.’s I went to examine the specimens collected for the pharmaceutical soirée. I was surprised to find that the papier-mâché models have been hitherto unknown in England, and that the people were regarding with the utmost rapture specimens which are in common use in all American colleges. Sir J. H. drove us to the Consumption Hospital and the Chelsea Botanical Gardens—a most kind-hearted, simple-mannered old gentleman....
Dr. Percy secured me a great treat. I visited the Hunterian Museum in company with Mr. Owen, who lectures at the institution. It is said to be the finest collection of comparative and morbid anatomy in the world. Mr. Owen is a man of genius, and the hour passed away like a minute while listening to his eloquent descriptions of the fossil remains and the laws which related them to living animals, to man, and to the globe. He invited me to come any morning between ten and twelve, but unfortunately my time is too crowded. The obstetric collection is very fine; if I return through London I shall certainly try to spend a week or two in examining it.
We next took the railroad and went to Greenwich, choosing the third-class open cars that I might see the country, which is laid out in market gardens richly cultivated, all round London, though the city, stretching out through Deptford to Greenwich, makes one uninterrupted town in that direction. Greenwich Hospital for Sailors has impressed me more than any other institution with the power and wealth of the nation. It is a series of great palaces, connected by colonnades with double rows of pillars ranged round a large green open to the river, with the park and observatory in the background. The old sailors were hobbling about in comfortable dresses, with enormous rations of bread and meat; for we reached it just at dinner-time, and they were allowed to take their meals and eat in their cabins. There are long walks where they smoke, and they rove about in the freest style. Their chapel is a very beautiful hall, though I fear the rich painting and mosaic is lost on the rough tars. The Painted Hall is immediately opposite; the vaulted ceiling is covered with figures which are larger than life, even from below; the walls are entirely covered with large paintings, richly framed, of naval engagements and naval heroes, and many relics of the great commanders are preserved in cases. The park is always open to the public; groups of women and children were sitting under the fine old trees, and the deer were so tame that they took no notice of passers-by. We sailed up the river to Waterloo Bridge, passing the Tower and St. Paul’s, and several handsome stone bridges. Then we went over the British Museum, which is thrown open to the public. We had only time to pass rapidly through hall after hall devoted to branches of natural science, Egyptian monuments, Grecian remains, &c., all admirably classified, with a label to every specimen. How I longed that our students, and particularly a certain E. B., could enjoy the great advantage of walking to such an institution, and seeing each object of study actually there in its natural relations! I hastened home to wash and dress, and reached Mrs. X.’s just in time for the seven o’clock dinner. It was a tremendous operation. We sat at table for three hours. I really grew stiff, notwithstanding the champagne I drank. By-the-by, that is the only wine I like; iced champagne is really good. I sat by Sir J. H. at table, and never discovered till I had left that it was actually mother’s old friend. He told Charles that he knew my mother, and remembered my face perfectly, having often seen me at church. I regretted exceedingly that I did not know the connection till too late, for I had always liked the kind old gentleman, and he would have seemed to me quite like an old friend. He has been rather unfortunate in money matters lately, and was robbed of all his family jewels by a foreign count and countess whom he was hospitably entertaining. He possesses an old château in France, which he often visits, and gave me his card to use at Boulogne, in case I went that way. The general conversation, however, was stupid, and I really needed our three-mile walk home to wear off its constraining effects.