Cheltenham, July 12, 1828.
My Dear Julia,
I left London at two o’clock in the morning, very ill and out of spirits; in harmony with the weather, which was perfectly ‘à l’Anglaise.’ It blew a hurricane, and rained water-spouts. About eight o’clock, however, the sky cleared. I had been lulled into a gentle slumber by the rapid and easy roll of the carriage; all nature shone with an emerald brightness, and a delicious fragrance poured in at the open windows from every field and flower; and your care-worn, melancholy friend was again, in a few moments, the light-hearted child rejoicing in the beautiful world, and in its mighty and merciful Creator. Travelling in England is, indeed, most delightful. Could I but witness your pleasure in it! Could I but feel my own doubled by your participation! It rained occasionally through the day, but I was little incommoded by this in a close carriage, and found the air mild and balmy. The former part of the country through which our road lay, teemed with all the luxuriant vegetation of the most beautiful park; the next presented boundless corn fields without hedges, which is a rarity in England; and the last nearly resembled the rich plains of Lombardy. I passed many large parks, which, however, weather being uncertain, and time limited, I left unvisited. It is not easy, after my long park and garden chase through half England, to find any thing new of this kind. In Cirencester I visited a beautiful Gothic church of great antiquity, with windows of coloured glass in pretty good preservation, and curious grotesque carvings. It is a grievous pity that the Gothic churches in England, without exception, are defaced by tasteless modern grave-stones and monuments.
Late in the evening I reached Cheltenham, an extremely pretty watering-place, of an elegance nowhere to be found on the continent. Even the splendid gas-lights and the new villa-looking houses, each surrounded by its little flower-garden, put the mind into a cheerful and agreeable tone. I arrived, too, just in the hour when the contest between the light of day and the artificial illumination produces a peculiar and, to me, pleasing effect. As I entered the inn, which, I might almost call magnificent, and ascended the snow-white stone staircase, ornamented with a gilt bronze railing, and trod on fresh and brilliant carpets, lighted by two servants to my room, I gave myself up, ‘con amore,’ to the feeling of ‘comfort’ which can be found in perfection nowhere but in England. In this point of view, it is a country completely made for a misanthrope like myself;—since all that is unconnected with social life, all that a man can procure with money, is excellent and perfect in its kind; and he may enjoy it isolated, without any other human being troubling himself about him.
A larger mass of varied and manifold enjoyments may certainly be found in England than it is possible to procure with us. Not in vain have wise institutions long prevailed here. What especially soothes and gladdens the philanthropist is the spectacle of the superior comfort and more elevated condition in the scale of existence, universally prevailing. What with us are called luxuries, are here looked upon as necessaries, and are diffused over all classes. Hence arise, even in the smallest and most ordinary details, an endeavour after elegance, an elaborate finish and neatness; in a word, a successful combination of the beautiful with the useful, which is entirely unknown to our lower classes.
The distress, in truth, consisted in this; that the people, instead of having three or four meals a day, with tea, cold meat, bread and butter, beef-steaks or roast meat, were now obliged to content themselves with two, consisting only of meat and potatoes. It was, however, just harvesttime, and the want of labourers in the field so great, that the farmers gave almost any wages. Nevertheless, I was assured that the mechanics would rather destroy all the machinery and actually starve, than bring themselves to take a sickle in their hands, or bind a sheaf: so intractable and obstinate are the English common people rendered by their universal comfort, and the certainty of obtaining employment if they vigorously seek it. From what I have now told you, you may imagine what deductions you ought to make from newspaper articles.
July 13th.
This morning I visited some of the public walks, which fell short of my expectations; and drank the waters, which have some resemblance to those of Carlsbad. I found them very heating. The doctors here say, as ours do, that they must be drunk early in the morning, or they lose a great part of their efficacy. The joke is, however, that here, early begins exactly where it ends with us, namely, at ten o’clock.
The weather is unfortunately not favourable: cold and stormy, after a continuance of heat pretty long for England. For travelling, however, it is not bad; at least I find myself in far better spirits than in London, and am in great delight at the anticipation of the beautiful scenery of Wales, towards which I am now bending my course.
I entreat you to be with me, at least in thought, and let our spirits journey together over sea and land, look down from the summits of mountains and enjoy the sweet repose of valleys; for I doubt not that spirits, in forms as infinitely various as infinity itself is boundless, rejoice, throughout all worlds, in the beauty of God’s magnificent creation.