FROM LONDON TO EDINBURGH.
E left London on the morning of the 14th, after a seven weeks’ sojourn, and, I must say it, one of perfect delight and satisfaction. Old Londoners could not remember a more charming “season;” the weather called forth rapturous comments, the city was full of attractions, the best and at their best, a most fortunate conjunction; and “all the world” seemed peopling its palaces, crowding its hotels, thronging its temples of art and pleasure, and pushing its way through the packed streets, to enjoy them. Believe me, it took a stout wrench to break away from all that. But as we said to our hostess in response to her amiable urgency to detain us yet longer, “Dear Madam, how shall we ‘see the world,’ unless we ‘move on’?”
A four hours’ railway ride brought us to York, where we “stopped over” till next afternoon to see the Minster, the walls and the ruins of St. Leonard’s Hospital and St. Mary’s Abbey, and the ancient city “in toto.” The sun shone for us in most lavish brilliancy, and we went after lunch to the Cathedral, spending an hour or more wandering “through it with the verger all to ourselves” (which we always account a peculiarly good piece of luck, as much interesting information is to be gained, when he can give you undivided attention).
We stood long before each of the great windows, too rapt in admiration, it must be confessed, to give due heed to the great budget of details our guide was so kindly pouring out for our benefit. The “Five Sisters” was the first that arrested us, consisting of five lancet-shaped lights, fifty-four feet high by thirty wide. It was presented by five maiden sisters, who worked the patterns first. They must have had a busy time of it, and I am glad I was not one of them, but am one who has had the privilege of enjoying their pious handiwork. Next the west and east windows, the first about the size of the “Five Sisters,” the latter said to be the largest in the world. As to the exquisite beauty of each, that is unutterable. We lingered and loitered in nave and choir and transept, till long after the sun had set, and then walked back to our hotel, a palace fit for any queen this world has ever throned; the views from its great French plate glass windows Victoria might be glad to claim. The next morning we attended choral service, and gave the entire forenoon to that splendid seat of Episcopal magnificence. From there we went to the ruins, both being in the same inclosure, a large tract laid out in beautiful walks and far-stretching expanses of lawn, with clumps of trees here and there, and beds and borders of flowers. I wish I had time to tell you how old these crumbling structures are, and the various fortunes to which they have been subjected. Suffice it that both are older than the time of the Conqueror, which surely would seem ancient enough.
In the afternoon we were most reluctant to “stick to our program,” and go on to Durham, but we did. We had a reminder of home on the way in an hour’s stop at Newcastle-on-Tyne—as coal begrimed as Pittsburgh. I was glad to leave it behind, and find fresh, clean air coming into my lungs as it vanished from my sight. We ran into Durham in good time for a climb to its Cathedral, “unequaled in situation on a high hill.” Again we had a verger all to ourselves, and he proved a fellow with some wit, with all his overwhelming “stock in trade” of cathedral knowledge in architecture.
I was so hoarse I could only croak, but too athirst for knowledge to let that hinder. So, as I said something to this effect, “Tell me about that—the book I have does not tell anything, though I got the best I could find”—with the most mischievous smile he burst out, “I think you got something worse, haven’t you?” We were fast friends from that moment till I bowed “good-bye” next day—crossing his willing hand with the inevitable silver shilling. You have read all about this cathedral; that it is a splendid example of Norman, early English, transitional, and perpendicular styles in its different parts; that St. Cuthbert is its patron saint, and his bones rest here; maybe, remember how his monks
“From sea to sea, from shore to shore,
Seven years Saint Cuthbert bore.
And after many wanderings past,
He chose his lordly seat at last,
Where his cathedral huge and vast
Looks down upon the weir;
There deep in Durham’s gothic shade
His reliques are in secret laid,
But none may know the place.”
That was long ago, and now even I “know the place.” I stood upon the flagstones that covered it! Bede is buried there, so I have to tell you that I leaned upon his tombstone and read the inscription: