In the House of Lords the throne is the chief object of interest, and the peers, upon entering, always salute it, I presume as something of a compliment to royalty. It contains three seats: the middle one is the Queen’s, the right-hand one that of the Prince of Wales, and the one on the left has not been allowed to be occupied since the death of Prince Albert. When the Lord Chancellor takes his seat in this room, he wears a red gown, an ermine mantle, a big wig, and a three-cornered hat. We thanked our new-made friend for his unusual kindness, for he really seemed determined to make us feel that showing us about was the greatest pleasure of his lifetime, and we left the Houses at ten P.M., with the workings going on as lively as if just commenced.
I think the manners of a Massachusetts legislative body superior in dignity to those of the members of the House of Commons. But who under the gilded dome on Beacon Hill would give himself as much trouble to entertain a strange English lady, as our member took upon himself to entertain us! Do not all speak at once, gentlemen.
Friday, June 22nd.—The clerk of the weather will come in rightfully for his share of praise, for another bright morning greets us. We took an early start for the National Gallery. Turner has here the most of his works. Some of his paintings, although not considered as masterly as his Slave Ship, please me better, but it seems to me he delights in capricious methods in the use of his brush. It is a treat to our eyes to see the originals of Landseer, Rosa Bonheur, and other works of artists which have become familiar to us from engravings. One of Raphael’s Madonnas is here, and long held our attention. London is full of artists, and in the galleries we see hundreds of students copying, and some excellent work they do. Here lives Herkomer, who was with us at one time, also Millais, Sir Frederick Leighton, Alma Tadema, and others whose talent has brought them large fortunes. The chimes ring out our hour for leaving, although our time here has not been half long enough. I love these chime bells! And nearly all of the churches have them, and sweetly do they sound their pretty airs.
A drive of about four miles brought us to the exhibition of the Royal Military Tournament. The pavilion contained an aristocratic audience, and the good horsemanship of the soldiers, on their handsome and well-trained animals, was a novel sight. A lady sat next me with her two little girls and their maid. The children had material enough in their bonnets to have covered them all over comfortably, but their legs were bare to the knees and looked cold, for the wind had changed, and a damp draught chilled us. I offered part of my lap-wrap to the little ones, and the mother kindly thanked me, but added, ‘They do not need it if only their heads are warm; they cannot take cold; one never takes cold in the legs, you know.’ And undoubtedly English mothers all agree with her, for the children’s limbs are universally unprotected from the weather. They wear heavy shoes but short stockings. I have already come to the opinion that it is not of much use to differ with the English. If we do, differently from them, they feel a little sorry for us that we do not know the better way, which is always their way.
This evening we went to the Covent Garden Theatre to hear Minnie Hauk, in ‘Carmen.’ Not wishing to take time to get into full dress, we changed our hats, substituting pretty, light-colored evening ones, and added fresh, sweet roses to our costumes, and started, and thought our appearance would do ourselves and all else credit. But to our discomfort, opinions differed, and we could not be admitted to our box without leaving our pretty head-gear outside, where they had no chance of being seen and admired. After getting comfortably seated, we looked about us. The ladies were dressed as if for a grand ball, silks, satins, velvets, and tulles, of every color, composed the gowns, invariably made décolleté—‘much, more, and most’ décolleté. Gentlemen were, of course, all in dress suits, and every one wearing and carrying flowers. It was indeed a brilliant scene, but I like the more modest costuming of our own countrywomen, in public places, better. Displays like this, it seems to me, should be made only, if at all, at private gatherings. The setting of the opera and the music were superb. Hauk’s voice has improved wonderfully since heard in America some years ago. She is a great favorite here, and many of the aristocracy were of the audience, and a loudly enthusiastic one it was. All the principal artists were deluged with flowers, and Hauk received a laurel wreath of solid gold leaves at the close of the last act. Prices to first-class entertainments here are higher than in America, and programmes have to be paid for always. They employ young women as ushers. Between acts, ices and cool drinks are brought to the audience, but a round price is asked for them. We lingered to see the people more distinctly as they left their seats. The ladies lack the grace and beauty of Americans, but look bright, rosy-cheeked, and healthful, but the gentlemen are certainly superior in looks, carriage, and physique. Our little newsy chambermaid tells us the London gentlemen all wear ‘stays.’ I wonder if they do!
Saturday, June 23d.—What an immense city London is, to be sure! Twenty miles long or more, and just as bustling at one end as the other. There is such a mass of everything that it is almost overpowering. To-day we have been driven through some of the best and some of the worst streets in the city. We saw ‘The Old Curiosity Shop,’ and many other spots immortalized by Dickens. We have looked into some of the old churches and some of the new ones. Have been into the best stores, and there are many fine ones. We find furs and silks cheaper, and cottons dearer than at home. We could not find a pair of French kid boots of a good shape in all London, and rubber overshoes are not kept at all. We walked across London Bridge to take a look at the river, crowded with barges, boats, ships, and water-craft of every make and shape. We took luncheon at the Holborn Restaurant, and thought we had stepped into a palace, so sumptuous were the surroundings. It was very pleasing to take our bouillon on a mosaic table, surrounded with Carrara marble statuary, and listening to the strains of lulling, restful music.
After replenishing the ‘inner man,’ we boarded a little steamer for a sail up the Thames. The banks of the river are full of interest. The water of the lower part is thick and muddy, and I should think that even a desperate, would-be suicide would turn from it disgusted. As we go up farther, where the shipping is less, it becomes clearer. Excursion steamers, barges, and yachts, freighted with humanity, are busily plying up and down, and the bridges open gracefully to let us pass. The river itself, with the Victoria Embankment on the one side and the Albert Embankment on the other, the fine buildings, the parks, and the noble trees, all seen through the rich atmosphere of this perfect June day, make a picturesque and enjoyable impression, not soon to be forgotten.
We landed, on our return, where we could take a carriage for Hyde Park. As we are in London ‘in the season,’ in the Park, about five P.M., we see all the ‘swelldom’ driving and riding, for it is here they take their airing. The Park itself is lovely, with large, perfect roads and walks, grand, magnificent old trees, plump, clean sheep and graceful deer grazing contentedly, as well they may in such quarters. The kaleidoscope views of the interminable throng in the ‘Drive’ and the ‘Row,’ the fine horses, the gorgeous equipages, the showy liveries, and the gay toilettes, are bewildering. Here surely is abundance of style. Here are hundreds of elegant turnouts, many with armorial bearings, fours-in-hand, sixes-in-hand, dog-carts, T-carts, tandems, and phaetons; footmen and coachmen in livery of red and white, and red and gilt, some with wigs and some without. Here comes a pony carriage with a load of laughing children, there an antiquated yellow-bodied ducal coach, with postilions well powdered and the dowagers inside looking powdered also; a low buggy with a light-blue body, and a blue-ribboned girl with ‘her young man’ beside her looking into her blue eyes; a black carriage hung high, footmen and coachmen in black, and the ladies within draped in crape. And this is Hyde Park! Solemnity and gayety! Prince and commoner meet, and all are lookers on. The boats on the Serpentine, and that wonderful pile of marble and bronze, the Albert Memorial, next attracted us. The marble groups representing the four great nations, and the bas-reliefs of great artists and poets, are fine. Although London is so immense and so crowded, its people have plenty of beautiful breathing spots, more beautiful than the people of any other city, unless the Parisians. To our hotel to dress and out to dinner, our first dinner here with friends.
Our visit in a London home, last evening, was delightful, we were so cordially welcomed and so hospitably entertained. The house, in one of the best streets of the city, was a large, square one with hall in the centre. The rooms were spacious, with dark finishings and furnishings, therefore not wearing the cheery look of our own homes. The massiveness of the elaborately carved furniture seemed to overshadow heavily the very few ornamental articles displayed. There were no paintings on the walls, but a small gallery in the rear of the house contained a good collection. The effect of the living rooms without the bright, living faces would have been somewhat sombre. I think a happy medium would be desirable, a little more bric-a-brac in European homes and a little less in our own, in which I have often had to navigate carefully to avoid running against ornamental articles. The English people are at their best under their own ‘fig-tree.’ They build homes for a lifetime, and for their children and grandchildren after them. They make but few changes in them, and the women particularly stay, or ‘stop’ as they would say, the greater portion of their lives in their homes, for as a people they travel but little. They are very hospitable after once having been introduced, and entirely at ease in entertaining, as an English household is rarely without its guests. Our host, an M. P., has a house in the country, and they only spend the ‘season’ in town. The English greatly love the country and out-of-door life and sports. Several friends of our entertainers had been invited to meet us, and we found them all very gracious and charming. I think the English are a good deal like a Devonshire pie,—wearing a thick crust, but when once the crust is broken the ‘goodies’ are unusually delicious. Our menu at dinner consisted of soup, fish, entrée, roast-beef, chicken, and desert, with wines and coffee. No carving was done at the table. The vegetables were brought in served in individual dishes. By the way, no vegetables are palatably prepared in England, for they are never seasoned. The English keep many servants, and at this dinner there seemed to be a servant for every guest. The English are great eaters, but they take plenty of time to do it in. The general appearance of the setting of the table was not different from our own home tables; perhaps more flowers, and more beautiful ones. I mention these details to show you that dinners informal here do not vary much from the same in America. Our pleasant evening with Mr. M. and his lovely family will long be remembered.
Sunday, June 24th.—No London fog yet! We have had but one unpleasant day since we have been here. To-day is simply perfect. There is a ‘shimmer’ about these lovely June mornings that can be felt but not described. Out with the crowd of churchgoers go we, and, to the credit of the English people be it said, they all go to church. We first went to old St. Giles’. Here we saw the tomb of Milton. What a safe, homelike feeling it brings us to hear in far-away lands our precious church service. Somehow it gives us a sense of security, of encouragement, such as a child in the dark feels, when he hears his mother’s voice.