Of course the cathedral is the great object of attraction, for it is very large and imposing, and has the highest spire in the kingdom, 404 feet in height. Spires are the exceptions on cathedrals, for of all the twenty-nine, only six have spires above their towers,—Salisbury, Litchfield, Norwich, Chichester, Oxford, and low ones on the front of that at Peterboro. The others have towers without the spire, but from association they are looked upon as finished, as in the case of King's Chapel and the old Brattle Square Church in Boston. At Salisbury we have the perfection of a central tower, and a spire, of charming outlines and graceful proportions. The cathedral was erected between the years 1220 and 1260, and is the only one in Great Britain where a single style of architecture was employed, and the pure Early English prevailed throughout. It was completely restored on the exterior in 1868, and the interior was in process of restoration at the time of our visit. In plan it is a double cross, its extreme length being 442 feet. The stone is of a dark soapstone color, and, being partially covered with very thin lichens, it has a dingy look; but the clean-cut outlines and smooth surface of the stone, the unusual height of the building, standing at the centre of a large close, furnishes such a good opportunity for viewing it that it presents an imposing appearance. It has many ancient monuments, and a beautiful altar-piece of the Resurrection. The grounds are walled in, and a half square-mile is within the enclosure. The English oaks are very large, the pathways clean and hard, and the lawn elegant. Rooks were to be seen in large numbers. Their circling flight as they wheeled from tree to tree; the stillness, unbroken save by their incessant cries; the prevailing air of repose; the aristocratic aspect of the Bishop's residence, and those of the other functionaries; the memories that have clustered around the spot, during the six hundred and sixty years since Bishop Poore founded the cathedral,—all conspired to invest the place with sanctity. Here again came the thought, "This is the cathedral,"—as though all England were but the diocese, and this the seat of the entire Church.
The great bourdon bell in the tower solemnly proclaims the hour of 8 p. m., and we wend our way over the dike, skirting the narrow river, to get a moonlight view of the cathedral. How often we turn to look anew on that symmetrical tower and lofty spire, and how satisfying the gaze. We turn back again and admire the fields spread around us; we are delighted with the hills, and with the winding river, narrow and clear, whose banks we are treading. The little mill-village ahead lures us on; but the cathedral is more potent. We turn again and gaze, walk backwards and admire, till the little hamlet a half-mile away is reached. We walk over the trembling footbridge and along the rude milldam, and try to be entertained; but no, we must turn our footsteps, for in full view is the "all in all." So we walk back, and think and admire anew, till night comes over us, and we and the cathedral are draped with a common pall. Through the night, as the chimes broke the stillness, and the great bell set its heavy notes as milestones of time, we felt the greatness of our surroundings.
OLD SARUM.
On Friday a. m., at nine o'clock, we took team at Salisbury for this place. Few spots in history are of more interest than this and its neighbor, Stonehenge,—the former two, and the latter a little less than nine miles from Salisbury. Sarum was an important settlement made by the early Britons, which afterwards became a Roman station, and the residence of the West Saxon kings. King Alfred fortified it, and in the eleventh century it was made a bishop's see. In 1217, however, Bishop Poore removed two miles away, and there established what is now Salisbury Cathedral, and so the city itself. As a matter of course, Sarum declined. The people followed the bishop, and what was once a place of note became almost extinct. Only one house remains on the grounds, but there are yet traces of the walls, cathedral, and castle. A more complete ruin is not to be found elsewhere in Great Britain, and a strange enchantment hovers about the scene.
The ride from Salisbury is very pleasant. From the level land on which the new city (though over 660 years old) stands we pass into a very undulating country, a quarter of which is covered with groups of shrubbery and trees. On the greenest of green grass, thousands of sheep and many cows are grazing, but no houses are in sight. A rare beauty exists everywhere, and many evidences of civilization. Salisbury is in our rear. Above all we see the cathedral tower and spire, distinct in outline, like a faithful sentinel standing there and guarding us.
We alight from our team, hitch the horse by the roadside, and turn to our left into a path parallel with the main road, and running a short distance across the field. We walk on along the edge of a grove, and come upon a solitary house, which is the only human habitation at Old Sarum. It is a stone house of moderate size, two stories high, plastered and whitewashed, with a red tiled roof. It is situated back some fifty feet from our path, is well fenced, and surrounded by shade-trees and shrubbery. It has a very English appearance. A sign over the gate informs the traveller that it is a place of transient entertainment. It fronts on the main road, and we are now at the rear entrance. Salisbury itself—or Boston, for a sixpence or a dime—can at a moment's notice furnish better entertainment than can be provided there. Yonder elevated land, in this same field, is our better restaurant. We walk delightedly over the pathway thither. What thoughts take possession of the mind. Here ancient Britons, conquering Romans, and Saxon kings and queens walked a thousand years ago. The same sky bent over them; the same soil was beneath their feet. Odors from flowers and the same balmy atmosphere regaled them. The birds sang to them as they sing to us now.
We approach the venerable enclosure. It is a vast circular enbankment some twenty feet high, with here and there bushes and small trees. The general symmetry suggests the work of human hands, but the abandoned appearance tells of antiquity. Our road leads down over a depression, the old moat,—and then up again, and in through an opening, on both sides of which is ragged masonry of flint, cobble-stones, and white mortar. We now discover that the huge mound is a mortar-wall, overgrown with grass on both sides, this opening having been rudely broken through it. Walls, a thousand and more years old! What desolation; what strange fascination! We enter and go up to the top of the embankment. What tongue or pen can adequately describe the emotions awakened? The views in all directions are charming. No mountains are visible to inspire awe; no great metropolis is to be seen; but "sweet fields of living green" hills innumerable, pleasant groves, feeding sheep, tinkling cow-bells, and air sweet with wild flowers and modest daisies (crushed at every tread beneath the feet) are about us; but we leave these, to study the grand old ruin. At the centre is a hollowed, though comparatively level space, of five hundred feet in diameter, covered with grass, bushes, and small mounds. The depression is not far from twenty feet deep, the earth and grass sloping up to the walk, about ten feet wide, which encircles it. The outer edge is irregularly hemmed in by bushes. Outside of this is a mote fifty feet wide, and thirty feet deep. Encircling all is a plateau two hundred feet wide, and another mote, thirty feet wide and twenty feet deep. The motes were once filled with water, but now grass has superseded it. Instead of being a barrier against approaching foes, they have better uses. In the language of Whittier, applied to an old New England burial-ground:—
There sheep that graze the neighboring plain
Like white ghosts come and go;
The farm horse drags his fetlock chain,
The cow-bell tinkles slow.