The new foliage, the odor of flowers, the birds, the familiar croak and incessant wheeling of the rooks, seemed part and parcel of the premises, as if, like the trees and buildings, they had been there for a century.
We attended worship at St. Peter's, heard the service read, not intoned, and listened to a matter-of-fact sermon, about as well delivered as the average of sermons at home; and at 5.30 p. m., of this same Sunday, were ready to move on to Stratford-upon-Avon, the home of Shakespeare. Our visit was in vacation time, but many students remained in the city, and we noted their fine physique. None of them were puny, and hardly one had the "student's look." They were good specimens of Young England, square-built, solid, healthy, and stocky. Uniformity of size, demeanor, and conversation prevailed. With the pleasantest memories of Oxford, so admirably adapted to its great purposes, we moved out of the station towards the home of one who did so much to make great thoughts the common property of literature and life.
CHAPTER X.
WARWICK—STRATFORD-ON-AVON—LEAMINGTON—KENILWORTH—COVENTRY—BIRMINGHAM—LICHFIELD.
When we started Sunday for Stratford we only thought of briefly visiting Old Warwick on our way; but after a two hours' ride, arriving here, we were tempted to remain over night, and were soon at a comfortable hotel, a commercial-travellers' house, near the station. It being but eight o'clock, and not yet sunset, we walked out for a view of the historic place, which we soon decided was one of much interest. Half the houses were picturesque, many of them built in the timbered and plastered style. All sorts of thoroughfares were there, from broad and level, to narrow crooked and hilly. Evening service being just ended, an unusual number of well dressed people were in the streets, and the hour reminded us of a New England Sunday.
Warwick is situated on the right bank of the Avon, and has a population of 10,986.
The castle is one of the finest feudal structures in England. It is grandly situated, its colossal rear making a bank of the river, and there are meadows and groves near by. All is in most perfect repair, and on Monday it was our good privilege to visit it and its remarkable grounds. It is occupied by the Earl of Warwick, who kindly permits strangers to examine the premises at certain times. One passes through the arched gateway, on one side of which is a room containing a museum of antiquities. A prim young miss, daughter of the matronly gatekeeper, glibly but bashfully gives the history of an enormous punchbowl and other interesting things. An optional fee makes things agreeable, and we pass through the grand avenue, turning back now and then to look at the high solid walls of the ivy-covered tower.
We go through a remarkable lawn and gravelled avenues, and not far in the distance at our right, partially embowered in green,—at times on a level with us, at others on the little hillsides,—we see the ruins of monastic establishments. How scrupulously everything is cared for, bearing evidence of constant watchfulness of the servants, such as only the English aristocracy can secure.