England from a Back-Window; with views of Scotland and Ireland

Front matter

BY THE SAME AUTHOR. They All Do It; Or, Mr. Miggs of Danbury, and His Neighbors. i6mo. Illustrated. Cloth, $1.00. Paper, 50 cents. Life in Danbury. Being a Brief but Comprehensive Record of the Doings of a Remarkable People. i6mo. Illustrated. Cloth, $1.00. Paper, 50 cents. LEE &> SHEPARD, PUBLISHERS, BOSTON. England from a back-Window; WITH VIEWS OF SCOTLAND AND IRELAND. BY J. M. BAILEY, THE DANBURY- NEWS MAN. BOSTON : LEE AND SHEPARD, PUBLISHERS. NEW YORK: CHARLES T. DILLINGHAM. 1879. Copyright, 1878, BY LEE AND SHEPARD. All rights reserved. ElectrotyPed and Printed By Rand, Avery, £r> Company, 117 Franklin Street, Boston. CONTENTS. CHAPTER PAGE I. In which the Writer departs for Europe . . 7 II. Which relates to the Arrival in Europe. . . 13 III. Gives a First View of London 17 IV. Relates entirely to the Beauty of England . 23 V. Gives More Details of London 33 VI.

Gives an Off-Hand View of Parliament ... 43 VII. An English Mob 49 VIII. Is mainly devoted to describing how to get about London 54 IX. Living in London 59 X. Going to the Derby 64 XI. Street-Scenes 77 XII. In the Mildew 87 XIII. Treats of the Bars and Bar-Maids 99 XIV. Moth, Mildew, and Martyrs no XV. A Ramble over London 120 XVI. Through Petticoat Lane . , 133 XVII. The Wonderful English Railways 140 XVIII. Which gives a Dash into Rural England . . . 153 XIX. Brings us to English Farm-Life 164 XX. More about the Farm 172 XXI. A General Attack on Ruins 181 XXII. English Charity 192 XXIII. Amusements 198 XXIV. Tells, among Other Things, what the English think of Us 205 XXV. An Appalling Custom 214 XXVI. Skips from the Cab to the Hearse CONTENTS. CHAPTER PAGE XXVII. In a Grocer's Cellar 226 XXVIII.

The Home of Bunyan 235 XXIX. In which Shakspeare is shown up 240 XXX. Gives a Few of the Peculiarities of an English Winter 248 XXXI. Full of Extraordinary Facts 255 XXXII. Brings us into Scotland 264 XXXIII. Edinburgh still further considered. ... 275 XXXIV. Scudding through the Highlands 286 XXXV. A Ruined Upburst 294 XXXVI. Highland Features 303 XXXVII. Elgin and its Sights 315 XXXVIII. Throwing the Caber 321 XXXIX. A Jumping-off Luxury 331 XL. Astonishing Facts about Wages 336 XLI. A Sample of the Good Old Times 344 XLII. The Terrors of a Jaunting-Car 353 XLIII. Doing the Causeway, and McDooley . . . 363 XLIV. Getting on the Wall 374 XLV. A Meditative Pennsylvanian 380 XLVI. An Ancient Candy-Pull 388 XLVII. Going to an Irish Fair 401 XLVIII. Owning a Whole Graveyard 414 XLIX. Starting for America 420 L. A Treatise on Limerick 424 LI.

Chapter I. In Which The Writer Departs For Europe

THERE was nothing particularly attractive about " The Abyssinia" as we came in sight of it at the Jersey-city dock on the afternoon of April 15, 1874. We saw before us a long, narrow, dingy black craft, with a formidable smoke-stack in the middle, three aspiring masts, staring dead-lights, and a forlorn and very uncomfortable air about all. It stood so far out of water as to actually need the huge hawsers holding it at the dock to keep it from tipping over where it was. It seemed as if the great city had slopped over into " The Abyssinia," because of the threatened rain. The passage-ways, decks, and staircases were crowd ed with people ; and such anxious, struggling, crowding people ! I never before saw so ostentatious a crowd. We got into the wrong passage, of course, and climbed over a platform, and met some half-dozen people climbing the other way.

But everybody was good-natured and bruised. Finally we reached our stateroom, and deposited the lug gage. From here we went on deck, the passage up the stairway being a continuous struggle. Out doors was as crowded as in. Scores of people with bouquets and um brellas blocked up every passage. No one of the passengers knew any thing of the ins and outs of the boat, and the visitors were equally as ignorant. On the pier was scarcely less confusion of ideas and legs, as we could see from the deck. To make matters worse, it commenced to rain. Everybody hurried down stairs ; but the close air drove the greater part of them back again. Then came the signal for departure, followed by a desperate rush together of the con tending forces, — visited and visitors. Elderly gentlemen, with long umbrellas and high silk hats, were carried off their feet, and jammed against total strangers.

Fat women, with the latest style of spring bonnets on their heads, and huge bouquets of flowers in their chubby hands, were kissed by the wrong parties, and squeezed into grotesque shapes by enthusiastic relatives. It was the first time I was ever kissed on the tip end of my nose ; and I can't say that the sensation is an enjoyable one, especially if administered by a stranger with a solitary and aggressive front-tooth. At last the boat was being swung off". The last hand and lip pressure was made. A tall, thin gentleman took a final hurried kiss, knocked off his hat, and stepped through the crown of it, and shot up the gang-plank. The people on the pier swung their handkerchiefs, and hallooed their fare wells, while the vessel gracefully backed off into the channel, and — was ignominiously towed seaward by a black and dis reputable looking tug.

And thus we left the dear land, standing on the deck, with the breaking clouds and struggling sunlight above us, and straining our eyes toward the fast-receding city. After dinner the thoughtful arranged their staterooms for a ten-days' occupancy ; while the thoughtless crowded upon deck, and amused themselves in looking at the stars, and watching the water, or peering about the ship, and incau tiously feeling of strange-looking pipes which were subsequently discovered to contain hot water. There were no violent demonstrations toward acquaint ance, unless we may except the long man in long overcoat, a dilapidated hat, and long chin-whiskers, who, having made twenty voyages across the ocean, and been spared by an inscrutable Providence to start on the twenty-first, was now enlightening all on board on such points as the weather, the sails, the course, and the prospects.

There was a lazy swell to the ocean, which gave the vessel a graceful, rolling motion that was much admired. The length of admiration varied with the strength of the constitution of the admirers. When a man got his fill of admiration he made for the rail precipitately, and cast his bread upon the waters, neither hoping nor caring for a return. A visible thinness in the congregation was painfully conspicuous ; and, by the time all the stars were out, the deck was cleared for action. Some lingered to see the stars ; lingered to gaze dreamily into the dark blue waters ; then they shot down stairs, and screamed for a basin. There was a fair sprinkling of passengers on deck the next day ; for, although not a calm day, it was nevertheless pleasant, and the sea was not rough. Those who were not affected kept well on their legs, and alternated a look sea ward with a scrutiny of the private property of the vessel.

Of those affected, a few had the good sense to remain on deck, and " fire away " at the waves ; but much the greater number went below, and, locking their staterooms, wrestled alone with the great agony. As they convalesced, they, with few exceptions, returned to the deck ; every day bringing new additions to the sitters and promenaders. But many kept to their rooms during the entire trip. It is the nature of the disease to allay the thirst for sight-seeing ; and it is only by a great effort of the will that the victims can over come the inertia, and keep on deck. The terrors of seasickness may be modified by keeping a well-ordered stomach on the day of sailing. Bidding champagne farewells and whiskey-punch adieus to friends at home is a sure forerunner of the sickness in its worst form. There was the case of young Munson of Danbury, who went to Europe last season.

Born of Puritan parents, and reared amid the refining and wholesome influences of a New-England home, he carefully dieted himself the week before sailing. He ate freely of oatmeal and bran bread, and eschewed greasy food and stimulating drinks. The night before sailing he went down to New York in the flush of health and hope, and, stopping at Norwalk to a clam-bake, filled up with roast clams and gin, getting, down to the city just in time to take the boat. For three days he pranced around on the edge of eternity, kicking up his heels, swing ing his arms, and turning himself inside out in a most repre hensible manner. He held then a position in the Third National Bank ; but, on returning home, he did not report for duty for a whole week, fearing that, among other things, he had thrown up this berth.

None of the officers of " The Abyssinia " lost a day through seasickness. The second day was much like the first, with the exception that it grew cooler at night. On the morning of the third day it rained, and the rolling motion increased. The wind was fickle, and the sailors were kept busy with the sails. To see them climbing the dizzy heights of the masts, with the rain pouring down upon them (for they are not per mitted to carry umbrellas), made a most thrilling spectacle. The fourth day was equally unpleasant. On the fifth, sixth, seventh, and eighth days the vessel rolled from side to side without intermission, the wind blew stiffly across the beam (coming from the starboard side, wherever that is), and the rain and flying spray kept the deck comparatively free of people. Of those who ventured up stairs during this con tinuous and disagreeable siege, the ladies huddled into the cabin on deck provided for them ; the gentlemen took to the smoking-cabin, also on deck, or sheltered themselves in the lee of the smoke-stack.

This last place was a favorite resort for the steerage passengers, who, chewing plug tobacco, and spitting against the wind, added a charm to the occa sion that was indescribable. The smoking-cabin is the best patronized. Here the pas sengers of sporting tendencies gather to buy and sell pools on the time the vessel makes in the twenty-four hours ; and here is done some of the proudest and grandest lying ever heard. It is astonishing the amount of extraordinary facts an idle brain will evolve. No pen can do justice to the suffering entailed by the rolling motion of the vessel. On the wet deck it is impos sible to move any distance, or to stand still a moment, with out grasping a rope or guard. At the dining-table the crash of rolling and sliding dishes, and the splashing of their spill ing contents, is deafening and disheartening.

The stewards and waiters walk on the sides of their feet, and plank down the right dish in the right place with a precision that is supernatural. Each of the eight tables is provided with racks, which keep the plates from sliding way across, but do not always prevent their coming together, and depositing in one's lap a pleasing variety of soups, ice-water, and hot gravies. But in the staterooms the greatest misery is expe rienced. A stateroom has no free walls. Opposite the two berths is a lounge, which can be made into a third berth. To sit on this lounge, and to be thrown to the opposite side, with the skin of your advanced leg scraping the under edge of the lower berth, and your head smashing against the up per berth, is a sensation I have experienced about eleven hundred times in the past week.

When I went alone, I didn't mind it so much ; but to have Mrs. Bailey avalanche atop of me, and with her weight increase my momentum, has almost made me swear. Any boy who is striving for a prize on the grounds of a strictly upright life should forego the pleasure of seeing Europe until after he has got his prize. And so we have been tossed about, and bumped and bruised, for seven long days and nights, until every bone aches, and every muscle is stretched to its utmost tension, in the constant effort to maintain a balance. Five times have I gone into my stateroom and found Mrs. Bailey wedged under the lower berth, where she had been thrown by a sud den lurch of the vessel ; and for two hours after each occasion she refused to speak. This is rather remarkable, I believe — in a woman.

Chapter II. Which Relates To The Arrival In Europe

THE last day of a long ocean-voyage is signalled by feverish expectation. I shall never forget the night before our arrival at Queenstown. We had expected to sight land all the afternoon ; and, as night closed upon us, each one on deck strained his eyes in the direction he had decided land should appear. Then the wind changed to the head : all the sails were taken indoors, and we steamed through the rolling seas and an intense fog. It was an excitable evening to the passengers ; and I imagine the fog and the proximity of a dangerous coast made the sail a matter .of interest to the boat people. With a few others I remained on deck till after midnight, hanging on to the sails and ropes, or breaking some of my bones against things I didn't know the name of. In the morning I awoke to find the vessel in a still sea.

It was a still sea ; but there was no land in sight The vessel had stopped, and the fog permitted us to see several small pilot-boats about us. There was an animated conversation going on between Capt. Haines of " The Abyssinia," and a short-necked, red faced scoundrel in the pilot-boat near us. The pilot-boat had given us its rope, but was afraid to come up alongside, under the impression that the ponderous " Abyssinia " might step on it. The morning air was rent by the contending voices ; and, as neither party appeared to know what the other was saying (which is really not necessary in this country), an indescribable charm was added to the scene. The pilot finally consented to be drawn aboard of our boat, and we steamed away again. Then we went down stairs to breakfast, and discussed the probabilities of the landing with an excellent bill-of-fare.

After breakfast we went back to the deck, and were almost immediately elec trified by the bold outlands of Queenstown Harbor. We could see the green fields, the earthworks, the hedges, and the trees. Every object that went to make up the dear sight was scrutinized most intensely. We moved by and into the bay ; but none of us took our eyes from the land one instant. There had been a time when it had seemed that the waste of troubled waters was to forever accompany us ; that the land which we had so gladly left was never again to greet our sight. But here was the glad earth before us ; not a myth, not a dream, but the dear, solid land, with its cobble-stones, pitch holes, and fever and ague. Not a living soul on board of that vessel thought to in quire what kind of land it was. I was glad of it.

The custom-house tender came out from Queenstown to meet us, and took the mails and several passengers and their luggage. This was the first perceptible fracture in the social fabric nine days of sea-life had reared. Next to a sight of land, the greatest surprise was the sud den appearance of the male passengers in high silk hats. To have men, whom you have seen every day, and every hour of the day, for ten days, in low caps or rumpled soft hats, appear in high hats, is to work a transformation that is most exciting. I haven't had any thing work me up to such a degree since the surrender of Cornwallis. Singularly enough, although we had made the acquaint ance of these people within a week, and had no reasonable prospect of ever seeing or having any thing to do with them in the future, and knew nothing whatever of their past, there was a twinge of regret at their going.

We looked over the boat at them as they took their departure, and waved what was handy as long as they were in sight ; and then we moved on to Liverpool. In the evening, with the fog and moonlight struggling in the air, we promenaded the deck, sang our songs, told over our plans, and dreaded the morrow, — the morrow that was to break us up, and scatter us all over a continent. One of the sad episodes of the evening was my borrowing a knife from a smoker of plug tobacco to peel an orange for one of the ladies. At six o'clock the next morning we reached the harbor of Liverpool. Two custom-house boats came off for the luggage and passengers. The former was taken into the lower cabin, and the latter followed after, — both for inspection. I had heard of the custom inspection at foreign ports, and had come to have a wholesome dread of the ordeal.

I hurried down the — the — the companion-way, I believe they call it, with a hundred others, and waited and watched while the uniformed posse went about among the packages, scrutinizing the contents or the owners. A New-York friend, with his own and the luggage of several lady-friends, passed safely through the examination in five minutes after the beginning, and was up on deck, looking for a light, inside of another minute. Being open to hints, and finding the dingy darkness and the crowded condition of the lower cabin unbeara ble, I slipped a shilling into the hand of one of the inquisi tors ; and a moment later my luggage was passed, and I was also on the deck, looking for a light. From " The Abyssinia " we were transferred to the tender ; and a half-hour later were deposited on land, which we pressed most affectionately with our feet.

It was Sunday, and the city was very quiet. As we drove through its streets, we watched each building and face with a fervor that was complimentary to the former, but was hardly enjoyable to the latter. We never hear of Liverpool unless in connection with com merce of a cosmopolitan character. It has no specialty in trade to fasten it on the mind of the general reader ; it has no antiquities ; it has no history. There is nothing about this place in common with the country of which it forms a part ; and to the tourist 4t is simply a landing-place.

Chapter III. Gives

A FIRST VIEW OF LONDON. THAT London differs in all important and in many unimportant features from the metropolis of Ameri ca is a fact that grows upon the visitor, and the degree of his sense of the fact is proportionate to his stay in the city. This impression would be received the moment he drove through its streets, if he came direct from New York to it ; but he first lands at an English-American town, where the contrasts so blend, that the distinguishing lines are dulled to his comprehension. He approaches London's characteristics through a gradation of sensations ; and, on his arrival in the great metropolis, the only feeling of surprise he experi ences is at the absence of all surprise. If he is a close reader of history, he has already formed in his mind how London should look. He understands that Liverpool is essentially cosmopolite ; and the small shock he feels on arriving there in no way affects his picture of Lon don, — a city (and he repeats the reflection with unction) that is one of the oldest in existence.

When he reaches London he is annoyed, as the prominence of its modern completely hides the vestiges of its ancient or historical features. London, like Liverpool, is built of brick, — the same kind of brick too, only a trifle dingier if possible, — not the red brick we have in America, although that is profusely used in the country mansions, but a dull brown or yellow brick. The most of them are mottled with these two tints; but many are wholly yellow, or wholly brown. In a new building the effect is more curious than gratifying ; but a few months of the smoke they have here es tablishes a uniform tint. An American is in time overpowered by the lack of architectural adornment in the buildings, and the consequent uniformity in their construction. The lack of variety and beauty is just as conspicuous in the streets devoted to the dwellings of the aristocracy as in the lanes of the working people.

Buckingham Palace, the residence of the Queen, is an immense building, but not especially attractive in its ex terior. Marlborough House, the home of the Prince of Wales, is a red brick structure ; large, but in no wise remarkable, not even as a bonded-warehouse in New York. I have seen a host of finer railroad depot-buildings than is St. James's Palace. I have always had my own ideas of a palace. Probably they corresponded with the ideas of others, and possibly they did not ; but they rose immeasurably above square three-story buildings with flat roofs. Reading of palaces has lost its charm for me forever. Those of the houses which are not of flat surface are of crescent-shaped front. All the roofs are of tile or lead. There are no shingle roofs to rot away and leak, and make the owner swear; and no tin roofs to turn the sunshine into a curse and annoyance, or keep you awake when it rains, thinking of tinker's dams.

But the array of chimney-pots is calculated to absorb and astonish the stranger. In this department the English excel, and whatever of money or taste they have to spare is lavished on chimney-pots. Each chimney has two oi more. They are of red, black, and white colors. They are made of the tile clay, and in variety of shapes are equal to the idiosyncrasies of a stove-pipe. They are all the way from two feet to ten feet in height. No family is without them. The front-door to every house has its letter-box. Nearly all of the doors are closed by spring-locks ; and, in conse quence, catching the skirts of your coat in the door in passing out is a most embarrassing proceeding, especially if the street is very public, and the housekeeper very deaf. I speak from experience. I would respectfully call the attention of the American people to the fact that the knob is in the middle of the front door.

It is a stationary knob, and is valueless as a means of entrance, but is a comforting article to hold on to when immersed in thought. A man rarely attempts a second time to use it for any other purpose.' Each front-door has a knocker, generally of iron, and quite frequently large enough to carry a boy into a circus, or buy five packs of fire-crackers. In addition to the knocker are two or more bells, the number depending upon the num ber of tenants in the building. In such neighborhoods as that of the Seven Dials there are four-story buildings (for merly tenements) , occupied by attorneys, undertakers, work ers in metals, and other people, which have seven bells to the door. Those who can afford it have their names on a little brass plate to their bells, and their customers have no trouble.

Where opulence does not reign, the customer has an opportunity of trying all the bells, and bringing a variety of people down stairs before he hits on the right man. This can never fail to improve the most indifferent mind. Each door is not only always kept locked, but has its chain. You remember, of course, of " the clanking chain as the ponderous door swung open, revealing a dark, crouching figure," &c. The chain is a chain without doubt, hanging listlessly down the door-casing, but looking as little like clank ing as a pint of soup. There are no window-blinds to the dwellings of London ; but there is a profusion of lace curtains. It is a sad thing to think of a city of nearly four million people being window blindless; but the curtains permit one to look out and see what the neighbor across the way has on, with a feeling of comparative comfort and safety.

The shops fairly boil over with plate glass fronts. They are not roomy nor elaborate inside ; but their windows make the finest show of any shop-windows in the world. They are ablaze with goods arranged in most tempting ways. I came near to saying they are ablaze with light ; but the better class of shops are not lighted at all just now, closing right after seven o'clock in the evening, thus giving the hard-worked clerks plenty of time to store their minds with theatricals and punch. The shops on the Strand and similar second class avenues blaze away until nine o'clock. The cigar-shops, chop-houses, and many of the fish-markets, keep going all the while, I guess, as I have found them open, and inclined to be sociable, as late as an hour after midnight ; and a man who doesn't shut up business at midnight will never get another such opportunity.

I have said the shops close early. It is a lamentable fact in this connection, that they do not open early. Go along any of the business-streets as late as ten o'clock, and you will find men and boys with coarse aprons before the shops, burnishing the brass plates, scouring the stone sills, and sweeping the walks ; and, as late as eleven o'clock, the clerks and proprietors are arranging the goods for the day's display. Every other store prominently announces the fact that it is doing business by "special appointment to H. M. the Queen," or " to H. R. H. the Prince of Wales." Feeling an unquenchable longing one afternoon to see the Queen, I stepped into a shoe-store which announced itself as attending to her shodding, and waited very patiently for an hour for her to call in " to see if that shoe was fixed ; " but I did not see her.

" By special appointment," &c, has stared me in the face at every turn ; but I bore it uncom plainingly until I saw over a stovepipe-hat-store the announcement, " By special appointment to H. M. the Queen." Then I caved. By a careful and unbiassed calculation, I learn that there are at present, administering to the various needs of Queen Victoria, n,ooo grocers, 2,150 stationers, 8,093 dry-goods merchants, 1,608 tinners, r6,040 butchers, 1,100 jewellers, 3,840 tobacconists, 243 hatters, 1,240 carriage-makers, 26,432 miscellaneous. No wonder the country is in debt. But business is stimu lated. London is called a dingy and dirty city. The houses in London are dull in appearance, made so by the smoke from its thousands and thousands of chimneys. The humidity and weight of the atmosphere keep down the smoke among the buildings ; and the smoke itself is most villanous in its nature, coming from a soft coal which is burned here, and which is similar to the coal used by our blacksmiths.

Dingy seems a little too strong a term ; but dirty is an emphatic lie. London is far ahead of New York in cleanliness ; and, were its buildings of the same cheerful hue as are those of New York, it would be called just what it is, — a marvellously clean city. Its streets are not altogether broad or straight ; but they are well paved. And yet that hardly gives you an idea of their excellent condition. • But, when I say well paved, I mean, in this connection, that they are as smooth as a floor, as hard as marble, as free of ruts as the brow of Venus, and as clear of filth as is the character of an honest man. The system of sewerage is perfect, or, at least, it works to the satisfaction of everybody ; and that, I take it, is perfection, or a very good substitute for it. In addition, they are well lighted.

In the more important thoroughfares a line of lights extends through the middle of the street, with a stone-post-guarded enclosure about each lamp, — a sort of temporary city of refuge for the pedestriar who is fleeing before the impetuosity of the hurrying teams. And then there is a policeman at every important crossing, who stands among the crowding and struggling cabs, 'buses, and drays, like — like (I forget the god's name) among the driving elements, and brings order and females out of chaos with a despatch that is most commendable.

Chapter IV. Relates Entirely To The Beauty Of England

THE glory of England is its country. A grander scene than an English landscape cannot be found from sun rise to sunset. Its wonderful turf, which is everywhere, its fine variety of hill, plain, and dale, meadow, field, and forest, its broad white roads, its luxuriant foliage, its quaint, com fortable farmhouses, and its nestling red brick villages, form a picture, that, for loveliness, surpasses any effort of the imagination. The journey by rail from Liverpool to London is through an excellent country, and the traveller with any appreciation of nature and rustic art is charmed and delighted at every mile. The glory of such a scene no pen, unless it is mine, can adequately describe ; and to pass through its beauties, only to be swindled in the end by a red-haired cabman, is one of the saddest episodes in this vale of tears.