How H. fared there
she may tell; I cannot. I stood by the bulwark with my boots full of
water, my eyes full of salt spray, and my heart full of the most
poignant regret that ever I was born. Alas! was that channel a channel
at all? Had it two shores? Was England over there, where I saw nothing
but monstrous, leaping, maddening billows, saying, "We are glad of it;
we want you; come on here; we are waiting for you; we will serve you
up"?
At last I seriously began to think of Tartarus myself, and of a calm
repose flat on my back, such as H. told of in his memorable passage.
But just then, dim and faint on the horizon, I thought I discerned the
long line of a bank of land. It was. This was a channel; that was the
shore. England had not sunk. I stood my ground; and in an hour we came
running, bounding, and rolling towards the narrow mouth of the
Folkstone pier heads.
LETTER XLIX
LONDON.
MY DEAR: -
Our last letters from home changed all our plans. We concluded to
hurry away by the next steamer, if at that late hour we could get
passage. We were all in a bustle. The last shoppings for aunts,
cousins, and little folks were to be done by us all. The Palais Royal
was to be rummaged; bronzes, vases, statuettes, bonbons,
playthings - all that the endless fertility of France could show - was
to be looked over for the "folks at home."
You ought to have seen our rooms at night, the last evening we spent
in Paris. When the whole gleanings of a continental tour were brought
forth for packing, and compared with the dimensions of original
trunks - ah, what an hour was that! Who should reconcile these
incongruous elements - bronzes, bonnets, ribbons and flowers, plaster
casts, books, muslins and laces - elements as irreconcilable as fate
and freedom; who should harmonize them? And I so tired!
"Ah," said Jladame B., "it is all quite easy; you must have a packer."
"A packer?"
"Yes. He will come, look at your things, provide whatever may be
necessary, and pack them all."
So said, so done. The man came, saw, conquered; he brought a trunk,
twine, tacks, wrapping paper, and I stood by in admiration while he
folded dresses, arranged bonnets, caressingly enveloped flowers in
silk paper, fastened refractory bronzes, and muffled my plaster
animals with reference to the critical points of ears and noses, - in
short, reduced the whole heterogeneous assortment to place and
proportion, shut, locked, corded, labelled, handed me the keys, and it
was done. The charge for all this was quite moderate.
How we sped across the channel C. relates. We are spending a few very
pleasant days with our kind friends, the L.'s, in London.
ON BOARD THE ARCTIC, Wednesday, September 7.
On Thursday, September 1, we reached York, and visited the beautiful
ruins of St. Mary's Abbey, and the magnificent cathedral. How
individual is every cathedral! York is not like Westminster, nor like
Strasbourg, nor Cologne, any more than Shakspeare is like Milton, or
Milton like Homer. In London I attended morning service in
Westminster, and explored its labyrinths of historic memories. The
reading of the Scriptures in the English tongue, and the sound of the
chant, affected me deeply, in contrast with the pictorial and dramatic
effects of Romanism in continental churches.
As a simple matter of taste, Protestantism has made these buildings
more impressive by reducing them to a stricter unity. The multitude of
shrines, candlesticks, pictures, statues, and votive offerings, which
make the continental churches resemble museums, are constantly at
variance with the majestic grandeur of the general impression. Therein
they typify the church to which they belong, which has indeed the
grand historic basis and framework of Christianity, though overlaid
with extraneous and irrelevant additions.
This Cathedral of York has a severe grandeur peculiar to itself. I saw
it with a deep undertone of feeling; for it was the last I should
behold.
No one who has appreciated the wonders of a new world of art and
association can see, without emotion, the door closing upon it,
perhaps forever. I lingered long here, and often turned to gaze again;
and after going out, went back, once more, to fill my soul with a
last, long look, in which I bade adieu to all the historic memories of
the old world. I thought of the words, "We have a building of God, a
house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens."
These glorious arches, this sublime mystery of human power and skill,
is only a shadow of some eternal substance, which, in the ages to
come, God will yet reveal to us.
It rained with inflexible pertinacity during all the time we were at
York; and the next day it rained still, when we took the cars for
Castle Howard station.
In riding through the park from the station, we admired an avenue
composed of groups of magnificent beeches, sixteen or eighteen in a
group, disposed at intervals on either hand.
The castle, a building in the Italian style, rose majestically on a
slight eminence in the centre of a green lawn. We alighted in the
crisis of one of the most driving gusts of wind and rain, so that we
really seemed to be fleeing for shelter. But within all was bright and
warm.
Lady Carlisle welcomed us most affectionately, and we learned that,
had we not been so reserved at the York station, in concealing our
names, we should have received a note from her. However, as we were
safely arrived, it was of no consequence.
Several of the family were there, among the rest Lady Dover and Mr.
and Mrs. E. Howard.
