Sunny Memories Of Foreign Lands - Volume 2 - By Harriet Beecher Stowe


Author of Uncle Tom's Cabin, Etc.

  When thou haply seest - Page 1
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HARRIET BEECHER STOWE, Author of "Uncle Tom's Cabin," Etc.

"When thou haply seest Some rare note-worthy object in thy travels, Make me partake of thy happiness." SHAKESPEARE



LETTER XIX. Breakfast. - Macaulay. - Hallam. - Milman. - Sir R. Inglis. - Lunch at Surrey Parsonage. - Dinner at Sir E. Buxton's.

LETTER XX. Dinner at Lord Shaftesbury's.

LETTER XXI. Stoke Newington. - Exeter Hall. - Antislavery Meeting.

LETTER XXII. Windsor. - The Picture Gallery. - Eton. - The Poet Gray.

LETTER XXIII. Rev. Mr. Gurney. - Richmond, the Artist. - Kossuth. - Pembroke Lodge. - Dinner at Lord John Russell's. - Lambeth Palace.

LETTER XXIV. Playford Hall. - Clarkson.

LETTER XXV. Joseph Sturge. - The "Times" upon Dressmaking. - Duke of Argyle. - Sir David Brewster. - Lord Mahon. - Mr. Gladstone.

LETTER XXVI. London Milliners. - Lord Shaftesbury.

LETTER XXVII. Archbishop of Canterbury's Sermon to the Ragged Scholars. - Mr. Cobden. - Miss Greenfield's Concert. - Rev. S. R. Ward. - Lady Byron. - Mrs. Jameson. - George Thompson. - Ellen Crafts.

LETTER XXVIII. Model Lodging Houses. - Lodging House Act. - Washing Houses.

LETTER XXIX. Benevolent Movements. - The Poor Laws. - The Insane. - Factory Operatives. - Schools, &c.

LETTER XXX. Presentation at Surrey Chapel. - House of Parliament. - Miss Greenfield's Second Concert. - Sir John Malcolm. - The Charity Children. - Mrs. Gaskell. - Thackeray.

JOURNAL. London to Paris. - Church Music. - The Shops. - The Louvre. - Music at the Tuileries. - A Salon. - Versailles. - M. Belloc.

LETTER XXXI. The Louvre. - The Venus de Milon.

JOURNAL. M. Belloc's Studio. - M. Charpentier. - Salon Musicale. - Peter Parley. - Jardin Mabille. - Remains of Nineveh. - The Emperor. - Versailles. - Sartory. - Pere la Chaise. - Adolphe Monod. - Paris to Lyons. - Diligence to Geneva. - Mont Blanc. - Lake Leman.

LETTER XXXII. Route to Chamouni. - Glaciers.

LETTER XXXIII. Chamouni. - Rousse, the Mule. - The Ascent.

JOURNAL. The Alps.

LETTER XXXIV. The Ice Fields.

JOURNAL. Chamouni to Martigny. - Humors of the Mules.

LETTER XXXV. Alpine Flowers. - Pass of the Tete Noir.

JOURNAL. The Same.

LETTER XXXVI. Ascent to St. Bernard. - The Dogs.

LETTER XXXVII. Castle Chillon. - Bonnevard. - Mont Blanc from Geneva. - Luther and Calvin. - Madame De Wette. - M. Fazy.

JOURNAL. A Serenade. - Lausanne. - Freyburg. - Berne. - The Staubbach. - Grindelwald.

LETTER XXXVIII. Wengern Alps. - Flowers. - Glaciers. - The Eiger.

JOURNAL. Glaciers. - Interlachen. - Sunrise in the Mountains. - Monument to the Swiss Guards of Louis XVI. - Basle. - Strasbourg.

LETTER XXXIX. Strasbourg.

LETTER XL. The Rhine. - Heidelberg.

JOURNAL. To Frankfort.

LETTER XLI. Frankfort. - Lessing's "Trial of Huss."

JOURNAL. To Cologne. - The Cathedral.

LETTER XXII. Cologne. - Church of St. Ursula. - Relics. - Dusseldorf.

JOURNAL. To Leipsic. - M. Tauchnitz. - Dresden. - The Gallery. - Berlin.

LETTER XLIII. The Dresden Gallery. - Schoeffer.

LETTER XLIV. Berlin. - The Palace. - The Museum.

LETTER XLV. Wittenberg. - Luther's House. - Melanchthon's House.

LETTER XLVI. Erfurt. - The Cathedral. - Luther's Cell. - The Wartburg.

JOURNAL. The Smoker discomfited. - Antwerp. - The Cathedral Chimes. - To Paris.

LETTER XLVII. Antwerp. - Rubens.


Paris. - School of Design. - Egyptian and Assyrian Remains. - Mrs. S. C. Hall. - The Pantheon. - The Madeleine. - Notre Dame. - Beranger. - French Character. - Observance of Sunday.

JOURNAL. Seasickness on the Channel.


York. - Castle Howard. - Leeds. - Fountains Abbey. - Liverpool. - Irish Deputation. - Departure.


May 19.

Dear E.: -

This letter I consecrate to you, because I know that the persons and things to be introduced into it will most particularly be appreciated by you.

In your evening reading circles, Macaulay, Sidney Smith, and Milman have long been such familiar names that you will be glad to go with me over all the scenes of my morning breakfast at Sir Charles Trevelyan's yesterday. Lady Trevelyan, I believe I have said before, is the sister of Macaulay, and a daughter of Zachary Macaulay - that undaunted laborer for the slave, whose place in the hearts of all English Christians is little below saintship.

We were set down at Welbourne Terrace, somewhere, I believe, about eleven o'clock, and found quite a number already in the drawing room. I had met Macaulay before, but as you have not, you will of course ask a lady's first question, "How does he look?"

Well, my dear, so far as relates to the mere outward husk of the soul, our engravers and daguerreotypists have done their work as well as they usually do. The engraving that you get in the best editions of his works may be considered, I suppose, a fair representation of how he looks, when he sits to have his picture taken, which is generally very different from the way any body looks at any other time. People seem to forget, in taking likenesses, that the features of the face are nothing but an alphabet, and that a dry, dead map of a person's face gives no more idea how one looks than the simple presentation of an alphabet shows what there is in a poem.

Macaulay's whole physique gives you the impression of great strength and stamina of constitution. He has the kind of frame which we usually imagine as peculiarly English; short, stout, and firmly knit. There is something hearty in all his demonstrations. He speaks in that full, round, rolling voice, deep from the chest, which we also conceive of as being more common in England than America. As to his conversation, it is just like his writing; that is to say, it shows very strongly the same qualities of mind.

I was informed that he is famous for a most uncommon memory; one of those men to whom it seems impossible to forget any thing once read; and he has read all sorts of things that can be thought of, in all languages. A gentleman told me that he could repeat all the old Newgate literature, hanging ballads, last speeches, and dying confessions; while his knowledge of Milton is so accurate, that, if his poems were blotted out of existence, they might be restored simply from his memory. This same accurate knowledge extends to the Latin and Greek classics, and to much of the literature of modern Europe. Had nature been required to make a man to order, for a perfect historian, nothing better could have been put together, especially since there is enough of the poetic fire included in the composition, to fuse all these multiplied materials together, and color the historical crystallization with them.

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