ENGLISH TRAITS............................................................................................................................................1

I have been twice in England. In 1833, on my return from a short tour in Sicily, Italy, and France, I crossed

from Boulogne, and landed in London at the Tower stairs. It was a dark Sunday morning; there were few

people in the streets; and I remember the pleasure of that first walk on English ground, with my companion,

an American artist, from the Tower up through Cheapside and the Strand, to a house in Russell Square,

whither we had been recommended to good chambers. For the first time for many months we were forced to

check the saucy habit of travellers' criticism, as we could no longer speak aloud in the streets without being

understood. The shopsigns spoke our language; our country names were on the doorplates; and the public

Like most young men at that time, I was much indebted to the men of Edinburgh, and of the Edinburgh

Review, to Jeffrey, Mackintosh, Hallam, and to Scott, Playfair, and De Quincey; and my narrow and

desultory reading had inspired the wish to see the faces of three or four writers, Coleridge, Wordsworth,

Landor, De Quincey, and the latest and strongest contributor to the critical journals, Carlyle; and I suppose if

I had sifted the reasons that led me to Europe, when I was ill and was advised to travel, it was mainly the

attraction of these persons. If Goethe had been still living, I might have wandered into Germany also. Besides

those I have named, (for Scott was dead,) there was not in Britain the man living whom I cared to behold,

unless it were the Duke of Wellington, whom I afterwards saw at Westminster Abbey, at the funeral of

Wilberforce. The young scholar fancies it happiness enough to live with people who can give an inside to the

world; without reflecting that they are prisoners, too, of their own thought, and cannot apply themselves to

yours. The conditions of literary success are almost destructive of the best social power, as they do not leave

that frolic liberty which only can encounter a companion on the best terms. It is probable you left some

obscure comrade at a tavern, or in the farms, with right motherwit, and equality to life, when you crossed

sea and land to play bopeep with celebrated scribes. I have, however, found writers superior to their books,

and I cling to my first belief, that a strong head will dispose fast enough of these impediments, and give one

the satisfaction of reality, the sense of having been met, and a larger horizon.

On looking over the diary of my journey in 1833, I find nothing to publish in my memoranda of visits to

places. But I have copied the few notes I made of visits to persons, as they respect parties quite too good and

too transparent to the whole world to make it needful to affect any prudery of suppression about a few hints

At Florence, chief among artists I found Horatio Greenough, the American sculptor. His face was so

handsome, and his person so well formed, that he might be pardoned, if, as was alleged, the face of his

Medora, and the figure of a colossal Achilles in clay, were idealizations of his own. Greenough was a

superior man, ardent and eloquent, and all his opinions had elevation and magnanimity. He believed that the

Greeks had wrought in schools or fraternities, the genius of the master imparting his design to his friends,

and inflaming them with it, and when his strength was spent, a new hand, with equal heat, continued the

work; and so by relays, until it was finished in every part with equal fire. This was necessary in so refractory

a material as stone; and he thought art would never prosper until we left our shy jealous ways, and worked in

society as they. All his thoughts breathed the same generosity. He was an accurate and a deep man. He was a

votary of the Greeks, and impatient of Gothic art. His paper on Architecture, published in 1843, announced in

advance the leading thoughts of Mr. Ruskin on the morality in architecture, notwithstanding the antagonism

in their views of the history of art. I have a private letter from him, later, but respecting the same period,

in which he roughly sketches his own theory. "Here is my theory of structure: A scientific arrangement of

spaces and forms to functions and to site; an emphasis of features proportioned to their gradated importance

in function; color and ornament to be decided and arranged and varied by strictly organic laws, having a

distinct reason for each decision; the entire and immediate banishment of all makeshift and makebelieve."

Greenough brought me, through a common friend, an invitation from Mr. Landor, who lived at San

Domenica di Fiesole. On the 15th May I dined with Mr. Landor. I found him noble and courteous, living in a

cloud of pictures at his Villa Gherardesca, a fine house commanding a beautiful landscape. I had inferred

from his books, or magnified from some anecdotes, an impression of Achillean wrath, an untamable

petulance. I do not know whether the imputation were just or not, but certainly on this May day his courtesy

veiled that haughty mind, and he was the most patient and gentle of hosts. He praised the beautiful cyclamen

which grows all about Florence; he admired Washington; talked of Wordsworth, Byron, Massinger,

Beaumont and Fletcher. To be sure, he is decided in his opinions, likes to surprise, and is well content to

impress, if possible, his English whim upon the immutable past. No great man ever had a great son, if Philip

and Alexander be not an exception; and Philip he calls the greater man. In art, he loves the Greeks, and in

sculpture, them only. He prefers the Venus to every thing else, and, after that, the head of Alexander, in the

gallery here. He prefers John of Bologna to Michael Angelo; in painting, Raffaelle; and shares the growing

taste for Perugino and the early masters. The Greek histories he thought the only good; and after them,

Voltaire's. I could not make him praise Mackintosh, nor my more recent friends; Montaigne very cordially,

and Charron also, which seemed undiscriminating. He thought Degerando indebted to "Lucas on

Happiness" and "Lucas on Holiness"! He pestered me with Southey; but who is Southey?

He invited me to breakfast on Friday. On Friday I did not fail to go, and this time with Greenough. He

entertained us at once with reciting half a dozen hexameter lines of Julius Caesar's! from Donatus, he said.

He glorified Lord Chesterfield more than was necessary, and undervalued Burke, and undervalued Socrates;

designated as three of the greatest of men, Washington, Phocion, and Timoleon; much as our pomologists, in

their lists, select the three or the six best pears "for a small orchard;" and did not even omit to remark the

similar termination of their names. "A great man," he said, "should make great sacrifices, and kill his hundred

oxen, without knowing whether they would be consumed by gods and heroes, or whether the flies would eat

them." I had visited Professor Amici, who had shown me his microscopes, magnifying (it was said) two

thousand diameters; and I spoke of the uses to which they were applied. Landor despised entomology, yet, in

the same breath, said, "the sublime was in a grain of dust." I suppose I teased him about recent writers, but he

professed never to have heard of Herschel, not even by name. One room was full of pictures, which he likes

to show, especially one piece, standing before which, he said "he would give fifty guineas to the man that

would swear it was a Domenichino." I was more curious to see his library, but Mr. H, one of the guests,

told me that Mr. Landor gives away his books, and has never more than a dozen at a time in his house.

Mr. Landor carries to its height the love of freak which the English delight to indulge, as if to signalize their

commanding freedom. He has a wonderful brain, despotic, violent, and inexhaustible, meant for a soldier, by

what chance converted to letters, in which there is not a style nor a tint not known to him, yet with an English

appetite for action and heroes. The thing done avails, and not what is said about it. An original sentence, a

step forward, is worth more than all the censures. Landor is strangely undervalued in England; usually

ignored; and sometimes savagely attacked in the Reviews. The criticism may be right, or wrong, and is

quickly forgotten; but year after year the scholar must still go back to Landor for a multitude of elegant

From London, on the 5th August, I went to Highgate, and wrote a note to Mr. Coleridge, requesting leave to

pay my respects to him. It was near noon. Mr. Coleridge sent a verbal message, that he was in bed, but if I

would call after one o'clock, he would see me. I returned at one, and he appeared, a short, thick old man, with

bright blue eyes and fine clear complexion, leaning on his cane. He took snuff freely, which presently soiled

his cravat and neat black suit. He asked whether I knew Allston, and spoke warmly of his merits and doings

when he knew him in Rome; what a master of the Titianesque he was, He spoke of Dr. Channing. It was an

unspeakable misfortune that he should have turned out a Unitarian after all. On this, he burst into a

declamation on the folly and ignorance of Unitarianism, its high unreasonableness; and taking up Bishop

Waterland's book, which lay on the table, he read with vehemence two or three pages written by himself in

the flyleaves, passages, too, which, I believe, are printed in the "Aids to Reflection." When he stopped to

take breath, I interposed, that, "whilst I highly valued all his explanations, I was bound to tell him that I was

born and bred a Unitarian." "Yes," he said, "I supposed so;" and continued as before. `It was a wonder, that

after so many ages of unquestioning acquiescence in the doctrine of St. Paul, the doctrine of the Trinity,

which was also, according to Philo Judaeus, the doctrine of the Jews before Christ, this handful of

Priestleians should take on themselves to deny it, He was very sorry that Dr. Channing, a man to whom he

looked up, no, to say that he looked up to him would be to speak falsely; but a man whom he looked

at with so much interest, should embrace such views. When he saw Dr. Channing, he had hinted to him

that he was afraid he loved Christianity for what was lovely and excellent, he loved the good in it, and not

the true; and I tell you, sir, that I have known ten persons who loved the good, for one person who loved the

true; but it is a far greater virtue to lovethe true for itself alone, than to love the good for itself alone. He

(Coleridge) knew all about Unitarianism perfectly well, because he had once been a Unitarian, and knew

what quackery it was. He had been called "the rising star of Unitarianism."' He went on defining, or rather

refining: `The Trinitarian doctrine was realism; the idea of God was not essential, but superessential;' talked

of trinism and tetrakism, and much more, of which I only caught this, `that the will was that by which a

person is a person; because, if one should push me in the street, and so I should force the man next me into

the kennel, I should at once exclaim, "I did not do it, sir," meaning it was not my will.' And this also, `that if

you should insist on your faith here in England, and I on mine, mine would be the hotter side of the fagot.'

I took advantage of a pause to say, that he had many readers of all religious opinions in America, and I

proceeded to inquire if the "extract" from the Independent's pamphlet, in the third volume of the Friend, were

a veritable quotation. He replied, that it was really taken from a pamphlet in his possession, entitled "A

Protest of one of the Independents," or something to that effect. I told him how excellent I thought it, and

how much I wished to see the entire work. "Yes," he said, "the man was a chaos of truths, but lacked the

knowledge that God was a God of order. Yet the passage would no doubt strike you more in the quotation

When I rose to go, he said, "I do not know whether you care about poetry, but I will repeat some verses I

lately made on my baptismal anniversary," and he recited with strong emphasis, standing, ten or twelve lines,

He inquired where I had been travelling; and on learning that I had been in Malta and Sicily, he compared

one island with the other, `repeating what he had said to the Bishop of London when he returned from that

country, that Sicily was an excellent school of political economy; for, in any town there, it only needed to ask

what the government enacted, and reverse that to know what ought to be done; it was the most felicitously

opposite legislation to any thing good and wise. There were only three things which the government had

brought into that garden of delights, namely, itch, pox, and famine. Whereas, in Malta, the force of law and

mind was seen, in making that barren rock of semiSaracen inhabitants the seat of population and plenty.'

Going out, he showed me in the next apartment a picture of Allston's, and told me `that Montague, a

picturedealer, once came to see him, and, glancing towards this, said, "Well, you have got a picture!"

thinking it the work of an old master; afterwards, Montague, still talking with his back to the canvas, put up

his hand and touched it, and exclaimed, "By Heaven! this picture is not ten years old:" so delicate and

I was in his company for about an hour, but find it impossible to recall the largest part of his discourse, which

was often like so many printed paragraphs in his book, perhaps the same, so readily did he fall into

certain commonplaces. As I might have foreseen, the visit was rather a spectacle than a conversation, of no

use beyond the satisfaction of my curiosity. He was old and preoccupied, and could not bend to a new

From Edinburgh I went to the Highlands. On my return, I came from Glasgow to Dumfries, and being intent

on delivering a letter which I had brought from Rome, inquired for Craigenputtock. It was a farm in

Nithsdale, in the parish of Dunscore, sixteen miles distant. No public coach passed near it, so I took a private

carriage from the inn. I found the house amid desolate heathery hills, where the lonely scholar nourished his

mighty heart. Carlyle was a man from his youth, an author who did not need to hide from his readers, and as

absolute a man of the world, unknown and exiled on that hillfarm, as if holding on his own terms what is

best in London. He was tall and gaunt, with a clifflike brow, selfpossessed, and holding his extraordinary

powers of conversation in easy command; clinging to his northern accent with evident relish; full of lively

anecdote, and with a streaming humor, which floated every thing he looked upon. His talk playfully exalting

the familiar objects, put the companion at once into an acquaintance with his Lars and Lemurs, and it was

very pleasant to learn what was predestined to be a pretty mythology. Few were the objects and lonely the

man, "not a person to speak to within sixteen miles except the minister of Dunscore;" so that books inevitably

He had names of his own for all the matters familiar to his discourse. "Blackwood's" was the "sand

magazine;" "Fraser's" nearer approach to possibility of life was the "mud magazine;" a piece of road near by

that marked some failed enterprise was the "grave of the last sixpence." When too much praise of any genius

annoyed him, he professed hugely to admire the talent shown by his pig. He had spent much time and

contrivance in confining the poor beast to one enclosure in his pen, but pig, by great strokes of judgment, had

found out how to let a board down, and had foiled him. For all that, he still thought man the most plastic little

fellow in the planet, and he liked Nero's death, "Qualis artifex pereo!" better than most history. He worships

a man that will manifest any truth to him. At one time he had inquired and read a good deal about America.

Landor's principle was mere rebellion, and that he feared was the American principle. The best thing he knew

of that country was, that in it a man can have meat for his labor. He had read in Stewart's book, that when he

inquired in a New York hotel for the Boots, he had been shown across the street and had found Mungo in his

We talked of books. Plato he does not read, and he disparaged Socrates; and, when pressed, persisted in

making Mirabeau a hero. Gibbon he called the splendid bridge from the old world to the new. His own

reading had been multifarious. Tristram Shandy was one of his first books after Robinson Crusoe, and

Robertson's America an early favorite. Rousseau's Confessions had discovered to him that he was not a

dunce; and it was now ten years since he had learned German, by the advice of a man who told him he would

He took despairing or satirical views of literature at this moment; recounted the incredible sums paid in one

year by the great booksellers for puffing. Hence it comes that no newspaper is trusted now, no books are

He still returned to English pauperism, the crowded country, the selfish abdication by public men of all that

public persons should perform. `Government should direct poor men what to do. Poor Irish folk come

wandering over these moors. My dame makes it a rule to give to every son of Adam bread to eat, and supplies

his wants to the next house. But here are thousands of acres which might give them all meat, and nobody to

bid these poor Irish go to the moor and till it. They burned the stacks, and so found a way to force the rich

We went out to walk over long hills, and looked at Criffel then without his cap, and down into Wordsworth's

country. There we sat down, and talked of the immortality of the soul. It was not Carlyle's fault that we talked

on that topic, for he had the natural disinclination of every nimble spirit to bruise itself against walls, and did

not like to place himself where no step can be taken. But he was honest and true, and cognizant of the subtile

links that bind ages together, and saw how every event affects all the future. `Christ died on the tree: that built

Dunscore kirk yonder: that brought you and me together. Time has only a relative existence.'

He was already turning his eyes towards London with a scholar's appreciation. London is the heart of the

world, he said, wonderful only from the mass of human beings. He liked the huge machine. Each keeps its

own round. The baker's boy brings muffins to the window at a fixed hour every day, and that is all the

Londoner knows or wishes to know on the subject. But it turned out good men. He named certain individuals,

especially one man of letters, his friend, the best mind he knew, whom London had well served.

On the 28th August, I went to Rydal Mount, to pay my respects to Mr. Wordsworth. His daughters called in

their father, a plain, elderly, whitehaired man, not prepossessing, and disfigured by green goggles. He sat

down, and talked with great simplicity. He had just returned from a journey. His health was good, but he had

broken a tooth by a fall, when walking with two lawyers, and had said, that he was glad it did not happen

He had much to say of America, the more that it gave occasion for his favorite topic, that society is being

enlightened by a superficial tuition, out of all proportion to its being restrained by moral culture. Schools do

no good. Tuition is not education. He thinks more of the education of circumstances than of tuition. 'Tis not

question whether there are offences of which the law takes cognizance, but whether there are offences of

which the law does not take cognizance. Sin is what he fears, and how society is to escape without gravest

mischiefs from this source ? He has even said, what seemed a paradox, that they needed a civil war in

America, to teach the necessity of knitting the social ties stronger. `There may be,' he said, `in America some

vulgarity in manner, but that's not important. That comes of the pioneer state of things. But I fear they are too

much given to the making of money; and secondly, to politics; that they make political distinction the end,

and not the means. And I fear they lack a class of men of leisure, in short, of gentlemen, to give a tone

of honor to the community. I am told that things are boasted of in the second class of society there, which, in

England, God knows, are done in England every day, but would never be spoken of. In America I wish

to know not how many churches or schools, but what newspapers? My friend, Colonel Hamilton, at the foot

of the hill, who was a year in America, assures me that the newspapers are atrocious, and accuse members of

Congress of stealing spoons!' He was against taking off the tax on newspapers in England, which the

reformers represent as a tax upon knowledge, for this reason, that they would be inundated with base prints.

He said, he talked on political aspects, for he wished to impress on me and all good Americans to cultivate

the moral, the conservative, and never to call into action the physical strength of the people, as had just now

been done in England in the Reform Bill, a thing prophesied by Delolme. He alluded once or twice to his

conversation with Dr. Channing, who had recently visited him, (laying his hand on a particular chair in which

The conversation turned on books. Lucretius he esteems a far higher poet than Virgil: not in his system,

which is nothing, but in his power of illustration. Faith is necessary to explain any thing, and to reconcile the

foreknowledge of God with human evil. Of Cousin, (whose lectures we had all been reading in Boston,) he

I inquired if he had read Carlyle's critical articles and translations. He said, he thought him sometimes insane.

He proceeded to abuse Goethe's Wilhelm Meister heartily. It was full of all manner of fornication. It was like

the crossing of flies in the air. He had never gone farther than the first part; so disgusted was he that he threw

the book across the room. I deprecated this wrath, and said what I could for the better parts of the book; and

he courteously promised to look at it again. Carlyle, he said, wrote most obscurely. He was clever and deep,

but he defied the sympathies of every body. Even Mr. Coleridge wrote more clearly, though he had always

wished Coleridge would write more to be understood. He led me out into his garden, and showed me the

gravel walk in which thousands of his lines were composed. His eyes are much inflamed. This is no loss,

except for reading, because he never writes prose, and of poetry he carries even hundreds of lines in his head

before writing them. He had just returned from a visit to Staffa, and within three days had made three sonnets

on Fingal's Cave, and was composing a fourth, when he was called in to see me. He said, "If you are

interested in my verses, perhaps you will like to hear these lines." I gladly assented; and he recollected

himself for a few moments, and then stood forth and repeated, one after the other, the three entire sonnets

with great animation. I fancied the second and third more beautiful than his poems are wont to be. The third

is addressed to the flowers, which, he said, especially the oxeye daisy, are very abundant on the top of the

rock. The second alludes to the name of the cave, which is "Cave of Music;" the first to the circumstance of

This recitation was so unlooked for and surprising, he, the old Wordsworth, standing apart, and reciting to

me in a gardenwalk, like a schoolboy declaiming, that I at first was near to laugh; but recollecting

myself, that I had come thus far to see a poet, and he was chanting poems to me, I saw that he was right and I

was wrong, and gladly gave myself up to hear. I told him how much the few printed extracts had quickened

the desire to possess his unpublished poems. He replied, he never was in haste to publish; partly, because he

corrected a good deal, and every alteration is ungraciously received after printing; but what he had written

would be printed, whether he lived or died. I said, "Tintern Abbey" appeared to be the favorite poem with the

public, but more contemplative readers preferred the first books of the "Excursion," and the Sonnets. He said,

"Yes, they are better." He preferred such of his poems as touched the affections, to any others; for whatever is

didactic, what theories of society, and so on, might perish quickly; but whatever combined a truth with

an affection was {ktema es aei}, good today and good forever. He cited the sonnet "On the feelings of a

highminded Spaniard," which he preferred to any other, (I so understood him,) and the "Two Voices;" and

quoted, with evident pleasure, the verses addressed "To the Skylark." In this connection, he said of the

Newtonian theory, that it might yet be superseded and forgotten; and Dalton's atomic theory.

When I prepared to depart, he said he wished to show me what a common person in England could do, and he

led me into the enclosure of his clerk, a young man, to whom he had given this slip of ground, which was laid

out, or its natural capabilities shown, with much taste. He then said he would show me a better way towards

the inn; and he walked a good part of a mile, talking, and ever and anon stopping short to impress the word or

the verse, and finally parted from me with great kindness, and returned across the fields.

Wordsworth honored himself by his simple adherence to truth, and was very willing not to shine; but he

surprised by the hard limits of his thought. To judge from a single conversation, he made the impression of a

narrow and very English mind; of one who paid for his rare elevation by general tameness and conformity.

Off his own beat, his opinions were of no value. It is not very rare to find persons loving sympathy and ease,

who expiate their departure from the common, in one direction, by their conformity in every other.

The occasion of my second visit to England was an invitation from some Mechanics' Institutes in Lancashire

and Yorkshire, which separately are organized much in the same way as our New England Lyceums, but, in

1847, had been linked into a "Union," which embraced twenty or thirty towns and cities, and presently

extended into the middle counties, and northward into Scotland. I was invited, on liberal terms, to read a

series of lectures in them all. The request was urged with every kind suggestion, and every assurance of aid

and comfort, by friendliest parties in Manchester, who, in the sequel, amply redeemed their word. The

remuneration was equivalent to the fees at that time paid in this country for the like services. At all events, it

was sufficient to cover any travelling expenses, and the proposal offered an excellent opportunity of seeing

the interior of England and Scotland, by means of a home, and a committee of intelligent friends, awaiting me

I did not go very willingly. I am not a good traveller, nor have I found that long journeys yield a fair share of

reasonable hours. But the invitation was repeated and pressed at a moment of more leisure, and when I was a

little spent by some unusual studies. I wanted a change and a tonic, and England was proposed to me.

Besides, there were, at least, the dread attraction and salutary influences of the sea. So I took my berth in the

packetship Washington Irving, and sailed from Boston on Tuesday, 5th October, 1847.

On Friday at noon, we had only made one hundred and thirtyfour miles. A nimble Indian would have swum

as far; but the captain affirmed that the ship would show us in time all her paces, and we crept along through

the floating drift of boards, logs, and chips, which the rivers of Maine and New Brunswick pour into the sea

At last, on Sunday night, after doing one day's work in four, the storm came, the winds blew, and we flew

before a northwester, which strained every rope and sail. The good ship darts through the water all day, all

night, like a fish, quivering with speed, gliding through liquid leagues, sliding from horizon to horizon. She

has passed Cape Sable; she has reached the Banks; the landbirds are left; gulls, haglets, ducks, petrels,

swim, dive, and hover around; no fishermen; she has passed the Banks; left five sail behind her, far on the

edge of the west at sundown, which were far east of us at morn, though they say at sea a stern chase is a

long race, and still we fly for our lives. The shortest sealine from Boston to Liverpool is 2850 miles.

This a steamer keeps, and saves 150 miles. A sailing ship can never go in a shorter line than 3000, and

usually it is much longer. Our good master keeps his kites up to the last moment, studdingsails alow and

aloft, and, by incessant straight steering, never loses a rod of way. Watchfulness is the law of the ship,

watch on watch, for advantage and for life. Since the ship was built, it seems, the master never slept but in his

dayclothes whilst on board. "There are many advantages," says Saadi, "in seavoyaging, but security is not

one of them." Yet in hurrying over these abysses, whatever dangers we are running into, we are certainly

running out of the risks of hundreds of miles every day, which have their own chances of squall, collision,

seastroke, piracy, cold, and thunder. Hour for hour, the risk on a steamboat is greater; but the speed is

Our ship was registered 750 tons, and weighed perhaps, with all her freight, 1500 tons. The mainmast, from

the deck to the topbutton, measured 115 feet; the length of the deck, from stem to stern, 155. It is impossible

not to personify a ship; every body does, in every thing they say: she behaves well; she minds her rudder;

she swims like a duck; she runs her nose into the water; she looks into a port. Then that wonderful esprit du

corps, by which we adopt into our selflove every thing we touch, makes us all champions of her sailing

The conscious ship hears all the praise. In one week she has made 1467 miles, and now, at night, seems to

hear the steamer behind her, which left Boston today at two, has mended her speed, and is flying before the

gray south wind eleven and a half knots the hour. The seafire shines in her wake, and far around wherever a

wave breaks. I read the hour, 9h. 45', on my watch by this light. Near the equator, you can read small print by

it; and the mate describes the phosphoric insects, when taken up in a pail, as shaped like a Carolina potato.

I find the sealife an acquired taste, like that for tomatoes and olives. The confinement, cold, motion, noise,

and odor are not to be dispensed with. The floor of your room is sloped at an angle of twenty or thirty

degrees, and I waked every morning with the belief that some one was tipping up my berth. Nobody likes to

be treated ignominiously, upset, shoved against the side of the house, rolled over, suffocated with bilge,

mephitis, and stewing oil. We get used to these annoyances at last, but the dread of the sea remains longer.

The sea is masculine, the type of active strength. Look, what eggshells are drifting all over it, each one, like

ours, filled with men in ecstasies of terror, alternating with cockney conceit, as the sea is rough or smooth. Is

this sadcolored circle an eternal cemetery? In our graveyards we scoop a pit, but this aggressive water opens

milewide pits and chasms, and makes a mouthful of a fleet. To the geologist, the sea is the only firmament;

the land is in perpetual flux and change, now blown up like a tumor, now sunk in a chasm, and the registered

observations of a few hundred years find it in a perpetual tilt, rising and falling. The sea keeps its old level;

and 'tis no wonder that the history of our race is so recent, if the roar of the ocean is silencing our traditions.

A rising of the sea, such as has been observed, say an inch in a century, from east to west on the land, will

bury all the towns, monuments, bones, and knowledge of mankind, steadily and insensibly. If it is capable of

these great and secular mischiefs, it is quite as ready at private and local damage; and of this no landsman

seems so fearful as the seaman. Such discomfort and such danger as the narratives of the captain and mate

disclose are bad enough as the costly fee we pay for entrance to Europe; but the wonder is always new that

any sane man can be a sailor. And here, on the second day of our voyage, stepped out a little boy in his

shirtsleeves, who had hid himself, whilst the ship was in port, in the breadcloset, having no money, and

wishing to go to England. The sailors have dressed him in Guernsey frock, with a knife in his belt, and he is

climbing nimbly about after them, "likes the work firstrate, and, if the captain will take him, means now to

come back again in the ship." The mate avers that this is the history of all sailors; nine out of ten are runaway

boys; and adds, that all of them are sick of the sea, but stay in it out of pride. Jack has a life of risks, incessant

abuse, and the worst pay. It is a little better with the mate, and not very much better with the captain. A

hundred dollars a month is reckoned high pay. If sailors were contented, if they had not resolved again and

Of course, the inconveniences and terrors of the sea are not of any account to those whose minds are

preoccupied. The waterlaws, arctic frost, the mountain, the mine, only shatter cockneyism; every noble

activity makes room for itself. A great mind is a good sailor, as a great heart is. And the sea is not slow in

'Tis a good rule in every journey to provide some piece of liberal study to rescue the hours which bad

weather, bad company, and taverns steal from the best economist. Classics which at home are drowsily read

have a strange charm in a country inn, or in the transom of a merchant brig. I remember that some of the

happiest and most valuable hours I have owed to books, passed, many years ago, on shipboard. The worst

We found on board the usual cabin library; Basil Hall, Dumas, Dickens, Bulwer, Balzac, and Sand were our

seagods. Among the passengers, there was some variety of talent and profession; we exchanged our

experiences, and all learned something. The busiest talk with leisure and convenience at sea, and sometimes a

memorable fact turns up, which you have long had a vacant niche for, and seize with the joy of a collector.

But, under the best conditions, a voyage is one of the severest tests to try a man. A college examination is

nothing to it. Seadays are long, these lacklustre, joyless days which whistled over us; but they were

few, only fifteen, as the captain counted, sixteen according to me. Reckoned from the time when we left

soundings, our speed was such that the captain drew the line of his course in red ink on his chart, for the

It has been said that the King of England would consult his dignity by giving audience to foreign

ambassadors in the cabin of a manofwar. And I think the white path of an Atlantic ship the right avenue to

the palace front of this seafaring people, who for hundreds of years claimed the strict sovereignty of the sea,

and exacted toll and the striking sail from the ships of all other peoples. When their privilege was disputed by

the Dutch and other junior marines, on the plea that you could never anchor on the same wave, or hold

property in what was always flowing, the English did not stick to claim the channel, or bottom of all the

main. "As if," said they, "we contended for the drops of the sea, and not for its situation, or the bed of those

As we neared the land, its genius was felt. This was inevitably the British side. In every man's thought arises

now a new system, English sentiments, English loves and fears, English history and social modes. Yesterday,

every passenger had measured the speed of the ship by watching the bubbles over the ship's bulwarks.

Today, instead of bubbles, we measure by Kinsale, Cork, Waterford, and Ardmore. There lay the green

shore of Ireland, like some coast of plenty. We could see towns, towers, churches, harvests; but the curse of

Alfieri thought Italy and England the only countries worth living in; the former, because there nature

vindicates her rights, and triumphs over the evils inflicted by the governments; the latter, because art

conquers nature, and transforms a rude, ungenial land into a paradise of comfort and plenty. England is a

garden. Under an ashcolored sky, the fields have been combed and rolled till they appear to have been

finished with a pencil instead of a plough. The solidity of the structures that compose the towns speaks the

industry of ages. Nothing is left as it was made. Rivers, hills, valleys, the sea itself feel the hand of a master.

The long habitation of a powerful and ingenious race has turned every rood of land to its best use, has found

all the capabilities, the arable soil, the quarriable rock, the highways, the byways, the fords, the navigable

waters; and the new arts of intercourse meet you every where; so that England is a huge phalanstery, where

all that man wants is provided within the precinct. Cushioned and comforted in every manner, the traveller

rides as on a cannonball, high and low, over rivers and towns, through mountains, in tunnels of three or four

miles, at near twice the speed of our trains; and reads quietly the Times newspaper, which, by its immense

correspondence and reporting, seems to have machinized the rest of the world for his occasion.

The problem of the traveller landing at Liverpool is, Why England is England? What are the elements of that

power which the English hold over other nations? If there be one test of national genius universally accepted,

it is success; and if there be one successful country in the universe for the last millennium, that country is

A wise traveller will naturally choose to visit the best of actual nations; and an American has more reasons

than another to draw him to Britain. In all that is done or begun by the Americans towards right thinking or

practice, we are met by a civilization already settled and overpowering. The culture of the day, the thoughts

and aims of men, are English thoughts and aims. A nation considerable for a thousand years since Egbert, it

has, in the last centuries, obtained the ascendant, and stamped the knowledge, activity, and power of mankind

with its impress. Those who resist it do not feel it or obey it less. The Russian in his snows is aiming to be

English. The Turk and Chinese also are making awkward efforts to be English. The practical commonsense

of modern society, the utilitarian direction which labor, laws, opinion, religion take, is the natural genius of

the British mind. The influence of France is a constituent of modern civility, but not enough opposed to the

English for the most wholesome effect. The American is only the continuation of the English genius into new

See what books fill our libraries. Every book we read, every biography, play, romance, in whatever form, is

still English history and manners. So that a sensible Englishman once said to me, "As long as you do not

But we have the same difficulty in making a social or moral estimate of England, as the sheriff finds in

drawing a jury to try some cause which has agitated the whole community, and on which every body finds

himself an interested party. Officers, jurors, judges have all taken sides. England has inoculated all nations

with her civilization, intelligence, and tastes; and, to resist the tyranny and prepossession of the British

element, a serious man must aid himself, by comparing with it the civilizations of the farthest east and west,

the old Greek, the Oriental, and, much more, the ideal standard, if only by means of the very impatience

Besides, if we will visit London, the present time is the best time, as some signs portend that it has reached its

highest point. It is observed that the English interest us a little less within a few years; and hence the

impression that the British power has culminated, is in solstice, or already declining.

As soon as you enter England, which, with Wales, is no larger than the State of Georgia, (*) this little land

stretches by an illusion to the dimensions of an empire. The innumerable details, the crowded succession of

towns, cities, cathedrals, castles, and great and decorated estates, the number and power of the trades and

guilds, the military strength and splendor, the multitudes of rich and of remarkable people, the servants and

equipages, all these catching the eye, and never allowing it to pause, hide all boundaries, by the

(*) Add South Carolina, and you have more than an equivalent for the area of Scotland.

I reply to all the urgencies that refer me to this and that object indispensably to be seen, Yes, to see

England well needs a hundred years; for, what they told me was the merit of Sir John Soane's Museum, in

London, that it was well packed and well saved, is the merit of England; it is stuffed full, in all

corners and crevices, with towns, towers, churches, villas, palaces, hospitals, and charityhouses. In the

history of art, it is a long way from a cromlech to York minster; yet all the intermediate steps may still be

The territory has a singular perfection. The climate is warmer by many degrees than it is entitled to by

latitude. Neither hot nor cold, there is no hour in the whole year when one cannot work. Here is no winter, but

such days as we have in Massachusetts in November, a temperature which makes no exhausting demand on

human strength, but allows the attainment of the largest stature. Charles the Second said, "it invited men

abroad more days in the year and more hours in the day than another country." Then England has all the

materials of a working country except wood. The constant rain, a rain with every tide, in some parts of the

island, keeps its multitude of rivers full, and brings agricultural production up to the highest point. It has

plenty of water, of stone, of potter's clay, of coal, of salt, and of iron. The land naturally abounds with game,

immense heaths and downs are paved with quails, grouse, and W., and the shores are animated by

water birds. The rivers and the surrounding sea spawn with fish; there are salmon for the rich, and sprats and

herrings for the poor. In the northern lochs, the herring are in innumerable shoals; at one season, the country

The only drawback on this industrial conveniency, is the darkness of its sky. The night and day are too nearly

of a color. It strains the eyes to read and to write. Add the coal smoke. In the manufacturing towns, the fine

soot or blacks darken the day, give white sheep the color of black sheep, discolor the human saliva,

contaminate the air, poison many plants, and corrode the monuments and buildings.

The London fog aggravates the distempers of the sky, and sometimes justifies the epigram on the climate by

an English wit, "in a fine day, looking up a chimney; in a foul day, looking down one." A gentleman in

Liverpool told me that he found he could do without a fire in his parlor about one day in the year. It is

however pretended, that the enormous consumption of coal in the island is also felt in modifying the general

Factitious climate, factitious position. England resembles a ship in its shape, and, if it were one, its best

admiral could not have worked it, or anchored it in a more judicious or effective position. Sir John Herschel

said, "London was the centre of the terrene globe." The shopkeeping nation, to use a shop word, has a good

stand. The old Venetians pleased themselves with the flattery, that Venice was in 45 degrees, midway

between the poles and the line; as if that were an imperial centrality. Long of old, the Greeks fancied Delphi

the navel of the earth, in their favorite mode of fabling the earth to be an animal. The Jews believed

Jerusalem to be the centre. I have seen a kratometric chart designed to show that the city of Philadelphia was

in the same thermic belt, and, by inference, in the same belt of empire, as the cities of Athens, Rome, and

London. It was drawn by a patriotic Philadelphian, and was examined with pleasure, under his showing, by

the inhabitants of Chestnut Street. But, when carried to Charleston, to New Orleans, and to Boston, it

But England is anchored at the side of Europe, and right in the heart of the modern world. The sea, which,

according to Virgil's famous line, divided the poor Britons utterly from the world, proved to be the ring of

marriage with all nations. It is not down in the books, it is written only in the geologic strata, that

fortunate day when a wave of the German Ocean burst the old isthmus which joined Kent and Cornwall to

France, and gave to this fragment of Europe its impregnable sea wall, cutting off an island of eight hundred

miles in length, with an irregular breadth reaching to three hundred miles; a territory large enough for

independence enriched with every seed of national power, so near, that it can see the harvests of the

continent; and so far, that who would cross the strait must be an expert mariner, ready for tempests. As

America, Europe, and Asia lie, these Britons have precisely the best commercial position in the whole planet,

and are sure of a market for all the goods they can manufacture. And to make these advantages avail, the

River Thames must dig its spacious outlet to the sea from the heart of the kingdom, giving road and landing

to innumerable ships, and all the conveniency to trade, that a people so skilful and sufficient in economizing

waterfront by docks, warehouses, and lighters required. When James the First declared his purpose of

punishing London by removing his Court, the Lord Mayor replied, "that, in removing his royal presence from

In the variety of surface, Britain is a miniature of Europe, having plain, forest, marsh, river, seashore; mines

in Cornwall; caves in Matlock and Derbyshire; delicious landscape in Dovedale, delicious seaview at Tor

Bay, Highlands in Scotland, Snowdon in Wales; and, in Westmoreland and Cumberland, a pocket

Switzerland, in which the lakes and mountains are on a sufficient scale to fill the eye and touch the

imagination. It is a nation conveniently small. Fontenelle thought, that nature had sometimes a little

affectation; and there is such an artificial completeness in this nation of artificers, as if there were a design

from the beginning to elaborate a bigger Birmingham. Nature held counsel with herself, and said, `My

Romans are gone. To build my new empire, I will choose a rude race, all masculine, with brutish strength. I

will not grudge a competition of the roughest males. Let buffalo gore buffalo, and the pasture to the

strongest! For I have work that requires the best will and sinew. Sharp and temperate northern breezes shall

blow, to keep that will alive and alert. The sea shall disjoin the people from others, and knit them to a fierce

nationality. It shall give them markets on every side. Long time I will keep them on their feet, by poverty,

borderwars, seafaring, searisks, and the stimulus of gain. An island, but not so large, the people not so

many as to glut the great markets and depress one another, but proportioned to the size of Europe and the

With its fruits, and wares, and money, must its civil influence radiate. It is a singular coincidence to this

geographic centrality, the spiritual centrality, which Emanuel Swedenborg ascribes to the people. "For the

English nation, the best of them are in the centre of all Christians, because they have interior intellectual light.

This appears conspicuously in the spiritual world. This light they derive from the liberty of speaking and

An ingenious anatomist has written a book (*) to prove that races are imperishable, but nations are pliant

political constructions, easily changed or destroyed. But this writer did not found his assumed races on any

necessary law, disclosing their ideal or metaphysical necessity; nor did he, on the other hand, count with

precision the existing races, and settle the true bounds; a point of nicety, and the popular test of the theory.

The individuals at the extremes of divergence in one race of men are as unlike as the wolf to the lapdog. Yet

each variety shades down imperceptibly into the next, and you cannot draw the line where a race begins or

ends. Hence every writer makes a different count. Blumenbach reckons five races; Humboldt three; and Mr.

Pickering, who lately, in our Exploring Expedition, thinks he saw all the kinds of men that can be on the

The British Empire is reckoned to contain 222,000,000 souls, perhaps a fifth of the population of the

globe; and to comprise a territory of 5,000,000 square miles. So far have British people predominated.

Perhaps forty of these millions are of British stock. Add the United States of America, which reckon,

exclusive of slaves, 20,000,000 of people, on a territory of 3,000,000 square miles, and in which the foreign

element, however considerable, is rapidly assimilated, and you have a population of English descent and

The British census proper reckons twentyseven and a half millions in the home countries. What makes this

census important is the quality of the units that compose it. They are free forcible men, in a country where

life is safe, and has reached the greatest value. They give the bias to the current age; and that, not by chance

or by mass, but by their character, and by the number of individuals among them of personal ability. It has

been denied that the English have genius. Be it as it may, men of vast intellect have been born on their soil,

and they have made or applied the principal inventions. They have sound bodies, and supreme endurance in

war and in labor. The spawning force of the race has sufficed to the colonization of great parts of the world;

yet it remains to be seen whether they can make good the exodus of millions from Great Britain, amounting,

in 1852, to more than a thousand a day. They have assimilating force, since they are imitated by their foreign

subjects; and they are still aggressive and propagandist, enlarging the dominion of their arts and liberty. Their

laws are hospitable, and slavery does not exist under them. What oppression exists is incidental and

temporary; their success is not sudden or fortunate, but they have maintained constancy and selfequality for

Is this power due to their race, or to some other cause? Men hear gladly of the power of blood or race. Every

body likes to know that his advantages cannot be attributed to air, soil, sea, or to local wealth, as mines and

quarries, nor to laws and traditions, nor to fortune, but to superior brain, as it makes the praise more personal

We anticipate in the doctrine of race something like that law of physiology, that, whatever bone, muscle, or

essential organ is found in one healthy individual, the same part or organ may be found in or near the same

place in its congener; and we look to find in the son every mental and moral property that existed in the

ancestor. In race, it is not the broad shoulders, or litheness, or stature that give advantage, but a symmetry that

reaches as far as to the wit. Then the miracle and renown begin. Then first we care to examine the pedigree,

and copy heedfully the training, what food they ate, what nursing, school, and exercises they had, which

resulted in this motherwit, delicacy of thought, and robust wisdom. How came such men as King Alfred,

and Roger Bacon, William of Wykeham, Walter Raleigh, Philip Sidney, Isaac Newton, William Shakspeare,

George Chapman, Francis Bacon, George Herbert, Henry Vane, to exist here? What made these delicate

natures? was it the air? was it the sea? was it the parentage? For it is certain that these men are samples of

their contemporaries. The hearing ear is always found close to the speaking tongue; and no genius can long or

often utter any thing which is not invited and gladly entertained by men around him.

It is race, is it not? that puts the hundred millions of India under the dominion of a remote island in the north

of Europe. Race avails much, if that be true, which is alleged, that all Celts are Catholics, and all Saxons are

Protestants; that Celts love unity of power, and Saxons the representative principle. Race is a controlling

influence in the Jew, who, for two millenniums, under every climate, has preserved the same character and

employments. Race in the negro is of appalling importance. The French in Canada, cut off from all

intercourse with the parent people, have held their national traits. I chanced to read Tacitus "on the Manners

of the Germans," not long since, in Missouri, and the heart of Illinois, and I found abundant points of

resemblance between the Germans of the Hercynian forest, and our Hoosiers, Suckers, and Badgers of the

But whilst race works immortally to keep its own, it is resisted by other forces. Civilization is a reagent, and

eats away the old traits. The Arabs of today are the Arabs of Pharaoh; but the Briton of today is a very

different person from Cassibelaunus or Ossian. Each religious sect has its physiognomy. The Methodists have

acquired a face; the Quakers, a face; the nuns, a face. An Englishman will pick out a dissenter by his

manners. Trades and professions carve their own lines on face and form. Certain circumstances of English

life are not less effective; as, personal liberty; plenty of food; good ale and mutton; open market, or good

wages for every kind of labor; high bribes to talent and skill; the island life, or the million opportunities and

outlets for expanding and misplaced talent; readiness of combination among themselves for politics or for

business; strikes; and sense of superiority founded on habit of victory in labor and in war; and the appetite for

It is easy to add to the counteracting forces to race. Credence is a main element. 'Tis said, that the views of

nature held by any people determine all their institutions. Whatever influences add to mental or moral faculty,

take men out of nationality, as out of other conditions, and make the national life a culpable compromise.

These limitations of the formidable doctrine of race suggest others which threaten to undermine it, as not

sufficiently based. The fixity or inconvertibleness of races as we see them, is a weak argument for the eternity

of these frail boundaries, since all our historical period is a point to the duration in which nature has wrought.

Any the least and solitariest fact in our natural history, such as the melioration of fruits and of animal stocks,

has the worth of a power in the opportunity of geologic periods. Moreover, though we flatter the selflove of

men and nations by the legend of pure races, all our experience is of the gradation and resolution of races,

and strange resemblances meet us every where. It need not puzzle us that Malay and Papuan, Celt and

Roman, Saxon and Tartar should mix, when we see the rudiments of tiger and baboon in our human form,

and know that the barriers of races are not so firm, but that some spray sprinkles us from the antediluvian

The low organizations are simplest; a mere mouth, a jelly, or a straight worm. As the scale mounts, the

organizations become complex. We are piqued with pure descent, but nature loves inoculation. A child

blends in his face the faces of both parents, and some feature from every ancestor whose face hangs on the

wall. The best nations are those most widely related; and navigation, as effecting a worldwide mixture, is

The English composite character betrays a mixed origin. Every thing English is a fusion of distant and

antagonistic elements. The language is mixed; the names of men are of different nations, three languages,

three or four nations; the currents of thought are counter: contemplation and practical skill; active intellect

and dead conservatism; worldwide enterprise, and devoted use and wont; aggressive freedom and hospitable

law, with bitter classlegislation; a people scattered by their wars and affairs over the face of the whole earth,

and homesick to a man; a country of extremes, dukes and chartists, Bishops of Durham and naked heathen

colliers; nothing can be praised in it without damning exceptions, and nothing denounced without salvos

Neither do this people appear to be of one stem; but collectively a better race than any from which they are

derived. Nor is it easy to trace it home to its original seats. Who can call by right names what races are in

Britain? Who can trace them historically? Who can discriminate them anatomically, or metaphysically?

In the impossibility of arriving at satisfaction on the historical question of race, and, come of whatever

disputable ancestry, the indisputable Englishman before me, himself very well marked, and nowhere else

to be found, I fancied I could leave quite aside the choice of a tribe as his lineal progenitors. Defoe said in

his wrath, "the Englishman was the mud of all races." I incline to the belief, that, as water, lime, and sand

make mortar, so certain temperaments marry well, and, by wellmanaged contrarieties, develop as drastic a

character as the English. On the whole, it is not so much a history of one or of certain tribes of Saxons, Jutes,

or Frisians, coming from one place, and genetically identical, as it is an anthology of temperaments out of

them all. Certain temperaments suit the sky and soil of England, say eight or ten or twenty varieties, as, out of

a hundred peartrees, eight or ten suit the soil of an orchard, and thrive, whilst all the unadapted

The English derive their pedigree from such a range of nationalities, that there needs searoom and

landroom to unfold the varieties of talent and character. Perhaps the ocean serves as a galvanic battery to

distribute acids at one pole, and alkalies at the other. So England tends to accumulate her liberals in America,

and her conservatives at London. The Scandinavians in her race still hear in every age the murmurs of their

Again, as if to intensate the influences that are not of race, what we think of when we talk of English traits

really narrows itself to a small district. It excludes Ireland, and Scotland, and Wales, and reduces itself at last

to London, that is, to those who come and go thither. The portraits that hang on the walls in the Academy

Exhibition at London, the figures in Punch's drawings of the public men, or of the clubhouses, the prints in

the shopwindows, are distinctive English, and not American, no, nor Scotch, nor Irish: but 'tis a very

restricted nationality. As you go north into the manufacturing and agricultural districts, and to the population

that never travels, as you go into Yorkshire, as you enter Scotland, the world's Englishman is no longer

found. In Scotland, there is a rapid loss of all grandeur of mien and manners; a provincial eagerness and

acuteness appear; the poverty of the country makes itself remarked, and a coarseness of manners; and, among

the intellectual, is the insanity of dialectics. In Ireland, are the same climate and soil as in England, but less

food, no right relation to the land, political dependence, small tenantry, and an inferior or misplaced race.

These queries concerning ancestry and blood may be well allowed, for there is no prosperity that seems more

to depend on the kind of man than British prosperity. Only a hardy and wise people could have made this

small territory great. We say, in a regatta or yachtrace, that if the boats are anywhere nearly matched, it is

the man that wins. Put the best sailing master into either boat, and he will win.

Yet it is fine for us to speculate in face of unbroken traditions, though vague, and losing themselves in fable.

The traditions have got footing, and refuse to be disturbed. The kitchenclock is more convenient than

sidereal time. We must use the popular category, as we do by the Linnaean classification, for convenience,

and not as exact and final. Otherwise, we are presently confounded, when the best settled traits of one race

are claimed by some new ethnologist as precisely characteristic of the rival tribe.

I found plenty of wellmarked English types, the ruddy complexion fair and plump, robust men, with faces

cut like a die, and a strong island speech and accent; a Norman type, with the complacency that belongs to

that constitution. Others, who might be Americans, for any thing that appeared in their complexion or form:

and their speech was much less marked, and their thought much less bound. We will call them Saxons. Then

the Roman has implanted his dark complexion in the trinity or quaternity of bloods.

1. The sources from which tradition derives their stock are mainly three. And, first, they are of the oldest

blood of the world, the Celtic. Some peoples are deciduous or transitory. Where are the Greeks? where the

Etrurians? where the Romans? But the Celts or Sidonides are an old family, of whose beginning there is no

memory, and their end is likely to be still more remote in the future; for they have endurance and

productiveness. They planted Britain, and gave to the seas and mountains names which are poems, and

imitate the pure voices of nature. They are favorably remembered in the oldest records of Europe. They had

no violent feudal tenure, but the husbandman owned the land. They had an alphabet, astronomy, priestly

culture, and a sublime creed. They have a hidden and precarious genius. They made the best popular

literature of the middle ages in the songs of Merlin, and the tender and delicious mythology of Arthur.

2. The English come mainly from the Germans, whom the Romans found hard to conquer in two hundred and

ten years, say, impossible to conquer, when one remembers the long sequel; a people about whom, in

the old empire, the rumor ran, there was never any that meddled with them that repented it not.

3. Charlemagne, halting one day in a town of Narbonnese Gaul, looked out of a window, and saw a fleet of

Northmen cruising in the Mediterranean. They even entered the port of the town where he was, causing no

small alarm and sudden manning and arming of his galleys. As they put out to sea again, the emperor gazed

long after them, his eyes bathed in tears. "I am tormented with sorrow," he said, "when I foresee the evils

they will bring on my posterity." There was reason for these Xerxes' tears. The men who have built a ship and

invented the rig, cordage, sail, compass, and pump, the working in and out of port, have acquired

much more than a ship. Now arm them, and every shore is at their mercy. For, if they have not numerical

superiority where they anchor, they have only to sail a mile or two to find it. Bonaparte's art of war, namely

of concentrating force on the point of attack, must always be theirs who have the choice of the battleground.

Of course they come into the fight from a higher ground of power than the landnations; and can engage

them on shore with a victorious advantage in the retreat. As soon as the shores are sufficiently peopled to

make piracy a losing business, the same skill and courage are ready for the service of trade.

The Heimskringla, or Sagas of the Kings of Norway, collected by Snorro Sturleson, is the Iliad and Odyssey

of English history. Its portraits, like Homer's, are strongly individualized. The Sagas describe a monarchical

republic like Sparta. The government disappears before the importance of citizens. In Norway, no Persian

masses fight and perish to aggrandize a king, but the actors are bonders or landholders, every one of whom is

named and personally and patronymically described, as the king's friend and companion. A sparse population

gives this high worth to every man. Individuals are often noticed as very handsome persons, which trait only

brings the story nearer to the English race. Then the solid material interest predominates, so dear to English

understanding, wherein the association is logical, between merit and land. The heroes of the Sagas are not the

knights of South Europe. No vaporing of France and Spain has corrupted them. They are substantial farmers,

whom the rough times have forced to defend their properties. They have weapons which they use in a

determined manner, by no means for chivalry, but for their acres. They are people considerably advanced in

rural arts, living amphibiously on a rough coast, and drawing half their food from the sea, and half from the

land. They have herds of cows, and malt, wheat, bacon, butter, and cheese. They fish in the fiord, and hunt

the deer. A king among these farmers has a varying power, sometimes not exceeding the authority of a

sheriff. A king was maintained much as, in some of our country districts, a winterschoolmaster is quartered,

a week here, a week there, and a fortnight on the next farm, on all the farmers in rotation. This the king

calls going into guestquarters; and it was the only way in which, in a poor country, a poor king, with many

retainers, could be kept alive, when he leaves his own farm to collect his dues through the kingdom.

These Norsemen are excellent persons in the main, with good sense, steadiness, wise speech, and prompt

action. But they have a singular turn for homicide; their chief end of man is to murder, or to be murdered;

oars, scythes, harpoons, crowbars, peatknives, and hayforks, are tools valued by them all the more for their

charming aptitude for assassinations. A pair of kings, after dinner, will divert themselves by thrusting each

his sword through the other's body, as did Yngve and Alf. Another pair ride out on a morning for a frolic,

and, finding no weapon near, will take the bits out of their horses' mouths, and crush each other's heads with

them, as did Alric and Eric. The sight of a tentcord or a cloakstring puts them on hanging somebody, a

wife, or a husband, or, best of all, a king. If a farmer has so much as a hayfork, he sticks it into a King Dag.

King Ingiald finds it vastly amusing to burn up half a dozen kings in a hall, after getting them drunk. Never

was poor gentleman so surfeited with life, so furious to be rid of it, as the Northman. If he cannot pick any

other quarrel, he will get himself comfortably gored by a bull's horns, like Egil, or slain by a landslide, like

the agricultural King Onund. Odin died in his bed, in Sweden; but it was a proverb of ill condition, to die the

death of old age. King Hake of Sweden cuts and slashes in battle, as long as he can stand, then orders his

warship, loaded with his dead men and their weapons, to be taken out to sea, the tiller shipped, and the sails

spread; being left alone, he sets fire to some tarwood, and lies down contented on deck. The wind blew off

the land, the ship flew burning in clear flame, out between the islets into the ocean, and there was the right

The early Sagas are sanguinary and piratical; the later are of a noble strain. History rarely yields us better

passages than the conversation between King Sigurd the Crusader, and King Eystein, his brother, on their

respective merits, one, the soldier, and the other, a lover of the arts of peace.

But the reader of the Norman history must steel himself by holding fast the remote compensations which

result from animal vigor. As the old fossil world shows that the first steps of reducing the chaos were

confided to saurians and other huge and horrible animals, so the foundations of the new civility were to be

The Normans came out of France into England worse men than they went into it, one hundred and sixty years

before. They had lost their own language, and learned the Romance or barbarous Latin of the Gauls; and had

acquired, with the language, all the vices it had names for. The conquest has obtained in the chronicles, the

name of the "memory of sorrow." Twenty thousand thieves landed at Hastings. These founders of the House

of Lords were greedy and ferocious dragoons, sons of greedy and ferocious pirates. They were all alike, they

took every thing they could carry, they burned, harried, violated, tortured, and killed, until every thing

English was brought to the verge of ruin. Such, however, is the illusion of antiquity and wealth, that decent

and dignified men now existing boast their descent from these filthy thieves, who showed a far juster

conviction of their own merits, by assuming for their types the swine, goat, jackal, leopard, wolf, and snake,

England yielded to the Danes and Northmen in the tenth and eleventh centuries, and was the receptacle into

which all the mettle of that strenuous population was poured. The continued draught of the best men in

Norway, Sweden, and Denmark, to these piratical expeditions, exhausted those countries, like a tree which

bears much fruit when young, and these have been secondrate powers ever since. The power of the race

migrated, and left Norway void. King Olaf said, "When King Harold, my father, went westward to England,

the chosen men in Norway followed him: but Norway was so emptied then, that such men have not since

been to find in the country, nor especially such a leader as King Harold was for wisdom and bravery."

It was a tardy recoil of these invasions, when, in 1801, the British government sent Nelson to bombard the

Danish forts in the Sound; and, in 1807, Lord Cathcart, at Copenhagen, took the entire Danish fleet, as it lay

in the basins, and all the equipments from the Arsenal, and carried them to England. Konghelle, the town

where the kings of Norway, Sweden, and Denmark were wont to meet, is now rented to a private English

It took many generations to trim, and comb, and perfume the first boatload of Norse pirates into royal

highnesses and most noble Knights of the Garter: but every sparkle of ornament dates back to the Norse boat.

There will be time enough to mellow this strength into civility and religion. It is a medical fact, that the

children of the blind see; the children of felons have a healthy conscience. Many a mean, dastardly boy is, at

The mildness of the following ages has not quite effaced these traits of Odin; as the rudiment of a structure

matured in the tiger is said to be still found unabsorbed in the Caucasian man. The nation has a tough, acrid,

animal nature, which centuries of churching and civilizing have not been able to sweeten. Alfieri said, "the

crimes of Italy were the proof of the superiority of the stock;" and one may say of England, that this watch

moves on a splinter of adamant. The English uncultured are a brutal nation. The crimes recorded in their

calendars leave nothing to be desired in the way of cold malignity. Dear to the English heart is a fair

standup fight. The brutality of the manners in the lower class appears in the boxing, bearbaiting,

cockfighting, love of executions, and in the readiness for a setto in the streets, delightful to the English of

all classes. The costermongers of London streets hold cowardice in loathing: "we must work our fists

well; we are all handy with our fists." The public schools are charged with being beargardens of brutal

strength, and are liked by the people for that cause. The fagging is a trait of the same quality. Medwin, in the

Life of Shelley, relates, that, at a military school, they rolled up a young man in a snowball, and left him so in

his room, while the other cadets went to church; and crippled him for life. They have retained

impressment, deckflogging, armyflogging, and schoolflogging. Such is the ferocity of the army

discipline, that a soldier sentenced to flogging, sometimes prays that his sentence may be commuted to death.

Flogging banished from the armies of Western Europe, remains here by the sanction of the Duke of

Wellington. The right of the husband to sell the wife has been retained down to our times. The Jews have

been the favorite victims of royal and popular persecution. Henry III. mortgaged all the Jews in the kingdom

to his brother, the Earl of Cornwall, as security for money which he borrowed. The torture of criminals, and

the rack for extorting evidence, were slowly disused. Of the criminal statutes, Sir Samuel Romilly said, "I

have examined the codes of all nations, and ours is the worst, and worthy of the Anthropophagi." In the last

session, the House of Commons was listening to details of flogging and torture practised in the jails.

As soon as this land, thus geographically posted, got a hardy people into it, they could not help becoming the

sailors and factors of the globe. From childhood, they dabbled in water, they swum like fishes, their

playthings were boats. In the case of the shipmoney, the judges delivered it for law, that "England being an

island, the very midland shires therein are all to be accounted maritime:" and Fuller adds, "the genius even of

landlocked counties driving the natives with a maritime dexterity." As early as the conquest, it is remarked in

explanation of the wealth of England, that its merchants trade to all countries.

The English, at the present day, have great vigor of body and endurance. Other countrymen look slight and

undersized beside them, and invalids. They are bigger men than the Americans. I suppose a hundred English

taken at random out of the street, would weigh a fourth more, than so many Americans. Yet, I am told, the

skeleton is not larger. They are round, ruddy, and handsome; at least, the whole bust is well formed; and there

is a tendency to stout and powerful frames. I remarked the stoutness, on my first landing at Liverpool; porter,

drayman, coachman, guard, what substantial, respectable, grandfatherly figures, with costume and

manners to suit. The American has arrived at the old mansionhouse, and finds himself among uncles, aunts,

and grandsires. The pictures on the chimneytiles of his nursery were pictures of these people. Here they are

It is the fault of their forms that they grow stocky, and the women have that disadvantage, few tall, slender

figures of flowing shape, but stunted and thickset persons. The French say, that the Englishwomen have two

left hands. But, in all ages, they are a handsome race. The bronze monuments of crusaders lying

crosslegged, in the Temple Church at London, and those in Worcester and in Salisbury Cathedrals, which

are seven hundred years old, are of the same type as the best youthful heads of men now in England;

please by beauty of the same character, an expression blending goodnature, valor, and refinement, and,

mainly, by that uncorrupt youth in the face of manhood, which is daily seen in the streets of London.

Both branches of the Scandinavian race are distinguished for beauty. The anecdote of the handsome captives

which Saint Gregory found at Rome, A. D. 600, is matched by the testimony of the Norman chroniclers, five

centuries later, who wondered at the beauty and long flowing hair of the young English captives. Meantime,

the Heimskringla has frequent occasion to speak of the personal beauty of its heroes. When it is considered

what humanity, what resources of mental and moral power, the traits of the blonde race betoken, its

accession to empire marks a new and finer epoch, wherein the old mineral force shall be subjugated at last by

humanity, and shall plough in its furrow henceforward. It is not a final race, once a crab always crab, but a

On the English face are combined decision and nerve, with the fair complexion, blue eyes, and open and

florid aspect. Hence the love of truth, hence the sensibility, the fine perception, and poetic construction. The

fair Saxon man, with open front, and honest meaning, domestic, affectionate, is not the wood out of which

cannibal, or inquisitor, or assassin is made, but he is moulded for law, lawful trade, civility, marriage, the

They are rather manly than warlike. When the war is over, the mask falls from the affectionate and domestic

tastes, which make them women in kindness. This union of qualities is fabled in their national legend of

Beauty and the Beast, or, long before, in the Greek legend of Hermaphrodite. The two sexes are copresent

in the English mind. I apply to Britannia, queen of seas and colonies, the words in which her latest novelist

portrays his heroine: "she is as mild as she is game, and as game as she is mild." The English delight in the

antagonism which combines in one person the extremes of courage and tenderness. Nelson, dying at

Trafalgar, sends his love to Lord Collingwood, and, like an innocent schoolboy that goes to bed, says, "Kiss

me, Hardy," and turns to sleep. Lord Collingwood, his comrade, was of a nature the most affectionate and

domestic. Admiral Rodney's figure approached to delicacy and effeminacy, and he declared himself very

sensible to fear, which he surmounted only by considerations of honor and public duty. Clarendon says, the

Duke of Buckingham was so modest and gentle, that some courtiers attempted to put affronts on him, until

they found that this modesty and effeminacy was only a mask for the most terrible determination. And Sir

James Parry said, the other day, of Sir John Franklin, that, "if he found Wellington Sound open, he explored

it; for he was a man who never turned his back on a danger, yet of that tenderness, that he would not brush

away a mosquito." Even for their highwaymen the same virtue is claimed, and Robin Hood comes described

to us as mitissimus praedonum, the gentlest thief. But they know where their wardogs lie. Cromwell, Blake,

Marlborough, Chatham, Nelson, and Wellington, are not to be trifled with, and the brutal strength which lies

at the bottom of society, the animal ferocity of the quays and cockpits, the bullies of the costermongers of

They have a vigorous health, and last well into middle and old age. The old men are as red as roses, and still

handsome. A clear skin, a peachbloom complexion, and good teeth, are found all over the island. They use a

plentiful and nutritious diet. The operative cannot subsist on watercresses. Beef, mutton, wheatbread, and

maltliquors, are universal among the firstclass laborers. Good feeding is a chief point of national pride

among the vulgar, and, in their caricatures, they represent the Frenchman as a poor, starved body. It is curious

that Tacitus found the English beer already in use among the Germans: "they make from barley or wheat a

drink corrupted into some resemblance to wine." Lord Chief Justice Fortescue in Henry VI.'s time, says, "The

inhabitants of England drink no water, unless at certain times, on a religious score, and by way of penance."

The extremes of poverty and ascetic penance, it would seem, never reach cold water in England. Wood, the

antiquary, in describing the poverty and maceration of Father Lacey, an English Jesuit, does not deny him

beer. He says, "his bed was under a thatching, and the way to it up a ladder; his fare was coarse; his drink, of

They have more constitutional energy than any other people. They think, with Henri Quatre, that manly

exercises are the foundation of that elevation of mind which gives one nature ascendant over another; or, with

the Arabs, that the days spent in the chase are not counted in the length of life. They box, run, shoot, ride,

row, and sail from pole to pole. They eat, and drink, and live jolly in the open air, putting a bar of solid sleep

between day and day. They walk and ride as fast as they can, their head bent forward, as if urged on some

pressing affair. The French say, that Englishmen in the street always walk straight before them like mad dogs.

Men and women walk with infatuation. As soon as he can handle a gun, hunting is the fine art of every

Englishman of condition. They are the most voracious people of prey that ever existed. Every season turns

out the aristocracy into the country, to shoot and fish. The more vigorous run out of the island to Europe, to

America, to Asia, to Africa, and Australia, to hunt with fury by gun, by trap, by harpoon, by lasso, with dog,

with horse, with elephant, or with dromedary, all the game that is in nature. These men have written the

gamebooks of all countries, as Hawker, Scrope, Murray, Herbert, Maxwell, Cumming, and a host of

travellers. The people at home are addicted to boxing, running, leaping, and rowing matches.

I suppose, the dogs and horses must be thanked for the fact, that the men have muscles almost as tough and

supple as their own. If in every efficient man, there is first a fine animal, in the English race it is of the best

breed, a wealthy, juicy, broadchested creature, steeped in ale and good cheer, and a little overloaded by his

flesh. Men of animal nature rely, like animals, on their instincts. The Englishman associates well with dogs

and horses. His attachment to the horse arises from the courage and address required to manage it. The horse

finds out who is afraid of it, and does not disguise its opinion. Their young boiling clerks and lusty collegians

like the company of horses better than the company of professors. I suppose, the horses are better company

for them. The horse has more uses than Buffon noted. If you go into the streets, every driver in bus or dray is

a bully, and, if I wanted a good troop of soldiers, I should recruit among the stables. Add a certain degree of

refinement to the vivacity of these riders, and you obtain the precise quality which makes the men and

They come honestly by their horsemanship, with Hengst and Horsa for their Saxon founders. The other

branch of their race had been Tartar nomads. The horse was all their wealth. The children were fed on mares'

milk. The pastures of Tartary were still remembered by the tenacious practice of the Norsemen to eat

horseflesh at religious feasts. In the Danish invasions, the marauders seized upon horses where they landed,

At one time, this skill seems to have declined. Two centuries ago, the English horse never performed any

eminent service beyond the seas; and the reason assigned, was, that the genius of the English hath always

more inclined them to footservice, as pure and proper manhood, without any mixture; whilst, in a victory on

horseback, the credit ought to be divided betwixt the man and his horse. But in two hundred years, a change

has taken place. Now, they boast that they understand horses better than any other people in the world, and

"William the Conqueror being," says Camden, "better affected to beasts than to men, imposed heavy fines

and punishments on those that should meddle with his game." The Saxon Chronicle says, "he loved the tall

deer as if he were their father." And rich Englishmen have followed his example, according to their ability,

ever since, in encroaching on the tillage and commons with their gamepreserves. It is a proverb in England,

that it is safer to shoot a man, than a hare. The severity of the gamelaws certainly indicates an extravagant

sympathy of the nation with horses and hunters. The gentlemen are always on horseback, and have brought

horses to an ideal perfection, the English racer is a factitious breed. A score or two of mounted gentlemen

may frequently be seen running like centaurs down a hill nearly as steep as the roof of a house. Every

innroom is lined with pictures of races; telegraphs communicate, every hour, tidings of the heats from

The saxon and the Northman are both Scandinavians. History does not allow us to fix the limits of the

application of these names with any accuracy; but from the residence of a portion of these people in France,

and from some effect of that powerful soil on their blood and manners, the Norman has come popularly to

represent in England the aristocratic, and the Saxon the democratic principle. And though, I doubt not, the

nobles are of both tribes, and the workers of both, yet we are forced to use the names a little mythically, one

The island was a prize for the best race. Each of the dominant races tried its fortune in turn. The Ph;oenician,

the Celt, and the Goth, had already got in. The Roman came, but in the very day when his fortune culminated.

He looked in the eyes of a new people that was to supplant his own. He disembarked his legions, erected his

camps and towers, presently he heard bad news from Italy, and worse and worse, every year; at last, he

made a handsome compliment of roads and walls, and departed. But the Saxon seriously settled in the land,

builded, tilled, fished, and traded, with German truth and adhesiveness. The Dane came, and divided with

him. Last of all, the Norman, or FrenchDane, arrived, and formally conquered, harried and ruled the

kingdom. A century later, it came out, that the Saxon had the most bottom and longevity, had managed to

make the victor speak the language and accept the law and usage of the victim; forced the baron to dictate

Saxon terms to Norman kings; and, step by step, got all the essential securities of civil liberty invented and

confirmed. The genius of the race and the genius of the place conspired to this effect. The island is lucrative

to free labor, but not worth possession on other terms. The race was so intellectual, that a feudal or military

tenure could not last longer than the war. The power of the SaxonDanes, so thoroughly beaten in the war,

that the name of English and villein were synonymous, yet so vivacious as to extort charters from the kings,

stood on the strong personality of these people. Sense and economy must rule in a world which is made of

sense and economy, and the banker, with his seven per cent, drives the earl out of his castle. A nobility of

soldiers cannot keep down a commonalty of shrewd scientific persons. What signifies a pedigree of a hundred

links, against a cottonspinner with steam in his mill; or, against a company of broadshouldered Liverpool

merchants, for whom Stephenson and Brunel are contriving locomotives and a tubular bridge?

These Saxons are the hands of mankind. They have the taste for toil, a distaste for pleasure or repose, and the

telescopic appreciation of distant gain. They are the wealthmakers, and by dint of mental faculty, which

has its own conditions. The Saxon works after liking, or, only for himself; and to set him at work, and to

begin to draw his monstrous values out of barren Britain, all dishonor, fret, and barrier must be removed, and

The Scandinavian fancied himself surrounded by Trolls, a kind of goblin men, with vast power of work

and skilful production, divine stevedores, carpenters, reapers, smiths, and masons, swift to reward every

kindness done them, with gifts of gold and silver. In all English history, this dream comes to pass. Certain

Trolls or working brains, under the names of Alfred, Bede, Caxton, Bracton, Camden, Drake, Selden,

Dugdale, Newton, Gibbon, Brindley, Watt, Wedgwood, dwell in the trollmounts of Britain, and turn the

If the race is good, so is the place. Nobody landed on this spellbound island with impunity. The enchantments

of barren shingle and rough weather, transformed every adventurer into a laborer. Each vagabond that arrived

bent his neck to the yoke of gain, or found the air too tense for him. The strong survived, the weaker went to

the ground. Even the pleasurehunters and sots of England are of a tougher texture. A hard temperament had

been formed by Saxon and SaxonDane, and such of these French or Normans as could reach it, were

All the admirable expedients or means hit upon in England must be looked at as growths or irresistible

offshoots of the expanding mind of the race. A man of that brain thinks and acts thus; and his neighbor, being

afflicted with the same kind of brain, though he is rich, and called a baron, or a duke, thinks the same thing,

and is ready to allow the justice of the thought and act in his retainer or tenant, though sorely against his

The island was renowned in antiquity for its breed of mastiffs, so fierce, that, when their teeth were set, you

must cut their heads off to part them. The man was like his dog. The people have that nervous bilious

temperament, which is known by medical men to resist every means employed to make its possessor

subservient to the will of others. The English game is main force to main force, the planting of foot to foot,

fair play and open field, a rough tug without trick or dodging, till one or both come to pieces. King

Ethelwald spoke the language of his race, when he planted himself at Wimborne, and said, `he would do one

of two things, or there live, or there lie.' They hate craft and subtlety. They neither poison, nor waylay, nor

assassinate; and, when they have pounded each other to a poultice, they will shake hands and be friends for

You shall trace these Gothic touches at school, at country fairs, at the hustings, and in parliament. No artifice,

no breach of truth and plain dealing, not so much as secret ballot, is suffered in the island. In parliament,

the tactics of the opposition is to resist every step of the government, by a pitiless attack: and in a bargain, no

prospect of advantage is so dear to the merchant, as the thought of being tricked is mortifying.

Sir Kenelm Digby, a courtier of Charles and James, who won the seafight of Scanderoon, was a model

Englishman in his day. "His person was handsome and gigantic, he had so graceful elocution and noble

address, that, had he been dropt out of the clouds in any part of the world, he would have made himself

respected: he was skilled in six tongues, and master of arts and arms." (* 1) Sir Kenelm wrote a book, "Of

Bodies and of Souls," in which he propounds, that "syllogisms do breed or rather are all the variety of man's

life. They are the steps by which we walk in all our businesses. Man, as he is man, doth nothing else but

weave such chains. Whatsoever he doth, swarving from this work, he doth as deficient from the nature of

man: and, if he do aught beyond this, by breaking out into divers sorts of exterior actions, he findeth,

nevertheless, in this linked sequel of simple discourses, the art, the cause, the rule, the bounds, and the model

There spoke the genius of the English people. There is a necessity on them to be logical. They would hardly

greet the good that did not logically fall, as if it excluded their own merit, or shook their understandings.

They are jealous of minds that have much facility of association, from an instinctive fear that the seeing many

relations to their thought might impair this serial continuity and lucrative concentration. They are impatient of

genius, or of minds addicted to contemplation, and cannot conceal their contempt for sallies of thought,

however lawful, whose steps they cannot count by their wonted rule. Neither do they reckon better a

syllogism that ends in syllogism. For they have a supreme eye to facts, and theirs is a logic that brings salt to

soup, hammer to nail, oar to boat, the logic of cooks, carpenters, and chemists, following the sequence of

nature, and one on which words make no impression. Their mind is not dazzled by its own means, but locked

and bolted to results. They love men, who, like Samuel Johnson, a doctor in the schools, would jump out of

his syllogism the instant his major proposition was in danger, to save that, at all hazards. Their practical

vision is spacious, and they can hold many threads without entangling them. All the steps they orderly take;

but with the high logic of never confounding the minor and major proposition; keeping their eye on their aim,

in all the complicity and delay incident to the several series of means they employ. There is room in their

minds for this vand that, a science of degrees. In the courts, the independence of the judges and the loyalty

of the suitors are equally excellent. In Parliament, they have hit on that capital invention of freedom, a

constitutional opposition. And when courts and parliament are both deaf, the plaintiff is not silenced. Calm,

patient, his weapon of defence from year to year is the obstinate reproduction of the grievance, with

calculations and estimates. But, meantime, he is drawing numbers and money to his opinion, resolved that if

all remedy fails, right of revolution is at the bottom of his charterbox. They are bound to see their measure

Into this English logic, however, an infusion of justice enters, not so apparent in other races, a belief in the

existence of two sides, and the resolution to see fair play. There is on every question, an appeal from the

assertion of the parties, to the proof of what is asserted. They are impious in their scepticism of a theory, but

kiss the dust before a fact. Is it a machine, is it a charter, is it a boxer in the ring, is it a candidate on the

hustings, the universe of Englishmen will suspend their judgment, until the trial can be had. They are not

to be led by a phrase, they want a working plan, a working machine, a working constitution, and will sit out

the trial, and abide by the issue, and reject all preconceived theories. In politics they put blunt questions,

which must be answered; who is to pay the taxes? what will you do for trade? what for corn? what for the

This singular fairness and its results strike the French with surprise. Philip de Commines says, "Now, in my

opinion, among all the sovereignties I know in the world, that in which the public good is best attended to,

and the least violence exercised on the people, is that of England." Life is safe, and personal rights; and what

is freedom, without security? whilst, in France, `fraternity,' `equality,' and `indivisible unity,' are names for

assassination. Montesquieu said, "England is the freest country in the world. If a man in England had as many

Their selfrespect, their faith in causation, and their realistic logic or coupling of means to ends, have given

them the leadership of the modern world. Montesquieu said, "No people have true common sense but those

who are born in England." This common sense is a perception of all the conditions of our earthly existence,

of laws that can be stated, and of laws that cannot be stated, or that are learned only by practice, in which

allowance for friction is made. They are impious in their scepticism of theory, and in high departments they

are cramped and sterile. But the unconditional surrender to facts, and the choice of means to reach their ends,

The bias of the nation is a passion for utility. They love the lever, the screw, and pulley, the Flanders

draughthorse, the waterfall, windmills, tidemills; the sea and the wind to bear their freight ships. More

than the diamond Kohinoor, which glitters among their crown jewels, they prize that dull pebble which is

wiser than a man, whose poles turn themselves to the poles of the world, and whose axis is parallel to the axis

of the world. Now, their toys are steam and galvanism. They are heavy at the fine arts, but adroit at the

coarse; not good in jewelry or mosaics, but the best ironmasters, colliers, woolcombers, and tanners, in

Europe. They apply themselves to agriculture, to draining, to resisting encroachments of sea, wind, travelling

sands, cold and wet subsoil; to fishery, to manufacture of indispensable staples, salt, plumbago, leather,

wool, glass, pottery, and brick, to bees and silkworms; and by their steady combinations they succeed.

A manufacturer sits down to dinner in a suit of clothes which was wool on a sheep's back at sunrise. You dine

with a gentleman on venison, pheasant, quail, pigeons, poultry, mushrooms, and pineapples, all the growth

of his estate. They are neat husbands for ordering all their tools pertaining to house and field. All are well

kept. There is no want and no waste. They study use and fitness in their building, in the order of their

dwellings, and in their dress. The Frenchman invented the ruffle, the Englishman added the shirt. The

Englishman wears a sensible coat buttoned to the chin, of rough but solid and lasting texture. If he is a lord,

he dresses a little worse than a commoner. They have diffused the taste for plain substantial hats, shoes, and

coats through Europe. They think him the best dressed man, whose dress is so fit for his use that you cannot

They secure the essentials in their diet, in their arts, and manufactures. Every article of cutlery shows, in its

shape, thought and long experience of workmen. They put the expense in the right place, as, in their

seasteamers, in the solidity of the machinery and the strength of the boat. The admirable equipment of their

arctic ships carries London to the pole. They build roads, aqueducts, warm and ventilate houses. And they

In trade, the Englishman believes that nobody breaks who ought not to break; and, that, if he do not make

trade every thing, it will make him nothing; and acts on this belief. The spirit of system, attention to details,

and the subordination of details, or, the not driving things too finely, (which is charged on the Germans,)

constitute that despatch of business, which makes the mercantile power of England.

In war, the Englishman looks to his means. He is of the opinion of Civilis, his German ancestor, whom

Tacitus reports as holding "that the gods are on the side of the strongest;"a sentence which Bonaparte

unconsciously translated, when he said, "that he had noticed, that Providence always favored the heaviest

battalion." Their military science propounds that if the weight of the advancing column is greater than that of

the resisting, the latter is destroyed. Therefore Wellington, when he came to the army in Spain, had every

man weighed, first with accoutrements, and then without; believing that the force of an army depended on the

weight and power of the individual soldiers, in spite of cannon. Lord Palmerston told the House of Commons,

that more care is taken of the health and comfort of English troops than of any other troops in the world; and

that, hence the English can put more men into the rank, on the day of action, on the field of battle, than any

other army. Before the bombardment of the Danish forts in the Baltic, Nelson spent day after day, himself in

the boats, on the exhausting service of sounding the channel. Clerk of Eldin's celebrated man;oeuvre of

breaking the line of seabattle, and Nelson's feat of doubling, or stationing his ships one on the outer bow,

and another on the outer quarter of each of the enemy's were only translations into naval tactics of

Bonaparte's rule of concentration. Lord Collingwood was accustomed to tell his men, that, if they could fire

three welldirected broadsides in five minutes, no vessel could resist them; and, from constant practice, they

But conscious that no race of better men exists, they rely most on the simplest means; and do not like

ponderous and difficult tactics, but delight to bring the affair hand to hand, where the victory lies with the

strength, courage, and endurance of the individual combatants. They adopt every improvement in rig, in

motor, in weapons, but they fundamentally believe that the best stratagem in naval war, is to lay your ship

close alongside of the enemy's ship, and bring all your guns to bear on him, until you or he go to the bottom.

This is the old fashion, which never goes out of fashion, neither in nor out of England.

It is not usually a point of honor, nor a religious sentiment, and never any whim that they will shed their

blood for; but usually property, and right measured by property, that breeds revolution. They have no Indian

taste for a tomahawkdance, no French taste for a badge or a proclamation. The Englishman is peaceably

minding his business, and earning his day's wages. But if you offer to lay hand on his day's wages, on his

cow, or his right in common, or his shop, he will fight to the Judgment. Magnacharta, jurytrial,

habeascorpus, starchamber, shipmoney, Popery, Plymouthcolony, American Revolution, are all

questions involving a yeoman's right to his dinner, and, except as touching that, would not have lashed the

Whilst they are thus instinct with a spirit of order, and of calculation, it must be owned they are capable of

larger views; but the indulgence is expensive to them, costs great crises, or accumulations of mental power.

In common, the horse works best with blinders. Nothing is more in the line of English thought, than our

unvarnished Connecticut question, "Pray, sir, how do you get your living when you are at home?" The

questions of freedom, of taxation, of privilege, are money questions. Heavy fellows, steeped in beer and

fleshpots, they are hard of hearing and dim of sight. Their drowsy minds need to be flagellated by war and

trade and politics and persecution. They cannot well read a principle, except by the light of fagots and of

Tacitus says of the Germans, "powerful only in sudden efforts, they are impatient of toil and labor." This

highlydestined race, if it had not somewhere added the chamber of patience to its brain, would not have

built London. I know not from which of the tribes and temperaments that went to the composition of the

people this tenacity was supplied, but they clinch every nail they drive. They have no running for luck, and

no immoderate speed. They spend largely on their fabric, and await the slow return. Their leather lies tanning

seven years in the vat. At Rogers's mills, in Sheffield, where I was shown the process of making a razor and a

penknife, I was told there is no luck in making good steel; that they make no mistakes, every blade in the

hundred and in the thousand is good. And that is characteristic of all their work, no more is attempted than

When Thor and his companions arrive at Utgard, he is told that "nobody is permitted to remain here, unless

he understand some art, and excel in it all other men." The same question is still put to the posterity of Thor.

A nation of laborers, every man is trained to some one art or detail, and aims at perfection in that; not content

unless he has something in which he thinks he surpasses all other men. He would rather not do any thing at

all, than not do it well. I suppose no people have such thoroughness; from the highest to the lowest, every

"To show capacity," a Frenchman described as the end of a speech in debate: "no," said an Englishman, "but

to set your shoulder at the wheel, to advance the business." Sir Samuel Romilly refused to speak in

popular assemblies, confining himself to the House of Commons, where a measure can be carried by a

speech. The business of the House of Commons is conducted by a few persons, but these are hardworked.

Sir Robert Peel "knew the Blue Books by heart." His colleagues and rivals carry Hansard in their heads. The

high civil and legal offices are not beds of ease, but posts which exact frightful amounts of mental labor.

Many of the great leaders, like Pitt, Canning, Castlereagh, Romilly, are soon worked to death. They are

excellent judges England of a good worker, and when they find one, like Clarendon, Sir Philip Warwick, Sir

William Coventry, Ashley, Burke, Thurlow, Mansfield, Pitt, Eldon, Peel, or Russell, there is nothing too

They have a wonderful heat in the pursuit of a public aim Private persons exhibit, in scientific and antiquarian

researches, the same pertinacity as the nation showed in the coalitions in which it yoked Europe against the

empire of Bonaparte, one after the other defeated, and still renewed, until the sixth hurled him from his seat.

Sir John Herschel, in completion of the work of his father, who had made the catalogue of the stars of the

northern hemisphere, expatriated himself for years at the Cape of Good Hope, finished his inventory of the

southern heaven, came home, and redacted it in eight years more; a work whose value does not begin until

thirty years have elapsed, and thenceforward a record to all ages of the highest import. The Admiralty sent

out the Arctic expeditions year after year, in search of Sir John Franklin, until, at last, they have threaded

their way through polar pack and Behring's Straits, and solved the geographical problem. Lord Elgin, at

Athens, saw the imminent ruin of the Greek remains, set up his scaffoldings, in spite of epigrams, and, after

five years' labor to collect them, got his marbles on shipboard. The ship struck a rock, and went to the bottom.

He had them all fished up, by divers, at a vast expense, and brought to London; not knowing that Haydon,

Fuseli, and Canova, and all good heads in all the world, were to be his applauders. In the same spirit, were the

excavation and research by Sir Charles Fellowes, for the Xanthian monument; and of Layard, for his Nineveh

The nation sits in the immense city they have builded, a London extended into every man's mind, though he

live in Van Dieman's Land or Capetown. Faithful performance of what is undertaken to be performed, they

honor in themselves, and exact in others, as certificate of equality with themselves. The modern world is

theirs. They have made and make it day by day. The commercial relations of the world are so intimately

drawn to London, that every dollar on earth contributes to the strength of the English government. And if all

the wealth in the planet should perish by war or deluge, they know themselves competent to replace it.

They have approved their Saxon blood, by their seagoing qualities; their descent from Odin's smiths, by

their hereditary skill in working in iron; their British birth, by husbandry and immense wheat harvests; and

justified their occupancy of the centre of habitable land, by their supreme ability and cosmopolitan spirit.

They have tilled, builded, forged, spun, and woven. They have made the island a thoroughfare; and London a

shop, a lawcourt, a recordoffice, and scientific bureau, inviting to strangers; a sanctuary to refugees of

every political and religious opinion; and such a city, that almost every active man, in any nation, finds

In every path of practical activity, they have gone even with the best. There is no secret of war, in which they

have not shown mastery. The steamchamber of Watt, the locomotive of Stephenson, the cottonmule of

Roberts, perform the labor of the world. There is no department of literature, of science, or of useful art, in

which they have not produced a firstrate book. It is England, whose opinion is waited for on the merit of a

new invention, an improved science. And in the complications of the trade and politics of their vast empire,

they have been equal to every exigency, with counsel and with conduct. Is it their luck, or is it in the

chambers of their brain, it is their commercial advantage, that whatever light appears in better method or

happy invention, breaks out in their race. They are a family to which a destiny attaches, and the Banshee has

sworn that a male heir shall never be wanting. They have a wealth of men to fill important posts, and the

A proof of the energy of the British people, is the highly artificial construction of the whole fabric. The

climate and geography, I said, were factitious, as if the hands of man had arranged the conditions. The same

character pervades the whole kingdom. Bacon said, "Rome was a state not subject to paradoxes;" but England

subsists by antagonisms and contradictions. The foundations of its greatness are the rolling waves; and, from

first to last, it is a museum of anomalies. This foggy and rainy country furnishes the world with astronomical

observations. Its short rivers do not afford waterpower, but the land shakes under the thunder of the mills.

There is no gold mine of any importance, but there is more gold in England than in all other countries. It is

too far north for the culture of the vine, but the wines of all countries are in its docks. The French Comte de

Lauraguais said, "no fruit ripens in England but a baked apple"; but oranges and pineapples are as cheap in

London as in the Mediterranean. The MarkLane Express, or the Custom House Returns bear out to the letter

The native cattle are extinct, but the island is full of artificial breeds. The agriculturist Bakewell, created

sheep and cows and horses to order, and breeds in which every thing was omitted but what is economical.

The cow is sacrificed to her bag, the ox to his surloin. Stallfeeding makes spermmills of the cattle, and

converts the stable to a chemical factory. The rivers, lakes and ponds, too much fished, or obstructed by

Chat Moss and the fens of Lincolnshire and Cambridgeshire are unhealthy and too barren to pay rent. By

cylindrical tiles, and guttapercha tubes, five millions of acres of bad land have been drained and put on

equality with the best, for rapeculture and grass. The climate too, which was already believed to have

become milder and drier by the enormous consumption of coal, is so far reached by this new action, that fogs

and storms are said to disappear. In due course, all England will be drained, and rise a second time out of the

waters. The latest step was to call in the aid of steam to agriculture. Steam is almost an Englishman. I do not

know but they will send him to Parliament, next, to make laws. He weaves, forges, saws, pounds, fans, and

now he must pump, grind, dig, and plough for the farmer. The markets created by the manufacturing

population have erected agriculture into a great thriving and spending industry. The value of the houses in

Britain is equal to the value of the soil. Artificial aids of all kinds are cheaper than the natural resources. No

man can afford to walk, when the parliamentarytrain carries him for a penny a mile. Gasburners are

cheaper than daylight in numberless floors in the cities. All the houses in London buy their water. The

English trade does not exist for the exportation of native products, but on its manufactures, or the making

well every thing which is ill made elsewhere. They make ponchos for the Mexican, bandannas for the

Hindoo, ginseng for the Chinese, beads for the Indian, laces for the Flemings, telescopes for astronomers,

The Board of Trade caused the best models of Greece and Italy to be placed within the reach of every

manufacturing population. They caused to be translated from foreign languages and illustrated by elaborate

drawings, the most approved works of Munich, Berlin, and Paris. They have ransacked Italy to find new

forms, to add a grace to the products of their looms, their potteries, and their foundries. (* 3)

The nearer we look, the more artificial is their social system. Their law is a network of fictions. Their

property, a scrip or certificate of right to interest on money that no man ever saw. Their social classes are

made by statute. Their ratios of power and representation are historical and legal. The last Reformbill took

away political power from a mound, a ruin, and a stonewall, whilst Birmingham and Manchester, whose

mills paid for the wars of Europe, had no representative. Purity in the elective Parliament is secured by the

purchase of seats. (* 4) Foreign power is kept by armed colonies; power at home, by a standing army of

police. The pauper lives better than the free laborer; the thief better than the pauper; and the transported felon

better than the one under imprisonment. The crimes are factitious, as smuggling, poaching, nonconformity,

heresy and treason. Better, they say in England, kill a man than a hare. The sovereignty of the seas is

maintained by the impressment of seamen. "The impressment of seamen," said Lord Eldon, "is the life of our

navy." Solvency is maintained by means of a national debt, on the principle, "if you will not lend me the

money, how can I pay you?" For the administration of justice, Sir Samuel Romilly's expedient for clearing

the arrears of business in Chancery, was, the Chancellor's staying away entirely from his court. Their system

of education is factitious. The Universities galvanize dead languages into a semblance of life. Their church is

artificial. The manners and customs of society are artificial; made up men with made up manners; and

thus the whole is Birminghamized, and we have a nation whose existence is a work of art; a cold, barren,

almost arctic isle, being made the most fruitful, luxurious and imperial land in the whole earth.

Man in England submits to be a product of political economy. On a bleak moor, a mill is built, a

bankinghouse is opened, and men come in, as water in a sluiceway, and towns and cities rise. Man is made

as a Birmingham button. The rapid doubling of the population dates from Watt's steamengine. A landlord,

who owns a province, says, "the tenantry are unprofitable; let me have sheep." He unroofs the houses, and

ships the population to America. The nation is accustomed to the instantaneous creation of wealth. It is the

maxim of their economists, "that the greater part in value of the wealth now existing in England, has been

produced by human hands within the last twelve months." Meantime, three or four days' rain will reduce

One secret of their power is their mutual good understanding. Not only good minds are born among them, but

all the people have good minds. Every nation has yielded some good wit, if, as has chanced to many tribes,

only one. But the intellectual organization of the English admits a communicableness of knowledge and ideas

among them all. An electric touch by any of their national ideas, melts them into one family, and brings the

hoards of power which their individuality is always hiving, into use and play for all. Is it the smallness of the

country, or is it the pride and affection of race, they have solidarity, or responsibleness, and trust in each

Their minds, like wool, admit of a dye which is more lasting than the cloth. They embrace their cause with

more tenacity than their life. Though not military, yet every common subject by the poll is fit to make a

soldier of. These private reserved mute familymen can adopt a public end with all their heat, and this

strength of affection makes the romance of their heroes. The difference of rank does not divide the national

heart. The Danish poet Ohlenschlager complains, that who writes in Danish, writes to two hundred readers. In

Germany, there is one speech for the learned, and another for the masses, to that extent, that, it is said, no

sentiment or phrase from the works of any great German writer is ever heard among the lower classes. But in

England, the language of the noble is the language of the poor. In Parliament, in pulpits, in theatres, when the

speakers rise to thought and passion, the language becomes idiomatic; the people in the street best understand

the best words. And their language seems drawn from the Bible, the common law, and the works of

Shakspeare, Bacon, Milton, Pope, Young, Cowper, Burns, and Scott. The island has produced two or three of

the greatest men that ever existed, but they were not solitary in their own time. Men quickly embodied what

Newton found out, in Greenwich observatories, and practical navigation. The boys know all that Hutton knew

of strata, or Dalton of atoms, or Harvey of bloodvessels; and these studies, once dangerous, are in fashion.

So what is invented or known in agriculture, or in trade, or in war, or in art, or in literature, and antiquities. A

great ability, not amassed on a few giants, but poured into the general mind, so that each of them could at a

pinch stand in the shoes of the other; and they are more bound in character, than differenced in ability or in

rank. The laborer is a possible lord. The lord is a possible basketmaker. Every man carries the English

system in his brain, knows what is confided to him, and does therein the best he can. The chancellor carries

England on his mace, the midshipman at the point of his dirk, the smith on his hammer, the cook in the bowl

of his spoon; the postilion cracks his whip for England, and the sailor times his oars to "God save the King!"

The very felons have their pride in each other's English stanchness. In politics and in war, they hold together

as by hooks of steel. The charm in Nelson's history, is, the unselfish greatness; the assurance of being

supported to the uttermost by those whom he supports to the uttermost. Whilst they are some ages ahead of

the rest of the world in the art of living; whilst in some directions they do not represent the modern spirit, but

constitute it,this vanguard of civility and power they coldly hold, marching in phalanx, lockstep, foot after

(* 4) Sir S. Romilly, purest of English patriots, decided that the only independent mode of entering

I find the Englishman to be him of all men who stands firmest in his shoes. They have in themselves what

they value in their horses, mettle and bottom. On the day of my arrival at Liverpool, a gentleman, in

describing to me the Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, happened to say, "Lord Clarendon has pluck like a cock, and

will fight till he dies;" and, what I heard first I heard last, and the one thing the English value, is pluck. The

cabmen have it; the merchants have it; the bishops have it; the women have it; the journals have it; the Times

newspaper, they say, is the pluckiest thing in England, and Sydney Smith had made it a proverb, that little

Lord John Russell, the minister, would take the command of the Channel fleet tomorrow.

They require you to dare to be of your own opinion, and they hate the practical cowards who cannot in affairs

answer directly yes or no. They dare to displease, nay, they will let you break all the commandments, if you

do it natively, and with spirit. You must be somebody; then you may do this or that, as you will.

Machinery has been applied to all work, and carried to such perfection, that little is left for the men but to

mind the engines and feed the furnaces. But the machines require punctual service, and, as they never tire,

they prove too much for their tenders. Mines, forges, mills, breweries, railroads, steampump, steamplough,

drill of regiments, drill of police, rule of court, and shoprule, have operated to give a mechanical regularity

to all the habit and action of men. A terrible machine has possessed itself of the ground, the air, the men and

The mechanical might and organization requires in the people constitution and answering spirits: and he who

goes among them must have some weight of metal. At last, you take your hint from the fury of life you find,

and say, one thing is plain, this is no country for fainthearted people: don't creep about diffidently; make up

It requires, men say, a good constitution to travel in Spain. I say as much of England, for other cause, simply

on account of the vigor and brawn of the people. Nothing but the most serious business, could give one any

counterweight to these Baresarks, though they were only to order eggs and muffins for their breakfast. The

Englishman speaks with all his body. His elocution is stomachic, as the American's is labial. The

Englishman is very petulant and precise about his accommodation at inns, and on the roads; a quiddle about

his toast and his chop, and every species of convenience, and loud and pungent in his expressions of

impatience at any neglect. His vivacity betrays itself, at all points, in his manners, in his respiration, and the

inarticulate noises he makes in clearing the throat; all significant of burly strength. He has stamina; he can

take the initiative in emergencies. He has that aplomb, which results from a good adjustment of the moral and

physical nature, and the obedience of all the powers to the will; as if the axes of his eyes were united to his

This vigor appears in the incuriosity, and stony neglect, each of every other. Each man walks, eats, drinks,

shaves, dresses, gesticulates, and, in every manner, acts, and suffers without reference to the bystanders, in

his own fashion, only careful not to interfere with them, or annoy them; not that he is trained to neglect the

eyes of his neighbors, he is really occupied with his own affair, and does not think of them. Every man in

this polished country consults only his convenience, as much as a solitary pioneer in Wisconsin. I know not

where any personal eccentricity is so freely allowed, and no man gives himself any concern with it. An

Englishman walks in a pouring rain, swinging his closed umbrella like a walkingstick; wears a wig, or a

shawl, or a saddle, or stands on his head, and no remark is made. And as he has been doing this for several

In short, every one of these islanders is an island himself, safe, tranquil, incommunicable. In a company of

strangers, you would think him deaf; his eyes never wander from his table and newspaper. He is never

betrayed into any curiosity or unbecoming emotion. They have all been trained in one severe school of

manners, and never put off the harness. He does not give his hand. He does not let you meet his eye. It is

almost an affront to look a man in the face, without being introduced. In mixed or in select companies they do

not introduce persons; so that a presentation is a circumstance as valid as a contract. Introductions are

sacraments. He withholds his name. At the hotel, he is hardly willing to whisper it to the clerk at the

bookoffice. If he give you his private address on a card, it is like an avowal of friendship; and his bearing,

on being introduced, is cold, even though he is seeking your acquaintance, and is studying how he shall serve

It was an odd proof of this impressive energy, that, in my lectures, I hesitated to read and threw out for its

impertinence many a disparaging phrase, which I had been accustomed to spin, about poor, thin, unable

mortals; so much had the fine physique and the personal vigor of this robust race worked on my

I happened to arrive in England, at the moment of a commercial crisis. But it was evident, that, let who will

fail, England will not. These people have sat here a thousand years, and here will continue to sit. They will

not break up, or arrive at any desperate revolution, like their neighbors; for they have as much energy, as

much continence of character as they ever had. The power and possession which surround them are their own

They are positive, methodical, cleanly, and formal, loving routine, and conventional ways; loving truth and

religion, to be sure, but inexorable on points of form. All the world praises the comfort and private

appointments of an English inn, and of English households. You are sure of neatness and of personal

decorum. A Frenchman may possibly be clean; an Englishman is conscientiously clean. A certain order and

Born in a harsh and wet climate, which keeps him in doors whenever he is at rest, and being of an

affectionate and loyal temper, he dearly loves his house. If he is rich, he buys a demesne, and builds a hall; if

he is in middle condition, he spares no expense on his house. Without, it is all planted: within, it is

wainscoted, carved, curtained, hung with pictures, and filled with good furniture. 'Tis a passion which

survives all others, to deck and improve it. Hither he brings all that is rare and costly, and with the national

tendency to sit fast in the same spot for many generations, it comes to be, in the course of time, a museum of

heirlooms, gifts, and trophies of the adventures and exploits of the family. He is very fond of silver plate, and,

though he have no gallery of portraits of his ancestors, he has of their punchbowls and porringers. Incredible

amounts of plate are found in good houses, and the poorest have some spoon or saucepan, gift of a

An English family consists of a few persons, who, from youth to age, are found revolving within a few feet of

each other, as if tied by some invisible ligature, tense as that cartilage which we have seen attaching the two

Siamese. England produces under favorable conditions of ease and culture the finest women in the world.

And, as the men are affectionate and truehearted, the women inspire and refine them. Nothing can be more

delicate without being fantastical, nothing more firm and based in nature and sentiment, than the courtship

and mutual carriage of the sexes. The song of 1596 says, "The wife of every Englishman is counted blest."

The sentiment of Imogen in Cymbeline is copied from English nature; and not less the Portia of Brutus, the

Kate Percy, and the Desdemona. The romance does not exceed the height of noble passion in Mrs. Lucy

Hutchinson, or in Lady Russell, or even as one discerns through the plain prose of Pepys's Diary, the sacred

habit of an English wife. Sir Samuel Romilly could not bear the death of his wife. Every class has its noble

Domesticity is the taproot which enables the nation to branch wide and high. The motive and end of their

trade and empire is to guard the independence and privacy of their homes. Nothing so much marks their

manners as the concentration on their household ties. This domesticity is carried into court and camp.

Wellington governed India and Spain and his own troops, and fought battles like a good familyman, paid his

debts, and, though general of an army in Spain could not stir abroad for fear of public creditors. This taste for

house and parish merits has of course its doting and foolish side. Mr. Cobbett attributes the huge popularity

of Perceval, prime minister in 1810, to the fact that he was wont to go to church, every Sunday, with a large

quarto gilt prayerbook under one arm, his wife hanging on the other, and followed by a long brood of

They keep their old customs, costumes, and pomps, their wig and mace, sceptre and crown. The middle ages

still lurk in the streets of London. The Knights of the Bath take oath to defend injured ladies; the

goldstickinwaiting survives. They repeated the ceremonies of the eleventh century in the coronation of

the present Queen. A hereditary tenure is natural to them. Offices, farms, trades, and traditions descend so.

Their leases run for a hundred and a thousand years. Terms of service and partnership are lifelong, or are

inherited. "Holdship has been with me," said Lord Eldon, "eightandtwenty years, knows all my business

and books." Antiquity of usage is sanction enough. Wordsworth says of the small freeholders of

Westmoreland, "Many of these humble sons of the hills had a consciousness that the land which they tilled

had for more than five hundred years been possessed by men of the same name and blood." The

shipcarpenter in the public yards, my lord's gardener and porter, have been there for more than a hundred

The English power resides also in their dislike of change. They have difficulty in bringing their reason to act,

and on all occasions use their memory first. As soon as they have rid themselves of some grievance, and

settled the better practice, they make haste to fix it as a finality, and never wish to hear of alteration more.

Every Englishman is an embryonic chancellor: His instinct is to search for a precedent. The favorite phrase of

their law, is, "a custom whereof the memory of man runneth not back to the contrary." The barons say,

"Nolumus mutari;" and the cockneys stifle the curiosity of the foreigner on the reason of any practice, with

"Lord, sir, it was always so." They hate innovation. Bacon told them, Time was the right reformer; Chatham,

that "confidence was a plant of slow growth;" Canning, to "advance with the times;" and Wellington, that

"habit was ten times nature." All their statesmen learn the irresistibility of the tide of custom, and have

invented many fine phrases to cover this slowness of perception, and prehensility of tail.

A seashell should be the crest of England, not only because it represents a power built on the waves, but also

the hard finish of the men. The Englishman is finished like a cowry or a murex. After the spire and the spines

are formed, or, with the formation, a juice exudes, and a hard enamel varnishes every part. The keeping of the

proprieties is as indispensable as clean linen. No merit quite countervails the want of this, whilst this

sometimes stands in lieu of all. "'Tis in bad taste," is the most formidable word an Englishman can

pronounce. But this japan costs them dear. There is a prose in certain Englishmen, which exceeds in wooden

deadness all rivalry with other countrymen. There is a knell in the conceit and externality of their voice,

which seems to say, Leave all hope behind. In this Gibraltar of propriety, mediocrity gets intrenched, and

consolidated, and founded in adamant. An Englishman of fashion is like one of those souvenirs, bound in

gold vellum, enriched with delicate engravings, on thick hotpressed paper, fit for the hands of ladies and

A severe decorum rules the court and the cottage. When Thalberg, the pianist, was one evening performing

before the Queen, at Windsor, in a private party, the Queen accompanied him with her voice. The

circumstance took air, and all England shuddered from sea to sea. The indecorum was never repeated. Cold,

repressive manners prevail. No enthusiasm is permitted except at the opera. They avoid every thing marked.

They require a tone of voice that excites no attention in the room. Sir Philip Sydney is one of the patron saints

Pretension and vaporing are once for all distasteful. They keep to the other extreme of low tone in dress and

manners. They avoid pretension and go right to the heart of the thing. They hate nonsense, sentimentalism,

and highflown expression; they use a studied plainness. Even Brummel their fop was marked by the severest

simplicity in dress. They value themselves on the absence of every thing theatrical in the public business, and

In an aristocratical country, like England, not the Trial by Jury, but the dinner is the capital institution. It is

the mode of doing honor to a stranger, to invite him to eat, and has been for many hundred years. "And

they think," says the Venetian traveller of 1500, "no greater honor can be conferred or received, than to invite

others to eat with them, or to be invited themselves, and they would sooner give five or six ducats to provide

an entertainment for a person, than a groat to assist him in any distress." (*) It is reserved to the end of the

day, the familyhour being generally six, in London, and, if any company is expected, one or two hours later.

Every one dresses for dinner, in his own house, or in another man's. The guests are expected to arrive within

half an hour of the time fixed by card of invitation, and nothing but death or mutilation is permitted to detain

them. The English dinner is precisely the model on which our own are constructed in the Atlantic cities. The

company sit one or two hours, before the ladies leave the table. The gentlemen remain over their wine an

hour longer, and rejoin the ladies in the drawingroom, and take coffee. The dressdinner generates a talent

of tabletalk, which reaches great perfection: the stories are so good, that one is sure they must have been

often told before, to have got such happy turns. Hither come all manner of clever projects, bits of popular

science, of practical invention, of miscellaneous humor; political, literary, and personal news; railroads,

English stories, bonmots, and the recorded tabletalk of their wits, are as good as the best of the French. In

America, we are apt scholars, but have not yet attained the same perfection: for the range of nations from

which London draws, and the steep contrasts of condition create the picturesque in society, as broken country

makes picturesque landscape, whilst our prevailing equality makes a prairie tameness: and secondly, because

the usage of a dressdinner every day at dark, has a tendency to hive and produce to advantage every thing

good. Much attrition has worn every sentence into a bullet. Also one meets now and then with polished men,

who know every thing, have tried every thing, can do every thing, and are quite superior to letters and

The teutonic tribes have a national singleness of heart, which contrasts wit races. The German name has a

proverbial significance of sincerity and honest meaning. The arts bear testimony to it. The faces of clergy and

laity in old sculptures and illuminated missals are charged with earnest belief. Add to this hereditary

rectitude, the punctuality and precise dealing which commerce creates, and you have the English truth and

credit. The government strictly performs its engagements. The subjects do not understand trifling on its part.

When any breach of promise occurred, in the old days of prerogative, it was resented by the people as an

intolerable grievance. And, in modern times, any slipperiness in the government in political faith, or any

repudiation or crookedness in matters of finance, would bring the whole nation to a committee of inquiry and

reform. Private men keep their promises, never so trivial. Down goes the flying word on the tablets, and is

Their practical power rests on their national sincerity. Veracity derives from instinct, and marks superiority in

organization. Nature has endowed some animals with cunning, as a compensation for strength withheld; but it

has provoked the malice of all others, as if avengers of public wrong. In the nobler kinds, where strength

could be afforded, her races are loyal to truth, as truth is the foundation of the social state. Beasts that make

no truce with man, do not break faith with each other. 'Tis said, that the wolf, who makes a cache of his prey,

and brings his fellows with him to the spot, if, on digging, it is not found, is instantly and unresistingly torn in

pieces. English veracity seems to result on a sounder animal structure, as if they could afford it. They are

blunt in saying what they think, sparing of promises, and they require plaindealing of others. We will not

have to do with a man in a mask. Let us know the truth. Draw a straight line, hit whom and where it will.

Alfred, whom the affection of the nation makes the type of their race, is called by his friend Asser, the

truthspeaker; Alueredus veridicus. Geoffrey of Monmouth says of King Aurelius, uncle of Arthur, that

"above all things he hated a lie." The Northman Guttorm said to King Olaf, "it is royal work to fulfil royal

words." The mottoes of their families are monitory proverbs, as, Fare fac, Say, do, of the Fairfaxes;

Say and seal, of the house of Fiennes; Vero nil verius, of the DeVeres. To be king of their word, is their pride.

When they unmask cant, they say, "the English of this is," and to give the lie is the extreme insult. The phrase

of the lowest of the people is "honorbright," and their vulgar praise, "his word is as good as his bond." They

hate shuffling and equivocation, and the cause is damaged in the public opinion, on which any paltering can

be fixed. Even Lord Chesterfield, with his French breeding, when he came to define a gentleman, declared

that truth made his distinction: and nothing ever spoken by him would find so hearty a suffrage from his

nation. The Duke of Wellington, who had the best right to say so, advises the French General Kellermann,

that he may rely on the parole of an English officer. The English, of all classes, value themselves on this trait,

as distinguishing them from the French, who, in the popular belief, are more polite than true. An Englishman

understates, avoids the superlative, checks himself in compliments, alleging, that in the French language, one

They love reality in wealth, power, hospitality, and do not easily learn to make a show, and take the world as

it goes. They are not fond of ornaments, and if they wear them, they must be gems. They read gladly in old

Fuller, that a lady, in the reign of Elizabeth, "would have as patiently digested a lie, as the wearing of false

stones or pendants of counterfeit pearl." They have the earthhunger, or preference for property in land,

which is said to mark the Teutonic nations. They build of stone: public and private buildings are massive and

durable: In comparing their ships' houses, and public offices with the American, it is commonly said, that

they spend a pound, where we spend a dollar. Plain rich clothes, plain rich equipage, plain rich finish

They confide in each other, English believes in English The French feel the superiority of this probity.

The Englishman is not springing a trap for his admiration, but is honestly minding his business. The

Frenchman is vain. Madame de Stael says, that the English irritated Napoleon, mainly, because they have

found out how to unite success with honesty. She was not aware how wide an application her foreign readers

would give to the remark. Wellington discovered the ruin of Bonaparte's affairs, by his own probity. He

augured ill of the empire, as soon as he saw that it was mendacious, and lived by war. If war do not bring in

its sequel new trade, better agriculture and manufactures, but only games, fireworks, and spectacles, no

prosperity could support it; much less, a nation decimated for conscripts, and out of pocket, like France. So

he drudged for years on his military works at Lisbon, and from this base at last extended his gigantic lines to

Waterloo, believing in his countrymen and their syllogisms above all the rhodomontade of Europe.

At a St. George's festival, in Montreal, where I happened to be a guest, since my return home, I observed that

the chairman complimented his compatriots, by saying, "they confided that wherever they met an

Englishman, they found a man who would speak the truth." And one cannot think this festival fruitless, if, all

over the world, on the 23d of April, wherever two or three English are found, they meet to encourage each

In the power of saying rude truth, sometimes in the lion's mouth, no men surpass them. On the king's

birthday, when each bishop was expected to offer the king a purse of gold, Latimer gave Henry VIII. a copy

of the Vulgate, with a mark at the passage, "Whoremongers and adulterers God will judge;" and they so

honor stoutness in each other, that the king passed it over. They are tenacious of their belief, and cannot

easily change their opinions to suit the hour. They are like ships with too much head on to come quickly

about, nor will prosperity or even adversity be allowed to shake their habitual view of conduct. Whilst I was

in London, M. Guizot arrived there on his escape from Paris, in February, 1848. Many private friends called

on him. His name was immediately proposed as an honorary member of the Athenaeum. M. Guizot was

blackballed. Certainly, they knew the distinction of his name. But the Englishman is not fickle. He had really

made up his mind, now for years as he read his newspaper, to hate and despise M. Guizot; and the altered

position of the man as an illustrious exile, and a guest in the country, make no difference to him, as they

They require the same adherence, thorough conviction and reality in public men. It is the want of character

which makes the low reputation of the Irish members. "See them," they said, "one hundred and twentyseven

all voting like sheep, never proposing any thing, and all but four voting the income tax," which was an

illjudged concession of the Government, relieving Irish property from the burdens charged on English.

They have a horror of adventurers in or out of Parliament. The ruling passion of Englishmen, in these days,

is, a terror of humbug. In the same proportion, they value honesty, stoutness, and adherence to your own.

They like a man committed to his objects. They hate the French, as frivolous; they hate the Irish, as aimless;

they hate the Germans, as professors. In February, 1848, they said, Look, the French king and his party fell

for want of a shot; they had not conscience to shoot, so entirely was the pith and heart of monarchy eaten out.

They attack their own politicians every day, on the same grounds, as adventurers. They love stoutness in

standing for your right, in declining money or promotion that costs any concession. The barrister refuses the

silk gown of Queen's Counsel, if his junior have it one day earlier. Lord Collingwood would not accept his

medal for victory on 14th February, 1797, if he did not receive one for victory on 1st June, 1794; and the long

withholden medal was accorded. When Castlereagh dissuaded Lord Wellington from going to the king's

levee, until the unpopular Cintra business had been explained, he replied, "You furnish me a reason for going.

I will go to this, or I will never go to a king's levee." The radical mob at Oxford cried after the tory lord

Eldon, "There's old Eldon; cheer him; he never ratted." They have given the parliamentary nickname of

(*) It is an unlucky moment to remember these sparkles of solitary virtue in the face of the honors lately paid

in England to the Emperor Louis Napoleon. I am sure that no Englishman whom I had the happiness to know,

consented, when the aristocracy and the commons of London cringed like a Neapolitan rabble, before a

successful thief. But how to resist one step, though odious, in a linked series of state necessities?

Governments must always learn too late, that the use of dishonest agents is as ruinous for nations as for single

They are very liable in their politics to extraordinary delusions, thus, to believe what stands recorded in the

gravest books, that the movement of 10 April, 1848, was urged or assisted by foreigners: which, to be sure, is

paralleled by the democratic whimsy in this country, which I have noticed to be shared by men sane on other

points, that the English are at the bottom of the agitation of slavery, in American politics: and then again to

the French popular legends on the subject of perfidious Albion. But suspicion will make fools of nations as of

A slow temperament makes them less rapid and ready than other countrymen, and has given occasion to the

observation, that English wit comes afterwards, which the French denote as esprit d'escalier. This dulness

makes their attachment to home, and their adherence in all foreign countries to home habits. The Englishman

who visits Mount Etna, will carry his teakettle to the top. The old Italian author of the "Relation of England"

(in 1500), says, "I have it on the best information, that, when the war is actually raging most furiously, they

will seek for good eating, and all their other comforts, without thinking what harm might befall them." Then

their eyes seem to be set at the bottom of a tunnel, and they affirm the one small fact they know, with the best

faith in the world that nothing else exists. And, as their own belief in guineas is perfect, they readily, on all

occasions, apply the pecuniary argument as final. Thus when the Rochester rappings began to be heard of in

England, a man deposited 100 pounds in a sealed box in the Dublin Bank, and then advertised in the

newspapers to all somnambulists, mesmerizers, and others, that whoever could tell him the number of his

note, should have the money. He let it lie there six months, the newspapers now and then, at his instance,

stimulating the attention of the adepts; but none could ever tell him; and he said, "now let me never be

bothered more with this proven lie." It is told of a good Sir John, that he heard a case stated by counsel, and

made up his mind; then the counsel for the other side taking their turn to speak, he found himself so unsettled

and perplexed, that he exclaimed, "So help me God! I will never listen to evidence again." Any number of

delightful examples of this English stolidity are the anecdotes of Europe. I knew a very worthy man, a

magistrate, I believe he was, in the town of Derby, who went to the opera, to see Malibran. In one scene,

the heroine was to rush across a ruined bridge. Mr. B. arose, and mildly yet firmly called the attention of the

audience and the performers to the fact, that, in his judgment, the bridge was unsafe! This English stolidity

contrasts with French wit and tact. The French, it is commonly said, have greatly more influence in Europe

than the English. What influence the English have is by brute force of wealth and power; that of the French

by affinity and talent. The Italian is subtle, the Spaniard treacherous: tortures, it was said, could never wrest

from an Egyptian the confession of a secret. None of these traits belong to the Englishman. His choler and

conceit force every thing out. Defoe, who knew his countrymen well, says of them,

The english race are reputed morose. I do not know that they have sadder brows than their neighbors of

northern climates. They are sad by comparison with the singing and dancing nations: not sadder, but slow and

staid, as finding their joys at home. They, too, believe that where there is no enjoyment of life, there can be

no vigor and art in speech or thought: that your merry heart goes all the way, your sad one tires in a mile.

This trait of gloom has been fixed on them by French travellers, who, from Froissart, Voltaire, Le Sage,

Mirabeau, down to the lively journalists of the feuilletons, have spent their wit on the solemnity of their

neighbors. The French say, gay conversation is unknown in their island. The Englishman finds no relief from

reflection, except in reflection. When he wishes for amusement, he goes to work. His hilarity is like an attack

of fever. Religion, the theatre, and the reading the books of his country, all feed and increase his natural

melancholy. The police does not interfere with public diversions. It thinks itself bound in duty to respect the

pleasures and rare gayety of this inconsolable nation; and their wellknown courage is entirely attributable to

I suppose, their gravity of demeanor and their few words have obtained this reputation. As compared with the

Americans, I think them cheerful and contented. Young people, in this country, are much more prone to

melancholy. The English have a mild aspect, and a ringing cheerful voice. They are largenatured, and not so

easily amused as the southerners, and are among them as grown people among children, requiring war, or

trade, or engineering, or science, instead of frivolous games. They are proud and private, and, even if

disposed to recreation, will avoid an open garden. They sported sadly; ils s'amusaient tristement, selon la

coutume de leur pays, said Froissart; and, I suppose, never nation built their partywalls so thick, or their

gardenfences so high. Meat and wine produce no effect on them: they are just as cold, quiet, and composed,

The reputation of taciturnity they have enjoyed for six or seven hundred years; and a kind of pride in bad

public speaking is noted in the House of Commons, as if they were willing to show that they did not live by

their tongues, or thought they spoke well enough if they had the tone of gentlemen. In mixed company, they

shut their mouths. A Yorkshire millowner told me, he had ridden more than once all the way from London

to Leeds, in the firstclass carriage, with the same persons, and no word exchanged. The clubhouses were

established to cultivate social habits, and it is rare that more than two eat together, and oftenest one eats

alone. Was it then a stroke of humor in the serious Swedenborg, or was it only his pitiless logic, that made

They are contradictorily described as sour, splenetic, and stubborn, and as mild, sweet, and sensible. The

truth is, they have great range and variety of character. Commerce sends abroad multitudes of different

classes. The choleric Welshman, the fervid Scot, the bilious resident in the East or West Indies, are wide of

the perfect behavior of the educated and dignified man of family. So is the burly farmer; so is the country

'squire, with his narrow and violent life. In every inn, is the CommercialRoom, in which `travellers,' or

bagmen who carry patterns, and solicit orders, for the manufacturers, are wont to be entertained. It easily

happens that this class should characterize England to the foreigner, who meets them on the road, and at

every public house, whilst the gentry avoid the taverns, or seclude themselves whilst in them.

But these classes are the right English stock, and may fairly show the national qualities, before yet art and

education have dealt with them. They are good lovers, good haters, slow but obstinate admirers, and, in all

things, very much steeped in their temperament, like men hardly awaked from deep sleep, which they enjoy.

Their habits and instincts cleave to nature. They are of the earth, earthy; and of the sea, as the seakinds,

attached to it for what it yields them, and not from any sentiment. They are full of coarse strength, rude

exercise, butcher's meat, and sound sleep; and suspect any poetic insinuation or any hint for the conduct of

life which reflects on this animal existence, as if somebody were fumbling at the umbilical cord and might

stop their supplies. They doubt a man's sound judgment, if he does not eat with appetite, and shake their

heads if he is particularly chaste. Take them as they come, you shall find in the common people a surly

indifference, sometimes gruffness and ill temper; and, in minds of more power, magazines of inexhaustible

They are headstrong believers and defenders of their opinion, and not less resolute in maintaining their whim

and perversity. Hezekiah Woodward wrote a book against the Lord's Prayer. And one can believe that Burton

the Anatomist of Melancholy, having predicted from the stars the hour of his death, slipped the knot himself

Their looks bespeak an invincible stoutness: they have extreme difficulty to run away, and will die game.

Wellington said of the young coxcombs of the LifeGuards delicately brought up, "but the puppies fight

well;" and Nelson said of his sailors, "they really mind shot no more than peas." Of absolute stoutness no

nation has more or better examples. They are good at storming redoubts, at boarding frigates, at dying in the

last ditch, or any desperate service which has daylight and honor in it; but not, I think, at enduring the rack, or

any passive obedience, like jumping off a castleroof at the word of a czar. Being both vascular and highly

organized, so as to be very sensible of pain; and intellectual, so as to see reason and glory in a matter.

Of that constitutional force, which yields the supplies of the day, they have the more than enough, the excess

which creates courage on fortitude, genius in poetry, invention in mechanics, enterprise in trade,

magnificence in wealth, splendor in ceremonies, petulance and projects in youth. The young men have a rude

health which runs into peccant humors. They drink brandy like water, cannot expend their quantities of waste

strength on riding, hunting, swimming, and fencing, and run into absurd frolics with the gravity of the

Eumenides. They stoutly carry into every nook and corner of the earth their turbulent sense; leaving no lie

uncontradicted; no pretension unexamined. They chew hasheesh; cut themselves with poisoned creases;

swing their hammock in the boughs of the Bohon Upas; taste every poison; buy every secret; at Naples, they

put St. Januarius's blood in an alembic; they saw a hole into the head of the "winking Virgin," to know why

she winks; measure with an English footrule every cell of the Inquisition, every Turkish caaba, every Holy of

holies; translate and send to Bentley the arcanum bribed and bullied away from shuddering Bramins; and

measure their own strength by the terror they cause. These travellers are of every class, the best and the

worst; and it may easily happen that those of rudest behavior are taken notice of and remembered. The Saxon

melancholy in the vulgar rich and poor appears as gushes of illhumor, which every check exasperates into

sarcasm and vituperation. There are multitudes of rude young English who have the selfsufficiency and

bluntness of their nation, and who, with their disdain of the rest of mankind, and with this indigestion and

choler, have made the English traveller a proverb for uncomfortable and offensive manners. It was no bad

description of the Briton generically, what was said two hundred years ago, of one particular Oxford scholar:

"He was a very bold man, uttered any thing that came into his mind, not only among his companions, but in

public coffeehouses, and would often speak his mind of particular persons then accidentally present, without

examining the company he was in; for which he was often reprimanded, and several times threatened to be

The common Englishman is prone to forget a cardinal article in the bill of social rights, that every man has a

right to his own ears. No man can claim to usurp more than a few cubic feet of the audibilities of a public

room, or to put upon the company with the loud statement of his crotchets or personalities.

But it is in the deep traits of race that the fortunes of nations are written, and however derived, whether a

happier tribe or mixture of tribes, the air, or what circumstance, that mixed for them the golden mean of

temperament, here exists the best stock in the world, broadfronted, broadbottomed, best for depth,

range, and equability, men of aplomb and reserves, great range and many moods, strong instincts, yet apt for

culture; warclass as well as clerks; earls and tradesmen; wise minority, as well as foolish majority; abysmal

temperament, hiding wells of wrath, and glooms on which no sunshine settles; alternated with a common

sense and humanity which hold them fast to every piece of cheerful duty; making this temperament a sea to

which all storms are superficial; a race to which their fortunes flow, as if they alone had the elastic

organization at once fine and robust enough for dominion; as if the burly inexpressive, now mute and

contumacious, now fierce and sharptongued dragon, which once made the island light with his fiery breath,

had bequeathed his ferocity to his conqueror. They hide virtues under vices, or the semblance of them. It is

the misshapen hairy Scandinavian troll again, who lifts the cart out of the mire, or "threshes the corn that ten

daylaborers could not end," but it is done in the dark, and with muttered maledictions. He is a churl with a

soft place in his heart, whose speech is a brash of bitter waters, but who loves to help you at a pinch. He says

no, and serves you, and your thanks disgust him. Here was lately a crossgrained miser, odd and ugly,

resembling in countenance the portrait of Punch, with the laugh left out; rich by his own industry; sulking in a

lonely house; who never gave a dinner to any man, and disdained all courtesies; yet as true a worshipper of

beauty in form and color as ever existed, and profusely pouring over the cold mind of his countrymen

creations of grace and truth, removing the reproach of sterility from English art, catching from their savage

climate every fine hint, and importing into their galleries every tint and trait of sunnier cities and skies;

making an era in painting; and, when he saw that the splendor of one of his pictures in the Exhibition dimmed

They do not wear their heart in their sleeve for daws to peck at. They have that phlegm or staidness, which it

is a compliment to disturb. "Great men," said Aristotle, "are always of a nature originally melancholy." 'Tis

the habit of a mind which attaches to abstractions with a passion which gives vast results. They dare to

displease, they do not speak to expectation. They like the sayers of No, better than the sayers of Yes. Each of

them has an opinion which he feels it becomes him to express all the more that it differs from yours. They are

meditating opposition. This gravity is inseparable from minds of great resources.

There is an English hero superior to the French, the German, the Italian, or the Greek. When he is brought to

the strife with fate, he sacrifices a richer material possession, and on more purely metaphysical grounds. He is

there with his own consent, face to face with fortune, which he defies. On deliberate choice, and from

grounds of character, he has elected his part to live and die for, and dies with grandeur. This race has added

They have great range of scale, from ferocity to exquisite refinement. With larger scale, they have great

retrieving power. After running each tendency to an extreme, they try another tack with equal heat. More

intellectual than other races, when they live with other races, they do not take their language, but bestow their

own. They subsidize other nations, and are not subsidized. They proselyte, and are not proselyted. They

assimilate other races to themselves, and are not assimilated. The English did not calculate the conquest of

the Indies. It fell to their character. So they administer in different parts of the world, the codes of every

empire and race; in Canada, old French law; in the Mauritius, the Code Napoleon; in the West Indies, the

edicts of the Spanish Cortes; in the East Indies, the Laws of Menu; in the Isle of Man, of the Scandinavian

Thing; at the Cape of Good Hope, of the old Netherlands; and in the Ionian Islands, the Pandects of Justinian.

They are very conscious of their advantageous position in history. England is the lawgiver, the patron, the

instructor, the ally. Compare the tone of the French and of the English press: the first querulous, captious,

sensitive about English opinion; the English press is never timorous about French opinion, but arrogant and

They are testy and headstrong through an excess of will and bias; churlish as men sometimes please to be

who do not forget a debt, who ask no favors, and who will do what they like with their own. With education

and intercourse, these asperities wear off, and leave the good will pure. If anatomy is reformed according to

national tendencies, I suppose, the spleen will hereafter be found in the Englishman, not found in the

American, and differencing the one from the other. I anticipate another anatomical discovery, that this organ

will be found to be cortical and caducous, that they are superficially morose, but at last tenderhearted, herein

differing from Rome and the Latin nations. Nothing savage, nothing mean resides in the English heart. They

are subject to panics of credulity and of rage, but the temper of the nation, however disturbed, settles itself

soon and easily, as, in this temperate zone, the sky after whatever storms clears again, and serenity is its

A saving stupidity masks and protects their perception as the curtain of the eagle's eye. Our swifter

Americans, when they first deal with English, pronounce them stupid; but, later, do them justice as people

who wear well, or hide their strength. To understand the power of performance that is in their finest wits, in

the patient Newton, or in the versatile transcendent poets, or in the Dugdales, Gibbons, Hallams, Eldons, and

Peels, one should see how English daylaborers hold out. High and low, they are of an unctuous texture.

There is an adipocere in their constitution, as if they had oil also for their mental wheels, and could perform

Even the scale of expense on which people live, and to which scholars and professional men conform, proves

the tension of their muscle, when vast numbers are found who can each lift this enormous load. I might even

No nation was ever so rich in able men; "gentlemen," as Charles I. said of Strafford, "whose abilities might

make a prince rather afraid than ashamed in the greatest affairs of state;" men of such temper, that, like Baron

Vere, "had one seen him returning from a victory, he would by his silence have suspected that he had lost the

day; and, had he beheld him in a retreat, he would have collected him a conqueror by the cheerfulness of his

The following passage from the Heimskringla might almost stand as a portrait of the modern Englishman:

"Haldor was very stout and strong, and remarkably handsome in appearances. King Harold gave him this

testimony, that he, among all his men, cared least about doubtful circumstances, whether they betokened

danger or pleasure; for, whatever turned up, he was never in higher nor in lower spirits, never slept less nor

more on account of them, nor ate nor drank but according to his custom. Haldor was not a man of many

words, but short in conversation, told his opinion bluntly, and was obstinate and hard: and this could not

please the king, who had many clever people about him, zealous in his service. Haldor remained a short time

with the king, and then came to Iceland, where he took up his abode in Hiardaholt, and dwelt in that farm to a

The national temper, in the civil history, is not flashy or whiffling. The slow, deep English mass smoulders

with fire, which at last sets all its borders in flame. The wrath of London is not French wrath, but has a long

Half their strength they put not forth. They are capable of a sublime resolution, and if hereafter the war of

races, often predicted, and making itself a war of opinions also (a question of despotism and liberty coming

from Eastern Europe), should menace the English civilization, these seakings may take once again to their

floating castles, and find a new home and a second millennium of power in their colonies.

The stability of England is the security of the modern world. If the English race were as mutable as the

French, what reliance? But the English stand for liberty. The conservative, moneyloving, lordloving

English are yet libertyloving; and so freedom is safe: for they have more personal force than any other

people. The nation always resist the immoral action of their government. They think humanely on the affairs

of France, of Turkey, of Poland, of Hungary, of Schleswig Holstein, though overborne by the statecraft of the

Does the early history of each tribe show the permanent bias, which, though not less potent, is masked, as the

tribe spreads its activity into colonies, commerce, codes, arts, letters? The early history shows it, as the

musician plays the air which he proceeds to conceal in a tempest of variations. In Alfred, in the Northmen,

one may read the genius of the English society, namely, that private life is the place of honor. Glory, a career,

and ambition, words familiar to the longitude of Paris, are seldom heard in English speech. Nelson wrote

from their hearts his homely telegraph, "England expects every man to do his duty."

For actual service, for the dignity of a profession, or to appease diseased or inflamed talent, the army and

navy may be entered (the worst boys doing well in the navy); and the civil service, in departments where

serious official work is done; and they hold in esteem the barrister engaged in the severer studies of the law.

But the calm, sound, and most British Briton shrinks from public life, as charlatanism, and respects an

economy founded on agriculture, coalmines, manufactures, or trade, which secures an independence

They wish neither to command or obey, but to be kings in their own houses. They are intellectual and deeply

enjoy literature; they like well to have the world served up to them in books, maps, models, and every mode

of exact information, and, though not creators in art, they value its refinement. They are ready for leisure, can

direct and fill their own day, nor need so much as others the constraint of a necessity. But the history of the

nation discloses, at every turn, this original predilection for private independence, and, however this

inclination may have been disturbed by the bribes with which their vast colonial power has warped men out

of orbit, the inclination endures, and forms and reforms the laws, letters, manners, and occupations. They

choose that welfare which is compatible with the commonwealth, knowing that such alone is stable; as wise

The english are a nation of humorists. Individual right is pushed to the uttermost bound compatible with

public order. Property is so perfect, that it seems the craft of that race, and not to exist elsewhere. The king

cannot step on an acre which the peasant refuses to sell. A testator endows a dog or a rookery, and Europe

cannot interfere with his absurdity. Every individual has his particular way of living, which he pushes to

folly, and the decided sympathy of his compatriots is engaged to back up Mr. Crump's whim by statutes, and

chancellors, and horseguards. There is no freak so ridiculous but some Englishman has attempted to

immortalize by money and law. British citizenship is as omnipotent as Roman was. Mr. Cockayne is very

sensible of this. The pursy man means by freedom the right to do as he pleases, and does wrong in order to

He is intensely patriotic, for his country is so small. His confidence in the power and performance of his

nation makes him provokingly incurious about other nations. He dislikes foreigners. Swedenborg, who lived

much in England, notes "the similitude of minds among the English, in consequence of which they contract

familiarity with friends who are of that nation, and seldom with others: and they regard foreigners, as one

looking through a telescope from the top of a palace regards those who dwell or wander about out of the

city." A much older traveller, the Venetian who wrote the "Relation of England," (* 1) in 1500, says: "The

English are great lovers of themselves, and of every thing belonging to them. They think that there are no

other men than themselves, and no other world but England; and, whenever they see a handsome foreigner,

they say that he looks like an Englishman, and it is a great pity he should not be an Englishman; and

whenever they partake of any delicacy with a foreigner, they ask him whether such a thing is made in his

country." When he adds epithets of praise, his climax is "so English;" and when he wishes to pay you the

highest compliment, he says, I should not know you from an Englishman. France is, by its natural contrast, a

kind of blackboard on which English character draws its own traits in chalk. This arrogance habitually

exhibits itself in allusions to the French. I suppose that all men of English blood in America, Europe, or Asia,

have a secret feeling of joy that they are not French natives. Mr. Coleridge is said to have given public thanks

to God, at the close of a lecture, that he had defended him from being able to utter a single sentence in the

French language. I have found that Englishmen have such a good opinion of England, that the ordinary

phrases, in all good society, of postponing or disparaging one's own things in talking with a stranger, are

seriously mistaken by them for an insuppressible homage to the merits of their nation; and the New Yorker or

Pennsylvanian who modestly laments the disadvantage of a new country, loghuts, and savages, is surprised

by the instant and unfeigned commiseration of the whole company, who plainly account all the world out of

The same insular limitation pinches his foreign politics. He sticks to his traditions and usages, and, so help

him God! he will force his island bylaws down the throat of great countries, like India, China, Canada,

Australia, and not only so, but impose Wapping on the Congress of Vienna, and trample down all

nationalities with his taxed boots. Lord Chatham goes for liberty, and no taxation without representation;

for that is British law; but not a hobnail shall they dare make in America, but buy their nails in England,

for that also is British law; and the fact that British commerce was to be recreated by the independence of

In short, I am afraid that English nature is so rank and aggressive as to be a little incompatible with every

But, beyond this nationality, it must be admitted, the island offers a daily worship to the old Norse god Brage,

celebrated among our Scandinavian forefathers, for his eloquence and majestic air. The English have a steady

courage, that fits them for great attempts and endurance: they have also a petty courage, through which every

man delights in showing himself for what he is, and in doing what he can; so that, in all companies, each of

them has too good an opinion of himself to imitate any body. He hides no defect of his form, features, dress,

connection, or birthplace, for he thinks every circumstance belonging to him comes recommended to you. If

one of them have a bald, or a red, or a green head, or bow legs, or a scar, or mark, or a paunch, or a squeaking

or a raven voice, he has persuaded himself that there is something modish and becoming in it, and that it sits

But nature makes nothing in vain, and this little superfluity of selfregard in the English brain, is one of the

secrets of their power and history. For, it sets every man on being and doing what he really is and can. It takes

away a dodging, skulking, secondary air, and encourages a frank and manly bearing, so that each man makes

the most of himself, and loses no opportunity for want of pushing. A man's personal defects will commonly

have with the rest of the world, precisely that importance which they have to himself. If he makes light of

them, so will other men. We all find in these a convenient meter of character, since a little man would be

ruined by the vexation. I remember a shrewd politician, in one of our western cities, told me, "that he had

known several successful statesmen made by their foible." And another, an exgovernor of Illinois, said to

me, "If a man knew any thing, he would sit in a corner and be modest; but he is such an ignorant peacock,

There is also this benefit in brag, that the speaker is unconsciously expressing his own ideal. Humor him by

all means, draw it all out, and hold him to it. Their culture generally enables the travelled English to avoid

any ridiculous extremes of this selfpleasing, and to give it an agreeable air. Then the natural disposition is

fostered by the respect which they find entertained in the world for English ability. It was said of Louis XIV.,

that his gait and air were becoming enough in so great a monarch, yet would have been ridiculous in another

man; so the prestige of the English name warrants a certain confident bearing, which a Frenchman or Belgian

could not carry. At all events, they feel themselves at liberty to assume the most extraordinary tone on the

An English lady on the Rhine hearing a German speaking of her party as foreigners, exclaimed, "No, we are

not foreigners; we are English; it is you that are foreigners." They tell you daily, in London, the story of the

Frenchman and Englishman who quarrelled. Both were unwilling to fight, but their companions put them up

to it: at last, it was agreed, that they should fight alone, in the dark, and with pistols: the candles were put out,

and the Englishman, to make sure not to hit any body, fired up the chimney, and brought down the

Frenchman. They have no curiosity about foreigners, and answer any information you may volunteer with

"Oh, Oh!" until the informant makes up his mind, that they shall die in their ignorance, for any help he will

offer. There are really no limits to this conceit, though brighter men among them make painful efforts to be

The habit of brag runs through all classes, from the Times newspaper through politicians and poets, through

Wordsworth, Carlyle, Mill, and Sydney Smith, down to the boys of Eton. In the gravest treatise on political

economy, in a philosophical essay, in books of science, one is surprised by the most innocent exhibition of

unflinching nationality. In a tract on Corn, a most amiable and accomplished gentleman writes thus:

"Though Britain, according to Bishop Berkeley's idea, were surrounded by a wall of brass ten thousand cubits

in height, still she would as far excel the rest of the globe in riches, as she now does, both in this secondary

The English dislike the American structure of society, whilst yet trade, mills, public education, and chartism

are doing what they can to create in England the same social condition. America is the paradise of the

economists; is the favorable exception invariably quoted to the rules of ruin; but when he speaks directly of

the Americans, the islander forgets his philosophy, and remembers his disparaging anecdotes.

But this childish patriotism costs something, like all narrowness. The English sway of their colonies has no

root of kindness. They govern by their arts and ability; they are more just than kind; and, whenever an

abatement of their power is felt, they have not conciliated the affection on which to rely.

Coarse local distinctions, as those of nation, province, or town, are useful in the absence of real ones; but we

must not insist on these accidental lines. Individual traits are always triumphing over national ones. There is

no fence in metaphysics discriminating Greek, or English, or Spanish science. Aesop, and Montaigne,

Cervantes, and Saadi are men of the world; and to wave our own flag at the dinner table or in the University,

is to carry the boisterous dulness of a fireclub into a polite circle. Nature and destiny are always on the

watch for our follies. Nature trips us up when we strut; and there are curious examples in history on this very

George of Cappadocia, born at Epiphania in Cilicia, was a low parasite, who got a lucrative contract to supply

the army with bacon. A rogue and informer, he got rich, and was forced to run from justice. He saved his

money, embraced Arianism, collected a library, and got promoted by a faction to the episcopal throne of

Alexandria. When Julian came, A. D. 361, George was dragged to prison; the prison was burst open by the

mob, and George was lynched, as he deserved. And this precious knave became, in good time, Saint George

of England, patron of chivalry, emblem of victory and civility, and the pride of the best blood of the modern

Strange, that the solid truthspeaking Briton should derive from an impostor. Strange, that the New World

should have no better luck, that broad America must wear the name of a thief. Amerigo Vespucci, the

pickledealer at Seville, who went out, in 1499, a subaltern with Hojeda, and whose highest naval rank was

boatswain's mate in an expedition that never sailed, managed in this lying world to supplant Columbus, and

baptize half the earth with his own dishonest name. Thus nobody can throw stones. We are equally badly off

in our founders; and the false pickledealer is an offset to the false baconseller.

There is no country in which so absolute a homage is paid to wealth. In America, there is a toh of shame

when a man exhibits the evidences of large property, as if, after all, it needed apology. But the Englishman

has pure pride in his wealth, and esteems it a final certificate. A coarse logic rules throughout all English

souls; if you have merit, can you not show it by your good clothes, and coach, and horses? How can a

man be a gentleman without a pipe of wine? Haydon says, "there is a fierce resolution to make every man

live according to the means he possesses." There is a mixture of religion in it. They are under the Jewish law,

and read with sonorous emphasis that their days shall be long in the land, they shall have sons and daughters,

flocks and herds, wine and oil. In exact proportion, is the reproach of poverty. They do not wish to be

represented except by opulent men. An Englishman who has lost his fortune, is said to have died of a broken

heart. The last term of insult is, "a beggar." Nelson said, "the want of fortune is a crime which I can never get

over." Sydney Smith said, "poverty is infamous in England." And one of their recent writers speaks, in

reference to a private and scholastic life, of "the grave moral deterioration which follows an empty

exchequer." You shall find this sentiment, if not so frankly put, yet deeply implied, in the novels and

romances of the present century, and not only in these, but in biography, and in the votes of public

I was lately turning over Wood's Athenae Oxonienses, and looking naturally for another standard in a

chronicle of the scholars of Oxford for two hundred years. But I found the two disgraces in that, as in most

English books, are, first, disloyalty to Church and State, and, second, to be born poor, or to come to poverty.

A natural fruit of England is the brutal political economy. Malthus finds no cover laid at nature's table for the

laborer's son. In 1809, the majority in Parliament expressed itself by the language of Mr. Fuller in the House

of Commons, "if you do not like the country, damn you, you can leave it." When Sir S. Romilly proposed his

bill forbidding parish officers to bind children apprentices at a greater distance than forty miles from their

home, Peel opposed, and Mr. Wortley said, "though, in the higher ranks, to cultivate family affections was a

good thing, 'twas not so among the lower orders. Better take them away from those who might deprave them.

And it was highly injurious to trade to stop binding to manufacturers, as it must raise the price of labor, and

The respect for truth of facts in England, is equalled only by the respect for wealth. It is at once the pride of

art of the Saxon, as he is a wealthmaker, and his passion for independence. The Englishman believes that

every man must take care of himself, and has himself to thank, if he do not mend his condition. To pay their

debts is their national point of honor. From the Exchequer and the East India House to the huckster's shop,

every thing prospers, because it is solvent. The British armies are solvent, and pay for what they take. The

British empire is solvent; for, in spite of the huge national debt, the valuation mounts. During the war from

1789 to 1815, whilst they complained that they were taxed within an inch of their lives, and, by dint of

enormous taxes, were subsidizing all the continent against France, the English were growing rich every year

faster than any people ever grew before. It is their maxim, that the weight of taxes must be calculated not by

what is taken, but by what is left. Solvency is in the ideas and mechanism of an Englishman. The Crystal

Palace is not considered honest until it pays; no matter how much convenience, beauty, or eclat, it must be

selfsupporting. They are contented with slower steamers, as long as they know that swifter boats lose

money. They proceed logically by the double method of labor and thrift. Every household exhibits an exact

economy, and nothing of that uncalculated headlong expenditure which families use in America. If they

cannot pay, they do not buy; for they have no presumption of better fortunes next year, as our people have;

and they say without shame, I cannot afford it. Gentlemen do not hesitate to ride in the secondclass cars, or

in the second cabin. An economist, or a man who can proportion his means and his ambition, or bring the

year round with expenditure which expresses his character, without embarrassing one day of his future, is

already a master of life, and a freeman. Lord Burleigh writes to his son, "that one ought never to devote more

than two thirds of his income to the ordinary expenses of life, since the extraordinary will be certain to absorb

The ambition to create value evokes every kind of ability, government becomes a manufacturing corporation,

and every house a mill. The headlong bias to utility will let no talent lie in a napkin, if possible, will teach

spiders to weave silk stockings. An Englishman, while he eats and drinks no more, or not much more than

another man, labors three times as many hours in the course of a year, as any other European; or, his life as a

workman is three lives. He works fast. Every thing in England is at a quick pace. They have reinforced their

own productivity, by the creation of that marvellous machinery which differences this age from any other

'Tis a curious chapter in modern history, the growth of the machineshop. Six hundred years ago, Roger

Bacon explained the precession of the equinoxes, the consequent necessity of the reform of the calendar;

measured the length of the year, invented gunpowder; and announced, (as if looking from his lofty cell, over

five centuries, into ours,) "that machines can be constructed to drive ships more rapidly than a whole galley

of rowers could do; nor would they need any thing but a pilot to steer them. Carriages also might be

constructed to move with an incredible speed, without the aid of any animal. Finally, it would not be

impossible to make machines, which, by means of a suit of wings, should fly in the air in the manner of

birds." But the secret slept with Bacon. The six hundred years have not yet fulfilled his words. Two centuries

ago, the sawing of timber was done by hand; the carriage wheels ran on wooden axles; the land was tilled by

wooden ploughs. And it was to little purpose, that they had pitcoal, or that looms were improved, unless

Watt and Stephenson had taught them to work forcepumps and powerlooms, by steam. The great strides

were all taken within the last hundred years. The Life of Sir Robert Peel, who died, the other day, the model

Englishman, very properly has, for a frontispiece a drawing of the spinningjenny, which wove the web of

his fortunes. Hargreaves invented the spinningjenny, and died in a workhouse. Arkwright improved the

invention; and the machine dispensed with the work of ninetynine men: that is, one spinner could do as

much work as one hundred had done before. The loom was improved further. But the men would sometimes

strike for wages, and combine against the masters, and, about 182930, much fear was felt, lest the trade

would be drawn away by these interruptions, and the emigration of the spinners, to Belgium and the United

States. Iron and steel are very obedient. Whether it were not possible to make a spinner that would not rebel,

nor mutter, nor scowl, nor strike for wages, nor emigrate? At the solicitation of the masters, after a mob and

riot at Staley Bridge, Mr. Roberts of Manchester undertook to create this peaceful fellow, instead of the

quarrelsome fellow God had made. After a few trials, he succeeded, and, in 1830, procured a patent for his

selfacting mule; a creation, the delight of millowners, and "destined," they said, "to restore order among

the industrious classes"; a machine requiring only a child's hand to piece the broken yarns. As Arkwright had

destroyed domestic spinning, so Roberts destroyed the factory spinner. The power of machinery in Great

Britain, in mills, has been computed to be equal to 600,000,000 men, one man being able by the aid of steam

to do the work which required two hundred and fifty men to accomplish fifty years ago. The production has

been commensurate. England already had this laborious race, rich soil, water, wood, coal, iron, and favorable

climate. Eight hundred years ago, commerce had made it rich, and it was recorded, "England is the richest of

all the northern nations." The Norman historians recite, that "in 1067, William carried with him into

Normandy, from England, more gold and silver than had ever before been seen in Gaul." But when, to this

labor and trade, and these native resources was added this goblin of steam, with his myriad arms, never tired,

working night and day everlastingly, the amassing of property has run out of all figures. It makes the motor of

the last ninety years. The steampipe has added to her population and wealth the equivalent of four or five

Englands. Forty thousand ships are entered in Lloyd's lists. The yield of wheat has gone on from 2,000,000

quarters in the time of the Stuarts, to 13,000,000 in 1854. A thousand million of pounds sterling are said to

compose the floating money of commerce. In 1848, Lord John Russell stated that the people of this country

had laid out 300,000,000 pounds of capital in railways, in the last four years. But a better measure than these

sounding figures, is the estimate, that there is wealth enough in England to support the entire population in

The wise, versatile, allgiving machinery makes chisels, roads, locomotives, telegraphs. Whitworth divides a

bar to a millionth of an inch. Steam twines huge cannon into wreaths, as easily as it braids straw, and vies

with the volcanic forces which twisted the strata. It can clothe shingle mountains with shipoaks, make

swordblades that will cut gunbarrels in two. In Egypt, it can plant forests, and bring rain after three

thousand years. Already it is ruddering the balloon, and the next war will be fought in the air. But another

machine more potent in England than steam, is the Bank. It votes an issue of bills, population is stimulated,

and cities rise; it refuses loans, and emigration empties the country; trade sinks; revolutions break out; kings

are dethroned. By these new agents our social system is moulded. By dint of steam and of money, war and

commerce are changed. Nations have lost their old omnipotence; the patriotic tie does not hold. Nations are

getting obsolete, we go and live where we will. Steam has enabled men to choose what law they will live

under. Money makes place for them. The telegraph is a limpband that will hold the Fenriswolf of war. For

now, that a telegraph line runs through France and Europe, from London, every message it transmits makes

The introduction of these elements gives new resources to existing proprietors. A sporting duke may fancy

that the state depends on the House of Lords, but the engineer sees, that every stroke of the steampiston

gives value to the duke's land, fills it with tenants; doubles, quadruples, centuples the duke's capital, and

creates new measures and new necessities for the culture of his children. Of course, it draws the nobility into

the competition as stockholders in the mine, the canal, the railway, in the application of steam to agriculture,

and sometimes into trade. But it also introduces large classes into the same competition; the old energy of the

Norse race arms itself with these magnificent powers; new men prove an overmatch for the landowner,

and the mill buys out the castle. Scandinavian Thor, who once forged his bolts in icy Hecla, and built galleys

by lonely fiords; in England, has advanced with the times, has shorn his beard, enters Parliament, sits down at

The creation of wealth in England in the last ninety years, is a main fact in modern history. The wealth of

London determines prices all over the globe. All things precious, or useful, or amusing, or intoxicating, are

sucked into this commerce and floated to London. Some English private fortunes reach, and some exceed a

million of dollars a year. A hundred thousand palaces adorn the island. All that can feed the senses and

passions, all that can succor the talent, or arm the hands of the intelligent middle class, who never spare in

what they buy for their own consumption; all that can aid science, gratify taste, or soothe comfort, is in open

market. Whatever is excellent and beautiful in civil, rural, or ecclesiastic architecture; in fountain, garden, or

grounds; the English noble crosses sea and land to see and to copy at home. The taste and science of thirty

peaceful generations; the gardens which Evelyn planted; the temples and pleasurehouses which Inigo Jones

and Christopher Wren built; the wood that Gibbons carved; the taste of foreign and domestic artists,

Shenstone, Pope, Brown, Loudon, Paxton, are in the vast auction, and the hereditary principle heaps on the

owner of today the benefit of ages of owners. The present possessors are to the full as absolute as any of

their fathers, in choosing and procuring what they like. This comfort and splendor, the breadth of lake and

mountain, tillage, pasture, and park, sumptuous castle and modern villa, all consist with perfect order.

They have no revolutions; no horseguards dictating to the crown; no Parisian poissardes and barricades; no

mob: but drowsy habitude, daily dressdinners, wine, and ale, and beer, and gin, and sleep.

With this power of creation, and this passion for independence, property has reached an ideal perfection. It is

felt and treated as the national lifeblood. The laws are framed to give property the securest possible basis,

and the provisions to lock and transmit it have exercised the cunningest heads in a profession which never

admits a fool. The rights of property nothing but felony and treason can override. The house is a castle which

the king cannot enter. The Bank is a strong box to which the king has no key. Whatever surly sweetness

possession can give, is tested in England to the dregs. Vested rights are awful things, and absolute possession

gives the smallest freeholder identity of interest with the duke. High stone fences, and padlocked

gardengates announce the absolute will of the owner to be alone. Every whim of exaggerated egotism is put

An Englishman hears that the Queen Dowager wishes to establish some claim to put her park paling a rod

forward into his grounds, so as to get a coachway, and save her a mile to the avenue. Instantly he transforms

his paling into stonemasonry, solid as the walls of Cuma, and all Europe cannot prevail on him to sell or

compound for an inch of the land. They delight in a freak as the proof of their sovereign freedom. Sir Edward

Boynton, at Spic Park, at Cadenham, on a precipice of incomparable prospect, built a house like a long barn,

which had not a window on the prospect side. Strawberry Hill of Horace Walpole, Fonthill Abbey of Mr.

Beckford, were freaks; and Newstead Abbey became one in the hands of Lord Byron.

But the proudest result of this creation has been the great and refined forces it has put at the disposal of the

private citizen. In the social world, an Englishman today has the best lot. He is a king in a plain coat. He

goes with the most powerful protection, keeps the best company, is armed by the best education, is seconded

by wealth; and his English name and accidents are like a flourish of trumpets announcing him. This, with his

quiet style of manners, gives him the power of a sovereign, without the inconveniences which belong to that

rank. I much prefer the condition of an English gentleman of the better class, to that of any potentate in

Europe, whether for travel, or for opportunity of society, or for access to means of science or study, or for

Such as we have seen is the wealth of England, a mighty mass, and made good in whatever details we care to

explore. The cause and spring of it is the wealth of temperament in the people. The wonder of Britain is this

plenteous nature. Her worthies are ever surrounded by as good men as themselves; each is a captain a

hundred strong, and that wealth of men is represented again in the faculty of each individual, that he has

waste strength, power to spare. The English are so rich, and seem to have established a taproot in the bowels

But a man must keep an eye on his servants, if he would not have them rule him. Man is a shrewd inventor,

and is ever taking the hint of a new machine from his own structure, adapting some secret of his own

anatomy in iron, wood, and leather, to some required function in the work of the world. But it is found that

the machine unmans the user. What he gains in making cloth, he loses in general power. There should be

temperance in making cloth, as well as in eating. A man should not be a silkworm; nor a nation a tent of

caterpillars. The robust rural Saxon degenerates in the mills to the Leicester stockinger, to the imbecile

Manchester spinner, far on the way to be spiders and needles. The incessant repetition of the same

handwork dwarfs the man, robs him of his strength, wit, and versatility, to make a pinpolisher, a

bucklemaker, or any other specialty; and presently, in a change of industry, whole towns are sacrificed like

anthills, when the fashion of shoestrings supersedes buckles, when cotton takes the place of linen, or

railways of turnpikes, or when commons are inclosed by landlords. Then society is admonished of the

mischief of the division of labor, and that the best political economy is care and culture of men; for, in these

crises, all are ruined except such as are proper individuals, capable of thought, and of new choice and the

application of their talent to new labor. Then again come in new calamities. England is aghast at the

disclosure of her fraud in the adulteration of food, of drugs, and of almost every fabric in her mills and shops;

finding that milk will not nourish, nor sugar sweeten, nor bread satisfy, nor pepper bite the tongue, nor glue

stick. In true England all is false and forged. This too is the reaction of machinery, but of the larger

machinery of commerce. 'Tis not, I suppose, want of probity, so much as the tyranny of trade, which

necessitates a perpetual competition of underselling, and that again a perpetual deterioration of the fabric.

The machinery has proved, like the balloon, unmanageable, and flies away with the aeronaut. Steam, from the

first, hissed and screamed to warn him; it was dreadful with its explosion, and crushed the engineer. The

machinist has wrought and watched, engineers and firemen without number have been sacrificed in learning

to tame and guide the monster. But harder still it has proved to resist and rule the dragon Money, with his

paper wings. Chancellors and Boards of Trade, Pitt, Peel, and Robinson, and their Parliaments, and their

whole generation, adopted false principles, and went to their graves in the belief that they were enriching the

country which they were impoverishing. They congratulated each other on ruinous expedients. It is rare to

find a merchant who knows why a crisis occurs in trade, why prices rise or fall, or who knows the mischief of

paper money. In the culmination of national prosperity, in the annexation of countries; building of ships,

depots, towns; in the influx of tons of gold and silver; amid the chuckle of chancellors and financiers, it was

found that bread rose to famine prices, that the yeoman was forced to sell his cow and pig, his tools, and his

acre of land; and the dreadful barometer of the poorrates was touching the point of ruin. The poorrate was

sucking in the solvent classes, and forcing an exodus of farmers and mechanics. What befals from the

violence of financial crises, befals daily in the violence of artificial legislation.

Such a wealth has England earned, ever new, bounteous, and augmenting. But the question recurs, does she

take the step beyond, namely, to the wise use, in view of the supreme wealth of nations? We estimate the

wisdom of nations by seeing what they did with their surplus capital. And, in view of these injuries, some

compensation has been attempted in England. A part of the money earned returns to the brain to buy schools,

libraries, bishops, astronomers, chemists, and artists with; and a part to repair the wrongs of this intemperate

weaving, by hospitals, savingsbanks, Mechanics' Institutes, public grounds, and other charities and

amenities. But the antidotes are frightfully inadequate, and the evil requires a deeper cure, which time and a

simpler social organization must supply. At present, she does not rule her wealth. She is simply a good

England, but no divinity, or wise and instructed soul. She too is in the stream of fate, one victim more in a

But being in the fault, she has the misfortune of greatness to be held as the chief offender. England must be

held responsible for the despotism of expense. Her prosperity, the splendor which so much manhood and

talent and perseverance has thrown upon vulgar aims, is the very argument of materialism. Her success

strengthens the hands of base wealth. Who can propose to youth poverty and wisdom, when mean gain has

arrived at the conquest of letters and arts; when English success has grown out of the very renunciation of

principles, and the dedication to outsides? A civility of trifles, of money and expense, an erudition of

sensation takes place, and the putting as many impediments as we can, between the man and his objects.

Hardly the bravest among them have the manliness to resist it successfully. Hence, it has come, that not the

aims of a manly life, but the means of meeting a certain ponderous expense, is that which is to be considered

by a youth in England, emerging from his minority. A large family is reckoned a misfortune. And it is a

The feudal character of the English state, now that it is getting obsolete, glares a little, in contrast with the

democratic tendencies. The inequality of power and property shocks republican nerves. Palaces, halls, villas,

walled parks, all over England, rival the splendor of royal seats. Many of the halls, like Haddon, or

Kedleston, are beautiful desolations. The proprietor never saw them, or never lived in them. Primogeniture

built these sumptuous piles, and, I suppose, it is the sentiment of every traveller, as it was mine, 'Twas well to

come ere these were gone. Primogeniture is a cardinal rule of English property and institutions. Laws,

The frame of society is aristocratic, the taste of the people is loyal. The estates, names, and manners of the

nobles flatter the fancy of the people, and conciliate the necessary support. In spite of broken faith, stolen

charters, and the devastation of society by the profligacy of the court, we take sides as we read for the loyal

England and King Charles's "return to his right" with his Cavaliers, knowing what a heartless trifler he is,

and what a crew of Godforsaken robbers they are. The people of England knew as much. But the fair idea of

a settled government connecting itself with heraldic names, with the written and oral history of Europe, and,

at last, with the Hebrew religion, and the oldest traditions of the world, was too pleasing a vision to be

shattered by a few offensive realities, and the politics of shoemakers and costermongers. The hopes of the

commoners take the same direction with the interest of the patricians. Every man who becomes rich buys

land, and does what he can to fortify the nobility, into which he hopes to rise. The Anglican clergy are

identified with the aristocracy. Time and law have made the joining and moulding perfect in every part. The

Cathedrals, the Universities, the national music, the popular romances, conspire to uphold the heraldry, which

the current politics of the day are sapping. The taste of the people is conservative. They are proud of the

castles, and of the language and symbol of chivalry. Even the word lord is the luckiest style that is used in

any language to designate a patrician. The superior education and manners of the nobles recommend them to

The Norwegian pirate got what he could, and held it for his eldest son. The Norman noble, who was the

Norwegian pirate baptized, did likewise. There was this advantage of western over oriental nobility, that this

was recruited from below. English history is aristocracy with the doors open. Who has courage and faculty,

let him come in. Of course, the terms of admission to this club are hard and high. The selfishness of the

nobles comes in aid of the interest of the nation to require signal merit. Piracy and war gave place to trade,

politics, and letters; the warlord to the lawlord; the lawlord to the merchant and the millowner; but the

The foundations of these families lie deep in Norwegian exploits by sea, and Saxon sturdiness on land. All

nobility in its beginnings was somebody's natural superiority. The things these English have done were not

done without peril of life, nor without wisdom and conduct; and the first hands, it may be presumed, were

often challenged to show their right to their honors, or yield them to better men. "He that will be a head, let

him be a bridge," said the Welsh chief Benegridran, when he carried all his men over the river on his back.

"He shall have the book," said the mother of Alfred, "who can read it;" and Alfred won it by that title: and I

make no doubt that feudal tenure was no sinecure, but baron, knight, and tenant, often had their memories

refreshed, in regard to the service by which they held their lands. The De Veres, Bohuns, Mowbrays, and

Plantagenets were not addicted to contemplation. The middle age adorned itself with proofs of manhood and

devotion. Of Richard Beauchamp, Earl of Warwick, the Emperor told Henry V. that no Christian king had

such another knight for wisdom, nurture, and manhood, and caused him to be named, "Father of curtesie."

The warlord earned his honors, and no donation of land was large, as long as it brought the duty of

protecting it, hour by hour, against a terrible enemy. In France and in England, the nobles were, down to a

late day, born and bred to war: and the duel, which in peace still held them to the risks of war, diminished the

envy that, in trading and studious nations, would else have pried into their title. They were looked on as men

Great estates are not sinecures, if they are to be kept great. A creative economy is the fuel of magnificence. In

the same line of Warwick, the successor next but one to Beauchamp, was the stout earl of Henry VI. and

Edward IV. Few esteemed themselves in the mode, whose heads were not adorned with the black ragged

staff, his badge. At his house in London, six oxen were daily eaten at a breakfast; and every tavern was full of

his meat; and who had any acquaintance in his family, should have as much boiled and roast as he could carry

The new age brings new qualities into request, the virtues of pirates gave way to those of planters, merchants,

senators, and scholars. Comity, social talent, and fine manners, no doubt, have had their part also. I have met

somewhere with a historiette, which, whether more or less true in its particulars, carries a general truth. "How

came the Duke of Bedford by his great landed estates? His ancestor having travelled on the continent, a

lively, pleasant man, became the companion of a foreign prince wrecked on the Dorsetshire coast, where Mr.

Russell lived. The prince recommended him to Henry VIII., who, liking his company, gave him a large share

The pretence is that the noble is of unbroken descent from the Norman, and has never worked for eight

hundred years. But the fact is otherwise. Where is Bohun? where is De Vere? The lawyer, the farmer, the

silkmercer lies perdu under the coronet, and winks to the antiquary to say nothing; especially skilful lawyers,

nobody's sons, who did some piece of work at a nice moment for government, and were rewarded with

The national tastes of the English do not lead them to the life of the courtier, but to secure the comfort and

independence of their homes. The aristocracy are marked by their predilection for countrylife. They are

called the countyfamilies. They have often no residence in London, and only go thither a short time, during

the season, to see the opera; but they concentrate the love and labor of many generations on the building,

planting and decoration of their homesteads. Some of them are too old and too proud to wear titles, or, as

Sheridan said of Coke, "disdain to hide their head in a coronet;" and some curious examples are cited to show

the stability of English families. Their proverb is, that, fifty miles from London, a family will last a hundred

years; at a hundred miles, two hundred years; and so on; but I doubt that steam, the enemy of time, as well as

of space, will disturb these ancient rules. Sir Henry Wotton says of the first Duke of Buckingham, "He was

born at Brookeby in Leicestershire, where his ancestors had chiefly continued about the space of four

hundred years, rather without obscurity, than with any great lustre." (* 2) Wraxall says, that, in 1781, Lord

Surrey, afterwards Duke of Norfolk, told him, that when the year 1783 should arrive, he meant to give a

grand festival to all the descendants of the body of Jockey of Norfolk, to mark the day when the dukedom

should have remained three hundred years in their house, since its creation by Richard III. Pepys tells us, in

writing of an Earl Oxford, in 1666, that the honor had now remained in that name and blood six hundred

This long descent of families and this cleaving through ages to the same spot of ground captivates the

imagination. It has too a connection with the names of the towns and districts of the country.

The names are excellent, an atmosphere of legendary melody spread over the land. Older than all epics

and histories, which clothe a nation, this undershirt sits close to the body. What history too, and what stores

of primitive and savage observation it infolds! Cambridge is the bridge of the Cam; Sheffield the field of the

river Sheaf; Leicester the castra or camp of the Lear or Leir (now Soar); Rochdale, of the Roch; Exeter or

Excester, the castra of the Ex; Exmouth, Dartmouth, Sidmouth, Teignmouth, the mouths of the Ex, Dart, Sid,

and Teign rivers. Waltham is strong town; Radcliffe is red cliff; and so on: a sincerity and use in naming

very striking to an American, whose country is whitewashed all over by unmeaning names, the castoff

clothes of the country from which its emigrants came; or, named at a pinch from a psalmtune. But the

English are those "barbarians" of Jamblichus, who "are stable in their manners, and firmly continue to

'Tis an old sneer, that the Irish peerage drew their names from playbooks. The English lords do not call their

lands after their own names, but call themselves after their lands; as if the man represented the country that

bred him; and they rightly wear the token of the glebe that gave them birth; suggesting that the tie is not cut,

but that there in London, the crags of Argyle, the kail of Cornwall, the downs of Devon, the iron of Wales,

the clays of Stafford, are neither forgetting nor forgotten, but know the man who was born by them, and who,

like the long line of his fathers, has carried that crag, that shore, dale, fen, or woodland, in his blood and

manners. It has, too, the advantage of suggesting responsibleness. A susceptible man could not wear a name

which represented in a strict sense a city or a county of England, without hearing in it a challenge to duty and

The predilection of the patricians for residence in the country, combined with the degree of liberty possessed

by the peasant, makes the safety of the English hall. Mirabeau wrote prophetically from England, in 1784, "If

revolution break out in France, I tremble for the aristocracy: their chateaux will be reduced to ashes, and their

blood spilt in torrents. The English tenant would defend his lord to the last extremity." The English go to their

estates for grandeur. The French live at court, and exile themselves to their estates for economy. As they do

not mean to live with their tenants, they do not conciliate them, but wring from them the last sous. Evelyn

writes from Blois, in 1644, "The wolves are here in such numbers, that they often come and take children out

of the streets: yet will not the Duke, who is sovereign here, permit them to be destroyed."

In evidence of the wealth amassed by ancient families, the traveller is shown the palaces in Piccadilly,

Burlington House, Devonshire House, Lansdowne House in Berkshire Square, and, lower down in the city, a

few noble houses which still withstand in all their amplitude the encroachment of streets. The Duke of

Bedford includes or included a mile square in the heart of London, where the British Museum, once

Montague House, now stands, and the land occupied by Woburn Square, Bedford Square, Russell Square.

The Marquis of Westminster built within a few years the series of squares called Belgravia. Stafford House is

the noblest palace in London. Northumberland House holds its place by Charing Cross. Chesterfield House

remains in Audley Street. Sion House and Holland House are in the suburbs. But most of the historical

houses are masked or lost in the modern uses to which trade or charity has converted them. A multitude of

In the country, the size of private estates is more impressive. From Barnard Castle I rode on the highway

twentythree miles from High Force, a fall of the Tees, towards Darlington, past Raby Castle, through the

estate of the Duke of Cleveland. The Marquis of Breadalbane rides out of his house a hundred miles in a

straight line to the sea, on his own property. The Duke of Sutherland owns the county of Sutherland,

stretching across Scotland from sea to sea. The Duke of Devonshire, besides his other estates, owns 96,000

acres in the County of Derby. The Duke of Richmond has 40,000 acres at Goodwood, and 300,000 at Gordon

Castle. The Duke of Norfolk's park in Sussex is fifteen miles in circuit. An agriculturist bought lately the

island of Lewes, in Hebrides, containing 500,000 acres. The possessions of the Earl of Lonsdale gave him

eight seats in Parliament. This is the Heptarchy again: and before the Reform of 1832, one hundred and

fiftyfour persons sent three hundred and seven members to Parliament. The boroughmongers governed

These large domains are growing larger. The great estates are absorbing the small freeholds. In 1786, the soil

of England was owned by 250,000 corporations and proprietors; and, in 1822, by 32,000. These broad estates

find room in this narrow island. All over England, scattered at short intervals among shipyards, mills,

mines, and forges, are the paradises of the nobles, where the livelong repose and refinement are heightened

by the contrast with the roar of industry and necessity, out of which you have stepped aside.

I was surprised to observe the very small attendance usually in the House of Lords. Out of 573 peers, on

ordinary days, only twenty or thirty. Where are they? I asked. "At home on their estates, devoured by ennui,

or in the Alps, or up the Rhine, in the Harz Mountains, or in Egypt, or in India, on the Ghauts." But, with

such interests at stake, how can these men afford to neglect them? "O," replied my friend, "why should they

work for themselves, when every man in England works for them, and will suffer before they come to harm?"

The hardest radical instantly uncovers, and changes his tone to a lord. It was remarked, on the 10th April,

1848, (the day of the Chartist demonstration,) that the upper classes were, for the first time, actively

interesting themselves in their own defence, and men of rank were sworn special constables, with the rest.

"Besides, why need they sit out the debate? Has not the Duke of Wellington, at this moment, their proxies,

the proxies of fifty peers in his pocket, to vote for them, if there be an emergency?"

It is however true, that the existence of the House of Peers as a branch of the government entitles them to fill

half the Cabinet; and their weight of property and station give them a virtual nomination of the other half;

whilst they have their share in the subordinate offices, as a school of training. This monopoly of political

power has given them their intellectual and social eminence in Europe. A few law lords and a few political

lords take the brunt of public business. In the army, the nobility fill a large part of the high commissions, and

give to these a tone of expense and splendor, and also of exclusiveness. They have borne their full share of

duty and danger in this service; and there are few noble families which have not paid in some of their

members, the debt of life or limb, in the sacrifices of the Russian war. For the rest, the nobility have the lead

in matters of state, and of expense; in questions of taste, in social usages, in convivial and domestic

hospitalities. In general, all that is required of them is to sit securely, to preside at public meetings, to

countenance charities, and to give the example of that decorum so dear to the British heart.

If one asks, in the critical spirit of the day, what service this class have rendered? uses appear, or they

would have perished long ago. Some of these are easily enumerated, others more subtle make a part of

unconscious history. Their institution is one step in the progress of society. For a race yields a nobility in

The English nobles are highspirited, active, educated men, born to wealth and power, who have run through

every country, and kept in every country the best company, have seen every secret of art and nature, and,

when men of any ability or ambition, have been consulted in the conduct of every important action. You

cannot wield great agencies without lending yourself to them, and, when it happens that the spirit of the earl

meets his rank and duties, we have the best examples of behavior. Power of any kind readily appears in the

manners; and beneficent power, le talent de bien faire, gives a majesty which cannot be concealed or resisted.

These people seem to gain as much as they lose by their position. They survey society, as from the top of St.

Paul's, and, if they never hear plain truth from men, they see the best of every thing, in every kind, and they

see things so grouped and amassed as to infer easily the sum and genius, instead of tedious particularities.

Their good behavior deserves all its fame, and they have that simplicity, and that air of repose, which are the

The upper classes have only birth, say the people here, and not thoughts. Yes, but they have manners, and, 'tis

wonderful, how much talent runs into manners: nowhere and never so much as in England. They have the

sense of superiority, the absence of all the ambitious effort which disgusts in the aspiring classes, a pure tone

of thought and feeling, and the power to command, among their other luxuries, the presence of the most

Loyalty is in the English a subreligion. They wear the laws as ornaments, and walk by their faith in their

painted MayFair, as if among the forms of gods. The economist of 1855 who asks, of what use are the

lords? may learn of Franklin to ask, of what use is a baby? They have been a social church proper to inspire

sentiments mutually honoring the lover and the loved. Politeness is the ritual of society, as prayers are of the

church; a school of manners, and a gentle blessing to the age in which it grew. 'Tis a romance adorning

English life with a larger horizon; a midway heaven, fulfilling to their sense their fairy tales and poetry. This,

just as far as the breeding of the nobleman really made him brave, handsome, accomplished, and

On general grounds, whatever tends to form manners, or to finish men, has a great value. Every one who has

tasted the delight of friendship, will respect every social guard which our manners can establish, tending to

secure from the intrusion of frivolous and distasteful people. The jealousy of every class to guard itself, is a

testimony to the reality they have found in life. When a man once knows that he has done justice to himself,

let him dismiss all terrors of aristocracy as superstitions, so far as he is concerned. He who keeps the door of

a mine, whether of cobalt, or mercury, or nickel, or plumbago, securely knows that the world cannot do

without him. Every body who is real is open and ready for that which is also real.

Besides, these are they who make England that strongbox and museum it is; who gather and protect works of

art, dragged from amidst burning cities and revolutionary countries, and brought hither out of all the world. I

look with respect at houses six, seven, eight hundred, or, like Warwick Castle, nine hundred years old. I

pardoned high parkfences, when I saw, that, besides does and pheasants, these have preserved Arundel

marbles, Townley galleries, Howard and Spenserian libraries, Warwick and Portland vases, Saxon

manuscripts, monastic architectures, millennial trees, and breeds of cattle elsewhere extinct. In these manors,

after the frenzy of war and destruction subsides a little, the antiquary finds the frailest Roman jar, or

crumbling Egyptian mummycase, without so much as a new layer of dust, keeping the series of history

unbroken, and waiting for its interpreter, who is sure to arrive. These lords are the treasurers and librarians of

Yet there were other works for British dukes to do. George Loudon, Quintinye, Evelyn, had taught them to

make gardens. Arthur Young, Bakewell, and Mechi, have made them agricultural. Scotland was a camp until

the day of Culloden. The Dukes of Athol, Sutherland, Buccleugh, and the Marquis of Breadalbane have

introduced the rapeculture, the sheepfarm, wheat, drainage, the plantation of forests, the artificial

replenishment of lakes and ponds with fish, the renting of gamepreserves. Against the cry of the old

tenantry, and the sympathetic cry of the English press, they have rooted out and planted anew, and now six

millions of people live, and live better on the same land that fed three millions.

The English barons, in every period, have been brave and great, after the estimate and opinion of their times.

The grand old halls scattered up and down in England, are dumb vouchers to the state and broad hospitality

of their ancient lords. Shakspeare's portraits of good duke Humphrey, of Warwick, of Northumberland, of

Talbot, were drawn in strict consonance with the traditions. A sketch of the Earl of Shrewsbury, from the pen

of Queen Elizabeth's archbishop Parker; (* 3) Lord Herbert of Cherbury's autobiography; the letters and

essays of Sir Philip Sidney; the anecdotes preserved by the antiquaries Fuller and Collins; some glimpses at

the interiors of noble houses, which we owe to Pepys and Evelyn; the details which Ben Jonson's masques

(performed at Kenilworth, Althorpe, Belvoir, and other noble houses,) record or suggest; down to Aubrey's

passages of the life of Hobbes in the house of the Earl of Devon, are favorable pictures of a romantic style of

manners. Penshurst still shines for us, and its Christmas revels, "where logs not burn, but men." At Wilton

House, the "Arcadia" was written, amidst conversations with Fulke Greville, Lord Brooke, a man of no

vulgar mind, as his own poems declare him. I must hold Ludlow Castle an honest house, for which Milton's

"Comus" was written, and the company nobly bred which performed it with knowledge and sympathy. In the

roll of nobles, are found poets, philosophers, chemists, astronomers, also men of solid virtues and of lofty

sentiments; often they have been the friends and patrons of genius and learning, and especially of the fine

arts; and at this moment, almost every great house has its sumptuous picturegallery.

Of course, there is another side to this gorgeous show. Every victory was the defect of a party only less

worthy. Castles are proud things, but 'tis safest to be outside of them. War is a foul game, and yet war is not

the worst part of aristocratic history. In later times, when the baron, educated only for war, with his brains

paralyzed by his stomach, found himself idle at home, he grew fat and wanton, and a sorry brute. Grammont,

Pepys, and Evelyn, show the kennels to which the king and court went in quest of pleasure. Prostitutes taken

from the theatres, were made duchesses, their bastards dukes and earls. "The young men sat uppermost, the

old serious lords were out of favor." The discourse that the king's companions had with him was "poor and

frothy." No man who valued his head might do what these potcompanions familiarly did with the king. In

logical sequence of these dignified revels, Pepys can tell the beggarly shifts to which the king was reduced,

who could not find paper at his council table, and "no handkerchers" in his wardrobe, "and but three bands to

his neck," and the linendraper and the stationer were out of pocket, and refusing to trust him, and the baker

will not bring bread any longer. Meantime, the English Channel was swept, and London threatened by the

Dutch fleet, manned too by English sailors, who, having been cheated of their pay for years by the king,

The Selwyn correspondence in the reign of George III., discloses a rottenness in the aristocracy, which

threatened to decompose the state. The sycophancy and sale of votes and honor, for place and title; lewdness,

gaming, smuggling, bribery, and cheating; the sneer at the childish indiscretion of quarrelling with ten

thousand a year; the want of ideas; the splendor of the titles, and the apathy of the nation, are instructive, and

make the reader pause and explore the firm bounds which confined these vices to a handful of rich men. In

the reign of the Fourth George, things do not seem to have mended, and the rotten debauchee let down from a

window by an inclined plane into his coach to take the air, was a scandal to Europe which the ill fame of his

Under the present reign, the perfect decorum of the Court is thought to have put a check on the gross vices of

the aristocracy yet gaming, racing, drinking, and mistresses, bring them down, and the democrat can still

gather scandals, if he will. Dismal anecdotes abound, verifying the gossip of the last generation of dukes

served by bailiffs, with all their plate in pawn; of great lords living by the showing of their houses; and of an

old man wheeled in his chair from room to room, whilst his chambers are exhibited to the visitor for money;

of ruined dukes and earls living in exile for debt. The historic names of the Buckinghams, Beauforts,

Marlboroughs, and Hertfords, have gained no new lustre, and now and then darker scandals break out,

ominous as the new chapters added under the Orleans dynasty to the "Causes Celebres" in France. Even

peers, who are men of worth and public spirit, are overtaken and embarrassed by their vast expense. The

respectable Duke of Devonshire, willing to be the Mecaenas and Lucullus of his island, is reported to have

said, that he cannot live at Chatsworth but one month in the year. Their many houses eat them up. They

cannot sell them, because they are entailed. They will not let them, for pride's sake, but keep them empty,

aired, and the grounds mown and dressed, at a cost of four or five thousand pounds a year. The spending is

Most of them are only chargeable with idleness, which, because it squanders such vast power of benefit, has

the mischief of crime. "They might be little Providences on earth," said my friend, "and they are, for the most

part, jockeys and fops." Campbell says, "acquaintance with the nobility, I could never keep up. It requires a

life of idleness, dressing, and attendance on their parties." I suppose, too, that a feeling of selfrespect is

driving cultivated men out of this society, as if the noble were slow to receive the lessons of the times, and

had not learned to disguise his pride of place. A man of wit, who is also one of the celebrities of wealth and

fashion, confessed to his friend, that he could not enter their houses without being made to feel that they were

great lords, and he a low plebeian. With the tribe of artistes, including the musical tribe, the patrician morgue

keeps no terms, but excludes them. When Julia Grisi and Mario sang at the houses of the Duke of Wellington

When every noble was a soldier, they were carefully bred to great personal prowess. The education of a

soldier is a simpler affair than that of an earl in the nineteenth century. And this was very seriously pursued;

they were expert in every species of equitation, to the most dangerous practices, and this down to the

accession of William of Orange. But graver men appear to have trained their sons for civil affairs. Elizabeth

extended her thought to the future; and Sir Philip Sidney in his letter to his brother, and Milton and Evelyn,

gave plain and hearty counsel. Already too, the English noble and squire were preparing for the career of the

countrygentleman, and his peaceable expense. They went from city to city, learning receipts to make

perfumes, sweet powders, pomanders, antidotes, gathering seeds, gems, coins, and divers curiosities,

preparing for a private life thereafter, in which they should take pleasure in these recreations.

All advantages given to absolve the young patrician from intellectual labor are of course mistaken. "In the

university, noblemen are exempted from the public exercises for the degree, by which they attain a degree

called honorary. At the same time, the fees they have to pay for matriculation, and on all other occasions, are

much higher." (* 4) Fuller records "the observation of foreigners, that Englishmen, by making their children

gentlemen, before they are men, cause they are so seldom wise men." This cockering justifies Dr. Johnson's

The revolution in society has reached this class. The great powers of industrial art have no exclusion of name

or blood. The tools of our time, namely, steam, ships, printing, money, and popular education, belong to

those who can handle them: and their effect has been, that advantages once confined to men of family, are

now open to the whole middle class. The road that grandeur levels for his coach, toil can travel in his cart.

This is more manifest every day, but I think it is true throughout English history. English history, wisely read,

is the vindication of the brain of that people. Here, at last, were climate and condition friendly to the working

faculty. Who now will work and dare, shall rule. This is the charter, or the chartism, which fogs, and seas,

and rains proclaimed,that intellect and personal force should make the law; that industry and

administrative talent should administer; that work should wear the crown. I know that not this, but something

else is pretended. The fiction with which the noble and the bystander equally please themselves is, that the

former is of unbroken descent from the Norman, and so has never worked for eight hundred years. All the

families are new, but the name is old, and they have made a covenant with their memories not to disturb it.

But the analysis of the peerage and gentry shows the rapid decay and extinction of old families, the continual

recruiting of these from new blood. The doors, though ostentatiously guarded, are really open, and hence the

power of the bribe. All the barriers to rank only whet the thirst, and enhance the prize. "Now," said Nelson,

when clearing for battle, "a peerage, or Westminster Abbey!" "I have no illusion left," said Sydney Smith,

"but the Archbishop of Canterbury." "The lawyers," said Burke, "are only birds of passage in this House of

Commons," and then added, with a new figure, "they have their best bower anchor in the House of Lords."

Another stride that has been taken, appears in the perishing of heraldry. Whilst the privileges of nobility are

passing to the middle class, the badge is discredited, and the titles of lordship are getting musty and

cumbersome. I wonder that sensible men have not been already impatient of them. They belong, with wigs,

powder, and scarlet coats, to an earlier age, and may be advantageously consigned, with paint and tattoo, to

A multitude of English, educated at the universities, bred into their society with manners, ability, and the gifts

of fortune, are every day confronting the peers on a footing of equality, and outstripping them, as often, in the

race of honor and influence. That cultivated class is large and ever enlarging. It is computed that, with titles

and without, there are seventy thousand of these people coming and going in London, who make up what is

called high society. They cannot shut their eyes to the fact that an untitled nobility possess all the power

without the inconveniences that belong to rank, and the rich Englishman goes over the world at the present

day, drawing more than all the advantages which the strongest of his kings could command.

Of British universities, Cambridge has the most illustrious names on its list. At the present day, too, it has the

advantage of Oxford, counting in its alumni a greater number of distinguished scholars. I regret that I had but

a single day wherein to see King's College Chapel, the beautiful lawns and gardens of the colleges, and a few

But I availed myself of some repeated invitations to Oxford, where I had introductions to Dr. Daubeny,

Professor of Botany, and to the Regius Professor of Divinity, as well as to a valued friend, a Fellow of Oriel,

and went thither on the last day of March, 1848. I was the guest of my friend in Oriel, was housed close upon

My new friends showed me their cloisters, the Bodleian Library, the Randolph Gallery, Merton Hall, and the

rest. I saw several faithful, highminded young men, some of them in the mood of making sacrifices for

peace of mind, a topic, of course, on which I had no counsel to offer. Their affectionate and gregarious

ways reminded me at once of the habits of our Cambridge men, though I imputed to these English an

advantage in their secure and polished manners. The halls are rich with oaken wainscoting and ceiling. The

pictures of the founders hang from the walls; the tables glitter with plate. A youth came forward to the upper

table, and pronounced the ancient form of grace before meals, which, I suppose, has been in use here for

It is a curious proof of the English use and wont, or of their good nature, that these young men are locked up

every night at nine o'clock, and the porter at each hall is required to give the name of any belated student who

is admitted after that hour. Still more descriptive is the fact, that out of twelve hundred young men,

Oxford is old, even in England, and conservative. Its foundations date from Alfred, and even from Arthur, if,

as is alleged, the Pheryllt of the Druids had a seminary here. In the reign of Edward I., it is pretended, here

were thirty thousand students; and nineteen most noble foundations were then established. Chaucer found it

as firm as if it had always stood; and it is, in British story, rich with great names, the school of the island, and

the link of England to the learned of Europe. Hither came Erasmus, with delight, in 1497. Albericus Gentilis,

in 1580, was relieved and maintained by the university. Albert Alaskie, a noble Polonian, Prince of Sirad,

who visited England to admire the wisdom of Queen Elizabeth, was entertained with stageplays in the

Refectory of Christchurch, in 1583. Isaac Casaubon, coming from Henri Quatre of France, by invitation of

James I., was admitted to Christ's College, in July, 1613. I saw the Ashmolean Museum, whither Elias

Ashmole, in 1682, sent twelve cartloads of rarities. Here indeed was the Olympia of all Antony Wood's and

Aubrey's games and heroes, and every inch of ground has its lustre. For Wood's Athenae Oxonienses, or

calendar of the writers of Oxford for two hundred years, is a lively record of English manners and merits, and

as much a national monument as Purchas's Pilgrims or Hansard's Register. On every side, Oxford is redolent

of age and authority. Its gates shut of themselves against modern innovation. It is still governed by the

statutes of Archbishop Laud. The books in Merton Library are still chained to the wall. Here, on August 27,

1660, John Milton's Pro Populo Anglicano Defensio, and Iconoclastes were committed to the flames. I saw

the schoolcourt or quadrangle, where, in 1683, the Convocation caused the Leviathan of Thomas Hobbes to

be publicly burnt. I do not know whether this learned body have yet heard of the Declaration of American

Independence, or whether the Ptolemaic astronomy does not still hold its ground against the novelties of

As many sons, almost so many benefactors. It is usual for a nobleman, or indeed for almost every wealthy

student, on quitting college, to leave behind him some article of plate; and gifts of all values, from a hall, or a

fellowship, or a library, down to a picture or a spoon, are continually accruing, in the course of a century. My

friend Doctor J., gave me the following anecdote. In Sir Thomas Lawrence's collection at London, were the

cartoons of Raphael and Michel Angelo. This inestimable prize was offered to Oxford University for seven

thousand pounds. The offer was accepted, and the committee charged with the affair had collected three

thousand pounds, when among other friends, they called on Lord Eldon. Instead of a hundred pounds, he

surprised them by putting down his name for three thousand pounds. They told him, they should now very

easily raise the remainder. "No," he said, "your men have probably already contributed all they can spare; I

can as well give the rest": and he withdrew his cheque for three thousand, and wrote four thousand pounds. I

In the Bodleian Library, Dr. Bandinel showed me the manuscript Plato, of the date of A. D. 896, brought by

Dr. Clarke from Egypt; a manuscript Virgil, of the same century; the first Bible printed at Mentz, (I believe in

1450); and a duplicate of the same, which had been deficient in about twenty leaves at the end. But, one day,

being in Venice, he bought a room full of books and manuscripts, every scrap and fragment, for four

thousand louis d'ors, and had the doors locked and sealed by the consul. On proceeding, afterwards, to

examine his purchase, he found the twenty deficient pages of his Mentz Bible, in perfect order; brought them

to Oxford, with the rest of his purchase, and placed them in the volume; but has too much awe for the

Providence that appears in bibliography also, to suffer the reunited parts to be rebound. The oldest building

here is two hundred years younger than the frail manuscript brought by Dr. Clarke from Egypt. No candle or

fire is ever lighted in the Bodleian. Its catalogue is the standard catalogue on the desk of every library in

Oxford. In each several college, they underscore in red ink on this catalogue the titles of books contained in

the library of that college, the theory being that the Bodleian has all books. This rich library spent during

The logical English train a scholar as they train an engineer. Oxford is a Greek factory, as Wilton mills weave

carpet, and Sheffield grinds steel. They know the use of a tutor, as they know the use of a horse; and they

draw the greatest amount of benefit out of both. The reading men are kept by hard walking, hard riding, and

measured eating and drinking, at the top of their condition, and two days before the examination, do not

work, but lounge, ride, or run, to be fresh on the college doomsday. Seven years' residence is the theoretic

period for a master's degree. In point of fact, it has long been three years' residence, and four years more of

"The whole expense," says Professor Sewel, "of ordinary college tuition at Oxford, is about sixteen guineas a

year." But this plausible statement may deceive a reader unacquainted with the fact, that the principal

teaching relied on is private tuition. And the expenses of private tuition are reckoned at from 50 to 70 pounds

a year, or, $1000 for the whole course of three years and a half. At Cambridge $750 a year is economical, and

The number of students and of residents, the dignity of the authorities, the value of the foundations, the

history and the architecture, the known sympathy of entire Britain in what is done there, justify a dedication

to study in the undergraduate, such as cannot easily be in America, where his college is half suspected by the

Freshman to be insignificant in the scale beside trade and politics. Oxford is a little aristocracy in itself,

numerous and dignified enough to rank with other estates in the realm; and where fame and secular

promotion are to be had for study, and in a direction which has the unanimous respect of all cultivated

This aristocracy, of course, repairs its own losses; fills places, as they fall vacant, from the body of students.

The number of fellowships at Oxford is 540, averaging 200 pounds a year, with lodging and diet at the

college. If a young American, loving learning, and hindered by poverty, were offered a home, a table, the

walks, and the library, in one of these academical palaces, and a thousand dollars a year as long as he chose

to remain a bachelor, he would dance for joy. Yet these young men thus happily placed, and paid to read, are

impatient of their few checks, and many of them preparing to resign their fellowships. They shuddered at the

prospect of dying a Fellow, and they pointed out to me a paralytic old man, who was assisted into the hall. As

the number of undergraduates at Oxford is only about 1200 or 1300, and many of these are never

competitors, the chance of a fellowship is very great. The income of the nineteen colleges is conjectured at

The effect of this drill is the radical knowledge of Greek and Latin, and of mathematics, and the solidity and

taste of English criticism. Whatever luck there may be in this or that award, an Eton captain can write Latin

longs and shorts, can turn the CourtGuide into hexameters, and it is certain that a Senior Classic can quote

correctly from the Corpus Poetarum, and is critically learned in all the humanities. Greek erudition exists on

the Isis and Cam, whether the Maud man or the Brazen Nose man be properly ranked or not; the atmosphere

is loaded with Greek learning; the whole river has reached a certain height, and kills all that growth of weeds,

which this Castalian water kills. The English nature takes culture kindly. So Milton thought. It refines the

Norseman. Access to the Greek mind lifts his standard of taste. He has enough to think of, and, unless of an

impulsive nature, is indisposed from writing or speaking, by the fulness of his mind, and the new severity of

his taste. The great silent crowd of thoroughbred Grecians always known to be around him, the English

writer cannot ignore. They prune his orations, and point his pen. Hence, the style and tone of English

journalism. The men have learned accuracy and comprehension, logic, and pace, or speed of working. They

have bottom, endurance, wind. When born with good constitutions, they make those eupeptic studyingmills,

the castiron men, the dura ilia, whose powers of performance compare with ours, as the steamhammer

with the musicbox; Cokes, Mansfields, Seldens, and Bentleys, and when it happens that a superior brain

puts a rider on this admirable horse, we obtain those masters of the world who combine the highest energy in

It is contended by those who have been bred at Eton, Harrow, Rugby, and Westminster, that the public

sentiment within each of those schools is hightoned and manly; that, in their playgrounds, courage is

universally admired, meanness despised, manly feelings and generous conduct are encouraged: that an

unwritten code of honor deals to the spoiled child of rank, and to the child of upstart wealth an evenhanded

justice, purges their nonsense out of both, and does all that can be done to make them gentlemen.

Again, at the universities, it is urged, that all goes to form what England values as the flower of its national

life, a welleducated gentleman. The German Huber, in describing to his countrymen the attributes of an

English gentleman, frankly admits, that, "in Germany, we have nothing of the kind. A gentleman must

possess a political character, an independent and public position, or, at least, the right of assuming it. He must

have average opulence, either of his own, or in his family. He should also have bodily activity and strength,

unattainable by our sedentary life in public offices. The race of English gentlemen presents an appearance of

manly vigor and form, not elsewhere to be found among an equal number of persons. No other nation

produces the stock. And, in England, it has deteriorated. The university is a decided presumption in any man's

favor. And so eminent are the members that a glance at the calendars will show that in all the world one

cannot be in better company than on the books of one of the larger Oxford or Cambridge colleges." (* 3)

These seminaries are finishing schools for the upper classes, and not for the poor. The useful is exploded. The

definition of a public school is "a school which excludes all that could fit a man for standing behind a

No doubt, the foundations have been perverted. Oxford, which equals in wealth several of the smaller

European states, shuts up the lectureships which were made "public for all men thereunto to have concourse;"

misspends the revenues bestowed for such youths "as should be most meet for towardness, poverty, and

painfulness;" there is gross favoritism; many chairs and many fellowships are made beds of ease; and 'tis

likely that the university will know how to resist and make inoperative the terrors of parliamentary inquiry;

no doubt, their learning is grown obsolete; but Oxford also has its merits, and I found here also proof of

the national fidelity and thoroughness. Such knowledge as they prize they possess and impart. Whether in

course or by indirection, whether by a cramming tutor or by examiners with prizes and foundation

scholarships, education according to the English notion of it is arrived at. I looked over the Examination

Papers of the year 1848, for the various scholarships and fellowships, the Lusby, the Hertford, the

DeanIreland, and the University, (copies of which were kindly given me by a Greek professor,) containing

the tasks which many competitors had victoriously performed, and I believed they would prove too severe

tests for the candidates for a Bachelor's degree in Yale or Harvard. And, in general, here was proof of a more

searching study in the appointed directions, and the knowledge pretended to be conveyed was conveyed.

Oxford sends out yearly twenty or thirty very able men, and three or four hundred welleducated men.

The diet and rough exercise secure a certain amount of old Norse power. A fop will fight, and, in exigent

circumstances, will play the manly part. In seeing these youths, I believed I saw already an advantage in vigor

and color and general habit, over their contemporaries in the American colleges. No doubt much of the power

and brilliancy of the readingmen is merely constitutional or hygienic. With a hardier habit and resolute

gymnastics, with five miles more walking, or five ounces less eating, or with a saddle and gallop of twenty

miles a day, with skating and rowingmatches, the American would arrive at as robust exegesis, and cheery

and hilarious tone. I should readily concede these advantages, which it would be easy to acquire, if I did not

English wealth falling on their school and university training, makes a systematic reading of the best authors,

and to the end of a knowledge how the things whereof they treat really stand: whilst pamphleteer or journalist

reading for an argument for a party, or reading to write, or, at all events, for some byend imposed on them,

must read meanly and fragmentarily. Charles I. said, that he understood English law as well as a gentleman

Then they have access to books; the rich libraries collected at every one of many thousands of houses, give an

advantage not to be attained by a youth in this country, when one thinks how much more and better may be

learned by a scholar, who, immediately on hearing of a book, can consult it, than by one who is on the quest,

Again, the great number of cultivated men keep each other up to a high standard. The habit of meeting

Universities are, of course, hostile to geniuses, which seeing and using ways of their own, discredit the

routine: as churches and monasteries persecute youthful saints. Yet we all send our sons to college, and,

though he be a genius, he must take his chance. The university must be retrospective. The gale that gives

direction to the vanes on all its towers blows out of antiquity. Oxford is a library, and the professors must be

librarians. And I should as soon think of quarrelling with the janitor for not magnifying his office by hostile

sallies into the street, like the Governor of Kertch or Kinburn, as of quarrelling with the professors for not

admiring the young neologists who pluck the beards of Euclid and Aristotle, or for not attempting themselves

It is easy to carp at colleges, and the college, if we will wait for it, will have its own turn. Genius exists there

also, but will not answer a call of a committee of the House of Commons. It is rare, precarious, eccentric, and

darkling. England is the land of mixture and surprise, and when you have settled it that the universities are

moribund, out comes a poetic influence from the heart of Oxford, to mould the opinions of cities, to build

their houses as simply as birds their nests, to give veracity to art, and charm mankind, as an appeal to moral

order always must. But besides this restorative genius, the best poetry of England of this age, in the old

No people, at the present day, can be explained by their national religion. They do not feel responsible for it;

it lies far outside of them. Their loyalty to truth, and their labor and expenditure rest on real foundations, and

not on a national church. And English life, it is evident, does not grow out of the Athanasian creed, or the

Articles, or the Eucharist. It is with religion as with marriage. A youth marries in haste; afterwards, when his

mind is opened to the reason of the conduct of life, he is asked, what he thinks of the institution of marriage,

and of the right relations of the sexes? `I should have much to say,' he might reply, `if the question were open,

but I have a wife and children, and all question is closed for me.' In the barbarous days of a nation, some

cultus is formed or imported; altars are built, tithes are paid, priests ordained. The education and expenditure

of the country take that direction, and when wealth, refinement, great men, and ties to the world, supervene,

its prudent men say, why fight against Fate, or lift these absurdities which are now mountainous? Better find

some niche or crevice in this mountain of stone which religious ages have quarried and carved, wherein to

bestow yourself, than attempt any thing ridiculously and dangerously above your strength, like removing it.

In seeing old castles and cathedrals, I sometimes say, as today, in front of Dundee Church tower, which is

eight hundred years old, `this was built by another and a better race than any that now look on it.' And,

plainly, there has been great power of sentiment at work in this island, of which these buildings are the

proofs: as volcanic basalts show the work of fire which has been extinguished for ages. England felt the full

heat of the Christianity which fermented Europe, and drew, like the chemistry of fire, a firm line between

barbarism and culture. The power of the religious sentiment put an end to human sacrifices, checked appetite,

inspired the crusades, inspired resistance to tyrants, inspired selfrespect, set bounds to serfdom and slavery,

founded liberty, created the religious architecture, York, Newstead, Westminster, Fountains Abbey,

Ripon, Beverley, and Dundee, works to which the key is lost, with the sentiment which created them;

inspired the English Bible, the liturgy, the monkish histories, the chronicle of Richard of Devizes. The priest

translated the Vulgate, and translated the sanctities of old hagiology into English virtues on English ground. It

was a certain affirmative or aggressive state of the Caucasian races. Man awoke refreshed by the sleep of

ages. The violence of the northern savages exasperated Christianity into power. It lived by the love of the

people. Bishop Wilfrid manumitted two hundred and fifty serfs, whom he found attached to the soil. The

clergy obtained respite from labor for the boor on the Sabbath, and on church festivals. "The lord who

compelled his boor to labor between sunset on Saturday and sunset on Sunday, forfeited him altogether." The

priest came out of the people, and sympathized with his class. The church was the mediator, check, and

democratic principle, in Europe. Latimer, Wicliffe, Arundel, Cobham, Antony Parsons, Sir Harry Vane,

George Fox, Penn, Bunyan are the democrats, as well as the saints of their times. The Catholic church,

thrown on this toiling, serious people, has made in fourteen centuries a massive system, close fitted to the

manners and genius of the country, at once domestical and stately. In the long time, it has blended with every

thing in heaven above and the earth beneath. It moves through a zodiac of feasts and fasts, names every day

of the year, every town and market and headland and monument, and has coupled itself with the almanac, that

no court can be held, no field ploughed, no horse shod, without some leave from the church. All maxims of

prudence or shop or farm are fixed and dated by the church. Hence, its strength in the agricultural districts.

The distribution of land into parishes enforces a church sanction to every civil privilege; and the gradation of

the clergy, prelates for the rich, and curates for the poor, with the fact that a classical education has

been secured to the clergyman, makes them "the link which unites the sequestered peasantry with the

The English church has many certificates to show, of humble effective service in humanizing the people, in

cheering and refining men, feeding, healing, and educating. It has the seal of martyrs and confessors; the

noblest books; a sublime architecture; a ritual marked by the same secular merits, nothing cheap or

From this slowgrown church important reactions proceed; much for culture, much for giving a direction to

the nation's affection and will today. The carved and pictured chapel, its entire surface animated with

image and emblem, made the parishchurch a sort of book and Bible to the people's eye.

Then, when the Saxon instinct had secured a service in the vernacular tongue, it was the tutor and university

of the people. In York minster, on the day of the enthronization of the new archbishop, I heard the service of

evening prayer read and chanted in the choir. It was strange to hear the pretty pastoral of the betrothal of

Rebecca and Isaac, in the morning of the world, read with circumstantiality in York minster, on the 13th

January, 1848, to the decorous English audience, just fresh from the Times newspaper and their wine; and

listening with all the devotion of national pride. That was binding old and new to some purpose. The

reverence for the Scriptures is an element of civilization, for thus has the history of the world been preserved,

and is preserved. Here in England every day a chapter of Genesis, and a leader in the Times.

Another part of the same service on this occasion was not insignificant. Handel's coronation anthem, God

save the King, was played by Dr. Camidge on the organ, with sublime effect. The minster and the music were

made for each other. It was a hint of the part the church plays as a political engine. From his infancy, every

Englishman is accustomed to hear daily prayers for the queen, for the royal family and the Parliament, by

name; and this lifelong consecration of these personages cannot be without influence on his opinions.

The universities, also, are parcel of the ecclesiastical system, and their first design is to form the clergy. Thus

The national temperament deeply enjoys the unbroken order and tradition of its church; the liturgy,

ceremony, architecture the sober grace, the good company, the connection with the throne, and with history,

which adorn it. And whilst it endears itself thus to men of more taste than activity, the stability of the English

nation is passionately enlisted to its support, from its inextricable connection with the cause of public order,

Good churches are not built by bad men; at least, there must be probity and enthusiasm somewhere in the

society. These minsters were neither built nor filled by atheists. No church has had more learned, industrious

or devoted men; plenty of "clerks and bishops, who, out of their gowns, would turn their backs on no man."

(* 2) Their architecture still glows with faith in immortality. Heats and genial periods arrive in history, or,

shall we say, plentitudes of Divine Presence, by which high tides are caused in the human spirit, and great

virtues and talents appear, as in the eleventh, twelfth, thirteenth, and again in the sixteenth and seventeenth

But the age of the Wicliffes, Cobhams, Arundels, Beckets; of the Latimers, Mores, Cranmers; of the Taylors,

Leightons, Herberts; of the Sherlocks, and Butlers, is gone. Silent revolutions in opinion have made it

impossible that men like these should return, or find a place in their once sacred stalls. The spirit that dwelt in

this church has glided away to animate other activities; and they who come to the old shrines find apes and

The religion of England is part of goodbreeding. When you see on the continent the welldressed

Englishman come into his ambassador's chapel, and put his face for silent prayer into his smoothbrushed

hat, one cannot help feeling how much national pride prays with him, and the religion of a gentleman. So far

is he from attaching any meaning to the words, that he believes himself to have done almost the generous

thing, and that it is very condescending in him to pray to God. A great duke said, on the occasion of a victory,

in the House of Lords, that he thought the Almighty God had not been well used by them, and that it would

become their magnanimity, after so great successes, to take order that a proper acknowledgment be made. It

is the church of the gentry; but it is not the church of the poor. The operatives do not own it, and gentlemen

lately testified in the House of Commons that in their lives they never saw a poor man in a ragged coat inside

The torpidity on the side of religion of the vigorous English understanding, shows how much wit and folly

can agree in one brain. Their religion is a quotation; their church is a doll; and any examination is interdicted

with screams of terror. In good company, you expect them to laugh at the fanaticism of the vulgar; but they

The English, in common perhaps with Christendom in the nineteenth century, do not respect power, but only

performance; value ideas only for an economic result. Wellington esteems a saint only as far as he can be an

army chaplain: "Mr. Briscoll, by his admirable conduct and good sense, got the better of Methodism,

which had appeared among the soldiers, and once among the officers." They value a philosopher as they

value an apothecary who brings bark or a drench; and inspiration is only some blowpipe, or a finer

I suspect that there is in an Englishman's brain a valve that can be closed at pleasure, as an engineer shuts off

steam. The most sensible and wellinformed men possess the power of thinking just so far as the bishop in

religious matters, and as the chancellor of the exchequer in politics. They talk with courage and logic, and

show you magnificent results, but the same men who have brought free trade or geology to their present

standing, look grave and lofty, and shut down their valve, as soon as the conversation approaches the English

The action of the university, both in what is taught, and in the spirit of the place, is directed more on

producing an English gentleman, than a saint or a psychologist. It ripens a bishop, and extrudes a

philosopher. I do not know that there is more cabalism in the Anglican, than in other churches, but the

Anglican clergy are identified with the aristocracy. They say, here, that, if you talk with a clergyman, you are

sure to find him wellbred, informed, and candid. He entertains your thought or your project with sympathy

and praise. But if a second clergyman come in, the sympathy is at an end: two together are inaccessible to

your thought, and, whenever it comes to action, the clergyman invariably sides with his church.

The Anglican church is marked by the grace and good sense of its forms, by the manly grace of its clergy.

The gospel it preaches, is, `By taste are ye saved.' It keeps the old structures in repair, spends a world of

money in music and building; and in buying Pugin, and architectural literature. It has a general good name for

amenity and mildness. It is not in ordinary a persecuting church; it is not inquisitorial, not even inquisitive, is

perfectly wellbred, and can shut its eyes on all proper occasions. If you let it alone, it will let you alone. But

its instinct is hostile to all change in politics, literature, or social arts. The church has not been the founder of

the London University, of the Mechanics' Institutes, of the Free School, or whatever aims at diffusion of

knowledge. The Platonists of Oxford are as bitter against this heresy, as Thomas Taylor.

The doctrine of the Old Testament is the religion of England. The first leaf of the New Testament it does not

open. It believes in a Providence which does not treat with levity a pound sterling. They are neither

transcendentalists nor christians. They put up no Socratic prayer, much less any saintly prayer for the queen's

mind; ask neither for light nor right, but say bluntly, "grant her in health and wealth long to live." And one

traces this Jewish prayer in all English private history, from the prayers of King Richard, in Richard of

Devizes' Chronicle, to those in the diaries of Sir Samuel Romilly, and of Haydon the painter. "Abroad with

my wife," writes Pepys piously, "the first time that ever I rode in my own coach; which do make my heart

rejoice and praise God, and pray him to bless it to me, and continue it." The bill for the naturalization of the

Jews (in 1753) was resisted by petitions from all parts of the kingdom, and by petition from the city of

London, reprobating this bill, as "tending extremely to the dishonor of the Christian religion, and extremely

injurious to the interests and commerce of the kingdom in general, and of the city of London in particular."

But they have not been able to congeal humanity by act of Parliament. "The heavens journey still and sojourn

not," and arts, wars, discoveries, and opinion, go onward at their own pace. The new age has new desires,

new enemies, new trades, new charities, and reads the Scriptures with new eyes. The chatter of French

politics, the steamwhistle, the hum of the mill, and the noise of embarking emigrants, had quite put most of

the old legends out of mind; so that when you came to read the liturgy to a modern congregation, it was

No chemist has prospered in the attempt to crystallize a religion. It is endogenous, like the skin, and other

vital organs. A new statement every day. The prophet and apostle knew this, and the nonconformist confutes

the conformists, by quoting the texts they must allow. It is the condition of a religion, to require religion for

its expositor. Prophet and apostle can only be rightly understood by prophet and apostle. The statesman

knows that the religious element will not fail, any more than the supply of fibrine and chyle; but it is in its

nature constructive, and will organize such a church as it wants. The wise legislator will spend on temples,

schools, libraries, colleges, but will shun the enriching of priests. If, in any manner, he can leave the election

and paying of the priest to the people, he will do well. Like the Quakers, he may resist the separation of a

class of priests, and create opportunity and expectation in the society, to run to meet natural endowment, in

this kind. But, when wealth accrues to a chaplaincy, a bishopric, or rectorship, it requires moneyed men for

its stewards, who will give it another direction than to the mystics of their day. Of course, money will do after

its kind, and will steadily work to unspiritualize and unchurch the people to whom it was bequeathed. The

class certain to be excluded from all preferment are the religious, and driven to other churches; which

The curates are ill paid, and the prelates are overpaid. This abuse draws into the church the children of the

nobility, and other unfit persons, who have a taste for expense. Thus a bishop is only a surpliced merchant.

Through his lawn, I can see the bright buttons of the shopman's coat glitter. A wealth like that of Durham

makes almost a premium on felony. Brougham, in a speech in the House of Commons on the Irish elective

franchise, said, "How will the reverend bishops of the other house be able to express their due abhorrence of

the crime of perjury, who solemnly declare in the presence of God, that when they are called upon to accept a

living, perhaps of 4000 pounds a year, at that very instant, they are moved by the Holy Ghost to accept the

office and administration thereof, and for no other reason whatever?" The modes of initiation are more

damaging than customhouse oaths. The Bishop is elected by the Dean and Prebends of the cathedral. The

Queen sends these gentlemen a conge d'elire, or leave to elect; but also sends them the name of the person

whom they are to elect. They go into the cathedral, chant and pray, and beseech the Holy Ghost to assist them

in their choice; and, after these invocations, invariably find that the dictates of the Holy Ghost agree with the

But you must pay for conformity. All goes well as long as you run with conformists. But you, who are honest

men in other particulars, know, that there is alive somewhere a man whose honesty reaches to this point also,

that he shall not kneel to false gods, and, on the day when you meet him, you sink into the class of

counterfeits. Besides, this succumbing has grave penalties. If you take in a lie, you must take in all that

belongs to it. England accepts this ornamented national church, and it glazes the eyes, bloats the flesh, gives

The English church, undermined by German criticism, had nothing left but tradition, and was led logically

back to Romanism. But that was an element which only hot heads could breathe: in view of the educated

class, generally, it was not a fact to front the sun; and the alienation of such men from the church became

Nature, to be sure, had her remedy. Religious persons are driven out of the Established Church into sects,

which instantly rise to credit, and hold the Establishment in check. Nature has sharper remedies, also. The

English, abhorring change in all things, abhorring it most in matters of religion, cling to the last rag of form,

and are dreadfully given to cant. The English, (and I wish it were confined to them, but 'tis a taint in the

AngloSaxon blood in both hemispheres,) the English and the Americans cant beyond all other nations. The

French relinquish all that industry to them. What is so odious as the polite bows to God, in our books and

newspapers? The popular press is flagitious in the exact measure of its sanctimony, and the religion of the

day is a theatrical Sinai, where the thunders are supplied by the propertyman. The fanaticism and hypocrisy

create satire. Punch finds an inexhaustible material. Dickens writes novels on ExeterHall humanity.

Thackeray exposes the heartless high life. Nature revenges herself more summarily by the heathenism of the

lower classes. Lord Shaftesbury calls the poor thieves together, and reads sermons to them, and they call it

`gas.' George Borrow summons the Gypsies to hear his discourse on the Hebrews in Egypt, and reads to them

the Apostles' Creed in Rommany. "When I had concluded," he says, "I looked around me. The features of the

assembly were twisted, and the eyes of all turned upon me with a frightful squint: not an individual present

but squinted; the genteel Pepa, the goodhumored Chicharona, the Cosdami, all squinted: the Gypsy jockey

The church at this moment is much to be pitied. She has nothing left but possession. If a bishop meets an

intelligent gentleman, and reads fatal interrogations in his eyes, he has no resource but to take wine with him.

False position introduces cant, perjury, simony, and ever a lower class of mind and character into the clergy:

and, when the hierarchy is afraid of science and education, afraid of piety, afraid of tradition, and afraid of

But the religion of England, is it the Established Church? no; is it the sects? no; they are only

perpetuations of some private man's dissent, and are to the Established Church as cabs are to a coach, cheaper

and more convenient, but really the same thing. Where dwells the religion? Tell me first where dwells

electricity, or motion, or thought or gesture. They do not dwell or stay at all. Electricity cannot be made fast,

mortared up and ended, like London Monument, or the Tower, so that you shall know where to find it, and

keep it fixed, as the English do with their things, forevermore; it is passing, glancing, gesticular; it is a

traveller, a newness, a surprise, a secret, which perplexes them, and puts them out. Yet, if religion be the

doing of all good, and for its sake the suffering of all evil, souffrir de tout le monde et ne faire souffrir

personne, that divine secret has existed in England from the days of Alfred to those of Romilly, of Clarkson,

A strong common sense, which it is not easy to unseat or disturb, marks the English mind for a thousand

years: a rude strength newly applied to thought, as of sailors and soldiers who had lately learned to read. They

have no fancy, and never are surprised into a covert or witty word, such as pleased the Athenians and Italians,

and was convertible into a fable not long after; but they delight in strong earthy expression, not mistakable,

coarsely true to the human body, and, though spoken among princes, equally fit and welcome to the mob.

This homeliness, veracity, and plain style, appear in the earliest extant works, and in the latest. It imports into

songs and ballads the smell of the earth, the breath of cattle, and, like a Dutch painter, seeks a household

charm, though by pails and pans. They ask their constitutional utility in verse. The kail and herrings are never

out of sight. The poet nimbly recovers himself from every sally of the imagination. The English muse loves

the farmyard, the lane, and market. She says, with De Stael, "I tramp in the mire with wooden shoes,

whenever they would force me into the clouds." For, the Englishman has accurate perceptions; takes hold of

things by the right end, and there is no slipperiness in his grasp. He loves the axe, the spade, the oar, the gun,

the steampipe: he has built the engine he uses. He is materialist, economical, mercantile. He must be treated

with sincerity and reality, with muffins, and not the promise of muffins; and prefers his hot chop, with perfect

security and convenience in the eating of it, to the chances of the amplest and Frenchiest bill of fare, engraved

on embossed paper. When he is intellectual, and a poet or a philosopher, he carries the same hard truth and

the same keen machinery into the mental sphere. His mind must stand on a fact. He will not be baffled, or

catch at clouds, but the mind must have a symbol palpable and resisting. What he relishes in Dante, is the

vicelike tenacity with which he holds a mental image before the eyes, as if it were a scutcheon painted on a

shield. Byron "liked something craggy to break his mind upon." A taste for plain strong speech, what is called

a biblical style, marks the English. It is in Alfred, and the Saxon Chronicle, and in the Sagas of the Northmen.

Latimer was homely. Hobbes was perfect in the "noble vulgar speech." Donne, Bunyan, Milton, Taylor,

Evelyn, Pepys, Hooker, Cotton, and the translators, wrote it. How realistic or materialistic in treatment of his

subject, is Swift. He describes his fictitious persons, as if for the police. Defoe has no insecurity or choice.

Hudibras has the same hard mentality, keeping the truth at once to the senses, and to the intellect.

It is not less seen in poetry. Chaucer's hard painting of his Canterbury pilgrims satisfies the senses.

Shakspeare, Spenser, and Milton, in their loftiest ascents, have this national grip and exactitude of mind. This

mental materialism makes the value of English transcendental genius; in these writers, and in Herbert, Henry

More, Donne, and Sir Thomas Browne. The Saxon materialism and narrowness, exalted into the sphere of

intellect, makes the very genius of Shakspeare and Milton. When it reaches the pure element, it treads the

clouds as securely as the adamant. Even in its elevations, materialistic, its poetry is common sense inspired;

The marriage of the two qualities is in their speech. It is a tacit rule of the language to make the frame or

skeleton, of Saxon words, and, when elevation or ornament is sought, to interweave Roman; but sparingly;

nor is a sentence made of Roman words alone, without loss of strength. The children and laborers use the

Saxon unmixed. The Latin unmixed is abandoned to the colleges and Parliament. Mixture is a secret of the

English island; and, in their dialect, the male principle is the Saxon; the female, the Latin; and they are

combined in every discourse. A good writer, if he has indulged in a Roman roundness, makes haste to chasten

When the Gothic nations came into Europe, they found it lighted with the sun and moon of Hebrew and of

Greek genius. The tablets of their brain, long kept in the dark, were finely sensible to the double glory. To the

images from this twin source (of Christianity and art), the mind became fruitful as by the incubation of the

Holy Ghost. The English mind flowered in every faculty. The commonsense was surprised and inspired. For

two centuries, England was philosophic, religious, poetic. The mental furniture seemed of larger scale; the

memory capacious like the storehouse of the rains; the ardor and endurance of study; the boldness and facility

of their mental construction; their fancy, and imagination, and easy spanning of vast distances of thought; the

enterprise or accosting of new subjects; and, generally, the easy exertion of power, astonish, like the

legendary feats of Guy of Warwick. The union of Saxon precision and oriental soaring, of which Shakspeare

is the perfect example, is shared in less degree by the writers of two centuries. I find not only the great

masters out of all rivalry and reach, but the whole writing of the time charged with a masculine force and

There is a hygienic simpleness, rough vigor, and closeness to the matter in hand, even in the second and third

class of writers; and, I think, in the common style of the people, as one finds it in the citation of wills, letters,

and public documents, in proverbs, and forms of speech. The more hearty and sturdy expression may indicate

that the savageness of the Norseman was not all gone. Their dynamic brains hurled off their words, as the

revolving stone hurls off scraps of grit. I could cite from the seventeenth century sentences and phrases of

edge not to be matched in the nineteenth. Their poets by simple force of mind equalized themselves with the

accumulated science of ours. The country gentlemen had a posset or drink they called October; and the poets,

as if by this hint, knew how to distil the whole season into their autumnal verses: and, as nature, to pique the

more, sometimes works up deformities into beauty, in some rare Aspasia, or Cleopatra; and, as the Greek art

wrought many a vase or column, in which too long, or too lithe, or nodes, or pits and flaws, are made a

beauty of; so these were so quick and vital, that they could charm and enrich by mean and vulgar objects.

A man must think that age well taught and thoughtful, by which masques and poems, like those of Ben

Jonson, full of heroic sentiment in a manly style, were received with favor. The unique fact in literary history,

the unsurprised reception of Shakspeare; the reception proved by his making his fortune; and the apathy

proved by the absence of all contemporary panegyric, seems to demonstrate an elevation in the mind of

the people. Judge of the splendor of a nation, by the insignificance of great individuals in it. The manner in

which they learned Greek and Latin, before our modern facilities were yet ready, without dictionaries,

grammars, or indexes, by lectures of a professor, followed by their own searchings, required a more

robust memory, and cooperation of all the faculties; and their scholars, Camden, Usher, Selden, Mede,

Gataker, Hooker, Taylor, Burton, Bentley, Brian Walton, acquired the solidity and method of engineers.

The influence of Plato tinges the British genius. Their minds loved analogy; were cognisant of resemblances,

and climbers on the staircase of unity. 'Tis a very old strife between those who elect to see identity, and those

who elect to see discrepances; and it renews itself in Britain. The poets, of course, are of one part; the men of

the world, of the other. But Britain had many disciples of Plato; More, Hooker, Bacon, Sidney, Lord

Brooke, Herbert, Browne, Donne, Spenser, Chapman, Milton, Crashaw, Norris, Cudworth, Berkeley, Jeremy

Lord Bacon has the English duality. His centuries of observations, on useful science, and his experiments, I

suppose, were worth nothing. One hint of Franklin, or Watt, or Dalton, or Davy, or any one who had a talent

for experiment, was worth all his lifetime of exquisite trifles. But he drinks of a diviner stream, and marks the

influx of idealism into England. Where that goes, is poetry, health, and progress. The rules of its genesis or its

diffusion are not known. That knowledge, if we had it, would supersede all that we call science of the mind.

It seems an affair of race, or of metachemistry; the vital point being, how far the sense of unity, or

instinct of seeking resemblances, predominated. For, wherever the mind takes a step, it is, to put itself at one

with a larger class, discerned beyond the lesser class with which it has been conversant. Hence, all poetry,

Bacon, in the structure of his mind, held of the analogists, of the idealists, or (as we popularly say, naming

from the best example) Platonists. Whoever discredits analogy, and requires heaps of facts, before any

theories can be attempted, has no poetic power, and nothing original or beautiful will be produced by him.

Locke is as surely the influx of decomposition and of prose, as Bacon and the Platonists, of growth. The

Platonic is the poetic tendency; the socalled scientific is the negative and poisonous. 'Tis quite certain, that

Spenser, Burns, Byron, and Wordsworth will be Platonists; and that the dull men will be Lockists. Then

politics and commerce will absorb from the educated class men of talents without genius, precisely because

Bacon, capable of ideas, yet devoted to ends, required in his map of the mind, first of all, universality, or

prima philosophia, the receptacle for all such profitable observations and axioms as fall not within the

compass of any of the special parts of philosophy, but are more common, and of a higher stage. He held this

element essential: it is never out of mind: he never spares rebukes for such as neglect it; believing that no

perfect discovery can be made in a flat or level, but you must ascend to a higher science. "If any man thinketh

philosophy and universality to be idle studies, he doth not consider that all professions are from thence served

and supplied, and this I take to be a great cause that has hindered the progression of learning, because these

fundamental knowledges have been studied but in passage." He explained himself by giving various quaint

examples of the summary or common laws, of which each science has its own illustration. He complains, that

"he finds this part of learning very deficient, the profounder sort of wits drawing a bucket now and then for

their own use, but the springhead unvisited. This was the dry light which did scorch and offend most men's

watery natures." Plato had signified the same sense, when he said, "All the great arts require a subtle and

speculative research into the law of nature, since loftiness of thought and perfect mastery over every subject

seem to be derived from some such source as this. This Pericles had, in addition to a great natural genius. For,

meeting with Anaxagoras, who was a person of this kind, he attached himself to him, and nourished himself

with sublime speculations on the absolute intelligence; and imported thence into the oratorical art, whatever

A few generalizations always circulate in the world, whose authors we do not rightly know, which astonish,

and appear to be avenues to vast kingdoms of thought, and these are in the world constants, like the

Copernican and Newtonian theories in physics. In England, these may be traced usually to Shakspeare,

Bacon, Milton, or Hooker, even to Van Helmont and Behmen, and do all have a kind of filial retrospect to

Plato and the Greeks. Of this kind is Lord Bacon's sentence, that "nature is commanded by obeying her;" his

doctrine of poetry, which "accommodates the shows of things to the desires of the mind," or the Zoroastrian

definition of poetry, mystical, yet exact, "apparent pictures of unapparent natures;" Spenser's creed, that "soul

is form, and doth the body make;" the theory of Berkeley, that we have no certain assurance of the existence

of matter; Doctor Samuel Clarke's argument for theism from the nature of space and time; Harrington's

political rule, that power must rest on land, a rule which requires to be liberally interpreted; the theory of

Swedenborg, so cosmically applied by him, that the man makes his heaven and hell; Hegel's study of civil

history, as the conflict of ideas and the victory of the deeper thought; the identityphilosophy of Schelling,

couched in the statement that "all difference is quantitative." So the very announcement of the theory of

gravitation, of Kepler's three harmonic laws, and even of Dalton's doctrine of definite proportions, finds a

sudden response in the mind, which remains a superior evidence to empirical demonstrations. I cite these

generalizations, some of which are more recent, merely to indicate a class. Not these particulars, but the

mental plane or the atmosphere from which they emanate, was the home and elements of the writers and

readers in what we loosely call the Elizabethan age, (say, in literary history, the period from 1575 to 1625,)

yet a period almost short enough to justify Ben Jonson's remark on Lord Bacon; "about his time, and within

Such richness of genius had not existed more than once before. These heights could not be maintained. As we

find stumps of vast trees in our exhausted soils, and have received traditions of their ancient fertility to

tillage, so history reckons epochs in which the intellect of famed races became effete. So it fared with English

genius. These heights were followed by a meanness, and a descent of the mind into lower levels; the loss of

wings; no high speculation. Locke, to whom the meaning of ideas was unknown, became the type of

philosophy, and his "understanding" the measure, in all nations, of the English intellect. His countrymen

forsook the lofty sides of Parnassus, on which they had once walked with echoing steps, and disused the

studies once so beloved; the powers of thought fell into neglect. The later English want the faculty of Plato

and Aristotle, of grouping men in natural classes by an insight of general laws, so deep, that the rule is

deduced with equal precision from few subjects or from one, as from multitudes of lives. Shakspeare is

supreme in that, as in all the great mental energies. The Germans generalize: the English cannot interpret the

German mind. German science comprehends the English. The absence of the faculty in England is shown by

the timidity which accumulates mountains of facts, as a bad general wants myriads of men and miles of

The English shrink from a generalization. "They do not look abroad into universality, or they draw only a

bucketfull at the fountain of the First Philosophy for their occasion, and do not go to the springhead."

Bacon, who said this, is almost unique among his countrymen in that faculty, at least among the

prosewriters. Milton, who was the stair or high tableland to let down the English genius from the summits

of Shakspeare, used this privilege sometimes in poetry, more rarely in prose. For a long interval afterwards, it

is not found. Burke was addicted to generalizing, but his was a shorter line; as his thoughts have less depth,

they have less compass. Hume's abstractions are not deep or wise. He owes his fame to one keen observation,

that no copula had been detected between any cause and effect, either in physics or in thought; that the term

cause and effect was loosely or gratuitously applied to what we know only as consecutive, not at all as causal.

Doctor Johnson's written abstractions have little value: the tone of feeling in them makes their chief worth.

Mr. Hallam, a learned and elegant scholar, has written the history of European literature for three centuries,

a performance of great ambition, inasmuch as a judgment was to be attempted on every book. But his eye

does not reach to the ideal standards: the verdicts are all dated from London: all new thought must be cast

into the old moulds. The expansive element which creates literature is steadily denied. Plato is resisted, and

his school. Hallam is uniformly polite, but with deficient sympathy; writes with resolute generosity, but is

unconscious of the deep worth which lies in the mystics, and which often outvalues as a seed of power and a

source of revolution all the correct writers and shining reputations of their day. He passes in silence, or

dismisses with a kind of contempt, the profounder masters: a lover of ideas is not only uncongenial, but

unintelligible. Hallam inspires respect by his knowledge and fidelity, by his manifest love of good books, and

he lifts himself to own better than almost any the greatness of Shakspeare, and better than Johnson he

appreciates Milton. But in Hallam, or in the firmer intellectual nerve of Mackintosh, one still finds the same

type of English genius. It is wise and rich, but it lives on its capital. It is retrospective. How can it discern and

hail the new forms that are looming up on the horizon, new and gigantic thoughts which cannot dress

The essays, the fiction, and the poetry of the day have the like municipal limits. Dickens, with preternatural

apprehension of the language of manners, and the varieties of street life, with pathos and laughter, with

patriotic and still enlarging generosity, writes London tracts. He is a painter of English details, like Hogarth;

local and temporary in his tints and style, and local in his aims. Bulwer, an industrious writer, with occasional

ability, is distinguished for his reverence of intellect as a temporality, and appeals to the worldly ambition of

the student. His romances tend to fan these low flames. Their novelists despair of the heart. Thackeray finds

that God has made no allowance for the poor thing in his universe; more's the pity, he thinks; but 'tis

The brilliant Macaulay, who expresses the tone of the English governing classes of the day, explicitly

teaches, that good means good to eat, good to wear, material commodity; that the glory of modern philosophy

is its direction on "fruit;" to yield economical inventions; and that its merit is to avoid ideas, and avoid

morals. He thinks it the distinctive merit of the Baconian philosophy, in its triumph over the old Platonic, its

disentangling the intellect from theories of the allFair and allGood, and pinning it down to the making a

better sick chair and a better winewhey for an invalid; this not ironically, but in good faith; that,

"solid advantage," as he calls it, meaning always sensual benefit, is the only good. The eminent benefit of

astronomy is the better navigation it creates to enable the fruitships to bring home their lemons and wine to

the London grocer. It was a curious result, in which the civility and religion of England for a thousand years,

ends, in denying morals, and reducing the intellect to a saucepan. The critic hides his skepticism under the

English cant of practical. To convince the reason, to touch the conscience, is romantic pretension. The fine

arts fall to the ground. Beauty, except as luxurious commodity, does not exist. It is very certain, I may say in

passing, that if Lord Bacon had been only the sensualist his critic pretends, he would never have acquired the

fame which now entitles him to this patronage. It is because he had imagination, the leisures of the spirit, and

basked in an element of contemplation out of all modern English atmospheric gauges, that he is impressive to

the imaginations of men, and has become a potentate not to be ignored. Sir David Brewster sees the high

place of Bacon, without finding Newton indebted to him, and thinks it a mistake. Bacon occupies it by

specific gravity or levity, not by any feat he did, or by any tutoring more or less of Newton but an effect of

the same cause which showed itself more pronounced afterwards in Hooke, Boyle, and Halley.

Coleridge, a catholic mind, with a hunger for ideas, with eyes looking before and after to the highest bards

and sages, and who wrote and spoke the only high criticism in his time, is one of those who save England

from the reproach of no longer possessing the capacity to appreciate what rarest wit the island has yielded.

Yet the misfortune of his life, his vast attempts but most inadequate performings, failing to accomplish any

one masterpiece, seems to mark the closing of an era. Even in him, the traditional Englishman was too strong

for the philosopher, and he fell into accommodations: and, as Burke had striven to idealize the English State,

so Coleridge `narrowed his mind' in the attempt to reconcile the gothic rule and dogma of the Anglican

Church, with eternal ideas. But for Coleridge, and a lurking taciturn minority, uttering itself in occasional

criticism, oftener in private discourse, one would say, that in Germany and in America, is the best mind in

England rightly respected. It is the surest sign of national decay, when the Bramins can no longer read or

In the decomposition and asphyxia that followed all this materialism, Carlyle was driven by his disgust at the

pettiness and the cant, into the preaching of Fate. In comparison with all this rottenness, any check, any

cleansing, though by fire, seemed desirable and beautiful. He saw little difference in the gladiators, or the

"causes" for which they combated; the one comfort was, that they were all going speedily into the abyss

together: And his imagination, finding no nutriment in any creation, avenged itself by celebrating the

majestic beauty of the laws of decay. The necessities of mental structure force all minds into a few categories,

and where impatience of the tricks of men makes Nemesis amiable, and builds altars to the negative Deity,

the inevitable recoil is to heroism or the gallantry of the private heart, which decks its immolation with glory,

Wilkinson, the editor of Swedenborg, the annotator of Fourier, and the champion of Hahnemann, has brought

to metaphysics and to physiology a native vigor, with a catholic perception of relations, equal to the highest

attempts, and a rhetoric like the armory of the invincible knights of old. There is in the action of his mind a

long Atlantic roll not known except in deepest waters, and only lacking what ought to accompany such

powers, a manifest centrality. If his mind does not rest in immovable biases, perhaps the orbit is larger, and

the return is not yet: but a master should inspire a confidence that he will adhere to his convictions, and give

It would be easy to add exceptions to the limitary tone of English thought, and much more easy to adduce

examples of excellence in particular veins: and if, going out of the region of dogma, we pass into that of

general culture, there is no end to the graces and amenities, wit, sensibility and erudition, of the learned class.

But the artificial succor which marks all English performance, appears in letters also: much of their aesthetic

production is antiquarian and manufactured, and literary reputations have been achieved by forcible men,

whose relation to literature was purely accidental, but who were driven by tastes and modes they found in

vogue into their several careers. So, at this moment, every ambitious young man studies geology: so members

The bias of Englishmen to practical skill has reacted on the national mind. They are incapable of an inutility,

and respect the five mechanic powers even in their song. The voice of their modern muse has a slight hint of

the steamwhistle, and the poem is created as an ornament and finish of their monarchy, and by no means as

the bird of a new morning which forgets the past world in the full enjoyment of that which is forming. They

are with difficulty ideal; they are the most conditioned men, as if, having the best conditions, they could not

bring themselves to forfeit them. Every one of them is a thousand years old, and lives by his memory: and

Nothing comes to the bookshops but politics, travels, statistics, tabulation, and engineering, and even what

is called philosophy and letters is mechanical in its structure, as if inspiration had ceased, as if no vast hope,

no religion, no song of joy, no wisdom, no analogy, existed any more. The tone of colleges, and of scholars

and of literary society has this mortal air. I seem to walk on a marble floor, where nothing will grow. They

exert every variety of talent on a lower ground, and may be said to live and act in a submind. They have lost

all commanding views in literature, philosophy, and science. A good Englishman shuts himself out of three

fourths of his mind, and confines himself to one fourth. He has learning, good sense, power of labor, and

logic: but a faith in the laws of the mind like that of Archimedes; a belief like that of Euler and Kepler, that

experience must follow and not lead the laws of the mind; a devotion to the theory of politics, like that of

I fear the same fault lies in their science, since they have known how to make it repulsive, and bereave nature

of its charm; though perhaps the complaint flies wider, and the vice attaches to many more than to British

physicists. The eye of the naturalist must have a scope like nature itself, a susceptibility to all impressions,

alive to the heart as well as to the logic of creation. But English science puts humanity to the door. It wants

the connection which is the test of genius. The science is false by not being poetic. It isolates the reptile or

mollusk it assumes to explain; whilst reptile or mollusk only exists in system, in relation. The poet only sees

it as an inevitable step in the path of the Creator. But, in England, one hermit finds this fact, and another finds

that, and lives and dies ignorant of its value. There are great exceptions, of John Hunter, a man of ideas;

perhaps of Robert Brown, the botanist; and of Richard Owen, who has imported into Britain the German

homologies, and enriched science with contributions of his own, adding sometimes the divination of the old

masters to the unbroken power of labor in the English mind. But for the most part, the natural science in

England is out of its loyal alliance with morals, and is as void of imagination and free play of thought, as

conveyancing. It stands in strong contrast with the genius of the Germans, those semiGreeks, who love

analogy, and, by means of their height of view, preserve their enthusiasm, and think for Europe.

No hope, no sublime augury cheers the student, no secure striding from experiment onward to a foreseen law,

but only a casual dipping here and there, like diggers in California "prospecting for a placer" that will pay. A

horizon of brass of the diameter of his umbrella shuts down around his senses. Squalid contentment with

conventions, satire at the names of philosophy and religion, parochial and shoptill politics, and idolatry of

usage, betray the ebb of life and spirit. As they trample on nationalities to reproduce London and Londoners

in Europe and Asia, so they fear the hostility of ideas, of poetry, of religion, ghosts which they cannot lay;

and, having attempted to domesticate and dress the Blessed Soul itself in English broadcloth and gaiters,

they are tormented with fear that herein lurks a force that will sweep their system away. The artists say,

"Nature puts them out;" the scholars have become unideal. They parry earnest speech with banter and levity;

they laugh you down, or they change the subject. "The fact is," say they over their wine, "all that about

liberty, and so forth, is gone by; it won't do any longer." The practical and comfortable oppress them with

inexorable claims, and the smallest fraction of power remains for heroism and poetry. No poet dares murmur

of beauty out of the precinct of his rhymes. No priest dares hint at a Providence which does not respect

English utility. The island is a roaring volcano of fate, of material values, of tariffs, and laws of repression,

In the absence of the highest aims, of the pure love of knowledge, and the surrender to nature, there is the

suppression of the imagination, the priapism of the senses and the understanding; we have the factitious

instead of the natural; tasteless expense, arts of comfort, and the rewarding as an illustrious inventor

whosoever will contrive one impediment more to interpose between the man and his objects.

Thus poetry is degraded, and made ornamental. Pope and his school wrote poetry fit to put round frosted

cake. What did Walter Scott write without stint? a rhymed traveller's guide to Scotland. And the libraries of

verses they print have this Birmingham character. How many volumes of wellbred metre we must gingle

through, before we can be filled, taught, renewed! We want the miraculous; the beauty which we can

manufacture at no mill, can give no account of; the beauty of which Chaucer and Chapman had the secret.

The poetry of course is low and prosaic; only now and then, as in Wordsworth, conscientious; or in Byron,

passional; or in Tennyson, factitious. But if I should count the poets who have contributed to the bible of

existing England sentences of guidance and consolation which are still glowing and effective, how few!7

Shall I find my heavenly bread in the reigning poets? Where is great design in modern English poetry? The

English have lost sight of the fact that poetry exists to speak the spiritual law, and that no wealth of

description or of fancy is yet essentially new, and out of the limits of prose, until this condition is reached.

Therefore the grave old poets, like the Greek artists, heeded their designs, and less considered the finish. It

was their office to lead to the divine sources, out of which all this, and much more, readily springs; and, if

this religion is in the poetry, it raises us to some purpose, and we can well afford some staidness, or hardness,

The exceptional fact of the period is the genius of Wordsworth. He had no master but nature and solitude.

"He wrote a poem," says Landor, "without the aid of war." His verse is the voice of sanity in a worldly and

ambitious age. One regrets that his temperament was not more liquid and musical. He has written longer than

Tennyson is endowed precisely in points where Wordsworth wanted. There is no finer ear, nor more

command of the keys of language. Color, like the dawn, flows over the horizon from his pencil, in waves so

rich that we do not miss the central form. Through all his refinements, too, he has reached the public, a

certificate of good sense and general power, since he who aspires to be the English poet must be as large as

London, not in the same kind as London, but in his own kind. But he wants a subject, and climbs no mount of

vision to bring its secrets to the people. He contents himself with describing the Englishman as he is, and

proposes no better. There are all degrees in poetry, and we must be thankful for every beautiful talent. But it

is only a first success, when the ear is gained. The best office of the best poets has been to show how low and

uninspired was their general style, and that only once or twice they have struck the high chord.

That expansiveness which is the essence of the poetic element, they have not. It was no Oxonian, but Hafiz,

who said, "Let us be crowned with roses, let us drink wine, and break up the tiresome old roof of heaven into

new forms." A stanza of the song of nature the Oxonian has no ear for, and he does not value the salient and

By the law of contraries, I look for an irresistible taste for Orientalism in Britain. For a selfconceited modish

life, made up of trifles, clinging to a corporeal civilization, hating ideas, there is no remedy like the Oriental

largeness. That astonishes and disconcerts English decorum. For once there is thunder it never heard, light it

never saw, and power which trifles with time and space. I am not surprised, then, to find an Englishman like

Warren Hastings, who had been struck with the grand style of thinking in the Indian writings, deprecating the

prejudices of his countrymen, while offering them a translation of the Bhagvat. "Might I, an unlettered man,

venture to prescribe bounds to the latitude of criticism, I should exclude, in estimating the merit of such a

production, all rules drawn from the ancient or modern literature of Europe, all references to such sentiments

or manners as are become the standards of propriety for opinion and action in our own modes, and, equally,

all appeals to our revealed tenets of religion and moral duty." (* 1) He goes on to bespeak indulgence to

"ornaments of fancy unsuited to our taste, and passages elevated to a tract of sublimity into which our habits

Meantime, I know that a retrieving power lies in the English race, which seems to make any recoil possible;

in other words, there is at all times a minority of profound minds existing in the nation, capable of

appreciating every soaring of intellect and every hint of tendency. While the constructive talent seems

dwarfed and superficial, the criticism is often in the noblest tone, and suggests the presence of the invisible

gods. I can well believe what I have often heard, that there are two nations in England; but it is not the Poor

and the Rich; nor is it the Normans and Saxons; nor the Celt and the Goth. These are each always becoming

the other; for Robert Owen does not exaggerate the power of circumstance. But the two complexions, or two

styles of mind, the perceptive class, and the practical finality class, are ever in counterpoise,

interacting mutually; one, in hopeless minorities; the other, in huge masses; one studious, contemplative,

experimenting; the other, the ungrateful pupil, scornful of the source, whilst availing itself of the knowledge

for gain; these two nations, of genius and of animal force, though the first consist of only a dozen souls, and

the second of twenty millions, forever by their discord and their accord yield the power of the English State.

The power of the newspaper is familiar in America, and in accordance with our political systemgonism with

the feudal institutions, and it is all the more beneficent succor against the secretive tendencies of a monarchy.

The celebrated Lord Somers "knew of no good law proposed and passed in his time, to which the public

papers had not directed his attention." There is no corner and no night. A relentless inquisition drags every

secret to the day, turns the glare of this solar microscope on every malfaisance, so as to make the public a

more terrible spy than any foreigner; and no weakness can be taken advantage of by an enemy, since the

whole people are already forewarned. Thus England rids herself of those incrustations which have been the

ruin of old states. Of course, this inspection is feared. No antique privilege, no comfortable monopoly, but

sees surely that its days are counted; the people are familiarized with the reason of reform, and, one by one,

take away every argument of the obstructives. "So your grace likes the comfort of reading the newspapers,"

said Lord Mansfield to the Duke of Northumberland; "mark my words; you and I shall not live to see it, but

this young gentleman (Lord Eldon) may, or it may be a little later; but a little sooner or later, these

newspapers will most assuredly write the dukes of Northumberland out of their titles and possessions, and the

country out of its king." The tendency in England towards social and political institutions like those of

England is full of manly, clever, wellbred men who possess the talent of writing offhand pungent

paragraphs, expressing with clearness and courage their opinion on any person or performance. Valuable or

not, it is a skill that is rarely found, out of the English journals. The English do this, as they write poetry, as

they ride and box, by being educated to it. Hundreds of clever Praeds, and Freres, and Froudes, and Hoods,

and Hooks, and Maginns, and Mills, and Macaulays, make poems, or short essays for a journal, as they make

speeches in Parliament and on the hustings, or, as they shoot and ride. It is a quite accidental and arbitrary

direction of their general ability. Rude health and spirits, an Oxford education, and the habits of society are

implied, but not a ray of genius. It comes of the crowded state of the professions, the violent interest which all

men take in politics, the facility of experimenting in the journals, and high pay.

The most conspicuous result of this talent is the "Times" newspaper. No power in England is more felt, more

feared, or more obeyed. What you read in the morning in that journal, you shall hear in the evening in all

society. It has ears every where, and its information is earliest, completest, and surest. It has risen, year by

year, and victory by victory, to its present authority. I asked one of its old contributors, whether it had once

been abler than it is now? "Never," he said; "these are its palmiest days." It has shown those qualities which

are dear to Englishmen, unflinching adherence to its objects, prodigal intellectual ability, and a towering

assurance, backed by the perfect organization in its printinghouse, and its worldwide network of

correspondence and reports. It has its own history and famous trophies. In 1820, it adopted the cause of

Queen Caroline, and carried it against the king. It adopted a poorlaw system, and almost alone lifted it

through. When Lord Brougham was in power, it decided against him, and pulled him down. It declared war

against Ireland, and conquered it. It adopted the League against the Corn Laws, and, when Cobden had begun

to despair, it announced his triumph. It denounced and discredited the French Republic of 1848, and checked

every sympathy with it in England, until it had enrolled 200,000 special constables to watch the Chartists, and

make them ridiculous on the 10th April. It first denounced and then adopted the new French Empire, and

urged the French Alliance and its results. It has entered into each municipal, literary, and social question,

almost with a controlling voice. It has done bold and seasonable service in exposing frauds which threatened

the commercial community. Meantime, it attacks its rivals by perfecting its printing machinery, and will drive

them out of circulation: for the only limit to the circulation of the "Times is the impossibility of printing

copies fast enough; since a daily paper can only be new and seasonable for a few hours. It will kill all but that

paper which is diametrically in opposition; since many papers, first and last, have lived by their attacks on the

The late Mr. Walter was printer of the "Times," and had gradually arranged the whole materiel of it in perfect

system. It is told, that when he demanded a small share in the proprietary, and was refused, he said, "As you

please, gentlemen; and you may take away the `Times' from this office, when you will; I shall publish the

`New Times,' next Monday morning." The proprietors, who had already complained that his charges for

printing were excessive, found that they were in his power, and gave him whatever he wished.

I went one day with a good friend to the "Times" office, which was entered through a pretty gardenyard, in

PrintingHouse Square. We walked with some circumspection, as if we were entering a powdermill; but the

door was opened by a mild old woman, and, by dint of some transmission of cards, we were at last conducted

into the parlor of Mr. Morris, a very gentle person, with no hostile appearances. The statistics are now quite

out of date, but I remember he told us that the daily printing was then 35,000 copies; that on the 1st March,

1848, the greatest number ever printed, 54,000 were issued; that, since February, the daily circulation had

increased by 8000 copies. The old press they were then using printed five or six thousand sheets per hour; the

new machine, for which they were then building an engine, would print twelve thousand per hour. Our

entertainer confided us to a courteous assistant to show us the establishment, in which, I think, they employed

a hundred and twenty men. I remember, I saw the reporters' room, in which they redact their hasty

stenographs, but the editor's room, and who is in it, I did not see, though I shared the curiosity of mankind

The staff of the "Times" has always been made up of able men. Old Walter, Sterling, Bacon, Barnes, Alsiger,

Horace Twiss, Jones Loyd, John Oxenford, Mr. Mosely, Mr. Bailey, have contributed to its renown in their

special departments. But it has never wanted the first pens for occasional assistance. Its private information is

inexplicable, and recalls the stories of Fouche's police, whose omniscience made it believed that the Empress

Josephine must be in his pay. It has mercantile and political correspondents in every foreign city; and its

expresses outrun the despatches of the government. One hears anecdotes of the rise of its servants, as of the

functionaries of the India House. I was told of the dexterity of one of its reporters, who, finding himself, on

one occasion, where the magistrates had strictly forbidden reporters, put his hands into his coatpocket, and

The influence of this journal is a recognized power in Europe, and, of course, none is more conscious of it

than its conductors. The tone of its articles has often been the occasion of comment from the official organs

of the continental courts, and sometimes the ground of diplomatic complaint. What would the "Times" say? is

a terror in Paris, in Berlin, in Vienna, in Copenhagen, and in Nepaul. Its consummate discretion and success

exhibit the English skill of combination. The daily paper is the work of many hands, chiefly, it is said, of

young men recently from the University, and perhaps reading law in chambers in London. Hence the

academic elegance, and classic allusion, which adorn its columns. Hence, too, the heat and gallantry of its

onset. But the steadiness of the aim suggests the belief that this fire is directed and fed by older engineers; as

if persons of exact information, and with settled views of policy, supplied the writers with the basis of fact,

and the object to be attained, and availed themselves of their younger energy and eloquence to plead the

cause. Both the council and the executive departments gain by this division. Of two men of equal ability, the

one who does not write, but keeps his eye on the course of public affairs, will have the higher judicial

wisdom. But the parts are kept in concert; all the articles appear to proceed from a single will. The "Times"

never disapproves of what itself has said, or cripples itself by apology for the absence of the editor, or the

indiscretion of him who held the pen. It speaks out bluff and bold, and sticks to what it says. It draws from

any number of learned and skilful contributors; but a more learned and skilful person supervises, corrects,

and coordinates. Of this closet, the secret does not transpire. No writer is suffered to claim the authorship of

any paper; every thing good, from whatever quarter, comes out editorially; and thus, by making the paper

every thing, and those who write it nothing, the character and the awe of the journal gain.

The English like it for its complete information. A statement of fact in the "Times" is as reliable as a citation

from Hansard. Then, they like its independence; they do not know, when they take it up, what their paper is

going to say: but, above all, for the nationality and confidence of its tone. It thinks for them all; it is their

understanding and day's ideal daguerreotyped. When I see them reading its columns, they seem to me

becoming every moment more British. It has the national courage, not rash and petulant, but considerate and

determined. No dignity or wealth is a shield from its assault. It attacks a duke as readily as a policeman, and

with the most provoking airs of condescension. It makes rude work with the Board of Admiralty. The Bench

of Bishops is still less safe. One bishop fares badly for his rapacity, and another for his bigotry, and a third for

his courtliness. It addresses occasionally a hint to Majesty itself, and sometimes a hint which is taken. There

is an air of freedom even in their advertising columns, which speaks well for England to a foreigner. On the

days when I arrived in London in 1847, I read among the daily announcements, one offering a reward of fifty

pounds to any person who would put a nobleman, described by name and title, late a member of Parliament,

into any county jail in England, he having been convicted of obtaining money under false pretences.

Was never such arrogancy as the tone of this paper. Every slip of an Oxonian or Cantabrigian who writes his

first leader, assumes that we subdued the earth before we sat down to write this particular "Times." One

would think, the world was on its knees to the "Times" Office, for its daily breakfast. But this arrogance is

calculated. Who would care for it, if it "surmised," or "dared to confess," or "ventured to predict," No; it is so,

The morality and patriotism of the "Times" claims only to be representative, and by no means ideal. It gives

the argument, not of the majority, but of the commanding class. Its editors know better than to defend Russia,

or Austria, or English vested rights, on abstract grounds. But they give a voice to the class who, at the

moment, take the lead; and they have an instinct for finding where the power now lies, which is eternally

shifting its banks. Sympathizing with, and speaking for the class that rules the hour, yet, being apprised of

every groundswell, every Chartist resolution, every Church squabble, every strike in the mills, they detect

the first tremblings of change. They watch the hard and bitter struggles of the authors of each liberal

movement, year by year, watching them only to taunt and obstruct them, until, at last, when they see

that these have established their fact, that power is on the point of passing to them, they strike in, with the

voice of a monarch, astonish those whom they succor, as much as those whom they desert, and make victory

sure. Of course, the aspirants see that the "Times" is one of the goods of fortune, not to be won but by

"Punch" is equally an expression of English good sense, as the "London Times." It is the comic version of the

same sense. Many of its caricatures are equal to the best pamphlets, and will convey to the eye in an instant

the popular view which was taken of each turn of public affairs. Its sketches are usually made by masterly

hands, and sometimes with genius; the delight of every class, because uniformly guided by that taste which is

tyrannical in England. It is a new trait of the nineteenth century, that the wit and humor of England, as in

Punch, so in the humorists, Jerrold, Dickens, Thackeray, Hood, have taken the direction of humanity and

The "Times," like every important institution, shows the way to a better. It is a living index of the colossal

British power. Its existence honors the people who dare to print all they know, dare to know all the facts, and

do not wish to be flattered by hiding the extent of the public disaster. There is always safety in valor. I wish I

could add, that this journal aspired to deserve the power it wields, by guidance of the public sentiment to the

right. It is usually pretended, in Parliament and elsewhere, that the English press has a high tone, which it

has not. It has an imperial tone, as of a powerful and independent nation. But as with other empires, its tone is

prone to be official, and even officinal. The "Times" shares all the limitations of the governing classes, and

wishes never to be in a minority. If only it dared to cleave to the right, to show the right to be the only

expedient, and feed its batteries from the central heart of humanity, it might not have so many men of rank

among its contributors, but genius would be its cordial and invincible ally; it might now and then bear the

brunt of formidable combinations, but no journal is ruined by wise courage. It would be the natural leader of

British reform; its proud function, that of being the voice of Europe, the defender of the exile and patriot

against despots, would be more effectually discharged; it would have the authority which is claimed for that

dream of good men not yet come to pass, an International Congress; and the least of its victories would be to

It had been agreed between my friend Mr. C. and me, that before I left England, we should make an

excursion together to Stonehenge, which neither of us had seen; and the project pleased my fancy with the

double attraction of the monument and the companion. It seemed a bringing together of extreme points, to

visit the oldest religious monument in Britain, in company with her latest thinker, and one whose influence

may be traced in every contemporary book. I was glad to sum up a little my experiences, and to exchange a

few reasonable words on the aspects of England, with a man on whose genius I set a very high value, and

who had as much penetration, and as severe a theory of duty, as any person in it. On Friday, 7th July, we took

the South Western Railway through Hampshire to Salisbury, where we found a carriage to convey us to

Amesbury. The fine weather and my friend's local knowledge of Hampshire, in which he is wont to spend a

part of every summer, made the way short. There was much to say, too, of the travelling Americans, and their

usual objects in London. I thought it natural, that they should give some time to works of art collected here,

which they cannot find at home, and a little to scientific clubs and museums, which, at this moment, make

London very attractive. But my philosopher was not contented. Art and `high art' is a favorite target for his

wit. "Yes, Kunst is a great delusion, and Goethe and Schiller wasted a great deal of good time on it:" and

he thinks he discovers that old Goethe found this out, and, in his later writings, changed his tone. As soon as

men begin to talk of art, architecture, and antiquities, nothing good comes of it. He wishes to go through the

British Museum in silence, and thinks a sincere man will see something, and say nothing. In these days, he

thought, it would become an architect to consult only the grim necessity, and say, `I can build you a coffin for

such dead persons as you are, and for such dead purposes as you have, but you shall have no ornament.' For

the science, he had, if possible, even less tolerance, and compared the savans of Somerset House to the boy

who asked Confucius "how many stars in the sky?" Confucius replied, "he minded things near him:" then said

the boy, "how many hairs are there in your eyebrows?" Confucius said, "he didn't know and didn't care."

Still speaking of the Americans, C. complained that they dislike the coldness and exclusiveness of the

English, and run away to France, and go with their countrymen, and are amused, instead of manfully staying

in London, and confronting Englishmen, and acquiring their culture, who really have much to teach them.

I told C. that I was easily dazzled, and was accustomed to concede readily all that an Englishman would ask;

I saw everywhere in the country proofs of sense and spirit, and success of every sort: I like the people: they

are as good as they are handsome; they have everything, and can do everything: but meantime, I surely know,

that, as soon as I return to Massachusetts, I shall lapse at once into the feeling, which the geography of

America inevitably inspires, that we play the game with immense advantage; that there and not here is the

seat and centre of the British race; and that no skill or activity can long compete with the prodigious natural

advantages of that country, in the hands of the same race; and that England, an old and exhausted island, must

one day be contented, like other parents, to be strong only in her children. But this was a proposition which

We left the train at Salisbury, and took a carriage to Amesbury, passing by Old Sarum, a bare, treeless hill,

once containing the town which sent two members to Parliament, now, not a hut; and, arriving at

Amesbury, stopped at the George Inn. After dinner, we walked to Salisbury Plain. On the broad downs, under

the gray sky, not a house was visible, nothing but Stonehenge, which looked like a group of brown dwarfs in

the wide expanse, Stonehenge and the barrows, which rose like green bosses about the plain, and a few

hayricks. On the top of a mountain, the old temple would not be more impressive. Far and wide a few

shepherds with their flocks sprinkled the plain, and a bagman drove along the road. It looked as if the wide

margin given in this crowded isle to this primeval temple were accorded by the veneration of the British race

to the old egg out of which all their ecclesiastical structures and history had proceeded. Stonehenge is a

circular colonnade with a diameter of a hundred feet, and enclosing a second and a third colonnade within.

We walked round the stones, and clambered over them, to wont ourselves with their strange aspect and

groupings, and found a nook sheltered from the wind among them, where C. lighted his cigar. It was pleasant

to see, that, just this simplest of all simple structures, two upright stones and a lintel laid across, had

long outstood all later churches, and all history, and were like what is most permanent on the face of the

planet: these, and the barrows, mere mounds, (of which there are a hundred and sixty within a circle of

three miles about Stonehenge,) like the same mound on the plain of Troy, which still makes good to the

passing mariner on Hellespont, the vaunt of Homer and the fame of Achilles. Within the enclosure, grow

buttercups, nettles, and, all around, wild thyme, daisy, meadowsweet, goldenrod, thistle, and the carpeting

grass. Over us, larks were soaring and singing, as my friend said, "the larks which were hatched last year,

and the wind which was hatched many thousand years ago." We counted and measured by paces the biggest

stones, and soon knew as much as any man can suddenly know of the inscrutable temple. There are

ninetyfour stones, and there were once probably one hundred and sixty. The temple is circular, and

uncovered, and the situation fixed astronomically, the grand entrances here, and at Abury, being placed

exactly northeast, "as all the gates of the old cavern temples are." How came the stones here? for these

sarsens or Druidical sandstones, are not found in this neighborhood. The sacrificial stone, as it is called, is

the only one in all these blocks, that can resist the action of fire, and as I read in the books, must have been

On almost every stone we found the marks of the mineralogist's hammer and chisel. The nineteen smaller

stones of the inner circle are of granite. I, who had just come from Professor Sedgwick's Cambridge Museum

of megatheria and mastodons, was ready to maintain that some cleverer elephants or mylodonta had borne off

and laid these rocks one on another. Only the good beasts must have known how to cut a wellwrought tenon

and mortise, and to smooth the surface of some of the stones. The chief mystery is, that any mystery should

have been allowed to settle on so remarkable a monument, in a country on which all the muses have kept

their eyes now for eighteen hundred years. We are not yet too late to learn much more than is known of this

structure. Some diligent Fellowes or Layard will arrive, stone by stone, at the whole history, by that

exhaustive British sense and perseverance, so whimsical in its choice of objects, which leaves its own

Stonehenge or Choir Gaur to the rabbits, whilst it opens pyramids, and uncovers Nineveh. Stonehenge, in

virtue of the simplicity of its plan, and its good preservation, is as if new and recent; and, a thousand years

hence, men will thank this age for the accurate history it will yet eliminate. We walked in and out, and took

again and again a fresh look at the uncanny stones. The old sphinx put our petty differences of nationality out

of sight. To these conscious stones we two pilgrims were alike known and near. We could equally well revere

their old British meaning. My philosopher was subdued and gentle. In this quiet house of destiny, he

happened to say, "I plant cypresses wherever I go, and if I am in search of pain, I cannot go wrong." The spot,

the gray blocks, and their rude order, which refuses to be disposed of, suggested to him the flight of ages, and

the succession of religions. The old times of England impress C. much: he reads little, he says, in these last

years, but "Acta Sanctorum," the fiftythree volumes of which are in the "London Library." He finds all

English history therein. He can see, as he reads, the old saint of Iona sitting there, and writing, a man to men.

The Acta Sanctorum show plainly that the men of those times believed in God, and in the immortality of the

soul, as their abbeys and cathedrals testify: now, even the puritanism is all gone. London is pagan. He fancied

that greater men had lived in England, than any of her writers; and, in fact, about the time when those writers

We left the mound in the twilight, with the design to return the next morning, and coming back two miles to

our inn, we were met by little showers, and late as it was, men and women were out attempting to protect

their spread windrows. The grass grows rank and dark in the showery England. At the inn, there was only

milk for one cup of tea. When we called for more, the girl brought us three drops. My friend was annoyed

who stood for the credit of an English inn, and still more, the next morning, by the dogcart, sole procurable

vehicle, in which we were to be sent to Wilton. I engaged the local antiquary, Mr. Brown, to go with us to

Stonehenge, on our way, and show us what he knew of the "astronomical" and "sacrificial" stones. I stood on

the last, and he pointed to the upright, or rather, inclined stone, called the "astronomical," and bade me notice

that its top ranged with the skyline. "Yes." Very well. Now, at the summer solstice, the sun rises exactly

over the top of that stone, and, at the Druidical temple at Abury, there is also an astronomical stone, in the

In the silence of tradition, this one relation to science becomes an important clue; but we were content to

leave the problem, with the rocks. Was this the "Giants' Dance" which Merlin brought from Killaraus, in

Ireland, to be Uther Pendragon's monument to the British nobles whom Hengist slaughtered here, as Geoffrey

of Monmouth relates? or was it a Roman work, as Inigo Jones explained to King James; or identical in design

and style with the East Indian temples of the sun; as Davies in the Celtic Researches maintains? Of all the

writers, Stukeley is the best. The heroic antiquary, charmed with the geometric perfections of his ruin,

connects it with the oldest monuments and religion of the world, and with the courage of his tribe, does not

stick to say, "the Deity who made the world by the scheme of Stonehenge." He finds that the cursus (* 1) on

Salisbury Plain stretches across the downs, like a line of latitude upon the globe, and the meridian line of

Stonehenge passes exactly through the middle of this cursus. But here is the high point of the theory: the

Druids had the magnet; laid their courses by it; their cardinal points in Stonehenge, Ambresbury, and

elsewhere, which vary a little from true east and west, followed the variations of the compass. The Druids

were Ph;oenicians. The name of the magnet is lapis Heracleus, and Hercules was the god of the Phoenicians.

Hercules, in the legend, drew his bow at the sun, and the sungod gave him a golden cup, with which he

sailed over the ocean. What was this, but a compassbox? This cup or little boat, in which the magnet was

made to float on water, and so show the north, was probably its first form, before it was suspended on a pin.

But science was an arcanum, and, as Britain was a Ph;oenician secret, so they kept their compass a secret, and

it was lost with the Tyrian commerce. The golden fleece, again, of Jason, was the compass, a bit of

loadstone, easily supposed to be the only one in the world, and therefore naturally awakening the cupidity and

ambition of the young heroes of a maritime nation to join in an expedition to obtain possession of this wise

stone. Hence the fable that the ship Argo was loquacious and oracular. There is also some curious

coincidence in the names. Apollodorus makes Magnes the son of Aeolus, who married Nais. On hints like

these, Stukeley builds again the grand colonnade into historic harmony, and computing backward by the

known variations of the compass, bravely assigns the year 406 before Christ, for the date of the temple.

(* 1) Connected with Stonehenge are an avenue and a cursus. The avenue is a narrow road of raised earth,

extending 594 yards in a straight line from the grand entrance, then dividing into two branches, which lead,

severally, to a row of barrows; and to the cursus, an artificially formed flat tract of ground. This is half a

mile northeast from Stonehenge, bounded by banks and ditches, 3036 yards long, by 110 broad.

For the difficulty of handling and carrying stones of this size, the like is done in all cities, every day, with no

other aid than horse power. I chanced to see a year ago men at work on the substructure of a house in

Bowdoin Square, in Boston, swinging a block of granite of the size of the largest of the Stonehenge columns

with an ordinary derrick. The men were common masons, with paddies to help, nor did they think they were

doing anything remarkable. I suppose, there were as good men a thousand years ago. And we wonder how

Stonehenge was built and forgotten. After spending half an hour on the spot, we set forth in our dogcart

over the downs for Wilton, C. not suppressing some threats and evil omens on the proprietors, for keeping

these broad plains a wretched sheepwalk, when so many thousands of English men were hungry and wanted

labor. But I heard afterwards that it is not an economy to cultivate this land, which only yields one crop on

We came to Wilton and to Wilton Hall, the renowned seat of the Earls of Pembroke, a house known to

Shakspeare and Massinger, the frequent home of Sir Philip Sidney where he wrote the Arcadia; where he

conversed with Lord Brooke, a man of deep thought, and a poet, who caused to be engraved on his

tombstone, "Here lies Fulke Greville Lord Brooke, the friend of Sir Philip Sidney." It is now the property of

the Earl of Pembroke, and the residence of his brother, Sidney Herbert, Esq., and is esteemed a noble

specimen of the English manorhall. My friend had a letter from Mr. Herbert to his housekeeper, and the

house was shown. The state drawingroom is a double cube, 30 feet high, by 30 feet wide, by 60 feet long:

the adjoining room is a single cube, of 30 feet every way. Although these apartments and the long library

were full of good family portraits, Vandykes and other; and though there were some good pictures, and a

quadrangle cloister full of antique and modern statuary, to which C., catalogue in hand, did all too much

justice, yet the eye was still drawn to the windows, to a magnificent lawn, on which grew the finest cedars

in England. I had not seen more charming grounds. We went out, and walked over the estate. We crossed a

bridge built by Inigo Jones over a stream, of which the gardener did not know the name, (Qu. Alph?) watched

the deer; climbed to the lonely sculptured summer house, on a hill backed by a wood; came down into the

Italian garden, and into a French pavilion, garnished with French busts; and so again, to the house, where we

On leaving Wilton House, we took the coach for Salisbury. The Cathedral, which was finished 600 years ago,

has even a spruce and modern air, and its spire is the highest in England. I know not why, but I had been

more struck with one of no fame at Coventry, which rises 300 feet from the ground, with the lightness of a

mulleinplant, and not at all implicated with the church. Salisbury is now esteemed the culmination of the

Gothic art in England, as the buttresses are fully unmasked, and honestly detailed from the sides of the pile.

The interior of the Cathedral is obstructed by the organ in the middle, acting like a screen. I know not why in

real architecture the hunger of the eye for length of line is so rarely gratified. The rule of art is that a

colonnade is more beautiful the longer it is, and that ad infinitum. And the nave of a church is seldom so long

We loitered in the church, outside the choir, whilst service was said. Whilst we listened to the organ, my

friend remarked, the music is good, and yet not quite religious, but somewhat as if a monk were panting to

some fine Queen of Heaven. C. was unwilling, and we did not ask to have the choir shown us, but returned to

our inn, after seeing another old church of the place. We passed in the train Clarendon Park, but could see

little but the edge of a wood, though C. had wished to pay closer attention to the birthplace of the Decrees of

Clarendon. At Bishopstoke we stopped, and found Mr. H., who received us in his carriage, and took us to his

On Sunday, we had much discourse on a very rainy day. My friends asked, whether there were any

Americans? any with an American idea, any theory of the right future of that country? Thus

challenged, I bethought myself neither of caucuses nor congress, neither of presidents nor of

cabinetministers, nor of such as would make of America another Europe. I thought only of the simplest and

purest minds; I said, `Certainly yes; but those who hold it are fanatics of a dream which I should hardly

care to relate to your English ears, to which it might be only ridiculous, and yet it is the only true.' So I

opened the dogma of nogovernment and nonresistance, and anticipated the objections and the fun, and

procured a kind of hearing for it. I said, it is true that I have never seen in any country a man of sufficient

valor to stand for this truth, and yet it is plain to me, that no less valor than this can command my respect. I

can easily see the bankruptcy of the vulgar musketworship, though great men be musketworshippers;

and 'tis certain, as God liveth, the gun that does not need another gun, the law of love and justice alone,

can effect a clean revolution. I fancied that one or two of my anecdotes made some impression on C., and I

insisted, that the manifest absurdity of the view to English feasibility could make no difference to a

gentleman; that as to our secure tenure of our muttonchop and spinage in London or in Boston, the soul

might quote Talleyrand, "Monsieur, je n'envois pas la necessite." (* 2) As I had thus taken in the

conversation the saint's part, when dinner was announced, C. refused to go out before me, "he was

altogether too wicked." I planted my back against the wall, and our host wittily rescued us from the dilemma,

by saying, he was the wickedest, and would walk out first, then C. followed, and I went last.

On the way to Winchester, whither our host accompanied us in the afternoon, my friends asked many

questions respecting American landscape, forests, houses, my house, for example. It is not easy to answer

these queries well. There I thought, in America, lies nature sleeping, overgrowing, almost conscious, too

much by half for man in the picture, and so giving a certain tristesse, like the rank vegetation of swamps and

forests seen at night, steeped in dews and rains, which it loves; and on it man seems not able to make much

impression. There, in that great sloven continent, in high Alleghany pastures, in the seawide, skyskirted

prairie, still sleeps and murmurs and hides the great mother, long since driven away from the trim

hedgerows and overcultivated garden of England. And, in England, I am quite too sensible of this. Every

one is on his good behavior, and must be dressed for dinner at six. So I put off my friends with very

Just before entering Winchester, we stopped at the Church of Saint Cross, and, after looking through the

quaint antiquity, we demanded a piece of bread and a draught of beer, which the founder, Henry de Blois, in

1136, commanded should be given to every one who should ask it at the gate. We had both, from the old

couple who take care of the church. Some twenty people, every day, they said, make the same demand. This

hospitality of seven hundred years' standing did not hinder C. from pronouncing a malediction on the priest

who receives 2000 pounds a year, that were meant for the poor, and spends a pittance on this small beer and

In the Cathedral, I was gratified, at least by the ample dimensions. The length of line exceeds that of any

other English church; being 556 feet by 250 in breadth of transept. I think I prefer this church to all I have

seen, except Westminster and York. Here was Canute buried, and here Alfred the Great was crowned and

buried, and here the Saxon kings: and, later, in his own church, William of Wykeham. It is very old: part of

the crypt into which we went down and saw the Saxon and Norman arches of the old church on which the

present stands, was built fourteen or fifteen hundred years ago. Sharon Turner says, "Alfred was buried at

Winchester, in the Abbey he had founded there, but his remains were removed by Henry I. to the new Abbey

in the meadows at Hyde, on the northern quarter of the city, and laid under the high altar. The building was

destroyed at the Reformation, and what is left of Alfred's body now lies covered by modern buildings, or

buried in the ruins of the old." (* 3) William of Wykeham's shrine tomb was unlocked for us, and C. took

hold of the recumbent statue's marble hands, and patted them affectionately, for he rightly values the brave

man who built Windsor, and this Cathedral, and the School here, and New College at Oxford. But it was

growing late in the afternoon. Slowly we left the old house, and parting with our host, we took the train for

In these comments on an old journey now revised after seven busy yearse much changed men and things in

England, I have abstained from reference to persons, except in the last chapter, and in one or two cases where

the fame of the parties seemed to have given the public a property in all that concerned them. I must further

allow myself a few notices, if only as an acknowledgment of debts that cannot be paid. My journeys were

cheered by so much kindness from new friends, that my impression of the island is bright with agreeable

memories both of public societies and of households: and, what is nowhere better found than in England, a

cultivated person fitly surrounded by a happy home, "with honor, love, obedience, troops of friends," is of all

institutions the best. At the landing in Liverpool, I found my Manchester correspondent awaiting me, a

gentleman whose kind reception was followed by a train of friendly and effective attentions which never

rested whilst I remained in the country. A man of sense and of letters, the editor of a powerful local journal,

he added to solid virtues an infinite sweetness and bonhommie. There seemed a pool of honey about his heart

which lubricated all his speech and action with fine jets of mead. An equal good fortune attended many later

accidents of my journey, until the sincerity of English kindness ceased to surprise. My visit fell in the

fortunate days when Mr. Bancroft was the American Minister in London, and at his house, or through his

good offices, I had easy access to excellent persons and to privileged places. At the house of Mr. Carlyle, I

met persons eminent in society and in letters. The privileges of the Athenaeum and of the Reform Clubs were

hospitably opened to me, and I found much advantage in the circles of the "Geologic," the "Antiquarian," and

the "Royal Societies." Every day in London gave me new opportunities of meeting men and women who give

splendor to society. I saw Rogers, Hallam, Macaulay, Milnes, Milman, Barry Cornwall, Dickens, Thackeray,

Tennyson, Leigh Hunt, D'Israeli, Helps, Wilkinson, Bailey, Kenyon, and Forster: the younger poets, Clough,

Arnold, and Patmore; and, among the men of science, Robert Brown, Owen, Sedgwick, Faraday, Buckland,

Lyell, De la Beche, Hooker, Carpenter, Babbage, and Edward Forbes. It was my privilege also to converse

with Miss Baillie, with Lady Morgan, with Mrs. Jameson, and Mrs. Somerville. A finer hospitality made

many private houses not less known and dear. It is not in distinguished circles that wisdom and elevated

characters are usually found, or, if found, not confined thereto; and my recollections of the best hours go back

to private conversations in different parts of the kingdom, with persons little known. Nor am I insensible to

the courtesy which frankly opened to me some noble mansions, if I do not adorn my page with their names.

Among the privileges of London, I recall with pleasure two or three signal days, one at Kew, where Sir

William Hooker showed me all the riches of the vast botanic garden; one at the Museum, where Sir Charles

Fellowes explained in detail the history of his Ionic trophymonument; and still another, on which Mr. Owen

The like frank hospitality, bent on real service, I found among the great and the humble, wherever I went; in

Birmingham, in Oxford, in Leicester, in Nottingham, in Sheffield, in Manchester, in Liverpool. At

Edinburgh, through the kindness of Dr. Samuel Brown, I made the acquaintance of De Quincey, of Lord

Jeffrey, of Wilson, of Mrs. Crowe, of the Messrs. Chambers, and of a man of high character and genius, the

At Ambleside in March, 1848, I was for a couple of days the guest of Miss Martineau, then newly returned

from her Egyptian tour. On Sunday afternoon, I accompanied her to Rydal Mount. And as I have recorded a

visit to Wordsworth, many years before, I must not forget this second interview. We found Mr. Wordsworth

asleep on the sofa. He was at first silent and indisposed, as an old man suddenly waked, before he had ended

his nap; but soon became full of talk on the French news. He was nationally bitter on the French: bitter on

Scotchmen, too. No Scotchman, he said, can write English. He detailed the two models, on one or the other of

which all the sentences of the historian Robertson are framed. Nor could Jeffrey, nor the Edinburgh

Reviewers write English, nor can , who is a pest to the English tongue. Incidentally he added, Gibbon cannot

write English. The Edinburgh Review wrote what would tell and what would sell. It had however changed the

tone of its literary criticism from the time when a certain letter was written to the editor by Coleridge. Mrs.

W. had the Editor's answer in her possession. Tennyson he thinks a right poetic genius, though with some

affectation. He had thought an elder brother of Tennyson at first the better poet, but must now reckon Alfred

the true one. . . . In speaking of I know not what style, he said, "to be sure, it was the manner, but then you

know the matter always comes out of the manner." . . . He thought Rio Janeiro the best place in the world for

a great capital city. . . . We talked of English national character. I told him, it was not creditable that no one in

all the country knew anything of Thomas Taylor, the Platonist, whilst in every American library his

translations are found. I said, if Plato's Republic were published in England as a new book today, do you

think it would find any readers? he confessed, it would not: "and yet," he added after a pause, with that

complacency which never deserts a trueborn Englishman, "and yet we have embodied it all."

His opinions of French, English, Irish, and Scotch, seemed rashly formulized from little anecdotes of what

had befallen himself and members of his family, in a diligence or stagecoach. His face sometimes lighted

up, but his conversation was not marked by special force or elevation. Yet perhaps it is a high compliment to

the cultivation of the English generally, when we find such a man not distinguished. He had a healthy look,

Miss Martineau, who lived near him, praised him to me not for his poetry, but for thrift and economy; for

having afforded to his countryneighbors an example of a modest household, where comfort and culture were

secured without any display. She said, that, in his early housekeeping at the cottage where he first lived, he

was accustomed to offer his friends bread and plainest fare: if they wanted any thing more, they must pay him

for their board. It was the rule of the house. I replied, that it evinced English pluck more than any anecdote I

knew. A gentleman in the neighborhood told the story of Walter Scott's staying once for a week with

Wordsworth, and slipping out every day under pretence of a walk, to the Swan Inn, for a cold cut and porter;

and one day passing with Wordsworth the inn, he was betrayed by the landlord's asking him if he had come

for his porter. Of course, this trait would have another look in London, and there you will hear from different

literary men, that Wordsworth had no personal friend, that he was not amiable, that he was parsimonious,

Landor, always generous, says, that he never praised any body. A gentleman in London showed me a watch

that once belonged to Milton, whose initials are engraved on its face. He said, he once showed this to

Wordsworth, who took it in one hand, then drew out his own watch, and held it up with the other, before the

company, but no one making the expected remark, he put back his own in silence. I do not attach much

importance to the disparagement of Wordsworth among London scholars. Who reads him well will know,

that in following the strong bent of his genius, he was careless of the many, careless also of the few,

selfassured that he should "create the taste by which he is to be enjoyed." He lived long enough to witness

the revolution he had wrought, and "to see what he foresaw." There are torpid places in his mind, there is

something hard and sterile in his poetry, want of grace and variety, want of due catholicity and cosmopolitan

scope: he had conformities to English politics and traditions; he had egotistic puerilities in the choice and

treatment of his subjects; but let us say of him, that, alone in his time he treated the human mind well, and

with an absolute trust. His adherence to his poetic creed rested on real inspirations. The Ode on Immortality

is the highwatermark which the intellect has reached in this age. New means were employed, and new

England is the best of actual nations. It is no ideal framework, it is an old pile built in different ages, with

repairs, additions, and makeshifts; but you see the poor best you have got. London is the epitome of our

times, and the Rome of today. Broadfronted broadbottomed Teutons, they stand in solid phalanx

foursquare to the points of compass; they constitute the modern world, they have earned their

vantageground, and held it through ages of adverse possession. They are well marked and differing from

other leading races. England is tenderhearted. Rome was not. England is not so public in its bias; private life

is its place of honor. Truth in private life, untruth in public, marks these homeloving men. Their political

conduct is not decided by general views, but by internal intrigues and personal and family interest. They

cannot readily see beyond England. The history of Rome and Greece, when written by their scholars,

degenerates into English party pamphlets. They cannot see beyond England, nor in England can they

transcend the interests of the governing classes. "English principles" mean a primary regard to the interests of

property. England, Scotland, and Ireland combine to check the colonies. England and Scotland combine to

check Irish manufactures and trade. England rallies at home to check Scotland. In England, the strong classes

check the weaker. In the home population of near thirty millions, there are but one million voters. The Church

punishes dissent, punishes education. Down to a late day, marriages performed by dissenters were illegal. A

bitter classlegislation gives power to those who are rich enough to buy a law. The gamelaws are a proverb

of oppression. Pauperism incrusts and clogs the state, and in hard times becomes hideous. In bad seasons, the

porridge was diluted. Multitudes lived miserably by shellfish and seaware. In cities, the children are

trained to beg, until they shall be old enough to rob. Men and women were convicted of poisoning scores of

children for burialfees. In Irish districts, men deteriorated in size and shape, the nose sunk, the gums were

exposed, with diminished brain and brutal form. During the Australian emigration, multitudes were rejected

by the commissioners as being too emaciated for useful colonists. During the Russian war, few of those that

offered as recruits were found up to the medical standard, though it had been reduced.

The foreign policy of England, though ambitious and lavish of money, has not often been generous or just. It

has a principal regard to the interest of trade, checked however by the aristocratic bias of the ambassador,

which usually puts him in sympathy with the continental Courts. It sanctioned the partition of Poland, it

Some public regards they have. They have abolished slavery in the West Indies, and put an end to human

sacrifices in the East. At home they have a certain statute hospitality. England keeps open doors, as a trading

country must, to all nations. It is one of their fixed ideas, and wrathfully supported by their laws in unbroken

sequence for a thousand years. In Magna Charta it was ordained, that all "merchants shall have safe and

secure conduct to go out and come into England, and to stay there, and to pass as well by land as by water, to

buy and sell by the ancient allowed customs, without any evil toll, except in time of war, or when they shall

be of any nation at war with us." It is a statute and obliged hospitality, and peremptorily maintained. But this

shoprule had one magnificent effect. It extends its cold unalterable courtesy to political exiles of every

opinion, and is a fact which might give additional light to that portion of the planet seen from the farthest star.

But this perfunctory hospitality puts no sweetness into their unaccommodating manners, no check on that

puissant nationality which makes their existence incompatible with all that is not English.

What we must say about a nation is a superficial dealing with symptoms. We cannot go deep enough into the

biography of the spirit who never throws himself entire into one hero, but delegates his energy in parts or

spasms to vicious and defective individuals. But the wealth of the source is seen in the plenitude of English

nature. What variety of power and talent; what facility and plenteousness of knighthood, lordship, ladyship,

royalty, loyalty; what a proud chivalry is indicated in "Collins's Peerage," through eight hundred years! What

dignity resting on what reality and stoutness! What courage in war, what sinew in labor, what cunning

workmen, what inventors and engineers, what seamen and pilots, what clerks and scholars! No one man and

no few men can represent them. It is a people of myriad personalities. Their manyheadedness is owing to

the advantageous position of the middle class, who are always the source of letters and science. Hence the

vast plenty of their aesthetic production. As they are manyheaded, so they are manynationed: their

colonization annexes archipelagoes and continents, and their speech seems destined to be the universal

language of men. I have noted the reserve of power in the English temperament. In the island, they never let

out all the length of all the reins, there is no Berserkir rage, no abandonment or ecstasy of will or intellect,

like that of the Arabs in the time of Mahomet, or like that which intoxicated France in 1789. But who would

see the uncoiling of that tremendous spring, the explosion of their wellhusbanded forces, must follow the

swarms which pouring now for two hundred years from the British islands, have sailed, and rode, and traded,

and planted, through all climates, mainly following the belt of empire, the temperate zones, carrying the

Saxon seed, with its instinct for liberty and law, for arts and for thought, acquiring under some skies a

more electric energy than the native air allows, to the conquest of the globe. Their colonial policy,

obeying the necessities of a vast empire, has become liberal. Canada and Australia have been contented with

substantial independence. They are expiating the wrongs of India, by benefits; first, in works for the irrigation

of the peninsula, and roads and telegraphs; and secondly, in the instruction of the people, to qualify them for

Their mind is in a state of arrested development, a divine cripple like Vulcan; a blind savant like Huber

and Sanderson. They do not occupy themselves on matters of general and lasting import, but on a corporeal

civilization, on goods that perish in the using. But they read with good intent, and what they learn they

incarnate. The English mind turns every abstraction it can receive into a portable utensil, or a working

institution. Such is their tenacity, and such their practical turn, that they hold all they gain. Hence we say, that

only the English race can be trusted with freedom, freedom which is doubleedged and dangerous to any

but the wise and robust. The English designate the kingdoms emulous of free institutions, as the sentimental

nations. Their culture is not an outside varnish, but is thorough and secular in families and the race. They are

oppressive with their temperament, and all the more that they are refined. I have sometimes seen them walk

with my countrymen when I was forced to allow them every advantage, and their companions seemed bags of

There is cramp limitation in their habit of thought, sleepy routine, and a tortoise's instinct to hold hard to the

ground with his claws, lest he should be thrown on his back. There is a drag of inertia which resists reform in

every shape; lawreform, armyreform, extension of suffrage, Jewish franchise, Catholic emancipation,

the abolition of slavery, of impressment, penal code, and entails. They praise this drag, under the formula,

that it is the excellence of the British constitution, that no law can anticipate the public opinion. These poor

tortoises must hold hard, for they feel no wings sprouting at their shoulders. Yet somewhat divine warms at

their heart, and waits a happier hour. It hides in their sturdy will. "Will," said the old philosophy, "is the

measure of power," and personality is the token of this race. Quid vult valde vult. What they do they do with a

will. You cannot account for their success by their Christianity, commerce, charter, common law, Parliament,

or letters, but by the contumacious sharptongued energy of English naturel, with a poise impossible to

disturb, which makes all these its instruments. They are slow and reticent, and are like a dull good horse

which lets every nag pass him, but with whip and spur will run down every racer in the field. They are right

The feudal system survives in the steep inequality of property and privilege, in the limited franchise, in the

social barriers which confine patronage and promotion to a caste, and still more in the submissive ideas

pervading these people. The fagging of the schools is repeated in the social classes. An Englishman shows no

mercy to those below him in the social scale, as he looks for none from those above him: any forbearance

from his superiors surprises him, and they suffer in his good opinion. But the feudal system can be seen with

less pain on large historical grounds. It was pleaded in mitigation of the rotten borough, that it worked well,

that substantial justice was done. Fox, Burke, Pitt, Erskine, Wilberforce, Sheridan, Romilly, or whatever

national man, were by this means sent to Parliament, when their return by large constituencies would have

been doubtful. So now we say, that the right measures of England are the men it bred; that it has yielded more

able men in five hundred years than any other nation; and, though we must not play Providence, and balance

the chances of producing ten great men against the comfort of ten thousand mean men, yet retrospectively we

may strike the balance, and prefer one Alfred, one Shakspeare, one Milton, one Sidney, one Raleigh, one

The American system is more democratic, more humane; yet the American people do not yield better or more

able men, or more inventions or books or benefits, than the English. Congress is not wiser or better than

Parliament. France has abolished its suffocating old regime, but is not recently marked by any more wisdom

The power of performance has not been exceeded, the creation of value. The English have given

importance to individuals, a principal end and fruit of every society. Every man is allowed and encouraged to

be what he is, and is guarded in the indulgence of his whim. "Magna Charta," said Rushworth, "is such a

fellow that he will have no sovereign." By this general activity, and by this sacredness of individuals, they

have in seven hundred years evolved the principles of freedom. It is the land of patriots, martyrs, sages, and

bards, and if the ocean out of which it emerged should wash it away, it will be remembered as an island

famous for immortal laws, for the announcements of original right which make the stone tables of liberty.

A few days after my arrival at Manchester, in November, 1847, the Manchester Athenaeum gave its annual

Banquet in the FreeTrade Hall. With other guests, I was invited to be present, and to address the company.

In looking over recently a newspaperreport of my remarks, I incline to reprint it, as fitly expressing the

feeling with which I entered England, and which agrees well enough with the more deliberate results of better

acquaintance recorded in the foregoing pages. Sir Archibald Alison, the historian, presided, and opened the

meeting with a speech. He was followed by Mr. Cobden, Lord Brackley, and others, among whom was Mr.

Cruikshank, one of the contributors to "Punch." Mr. Dickens's letter of apology for his absence was read. Mr.

Jerrold, who had been announced, did not appear. On being introduced to the meeting I said,

Mr. Chairman and Gentlemen: It is pleasant to me to meet this great and brilliant company, and doubly

pleasant to see the faces of so many distinguished persons on this platform. But I have known all these

persons already. When I was at home, they were as near to me as they are to you. The arguments of the

League and its leader are known to all the friends of free trade. The gayeties and genius, the political, the

social, the parietal wit of "Punch" go duly every fortnight to every boy and girl in Boston and New York. Sir,

when I came to sea, I found the "History of Europe" (* 1) on the ship's cabin table, the property of the

captain;a sort of programme or playbill to tell the seafaring New Englander what he shall find on his

landing here. And as for Dombey, sir, there is no land where paper exists to print on, where it is not found; no

man who can read, that does not read it, and, if he cannot, he finds some charitable pair of eyes that can, and

But these things are not for me to say; these compliments, though true, would better come from one who felt

and understood these merits more. I am not here to exchange civilities with you, but rather to speak of that

which I am sure interests these gentlemen more than their own praises; of that which is good in holidays and

workingdays, the same in one century and in another century. That which lures a solitary American in the

woods with the wish to see England, is the moral peculiarity of the Saxon race, its commanding sense of

right and wrong, the love and devotion to that, this is the imperial trait, which arms them with the

sceptre of the globe. It is this which lies at the foundation of that aristocratic character, which certainly

wanders into strange vagaries, so that its origin is often lost sight of, but which, if it should lose this, would

find itself paralyzed; and in trade, and in the mechanic's shop, gives that honesty in performance, that

thoroughness and solidity of work, which is a national characteristic. This conscience is one element, and the

other is that loyal adhesion, that habit of friendship, that homage of man to man, running through all classes,

the electing of worthy persons to a certain fraternity, to acts of kindness and warm and staunch support,

from year to year, from youth to age, which is alike lovely and honorable to those who render and those

who receive it; which stands in strong contrast with the superficial attachments of other races, their

You will think me very pedantic, gentlemen, but holiday though it be, I have not the smallest interest in any

holiday, except as it celebrates real and not pretended joys; and I think it just, in this time of gloom and

commercial disaster, of affliction and beggary in these districts, that, on these very accounts I speak of, you

should not fail to keep your literary anniversary. I seem to hear you say, that, for all that is come and gone

yet, we will not reduce by one chaplet or one oak leaf the braveries of our annual feast. For I must tell you, I

was given to understand in my childhood, that the British island from which my forefathers came, was no

lotusgarden, no paradise of serene sky and roses and music and merriment all the year round, no, but a cold

foggy mournful country, where nothing grew well in the open air, but robust men and virtuous women, and

these of a wonderful fibre and endurance; that their best parts were slowly revealed; their virtues did not

come out until they quarrelled: they did not strike twelve the first time; good lovers, good haters, and you

could know little about them till you had seen them long, and little good of them till you had seen them in

action; that in prosperity they were moody and dumpish, but in adversity they were grand. Is it not true, sir,

that the wise ancients did not praise the ship parting with flying colors from the port, but only that brave

sailer which came back with torn sheets and battered sides, stript of her banners, but having ridden out the

storm? And so, gentlemen, I feel in regard to this aged England, with the possessions, honors and trophies,

and also with the infirmities of a thousand years gathering around her, irretrievably committed as she now is

to many old customs which cannot be suddenly changed; pressed upon by the transitions of trade, and new

and all incalculable modes, fabrics, arts, machines, and competing populations, I see her not dispirited, not

weak, but well remembering that she has seen dark days before; indeed with a kind of instinct that she

sees a little better in a cloudy day, and that in storm of battle and calamity, she has a secret vigor and a pulse

like a cannon. I see her in her old age, not decrepit, but young, and still daring to believe in her power of

endurance and expansion. Seeing this, I say, All hail! mother of nations, mother of heroes, with strength still

equal to the time; still wise to entertain and swift to execute the policy which the mind and heart of mankind

requires in the present hour, and thus only hospitable to the foreigner, and truly a home to the thoughtful and

generous who are born in the soil. So be it! so let it be! If it be not so, if the courage of England goes with the

chances of a commercial crisis, I will go back to the capes of Massachusetts, and my own Indian stream, and

say to my countrymen, the old race are all gone, and the elasticity and hope of mankind must henceforth