[] THE BALNEA.

MARGATE.

THE Reader often feels as great a satisfaction in going over the excursions of another in print, as if he had trod the ground himself; at any rate, it is less irksome and leſs ex⯑pensive than the trouble of travelling two or three thousand miles.

When a man has paid his deposit to a book-keeper, at an inn in Lon⯑don, [2] for being conveyed to Edinbugh, or any such-like distance, in a stage-coach, he is little aware, if he should be a stranger to travelling, of what mortifications, what impositions, and what impediments he will meet with on the road. Shakespeare says, ‘"For⯑tune never comes with both hands full,"’—nor does pleasure. A travel⯑ler, from his first setting out upon such a journey, will find himself a victim to the hostler, the coachman, the waiter, the chamber-maid, and the inn-keeper; for, notwithstanding the plausible advertisements held out by the coach-master to the public, of ‘"Ex⯑pedition, safe and easy travelling, with good treatment,"’ and similar allurements, it is a hundred to one by the time they have changed the first set of horses, the passenger will find [3] himself in as aukward a situation, and as little respected, as if he was a con⯑vict, under the influence of a jail-keeper, on his voyage to Botany-bay, male or female, old or young, or let their description be whatever it may.

In our police, there is as needful a look-out necessary, in respect to this species of abuse, as any other trespass on mankind, being too often practised on the embarrassed traveller to a degree of terror, and sometimes cruelty; some provisional mode, therefore, of speedy redress and restitution, while he is on the road, ought to be made by the Magistracy, to protect the injured and helpless from becoming subject to such unwarrantable measures.

[4]To digress from the general subject, I will make my way to MARGATE, and pursue particular ones.

Should you visit this pleasurable watering place, and its vicinities, in the summer season, you can hardly travel through a country that has more attractive scenes, or more variety of prospect than the county of Kent. You no sooner reach Shooter's Hill, than the eye is arrested with natural and numerous landscapes of hill and dale, wood and water, until you arrive at Sarre, in the Isle of Thanet. The purpose of your journey is known by every inn-keeper, hostler, coachman, postboy, and waiter, on the road; and, like a sheep that has been under the necessity of making his way through a wild of thickets, in order to [5] get at and assemble with the social flock, you are sure to lose a great deal of wool before you get to your journey's end; and when you arrive at the place in question, you are considered as a summer-fly, certain of meeting with gaping swallows enough that are al⯑ways ready to receive you.

Yet I do not know a watering-place that is more calculated to gratify a party on a summer's excursion than Margate and its environs; nor is there one where the Ladies have been so considered, or so accommodated. The Bathing-rooms are not only well situ⯑ated as to their easy access to the ma⯑chines, but as a pleasant retreat, at a small subscription, where you are fur⯑nished with the news of the day, and have a pleasant look-out in the morn⯑ing [6] over the green ocean,—now a calm, now a breeze; and sometimes presenting itself with all its gran⯑deur in a terrific storm. In the even⯑ing, parties assemble in the different rooms, and, what is seldom found in other places of the kind, accord in amity, and find an innocent and lau⯑dable entertainment for themselves.

Each room is generally provided with a piano-forte; and is seldom at a loss for a willing and ingenious hand to display its dexterity, and give it har⯑mony; nor are the vocal powers re⯑strained in those that are possessed of that enviable ability.

The harbour is sheltered and de⯑fended by the pier, has a fine sand, and a level bottom; so that the bather, [7] unless the wind and the tide be un⯑commonly high, is seldom annoyed by the turbulency of the waves.

The Assembly-room is spacious, and a good object, standing in the centre of the town. The theatre is a royal one, well concerted in respect to size, and proportioned to the place. It is remarkably neat, and seems to be well conducted; the performers are better, in point of competition in the gross, than at most watering-places, but are not always so well attended as they sometimes deserve to be. This may proceed from the multiplicity of dice-boxes which are generally rattling at theatrical hours; for at the raffle-board every one is an actor; and, as the spirit of gambling infuses itself into the hearts and minds of men, with a [8] much stronger and more interested propensity than the lines of Shake⯑speare or the notes of Handel, it is not to be wondered at, when yon see the Theatre so often empty, or a deserv⯑ing actor, with all his ability and best exertions, neglected.

There is a tolerable market, but it is not so well supplied as might be wished; and, if you are desirous to furnish your table with the necessary comforts of the day, you must get up by six o'clock in the morning, and scramble for them, otherwise you may chance to go without your dinner.

The Pier is a lounging place for many people every evening, but of a Sunday it is a general promenade, where you will see a greater diversity [9] of object, a more heterogeneous group than at any place in England; which often enables the ingenious artist, when he is disposed to make use of his pencil, to treat the world with a whimsical characature or two. The Libraries are uncommonly elegant, particularly the upper one, which was built by Mr. Hall.

Dandelion, about a mile and a half from Margate, is as pleasant and ru⯑ral a retreat as can be found any where; possessing a grove, an extensive and well-levelled bowling-green, encircled with a voluptuous and variegated ſhrubbery of the rarest plants and flowers, intersected with seats of ac⯑commodation, like to those at Bag⯑nigge-Wells or White-Conduit House. The dwelling from whence the place [10] takes its name is antient, former⯑ly belonged to a family of that name, who resided there, and by the stately gateway which is now standing, they must have been people of great re⯑spect, being adorned with battlements, as if it had been a place of some de⯑fence. The house is now licensed as a tavern, so that the visitor has an opportunity of refreshing himself, if he pleases, while dancing on the green, which is a general practice during the season at a public breakfast, every Wednesday, about twelve o'clock.

There is no proper inlet to the town of Margate from any direction what⯑ever; and what they call the High-street is a cloſe contracted tho⯑roughfare; many parts of it filthy, with scarcely a decent habitation, and [11] only serves in the present instance to shew us what their now-flourishing town was in its original state. The street is too narrow for one carriage to pass another in the day, but in the night it is dangerous indeed! being of considerable length, commencing from the London road down to the old Pa⯑rade, which is nearly the extent of the town. What the old Parade might have been is no easy matter to tell, but in its present state, and in this im⯑proving age, it has little to boast of in respect to elegance, or even clean⯑liness, and in rainy weather it is a mere swamp; the greateſt part of it lies between a noisy stable-yard, well furnished with manure, and the common sewer of the contiguous market-place, as well as all the lower part of the old town, which frequent⯑ly [12] yield up the most ungrateful exha⯑lations and unsavoury smells to those who choose to regale themselves in this delicious neighbourhood.

Cecil-square is well built; so are the houses in Church field; but they both turn their backs to the sea, the sight of which one would suppose to be one of the principal attractions which bring ſummer-visitors to this place.

The narrow passage, leading from High-street to Cecil-square, and the Assembly-rooms, is dangerous both to foot-passengers and to those in car⯑riages, and serious accidents have of⯑ten happened there.

It is not to be wondered at, that those who have the management of [13] these things (the principal part of the natives, who are always resident) do not contrive that the new-improved parts of the town should have better access to them, or that the visitors, who support the improvement, should not be better accommodated? It should seem as if they acted upon the follow⯑ing idea,—Serve but my turn to-day, and turn out to-morrow.

The lower order of the natives are cunning, avaricious, disrespectful, and sometimes malevolent; and, though their bread of life is for ever sweet⯑ened by the industrious honey-bees from London, who yearly distribute the essence of their winter labour among them, yet, from the depravity of their natures, as if they possessed an inward hatred in their minds to⯑wards [14] their best benefactors, they sel⯑dom discover the least spark of grati⯑tude, or even common civility.

Church-field and Cecil-square form the principal part of the new town, and there would have been a tolerable opening from thence toward the Lon⯑don and Ramsgate roads, but the in⯑tervening ground, in different patches, having been unfortunately purchased by several of the low shopkeepers of Margate, who have conjunctively built upon it a few paltry huts, form⯑ing an insignificant row, which they call Cranbourn-alley, by which means a very elegant and respectable neigh⯑bourhood is deprived of the only eli⯑gible egress that was left of making their way into the high road with safety or convenience.

[15]The most desirable spot in Margate, and where a handsome row of houses might have been judiciously ranged, with all the capability of forming a pleasant, airy, and useful walk in the front, is on the west side of the town, at the back of the High-street. It is not only eminently situated, but has one of the best aspects of the har⯑bour, where there is an everlasting entertainment for the eye, from the number of vessels perpetually coming in or going out, with an extensive view of sea and land. But this idea is done away, from the ground being purloined by the proprietors of a rope-walk, who carry on their business upon the very spot in question, and which would be an intolerable nuisance, were such an improvement to take place.

[16]The Isle of Thanet possesses a num⯑ber of industrious as well as ingenious farmers, who, from an indefatigable attention to the land, have made the soil uncommonly prolific; so much so, it is said, as to yield as much grain in one season, as to furnish the inha⯑bitants with bread for three.

The villages are neat, and prettily scattered about the island, and shaded with orchards, fenced with elm-trees; those of St. Peter and St. Lawrence are beautifully situated, and contain many respectable families. There is a labyrinth of roads which leads from place to place, so that in your excur⯑sions you never tire with a tedious sameness.

[17]Margate is seventy-two miles from London by land. The post-towns, through which you pass, are Dartford, Rochester, Sittingbourne, and Can⯑terbury; but Rochester and Canter⯑bury, and their vicinities, are well worth the attention of the traveller, if he should have so much time to spare.

Kent is not only eminent for the beauty of its prospects and fertility of its soil, but it produces much ‘"event⯑ful history,"’ which is to be met with even on the road to Margate.

At Dartford, the marriage-solemni⯑ty between Isabella, sister of Henry III. and Frederic, Emperor of Germany, was celebrated. King Edward III. founded a nunnery in this town, which became famous for the dignity of its [18] devotees. At the time of the Refor⯑mation, King Henry VIII. converted it into a palace for himself and suc⯑cessors. Queen Elizabeth, in her way from Rochester to Greenwich, resided in this palace two days; it was aliena⯑ted from the crown in the reign of James I. The Knights Templars alſo had a mansion in this town. The first paper-mill was erected here by Sir John Spelman, in the reign of Charles the First.

Near the road from Dartford is a large common, called Dartford-brink, where Edward III. held a so⯑lemn tournament in the year 1331.—The strife between the families of York and Lancaster began here, A. D. 1452, when Richard Plantagenet, Duke of York, brought together on [19] this spot an army of ten thousand men.

The country about Greenhithe and Swanscomb is famous for being the rendezvous of the Daniſh freebooters. The latter place derives its name from a captain of those barbarians, called Swein, who there pitched his camp, which was named Swein's Camp.

Near the twenty-seventh mile-stone is Gad's Hill, supposed to have been the scene of the robbery mentioned by Shakespeare in his play of Henry IV.

Kilburne, who seems to have been a much better topographer than or⯑thographer, if we judge by the mul⯑titudinous errata which he has prefixed to his work, furnished the world with a survey of Kent in the reign of Charles I.; speaking of Rochester cas⯑tle, [20] he says,

A judicious Editor, who publiſhed in the year 1772 the History and An⯑tiquities of Rochester, says,

The name of Watts stands very con⯑spicuously forward in the annals of Rochester, owing to the many bene⯑factions he left to the city and its neighbourhood; one, from its singula⯑rity as well as its utility, particularly attracts the attention of both the tra⯑veller and the historian, and that is [27] the house appointed for the reception of poor travellers, situated on the north side of the High-street, in which, agreeable to the benevolent design of the donor, poor travellers have lodg⯑ing and four-pence each; and, that this charity may be the more general⯑ly known, the following inscription is fixed over the door:

[28]The Mayor and Citizens of this city caused a monument to be erected to his memory, on the south side of the door, entering into the choir of the cathedral; on the top of this monu⯑ment is a bust of Mr. Watts, given by Joseph Brooke, Esq. as appears by the following inscription under the bust:

On the marble monument beneath it:

‘"Sacred to the memory of Richard Watts, Esq. a principal benefactor to this city; who departed this life, Sept. 10, 1579, at his mansion-house on Bul⯑ly-hill, called Satis, (so named by Q. Elizabeth, of glorious memory) and lies [29] interred near this place, as by his will doth plainly appear. By which will, dated Aug. 22, and proved Sept. 25, 1579, he founded an alms-house for the relief of poor people, and for the reception of six poor travellers every night, and for employing the poor of this city."’

In respect to the dock-yard at Chat⯑ham, Camden, speaking of it, says, ‘"It is the best-appointed arsenal the sun ever saw."’

Between the 54th and 55th mile⯑stones is the ancient village of Har⯑bledown. This was the place that formerly held that precious relic called St. Thomas à Becket's slipper, neatly set in copper and chrystal, mentioned by Erasmus. Numerous pilgrims to [30] the shrine of St. Thomas used to stop here, and kiss his slipper, as a prepa⯑ration for their more solemn approach to his tomb, in that blind age when priestcraft had its fullest sway, follow⯑ed by bigotry and superstition, so far as to bring men down upon their knees even to a heap of putrid dust, whose ambitious spirit had made its flight to an awful region, where he will be convinced of his own insignificance, and be made to answer for all the sa⯑cerdotal perfidy and hypocrisy he prac⯑tised, not only on his deluded follow⯑ers, but shameful cruelty on his King, who had raised this ignominious and ungrateful monster, from the lowest order of life, to the most exalted state of affluence and splendor. The mi⯑tre of this imperious prelate is deposi⯑ted among the many sacred vestiges [31] at St. Bertram's church at St. Omer's, in French Flanders, which is much revered by every devotee of the Ro⯑man church.

Kilburne says

There are many ancient monu⯑ments in this church, some in very good condition, among which are those of Henry IV. and his Queen, A. D. 1413, and Edward, the Black Prince. The cloisters and chapter-house are of the same age as the church. In this chapter-room, A. D. 1171, King Henry II. either through piety or policy, suffered the audacious monks [34] to vent their insolence on his royal back with a scourge. The ruins of St. Augustine's monastry stand upon many acres of ground, and the two spacious gateways lead the mind of the spectator to picture to itself what a splendid structure it must have been. But were I to dwell on the history of this city, it would break in so much upon my intended plan, that I should be under the necessity of swelling my duodecimo to a folio volume.

The nearest way from Margate to Ramsgate is four miles; but if you should go through Kingsgate and Broadstairs, it is more than five.

Should you be disposed to go by wa⯑ter to Margate, you will often be un⯑der the necessity of arming yourself [35] with a great deal of patience, and a good store of victuals; you must shut your eyes from seeing indecent scenes, your ears from indecent conversation, and your nose from indelicate smells. The hoys are a kind of small, much-crowded, and moving jails; the Cap⯑tain, as he is called, and his men, ge⯑nerally assimilate much in their man⯑ners, and in their language, to the keepers of Newgate, and other places of confinement about London; and the passengers often, from the time they set sail from Billingsgate till they arrive at Margate, feel themselves un⯑der the same state of injunction as those unfortunate creatures who are kept under lock and key in the afore⯑mentioned places of confinement, and generally meet with as little degree of respect.

BROADSTAIRS.

BROADSTAIRS is another watering place, of little extent, and not much note, lately ſhot up between Margate and Ramsgate. There is a good view of the sea, it is true, but it possesses no other attraction: it lies low, in a husky situation, with no diversity of object; and being newly built, pictures to the traveller the idea of a brick⯑kiln, surrounded by unpleasant and stubble fields. In going to Broad⯑stairs, you pass Kingsgate, the seat of the late Lord Holland, the simpli⯑city and elegance of which causes every traveller to pause with admira⯑tion. It is situated in the dimple of a [37] hill, commanding a view of the sea, in a manner which presents itself to you with a crescentine effect: its ap⯑pendages, such as stabling and other out-houses, are whimsically and judi⯑ciously fancied; they encircle the house at a considerable distance, the whole comprising many acres of ground. On leaving this beautiful scene for Broadstairs, which is in its neighbourhood, the latter perhaps ſuf⯑fers the more by comparison.

RAMSGATE.

RAMSGATE is much frequented in the summer season, by some of the first families; the principal street is very narrow, but well paved, and the old houses, many of which are built with flint, corniced and decorated with stone, are handsome, and kept remarkably clean and neat by the in⯑habitants. There have been conside⯑rable additions made to Ramsgate in respect to building within these few years. Church and Albion Places are well built, both commanding an ex⯑tensive view of the ocean, so far as the coast of France, which, on a fair day, may be perceived by the naked [39] eye. The spirit of this place has been considerably kept up, and many of the trades-folks of moderate circum⯑stances encouraged and patronised by that female Macaenas the ingenious Mrs. T—y, and the greatest pro⯑portion of the new buildings were erected at her own expence, which is not only a compliment to her natu⯑ral public spirit, but her judicious ſpe⯑culation and taste.

The Pier is one of the most magni⯑ficent structures of its kind in this kingdom, forming almost a circus of a mile in compass, which is a stately and convenient shelter for shipping on that part of the coast. At the com⯑mencement of the Pier is the Aſſem⯑bly-room, built by the late Mr. Herri⯑tage, which, though small, is well [40] proportioned; not ſplendid, but ele⯑gantly neat.

Albion-place is built upon one of the cliffs, overlooking the sea, com⯑manding a variety of views, particu⯑larly Dover Castle and the Downs; the back prospect presents to the eye the greatest part of the Isle of Tha⯑net.

The library here is much confined in point of ſituation, being placed in the centre of the town, very near to the market, at one of the corners of four streets, where there is little prospect, and much smell; and the subscribers have this consolation when reading, ſhould they take their eyes from their books, and turn them to the market, that they are well placed, having food for the [41] body and mind at the same time so near at hand. The librarian is a very ci⯑vil, well-behaved, respectable trades⯑man, and the reason that his library has risen to that degree of eminence is from the uniform attention he seems to pay every body that is pleased to countenance him in his profession.—We are told that a certain popular la⯑dy in that neighbourhood, in order to accommodate the frequenters of Ramſ⯑gate, and encourage an industrious and deserving character, has it in mind to build another house for him near the Pier, where the subscribers will be placed in a better point of view, and enjoy the salubrity of the sea-air at the same time.

TUNBRIDGE-WELLS.

This place is built in a sandy bot⯑tom, closely encircled with hills, con⯑tracting the atmosphere, which seems to lie heavy upon the heads and the hearts of the inhabitants; for there is a visible languor in all their manners, and a weight upon all their counte⯑nances. The Promenade is a long brick pavement, over which is thrown a wooden colonnade or shed; and, to keep you more from the light of the heavens and the influx of the air, this colonnade is sheltered by a row of tall elms, so that what air you imbibe for the sake of respiration arises from the earth or bricks, great part of which [43] are grown over with a thin coat of a mossy green, the common consequence of stagnated air or water.

There are two Assembly-rooms, but neither of them commodious, ele⯑gant, nor neat. One set of the public rooms are upon the side of the pan⯑tiles or bricked walk; the windows are not more than breast-high from the ground, without either curtain or shutter, and on a public night, the gentry, while dancing, (and many of them whimsical sickly figures,) being exposed to the vulgar eye, are often joined in the laugh against them by their own servants, while they are peeping through the windows at their masters and mistresses.

[44]The visitors of this place are for the most part peevish old maids or bloated old dowagers, who will now and then bring a frisky young tit or two along with them, in order to keep them out of harm's way, as they call it; many of whom have often been scented thi⯑ther by the Hibernian foxes that have been by habeas corpus unkennelled a while from the King's Bench or Fleet Prisons, and who have often taken advantage of the old hen's going to roost, in order that they may have an opportunity of running away with the fattest of her chickens.

Of what quality the mineral springs of this place may be is best known to the diplomatist, who, for his own sake, may have analysed them, or the cre⯑dulous invalid, who may have been [45] complaisant enough to drink them; but, we are told, as every quack says of his nostrum, they are good for all diseases.

As we approach the grave, we be⯑gin to respect the church; like those who, on a journey, are in fear of a storm, from the threatening clouds that surround them, make way to the first inn for shelter, which in all pro⯑bability they might have passed, had they not been in apprehension of some danger; from this principle, I pre⯑sume, the chapel was built so near the Well, that, when they had filled their stomachs with the springs from the rock, they might improve it by the spirit of divinity, and, by mixing it, make it into a kind of religious grog.

[46]Hence it is that the chapel is visi⯑ted every day about eleven o'clock; but, whether from the love of the Gospel, the fear of their souls, or re⯑spect to custom, will be hard to deter⯑mine; yet, true it is, that few pay a regular attention to this seat of devo⯑tion, but those who are on the verge of a grand climacteric.

The good minister, as a reward for his labours, is under the necessity of submitting to the painful alternative of leaving a begging-card for subscrip⯑tions at the rooms and libraries. When a physician administers to a patient with only a bodily complaint, he de⯑mands his guinea in cog. but when a minister of the Gospel has been hold⯑ing out his comforts to the soul, is it not grievous that all the world are to [47] be told that he is in want of a shil⯑ling, and that he will thank you for whatever trifle you may bestow on him? Tell it not at home, tell it not abroad, lest the daughters of the Jaco⯑bins rejoice.

If those devotees, who, from fear, seem to pay so much respect to their souls, had a respect to the holy cloth, they would surely raise an established stipend to prevent a gentleman of that description from blushing.

There is a playhouse here; it is very small, but often well attended. It may appear the more so, because a few people will make a full house, for when you are in it, you feel as if the actors and actresses were tumbling into your lap, and they are generally of [48] that description which are seen best at a distance. The mistress of this com⯑pany is named Baker, who has been in the theatrical oven so long, that she is become crusty, whenever you ask her a civil question.

The late Countess of Huntingdon built a Methodist chapel near Mount Misery, a place so named, overlook⯑ing the town, and many a miserable creature of that deplorable place is seen upon his knees in it, imbibing the enthusiasm and frantic doctrines of the chosen few, who roar and stare the ignorant into a belief of whatever they may please to say.

There are two other mounts in the same direction, one called Mount Ephraim, the other Mount Sion; but were you to ask why they are called so, it would be a difficult matter to learn. The houses upon these mounts are handsomely built and pleasantly situated, some of them the summer-residence of eminent families, others boarding or lodging-houses, for the same description of people.

[52]East of the town, on the side of a rising hill, are very elegant vil⯑las, embowered with stately groves, forming a sufficient residence for peo⯑ple of the first fashion, something si⯑milar to the houses and groves in the upper part of Hampstead, near Lon⯑don. There are few accommodations for the middling kind of his Majesty's subjects here, except those in the lower town, which are intolerably bad and extravagantly dear: they are chiefly on the left hand, as you enter the Pantiles from the London road, parallel to the shops, or rather sheds, for there are few of them that are much larger than a good-sized stage-coach; most of these shops are mise⯑rably furnished, and poorly attended in respect to customers; and, though they lie in the low part of the old [53] town, yet the lodging-houses for peo⯑ple of a scanty fortune are still situa⯑ted in a declivity from them, gene⯑rally full of ragged noisy children; their back views are into a dirty brook, which divides the counties of Kent and Suſſex.

Here, if you should wish to look out, in order to regale yourself with the breathings of the morning air, your ears are perpetually annoyed with the grunting of pigs, and your nose with the essence of their sties.

Every article of life is uncommonly dear, and there is a difficulty of get⯑ting your food dressed, unless you should take up your quarters in an inn, and there your head is made to ache, and your pocket lightened, in the space [54] of four-and-twenty hours; and it is a doubt if, by that time, you do not begin to contemplate a retreat, for the sake of your peace, and a respect to your purse.

There are two libraries, one at each end of the Promenade; that near the pump is very small, but neat; the other is a long slip, of about four feet deep, exposed to the open air, with⯑out a window,—something like to the front of a fishmonger's shop in London.

The rides about the Wells are more pleasant than numerous; that to Bey⯑ham-abbey is well diversified with ru⯑ral objects: it is about seven miles from the Wells, standing in an exten⯑sive and beautiful meadow, skirted [55] round with woods, many of which have walks cut through them, and enchanting labyrinths, with here and there a seat in the shade, which has been erected for an hospitable purpose, to accommodate the weary traveller, whose curiosity might have led him that distance in order to gratify his eyes with so voluptuous a scene.

The ruins are the most picturesque, and kept in the best state and perfec⯑tion of any romantic pile of that de⯑scription in England. They are lofty, and from what is left of them, which is very considerable, there is a display of much Gothic elegance. The stately aîles, where once the holy priests their slow processions led, and veiled virgins, in seraphic strains, have sung their pious orgies to their Maker's [56] praise, are now unroofed; the mar⯑ble pavement is gone, and in its stead a level mossy walk, while up the walls the creeping ivy climbs, and various flowers adorn the important base. The only occupants are now the blinking owl and fluttering bat.

Along the meadows, and before the family-house, which is inhabited by part of the Camden family, mean⯑dring, runs a wide and clear refresh⯑ing stream, adding greatly to the tranquil scene. The whole of these delectable domains belong to the above family. In the winter, when all the rest of the feathered tribe are silent grown, the robin red-breast, on some jutty of this ancient pile, will often perch, and sing his Christmas carrol to the jolly rustic, huddled round his [57] fire, and drinking down his horn of wholesome ale.

One summer's evening, when I had been for many hours gratifying my⯑self with exploring these sweet roman⯑tic scenes, I sat me down on the root of an old tree, and wrote, the follow⯑ing lines:

Tunbridge-Wells are thirty-five miles from London, lying partly in Kent and partly in Suſſex; the post-towns are Bromley, Sevenoaks, and Tunbridge-town.

BRIGHTON, OR BRIGHTHELMSTONE.

BRIGHTON has less diversity than Margate, and less tranquillity than Tunbridge-Wells, but I believe it is visited by more nobility than either of the foregoing places. This may pro⯑ceed from the Heir Apparent making it his summer residence, for the eagles and the hawks for ever gather round the highest rocks.

Brighton is like a beggar's coat, which, as he grows fat, by being too well fed by his neighbours, becomes too little for him; so that, in order [60] to make it fit the better, he some⯑times finds occasion to let it out, and patches it with different cloths, which being mostly new, disgraces the old. It was formerly an insignificant fish⯑ing town; the natives were merely amphibious, and to this day they re⯑tain much of their original quality.

There is nothing here to arrest the traveller's attention but the Prince's pavillion, which is more a temporary conveniency for the summer than a splendid object of admiration.

The houses in general are alter⯑nately high and low, new and old, handsome and ugly, through the town. There is a baldness in the whole, and nothing to relieve the eye, take it in whatsoever point of view you may.

[61]The sea presents one continued sameness, divested of the almost-per⯑petual moving scene which shews itself to the spectator at Margate, from the multiplicity of shipping, of all de⯑scriptions, sailing so near the shore, to and from the Downs, and to dif⯑ferent parts of the coast. At Brighton you have only a few fishing boats, or now and then a vessel of consequence will present itself to you in the Offing, at four or five leagues distance, which is descried only by the aid of a tele⯑scope, and then you scarcely are able to ascertain her rate or burthen, or to what kingdom she belongs.

The water is strongly impregnated with the particles of salt, very pure and clear, but it is often comfortless, and sometimes dangerous to the ba⯑ther; [62] nor can he at all times indulge himself with a dip, the shore running so shallow, and the waves so high, that, should a north-west wind blow briskly in, which is often the case, he is obliged to relinquish all idea of bathing, or, should he even be stand⯑ing upon the beach or cliff, he will find it necessary sometimes to retreat.

The Stayne was once a pleasant lounge enough, before it was encir⯑cled with houses, and had a view of the hills and corn-fields contiguous to it, but now it is confined, the air im⯑peded, and the rural effect it once possessed is lost.

There is a nuisance which ought long ago to have been removed, from a proper respect due to the elegant so⯑ciety [63] that visit here, especially as that society has ever been considered the support of the whole neighbourhood; this nuisance is the fishing-nets, which are daily spread from one end of the Stayne to the other, so that the com⯑pany, while walking, are frequently tripped up by entangling their feet; and, if any of the barbarians to whom the nets belong should be standing by, you are sure to be reprobated and in⯑sulted for what you cannot avoid.

But this, they pretend to say, is a privilege which they possess; if it be so, it is a shame that they do not re⯑linquish it, in order to make the only promenade they have more agreeable to their best friends; who, if they were to desert the place, from being too frequently annoyed, might leave [64] to the inhabitants the advantage of enjoying their privileges, and going without bread at the same time.

The fellows who persist in this pri⯑vilege, as they call it, seem to possess it more from the principle of auda⯑city than justice or necessity; for, were they to take their nets to a piece of ground which lies about two hun⯑dred yards from the Stayne, the evil would be removed; but there seems to be a brutal obstinacy in their tem⯑pers, and an idleness in their habits, which prevent them from shewing one particle of gratitude even to those to whom they owe their whole exist⯑ence.

Should you ride out, you have little shade; the only places in this neigh⯑bourhood [65] that are adorned with a tree more than ten feet high are Preston and Whiting, two villages which lie in a dale; the first is one, and the other two miles, lying behind the town, on the road to Shoreham. The rest of the rides are chiefly over the Downs to the Devil's Dyke, to Lewes, to Ratten, or Rotten-dean.

The latter of these places is on the sea-side, four miles east of Brighton. They have two or three machines there, and lodging-houses, and many make it their bathing place, but it is a poor, ragged, unpleasant village, di⯑vested of almost every conveniency, void of society, and only fit for the valetudinarian.

[66]Brighton has two libraries, neither of them splendid, but well situated, where there is ever more talking than reading, unless it be the newspaper, and that is frequently seized with as much avidity as if you were playing at the game of snapdragon.

The market here is not very well supplied, and there is generally a great paucity of provisions, which, in point of price, run extravagantly high. Fruit is very scarce and very dear, like the lodgings; and, if any body should have an advantage, in respect to mar⯑keting, it is the native inhabitants, who make a tolerable market of the London gulls, which go down to visit their coast.

[67]They have a theatre here in a good situation, and not badly built. The performers, like all others forming these kind of companies, are possessed of very moderate talents. Now and then a star of superior lustre and magnitude to the common twinklers in the theatrical hemisphere will stroll from the capital, and draw a few peo⯑ple together for a night or two, but it is rarely that they do more.

But Brighton is not a place for en⯑couraging amusements of this kind; the tragic or the comic Muse, or their midwives, the players, who bring their bantlings to light, have little at⯑traction here. The chequered dies of Mercury, and the midnight revels of the deluding Venus, engage the kind of company that frequent this place. [68] Many do it from propensity, others from fashion and imitation, and they are seldom at a loss for an example.

The Assembly-room is capacious, elegant, and well situated; the lustres are uncommonly brilliant, and the ornamental fancies judiciously con⯑ceived. On viewing the external part of this room, the mind becomes pre⯑judiced, until you explore its interior beauties; for, from an outside view, it presents to the eye an unfavourable aspect, like that of a well-looking barn, ornamented with a set of hand⯑some windows.

The equinoctial winds, when they blow high from a north-west point, produce a tremendous and formida⯑ble sea; so that many of the houses [69] on the cliff have been often considered in danger from the waves, which will sometimes overtop them, and distri⯑bute the spray of the ocean all over the Stayne.

Brighton is in the county of Sussex. There are two roads to it, and the post-towns from London are Epsom, Darking, Horsham, Steyning, and so on to Brighton. This road is sixty miles.

The other road is through Sutton, Riegate, Crawley, and Cuckfield.—This to Brighton is only fifty-two miles and a half.

While a visitor at Brighton, I was in⯑treated by a friend at Bath, who had heard much of its beauties, to give him a [70] true idea of it in rhyme; accordingly I sent him the following verses.

LITTLE HAMPTON.

LITTLE HAMPTON is a small bathing place, twenty five miles on the Sussex coast, West of Bright⯑helmstone; four miles from Arundel, and fifty nine from London; there are a few small lodging houses erected here, and a machine or two; the houses are at a considerable distance from the sea, as if the builders were aware of their being washed away some time or other by the turbulent tides, and it seems to be no improper caution.

There is but one house of public refreshment, and that is built upon a kind of sand-bank, approaching so [73] near the water's side, that many have been apprehensive, lest the tides should make an unmannerly attack, and the bearded Neptune break into their room while they were enjoying themselves over their meal.

It seems to be an unpleasant kind of place, fit only to inspire melancholy in a contemplative mind; but to a dull indifferent being, blessed with apathy, or one that can gratify himself over his glass of grog, his pipe of tobacco, or his mug of ale, it may do well enough, as he may stupify himself with the one, and go to sleep over the other, without interruption.

BOGNAR.

BOGNAR is another, and the last new established watering place on the Sussex coast, seventy two miles west of Little Hampton, by the way of Arundel and Chichester; it lies seven miles south of the last mentioned city, and seventy from London, through Guildford, Godalmin, and Midhurst.

This is an extensive village of brick-built palaces, newly erected, but little inhabited; a favourite specula⯑tion of Sir Richard Hotham's. It is a desirable spot, and like a well com⯑piled newspaper, in lack of customers, is only wanting to be read; so Bognar is only wanting to be seen; there is a good hotel and small assembly-room [75] near the ocean, which presents itself to you with the same kind of aspect as when you are at Brighton.

It appears at present merely calcu⯑lated for the superior sort of society, and as there is often a peculiar shyness in them from pride, in respect to rank and etiquette, they seldom associate, or are they seen together; the want of which makes it appear for ever de⯑solate, and throws a shade of melan⯑choly over the whole neighbourhood.

Were there a few humbler habita⯑tions built for a middling race of his Majesty's subjects, it might be a con⯑sideration worth attending to. It would add life to the scene, by furnish⯑ing it with moving objects; whereas, those which are there at present, whe⯑ther [76] it be from pride, or as if they were ashamed to be looked at, sit brooding in their chambers at home all day, or, if they venture abroad, they huddle and curtain themselves up in⯑visibly in their carriages.

SOUTHAMPTON.

SOUTHAMPTON is an incorporated town, and may be said to be situated in the garden of Hampshire. Its ap⯑proach from Winchester is unparalled by any other town or city in Eng⯑land; it is handsomely built, the streets well paved and flagged, of no in⯑considerable extent, of great antiquity, and generally appears very lively from its internal trade and navigation. The [77] environs are beautiful, and the rides about it numerous.

The Assembly-room is handsome, but inferior to those of Brighthelm⯑stone and Margate, yet it is pleasantly situated in respect to its view to the water, the New Forest, and the Isle of Wight; but its approach is entangled with little zig-zag streets, and to those in carriages, in the night, it is some⯑times dangerous; the rooms are in the hands of a very respectable man, and it is a pity there could not be contrived a more agreeable access.

There is a Theatre also, a small one, which is generally better attended than those at any other summer wa⯑tering-place. It has been in the hands of its present proprietors many years, [78] who have carried it on with that level uniformity, which has got them the confidence of the company who yearly visit Southampton. Baker's Library is in the centre of High-Street, well furnished with books, and well at⯑tended by customers; himself as well as family, who preside in the Library, are more intelligent, attentive, and obliging, than most that you will meet with in that profession.

There is an excellent market well sup⯑plied, but in the watering season every article of life is extremely dear; al⯑though well furnished with fish, yet they keep up the price so shamefully high, that none but those who are possess⯑ed of good fortunes can gratify them⯑selves with a dish of it, without its going [79] against their stomach by thinking of the price while they are making a meal.

The bathing here is safe, and the mode decent, in the manner of a cold bath, built close to the water's edge, which is filled and emptied every tide; but there are no machines.

The Polygon is composed of eight very noble and elegant built houses, at an equal but convenient distance from each other, forming a rotundity. It is about a quarter of a mile's distance from the town; stands high, and so contrived, that every house has a va⯑riety of prospect.

The favorite ride is to Netley-Abbey and its neighbourhoood, being about two miles and a half from Southamp⯑ton, [80] standing near the beach of the same arm of sea which runs up to Southampton. The ruins are ancient, venerable, and extensive, and form so picturesque a scene, that many gentle⯑men of the pencil have exercised their talents by taking a copy, and published it to the world.

Some years ago, being excited to ramble from Southampton to this mouldering pile alone, where con⯑templation full many an hour battens on the solemnity of the scene, ru⯑minating on its present and its former state, I left it, and wandered towards the sea, where I perceived a single sailor, with seemingly an agi⯑tated mind; his arms were folded, while he walked impatiently to and from a large bason of water which had been left by the tide; sometimes he [81] would look into it significantly, and sigh, then turn away from it again beating his forehead with an uncom⯑mon emotion; by his manner, con⯑ceiving him in distress, my apprehen⯑sions were such, as led me to an idea there could be no impropriety in my addressing myself to him, lest his mind should be driven to that state of despair which might excite him to commit some act of violence upon himself.

On my accosting him, he soon made me acquainted with his disorder, by giving me to understand, that he came from Southampton, and had been in the neighbourhood of Netley-Abbey, in quest of a man who had borrowed some money of him some time ago, and (pointing to the house) said, he could [82] not find him at home; that he was under the necessity of being at Cowes in the Isle of Wight, or that he should be disgraced, by not going on board the vessel he belonged to according to his appointed time; that he had spent all the little money he brought in his pocket from Cowes at a public house in Southampton, where he had been some days; that they retained his duds, as he called them, which he af⯑terward gave me to understand were his clothes, and had turned him out of his quarters, after he had spent his last penny in the house, in a most ungrate⯑ful manner and with much shame⯑ful abuse; said that he only owed them sixteen pence halfpenny, and that was the reason why they had stopped his duds; that the man he came in quest of had borrowed two shillings of him, [83] but that he was gone to the Lord knows where.

He told his story with such ear⯑nestness, with such simplicity, and apparent truth, that I presented him with half a crown; he then looked in my face with a degree of astonish⯑ment, and with an enquiring counte⯑nance, said, ‘"Do you know me?"’ I assured him that I did not; ‘"Not know me!"’ replied he again, ‘"and give me half a crown! why I never met with such a thing in all my life: what could you see in my face to do me such a favour as this."’ I told him he was a poor sailor, seemingly in distress, that had buffeted the billows in tempestuous nights, when such people as me were sleeping safe in their beds on shore; and that it was [84] by such men as him, that our coast was safely guarded from the common enemy;—then, with tears rising into his eyes, he cry'd, ‘"God bless ye, give a poor man your hand, and believe me when I tell you, that, were you at sea with me in an engagement, and that I could see a ball making towards you, to do you a mischief, d—n my heart if this hand which you have relieved should not stop it, or lose its place."’ He then gave me such a hearty gripe by the hand, as to almost make my fingers crack, and took his leave, bestowing many blessings on me, and saying, ‘"I'll now go to master Burley-face, my landlord, pack up my poor duds, and give the old heathen a Rowland for his Oliver."’

[85]This incident pressed so strongly on my mind, that, when I returned to my friends, who were at the Star Inn, Southampton, I told them of the scene in question; and, while they were playing a game at draughts, sat my⯑self down, and wrote the following song.

Should it possess any degree of merit, that merit is due to me who wrote it, and I should not have been led to this comment, had not public report frequently bestowed that merit upon another man, who does not de⯑serve it; whose trade is only writing songs in bad English, and singing them with a worse voice. Is it to be supposed that there is only one man in the world that can write a song? it might as well be thought, that there [86] was no other river that produced fish but the Thames.

Southampton is in Hampſhire, se⯑venty-five miles south-west of the ca⯑pital. The post towns are Brentford, Staines, Bagshot, Farnham, Alton, Alresford, Winchester, and Southamp⯑ton. Winchester is well worth the attention of the antiquarian; it is twelve miles from Southampton; many make it a morning's ride, in order to explore that venerable city, and gene⯑rally find themselves amply compen⯑sated for their trouble.

LYMINGTON.

LYMINGTON is about twenty miles west of Southampton, by Redbridge and Lindhurst, lying in the New Forest. It is a little incorporated town, with a little body, and a little town-hall, which is made use of to little purpose; but should the com⯑pany who go there to bathe wish to make use of it for a ball or a concert, this little corporation, like the dog in the manger, generally makes a great deal of fuss about it. The ride from Southampton to Lymington is over as good a piece of road, and through as pleasant a part of the country, as any in England, which is a stronger [89] incentive to the visitors of Ly⯑mington than any thing else; and from the little time they stay there, it appears to be the only one, for they seem to go back as soon as they can, in order that they may have the op⯑portunity of going the same piece of ground over again.

The baths are nearly a mile out of the town, through a ragged neigh⯑bourhood and a wretched road; and, when you get there, the manner of bathing is the most uncomfortable, and the water less salutary than it should be, from being mixed with the freshes and the springs that incorpo⯑rate themselves with the sea-water.

WEYMOUTH.

This royal watering place has no⯑thing to recommend it, but its conve⯑niency in respect to bathing; no ride, no object, but that sterile rock the Isle of Portland; no walk but the Espla⯑nade, which has no variety in point of view, but is one straight line of rubbish, thrown up from the level as a kind of barrier, to prevent the town from being overwhelmed by a more than ordinary tide.

Gloucester-Lodge, where the Royal Family reside, is before you enter the town, nearly in the front of the bay. The hotel is on a line with the Lodge, and has a small assembly-room, which [91] is conveniently situated for a place of that kind, but a man must be very well situated, in respect to circum⯑stances, who wishes to make it his home. The person who keeps it was for many years the master of the Bedford Arms, in Covent-garden, in London, a house that has been of great notoriety, time out of mind. Venerum excitatus.

The inhabitants devise different ways to amuse and accommodate his Majesty; one furnishes a splendid li⯑brary, not only with a superabundance of books, but with all the trinkets of Bond or Cockspur Streets; over which he builds a spacious room, purposely for a sovereign-lounge, or for secret councils; but this over-ardent zealot, being ‘"too civil by half,"’ has unfor⯑tunately [90] [...] [91] [...] [92] been obliged to lounge off to another part of the kingdom, without being thanked for his pains, and with this reflection at his heels,—‘"Who is to blame?"’

Another has built a magnificent bath, at the expence of five hundred pounds, on the plan of royal accom⯑modation likewise; but this has also proved a wrong speculation; for the Sovereign complimented the builder with taking a single dip, gave him five guineas, told him the water was not sufficiently impregnated with the sal mare, which is generally believed to be the case; therefore the projector, like an injudicious tailor, who offi⯑ciously wishes to furnish a gentleman with a new coat, of a peculiar and fashionable cut, without paying a pro⯑per [93] attention to the quality of the cloth, has met with the mortification of having it returned upon his hands. This circumstance, no doubt, has set a whispering censure on foot, in re⯑spect to his Majesty not making a ge⯑neral use of the bath, as the projec⯑tor had signified, that it was built for a royal purpose; but the truth is, he was never consulted in the busi⯑ness, and if he had, would certainly have made himself master of the de⯑fects, and told the man to have spared himself the trouble, and to have kept his money in his pocket.

When the Royal Family make their first entrance into Weymouth, every summer season, the inhabitants, out of compliment, cover the pavement with small pebbles from the sea shore, [94] which has generally the effect of en⯑dangering your eyes, or breaking the parlour-windows of all the houses in the street; for, as the party is mostly numerous, and the horses driven along at a furious pace, their hoofs, tip⯑ping the pebbles before them, make them fly as thick as hail, and as sharp almost as a small bullet shot from a pistol.

Yet, notwithstanding all the appa⯑rent zeal of the natives of Weymouth, one would think they in reality did not care a straw for the royal visitors; otherwise, these Gothamites, if they truly wished to make their Sovereign's entrance easy, would have bestowed a bundle or two of the above commo⯑dity for the sake of his family, their friends' eyes, their neighbours' win⯑dows, [95] and the general safety of his Majesty's subjects. Being thrown into this situation once myself, with my head uncovered like an obedient sub⯑ject, I was under the necessity of turning my back upon my betters, for the sake of saving my face; it was at a time when I had an idea of address⯑ing his Majesty in respect to my father being the author of ‘"God save Great George our King."’ I had no evil in my mind like Macbeth, yet

for they rose from the pavement in such vollies, and pelted me hip and thigh at such a rate, that I could not help bringing to mind that passage in the Scriptures where it is said, ‘" I asked for bread, and he gave me a stone!"’

[96]As it has been whispered abroad, nay even given in print, that an annuity of two hundred pounds per annum had been bestowed on me, in conse⯑quence of my father being the author of ‘"God save Great George our King,"’ I think it a duty incumbent on me to acquaint the world, that no such consideration has ever yet tran⯑spired; yet I must beg that my readers will give me leave to introduce a few lines on this subject.

In spite of all literary cavil and con⯑jectural assertions, there has not yet appeared one identity to invalidate the truth of my father's being the author of the above important song; some have given the music to Handel, others to Purcell; some have signified that it was produced in the time of Charles I. [97] others in James I. and some in their slumbers have dreamed that it made its appearance in the reign of Henry VIII. it might as well have been carried still further back, to the wicked reign of Saul, or the wiser one of song-sing⯑ing Solomon, the son of David.

I have heard the late Mr. Pearce Galliard, an able Counsellor in the law, and a colleague of my father's, who died some years ago at Southamp⯑ton, assert, time after time, that my father was the author of God save the King; that it was produced in the year forty-five and six; another friend presented it to me in its original state, bound up with a collection of songs for two and three voices, set to music by Mr. Handel, Dr. Blow, Mr. Le⯑veridge, Dr. Greene, Mr. Eccles, Mr. [98] Lampe, Daniel Purcell, Mr. Corfe, and Henry Carey; printed in the year 1750, for John Johnson, opposite Bow Church, in Cheapside; it precedes another song of my father's, beginning with

but, for the satisfaction of my readers, I will insert the song of God save great George our King, as it is printed in the original text, where it is called a song for two voices, and runs thus:

[100]Every one who has read the his⯑tory of the Scotch rebellion, in 1745, will remember that MARSHAL WADE was a commander of great and eminent ability, employed by our government to repel the factious spirit of the Cale⯑donians who were hostile to this coun⯑try at that time, and invaded many of the northern parts of this island.

The following letter of the inge⯑nious Dr. Harington, of Bath, strongly corroborates the authenticity of my father's being the author of the song in question: hearing that he was in possession of this piece of information, I intreated him to make it known to me, which he politely and readily ac⯑quiesced in, saying,

Surely the foregoing letter wears the complexion of truth, and yet, either from envy or rigid scepticism, it has been held out by many as a maſter of doubt, without one feasible authority or circumstantial argument that could render it so.

However, many of my friends being convinced of the infallibility of Dr. Harington's letter, and referring to the material and provident aid the song had often yielded to the King and State in every critical situation, when lurking sedition had caused loud and dangerous murmurs to be daily heard in every house and every street, [104] threatening defiance to the sword of Justice and her wise established laws, spurning at Majesty on his road to meet his mob-insulted senate, or an⯑noying him in his public pleasures; yet, has the wavering subject been often called back to his original duty to his King, and the harsh and cla⯑morous voice of anarchy lulled into a calm, by this divine, this popular and national hymn.

Reflecting on its utility, without assuming a claim, I thought there could be no harm in endeavouring, through some medium or other, to make myself known at Windsor, as son of the author of ‘"God save great George our King;"’ and as great fa⯑milies create great wants, it is natu⯑ral to wish for some little relief; ac⯑cordingly, [105] I was advised to beg the interference of Dr. —, residing not far from the Castle, and who is for ever seen bowing and scraping in the King's walks, that he would be kind enough to explain this matter rightly to the Sovereign, thinking it was not improbable but that some considera⯑tion might have taken place, and some little compliment bestowed on the off⯑spring of one ‘"who had done the state some service;"’ but, alas! no sooner did I move the business with the greatest humility to this demi-Canon, but he opened his mouth as wide as a four-and-twenty pounder, bursting as loudly upon me as the largest piece of ord⯑nance, with his chin cocked up like the little centre figure, with his cauli⯑flower wig in Bunbury's country club, [106] exclaiming, ‘"Sir, I do not see, be⯑cause your father wrote the song of God save the King, that the King is under any obligation to his son."’ I could have said, knowing him to be a man of the church, had he not been in his own house, that private as well as public obligations were hereditary, and ought never to be forgotten; and, where there is a propinquity of blood, it should not be suffered to rest lin⯑gering in the veins for want of that physical assistance, gratitude.—Surely no one will say that there is any thing unchristian-like in this mode of arguing; I am convinced there is justice in it, and there is much justice in religion; they are engrafted and grow from the same stock. In respect to myself, I may [107] have by and by to say, like Cardinal Wolsey, that

yet at the day of retribution, the gates of mercy may be as freely thrown aside to me as those that are cano⯑pied, stalled, and pampered up in a golden litter, battening on the fattest fodder, or harnessed in all the costly trappings of a priest, who now and then may stay his impatient hour, and saddle the state with an incumbency of fourteen or fifteen hundred pounds per annum, for sitting dummy in a Cathedral.

I am convinced, had my plea been fairly stated at the Queen's Lodge, I should have had a princely answer; but [108] the royal door perhaps, like Jaffier's, was ‘"damm'd up,"’ not with ‘"starv⯑ing creditors,"’ but clamorous peti⯑tioners, backed with such irresistible influence, that there was nothing to be done for me; such as great men's butlers, valets, footmen, and coach⯑men, and an infinity of waiting and chamber maids, with whom their noble masters and mistresses had run in debt from year to year, to a consi⯑derable amount, therefore were under the necessity of throwing them on the public by thrusting them into the treasury, the war-office, the customs, &c. many of whom, doubt⯑less, had been for some time at their evening schools from lack of educa⯑tion, or so long at cross purposes and the habit of making a mark, that it was found necessary in order that they [109] might be endowed with the ability of signing their names, and when they had the honor of being uſhered into a place of four or five hundred a year, they might do it legibly. Nay, even pimps and panders might have been on the list, who had followed their libidinous lords through every scene of debauchery and extravagance, from the days of puberty to those of listless imbecility.

But Kings, like clowns, have played at blindman's buff ere now, and, like fortune, indiscriminately held out their hands to every lout that chance has pushed into their way.

Notwithstanding all impediments, ſhould justice for ever wink and for⯑tune turn her back, die when I may, I will die with my old family-princi⯑ples, [110] which are to adore my God, honor my King, revere my Country, and ad⯑mire the Constitution.

Weymouth and Melcomb Regis are so contiguous to each other as to be only divided by a narrow river, and are often considered as one place, but neither of the towns are of much con⯑sequence in respect to buildings, situ⯑ation, or wealth. There is no public place of refreshment, but the great hotel, that is worth notice, or where you get attention.

Should you visit the Isle of Port⯑land, which lies about two miles from Weymouth, you may meet with some gratification, but not without much fatigue; and, when you have ascended about a mile into this island, you will [111] be surprised to meet with a neat and not inelegant hotel, well supplied with every comfortable article for the table. The inhabitants of this rock look wholesome and generally clean; the men robust, the women fair and stout; their children often beautiful. They have peculiar customs of their own, live peaceably with each other, and not being subject to all the laws that the rest of the kingdom is, perhaps this may be the principal reason of their living in such an envied state of tran⯑quillity.

It is reported of them by the people of Weymouth, that the men and wo⯑men marry only among themselves; that they are bedded first; but, if in a certain time no fruitful signs should happen to appear in the woman, they [112] part, and both look out for another mate.

There is a well-built new church situated on the highest part, and in the centre of the island, and a vast number of neat grave stones, with a great variety of whimsical and affec⯑tionate epitaphs.

It is worthy observation, that the stones which are blown up by the mi⯑ners on the very summit of the rock, (much higher from its extensive base than the cross of St. Paul's in the city of London) is from the founda⯑tion of the church, yet those very stones are impregnated with thou⯑sands of shells of various shapes and sizes.

[113]There is a theatre in Weymouth, which is frequently honoured with the attendance of the Royal family; the performers are generally of a mo⯑derate description, only fit to make the audience laugh, by putting na⯑ture out of joint; but, when the ma⯑nager is disposed to touch the royal heart to the QUICK, he sends for a certain old favorite from Covent-Gar⯑den, who, by cocking up his leg like a pantaloon toy, or by grunting like a pig, the whole house is thrown into convulsions, almost so great as to bring on an apoplexy in the greater part of the audience.

The theatre is on a contracted scale, built in the shape of a wig-box, and not much wider; this thing (for it is difficult to give it a name) is managed [114] by one of the principal proprietors of Sadler's Wells.

Weymouth is in Dorsetshire, one hundred and thirty miles from Lon⯑don; the post-towns are Brentford, Staines, Bagshot, Basingstoke, Whit⯑church, Andover, Saliſbury, Bland⯑ford, Dorchester, and so on to Wey⯑mouth. When the traveller arrives at Saliſbury, it is worth his while to make a halt, in order to take a sur⯑vey of the most splendid Gothic cathe⯑dral in England; the close in which it stands is the most extensive, kept in better order, and is more attractive in respect to its shaded and well gra⯑velled walks than is to be seen encir⯑cling any other structure of the kind in his Majesty's dominions. Many similar buildings in London, as well [115] as in the country, are too often hid or huddled up and obtruded upon by in⯑significant and contemptible houses, that prevent the spectator from ta⯑king a proper survey of the whole, and take greatly away from the wished for effect.

Although not the beſt built, yet there is not a town or provincial city in England that has such capabilities about it as Salisbury; the streets are laid out in regular angles, wide and strait, the ground level, and they open every way, like those in the parish of Marybone, in London, all terminating with a view into the adjacent country, which renders it airy, and of course healthy; the whole is nearly square, and the market-place is extensive, neat, and handsome, and so judicious⯑ly [116] concentrated, that it stands conti⯑guous to every habitation. There is no where to be seen a market-place situated to such an advantage, where five or six wide streets open to it as inlets to the country-people from every quarter; and where no narrow lanes are seen with crooked, sharp, and dangerous turnings, which often endanger the lives of his Majesty's sub⯑jects; such as are to be found in Nor⯑wich, Coventry, Leicester, Shrews⯑bury, Cambridge, and many other towns throughout the kingdom, all very deficient in respect to conveniency.

The New Town-hall, erected by Lord Radnor, is a stately edifice, built with stone, and is a great ornament to the city. The canals, perpetually running through almost every street, [117] pure, clear, and rapid streams, are of peculiar advantage to the inhabitants, who have always at hand that useful necessary of life to keep their houses clean, or to carry away the dirt that consequently muſt be made in wash⯑ing them.

BATH.

WE now come to one of the most splendid cities, for the size of it, that we have to boast of. It is difficult to begin, or to point out, the nume⯑rous beauties and elegancies of this place.

The whole city is built with a cream coloured stone; the architect and the [118] mason have equally here exercised their talents and indulged their fan⯑cies for thirty years past, and have spread it over so much ground, that, could its former inhabitants rise from their silent dormitories, they would lift up their eyes and hold up their hands with wonder.

The squares, the Circus, the great Crescent, and the minor ones, which are numerous, are of that magnitude and beauty as at once to delight and astonish the beholder.

The new streets are commodiously wide, and of vast extent; Great Pul⯑teney-street, lately built on the east side of Avon-bridge, is, perhaps, ex⯑cept Portland-place, in London, not to be equalled in Christendom; this [119] spacious street commences and con⯑cludes with a Crescent, which adds to its splendor. It has the advantage of Portland-place, in as much as it is built with beautiful stone, and the different orders of architecture, which have been uniformly observed through the whole street, give it that magni⯑ficent effect, which almost rivals every thing we have to boast of in respect to buildings.

The new Pump-room, and the new street which faces it, form a beauti⯑ful picture, displaying on each side an elegant colonnade of considerable length, leading down to the different baths. The Pump-room in question is not only an elegant but a stately structure, and, for the purpose to [120] which it is appropriated, not to be equalled any where.

The lower assembly-rooms are handsome, commodious, and capa⯑cious, but the upper ones surpass every thing of that kind in any town or city in the three kingdoms.

The theatre is handsome, and its size properly adapted to the place, but is fixed in a bad situation, inconvenient to the greater part of the inhabitants, and incommodious in regard to its ap⯑proach; it is said to be the best con⯑ducted theatre in England, and has furnished the Capital with some of its most eminent performers.

There is greater decorum and order observed in Bath than in any other [121] place; the markets are the best sup⯑plied and conducted of any we can refer to, being regulated by the Mayor and Corporation, as well as the different apartments, which are let at a stipulated price; half a guinea each room, no more nor less, even in the very best lodging-houses. Having a colliary about eight miles from the city, they are well supplied with coals. From the advantage of the Somerset⯑shire Avon, a navigable river, running through the bottom of the city, and passing the mines, they are not only the more easily conveyed, but conse⯑quently rendered more moderate in respect to price.

The cathedral is in the centre of the city, a grand Gothic structure, and [122] presents a fine effect in point of object to the whole.

The town-hall is also a magnificent pile, built with peculiar taste, some⯑thing similar to the Vatican at Rome, standing in an advantageous situation, and not far from the cathedral.

The waters here have, undoubtedly, been of the most salutary effect in gouty as well as bilious cases; we have perpetual instances of their rendering great relief to both.

Bath is as well paved, flagged, and lighted, as London, and has most of the pleasurable advantages of that great and extensive city, within a much less compass. It lies in a dale, surrounded by high hills, decorated with hanging [123] woods. Prior Park, and its embellish⯑ments, form a pleasing scene for the rambling eye, while you are walking over the parades, or passing along Great Pulteney-street.

There are very few walks of con⯑sequence in the vicinity of Bath, nor are there any rides but Landsdowne, and then you have to surmount a sum⯑mit, along the common road, of nearly two miles high. The Downs, being very bleak and cold in the winter from their eminent situation, and hot in the summer from the chalky soil and want of shade, render them no very desirable retreat for relaxation or ex⯑ercise at any season of the year. The only walk is that newly made, conti⯑nuing from the lower end of Great Pulteney-street, which adds greatly to [124] its effect; but being one straight line, upon an ascent, brings to mind the saying of

This is no reproach on the spirit or taste of the people, who have made Bath one of the most splendid cities for its size in Europe, but from its situation, not having sufficient level meadow-land to admit of an oppor⯑tunity of displaying their taste, by embellishing their city with every or⯑nament, in respect to sight and ac⯑commodations, to the gratification of their visitors. However, they have taken care, when we speak of it as a winter residence, to make it a most enviable retreat.

[125]The city of Bath is in Somerset⯑shire, one hundred and eight miles from London; the market or post towns through which you pass are Brentford, Colnbrook, Maidenhead, Reading, Newbury, Hungerford, Marl⯑borough, Devizes, Melksham, and so on to Bath.

The inns which lie between Lon⯑don and Bath, in point of grandeur or elegance, surpass every thing of the kind, perhaps, in the known world. The castle at Marlborough, and its appurtenances, comprise a palace fit to accommodate the first monarch in Europe.

THE HOT WELLS

Are two miles from the city of Bris⯑tol, and fourteen from Bath. They are [126] in a vale, through which the Avon continues its course, and forms a con⯑junction with the Severn, which di⯑vides the English and the Welsh coasts, and makes its way into the Bristol Channel.

In getting to this place from Bath, you are under the necessity of running through a kind of gauntlet, by going from one end to the other, of one of the largest, noisiest, and most bustling cities, except London, in England. But, when you arrive at the Wells, the scene becomes calm, and not unplea⯑sant; there are two sets of assembly-rooms, which are made use of alter⯑nately. Lodgings are remarkably dear, and so are all kind of provisions, the more to be wondered at, when we consider it is near so capital a city as [127] Bristol, which lies in a very plentiful country, and the markets supplied abundantly with all the comforts of the earth.

The waters are rather warm, and have a soft milky taste, said to be of great effect in respect to disordered stomachs and consumptive habits; many a melancholy object of the last description are too frequently seen here, buoyed up with hopes of relief, but display evident symptoms to the pitying beholder, that they are sent there to take their last sublunary lounge.

The Bristol rocks commence from the Wells, and are arranged on each side for nearly two miles down the river, which runs between them in a [128] serpentine form. St. Vincent's rock is of a tremendous height, impregnated with what is called the Bristol stone; and, when the sun shines in a parti⯑cular direction upon it, while you are on the opposite shore, this rock in many places appears as if it were de⯑corated with so many little stars. The whole presents a grand romantic scene.

The reverberation of sounds from shore to shore are uncommonly dis⯑tinct, and I have heard a capital singer, once upon a time, in the celebrated song of Sweet Echo, from this situ⯑ation, produce a greater and more de⯑lightful effect than ever was heard upon the stage; the response was soft, but correct in point of imitation.

[129]The rides here are numerous; that over Durden-Downs to Blaze-Castle, in point of prospect, is hardly equalled. After you have made your way to the summit of the hills that overlook the Wells, you arrive at the village of Clifton, which, in point of situation and building, strikes the traveller with delight. The stone, of which these beautiful villas are built, we are told was brought from Bath; the houses are arranged, at that judicious distance from each other, so as to admit of a considerable piece of pleasure-garden, laid out with the greatest taste; the foliage gives an admirable effect to what would otherwise be thought, per⯑haps, naked and deficient, in respect to its completion.

[130]When you arrive at the Downs, you are parallel with the summit of the highest rocks, and look down the aw⯑ful depth into the winding Avon. Many parts of the Downs are defended with a stone wall, in order that it may be less irksome to the timorous female when she is taking her ride of recreation. There is a beacon built here as a sea⯑mark, on the highest ground, from whence you have a very extensive view across the Severn to Chepstow and the Welsh mountains; and, while you enjoy the prospect, you imbibe as pure an air as ever wafted over sod.

From this situation, on turning round, you have a view of the exten⯑sive city of Bristol, which at that dis⯑tance presents itself to you as a good object; and, when you come to exa⯑mine [131] its interior beauties, on a closer point of view, you will find that there are many things worth attention; the churches are for the most part hand⯑some, well furnished, and kept in the greatest preservation; the cathedral has unfortunately suffered so much from intestine broils and savage war, that there is but little of it left, and that is only the inferior part; but St. Ratcliff's church possesses all the ele⯑gance of Gothic beauty in a perfect state.

I could always wish to avoid every appearance of egotism in these sketches of different places; for let it be observed, that I am not writing a musical tour, where ego sum is for ever staring you in the face in every line, nor do I mean to calum⯑niate [132] any body of people whom I have stood before in public, because they have not treated me with idolatry, or that the whole corporation of a town has not met me with a trumpet and drum, and every distinguished symbol of respect.

Should it be asked what I advert to in respect to this digression from the ge⯑neral idea of my plan, I must beg leave to refer my readers to the sentiments of a certain sing-song writer, who, while he was delivering his unparal⯑leled productions through England, and could not be admitted at Cam⯑bridge because I was there, abused the Vice-Chancellor for not pushing me out of the town, where I had been handsomely received and caressed for many preceeding years.

[133]Yet this fulsome egotist, in his incongruous publication, has been pleased to lug me into his muddy matter, and set himself off by saying that the Vice-Chancellor had not only refused him an opportunity of exer⯑cising his transcendent talents, but had given that opportunity to another who stood in his way, ‘"whose only merit was taking him off."’

If the few preceding lines should happen to be thought an obtrusion upon my readers, I have to plead, in my own behalf, a propensity that al⯑most all mankind possess, that of reta⯑liation; yet, where I to give a perfect imitation of him, I do not think I could find a dye, in all my compositions of colouring, dark enough to paint him in his true complexion.

[134]But I will take my leave of this sub⯑ject, and make my way to St. Rat⯑cliff's church, where I was standing one day admiring its external beauties, in company with a gentleman, when we were accosted by an odd looking fellow, from whose appearance we were at a loss to determine whe⯑ther he was a Jew or a Christian; he addreſſed us with ‘"Good morn⯑ing, gentlemen, you seem to be ad⯑miring that church; it is a fine church, I assure you; opens every morning at eleven o'clock, and is worth your in⯑spection: you seem to be strangers here; did you come upon business or pleasure gentlemen?"’ On acquainting him that we came upon business, he obtruded farther on our patience, by asking us if we were in the mustard-way.

[135]This we were told by our friends afterwards, to whom we related the story, was called touting a customer, and, though a whimsical mode, was adopted by many of the lower order of mechanics, by way of driving the nail, as they call it, and keeping up the spirit of trade.

Bristol is a large and opulent city, filled with wealthy merchants and in⯑dustrious tradesmen; but it is thought its mercantile business has not flou⯑rished of late, as it did some years ago, having been rivalled by Liver⯑pool; from what cause is not easily ascertained; some have assigned it to the spirit of the people of Liverpool, others to the great superiority of that port, in respect to the accommo⯑dation [136] of vessels in their extensive docks and harbours.

Bristol Hot-wells are one hundred and twenty-two miles from London, the post-towns through which you travel are the same as to Bath.

CHELTENHAM.

CHELTENHAM lies in the beautiful vale of Gloucester, in a rural situation, and is a long narrow town, nearly a mile in extent, well paved, lighted, and flagged; has a clean and bright appearance as you pass through it, many of the houses being well built: there are two Assembly-rooms; the upper one is remarkably neat and elegant, the chandeliers and lustres [137] peculiarly brilliant; the rest of the apartments are very commodious, and in unity with the whole pile; these set of rooms were built by the worthy Mr. Miller, who may be said to be almost the father and establisher of Cheltenham; for it seems to have been the business of his life to lend a helping hand to every project that might facilitate its improvements, and has certainly been a principal instru⯑ment in raising it to its present state of popularity.

The lower rooms are handsome, but inferior to the upper ones; they are both rented by Mr. Rook, who conducts the whole with great pro⯑priety, and keeps them in so neat and perfect a state, that it gives a pleasing gratification to all who visit them.

[138]There is a Theatre here, which is called a royal one; for the manager had the honor of the King's visiting it, when at Cheltenham, as he does that at Weymouth.

I wish it could be said of the The⯑atre as I have spoken of the public rooms, in respect to their neatness and elegance; but the Cheltenham Thea⯑tre is deficient in both; the house is small and uncomfortable, lighted with about half a dozen of the commonest tallow-candles; the stage-lights, as they are called, present themselves to you as something in the shape of a long dripping-pan, and so scantily illu⯑minated, that one would suppose a few black and casual cinders had fallen into it, and produced a blaze; for it has that appearance to the eye, [139] and, in respect to smell, the nose will bear the eye a faithful evidence.

The performers have the least sa⯑laries, and, consequently, the least merit of any set I ever saw; this may proceed from a depression of spirits, for, if an Englishman has but little to eat, he has little inclination to do any kind of business as it should be. A man or woman, who has only eight or nine shillings per week, with the appendage often of a large family, must summon up a considerable de⯑gree of philosophy indeed, who can exercise their talents with any portion of reputation to themselves, or satisfac⯑tion to an audience, when so nar⯑rowed in their circumstances.

[140]The walks about this place have been taken a great deal of pains with, in respect to their beauty and conveni⯑ence; they are well shaded and well gravelled, which was judicious from the first idea, because, as it is only in the summer-season that Cheltenham is visited, the water-drinkers have al⯑ways a retreat from the glare and heat of the sun, by retiring to the shade.

The pump-room is about a quar⯑ter of a mile distant from the town, the greatest part of which you are sheltered with tall embowering trees; and, on your turning round, when you get to the Well, the church, which has a handsome spire, presents itself like a tall and stately obelisk, terminating the north end of the grove.

[141]The Earl of Fauconberg has a charming residence here, standing on a rising ground a little distance from the Well, from which he possesses a prospect of the Malvern-hills in Wor⯑cestershire, and greatest part of the extensive vale of Gloucester. His Lordship, with that complacency which does him credit as a man, and honour as a nobleman, throws open all his gates, even to the threshold of his house, for the accommodation of the indiscriminate company who may wish to lounge about his grounds.

The taste of the waters of Chelten⯑ham resembles that which has been strongly impregnated with Glauber's salts, and has much the same effect upon those that drink them; they are said to relieve an aching head, clear an [142] over-charged stomach, and produce a good appetite,—disorders naturally brought on by the mode of living, the lack of rest, and want of air, in London; and such do well to visit this Lethe to the mind, and comfort to the body, who may be so circumstanced as to have it in their power to make it a temporary retreat in the summer.

The markets are well supplied, and the provisions in common are tolera⯑bly cheap, considering it a place of pleasure.

The regulation of the markets are attributed to Mr. Moreau, who for many years presided as Master of the Ceremonies at Cheltenham, and filled that situation with a great degree of reputation to himself and satisfaction [143] to the company who frequented this place. He is a gentleman of a liberal turn of mind, of a good family, and endowed with an education that con⯑stitutes him a man of letters. But he is in a very bad state of health at pre⯑sent, and visited with heavy bodily complaints, which seem to weigh him to the ground.

Mr. King is an Irish gentleman, who presides in the office of Master of the Ceremonies to the upper rooms at Bath, and officiates in that capacity now at Cheltenham, and, should he con⯑duct himself with the same degree of complacency as his predecessor, he will deserve the same encouragement. Time will shew.

There are two libraries; and that which is kept by Harwood, who is an [144] old inhabitant, is composed of a great collection of books, and I believe many of them valuable ones; I mean that library in the new buildings, for he has one also in the High-street; the new room is very commodious, hand⯑somely built, and well filled. There is another kind of library, but it is furnished with so heterogeneous an assortment of millenery, perfumery, powder and paste, toys and trinkets, that, from its external appearance, one is at a loss what to call it, ex⯑cept it be the gossiping shop; for there is a smirking wench or two, that seem to attract the old and weak-hammed debauchees, who visit there for the sake of a little small talk, and become customers for the sake of being flatter⯑ed in their dotage. The books which this library contains are chiefly [145] of such as teem from the Minervarian press, but the only matter that seemed to be read while I was there was most⯑ly the lie of the day, where it was said one day that Buonaparte was taken by the English, and contradicted the next; which is a political idea in the printer of a newspaper, because it makes two paragraphs, one day to give a false re⯑port as a truth, and the next to give that report the lie; but old Time, after all, has set us to rights, for we find the little bustling hero at last sur⯑rounded in jeopardy.

The lodgings of this place are enormously dear, and, like those at Tunbridge-wells, ill adapted, to the middling sort of society, not only extravagant in the extreme, but shame⯑fully deficient in point of accommo⯑dation. The lower kind of inhabi⯑tants are as illiterate as Laplanders; [146] and, having the complexion of Jews, are generally as avaricious and hard in their dealings.

The rides are various, and well di⯑versified with shade and rural villages, but little water; the roads are gene⯑rally very bad. The ride to Dowdswell, which lies four miles from Chelten⯑ham, on the London road, is the best, and that elegant village is shel⯑tered from east and north-east winds by hanging woods; it is built upon a hill, comprising only five or six hand⯑some houses, from which you have a most beautiful and extensive view of almost all the vale of Gloucester, over Cheltenham; the spires of the dif⯑ferent villages, peering over the tufted groves, terminated with the stately and celebrated Gothic tower of Glou⯑cester-Cathedral, at the distance of about thirteen miles.

[147]Once, on a summer's evening, I had the pleasure and delight of seeing the setting sun take his leave, and couch behind the Malvern hills, which are at an immense distance, yet are seen from Dowdswell; the rays of light, from the sun upon the clouds, threw such a glow and solemnity upon the earth, tinting it with so beautiful a va⯑riety, that, had there been but water to have finished the scene, a judicious painter might have formed a picture equal to the best of Claude Lauraine:

The village of Presbury lies two miles on the north side of Chelten⯑ham, to which you may better walk than ride; and so secluded in orchards and other trees, that one neighbour can hardly see another's house, from the [148] redundancy of the foliage that sur⯑rounds it.

Here the wanderer will be sur⯑prised to find a neat hotel, with almost every accommodation, and a garden laid out with peculiar taste and fancy, and which has had more pains taken with it than is generally to be met with in so circumscribed a spot; a beautiful thatched grotto-hermitage, decorated with shells and fossils of various kinds, and displayed in the most ingenious manner; small Gothic windows with old painted glass, the floor tessalated, and different parts decorated with round convex mirrors; the whole is rendered the more impressive on the mind, from the various and negligent shrubs that shelter it, giving the in⯑terior part a solemn effect; in this [149] situation, I could not help calling to mind a couple of lines in Shakes⯑peare's As You Like It:

Opposite to the back door of the house, and on a terrace raised at the upper end of the garden, is a Chinese temple, used as a tea-ro [...]m for com⯑pany, and round it an appropriate balcony, sheltered by an awning from the top.

There is also a tower or beacon at a little distance from the temple, in which there is an octagon room, re⯑markably neat, where the lounger may refresh himself with tea or wine, or whatever may suit his fancy.

[150]The proprietor, having a botanical taste, has taken care to display it, by decorating the ground with great va⯑riety of flowers, which diffuse their essence round you, while you are re⯑galing in the shade.

Cheltenham is ninety-one miles from London, and the post-towns through which you pass are Brent⯑ford, Colnbrooke, Maidenhead, Henley upon Thames, Benson, Oxford, Wit⯑ney, Burford, Northlech, and so on by way of Frogmill to Cheltenham.

Should the traveller have time, he would do well to spend a day or two in Oxford, where he would have an opportunity of exploring the beauties of one of the neatest, cleanest, and most magnificent Gothic cities in Europe.

MALVERN WELLS.

THE Malvern-wells are situated on the brow of that extensive range of lofty mountains, commonly called the Malvern-hills, in the county, and about eight miles from the city of Worces⯑ter.

The waters here are said to be a chalybeate, and are a kind of cordial for low spirits; that the air is pure is natural enough, as the Wells lie so eminently high; the prospects are beautiful and of vast extent, revert⯑ing the view which you have from Cheltenham to Malvern, by looking back again over the vale of Gloucester, from a north-west point.

[152]There is but one hotel, at which the company generally dine together at one table, but they are seldom nu⯑merous.

Those who have agility and strength enough to scramble up the mountains, which from the base to the summit is supposed to be two miles, will have a view of Worcestershire, Gloucester⯑shire, Herefordshire, Shropshire, and the black mountains near Brecknock, in Wales; the three cathedrals of Worcester, Gloucester, and Hereford, are all seen from the same spot with the naked eye, which lie in a kind of triangle, nearly thirty miles distant from each other; and, at the sea⯑son when the trees are in blossom in these cider-countries, intersected with numerous hop-grounds, they present a [153] picture almost too voluptuous to de⯑scribe, when you look down upon them from this mountain.

Worcester is a handsome city, great part of which is paved and flagged; it stands on the banks of the Severn, over which is built a very handsome bridge.

The Cathedral is a stately Gothic building, which, with the cloisters, have lately been repaired at a vast ex⯑pence; the inside of both have the appearance of being newly built; the whole of the Cathedral has had a new pavement laid down, the old monu⯑ments put in a good condition, and that of Bishop Hough, sculptured by Ru⯑biliac, would be an ornament, and is fit to be ranked among the best of [154] that artist's performances in Westminster Abbey.

Worcester is a hundred and eleven miles north-west of London, through Oxford, Woodstock, Chipping Nor⯑ton, Pershore, &c. Malvern-wells is eight miles from Worcester, on the road to Hereford.

Riding near Ledbury, in Worces⯑tershire, one rainy day, upon a res⯑tive horse, I had the misfortune to splash a poor young soldier all over, who was on his furlough; I was grieved at the circumstance, and apologized to him; the roads were deeply cut and dirty, he had a heavy knapsack at his back, and seemed much tired; en⯑tering into conversation with him, he told me he had played the fool to his [155] own cost, had rashly enlisted for a sol⯑dier, in consequence of a little quar⯑rel with his wife, saying she was one of the best of women, and that he had great reason to repent of his folly every day; I pitied his situation, bid him a good day, sat down at the first inn upon the road, and wrote the following song, which I have heard Mr. Dignum sing with great effect:

About two years after, on the same road, in the winter time, at a cottage near Worcester, being a spectator to an affecting but pleasing scene, where a soldier had just returned from the continent of Austrian Flanders, I was led to a combination of ideas, thinking it might possibly have been the same young man which I saw near Ledbury, therefore was induced to invoke the Muse to furnish me with matter for the same subject:

Having had for many years a wish to see the ancient and memorable town of Ludlow, in Shropshire, I took the opportunity, when at Wor⯑cester, to make it in my circuit to Buxton, and was well requited for my trouble.

Whatever way you approach Lud⯑low, you find an ascent up to the market place, which is in the centre of the town; the streets are wide and [159] well built, and, opening to the four points of the compass, east, west, north, and south, command different ways a variety of prospects.

The Castle stands upon a lofty hill, seemingly much higher than that of Windsor, when you look down upon the College of Eaton from the terrace; it commands a most enchanting coun⯑try, but is in a state of ruin, and the mouldering hand of time has given it a fantastic and magnificent effect.

Imagine yourself in the most favo⯑rite walk of Kensington-gardens, and that walk zig-zagged down the side of a stupendous mountain, shaded with embowering trees; and, as you peep through the different vistas, the fertile valleys below, and the distant hills pre⯑sent [160] the most unrivalled landscapes; such is the promenade at Ludlow.—The river, gliding through the mea⯑dows, near the base of the castle walls, is clear and wide, decorated with va⯑rious kinds of shrubs; a venerable bridge strides across the stream, over which there hangs a high and shaggy promontory, sheltering a water-mill, standing near to a line of dwarfy rocks that run from shore to shore, impeding the hasty current; the effect of which is hardly to be conceived; the enraged river rushing furiously against its cross impediment, rises above the common surface, and in foaming surges overwhelms the ob⯑structing ridge, hurrying down the counter-side with a tremendous roar, forming a beautiful cascade, like to another Niagara, or a Mississippi; the [161] whole presenting as beautiful a natu⯑ral picture to the eye as can be formed by the most creative imagination.

The Castle is said to be nearly half a mile in circumference; I explored, and could have wept at its interior delapidations. This relic of grandeur was once the ancient habitation of King Stephen, and in various reigns the station where many a British worthy has placed himſelf in his courtly seat, enjoying the splendour of his golden hours; some might have felt as I did, especially when they beheld the lofty topping towers, mantled with pensive ivy, threatening every wondering passenger, whose veneration for the scene may have led him too near its precarious foundation or its opening sides.

[162]It was here King Edward kept his crowded court at the time of the bloody struggles between the contend⯑ing houses of Lancaster and York. It was from hence his sons, the poor young Edward Prince of Wales, and Richard Duke of York were sent for by the tyrant Richard, and murdered in the tower of London. Here the great Earl of Pembroke lived, and the illustrious and elegant Sir Philip Sid⯑ney, while within these walls, in his hours of lucubration, presented to the world that beautiful ornament to li⯑terature called the COUNTESS of PEM⯑BROKE's ARCADIA.

Here Milton's Comus was partly written, and first performed in all its splendour by courtly actors, attended by princely auditors. The wood is [163] still standing in the neighbourhood of the castle where he laid the scenes for his important Necromancer, to exer⯑cise his fancy and riot in his revels.

It was here that the witty but un⯑fortunate Butler (even in the tower, over the great gate-way, at the en⯑trance of the castle) wrote the greatest part of his Hudibras. The stately walls are now tumbling down, and the spacious hall that once was deco⯑rated with a gilded roof and choicest hangings, crouded with female beauty, and with warriors bold, is open now to the inclemency of the skies; its garnished sides are all defaced; but there is a mutability in all sublunary matters which only serves to tell us that time has no respect to persons or to things.

BUXTON.

THIS place is generally very fashi⯑onably attended in the summer season; it lies in the peak of Derby; the waters are said to render great relief to those patients who are afflicted with rheumatisms or spasms; they are grateful to the taste, and rather warm; I had never an occasion to make use of the waters, but the air produces a vigorous appetite.

Buxton is built chiefly of stone, and was no more than a small village of great inns, hotels, and little public houses a few years ago, but it has been considerably augmented, many little dwellings being lately built, have made it a town of more consequence; [165] the new Crescent has given it a stile and dignity, which, though it lies in a dell, has raised it to that degree of respect as to excite the attention of all travellers. It is built with stone, and said to be as fine a piece of ma⯑sonry as any thing we have to boast of, being both elegant and extensive, has a handsome piazza in the front; the rest of the building is of the Com⯑posite order. In rainy weather, and there is commonly more at Buxton than at any other town in England, except Manchester, the piazza is found a convenient shelter, the people having it in their power to go from house to house without suffering from the liquid climate.

The stabling is on a rising ground, at the distance of about one hundred [166] yards from the back part of the Cres⯑cent, between which there runs a rivu⯑let, that carries off every thing that might prove offensive from the stables, which form a circus of great extent, and are also built of stone; the inte⯑rior part is colonnaded round, with a spacious ride in the centre. Within the colonnade they have secured a shel⯑ter like to that in the Crescent, to pre⯑vent the grooms and other servants suffering from the rain while they are dressing the horses; each of these pil⯑lars is cut out of one solid stone of about ten feet high, and handsomely formed; the coach-houses are on one side of the stables, which are built in the same order and beauty, and possess the same conveniency; the whole dis⯑playing the most uniform and exten⯑sive mews in the kingdom.

[167]The Royal Hotel is very commo⯑dious, forming part of the Crescent, built on an extensive scale; the rooms are handsome, many of them elegant, but the Assembly-room, which is within the Hotel, is as finished in re⯑spect to symmetry and ornament, both as to the mason and the upholdsterer, as any that I ever remember to have seen.

The Hall was formerly the only house of accommodation, and is yet fashionably attended, being near the wells or pump-room, at the end of the Crescent; the libraries here are small, nor are there any shops that can boast of a respectable appearance, there being no rooms of consequence or magnitude enough to display a variety of articles.

[168]There are two very large inns, in the upper or high part of the town, the White Hart and the Eagle, which, like those of the Hall, Royal Hotel, &c. in the lower town, are made use of as boarding houses, where the vi⯑sitors, in different parties, mess toge⯑ther in the greatest harmony, order, and decorum, and are seldom at a loss for the want of mental as well as bodily entertainment; the charges are moderate, considering the great variety of viands which are generally served up to the company.

Lodgings in private houses are of a very moderate kind, and scarce; there is no common market here, so that butcher's meat, poultry, and fish are very dear, and fruit is sold at an enormous price, being brought from [169] a considerable distance; for there is little vegetation about Buxton; the country round it is bald, bleak, and dreary, has little foliage, and bears a great resemblance to many parts of Scotland. The rides are not very plea⯑sant, there being no objects but naked hills and fruitless dales, picturing one desolate scene, often impressing the mind with melancholy.

To gentlemen who go there on the plan of grouse-shooting and more game, it is well enough; but the invalid, who wishes to recreate himself with a morning's ride now and then, had better confine himself to the purlieus of the Crescent, or the walks in the garden belonging to the Hall.

[170]There is a little compact theatre here made out of an old barn, which has had much pains bestowed upon it, and the interior so decorated, that when you are in it, you loose all idea of its original state; it is usually kept very clean and well lighted; the out⯑side has also been so well furbished up, as almost to make you forget its wonted rusticity; I have seen good acting in this little theatre, when Cooke, who used to perform in the Manchester company, has been there on a summer's engagement.

Poole's Hole is a subterraneous ca⯑vern, about a mile from the crescent, which, from its entrance to its fur⯑thermost bounds, is said to be six hun⯑dred feet, and in which are many an [171] excavated and lofty roof; you are conducted through this place by a set of old women, something resembling the witches in Macbeth, with small candles stuck between their greasy fingers.

In some parts it is decorated with various coloured spar, which, from the light of the candles, often gives it a beautiful effect; yet, this is a visit of some danger; for, when you have been riding or walking on a summer's day until you are warm, the fatal chills have sometimes been attended with disagreeable consequences to the constitution, by giving it a sudden check; in many places there is the appearance of large rocks of ice, which are continually kept wet, and rendered slippery from the drizzling and petri⯑fying [172] springs which ooze from the roof.

Many of the rocks on your ap⯑proach, and which are only seen by the dim and imperfect light of a few halfpenny-candles, present themselves to you in various shapes, one like a couching lioness, another resembling an ancient regal throne, which they have named Queen Elizabeth's chair; the whole is an epitome of that wonder⯑ful celebrated cavern called the Devil's Peak, near Castleton, and not far from the Duke of Devonshire's mag⯑nificent seat in the same county.

Poole's Hole is visited by most of the people who make a summer's ex⯑cursion to Buxton, and is well worth the observation of the curious, being [173] one of those very striking and sublime scenes in nature which seldom fail to gratify the eye as well as the mind.

At the back of Poole's Hole, on the brow of an extensive hill, is a curious kind of village, the dwellings are of a whimsical construction, called the Ashilocks or Ash-hillocks, where there have been a number of lime-kilns, which, from the frequent rains, have become a kind of mortar; encrusted and hardened by the sun; they are all hollow, and the poor inhabitants have taken possession of them, propped up the arched roofs with the strongset wooden piles, and formed them into one, two, and sometimes three, tene⯑ments, under one roof, with a small window to each, some of them clean and not uncomfortable, and wherein [174] many of the inhabitants have brought up a numerous offspring.

They have most of them prudently embanked up a sufficient portion of ground which they have levelled out before their doors, where they often sit on a summer's evening, regaling with their brother rustics over a mug of ale; some of these people have de⯑corated the entrance of their cells with little arbours, by planting such shrubs about their doors as will grow in that chalky heated soil.

It is supposed that these huts con⯑tain two hundred souls. At a distance the whole appears like a warren, where the inhabitants run to and from each burrow like rabbits, so that it may be called a burrow town [175] without a Corporation. In point of situation, being on a hill, it has the advantage of Buxton, which is no bad object from it; and the humble inhabitants have to boast of Fate's having placed them so much above their betters.

Buxton is one hundred and fifty-nine miles and a half from London, through Barnet, St. Alban's, Dunsta⯑ble, Newport-Pagnell, Northampton, Harborough, Leicester, Mount-Sor⯑rel, Loughborough, Derby, Ashbourn, and so on to Buxton.

MATLOCK.

MATLOCK I believe is visited more from the romantic pictures of nature which it displays, than from the effi⯑cacy of its springs; for here is a splendid scene indeed, comprised with⯑in the space of two short miles, which is soon explored, and seldom retains a party for any length of time; the visi⯑tors drop in here as butterflies would upon a beautifully coloured flower, which attracts them more from its gaiety than from its honied sweets.

Moſt minds revolt at the arrogance of an ignorant and over-grown inn⯑keeper, and here many have been dis⯑gusted from the same cause. Mat⯑lock has several hotels, as they are [177] pleased to call them, and the guests are generally glad to get out of their inns as soon as they can, who find it a common maxim with the hosts to make their friends, who come to feast their eyes on these luxuriant scenes, pay for their peeping.

There is a boldness and a beauty at Matlock not easy to be described; it should be seen; the objects are so refulgent, that neither the pen nor the pencil can produce a true effect; this village is enclosed between two lofty hills, partly covered with hanging woods, through which are often seen a ponderous rugged rock, tufted with dwarfish shrubs, sprung from the crannies, wherein some alien seedling casually might have dropped and taken root; the clear impetuous river hurry⯑ing [178] down the steep, with a formida⯑ble roar; the oak, the willow, the ash, and other trees stretching out their long expanded leafy arms midway over the stream, forming a grateful cooling shade.

Sir Richard Arkwright's elegant mansion is contiguous to Matlock, and his grounds being handsomely laid out are a great attraction to every stranger.

But there is a great draw back to all those pleasurable scenes, both in respect to the eye and the ear, from the manufactories which are built so near the bath.

The eye is offended too frequently here from having the uniformity de⯑stroyed [179] by two or three large red brick buildings, standing on the margin of the clear and winding stream, in⯑truding upon the harmony of the pros⯑pect, and disgracing the native colour⯑ing of the grey, the grave, and tower⯑ing rock, which has stood there from the creation of the world, by having a neighbour obtrude itself so near its ancient precincts in the modern form of an extensive brick-kiln.

The ear is offended hourly by the rude or indecent speeches of the almost lawless manufacturers, should they meet you in your walks or on your rides, accosting you too often with shameful sentences of blasphemy or obscenity; for the wonted simplicity of the rustic, with his obedient nod, has long been done away in this distracted country. [180] ‘"Why is this, wherefore?"’ Shall we call it licentiousness, or has the hum⯑ble crawling worm, conceiving itself too much oppressed, embibed the poi⯑son of the envenomed adder, and rais⯑ing his ignoble crest, resolved to shew resentment to every imperious tra⯑veller who may chance to tread too heavily on the secret path under which he sleeps, and wreathing from his crooked narrow cavern of repose, gives his betters to understand that he is possessed of feeling; or has he, having been visited by the spirit of equality, for ever taken leave of or⯑der and degree, so truly necessary in society;—if it be so, the times are bad indeed. Shakespeare, in his Troilus and Creſſida, has defined this matter more philosophically, and to the pur⯑pose, than any other writer, saying,

Matlock is one hundred and thirty-six miles from London, through Derby.

HARROWGATE.

There is an upper and a lower Harrowgate, which lie at about a mile distant from each other, and in point of accommodation, manner, and [183] custom, are similar to Buxton, only with this difference, they are less elegant but still more moderate in respect to boarding and other expences.

There is great decorum and good order at the boarding inns, and mostly good harmony; this may proceed from a president being placed at the head of the table; the last new visi⯑tant always takes his seat at the bottom, rising by degrees to the head, and that maintains good order; for without a head all bodies are imper⯑fect.

The two villages of Harrowgate are a few scattered houses on a dreary common, and were it not for the plea⯑sant faces and the good company you often meet with, there is nothing to [184] excite the attention in respect to situ⯑ation. The rides are tolerable, yet you seem to have nothing worth your pursuit but the dripping well and cu⯑rious petrifactions at Knaresborough, which is five miles, and Stukely-park, near Rippon, seventeen miles from Harrowgate. You are amply repaid for the length of your ride, from the splendor of the scenes at Stukely.

While at this place, having been invited by an old acquaintance to Ken⯑dal, in Westmoreland, I accepted his offer, for two purposes,—that of see⯑ing a worthy intelligent character, and of having an opportunity of taking a survey of Wyndermere-lake, which I had long wished to see, and which lies about fourteen miles to the south⯑west of the town of Kendal.

[185]After riding over the craggy hilly road from the above town to the lake, I was never more struck; it presents itself to you, first, at the distance of about half a mile, just as you have surmounted the summit of the last hill on that road. Its smooth glassy face appears like a clear extensive mirror, seven or eight miles in length, and two in breadth; the lofty moun⯑tains, which nearly encircle the whole, present themselves to the traveller with a ‘"sublime and beautiful"’ effect; but, when you view them from re⯑flection in the water, they appear most formidable; their tremendous shaggy heads seem tumbling into a vast ex⯑panse: sometimes a cloud will sus⯑pend itself midway down a mountain's side, secluding part, leaving the base and summit only visible to the eye, [186] throwing at the same time a pleasing partial shadow over some part of the chrystal lake beneath.

The Bishop of Landaff's seat stands a beautiful object at the head, Sir Mi⯑chael Flemming's on one side, and Mr. Christian's on a small island, tastefully laid out in the centre of the lake. These gentlemen have wisely purchased all the contiguous land, in order to improve the scene, by plant⯑ing down each mountain-side shrubs and various firs, which have greatly taken off that bleak and sterile ap⯑pearance they formerly wore; they have also made the roads more com⯑fortable to the fashionable visitors who every season make summer-ex⯑cursions hither, in order to explore these luxuriances of nature.

[187]A little way north of this lake is Ambleside; and, having! heard much of the waterfal at the back of the town, I was induced to extend my journey, and was fully gratified with viewing so grand an exhibition.

But it would be presumption in me to dwell on a subject which has been so ably and minutely given from the pens of Mr. Pennant and Mr. Grose, in whose publications the eye has also been aided by correct engravings taken on the spot.

Weary with rambling from place to place, I was much pleased to find near the waterfal a neat and com⯑fortable house of refreshment, fur⯑nished with good viands as well as wine; here I rested, and indulged [188] myself; but, after some time, was roused from my chair on hearing a fe⯑male voice in notes of deep distress, and, looking from the window, saw a beautiful young damsel surrounded by a group of villagers, to whom she was bewailing the loss of her betrothed Allen, for so she called him. I found by the tenor of her story that they had been playing at ‘"Lover's Quar⯑rels,"’ that her swain had taken his leave in a pet, and neglected to visit her at his wonted hour. The poor girl shewed great agitation of mind, tinctured with symptoms of jealousy, for, by what I could learn from her conversation, she had made earnest enquiries of every one she met, if they had seen her Allen in their walks, shewing visible apprehensions of her lover's perfidy, and of his having for⯑saken [189] her for some other damsel in the neighbourhood. This set my Muse afloat; I thought it no unpleasant subject, and therefore wrote the fol⯑lowing song, while sitting over my wine after dinner: it was set to music by Mr. Hook, who has done credit to himself and honor to me, by giving it a melody of notes and simplicity of style, expressing the subject so well, as to cause it to make its way to the heart, like that of my Discon⯑solate Sailor, composed by the same master with equal ability. The fol⯑lowing song was sung by the late Mrs. Kennedy at Vauxhall, some years ago, under the title of

The reputation of this song, for it has been much sung and much sold, [191] has also been given to the singing-bird of Leicester-place; as if there were no other shrubs seen, nor birds heard to sing, than those that are in Kensington-Gardens, because they are so often visited. I should not say so much of myself, were I not urged to it by too often seeing a jackdaw wear⯑ing peacocks' feathers.

The late celebrated patriot Wilkes, speaking of Hogarth, in Number 17 of his North Briton, says, ‘"We all tremble when he takes up the pencil, but we titter when he takes up the pen."’ So, of this sable bird in ques⯑tion, we admire him while he confines himself to his crotchets and quavers; but, when he aims at metaphors, si⯑milies, or figures in rhetoric, we can⯑not [192] help smiling, and sometimes pi⯑tying him, for making the attempt.

If it should be thought that I have dwelt too much on this character, let it be remembered that I did not cast the first stone, and I feel too strongly the force of the motto in the arms of the Caledonian Kings, ‘"Nemo me im⯑pune lacessit,"’ to bear it with silence.

There is little etiquette at Har⯑rowgate, nor are the company pes⯑tered with the officious and interesed cringings of an obsequious Master of the Ceremonies. They appropriate one from among themselves, such as may have good-nature enough and ability to undertake the office during his visit. At dinner the gentlemen treat [193] the ladies with wine; who in the after⯑noon return the compliment by treat⯑ing the gentlemen with tea; and all this seems to be done in perfect amity.

There is a billiard-table at each village, where there is much play, but little gambling; they were erected for amusement, and, that every one may have their share, the ladies are not excluded.

The Library is not of the greatest magnitude, but is pleasantly situated on a rising ground, between Upper and Lower Harrowgate; it is an agreeable lounge, where you are ac⯑commodated with newspapers, hear the novelties of the day, and some⯑times form a good society.

[194]Harrowgate is two hundred and twelve miles from London, and fifteen miles north of Leeds in Yorkshire.

SCARBOROUGH.

IN your way from Harrowgate to Scarborough, you go through the an⯑cient and venerable city of York, the metropolis of the northern part of England. It is well worth the tra⯑veller's while to rest a day in this city, especially if he should possess a taste for antiquity.

The cathedral is perhaps one of the largest Gothic structures in Europe, shamefully huddled up and obtruded upon by the pitiful houses that enclose [195] it, almost to the very steps of every entrance; so that you are mortified by having only a piece-meal view of this national ornament from any point whatever.

Scarborough is a well-built mar⯑ket-town; its castle, of no incon⯑siderable extent, standing upon a stu⯑pendous promontory, commanding a view of the great German ocean, has a sublime effect as you approach it from the sea. The market is well supplied, provisions tolerably cheap, and the visitor has a greater advantage here than at most other watering pla⯑ces, from the extent of the town, in respect to providing himself with lodg⯑ings, being often more convenient and moderate in their prices.

[196]The bathing is not so pleasant as at Margate and many other places, owing to the sudden tides and the short breakings of the sea, which often come with great impetuosity, and sometimes danger, to those who ven⯑ture too far from the shore: many ac⯑cidents have happened in this respect.

I had the mortification some years ago to be one among many hundreds of spectators who saw the late un⯑fortunate Mr. Bowers, tutor to the Earl of Glasgow, while he was bathing, drowned; a very amiable young gentle⯑man, and a sound scholar; he was an excellent swimmer, but was too confi⯑dence in his own abilities; for, while he was laving and amusing himself at a considerable distance from the beach, the sea-breaks overcame his [197] strength, beat him almost to pieces against the shingles, and carried his body away into the wide ocean, where he sank; he was thrown up next day by the tide, at a little distance from the town.

He was buried a few days after this accident, and followed to the grave by a great concourse of voluntary mourners, shewing an unfeigned grief, wetting their handkerchiefs with their tears, which issued from the heart, as a tribute to his virtues, and actuated by the reflection of so melancholy a catastrophe.

There is a tolerable theatre here, and the performers are much upon a par with all other companies who per⯑form at watering places.

[198]The Assembly-room has nothing to boast of in respect to elegance: there is some dancing, but the four aces trip it right hand and left with more agility and dexterity, and are more attended to, than the most cele⯑lebrated gentleman of the pump.

Scarborough is two hundred and thirty miles from London, and forty-four from the city of York.

While at the above place, I fortu⯑nately picked up, at a bookseller's shop, Ward's Antiquities of the County of York, who seems to be a very modest writer, but does not excel much in, diction, nor is he very minute in re⯑spect to particulars. However, from what he says of Beverly-minster, a building little spoken of in the south⯑ern [199] parts of England, I was excited to ramble about five and twenty miles out of my way, to gratify myself with a sight of it, for it lies near Hull, in a nook of Yorkshire.

Mr. Ward says,

Mr. Ward has forgot to mention the great endowments bestowed upon this minster by the Pennyman's family, or to describe the beautiful chapel in the east part of the church, appropriated to their use, and in which are several handsome monuments, built in honour of their ancestors.

In the north window, in the cross aisle, is a perfect painting on the glass [206] of King Athelstone in his regal, and of John of Beverly in his pastoral, robes, holding a handsome crosier in his hand; the back ground represents a prospect of part of the adjacent country, to which the King is pointing, and from his mouth a scroll, inclosing a poeti⯑cal decree in four lines of old German Text.

The whole minster is kept in so excellent a state of preservation, that one might suppose the mason had just taken his tools away, or that the doors had been opened to day to gratify the eye of the spectator with what seems to have been only finished yesterday.

[207]This minster, very unlike that at York, stands at the extremity of the south part of the town, in an extensive close, with gravelled walks, arched over with stately trees, divested of the disgraceful encumbrances of paltry houses and ragged tenements which invest the latter stately fabric, and its beautiful Chapter-House.

Mr. Ward has also forgot to men⯑tion, that the model of Mr. Thornton's engine, that drew up the stupendous wall of the north aisle of Beverly minster, which had swerved so far out of the perpendicular, is deposited in the mansion house of York, well ex⯑ecuted in wood, and worthy the atten⯑tion of every mechanist.

TYNMOUTH.

This watering place lies eight miles to the north east of Newcastle in Northumberland; it is only a small village, composed of little more than one tolerable street of lowly houses; being in a plentiful country, a visitor may indulge himself and enjoy the ad⯑vantage of bathing here more reason⯑ably than at any other place of the kind. The inhabitants, who possess the lodging houses and let them to the visitors, are humble, and seldom ex⯑tortionate; it is said that there are sharks upon this coast, but there are none so ravenous as the great shark on the parade at Margate in Kent, who extends his wide and avaricious jaws with rapacious eagerness when⯑ever [209] he hears of a hoy coming into har⯑bour, freighted with London gudgeons, who have fattened their sides while they have been gliding about, and busying themselves for eight or nine months on the muddy banks of the river Thames, between Westminster and London Bridges; this land-shark employs himself for three or four months in the summer with gutting the gudgeons in question, and, after depriving them of all the substance of their well-clad ribs, spurns them with contempt, and sends them home again in a pitiable state, like so many shotten herrings.

The bathing at Tynmouth is com⯑fortable and convenient, being shelter⯑ed by an amphitheatre of lofty rocks, divided at the distance of about two [210] hundred yards from each other, and about three hundred yards to the ex⯑tremity of the rocks, which run pa⯑rallel, and open to the great German ocean. You are never annoyed by the wind but when it sets in from the east, being defended from all the other points by the rocks; the sands are de⯑lectable to the feet, being more di⯑vested of pebbles or rubbish than any other bathing place.

On the point of one of the rocks are the beautiful and extensive ruins of Tynmouth-Abbey, built in the reign of King Athelstone, near to which stands the castle, both commanding an ex⯑tensive look-out to the sea, and a side view of the busy port of Shields, which is divided from the castle and the Abbey by the River Tyne. A few [211] miles from this place is Seaton Della⯑val, the seat and splendid domains of the Dellavals of Northumberland.

One moon-light evening, walking with a friend about a mile northward upon the sands and near the rocks, we were surprised to see a female all alone near the mouth of a cave, who had recently lost her lover near that spot, by being overset in a small vessel while they were sailing for a little re⯑creation too near the shore, where he was unfortunately drowned. She was a handsome young woman, and ap⯑peared to be inconsolable, leaning upon her arm upon a large stone at the entrance of the cave; her situation was pitiable, her sorrow excessive, nor could we prevail upon her with the most earnest entreaties to leave that [212] melancholy spot. She acquainted us with the place of her residence, to which we made the best of our way, and told her friends of her unfortunate situation, but had the mortification of being informed by the neighbours, that she died on the morrow of a broken heart.

Though struck with the malady which attended this poor ill-fated fair one, yet it presented itself as no im⯑proper Thesis; out of which I pro⯑duced the following song, entitled the

YARMOUTH.

YARMOUTH is in the county of Norfolk, and lies near to the sea⯑coast, about twenty-eight miles east of that city; the town stands in a pen⯑insula, and its bay has often been [214] said to have been something similar to that of Naples; the streets are wide, and, upon the whole, very well built.

The bathing here, in respect to pu⯑rity, is equal to the most frequented watering place in England, but so much cannot be said in regard to its conveniency or accommodation, the whole town and the country round for many miles being one continued bed of sand; therefore, as the machines are at some distance from the town, if you ride, the horse is up to the belly, and if you walk, you are up to the knees in this troublesome soil.

The low-backed car is a vehicle commonly used here, and I believe on account of the roads, but it is a dis⯑agreeable [215] species of conveyance; you cannot help forming to yourself, from the slowness, its humble appearance, and your near acquaintance with your mother-earth, while you are riding in one of these cars over the sandy roads, that you are in a sledge, drawn like a traitor, to some place of execution. But when upon the rough pavement in the town, you are electrified with the bone-breaking motion, almost im⯑possible to sustain it even when in health, but an invalid is in danger of annihilation.

Yarmouth is not so fashionably at⯑tended as Southampton, Brighthelm-stone, or even Margate or Ramsgate; but those who go with a good appe⯑tite get themselves gratified at a much less expence than at either of the other [216] places, and many of the summer visitors of this town are neighbours composed mostly of that description, who go more for an hour of relaxa⯑tion, to look about them and to gra⯑tify their stomachs with the viands of the table, than swill themselves with the briny water of the ocean.

This town, from its traffic and ma⯑ritime intercourse, like Southampton and Scarborough, is more indepen⯑dent of the company that go there than Brighton, Margate, or Rams-gate; not a new-fangled place, built by greedy and insatiable swallows for a season, who live on the giddy sum⯑mer-flies from London and its vicinity.

The lodgings are more easily ac⯑quired, and rents more moderate than [217] the other mercenary places in ques⯑tion; and provisions of every kind are to be had at a much cheaper rate, at any time of the day, without being obliged to scramble for them.

There is a theatre here generally well attended, belonging to Mr. Brun⯑ton, Manager of the Norwich com⯑pany, which, next to those of London, Bath, and York, stands in a more res⯑pectable light than most other theatres in England.

The Assembly-room is not of the first order, either in respect to its ele⯑gance or the company that attend it, and there is no other structure of con⯑sequence, unless it be the Custom⯑house.

[218]The church has a whimsical twist⯑ed spire, slated, or leaded, from the bottom to the top, resembling an inverted cornucopia, and, as it has a good fat living attached to it, conveys no bad idea, being more the symbol of plenty than of piety.

Yarmouth, through Colchester, Ips⯑wich, Woodbridge, &c. is one hun⯑dred and twenty-three miles from London, which is the nearest road; should you go through Chelmsford, Bury St. Edmund's, and Norwich, it is one hundred and twenty eight miles.

At Bury St. Edmund's, which is call⯑ed the Montpellier of England, in point of air and situation, the traveller, should he have a veneration for anti⯑quity, ancient architecture, or monastic [219] history, he will be gratified were he to stop at this place.

The two churches which were built, and at this time stand upon one extensive and consecrated piece of ground, are both handsome and vene⯑rable edifices, but that of St. Mary's is uncommonly so; the taper Gothic lofty columns, which support the roof, are scarcely to be equalled in symmetry and beauty in any other church in this island; the roof was made in France, and put together after it was brought into this country.

It has altogether a very light and elegant effect, and is ever kept in good repair; the ancient monuments are numerous, and many of them spa⯑cious; [220] the armorials for the most part are richly blazoned.

The pulpit and the desk are an ex⯑pensive piece of workmanship, built of the best mahogany, and of an un⯑common size.

The church-yard comprises many acres, and the grave-stones are multi⯑farious to a great degree.

Many striking vestiges of antiquity surround this burying-place, particu⯑larly the stupendous ruins of the an⯑cient abbey, of which Mr. Kendall has given us a very accurate engraving in its present state, which being engrafted as it were by many well built houses, erected within the strong cemented arches, give it an uncommon effect, [221] and adds greatly to the curiosity of the picture. He has likewise, by way of explanation, furnished us with an interesting part of its history, saying,

Dugdale speaks but little of this place, nor does any other monastical writer; but perhaps this may proceed from want of proper records, (many of which were destroyed at the disso⯑lution of the great Abbey), which would have given them a just and fair authority for a true and more particu⯑lar information in respect to the an⯑nals of this memorable town and its Gothic relics.

It is a pity, and a great loss to the curious who take pleasure in making [224] researches of this nature, that more of its history has not been preserved, as there are many other visible and stri⯑king marks of antiquity, which testify that Bury St. Edmund's has once been a place of very considerable conse⯑quence as well as grandeur.

Norwich, next to London and Bris⯑tol, is one of the largest cities in Eng⯑land, has the narrowest streets, and the largest market-place that is to be seen any where, except Covent-Garden and Smithfield in London, and they have to boast of its being as plentifully sup⯑plied with all the good things of the earth as any market in the three king⯑doms.

The cathedral is a large building, much more extensive than either of the churches at Bury St. Edmund's, but [225] by no means so elegant as St. Mary's at the latter place; nor is there that respectable history about it.

In Norwich there are thirty-three churches, which shew that religion was more attended to and revered by our ancestors than it is at the present day, unless in the fanatical sectaries of Moorfields and Tottenham Court-road, where the furious preachers seem to be hand and glove with the great Creator of all Things, making him a partial spirit that has set his face against all but the chosen few, their own goodly selves.

Like Moses, they have their secret conferences with the Deity, though not perhaps in a burning bush, but in secret chambers, which is a burning shame that no one else should be ad⯑mitted into his presence but a frantic [226] cobler or a howling tailor, who shall have taken upon themselves to teach the Gospel, one to his own end and the other to his own measure; promis⯑ing those that are more ignorant than themselves a passport to heaven, when many of the poor deluded wretches miss their way, and end their melan⯑choly days in Bedlam.

At Norwich there is annually kept a kind of Regatta, and many of the best inhabitants keep a handsome cutter, which on that day they fur⯑nish with the gayest rigging. They sail or row down the river to the vil⯑lage of Thorp, about two miles from the city, then assemble in a grove upon the shore to the amount of some hun⯑dreds, and spend the afternoon in high festivity; being once of the party, I was much entreated a few days [227] previous to this festival to write them a song upon the occasion, saying, that they were tired of their hackneyed old ditties, and accordingly I penned the following words, making the measure accord with an old French tune, which served as a new one in this country, and I named it the SAILOR's ALLE⯑GORY; it was sung by one of the party who possessed a strong manly voice; the chorus was general, and has since that time become a very popular song throughout the kingdom; the merit of which, like that of my Discon⯑solate Sailor, has been given to the same character as that song was, there⯑fore I have taken the liberty to intro⯑duce it here, as the finale to this work, with the history of its birth, that the world may no longer be deceived.