HARRIET BEECHER STOWE,
Author of "Uncle Tom's Cabin," Etc.
"When thou haply seest
Some rare note-worthy object in thy travels,
Make me partake of thy happiness."
IN TWO VOLUMES.
CONTENTS OF THE SECOND VOLUME.
Breakfast. - Macaulay. - Hallam. - Milman. - Sir R. Inglis. -
Lunch at Surrey Parsonage. - Dinner at Sir E. Buxton's.
Dinner at Lord Shaftesbury's.
Stoke Newington. - Exeter Hall. - Antislavery Meeting.
Windsor. - The Picture Gallery. - Eton. - The Poet Gray.
LETTER XXIII. Rev. Mr. Gurney. - Richmond, the Artist. - Kossuth. -
Pembroke Lodge. - Dinner at Lord John Russell's. - Lambeth Palace.
Playford Hall. - Clarkson.
Joseph Sturge. - The "Times" upon Dressmaking. - Duke of Argyle. -
Sir David Brewster. - Lord Mahon. - Mr. Gladstone.
London Milliners. - Lord Shaftesbury.
LETTER XXVII. Archbishop of Canterbury's Sermon to the Ragged
Scholars. - Mr. Cobden. - Miss Greenfield's Concert. - Rev. S. R. Ward.
- Lady Byron. - Mrs. Jameson. - George Thompson. - Ellen Crafts.
Model Lodging Houses. - Lodging House Act. - Washing Houses.
LETTER XXIX. Benevolent Movements. - The Poor Laws. - The Insane. -
Factory Operatives. - Schools, &c.
LETTER XXX. Presentation at Surrey Chapel. - House of Parliament. -
Miss Greenfield's Second Concert. - Sir John Malcolm. - The Charity
Children. - Mrs. Gaskell. - Thackeray.
London to Paris. - Church Music. - The Shops. - The Louvre. - Music at
the Tuileries. - A Salon. - Versailles. - M. Belloc.
The Louvre. - The Venus de Milon.
M. Belloc's Studio. - M. Charpentier. - Salon Musicale. - Peter
Parley. - Jardin Mabille. - Remains of Nineveh. - The Emperor. -
Versailles. - Sartory. - Pere la Chaise. - Adolphe Monod. - Paris to
Lyons. - Diligence to Geneva. - Mont Blanc. - Lake Leman.
Route to Chamouni. - Glaciers.
Chamouni. - Rousse, the Mule. - The Ascent.
The Ice Fields.
Chamouni to Martigny. - Humors of the Mules.
Alpine Flowers. - Pass of the Tete Noir.
Ascent to St. Bernard. - The Dogs.
Castle Chillon. - Bonnevard. - Mont Blanc from Geneva. - Luther and
Calvin. - Madame De Wette. - M. Fazy.
A Serenade. - Lausanne. - Freyburg. - Berne. - The Staubbach. -
Wengern Alps. - Flowers. - Glaciers. - The Eiger.
Glaciers. - Interlachen. - Sunrise in the Mountains. - Monument to the
Swiss Guards of Louis XVI. - Basle. - Strasbourg.
The Rhine. - Heidelberg.
Frankfort. - Lessing's "Trial of Huss."
To Cologne. - The Cathedral.
Cologne. - Church of St. Ursula. - Relics. - Dusseldorf.
To Leipsic. - M. Tauchnitz. - Dresden. - The Gallery. - Berlin.
The Dresden Gallery. - Schoeffer.
Berlin. - The Palace. - The Museum.
Wittenberg. - Luther's House. - Melanchthon's House.
Erfurt. - The Cathedral. - Luther's Cell. - The Wartburg.
The Smoker discomfited. - Antwerp. - The Cathedral Chimes. - To Paris.
Antwerp. - Rubens.
Paris. - School of Design. - Egyptian and Assyrian Remains. - Mrs. S. C.
Hall. - The Pantheon. - The Madeleine. - Notre Dame. - Beranger. - French
Character. - Observance of Sunday.
Seasickness on the Channel.
York. - Castle Howard. - Leeds. - Fountains Abbey. - Liverpool. - Irish
Deputation. - Departure.
Dear E.: -
This letter I consecrate to you, because I know that the persons and
things to be introduced into it will most particularly be appreciated
In your evening reading circles, Macaulay, Sidney Smith, and Milman
have long been such familiar names that you will be glad to go with me
over all the scenes of my morning breakfast at Sir Charles Trevelyan's
yesterday. Lady Trevelyan, I believe I have said before, is the sister
of Macaulay, and a daughter of Zachary Macaulay - that undaunted
laborer for the slave, whose place in the hearts of all English
Christians is little below saintship.
We were set down at Welbourne Terrace, somewhere, I believe, about
eleven o'clock, and found quite a number already in the drawing room.
I had met Macaulay before, but as you have not, you will of course ask
a lady's first question, "How does he look?"
Well, my dear, so far as relates to the mere outward husk of the soul,
our engravers and daguerreotypists have done their work as well as
they usually do. The engraving that you get in the best editions of
his works may be considered, I suppose, a fair representation of how
he looks, when he sits to have his picture taken, which is generally
very different from the way any body looks at any other time. People
seem to forget, in taking likenesses, that the features of the face
are nothing but an alphabet, and that a dry, dead map of a person's
face gives no more idea how one looks than the simple presentation of
an alphabet shows what there is in a poem.
Macaulay's whole physique gives you the impression of great strength
and stamina of constitution. He has the kind of frame which we usually
imagine as peculiarly English; short, stout, and firmly knit. There is
something hearty in all his demonstrations. He speaks in that full,
round, rolling voice, deep from the chest, which we also conceive of
as being more common in England than America. As to his conversation,
it is just like his writing; that is to say, it shows very strongly
the same qualities of mind.
I was informed that he is famous for a most uncommon memory; one of
those men to whom it seems impossible to forget any thing once read;
and he has read all sorts of things that can be thought of, in all
languages. A gentleman told me that he could repeat all the old
Newgate literature, hanging ballads, last speeches, and dying
confessions; while his knowledge of Milton is so accurate, that, if
his poems were blotted out of existence, they might be restored simply
from his memory. This same accurate knowledge extends to the Latin and
Greek classics, and to much of the literature of modern Europe. Had
nature been required to make a man to order, for a perfect historian,
nothing better could have been put together, especially since there is
enough of the poetic fire included in the composition, to fuse all
these multiplied materials together, and color the historical
crystallization with them.