Bristol.

Dear Charley:—

As we had a few days to spare before the exhibition opened, we proposed to run down to Bristol and Bath, and pass a week. We took the Great Western train first-class ears, and made the journey of one hundred and twenty miles in two hours and forty minutes. This is the perfection of travelling. The cars are very commodious, holding eight persons, each having a nicely-cushioned chair. The rail is the broad gage; and we hardly felt the motion, so excellent is the road. The country through which we passed was very beautiful, and perhaps it never appears to more advantage than in the gay garniture of spring. We left Windsor Castle to our left, and Eton College, and passed by Beading, a fine, flourishing town; and at Swindon we made a stay of ten minutes. The station at this place is very spacious and elegant. Here the passengers have the only opportunity to obtain refreshments on the route; and never did people seem more intent upon laying in provender. The table was finely laid out, and a great variety tempted the appetite. The railroad company, when they leased this station, stipulated that every train should pass ten minutes at it. But the express train claimed exemption, and refused to afford the time. The landlord prosecuted the company, obtained satisfactory damages, and now even the express train affords its passengers time to recruit at Swindon. This place has grown up under the auspices of the railroad, and one can hardly fancy a prettier place than environs the station. The cottages are of stone, of the Elizabethan and Tudor style, and are very numerous; while the church, which is just finished, is one of the neatest affairs I have yet seen in England. The town of Swindon is about two miles from the station, and I expect to visit it in the course of my journey. You know, my dear Charley, how long and fondly I have anticipated my visit to my native city, and can imagine my feelings on this route homewards. We passed through Bath, a most beautiful city, (and I think as beautiful as any I ever saw,) and then in half an hour we entered Bristol. The splendid station-house of the railroad was new to me, but the old streets and houses were all familiar as if they had been left but yesterday. The next morning I called on my friends, and you may think how sad my disappointment was to find that a dangerous accident had just placed my nearest relative in the chamber of painful confinement for probably three months. It was a pleasant thing to come home to scenes of childhood and youth, and I was prepared to enjoy every hour; but I soon realized that here all our roses have thorns. Of course, in Bristol I need no guide; and the boys are, I assure you, pretty thoroughly fagged out, when night comes, with our perambulations through the old city and neighborhood.

Bristol has claims upon the attention of the stranger, not only as one of the oldest cities in England, but on account of its romantic scenery. The banks of the Avon are not to be surpassed by the scenes afforded by any other river of its size in the world. This city was founded by Brennus, the chieftain of the Gauls and the conqueror of Rome, 388 B.C., and tradition states that his brother Belinus aided him in the work. The statues of these worthies are quaintly carved on the gateway of John's Church, in Broad Street, and are of very great antiquity. In the earliest writings that bear upon the west of England—the Welsh Chronicles—this city is called CaËr oder, which means the city of the Chasm. This the Saxons called Clifton. The Avon runs through a tremendous fissure in the rocks called Vincent's Rocks; and hence the name given to the suburbs of the city, on its banks—Clifton. Of this place we shall have much to tell you. Another Welsh name for the city was CaËr Brito, or the painted city, or the famous city. Bristol, like Rome, stands on seven hills, and on every side is surrounded by the most attractive scenery. It has made quite a figure in history, and its castle was an object of great importance during the civil wars between Charles I. and his Parliament. This city stands in two counties, and has the privileges of one itself. It is partly in Gloucestershire and partly in Somersetshire. The population of Bristol, with Clifton and the Hot Wells, is about two hundred thousand. My first excursion with the boys was to Redcliffe Church, which is thought to be the finest parish church in England. This is the church where poor Chatterton said that he found the Rowley MSS. No one of taste visits the city without repairing to this venerable pile. Its antiquity, beauty of architecture, and the many interesting events connected with its history, claim particular notice. This church was probably commenced about the beginning of the thirteenth century; but it was completed by William Cannynge, Sen., mayor of the city, in 1396. In 1456, the lofty spire was struck by lightning, and one hundred feet fell upon the south aisle. The approach from Redcliffe Street is very impressive. The highly-ornamented tower, the west front of the church, its unrivalled north porch, and the transept, with flying buttresses, pinnacles, and parapet, cannot fail to gratify every beholder. The building stands on a hill, and is approached by a magnificent flight of steps, guarded by a heavy balustrade. In length, the church and the Lady Chapel is two hundred and thirty-nine feet; from north to south of the cross aisles is one hundred and seventeen feet; the height of the middle aisle is fifty-four, and of the north and south aisles, twenty-five feet.

The impression produced on the spectator by the interior is that of awe and reverence, as he gazes on the clustered pillars, the mullioned windows, the panelled walls, the groined ceilings, decorated with ribs, tracery, and bosses, all evincing the skill of its architects and the wonderful capabilities of the Gothic style.

The east window and screen have long been hidden by some large paintings of Hogarth. The subjects of these are the Ascension, the Three Marys at the Sepulchre, and the High Priest sealing Christ's Tomb.

On a column in the south transept is a flat slab, with a long inscription, in memory of Sir William Penn, father of William Penn, the great founder of Pennsylvania. The column is adorned with his banner and armor.

The boys, who had so often read of Guy, Earl of Warwick, and of his valorous exploits, were greatly pleased to find in this church, placed against a pillar, a rib of the Dun cow which he is said to have slain.

You may be very sure that we inquired for the room in which Chatterton said he found old Monk Rowley's poems. It is an hexagonal room over the north porch, in which the archives were kept Chatterton's uncle was sexton of the church; and the boy had access to the building, and carried off parchments at his pleasure. The idea of making a literary forgery filled his mind; and if you read Southey and Cottle's edition of the works of Chatterton, or, what is far better, an admirable Life of the young poet by John Dix, a gifted son of Bristol, now living in America, you will have an interesting view of the character of this remarkable youth.

At the east end of the church is the Chapel of the Virgin Mary. A noble room it is. A large statue of Queen Elizabeth, in wood, stands against one of the windows, just where it did thirty-seven years ago, when I was a youngster, and went to her majesty's grammar school, which is taught in the chapel. I showed the boys the names of my old school-fellows cut upon the desks. How various their fates! One fine fellow, whose name yet lives on the wood, found his grave in the West Indies, on a voyage he had anticipated with great joy.

I am glad to say that a spirited effort is now making to restore this gorgeous edifice. It was greatly needed, and was commenced in 1846. I do wish you could see this church and gaze upon its interior. I have obtained some fine drawings of parts of the edifice, and they will enable you to form some faint idea of the splendor of the whole. We have to dine with a friend, and I must close.

Yours affectionately,

j.o.c.