DOVER—BRIGHTON—CALAIS.

Arrived at 7.30 p. m. and took room at Hotel de Paris—a high-sounding name; but not very Parisian was the institution; however, it was neat and every way good and worthy. Took tea, and then a walk out. As before intimated, we are now in a southern border-town, and the waters of the Channel wash its shore.

Dover is 62 miles southeast of London, and 21 miles northwest from the coast of France, being England's nearest seaport. The population is 28,270 of permanent residents, but it varies by reason of its large number of hotel boarders. It is situated on a small but beautiful bay, and is of an amphitheatre form, between lofty cliffs, and alongshore by the valley of a small river called the Dour. The older portion is rather poorly and irregularly built, and is principally on one street that runs parallel to the river, or valley, and having hills as a background. The newer part is along the shore of the bay, and consists of watering-place hotels, boarding-houses, and aristocratic private residences, many of which have fine grounds about them. These continue for a mile or more, and at the lower end terminate at lofty chalk-cliffs of a stupendous height,—producing a grand and unusual appearance, being very precipitous and of a chalky whiteness. In front of the buildings named is a grand watering-place promenade-avenue, in front of which, the entire length, is a pebbly beach, and this is washed by the waters of the bay. Thousands of people, old and young, were here, and much of gay life and fashion displayed. Never will be lost sight of the grand entertainment we thus had, and which was so unexpected to us. The harbor consists of three basins, though in general appearance but one; and the entrance of the harbor is sheltered by a pier or breakwater of stone, 1,700 feet long.

The castle of Dover is one of the interesting edifices in England. It stands on one of the great hills, a short distance from the town, and its walls inclose thirty-five acres. It is supposed to have been founded by the Romans; but some portions of it are Saxon, some Norman, and some belong to a later period. It contains a separate keep, as it is called, now used as a magazine, and other parts are barracks for 2,000 men. Within the castle precincts stands an octagonal watch-tower, interesting not only as the earliest specimen of Roman architecture in England, but also as one of the most ancient examples of mason-work in Great Britain.

This town is one of very great antiquity. In the neighborhood of Dover, Julius CÆsar made his first attempt to land on the British coast. The antiquity of this event is made more apparent by a remembrance of the fact that he died 44 years before Christ. We are informed by history that "he was induced to change his point of debarkation, owing to the abruptness of the shore and other difficulties." Under the Saxon kings it became a position of great importance in the defence of Kent, which was then all of the southern part of England.

In the reign of Edward the Confessor, who died in 1066, this was one of what were called the Five, or Cinque Ports; the others were Hastings, Romney, Hythe, and Sandwich. As these ports were opposite to France, they received peculiar advantages in the early days of English history, on condition of providing in times of war a certain number of ships at their own expense. They were governed by an officer called the Lord-warden of the Cinque Ports. The Duke of Wellington was lord-warden of them at the time of his death, which was at the official residence, Walmer Castle, near Deal, Sept. 14, 1852.

According to Camden, the first warden was appointed by William the Conqueror, who died in 1087, but their charter has been traced directly to the times of Edward the Saxon king, as before named. This port was considered as the key of the kingdom. After the establishment of Norman rule, it suffered the vengeance of William the Conqueror, to whom it made strong opposition. In 1213 King John performed at Dover the ceremony of submission to the Pope, giving up his authority to the papal nuncio.

In 1295 the French made a descent upon the place and committed great depredations; and so for centuries it was the theatre of attacks and defences, but we pass all, intimating, however, that no more interesting history exists than that relating to these invasions of the territory of England by the various people who had an eye to the possession of new territory,—for which practice England herself has for centuries been celebrated, and which found its last expression in obtaining possession of Cyprus.

In 1847 a mass from one of the chalk-cliffs scaled off and fell to the base. It was 254 feet in height, 15 feet thick, and was calculated to weigh 48,000 tons. Shortly after, another fell, of 10,000 cubic yards. The principal cliff is 350 feet high above the water, which is more than half as high again as our Bunker Hill Monument. Another, called Shakespeare's Cliff, is located just in the rear of, and is a background of, the town, and is perforated by the tunnel of the Southeastern Railway.

Nothing is or can be more picturesque and grand than these chalk-white, clean-faced, and very perpendicular walls, covered as they are on their top and rear slopes with a splendid grass verdure. The blue water of the bay; the old weather-beaten part of the city,—quite European, though not all antique; and the long line of fine beach; the grand avenue above it, so alive with gay teams and pleasure-seekers; the mile-range of hotels and mansions; and to the left, the lofty promontory land, with the castle on its top and the high lands extending well out into the sea, its waves beating at times grandly against these milk-white ramparts,—this group of things forms a scene of remarkable splendor and interest. Our stay here was exceedingly pleasant and was exhilarating in the extreme. We, the next a. m. at 9.30, took our steamer for Calais, which is the nearest port of France, 21 miles over the channel.

Before, however, closing our work, we will speak of one more place in England,—in a sense a counterpart of Dover. It is the famed watering-place, Brighton. Though we did not visit it for some months after this,—till on the 10th of August,—yet as it is the only place of England we visited not yet described, we take occasion to speak of it now, and so complete our record.

BRIGHTON.

We took cars at London for Brighton one Saturday night, and after a two hours' ride arrived at the famed watering-place. The first impression was that we were in a large and old place, and in anything but one to which people would resort for pleasure; for the place in the vicinity of the station, and especially for the entire length of a long street leading down from it, had a very commercial and business-like appearance; and, as we passed down its entire length and looked to the right and left, compactly built streets, houses, and shops, and even fine stores and warehouses, seemed to extend as far as the eye could reach; no tree nor garden, nor even front-yard anywhere, but one mass of solid buildings, and surely a great population.

Our only hope and tangible evidence that we had not mistaken this for the watering-place Brighton—as we had mistaken the little fishing-place Wells, for the cathedral town—was a very large lot of well-to-do, stylishly dressed people, all passing down this great main street. We of course followed, for just then we considered ourselves watering-place visitors, and so in a sense aristocratic. At length the end of the street gained, all fears were dispelled, for there in front lay the grand harbor, and for aught we could see to the contrary, thousands of miles of good ocean were stretching out from it.

Here, as at Dover, was a grand avenue, along for some two or three miles, with a most remarkable shore, and its fine beach extending for miles. A very good cut-stone wall is built the entire length of the city, dividing the beach from the grand avenue, and along these thousands were promenading. The style of hotels is quite in advance of those at Dover. They are many in number, and are of a quite similar appearance as compared to each other, none of them, however, being striking as works of art or architecture. They are of stone or brick, and of a cream-color; all are from three to five stories high, very plain, without porticos or much of any decoration; and while they had a neat and inviting look, yet none of them appeared to be very new or modern, but substantial, and, perhaps of most appropriate construction for their exposed situation. The land rises amphitheatre-like from the water, and, as before named, has a solid and very substantial look.

It has a population of 90,000, and extends for three miles along the coast, from Kemptown on the east to Hove on the west. It was not a place of especial resort till about a century ago, when Dr. Richard Russell published a work on the use of sea-water which attracted much attention; and its celebrity as a watering-place became established when George IV.—who at the time, 1784, was simply the Prince of Wales—made it his place of residence, and began the erection of a peculiar building, called the Pavilion, which was finished in 1787. The grounds were some five acres in extent, and finely laid out by the building of avenues, paths, lawns, flower-beds, and the setting out of good shrubbery and trees. The estate is very centrally located, and in the midst of a neighborhood of the best inhabitants. The town ultimately purchased it of the crown, for the sum of $265,000, and threw the premises open to the public as pleasure-grounds. In all our travels we saw no finer taste displayed in the arrangement of elegant colored-plant designs, nor on as large a scale, as we saw here. They were indeed marvels of genius and beauty. Our visit to these grounds was after tea Sunday night, when hundreds of people were enjoying the treat; and among the few very choice and pleasant hours in England, these are to be named.

For the pleasure of sojourners, two novel things exist. They are what are called chain-piers, and extend out into the sea; and are as exposed as would be similar structures built out into the ocean from our Chelsea or Nantasket Beach, for the relative situation is the same. One was erected in 1822-3, at an expense of $150,000. It is 1,134 feet long, and extends, of this length, 1,014 feet into the sea. As 5,280 feet are a mile, it will be seen that this is about one quarter of a mile in length. The other, which is located about half a mile or so from that named, was erected in 1867. It is 1,115 feet long. They are built in suspension-bridge style, with good stone towers, and iron-work for cords and suspension. They are frequented by thousands for the fine views and sea air.

The sea-wall before alluded to is a grand structure, varying in height as the rise or fall of the land requires; and is in height, above the beach, all the way from 20 feet,—which is about the average height, for a mile at the central part of the town,—and then rising to full 60 feet, as it extends towards the elevated land at the left. The broad avenue continues to this, and well up on the elevation, and from this the finest imaginable views of the ocean in front and the city are at hand, and to the rear and right may be had. At the base of this wall, and near the shore, is an aquarium, the buildings being low but large, tasty, and admirably adapted for their purpose. It was opened to the public in 1872. In the western quarter is a battery of six 42-pounders, erected in 1793. On the eastern side is Queen's Park, and on the western is a chalybeate spring.

There are twenty-five chapels and churches belonging to the established church, and thirty of other denominations. Of them all, none had so much charm to us as Trinity Chapel, where once the thoughtful and good Frederick W. Robertson preached, and sacrificed himself for humanity. We, as it were instinctively, on Sunday wended our way there, for although long since, as Cotton Mather would have said, he had "passed on to the celestials," yet it was our highest thought to see the place. We found it a very ordinary building, in a fair neighborhood. The edifice was of no especial pretension, outside or inside. It had a frontage of perhaps 45 feet, was of a debased Grecian architecture, with no look of chapel, save what was given to it by a very unpretending cupola, or bell-tower, resting on the roof. Inside it was quite as simple and in the same style; common galleries were on the two sides and the door end; and while all was neat, yet there was no display nor churchly look. Here the scholarly man thought and labored, and, as it were, died. Robertson was born at London, Feb. 3, 1816; graduated at Brazenose College, Oxford, 1840; and, after being curate at Winchester, Cheltenham, and Oxford, in 1847 he became minister here; and after a most laborious experience in his parish, and outside of it, and remarkably so for the working-men and the poor, he fell a victim of overwork and left the scenes of his earthly labors, Aug. 15, 1853, at the age of but 37. His broad views of the divine government and human destiny cost him the loss of sympathy he otherwise would have had. Conscientious to a remarkable degree, intellectual and finished beyond most others, and withal sensitive, he inwardly deplored his conditions and surroundings; but never yielded, and at last passed on, to be fully appreciated only when the spirit and body had parted companionship. Hardly had his sermons been issued from the press before their depth of thought, their comprehensive reach, their elegant diction, and sweet temper were appreciated; and now, no denomination, evangelical or unevangelical, is there whose clergyman will not speak in their praise. Wherever the English language is spoken, the fine productions of Frederick William Robertson will be spoken of as a choice thing, and an honor to the English tongue.

There are five banks and six newspapers in the town; and one hundred fishing-boats are owned and used, manned by 500 men. The principal fish taken, and in abundance, are mackerel, herrings, soles, brill, and turbot; and mullet and whiting are often caught. The place is very old, for in the old Doomsday Book it is spoken of, and there called by the name of Brighthelmstone.

Having before spoken of Doomsday Book, we will take time enough here to say that it is an old register of lands in England, framed by order of William the Conqueror, and was begun somewhere from 1080 to 1085, and was finished sure in 1086. The book is yet preserved in the chapter-house of Westminster. A facsimile was published by the government in 1783, having been ten years in passing through the press. It is a valuable and interesting work, and is in itself a sort of complete registry of English possessions.

Brighton under the longer name is there referred to. It, like Dover, and in fact all border towns, suffered often from invasions, and the French plundered and burnt it in 1513. During the reigns of Henry VIII. and Queen Elizabeth, fortifications were erected for its protection. Two hundred years ago it was a fishing-town, and had 600 families. Now, the fishing still continues, but its many hotels, its grand summer boarding-houses, and its population furnish a ready market at home.

On one portion of the Sunday we attended worship in the Quaker meeting-house. The word church cannot be used with propriety here, for the place was anything but that. We chanced in our walks to fall in with it,—and need we have asked who worshipped there?—a good stone building, unpretending but very neat, end to the road, and back full 100 feet from the street, with a beautiful park-like garden enclosed in front. We went in, and the same nicety was everywhere. Plain, but of a rather higher grade than we were used to seeing in places of worship of this sect. The house was quite large, and was nearly filled. Some four or five of the more elect ones were at their usual place on the high-seats, and facing the audience. All of them were moved by the spirit to speak, and to our pleasure did so. The tone of remark was to speak ill of themselves, and suggest the deplorable conditions incident to an earthly life; but the advice they gave was salutary, the opinion honest and sincere, and good was done. This was the extreme opposite of the ornate Episcopal service, and as we had had that first on entering England, it was well we had this last on leaving it. It was not our intention to furnish evidence against ourselves, and tell that after remaining but a short time in Trinity Chapel we were too uninterested to stay, and so quietly walked out, being near the door, and going we knew not exactly where, came in here; but we have now told the story, and so the reader will not be at a loss to know why we had nothing to say of service there.

Much more would we say of this Brighton,—its fine air, views, fashionable life, and desirable conditions, but we rest the case here. When we have written one of these articles, we find an abundance more material left than we have used. The task of omitting material is a great one. What not to say is what troubles us.

Although an account of the passage to Calais, and a description of that place would not ordinarily be in order in a work pertaining to the places here described; yet there being involved certain items of historical interest to Americans we venture to say a few words pertaining to things across the channel, and with that end our work.

Having digressed this much, we now go back to old Dover, where the last accounts left us, and at 9.30 a. m. of Wednesday, June 19, are on board the steamer for a few hours' sail, across the channel to Calais.

Our voyage was far from being an unpleasant one. We were not entirely out of sight of land, as Dover was behind or Calais before us all the time, for in fair weather these are always in view. The steamers are strong and adapted for their work. They are about the size of those that ply in our harbor, the John A. Andrew if you please; but white paint for a steamer is quite distasteful to people of the region we are in. Black is to them the fine and good color. No money is to be expended for nice inside finish as in the Andrew; but everything is solid and neat, and we ought to be generous enough to say, "as good as need be," and we will say it.

Generally this Channel is rough and boisterous. Currents and winds through this great valley of the land and sea are so in conflict, that seldom is there a calmer or even as calm a time as we had. Now the two hours end, and we are nearing shore. England has been left behind, with pleasant memories that it wouldn't take much reflection to transform into regrets; yet all is lighted up with good anticipations, for we two Bostonians are soon to stand on the soil of Imperial France. The thought even now kindles peculiar emotions. Sunny France! an elastic people, brilliant in exploit; its great metropolis the epitome of a remarkable civilization! We thus thought of it then, and thus we think of it now. The steamer slackens her speed, and we are on the upper deck, ready to land at

CALAIS.

But two hours' sail across the Channel, and we are now, at 12 m. of Wednesday, June 19, standing on French soil, and though but 21 miles from England, and people of the two places have been for centuries crossing the Channel and communicating with each other, still, things here are peculiar and have an outlandish look. It is like Dover, somewhat of a watering-place; and there is a fine beach, with a large chateau-like hotel on the right shore as we enter. The wharf at which we land is an old wooden structure, and everything about it has an aged look. We did not go up into the city, but remained at the wharf for the departure of the train which was already there and in waiting. We now began to hear French talked as the rule, and English as the exception. The station was quite a large and substantial structure of brick, and here was what was called a cafÉ, or, as we should say, a restaurant. The art of restaurating is not well developed outside of America. Lager beer, sandwiches, and a few ordinary cakes are about all that can be found. In a distant part of the building dinner could be had at a cost of about a dollar. In fact people when they came into the car were complaining loudly: first, of the lack of things to eat; next, of quantity; and finally, of exorbitant prices. This was a fair sample of a majority of all we met with. A mild rain was falling, and we contented ourselves with remaining about the station nearly an hour.

Calais is one of the seaports of France, 19 miles from Boulogne, and 150 miles north of Paris, which—added to the 21 miles from Calais to Dover, and the 62 miles from there to London—makes the distance from the place last named to Paris 233 miles, or the same distance as between New York and Boston. Its population in 1866 was 12,727, or about double that of our Calais, Maine, that being 5,944. Both are border towns, with the English opposite. It is situated on a rather barren district, the surrounding country being of cheap land, and under poor cultivation. A great difference exists in these respects on the two sides of the water. The place is well fortified by a citadel and quite a number of forts; being one of the border towns, it has, like those of England, been subject to constant invasions.

The harbor is formed of long wooden piers, and is very shallow. It has a lighthouse 190 feet high, which is very commanding in effect, and adds much to the look of the place as one of commerce. Steamers ply daily, and at times quite often, across the Straits of Dover to England. The streets are broad and level, and so far as we saw, were well paved. The houses were neat, and mostly of stone or brick, though a portion of them were wooden. What are called the ramparts afford a good promenade, and it is said that, as a general thing, English is the spoken language. Among the noteworthy buildings is the old church of NÔtre Dame,—a favorite name for French churches,—the words meaning Our Lady, an allusion to the Virgin Mary. This church contains the celebrated painting of the Assumption by Vandyke.

The HÔtel de Ville is a very old and large structure containing the public city offices, and has a high tower and belfry, with clock and chime of bells. Another ancient structure is the HÔtel de Guise, an edifice erected for the wool-stapler's guild—an institution founded by Edward III. There are various statues and busts of distinguished men in the more public places; but what is a very conspicuous object is the Tower of Guet, which dates back to 1214, or 669 years ago. It was for centuries used as a lighthouse; and, though having a history of one third of the time from the Christian era, as Longfellow has said of the Belfry of Bruges, "still it watches o'er the town."

Prior to the twelfth century Calais was an insignificant fishing-village; but Baldwin IV., Count of Flanders, was especially pleased with the location, and realizing its importance as a seaport, and its possibilities as a place of resort for sea-bathing and summer residence, greatly improved it, and about the year 997, expended much money for its advancement. Philip of France, Count of Boulogne, in the early part of the thirteenth century enlarged and strengthened its fortifications.

It was invaded by the English, and in 1347 it was, after a long siege, taken by King Edward II.; and in the negotiations for peace, Eustace St. Pierre, and five companions were accepted as a ransom for the entire population, and finally, they themselves had their lives spared by the intercession of the wife of Edward, Queen Philippa. From that time it remained in possession of the English a period of 211 years, when in 1558, it was besieged by the French under the Duke of Guise; and with the exception of the years 1596-8, when it was in the hands of the Spaniards, it has remained in comparatively quiet possession of the French.

It has been from first to last a somewhat memorable place, and has played an important part in history. Charles II. of England, after the battle of Worcester, Sept. 3, 1651, fled to France; but the peace of 1655 forced him to leave the country and he went to Bruges, and remained there and at Brussels till he heard of Cromwell's death in 1658, when, in order to avail himself of the great confusion it caused in England, he ventured to station himself at Calais, which he did in August of 1659; and, with this as his headquarters, he opened negotiations with General Monk, which ended in his being proclaimed king of England, May 8, 1660.

It was here also that James II. mustered his forces for the invasion of Ireland; and finally it is memorable as the place where Louis XVIII. landed, April 21, 1814, after his exile, and the spot is marked by a column and an inscription of the event.

There is a matter of such interest, more especially to us Bostonians, connected with the channel between Dover and Calais, we cannot well refrain from noticing it; and it is, that on the 7th of January, 1785, two men were here for the first time successful in conducting a balloon on any extended scale, and guiding it to a particular destination; and we are happy to be able to state that a very distinguished Bostonian was one of these, the celebrated physician Dr. John Jeffries, who was born in our Boston, Feb. 4, 1744, being at the time first named, a resident of London, and in a successful practice of his profession. Being largely interested in scientific pursuits, and especially those relating to atmospheric pressure, he was invited by one FranÇois Blanchard, a Frenchman and an aeronaut, to attempt with him the task of crossing this channel. They started from the cliffs of Dover at the time before named, and safely landed in the forest of Guines in France. The doctor, in consequence of his venture, received great attentions from learned and scientific men and societies in London and Paris. Blanchard, who had planned the voyage and furnished the balloon, was rewarded by Louis XVI. with a gift of 12,000 francs, or $2,500, and a life-pension of 1,200 francs annually. He died in Paris, March 7, 1809, at the age of 71. Dr. Jeffries removed back to Boston in 1789, four years after the balloon passage, and died there Sept. 16, 1819, at the age 75, and was buried in the Granary burial-ground on Tremont Street.

There are two things of especial interest that may be named as we speak of Dr. Jeffries. One is that it was he and John Winslow of Boston who first recognized the body of General Warren who fell at the battle of Bunker Hill. It lay where it fell till the succeeding day, when, being recognized, it was buried on the same spot. The other fact is that he was one of the early permanent settlers of East Boston, at what is now—and long has been known as—Jeffries Point. Although in a degree foreign to our purpose, yet we extend our remarks and name an incident of connecting interest, which took place in this year of Dr. Jeffries' decease.

After the death of Blanchard in 1809, his wife, Marie Madeline Sophie Armant, who had accompanied him on many of the sixty-six voyages he had made, continued making like aerial excursions for the following ten years; till on a day of June in this year, 1819, she ascended from the Tivoli Garden in Paris, when her balloon, which was illuminated with fireworks, took fire while at a considerable height, and she, falling, was dashed to pieces. In a few months after, as named, died Dr. Jeffries, and so ended the earthly career of the trio most interested in that first great balloon enterprise between Dover and Calais, thirty-four years before.

There are yet a few places of interest, which, although not included in our journey, are so readily reached by detours from places we did visit, that we deem it advisable to name them. Conspicuous among them are the three cathedrals not described in our work: these are Chichester, one of the five English cathedrals with a spire; Wells, celebrated for its elaborately carved west faÇade and the wide grounds in front of it; and Exeter, having also a highly decorated west end, with the two transepts ending as towers.

Chichester is easily reached by a ride by rail of 28½ miles from Brighton; Exeter by one of 80 miles from Bristol; and Wells, by one of 19 miles from Bath.

Lake Windermere, in no way inferior in picturesque beauty to the lakes of Ireland or Scotland, may be visited by a ride of 15 miles from Lowgill, a station between Leeds and Carlisle.

Glastonbury Abbey ruins are excelled in beauty and interest by none in England; they may be reached by a ride of 6 miles from Wells, and may be visited while making the tour to the cathedral.

Tintern Abbey, remarkable for its beauty, may be visited from Gloucester. It is a ride by rail of 40 miles to Chepstow, and then by coach for 14 miles further. It hardly need be added that these ruins are over the Welsh border.

Fountain's Abbey ruins, renowned and of indescribable beauty and interest, are 13½ miles from Harrowgate, a town that may be reached by a ride of 27 miles by rail from either York or Leeds. In the vicinity of both Fountain's Abbey and Harrowgate are the celebrated ruins of Bolton Priory, and no day can be more interestingly employed than one devoted to these unusual and remarkable places.

In Scotland, 30 miles from Glasgow, is the town of Ayr, in which are the ruins of the Kirk of Alloway, the scene of "Tam O' Shanter." Near-by is the cottage in which Robert Burns was born; and a fourth of a mile away, on the banks of his celebrated Doon, is a fine monument to his memory.

The famous ruins of Jedburg Abbey are reached by a carriage-ride of eight miles from Melrose. The town itself is peculiar in the quaintness of many of its streets and buildings, and it is a principle with the inhabitants to preserve these antiquities.

Dryburg Abbey ruins are beautiful in the extreme, and a fit resting-place for the remains of Sir Walter Scott. They are within four miles of Melrose.

But we find the theme lengthening, and must forbear; and in closing will simply say, that the Giant's Causeway may be reached to advantage by a jaunt from Dublin to Belfast, one of the chief cities of Ireland, 88 miles north of the capital; thence to Londonderry, one of the most finished and intelligent places of the Emerald isle; and thence to the northern border, and by steamer to the Causeway. The spot may also be reached direct by steamer from Belfast.

And now we take a respectful leave of our readers, trusting that our humble work may be acceptable, and that their knowledge has been increased, or their memory refreshed, as to things in England, Ireland, and Scotland.

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