The Phoenix And Its Form

Philosophy of the picturesque-Peculiarities of English scenery-Worcester-Immigration of peasant girls-The Devils' Garden-The Rest on the Stones-Plinlimmon-Inhabitants of the summit-The Inn-Source of the Wye.

Foreigners have often expressed their surprise that the English should travel so far in search of picturesque scenery, when they have abundance at home: but the remark is conceived in an unphilosophical spirit. We do not travel for the mere scenery. We do not leave the Wye unexplored, and go abroad in search of some other river of its own identical character. What we gaze at in strange lands is not wood, and water, and rock, but all these seen through a new medium-accompanied by adjuncts which array universal nature herself in a foreign costume. A tree peculiar to the country-a peasant in an un-English garb-a cottage of unaccustomed form-the slightest peculiarity in national manners-even the traces of a different system of agriculture-all contribute to the impression of novelty in which consists the excitement of foreign travel.

The proof of this is our keener perception of the beauties of English scenery after returning from abroad. We are then capable of instituting a comparison; and our national manners are no longer the sole medium, but one of various media through which nature is viewed. An untravelled Englishman is ignorant of his own country. He must cross the seas before he can become acquainted with home. He must admire the romance of the Rhine-the sublimity of the (mountain) Rhone-the beauty of the Seine and the Loire-before he can tell what is the rank of the Wye, in picturesque character, among the rivers of Europe.

The journey from London to Worcester, which is the direct route to the Upper part of the Wye, discloses many of the peculiarities of English scenery and character-peculiarities which to the natives are of so every day a kind, that it is only by reflection and comparison they learn to appreciate them. The country seats of the great land proprietors, with their accompaniments of lawn and plantation, extending as far as the eye can reach, form a part of the picture; and so do the cottages of the village peasantry, with their little gardens before the door, admitting a peep into the interior of the humble abode. In the aristocratical dwellings, half hidden in that paradise of groves and glades, we find every refinement that gold can purchase, or taste produce: in the huts, comfort, and its inseparable adjunct cleanliness, are the most striking characteristics.

The former speak of wealth, and the happiness that depends on wealth; the latter of comparative poverty, and the home pleasures that are compatible with poverty. On the continent, there is always something out of keeping in the picture. In the great chateaux and their grounds, there is always some meanness, some make-shift observable; while in the great country seats of England, on the contrary, all is uniform. In the cottages abroad, even those of a higher order, there are always dirt and slovenliness-inattention to the minute comforts of humble life-meals snatched anyhow and anywhere-sleep taken without an idea of the luxuries of sleep. In England, on the other hand, notwithstanding the irregularities of fortune, we find an absolute identity in the various classes of the population. The labourer-returned, perhaps, from mending the highway, sits down in state to dinner, with a clean white table-cloth, and the coarse ware nicely arranged before him. The floor is swept, perhaps washed, to do honour to the occasion; and his wife, who is at once the mistress and the servant of the feast, prides herself on making her husband (whom she calls her "master")-comfortable.

We need not be told that this is not a universal picture. We need not be reminded of the want and misery which exist in numerous parts of the country, for with these we are well acquainted. The foreigner, however, to whom such scenes are new, will meet with them frequently enough, and especially on the road we are now travelling, to induce him to set them down as one of the grand characteristics of England.

The road presents, also, at various turnings, that truly English scene, a well-known specimen of which is viewed from Richmond Hill. A level country lies a few hundred feet below us, and extends in front, and on either side, till it is lost in the distance, or bound in by low and filmy hills which just mark the horizon with their waving line of shadow. This expanse is studded with towns, and villages, and seats, and cottages, and square towers, and tapering spires, rising amidst woods and groves, and surrounded by green fields and meadows. A great part of the peculiar character of the landscape is due to the enclosures of various kinds of foliage which separate one field from another. In most parts of the continent-and more especially in France-these are of very rare occurrence; and thus the beauty of the picture, when it has any beauty at all, depends upon the colours of the different kinds of grain or other productions, which make the vast expanse of vegetation resemble an immense and richly variegated carpet. In spring, therefore, before these colours have been fairly brought out, it may easily be conceived that France is one of the least interesting countries in Europe. With us, on the other hand, the face of the earth resembles a garden, and more especially in one of those flat landscapes we have alluded to. The changes of the seasons diversify without diminishing the beauty; and even winter presents, instead of a uniform and dreary waste, a varied picture executed in hoar frost and snow.

Worcester is one of the most aristocratic looking towns in England, and presents every token of being a wealthy and flourishing place. Its cathedral, an edifice of the beginning of the thirteenth century, has drawn hither many a pilgrim foot even from foreign countries. Our present business, however, is with the works of nature, or with those of art fallen into decay, and their fragments standing amidst the eternal youth of the hills and rivers, like monuments of the insignificance of man.

Worcester is famous for its manufactures of porcelain and gloves; but our attention was more strongly attracted to exports of another kind, of which it appeared to be at least the entrep?t, if it was not the original market. At a little distance from the town, several waggons had halted near a public house, and their freight, a numerous party of peasant girls, were breakfasting by the road side. They were eating and drinking as joyously as if their laps had been filled with far more enticing food than bread and ale. They were on their way to some greater mart-perhaps to the all-devouring metropolis; and when breakfast was over, they resumed their slow journey, some few who had mounted the waggons singing in parts, and the rest, walking by the side, joining in the chorus. They had no fears, poor girls, of the result of their adventure-or rather, no forethought.