BRISTO L. A WALK THROUGH BRIstol. BRISTOL, en ballon, presents features singularly similar to those of the metropolis. The river Avon, which divides it into two portions, north and south, winds along with undulations so corresponding to those of the Thames in its passage through London, that the course of one river might almost be traced as a reduced copy of the other. The two portions of the city bear, also, the same relative importance to each other. The richest, oldest, and most interesting part of Bristol is situated on the north bank of the Avon; whilst the southern segment is another " Surrey-side of the water." The classes of tradesmen, and the general tone which pervades these two sections of the city present as marked a difference to each other as the dwellers of Tooley Street and Blackfriars Road do to those of the Strand, or the loungers of Regent Street. The more dormant portion of the city, if we might so term it, which lies on the Somersetshire shore of the Avon, is vitalized by three long and comparatively busy thoroughfares, Temple, Thomas, and Redcliffe Streets, which converge towards the principal bridge. brings before us a full perspective of Temple Street, in all its poverty and picturesqueness. It is a street of gable ends, and we question if Queen Elizabeth, could she visit it in its present state, would see much alteration from the time when she passed through it three centuries ago Every here and there some larger than common tenement is seen, leaning down with heavy-hanging brow over the street, and with a profusion of casement which evidences that the window-taxes were unknown when first they were glazed. In most of these houses, of old, the clicking of the weaver's loom might have been heard, plied by the broad-faced industrious Flemings. When Edward III. prohibited the export of wool from the kingdom, a number of cloth-weavers from Flanders were invited over to England, and numbers of them, settling in Bristol, made Temple Street their headquarters, and commenced a manufacture which, for many centuries, remained the staple product of the city. The merry music of the loom has long since fled to the pleasant valleys of Gloucestershire, and the less picturesque but more active north; and squalid rags now hang out to dry from rooms that once sent forth the renowned English broadcloth. Still farther back in the perspective of time, this street possessed a history: the religious element pervaded it before it was made busy by the handicraftsman. A little removed from the street lies the Temple church, with its fine old tower, one of those piles which puzzle one to know whether it is to the builder or to the destroyer we owe most of their beauties. Honeycombed and stained by time, its old forehead looks stately and beautiful, as it catches the evening sun high over the surrounding To give our reader the best idea in the shortest space of time, of Bristol, past and present, we will ramble with him through the principal streets of the city. He is perhaps arrived by the Great Western Railway, which is situated at the extremity of Temple Street, and wishes to proceed to Clifton; the line of route to which place will afford him a more complete view of the various features of Bristol, than perhaps any other. Of the façade of the station itself, which finds accommodation for the Great Western, Exeter, and Birming-houses. What attracts attention to it even more than ham lines, we can say little more than that its size is great, and its style Tudor. We are little accustomed to see originality or fitness studied in such buildings as these, which should, however, as much express the idea of the present age, as ecclesiastical architecture did that of the medieval period; but we know of no style so little fitted to a railway-station as the Tudor. The Egyptian, or the Doric, in lack of some iron style, which is yet to come, might be adopted as emblematical of strength and power; but the Elizabethan, with its scrolls and light tracery, its open and elegant windows, and profuse embellishments, is more fitted for the baronial hall than for the frontispiece of so stupendous a work as a railway, or for the resting and startingplace of the great blear-eyed fire-mouthed monster who devours both time and space. Even forgiving the style the architect has adopted, he has failed to give us a picturesque or pleasing pile, which, with the means at his disposal, he should have done. The design is but commonplace, and the details are inharmonious. (Cut, No. 2.) its imposing form, is the manner in which it leans. Temple church is the Pisan Tower of Bristol: a plummet dropped from its battlements falls wide of its base three feet nine inches; and, viewed from a distance, the inclination of the tower-which is a very high one -seems even greater. This church at one time, and the quarter surrounding it, belonged to the Knights Templars, by whom it was founded in the year 1118. The utmost stretch of fancy can scarcely imagine the time when, instead of the groups of dirty women who now congregate upon the pavement, these soldiers of Christ, habited in the long white flowing robe of their order, bearing on the shoulder the red cross, made the "flints vocal" with their measured footsteps. At the bottom of Temple Street is another specimen of a leaning building-the 'Fourteen Stars Tavern,' an old wooden structure, which overhangs the road so much, that one is almost afraid to pass under it. A short walk brings us to Bristol Bridge, erected in 1762, on the foundations of its predecessor, a very curious old structure, covered with houses, and bearing in the A sharp bend in the road after we leave the station, middle a "faire chappel," dedicated to the blessed Virgin Mary. It was the very counterpart of the old London Bridge; and one of Chatterton's finest poems is commemorative of its opening by the monks, in grand procession, in the thirteenth century. The present bridge, handsome and wide as it is, scarcely suffices for the circulation of the life-blood of the two great counties which it connects; what then must have been the confusion a hundred years ago, in the time of the former structure, when seventeen feet was all the clear way between the houses for both foot passengers and carriages! On the left of us, as we pass over, the river, like the Pool, is crowded with sloops and small coasting vessels, which discharge on the quay side, known here as the Back. We are now fairly entered upon the old city, and High Street, which is built upon a slight ascent, still preserves somewhat of its ancient character. It is obvious, as we pass up, that the better class of traders are ebbing away fast from its neighbourhood; large shops are to be seen divided into two, each making a desperate struggle for existence. The top of the street is the very centre of ancient Bristol, and here one of the distinguishing features of the city becomes obvious-the multitude of its churches, and the thickness with which they are planted together. At one time there stood a church at the corner of each of the four streets, which branch off at this place; in the centre shot up the High Cross, and within a bowshot arose the spires and towers of six more sacred edifices; so that the view of this part of the city, from the hills which surround it, presented to the spectator one mass of spires. Four of these buildings have since been pulled down; but enough still remain to justify the expression that Bristol is "a city of churches." a city of churches." The High Cross, "beautified" with the effigies of eight kings, benefactors to the city, has long since been removed, to afford room for the increase of traffic. This old Cross had often been the scene of blood. Thomas, Lord le Despenser, was beheaded here for the part he took in the rebellion against Henry IV.; and it was the site of a still more tragic occurrence in 1461, when Sir Baldwin Fulford and two other Lancastrians were executed by the orders of Edward IV. The king carried his bloodthirstiness so far, as to order a place to be got ready in the church of St. Ewen's (which stood upon the site of the present Council House), that he might see the prisoners pass to where the axe awaited them. There is a passage in the churchwarden's book to the following effect: "Item, for washynge the church payven against K. Edward IV. is coming to Bristow. iiii. ob." It would have been better if they had paid this sum for washing his Majesty's hands of such a bloody piece of business. Chatterton, in his 'Bristowe Tragedie,' has rendered mperishable this event. If we loiter here for a moment, the interesting nature of the spot must be our excuse. As we have already said, four streets, running north, south, east, and west, meet the view: before us lies Broad Street, its outline broken by picturesque-looking houses, and bounded by its very old church, dedicated to St. John, under which opens one of the ancient gates of the city. Wine Street, with its curious old wooden house, brought in frame from Holland, and set up at the corner of the street in the sixteenth century, and now Stuckey's Bank; and at the right Clare Street (High Street we have already spoken of), down which we turn. The Council House is a chaste building, possessing no peculiarities, either good or bad, which criticism can take hold of. A statue of Justice surmounts its pediment, however, which is beautifully designed, and from the chisel of Baily, a native of Bristol. The Exchange, lying upon the left hand a little farther down, is an extremely handsome structure, and like most of the public works erected in this city in the middle of the last century, is an evidence that art was not overlooked by its wealthy and publicspirited projectors. The façade is Roman, very highly ornamented; and that portion of it which forms the merchant's walk is a spacious open square, surrounded on all sides by handsome arcades. There is a conscientiousness about the manner in which every portion of this building is finished, which shows to great disadvantage works executed in these days of lath and plaster and compo: the business transacted here, however, is now confined to the corn-trade. The mass of merchants resort to the Commercial Rooms, on the opposite side of the road; and sales are struck over the wet broad sheet of 'The Times,' instead of the damp flag-stones of the Exchange quadrangle, which now seems almost deserted. At the back of the Exchange runs the chief market of the city, occupying a great space of ground in a very irregular manner; the supply from the fruitful counties of Somersetshire and Gloucestershire is excellent and abundant. A feature which strikes the stranger as he passes through is the singular costume of the market-people. The vegetable stalls are mostly kept by Kingswood women-children of that rude race which Wesley, with his meek yet indomitable spirit, strove to evangelize-here they stand, handling Brobdignagian cabbages, and watering drooping radishes, in the selfsame-fashioned dresses in which their great grandmothers attired themselves; the hat they wear is of black felt, the wide leaves of which are bent down to cover the ears, and the shallow rounded crown is encircled with puffing of black ribbons; under this head-covering peeps the plaited white cap, and the hair is dressed in an infinite number of small thin loops, which forms a fringe, as it were, across the forehead. The older women wear a blue great coat, confined at the waist by a band, whilst two or three capes protect the shoulders; the younger ones, however, have discarded this latter garment, and complete their toilet with a bright yellow handkerchief folded over the bosom. There is something so quaint and interesting in the dress, that when the wearer is pretty-and many of the young Kingswood women are eminently so—it is quite dangerous to attempt bargaining with them. Returning to Clare Street again, we must not omit to mention, as a sign of Bristol's care even in the middle ages, for literature as well as for commerce, that there anciently stood, beside All Saints' church, now close upon us, the House of Kalenders, which "Not only we, the latest seeds of time, Of rights and wrongs, have loved the people well." Still more churches as we proceed down Clare Street, -St. Werburg's, with the west face of its tower washed with the storms of four or five centuries into a bright and most artistic tone, next arrests our attention. On a sunny day, when the lights and shades are particularly strong, we question if a more picturesque combination can be afforded in any city than the view of the buildings here congregated. Looking towards the top of the street, St. Werburg's tower, with the bright sun upon it, stands out against the gloom in which the Exchange is buried. Then again the elegant Italian dome of All Saints repeats the light, and carries the eye on to where the old Dutch-built Bank, with its many galleries and projecting angles, forms a complete picture in itself. Near the bottom of Clare Street we come to what, after St. Mary Redcliff, might be considered the pride of Bristol as regards ecclesiastical architecture; and indeed we doubt if there is so fine a specimen of what is termed the "perpendicular" style in England as the tower of St. Stephen's church. It is about 125 feet in height; but the delicate tracery, which the eye follows from its base to the beautiful open-work of its pinnacles, makes it look much higher, rising as it does like a tall and graceful lady, above the gloomy warehouses which surround it on all sides but the one on which it is viewed. Time has added to its effect by washing bright and clear here and there the projecting ornaments, which show against the sable dress with which the smoke has enveloped it. (Cut, No. 3.) The church is much older than the tower, which was built about 1472, by John Shipward, one of the many merchant princes Bristol boasted in that early time. Those sturdy traders were as inclined for a fight as for traffic, if we are to believe a document published some years since in the Bristol Mirror, which gives an account of what the citizens call the English Chevy Chase, or the battle of Nibley Green, fought in the year 1470, not many miles from the city, between the followers of the fourth lord of Berkeley and those of the first Lord de Lisle. At this bloody encounter both John Shipward and Philip Mede, another merchant, were, as this document asserts, present; it is certain, however, that they were promoters of the strife; and this was all the more singular, as both of them had been members of Parliament for the city, and had filled the office of its chief magistrate. This occurrence taking place during the wars of the roses, it was hushed up, and nothing came of it, if we | exposed more recherché, the people wear more the air of loungers, and trade is evidently shaking off the coarser look of barter. The reason is simple, we are on the high road to Clifton, the genteel sister, who looks down upon hard-working Bristol with the most profound hauteur. except this glorious tower, which it is said Shipward erected as some expiation of his offences against "God and the king's laws," in aiding of this bloody battle. Water, again; well may Andrew de Chesne, who wrote in the time of King Stephen, say of Bristol, that it "seems to swim in the water, and wholly to be set on the river banks." It is not the Avon we are now coming to, however, but a canal, cut in the thirteenth century to afford berthings for great ships, which before that time often received damage by grounding on the mud in the river; it was also constructed to turn the course of the Frome, a small tributary to the Avon, which the good citizens have been at some pains to hide from view, as not a vestige of it is to be seen, although it meanders through the centre of the town. It is worth while pausing for a moment on the swingbridge we are passing over. To the right of us lie moored the picturesque-looking Severn trows, built after a fashion that must have prevailed before the flood. Ranged side by side, each one, with its bright brown mast, intensely red little flag, and black palllike tarpaulings, covering the cargo piled high upon the deck, and the bargee, who is always seen there stretched out at length upon his stomach fast asleep, they form a picture which contrasts strangely with the vessels seen on the other side of the bridge, keen little clippers, with masts raking at a tremendous angle. These vessels are mostly Guernsey and Jersey traders, or luggers bringing fruit from Spain and Portugal. Still further down, the great chimneys of the Irish steamers lean over the quay while they discharge their cargoes. And beyond these, towering over a confusion of West Indiamen, with top-sails struck, the light tracery of an American or a Chinaman is painted against the sky, its long pennant floating languidly in the wind. In showery weather, when the sails of the ships are unclewed to dry, and shadows run over them as they belly to the breeze, the scene here is exceedingly picturesque; and, to make the whole perfect, half way down the quay a great sun-dial, raised high upon a pillar, flashes intelligence from its golden face. At this spot one of the features which tend to render the city so picturesque is observable, the suddenness with which the hills to the north of it dip down into the busy mart of men. Several of the quaint old streets in this quarter of the town seem terminated by sloping banks of verdure, clothed with waving trees, and terraced and dotted with houses. The abruptness with which nature meets and refreshes the eye, wearied with dull ranges of warehouses and dingy streets of brick, reminds one of similar transitions in towns of Switzerland or Savoy, where the perspectives of streets are terminated by wall-like mountain sides, or gigantic peaks. St. Michael's and Spring Hills are those which, in the present instance, lie before us; the former covered with a fringe of trees which seem almost to kiss the sky. As we proceed along St. Augustin's Parade, we note that gradually the plate glass in the windows grows larger, the shop fronts more imposing, and the goods College Green (Cut, No. 4) might be considered the debateable land between commerce and fashion; here all the characteristic features of the city might be said to meet. As a good overture foreshadows and suggests the movements and melodies of an opera, so does this green contain within itself a miniature of Bristol. As we stand in the centre, surrounded on all sides by avenues of limetrees of tenderest green, to the left, in complete quiet and deep monastic gloom, lies the Cathedral, (Cut, No. 5,) looking much as it did five centuries ago; this side of the Green seems quite given up to the solemn spirit of religion, and is the representative, together with the church of the Gaunts and that of St. Augustin's the less, of the spiritual life of the city. On the other hand is the thoroughfare which leads to Clifton; here trade speaks in the busy throng, which forms a line of evermoving life. If we turn for a moment, we perceive, through the entrance to the Green, the masts of ships, the flapping sails, and the burning reflections of the setting sunlight, cast by their pitchy hulls upon the water; thus commerce contributes to the scene. And not alone to the eye speaks this singular concentration in one spot of so many different features of the city. He who muses with closed eyes beneath the cool shadows of the limes, becomes aware of the strange medley of sounds which pour into his ear. Mingled with the busy hum of men and the rush of carriage wheels comes the heave-yo of the sailors, as they warp some ship to its berth, or the swift run of the crane chain, as it drops the cumbrous bale into the gaping hold, and above all, the Te Deum in sudden swells of the organ, and voices of the "singing boys," booming through the open doors of the cathedral. The associations connected with this Green are of the deepest interest. Here, under a great oak, St. Augustin held a conference with the bishops of the Anglican church; and here the preaching friars and priests denounced the "heresy" which was so soon to overturn their faith. The cemeteries of the abbey and of the church of the Gaunts once stood here, and the deposit of human remains has risen the soil several feet above the original level; doubtless the trees, which for city trees are luxuriant and vigorous in the extreme, owe much of their beauty to the fat monks, who lie so comfortably at their roots. The mutilated pile which occupies almost the entire south side of College Green, is nearly all that remains of the great and wealthy monastery of St. Augustin, founded in the twelfth century by Robert Fitzhardinge, (said to be of the Royal family of Denmark,) a great merchant of Bristol, and first of the noble family of Berkeley, many succeeding members of which have enriched it from time to time. But very little of the original building is now, however, to be seen, the abbey having been rebuilt in the fourteenth century. At the dissolution of these houses at the Reformation, Bristol was erected into a bishopric, and this edifice then became the cathedral of St. Augustin. The "His church he loved; he loved to feed the poor; Such love assures a life that dies no more." Sir Isaac Newton belonged to this family, whose seat, Barr's Court, was situated at Hanham, only a few miles from Bristol: it is now a barn; the garden, once so quaint and beautiful, is reduced to a common field, and the outline of the fish-pond is yet traceable within it. The only remnant of this baronial hall to be seen is the coat of arms, let into a building now used as a cowhouse. 'Sic transit!' There are very few monuments of modern date worthy of notice in this cathedral; but of marble mason's grief there is a plentiful supply; indeed, the walls are dotted all over with funereal urns, weeping willows, and the usual patterns kept in stock by the statuaries, the effect of which mars that solemn repose the eye looks for in such a building. There is a monument by Bailey, very beautiful in design, and a figure, emblematical of Faith, by Chantry, which, for purity of expression, we have rarely seen equalled; but, undoubtedly the finest piece of sculpture in the cathedral is the monument to Mrs. Draper-Sterne's Eliza -executed by Bacon. Two exquisite female figures, typical of Genius and Benevolence, form the composition; the one bearing a living torch, the other, a nest of pelicans, the mother feeding her young ones from her own bleeding breast. The delicacy with which this group is executed, is something marvellous. Young sculptors would do well to see it, that they may learn how conscientious and fastidious a really great artist is in the finish of his works. There are several monuments to different members of the Berkeley family, and a very fine altar-tomb, with effigies of a full-length knight and lady upon it. At one time this tomb was supposed to represent the founder of the fabric, Robert Fitzhardinge, and Eva, his wife; but it has been since satisfactorily ascertained that it belongs to one of his descendants. As we pass into the cloisters, through a postern in the south-west corner of the church, we step upon a grave more interesting than those of mailed The outward appearance of this building is extremely heavy, and totally devoid of architectural beauty: the tower, which is low and massive, forms, perhaps, its best feature. The body of the church seems made up of huge buttresses, in the construction of which a great many red sandstone blocks were introduced; these having decayed and worn away, during the course of centuries, a series of indentations are apparent, which gives it the appearance (if we might so express it) of being pock-marked. The floor of the cathedral is several feet below the level of the Green; we are, accordingly, obliged to enter by a descent of steps. The first feature which strikes the eye in the interior is the uniform height of the chancel, two side-aisles, cross-aisle, and the portion of the nave yet standing: this gives a feeling of unusual space, and the effect must have been magnificent, when the other portion of the nave-which extended 150 feet westward-was in existence. vaulting is light and elegant, and some of the bosses are extremely grotesque in character. The elder Lady's Chapel, situated at the north side of the church, is evidently the oldest portion of the building; and, doubt less, formed a part of the original abbey built by Fitzhardinge. Bristol historians seem quite uncertain when, or in what manner, the nave was destroyed; it is surmised, however, that it was pulled down by some of Henry VIII.'s commissioners, before it was decided to convert the abbey into a cathedral. The interior suffered much damage from the iconoclasts, during the great Rebellion; many fine windows were destroyed, and several of the ancient monuments were, unfortunately, greatly injured, and those which have survived the two revolutions, religious and political, are now slowly succumbing under the hands of barbarous deans. The slovenly yellow-wash brush has been smeared over monuments as well as walls; and cross-legged crusaders, many of whom sleep here their stony sleep-warriors, mitred abbots and knights, who once lay in all the splendour of coloured and gilded armour, now alike repose in garments of yellow-wash, put on one over the other, until the original figures beneath them are almost obscured. There is one little chapel in which particular havoc has been committed, the chapel of the Newtons, containing several altar-tombs, the effigies upon some of which were entirely destroyed by the Puritans. The others, once so quaint with colour and heraldic embellishments, have now been reduced by the Vandals of the place to buff coats, and hose of the commonest ochre. Upon one of these tombs-that of Sir Henry Newton, who died in 1599,-there is an epitaph, written with such a fine martial tramp, that we cannot forbear giving it : "Gourney, Hampton, Cradock, Newton last, Held on the measure of that ancient line "Imprison'd in black purgatorial rails," for it contains the dust of genius. Here Edward Bird, the artist, lies buried. He came to Bristol a painter of tea-trays - precious trays! what gentle figures now bend over these works of thy hand, and serve the choice Bohea!-executed here many famous pictures, including one of the most pathetic and touching compositions ever produced by artist,' The Battle of Chevy Chase' -died, and was followed to his lonely grave in this spot by four hundred of his friends and admirers. No spot could have been chosen more fitted to receive his dust. By day, the sunlight cast on the pavement in gothic windows of gold through the cloister tracery, slowly and noiselessly moves athwart his tomb; whilst, at times, the wild wind sweeps sighing through the dim arcade, and the autumn leaves, as they circle and gambol round the unseen footsteps of Decay, pass over his sad-looking place of rest. |