at the entrance of the choir. A splendid monument has been erected to his memory, with the following inscription from the pen of Robert Southey, himself a Bristolian:—
Sacred
to the Memory of
JOSEPH BUTLER, D.C.L.,
twelve years Bishop of this Diocese,
afterwards of Durham, whose mortal remains
are here deposited. Others had established
the historical and prophetical grounds of the
Christian Religion, and that true testimony of Truth
which is found in its perfect adaptation to the heart
of man. It was reserved for him to develop its
analogy to the constitution and course of Nature;
and laying his strong foundations
in the depth of that great argument,
there to construct another and
irrefragable proof; thus rendering
Philosophy subservient
to Faith, and finding
in outward and
visible things
the type and evidence of those within the veil.
Born, A.D. 1693. Died, 1752.
We noticed a very fine monument by Bacon to the memory of Mrs. Draper, said to have been the Eliza of Sterne. We hastened to find the world-renowned tomb of Mrs. Mason, and to read the lines on marble of that inimitable epitaph, which has acquired a wider circulation than any other in the world. The lines were written by her husband, the Rev. William Mason.
"Take, holy earth, all that my soul holds dear;
Take that best gift which Heaven so lately gave.
To Bristol's fount I bore with trembling care
Her faded form; she bowed to taste the wave,
And died. Does youth, does beauty read the line?
Does sympathetic fear their breasts alarm?
Speak, dead Maria; breathe a strain divine;
E'en from the grave thou shalt have power to charm.
Bid them be chaste, be innocent, like thee;
Bid them in duty's sphere as meekly move;
And if so fair, from vanity as free,
As firm in friendship, and as fond in love—
Tell them, though 'tis an awful thing to die,
(Twas e'en to thee,) yet, the dread path once trod,
Heaven lifts its everlasting portals high,
And bids the pure in heart behold their God."
In the cloisters we saw the tomb of Bird the artist, a royal academician, and a native of Bristol. We were much interested with a noble bust of Robert Southey, the poet, which has just been erected in the north aisle. It stands on an octangular pedestal of gray marble, with Gothic panels. The bust is of the most exquisitely beautiful marble. The inscription is in German text.
Robert Southey,
Born in Bristol,
October 4, 1774;
Died at Reswick,
March 21, 1843.
The cloisters contain some fine old rooms, which recall the days of the Tudors. Here we saw the apartments formerly occupied by the learned and accomplished Dr. Hodges, now organist of Trinity Church, New York. This gentleman is a native of Bristol, and is held, we find, in respectful and affectionate remembrance by the best people of this city.
Opposite to the cathedral, and on the other side of the college green, is the Mayor's Chapel, where his honor attends divine service. In Catholic days, this was the Church and Hospital of the Virgin Mary. This edifice was built by one Maurice de Gaunt in the thirteenth century. Under the tower at the east front is a small door, by which you enter the church, and on the north another, by which you enter a small room, formerly a confessional, with two arches in the walls for the priest and the penitent. In this room are eight niches, in which images once stood. The roof is vaulted with freestone, in the centre of which are two curious shields and many coats of arms. In 1830, this chapel was restored and beautified. A fine painted window was added, and the altar screen restored to its former beauty, at the expense of the corporation. The front of the organ gallery is very rich in Gothic moulding, tracery, crockets, &c. It is flanked at the angles with octagonal turrets, of singular beauty, embattled, and surmounted with canopies, crockets, &c. The spandrils, quatrefoils, buttresses, sculptures, and cornices are exceedingly admired. The pulpit is of stone, and the mayor's throne, of carved oak, is of elaborate finish. Here are two knights in armor, with their right hands on their sword hilts, on the left their shields, with their legs crossed, which indicates that they were crusaders.
In every excursion around Bristol, the boys were struck with the fact that an old tower was visible on a high hill. The hill is called Dundry, and it is said that it can be seen every where for a circle of five miles round the city. Dundry is five miles from Bristol, and fourteen from Bath, and it commands the most beautiful and extensive prospect in the west of England. We rode out to it with an early friend of mine, who is now the leading medical man of Bristol; and when I tell you that we went in an Irish jaunting car, you may guess that we were amused. The seats are at the sides, and George was in ecstasies at the novelty of the vehicle. When oh the summit, we saw at the north and east the cities of Bath and Bristol, and our view included the hills of Wiltshire, and the Malvern Hills of Worcestershire. The Severn, from north to west, is seen, embracing the Welsh coast, and beyond are the far-famed mountains of Wales. The church has a fine tower, with turreted pinnacles fifteen feet above the battlements. We rode over to Chew Magna, a village two miles beyond Dundry. Here I went to a boarding school thirty-eight years ago, and I returned to the village for the first time. It had altered but little. The streets seemed narrower; but there was the old tower where I had played fives, and there was the cottage where I bought fruit; and when I entered it, Charley, I found "young Mr. Batt"-a man of eighty-six. His father used to be "old Mr. Batt," and he always called his son his "boy," and we boys termed him "young Mr. Batt." I came back and found him eighty-six. So do years fly away. I called on one old school-fellow, some years my junior. He did not recognize me, but I at once remembered him. We partook of a lunch at his house. I was sadly disappointed to find the old boarding school gone, but was not a little relieved when I heard that it had given place to a Baptist church. I confess I should have liked to occupy its pulpit for one Sabbath day. To-morrow we are to spend at Clifton, the beautiful environ of Bristol, and shall most likely write you again.
Yours affectionately,
j.o.c.
Letter 9.
Bristol.
Dear Charley:—
Clifton and the Hot Wells are the suburbs of this city, extending