CHESTER.—­ITS MUSEUM.—­TRAVELLING COMPANIONS.—­A BENGALESE.—­ WESTMORELAND.—­AMBLESIDE.—­COBDEN AND BRIGHT.—­A SCOTCH LADY.—­WORDSWORTH.—­HIS FLOWERS.—­MISS MARTINEAU.

Ambleside.  Westmoreland, 27th August, 1846.

I forgot to mention, in writing of Chester, an object which gave me pleasure.  I mentioned, that the wall which enclosed the old town was two miles in circumference; far beyond this stretches the modern part of Chester, and the old gateways now overarch the middle of long streets.  This wall is now a walk for the inhabitants, commanding a wide prospect, and three persons could walk abreast on its smooth flags.  We passed one of its old picturesque towers, from whose top Charles the First, poor, weak, unhappy king, looked down and saw his troops defeated by the Parliamentary army on the adjacent plain.  A little farther on, one of these picturesque towers is turned to the use of a Museum, whose stock, though scanty, I examined with singular pleasure, for it had been made up by truly filial contributions from, all who had derived benefit from Chester, from the Marquis of Westminster—­whose magnificent abode, Eton Hall, lies not far off—­down to the merchant’s clerk, who had furnished it in his leisure hours with a geological chart, the soldier and sailor, who sent back shells, insects, and petrifactions from their distant wanderings, and a boy of thirteen, who had made, in wood, a model of its cathedral, and even furnished it with a bell to ring out the evening chimes.  Many women had been busy in filling these magazines for the instruction and the pleasure of their fellow-townsmen.  Lady ——­, the wife of the captain of the garrison, grateful for the gratuitous admission of the soldiers once a month,—­a privilege of which the keeper of the Museum (a woman also, who took an intelligent pleasure in her task) assured me that they were eager to avail themselves,—­had given a fine collection of butterflies, and a ship.  An untiring diligence had been shown in adding whatever might stimulate or gratify imperfectly educated minds.  I like to see women perceive that there are other ways of doing good besides making clothes for the poor or teaching Sunday-school; these are well, if well directed, but there are many other ways, some as sure and surer, and which benefit the giver no less than the receiver.

I was waked from sleep at the Chester Inn by a loud dispute between the chambermaid and an unhappy elderly gentleman, who insisted that he had engaged the room in which I was, had returned to sleep in it, and consequently must do so.  To her assurances that the lady was long since in possession, he was deaf; but the lock, fortunately for me, proved a stronger defence.  With all a chambermaid’s morality, the maiden boasted to me, “He said he had engaged 44, and would not believe me when I assured him it was 46; indeed, how could he?  I did not believe myself.”  To my assurance that, if I had known the room, was his, I should not have wished for it, but preferred taking a worse, I found her a polite but incredulous listener.