'.' *"'"".-** ■''•''■'.- V'-" ''.••'■'-';*-:'•*•' Quaint Talks ^■yilSIIUI Long Walks Rev* A. R Coopety M.A. THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES y n \ QUAINT TALKS ABOUT LONG WALKS. >• I i VK1 \* iTHING B\ I WHA 1 I can Carry." — Page //'/• QUAINT TALKS ABOUT LONG WALKS BY A. N. COOPER, OF (.11. C1I., OXFORD. / " The Tramps ing Parsoi :. the H me of a Yorks'iire Parson," 9 i77 207 231 260 26- WHY THIS BOOK WAS WRITTEN. One night, I was addressing an audience of nearly two thousand people, in Dewsburv, on the subject of my walk to Monte Carlo. I had told my tale, and the gas had been lowered in preparation for some lime-light views. I was hoping for a few minutes' rest while the lamp was being focussed, when the operator came to tell me that the "carrier" had gone wrong, and begged me to keep the audience engaged with a story or two until he had made things right. I felt this rather hard, not only because I had been talking for an hour, but because I had got through my story, and, as it were, sold out my stock. However, I told them the tale of my dilemma at Monte Carlo, and others, until the lantern was ready, and, in moving a vote of thanks, B 2 WHY THIS HOOK WAS WRITTEN. a speaker said he would rather have listened to my stories than seen the views, and those who kindly entertained me for the night made me tell one or two more for the benefit of an invalid, who was not able to get to the lecture ; so now I am going to allow as large an audience as chooi to listen, to hear my quaint, out-of-the-. expei ienees. People often wonder if 1 really enjoy my long walks. Well, as I am not the sort of man to <\o them for a wager, and I assure my readers that I don't do them as a penance, there can be no reason for them but the pleasure of the thing. The very exercise is a joy to me, and the open air, as I say in a subsequent chapter, is my elixir of life. I am fully persuaded that the good health I enjoy is largely due to my long walks. Even if they were the trial which some people think them, they would be worth while from a medical point of view. A month on the roads, generally in lovely scenery, for I should be a fool WHY THIS BOOK WAS WRITTEN. 3 if I did not choose the best country to walk in, is to my mind preferable to a month at Harrogate, Marienbad, and other health resorts. I prefer long draughts of fresh air to draughts of water usually obnoxious to both smell and taste. I prefer to frequent hotels full of men as healthy as myself to hotels full of people ever talking of their stomachs, their digestions, their livers, and their interiors generally. Prevention is better than cure, and I claim that the time, exertion, and money expenditure entailed to keep me in health, is nothing to that expended by those who have to recover that health which I never lose. Still I am quite aware that walking does not carry its charm upon the face of it, say like making one of a party to climb the Matterhorn, or a day's shooting or fishing, or a game of golf and cricket. I feel like a pioneer in the field, as so few have written about walking. I think the fol- lowing pages will show that walking has, indeed, delights of a kind. They are to 4 WHY THIS BOOK WAS WRITTEN. be found in the variety of places and people one comes across, in the zest with which one attacks one's meals, and in the interest everbody takes in one's performances. You see, not everybody is a shot, or a fisherman, or a golfer, or a cricketer, indeed every- thing involving expenditure of money in- volves limitations, but all are walkers more or less, and those who have never walked for pleasure have had to walk for one reason or other. I think the following pages will show how much one sees to talk about, how often one's wits have to be exercised to get out of a tight corner, and how a part of the world and its people wait to be discovered, who have never been recorded in any guide-book. I get down to a stratum of life which has rarely been written about. Moreover, I think this book will show you get plenty of company, and good com- pany too. I believe that no one will ever long play a stringed instrument unless he plays with others ; playing by oneself is WHY THIS BOOK WAS WRITTEN. 5 not good enough. No one but a hermit would care for a month of his own company, and one knows what it is to be bored with a month of the same company, but a walker changes his company two or three times a day. Of course, if you are of those exclusive people who cannot cr into mixed society, you had better stay at home. One of the chapters deals with the ques- tion of expense, a most important considera- tion in most people's holiday. I have taken great interest in the question of how to live on sixpence a day, and though I don't mean to say I have solved it on the roads, I have come as near to it as most people. It is in the bye-ways of life that you come across people so unsophisticated that they have not learnt how to over- charge. It is in the bye-ways that you find people still taking a pride in their kitchen and larder, and one house on the moors has a name for its turf-cakes, and another for nettle-beer (the most refreshing 6 WHY THIS BOOK WAS WRITTEN. of drinks), and so on. Now, if such houses were transferred to the beaten track, a syndicate would buy the goodwill and make the turf-cakes by machinery, and pay a dividend of fifty per cent. Nor is it only because the food is good and cheap that the walker enjoys it ; he feels he has earned his half-hour of refreshment. The following chapters contain many quaint adventures, but if anybody opens this book expecting dangerous situations, fights with foot-pads, or flights from brigands, he will be disappointed. I remember once being questioned by a French gentleman in the Pyrenees, as to whether I was afraid in the dark, and wasn't I afraid of being robbed, and I answered that I only had felt one fear since I landed in France, and that was lest I should not get asparagus for dinner. The following pages deal not only with the bye-ways of countries, but also with the bye-ways of life. As Horace says, "there are so many books dealing with wars and WHY THIS BOOK WAS WRITTEN 1 . 7 treaties, and the progress of nations, it is well there should be one or two dealing with the lighter side." For instance, while thousands have seen M. Loubet, in his ribbon of the Legion of Honour, sitting side by side with monarchs, few have seen him put up the umbrella for his mother's stall in the market, as detailed by me in the "Unspoken Sermon." MY TRAINING Darwin has made us familiar with the fact that Nature never does anything per saltam that is, by a leap and a bound, but gradually leads up to her results. So the Latin poet tells us that nobody becomes very wicked all of a sudden, and, though I know there are exceptions, nobody ever becomes famous suddenly either. Nearly all men have shown in their youth some indications of what they were to become. Watts, when whipped for rhyming, begged pardon in rhyme. Chantrey, sent to sell milk, carved sticks as he went his round. Arkwright, brought up to dress wigs, thought out perpetual motion as he combed the hair. Though I do not put myself in any way on a line with these men, yet I may say that equally my predilections for wandering in the open air early showed themselves. 8 MY TRAINING. 9 The man who walks is the man who is well. Macaulay says that not for all the gold of Golconda would he have exchanged his passion for reading, and I would say that if the good health I enjoy were put into one scale, and Golconda's products into the other, the gold would kick the beam. The open air which wandering entails is as much connected with the good health I have enjoyed, as the right wing of the bird is a counterpart of the left. If I came of a healthy, long-lived family, the source of my strength might be said to lie in that, but I do not. Without any hesitation I put it down to the splendid training received at Christ's Hospital, which might be described as the open-air treatment applied to a delicate youth. I went to Christ's Hospital at eight years of age, in the year 1858, and remained there till I was fifteen. We wore nothing upon our heads. Our only clothing was a shirt and coat, with the addition of a yellow petticoat in winter. When it rained we played just as IO MY TRAINING. usual, our hair getting- as wet as our clothes. No one ever thought of drying them ; indeed, there was nothing to dry them by. There was a fire in the wards in winter, which was monopolised by the monitors and bigger boys. Younger boys never dared go near it. I recollect that a year or two before I left, a new steward gave orders that when it rained the beadles were to call the boys in from the playgrounds under the protection of the cloisters. Sir Walter Scott relates that when a Highlander, in the days before Flodden, made himself a pillow of snow on which to rest his head at night, another Highlander kicked it away as a new-fangled luxury. I remember how not being allowed to play in the rain was looked upon as a new-fangled luxury at Christ's Hospital in 1864. When giving an account of my wanderings, few things have struck people as more wonderful than how I have survived being wet through so often. So far from being serious, my adventures in this way are recounted amid shouts of laughter. But MY TRAINING. II the ability to laugh at so grave a matter I ascribe to my constantly being wet through as a school-boy. The food at Christ's Hospital had greatly improved in my day compared to what it had been thirty years before, when the boys thrice a week made their dinners off a basin of gruel into which the luxury of a spoonful of currants had been dropped. Our breakfast consisted of a hunk of dry bread with milk and water, our dinner of a slice of beef or mutton and three potatoes, and our supper (we had no tea) consisted of bread and butter with milk and water, and on three days in the week of bread and cheese and beer. I was always tall for my age, and consequently always in a state of hunger. In the seven years I was at Christ's Hospital I never but once saw a piece of pudding, and that was on the day of the King's marriage, March ioth, 1862. I remember, however, one red-letter day in the matter of food, impressed on my mind from this curious circumstance. I was once in company, when a gentleman 12 MY TRAINING. was lamenting a very small legacy he had received from a very rich uncle— only nineteen guineas. "I can beat you," said another, "for I received the veritable shilling from an aunt to show her displeasure at my having turned Roman Catholic." " I can beat both, for I received a legacy of less than a shilling," I asserted. " How could that be?" " I was the recipient of a legacy of two slices of pork ! " Yes, when I was a school-boy, an old Blue died, and left a small sum to give every boy in his ward (No. u) as much pork and pease pudding as he could eat. Since then I have sat at the Cutlers' Feast at Sheffield, where two guineas a head was paid for our dinner, and many banquets of lesser renown, but never did they make that impression on my mind as that surfeit of pork, showing that no sauce compares with the Spartan one of hunger. A tramp, such as I have been, has had to MY TRAINING. 13 accommodate himself to all sorts of fare. I have supped off potatoes and dirt in an Irish inn ; I have eaten macaroni with my fingers (for I had not the skill to eat it with my fork) in an Italian trattoria ; I have gulped down the Swiss "blood;" have eaten the black bread of Bohemia ; and even mastered a piece of Norwegian cheese ; but nothing came amiss to a man who had been brought up on the fare of Christ's Hospital in the fifties. I have shown that my ability to tramp and rove, to sleep anywhere, and to eat anything, has its roots in my bringing up as a boy. Further, I can trace to a peculiarity of my school the power to enjoy myself without a home, or any of the comforts we associate with enjoyment. Once a month the boys had a leave-day outside the school gates, and those who had parents or relatives or friends to receive them, spent the day with them. I had to wander about London the live-long day. It will hardly be credited that in company with other boys I have spent eight hours in the 14 MY TRAINING. Lambeth Swimming Baths, often without a morsel of anything to eat. Walking is the cheapest amusement out, and consequently I walked all over London, frequently going without food all day, and getting wet through. When I have repeated my experiences in this way, the marvel has been how I survived ; yet not only did I survive, but I was never ill. I only once saw the inside of a sick ward, and that was when I fell and hurt my knee at some athletic sports. Even then, my robust and healthy condition made more impression than my accident, for the following conversation was long remembered. The doctor visited each patient, accompanied by two nurses, and when my turn came he inquired how my appetite was. First Nurse : " Sir, he eats enormous." Second Nurse : "I believe that boy, Cooper, could eat a leg of mutton." First Nurse: "I believe he could eat an Hox." Some years after I heard a Bluecoat boy MY TRAINING. 1 5 telling his mother how he had been ill, and how the ' ' Hox " did this or that, a name which stuck to the head nurse till she left, and which had its origin in the voracity of my appetite. When I left school I entered Somerset House, and as a junior clerk I had to run with papers up and down those long flights of stairs. So rapid were my movements, that, in conjunction with my fair hair, they earned for me the name of the "Flying Angel." This was capital training for a man who was to make folks stare at the speed with which he crossed the frontiers of divers countries ; but, so far from being always suggestive of angelic movements, I was once nearly arrested as a fugitive flying from justice, as is duly detailed in the account of my walk to London. And that is how I was trained for a walker. A DILEMMA AT MONTE CARLO. The season at Monte Carlo runs from Christ- mas to Easter, and intending visitors must make preparations and book their rooms beforehand at the Hotel de Paris, &c., if they want to get in. Among the prepara- tions few are more necessary than those pertaining to toilet and costume, for next to the wonders of the gaming tables, nothing is better worth seeing than the magnificence of the dress. I did not know this when I went there, and hence the dilemma I was placed in. I walked to Monte Carlo not for a wager, but in the vain hope that I might walk off some superfluous flesh. I carried my luggage on my back, and walked in short coat and breeches. I took the road from sea to sea, that is from Dieppe to Marseilles, and then turned my face to the east, not taking the 16 A DILEMMA AT MONTE CARLO. 1 7 Corniche road, but going by Draguignan, Grasse, and so to Nice and Monte Carlo. It was my first visit, and my ideas of the place were drawn from cartoons and descrip- tions, which represented it as the spider and the fly business. Surely the sight of an Englishman's face is suggestive of money at a foreign pleasure resort, and my face had been my passport to many places not open to the general public, that surely it would prove so at the Casino. True, letters from home and conversations on the road dropped hints that there might be a difficulty in the matter of dress. One heard evening dress was de rigeur, and another had a friend who had been refused admission because of his bicycling suit, but then the friend had been a Frenchman, and I hoped much from my nationality. It was just a month from starting, and about five o'clock in the afternoon, that I passed the Boundary Stone, on one side of which was chiselled " France," and on the other " Prin: de Monaco." I had crossed the frontiers of c l8 A DILEMMA AT MONTE CARLO. so many countries that I was a little surprised that no notice was taken of me, and no questions were put to me as to the possession of tobacco or spirits. I did not know then, what I found out subsequently, that in the little Principality there were no taxes, no customs, no rates, not even collections in Churches (at least, there was none in the Church I attended), everything being kept up by the gaming tables. I settled myself in as modest a hotel as can be found in Monte Carlo, and spent the evening in reconnoitering, and reserved my raid on the Casino till next day. As I sat on one of the seats facing the carpeted entrance to the Casino, and watched the well-dressed crowds go in and out, the fears as to my obtaining admission increased. It was after dinner, and the furs and cloaks only partially concealed the evening dress of the men, and the costly attire of the women. Not moving in high or fashionable society I had never seen such a blaze of jewellery. I had been told the professional gamblers were, o z o - W t/5 A DILEMMA AT MONTE CARLO. 19 for the most part, frowsy men and women who did not look worth a cent., but if such there were, they kept close to the tables and did not give me the chance of seeing them. A Jew sat at one corner of the seat, and after a time he passed me his card, and told me that if I required any little monetary help, he should be glad to do business with me. This seemed hopeful, for the Jew, evidently an habitue of the place, thought I looked like a man who would try his luck at the tables. At the other end of the seat sat a well-dressed young man, who soon fell asleep and began to snore. This attracted the Jew's attention, and he told me the young man, having lost all his money, had slept there the last two nights. I said I had heard that when any- body lost all his money at the tables, the Administration paid his fare home. The Jew answered, " Yes, but he must lose enough." The Casino opens at twelve, and next day, soon after that hour, I presented myself at the door. I had made myself as smart as circumstances allowed, and walked up 20 A DILEMMA AT MONTE CARLO. the steps with that confidence which, Dr. Johnson says, a man feels when he has his best clothes on. Three footmen stood on the top step, and, addressing the chief one in French, I asked if I might go in. He answered me in broken English — "Sir, I am deeply sorry, but your breeches are too short." I replied that I had walked all the way from England, and could not have walked in long breeches, and perhaps an exception might be made in my favour. " Sir," said the man, " I am deeply sorry, but my orders are strict. Get a pair of long breeches and come as often as you like." There was nothing for it but to return to my hotel, and on the landlord asking if I had been for a promenade, I told him I had been to the Casino, but was not admitted on account of my short breeches. There were several people in the room, who were highly amused at my dilemma, but one lady said she had been round the market that morning, and seen a pair of ready-made A DILEMMA AT MOXTE CARLO. 21 trousers hanging up, and she thought they might fit me. I soon found my way to the market, and in one corner was a ready-made clothes stall, where I saw a pair of trousers hanging. Would they fit? Well, the girl who kept the stall, bade me unbutton my coat, and then measured my waist with her arms. On comparing my girth with that of the trousers, she said they would nearly fit, and for ten francs they were mine. Ten francs is not much for a pair of trousers, and the trousers were not much either. Button after button went in the process of putting on, and ominous cracks were heard, still a packet of safety pins will work wonders, and in due time I sallied forth, and hoped for the best. When I reached the Casino, the footmen smiled at the sight of me, and showed me the way to the office where tickets of admission are given out. The clerk to whom I addressed myself said that he was sorry he could not grant me one, 22 A DILEMMA AT MONTE CARLO. as I had a flannel shirt on. Their rules were that every one must have a white collar, show a white shirt, and keep his coat open. Again I descended the steps, and made my way to the draper's shop, where I had bought the safety pins. A few purchases and a few minutes behind a curtain, and I emerged displaying the requisite linen. For the third time I went up the carpeted steps, and after a brief interview with a clerk, I carried off a ticket of admission, of which the following is a facsimile: — A DILEMMA AT MONTE CARLO. 23 I was now free to pass the glass doors, to use the library and writing-room, to listen to the band in the Concert room, and even to enter the jealously guarded doors of the gaming tables. My dilemma serves to emphasise the fact that every one who goes to Monte Carlo, goes there with his eyes open. The idea of the gaming tables as a trap into which an unsuspecting youth may wander, and find himself fleeced before he can turn round has no foundation in fact. I had found it difficult to get into the Casino, and I found it difficult to get near the tables, so crowded were they. But when I did, and could see the beautiful dresses of the women, I saw the reason of the rule which compels the men to appear in attire in keeping with that of the opposite sex. A PENNILESS TRAVELLER. I had been chaplain at Ischl for the month of July, my remuneration being one guinea a Sunday and free rations. When I tell my readers I shared the same fare as an Archduke, and was served from the same coffee pot as the Austrian Emperor, they will understand I had been well treated. A month's good fare, however, does not purchase a ticket for England, and when my last service had been performed I was un- willing that the landlord should have the expense of keeping me, and so, on the evening of the last Sunday in the month, I was at the railway station, trying to book for London. But the clerk could only book me to Munich, and gave me my change out of a £10 Bank of England note in Austrian paper money. 24 A PENNILESS TRAVELLER. 25 I was due at Munich about five the next morning, and as I sat in the train during the night journey certain uncomfortable reflec- tions would come over me. I had heard how much at a discount Austrian money was in Germany ; its exact figure I was soon to find out. I was relieved by seeing a notice at the booking office that payment might be made either in German or Austrian money, and as Brussels was as far as I could book to — the fare to which was 80 florins — I put down 90 florins in Austrian paper. "Mehr!" said the clerk. Another five florins was put down. "Mehr!" said he again. Here was my last note but one. " Mehr," and down went my last note. And there was I in Munich at 5 a.m., with a ticket to Brussels, a half-sovereign, and a little German silver in my pocket. I had about an hour before the train started, and turned over several plans to raise money. I had stayed a night in Munich on my way out. Perhaps the landlord of my hotel or head waiter would cash a draft 26 A PENNILESS TRAVELLER. on England. Though so early, the waiter was about, and offered to help me by showing me the way to the bank. I told him how many hours must elapse before the bank opened, and how useless it would be to apply without a reference ; would not the hotel cash it for me? His shake of the head was accompanied by an offer of help in another direction, to show me the way to the telegraph office, but how could money be wired to a man in a railway train? A third course suggested itself of staying in Munich till a remittance reached me, but the prospect of two or three days in a gay city with scarcely any money was not sufficiently inviting. I resolved to get into the train and ponder the situation, for which I had ample time. I reckoned up my money, and found I had just enough to pay my fare on to Ostend (thank Heaven for the cheap fares of Belgium) and to land me in England. Things might have been worse. But then, what was I to do for food? I had thirty-six hours' A PENNILESS TRAVELLER. 27 journey before me. And what was I to do when I landed in England? For the present I had to sit still and hope that things would shape themselves. What a journey it was ! I had already been fasting- twelve hours, and I had another thirty-six hours before me. I felt the gnawings of real hunger for the first time. I felt what it was to be wolfish, and to feel my sympathy veer round from the well-fed traveller in the tarantass to the starving animals in pursuit of him. Had I been alone it would have been more bearable. I had to watch with gleaming eyes the other occupants of the carriage take their refreshments from their baskets — chicken, sausages, rolls, bottles of wine ; I had to sit by while they ate them and smacked their lips in enjoyment. My eyes nearly started out of my head as I saw them throw the remnants, large hunks of bread and half-picked bones, out of the window. They little knew they had a starving man among them. I was not even let alone, for the guard kept coming, 2 8 A PENNILESS TRAVELLER. and asking, "Should lie order me dinner at the next station?" "Did I know there was ten minutes allowed for refreshments here, &c. ?" All through the day did that sort of thing last, and at every change of carriages, I had to grasp my heavy portmanteau, for fear the porters should get hold of it, and expect the coppers I could not spare. I was so weak that when we made our last change at Cologne, I could scarce stagger across the platform with my burden. Once a ray of hope flitted through my mind. As I was pacing the platform at Darmstadt an English clergyman was pacing it too. I thought I would address him as one of his cloth ; but when it came to the point my courage failed me, and I went back to the carriage all the more miserable for the temporary gleam of hope. Nature came to my relief at last, for at Cologne, I sank into the carriage, and knew nothing more till I awoke at Brussels. I had now to take another ticket. If I lost much on the German silver, I should A PENNILESS TRAVELLER. 29 have to infringe on the half-sovereign, my boat fare to Dover. I took my ticket, and joy to tell, had twopence out. I flew to the refreshment room and bought two buns. Stupid with hunger I did not notice that they were just out of the oven, and the worst things to put into an empty stomach. The pangs of indigestion now took the place of the gnawings of hunger ; not to last long, however, for the journey to Ostend is short. I got on board the boat, there was a heavy ground swell on, and — well, nobody will need further explanation how the indigestion disappeared. I was now absolutely without money. Never mind, I should soon be on my native soil, and a sixpenny telegram would bring friends or money to my aid in a few hours. Still I had not the sixpence. I must, there- fore, see if the booking clerk would trust me with a ticket to London on the credit of my luggage. He gladly would, but he dare not. I argued the point, showing him my card, and directing his attention to my tie, 30 A PENNILESS TRAVELLER. as indicating a probability I was respect- able. He did not doubt it, but—, and how long I might have stood pleading I don't know, but for a lady hearing my plight. She placed her purse in my hands, and beg'eed me to take what I needed. A mediaeval preacher is said to have once been asked to explain what eternal torment was, and for answer, to have held up an empty purse ! From the foregoing it will be gathered he made a good hit, and that experience of being penniless made me determine I would never be so careless again. It also shows that it is more than possible for even a man of means to be absolutely stranded for money, and, although centuries have" passed since the parable was told, it shows that there is still an opening for the good Samaritan ! THE LANGUAGE OF MONEY. Euclid was one clay walking with his prince up the Royal road which led to the palace at Alexandria. The prince observed that the road was so much shorter and pleasanter than the one open to the general public. This called forth the famous saying of Euclid, that there is no Royal Road to learning. There is a sense in which this is strictly true, and there is a sense in which it is not. For the acquisition of learning there is no short cut ; for the advantages which learning brings in the knowledge of foreign languages money is a short cut in nine cases out of ten. Travellers who intend to "do" the Continent for the first time have often asked me whether it is absolutely necessary to know the languages. I should be sorrv to write anything that could be construed into 32 THE LANGUAGE OF MONEY. dissuading a student from mastering a foreign tongue. But as the object of these papers is to encourage my countrymen to see other lands than there own, and as this encourage- ment is as much needed for the unlearned as for the poor and the timid, I would assure any one who may be innocent of a word of French or German that his ignorance need not keep him at home. Now is the time when people are asking one another, where are you going for your holidays? Some of my experience in countries of whose language I did not know a word may be useful. All the world is alike, and what a dumb man could do in Bohemia, Hungary, &c, he can do anywhere else. All that follows depends upon the supposition that he has money, is worth waiting upon, and that the natives will see it is to their advantage to serve him. What a penniless man would have to put up with was shown in my experience as a Penniless Traveller. A Yorkshire farmer who went to Germany THE LANGUAGE OF MONEY. — to the Black Forest, to be exact — told me that, not knowing a word of the language, his practice on entering a hotel was to hold up an English soverign as an intimation he could pay well for everything he had. I fear his bills would be lengthy. My ex- perience is there is no need to hold up the sovereign ; the very sight of an Englishman implies there is money about. I have seen a German give a waiter 25 pfennige, and be thanked for it. When I gave the same man double he did not thank me, for he expected four times as much. When I attended a church abroad, the collector would look down pew after pew, and seeing only natives, would pass on, but directly he saw me down came the bag at the end of its long pole. Once at Pisa I was entering the Baptistery, one of a long file of visitors, for it was a fete day, and 20 centesimi (twopence) was demanded for admission. When my turn came the sacristan actually asked me for a lira (tenpence). I translated into the best Italian D 34 THE LANGUAGE OF MONEY. I could, a request that he would try and sec if there was any green in the white of my eye, and passed in for my twopence. Such instances, out of a host which might he cited, show how we are looked out for abroad, and will prepare the reader for what follows. Practically his money will take an Englishman anywhere, and get him out of all difficulties. In no country is it so difficult to find your way as in Holland. There are no sign posts, and the heavy people evidently never travel by shank's mare. The consequence is no one knows the way, and the land is so intersected by water that you may be stopped at any turn by a broad expanse before you with neither ferry nor bridge. This happened to me once when trying to make my way to Antwerp from Rotterdam. Nothing could be more civil than the people were, but either I could not make them understand or else they could not get me to take in the fact that there was water to be crossed. I found that out for myself as I stood at the end of THE LANGUAGE OF MONEY. 35 a footpath leading nowhere but into an inland sea about half a mile in extent. I had walked thirteen miles from the last town, and I feared I should have to walk back, when I heard at a distance the whistle of an engine. Now, if a train had to cross that water there must be a bridge, and following the direction whence the sound came, I soon saw one. I saw something else, too, for having got on the line a signalman was furiously waving me back. I felt now was the time to speak the universal language, and so held up half a gulden to show I was prepared to pay my footing and he withdrew into his cabin. I was now on the line, and so particular are they abroad about trespassers, that a porter was sent after me from a wayside station, but I pointed to the bridge, and showed him the money, and he went r 6 back. At the bridge itself I found a great board bearing one word I knew, "Verboten" (forbidden), and underneath was a man to make the word a deed, but again I held 36 THE LANGUAGE OF MONEY. up the silver, which he took and let me pass. Though knowing- a few words of Dutch, I could not for the life of me have explained my predicament, nor where I wanted to go, still less have pleaded for permission. But what I could not say the money did, and settled the matter. At another time I found myself at Seville, scarcely able to speak or read a word of Spanish. I was to make an early start in the morning, so paid my bill overnight, and in paying it did not forget to give the change to the civil waiter. As I was undressing he came into my room and handed me a piece of paper on which were written certain words, and then 4-30, below other words, and then 5-30. What could this mean ? I had paid my bill, and won- dered at its moderation — little over twenty shillings for three days sojourn at a first- class hotel. Ah, they had discovered they had not charged me enough, and this was supplementary ; 4-30 and 5-30 made nine pesetas and 60 cents. I could make out the THE LANGUAGE OF MONEY. 37 figures, but not a word of the writing, and took out 10 pesetas and handed them to the waiter. He shook his head vigorously, took my money bag from me, replaced the money, and tied it up, to intimate that nothing more of cash was wanted. He then pointed to the 4-30, went outside the door, and knocked loudly, to intimate that at that hour he would wake me. He then pointed to the 5-30, and imitated the action of walking, to imply that at that hour I was to set out on my way. I laughed, and thanked him (I could manage that much), and slapped him on the back, which he quite understood to mean, I considered him a clever fellow. Sea captains have sometimes defended strong language, on the ground that some- thing is needed to make their words more forcible. I have found money to play this part in cases where something more than a request was needed to get what I wanted. I arrived at the town of Gran, in Hungary, where the Magyar tongue is the native ?8 THE LANGUAGE OF MONEY, 6 speech. Of this I knew not one word, but the pack on my back and the lateness of hour told both landlord and landlady that I came in search of a bed. My mother wit told me that while the landlord thought such a thing possible, the landlady thought not. I instinctively feit that in such a case the victory was bound to be on the lady's side, so I took out my money bag and jingled it in her ear. This was to intimate not only that I could pay, but pay well for the accommodation. The effect was just what I foresaw, and when I left in the morning the landlady's private purse contained a specimen or two of that language she had so readily understood. Would that money spoke a language worth hearing ! Sometimes it speaks any- thing 1 but well. What do we mean when we say that the people of Switzerland, Scotland, Norway, and other places have been spoilt by the English ? We mean that we have taught them to look for money, and money only — that all the finer feelings THE LANGUAGE OF MONEY. 39 of chivalry, courtesy, and gallantry have been lost in the love of gold. If money is a language, it ought to be as carefully guarded as all other speech. The harm done by hasty and ill-considered words is paralleled by hasty and ill-con- sidered gifts of money. AN UNSPOKEN SERMON. It has often been remarked that the English Church does not show to advantage on the Continent. Nobody ever heard of a convert being made, indeed, nobody ever seems to hear anything of us at all, for did not a recent Pope declare the only name of our Churchmen that ever reached him was some one named Wilberforce. I can answer for it that although I searched diligently for an English Church in the 600 miles I walked to Monte Carlo, I never found one, and for more than a month I was without a word of ghostly counsel. I regularly attended the Roman Catholic Churches, but I am not sufficiently a French scholar to profit by a sermon in French. However, Shakespeare speaks of sermons in stones, and at least I heard one without words. The road to Monte Carlo kept me close 40 AN' UNSPOKEN SERMON. 4 1 to the banks of the Rhone for more than a hundred miles, and, after leaving Lyons, I noticed that I should pass through Mon- telimar, a place I knew by name as the home of President Loubet, and as the seat of the manufacture of Turkish Delight. I stayed one night at a little place called Loriol, and seeing a cobbler's shop opposite my hotel, took advantage of it to have my shoes heeled. I mention this to explain why I stayed on when I discovered the odours of my hotel were anything but of a pleasant nature. The French are the most particular of people in some points pertain- ing to cleanliness, and the most casual in others. In this case I found the trial to my olfactory nerves so painful, that had not my shoes been in the hands of the cobbler, I should certainly have walked on the same evening. I sleep, as a rule, with my bed- room window open, but the hotel was so close to the railway that the screech of the whistles at night made me close it. Only for a while, for when I shut it, I 42 AN L'XSPOKEX SERMOX. had to decide whether I would bear the noise or the odour of that hotel, and con- cluded that a sleepless night was better than risking tyhoid fever, so the "Nose" had it as they say in the House of Commons. After such a night, it will be understood I was not sorry to see Montelimar, my next stopping place, was only sixteen miles away. That was my shortest day's walk in the whole journey, for it would have taken me nearly two months instead of one to reach Monte Carlo at that rate. Con- sidering my experience of the previous night, it was very pleasant to find the fumes of the Nougat factories in my nostrils, and I noticed every cart I met was loaded with sugar. The good hotels are always in the market place in France, and I am an old hand at detecting a good one, and, though early in the afternoon, determined to get the rest I had been robbed of the night before. I woke with a start, not an unpleasant An unspoken sermon. 43 one, for it was the strains of a military band which saluted my ears, and I bounced off the bed to see whence they came. I looked out of the window and saw the band was playing on a Promenade near by, so as sleep was impossible, I joined the crowd, which such a band never fails to draw together. As Montelimar is quite a small town of 13,000 inhabitants, I wondered at a military band performing, but was told it was always in attendance during a visit of the President. I was also told the President's house was in a side street close by, and on going to look I saw the tri- colour hanging from the balcony, but no sentry, no policeman, or other sign of its important occupant was visible. In the evening I made one of the crowd who followed the band which serenaded the President, but I was too far away to get sight of him. However, I was to see him at greater advantage before I left the town. At the beginning of May the days are hot in the south of France, which explains 44 AN UNSPOKEN SERMON. why I was always up early to get off in the cool of the morning. I have already said that my hotel was in the market place, and by six o'clock the noise outside told me stalls were in preparation for the day's business. As I looked out from my win- dow, the sight of a iop hat in the midst of so many white caps naturally stood out, and I had no difficulty in recognising the features of the President of the French Republic under the said tall hat. Presently, a little market cart drove up, in which were seated a very little old woman, and beside her a country fellow in a blue blouse. M. Emile Loubet approached the cart, and lifted the old woman down and kissed her. She and the countryman unloaded the cart of its greenery, poultry, and butter, and then the President gave his arm to the old woman and led her to the stall, which the countryman piled up with the stuff, and with his own hands M. Loubet put up the umbrella which was to shield his mother from the sun. The President stayed chatting AN UNSPOKEN 7 SERMON'. 45 to her a few minutes, and then turned and walked towards his house. I heard a waiter outside my door busy with some one's coffee and rolls, so to make sure I enquired of him if that was the President. " Yes, sir," was the reply, "and there stands his mother." During the scene I had witnessed, none of the market people took any notice, so evidently it was quite a common occurrence for the President to greet his mother on her arrival. I felt it was a scene which only could happen at rare intervals, for rulers of men are mostly either born in the purple, or, if not like Louis Napoleon, they claim to be very near to it. Besides, where such a thing might be possible, how pride might intervene and prevent it. However, I had seen the sight, and took it as the best sermon on honouring one's parents I had ever come across. The papers at that time were full of the meeting of M. Loubet and the English 46 AN UNSPOKEN SERMON. King, and after what I had seen I did not wonder that this lowly-born man knew how to behave with royalty. Ruskin remarks ot the heroine in Scribe's Reine d'un jour, that though a milliner plays the part of a Queen, she is never detected, because she is simple and generous, and a Queen could be no more. So, when the first man of France met the first man of England, he had no need to learn the manners of the great, for one of Nature's gentlemen can hold his own everywhere. Had I seen M. Loubet bowing to the assembled crowds who cheered him, I should only have witnessed that which may be seen in any European capital any day of the week. As it was, I saw the command- ment to Honour thy . . . Mother, put in practice under circumstances which must be exceedingly rare. I AM " DE TROP." Many people think that walking must be dull work both for mind and body. The exercise is lacking in that excitement which makes the hunting field a synonym of Paradise, and the dull steady pace of the walker must make a dull mind. It is not so, for one is always on the qui vive. There is the question about the right road, and the question where you will arrive at night, and the latter point becomes accen- tuated when the country is a resort for summer tourists, and out of the season the inhabitants shut up their shops and hotels, and make a livelihood elsewhere. Such is the case in the Austrian Tyrol and in parts of Switzerland and by the Rhine. When I was walking to Rome and had passed the Swiss frontier, I became aware from the poor fare in the few hotels I found 47 4S I AM " DE TROP. open that very few tourists were about. This was the case at Altorf, where I stayed the night at the foot of the St. Gotthard, and was more apparent at Amsteg where I negotiated some bread and stale cheese for lunch, On my way up the mountain the wooden restaurants which cater for cyclists and pedestrians in summer were all closed, and I began to have grave fears lest I should find the Hotel at Andermatt closed. If there is anything which takes it out of a pedestrian, it is having to retrace his steps, and as it would have been impossible to cross the pass that night I should have been obliged to go back twenty miles to Amsteg to get a bed. However, I was cheered bv the sight of the hotel omnibus descending to Goschenen Station, and after an interval it passed me again with a couple inside and, from the new portmanteaus on the roof, I guessed at once they were newly married. However, that was no business of mine, it was enough for me that bed and supper was assured, I AM "de trop. 49 It may not be generally known that in Switzerland there are establishments for train- ing keepers, managers, and servants of hotels. There they learn language, there they learn to keep accounts, and there they learn how to make an hotel pay. My classical readers will remember that the word economy is derived from a word which means house management, and if you want to study economy watch how a Swiss gathers up the fragments, he does not stint you, but not a crumb is wasted. Matches, soap, candles, even a cold bath, which in England are included in the board and bed are made to yield a revenue. Not a gas jet is left flaring unless there is some one to light, and the saving of fuel is reduced to a fine art. Let us frankly acknowledge it is not every one that could keep an hotel open on the three guests present on the occasion I refer to, with a waiter in attendance, a chef in the kitchen, and a pair-horse omnibus running to the station, and nobody will be surprised to E 50 I AM " DE TROP. learn that there was only one stove available for the guests, though the snow was some inches thick upon the ground. A stock phrase of mine in proposing the health of bride and bridgroom, if the wedding has taken place in the winter, is to the effeet that though the weather is cold, yet I am sure the warmth of affection will serve the young couple in good stead. If this be true in England, where not even lovers are demonstrative in public, how much more so is it with the warm-blooded nations of the Continent, who will carry on before strangers in a way which makes an Englishman want to sink into the ground. I have said my fellow-guests were bride and bridegroom. I suspected it from the new- ness of the luggage, and when I passed their bedroom door and saw two pairs of new boots standing outside, suspicion became certainty. When dinner was ended, and they sat by the stove, hand in hand, fondling one another at intervals, I could have made an affidavit on the subject. The I AM " DE TROP." 51 lady was worse than the lord. They were Germans, and I believe the following lines are translated from that language, and exactly hits off the situation : — " Love in her eyes is playing And sheds delicious death, Love on her lips is straying And warbles in her breath. Love in her breast is panting And swells with warm desire, No grace, no charm is wanting To set the heart on fire." That was all very well for the bridegroom, but what was the third party to do. I wandered about the house to try and find another resting place, but everywhere but the dining-room resembled the climate of Spits- bergen. In that room too, I was obliged to sit close to the stove, for after the warmth induced by walking, one is apt to take a chill, and I had only just allowed myself time to get to Rome, and could not afford to be laid up with a cold. So there were we three chained to the stove by the invisible fetters of King Frost. 52 I AM " DE TROP." It was too early to go to bed, and besides, one course at dinner had consisted of duck and green peas, which require an amount of digesting. No doubt they were very sorry to see me where I was, but not more sorry than I was to be there. At last a way of escape presented itself. The papers had been brought into the dining-room, and among others was a six month's old copy of the Illustrated London News. It bore the date of the previous October, and we were then in April. I held this wide open and buried my face in it, and from certain sounds I heard from the region where the loving couple sat, I knew the ruse had been successful. Still it is a little trying to hold out a paper for any length of time, especially when you have only a stale picture to stare at, so I was fain to seek relief at intervals, but before lowering my shield, I just hacked out a little cough, such as one does to attract the attention of a person who is oblivious of your presence. This gave the young couple time to get I AM " DE TROP. 53 into position, until after a short rest I again raised the screen. I could not help thinking the couple were not a high-bred one, or they never could have put a stranger into such an unpleasant position. However I hope my readers will think I did the best under the circumstances, which is all that I am concerned with. A FRENCH PRIEST. It came on to rain while I was walking between Avallon and Autun. As a rule I do not heed rain, but walk on as usual, but this was a thunder shower, and so I ran towards an empty brick kiln which offered shelter. Some onQ else had already espied the friendly roof, and when I entered I shared the kiln with a French priest. " Why Cooper, is that you? " asked a voice in English. "I don't wonder you don't recognise me, but my name is Bellot, and I was with you at the House." No wonder I did not know him. Here was a priest in coarse soutaine, and with fat shaven cheeks, and the man I remem- bered at Christ Church was a French exquisite, slim, with pointed moustachios, the regular Parisian dandy of the stage. Bellot was of French extraction, but had 54 A FRENCH PRIEST. 55 lived most of his life in England, and when I knew him, he was reading for the English Bar. He had taken a first class, had made himself quite a name at the Union debates, was said to hold very- advanced opinions, and was likely to get into Parliament. We less brilliant men used to tease him about being Lord Chan- cellor, and asked him to remember us with canonries and fat livings, when an event occurred in his religious life which changed everything. Religion was a very easy matter when I was at Oxford. Some few colleges had a roll call you might attend instead of going to chapel, which answered the same purpose. Bellot had attended service at Christ Church, but that meant nothing, for so had Prince Hassan, a Mahommedan. H.R.H. Prince Leopold was up in those days, and was a most regular worshipper. The service, in my opinion, was the best in Oxford, surpassing- even New and Magdalen Colleges. Indeed, there was only one man in my day who 56 A FRENCH PRIEST. asked to be excused, and he was a Jew, for it is not very hard work to listen to beautiful music, and sit side by side with princes. Beyond the service, nothing else of a religious nature was required of us. In those days the Roman Catholic Church of St. Aloysius was opened, and from time to time one heard of this or that don going over. One was Father Clarke, who gave up his fellowship at St. John's, and went from ,£300 a year to nothing. Another was Thomas Arnold, son of the great Head Master of Rugby. He was a candidate for the post of Professor of Poetry when he was "received." His friends begged him to keep his reception a secret until after the election, but with a straight-forwardness we should expect in the son of such a father, he insisted on the news being made public, and, of course, another was elected to the coveted post. Both these were deeply religious men to start with, and were nothing to be compared to the capture of an advanced free thinker like Bellot. A FRENCH PRIEST. 57 People who think that religion is ceasing to be a power and an influence, must have their eyes behind them. Here was a man with good prospects of earning a living and of making his way in a manner most enviable, and who gave all up and threw in his lot with the poor and despised at the call of conscience. He at once determined to go to France, and live the life of a provincial priest, as he thought in that capacity he best could serve Mother Church. I have come across one or two similar cases in my time. I know the heir to the oldest name and finest park in Yorkshire threw his fortune away to become a Roman Catholic ; and I knew a man who passed first for the Indian Civil Service, and who was up at Oxford waiting for an appoint- ment which would lead to his being a Commissioner, perhaps to his being Gover- nor of a province, yet who flung away all prospects to join the Salvation Army. When last I heard of him he was selling the " War Cry " on the kerbstones of Oxford. 58 A FRENCH PRIEST. My friend Bellot had left Oxford after his conversion, had gone to a seminary for priests, and was now the portly Cure of a village near Autun, and that is how I came across him in the brick kiln after losing- sight of him for a quarter of a century. The thunder shower passed over, and as we were both walking the same way, I had the good fortune to have a companion for some miles. He took my arm and we walked along together, he a priest of the Church of Rome, and I a priest of the Church of England. I was in walking costume, short coat, knickerbockers, putties, and a blue tie, and must confess I did not look very much like a minister of any per- suasion. This will explain the Cure's first question. "Well, Cooper, and what have you been doing since you left Oxford?" I told him how I had been ordained, how soon I got a living, how I had made money as a writer and lecturer, and altogether what a happy life I had led. A FRENCH PRIEST. 59 The Cure replied that although he should not care to die a member of my Church, having regard for his soul's future, yet he had no doubt I had chosen the best Church to live in. You have the " domus et placens uxor " no doubt, said he, quoting his Horace. " Yes, such a home and such a wife " I was beginning, when he checked me and said. " Do you know that those were the very things which set me against the Church of England, and made it an impossible Church for me." I did not know the effect in his case, but I had read that the smug parson of an English rectory, with his pony carriage for his wife and daughters, had been among the things which upset the great mind of John Henry Newman. "Yes," he went on, "you English clergy have everything but one, and that one is worth all the rest. You have money, you have a position with the gentry, you have 60 A FRENCH PRIEST. churches and schools, and Parliament ever making laws in your favour, but you pay a penalty in the loss of the only thing worth having." "And what is that?" I naturally asked. "The people," he replied. " Look at me, I probably have not a tenth part of your income, and am shut out of the schools, and am never spoken of by our government, unless it be in derision, yet I fill my Church with the people, Sundays and week-days alike." " I saw something of English parishes around Oxford," he went on, "and saw what the Church had and what the Church had not. They had the quality, and the hangers on of the quality, but the people all crowded the Methodist Chapel." " But you have your dissenters and enemies of the Church as well as we," I said. "Yes and no," he replied. "Protestants in France are very few, and they are of the well to do classes, who make no converts. A FRENCH PRIEST. 6l Our enemies are political ones, not adherents of a rival faith, or proselytisers as yours are." I found that my friend Bellot had followed the fortunes of the English Church very closely, even to reading Mr. Charles Booth's works on the religion of London, which had lately come out. He admitted that here and there a man of uncommon parts like Father Dolling might gather the people by his personality, but as a rule he declared the English Church to be doomed to the barren womb and dry breasts. The French priest then went on to say that what was often quoted as the strength of the English Church, her ability to attract gentlemen to her ministry, the adherence of the governing and well to do classes, and her enormous wealth, were really the cause of her weakness, while the opposite things in France were her strength. The bulk of any country will always be poor and be but half educated, but they will see things as they are, and will notice the 62 A FRENCH PRIEST. tremendous disparity between the inculca- tions to poverty in the gospel, and the pursuit of riches and power in the Church. Even the celibacy of the clergy, accompanied as it is with certain inconveniences, is never- theless a standing proof that the Roman priests have "left wife and children to follow Him." In his opinion, in cutting off the children of the people from the ministry of the Church, the English hierarchy had been guilty of the greatest folly. I had just been reading in the French papers that the confirmation of the son of M. Loubet, the French President, had given great offence, and I contrasted this feeling with that shown in England on the death of Lord Beaconsfield, where the absence of any religious consolation had been unfavourably commented upon. The French priest replied to this by calling my attention to the advertisements of gar- ments for the "premiere communion," and asked me if it would be worth the while of any firm in England to advertise extensively A FRENCH PRIEST. 63 that they sold Confirmation caps or veils. He said how this showed that each Church had its weakness and its strength. The Church of England had all that the prestige of the aristocracy and royal example could give it, but France had learnt how worth- less were such things. When Louis XIV. was ostentatiously religious, then dragoons could not get the people to Church ; now when no government official, no officer of the army or navy who hopes for advance- ment, dare admit his attendance at public worship, the common people crowd the sanctuaries. Nobody has all good things, and no Church has either. By this time we had reached the priest's house, and he kindly asked me in. THE REAL SAINT LEGEK. j entered the d loc k -" - , of my old friend. M. Bellot, and being left alone in the parlour for a short time, I n - on the walls a print of our old College. Christ Church, opposite to it was a print of the cathedral in the neighbouring town of Autun, and wed that it bore a name familiar to even- Yorkshireman, that of St Lege:. The famous English race was founded by a Colonel St Leger in 1776. and so g its name. How the Colonel's family g its name, and who was the Saint who be the name of Leger, I found out in the priest's house near Autun. S. Lee--" was a Bishop of Autun in days when it must have been more dangerous to be a bishop than a highwayman. If there were dangers there were also compensations THE REAL SAINT LEGER. 65 in that far off age, the seventh century, for we find him ordained at twenty, and Arch- deacon two years later, and Abbot of a great monastery at twenty-three. His virtues are a little difficult for an Englishman of our age to understand, for his fame as Bishop depends largely upon his care of the relics of S. Symphonian, and the vigour with which he attacked the King, Childeric II.. for the enormity of marrying his cousin ! The early Kings of France were not the sort of men to take an undeserved rebuke lying down, so in a short time we find Leger exiled from his See, a fugitive for life, and then caught, tortured, and mutilated. Unable to see or to walk, and scarcely able to speak, he was brought back to Autun, mounted upon an ass, and was heard to murmur words which might almost be counted prophetic, "Lord, I am become as it were a beast before Thee." Truly, it is in connection with the noble beast the horse that the name of Leger is best known ; his episcopate, his sufferings, and the beautiful cathedral he built, being *E 66 THE REAL SAINT LEGER. known only to a few antiquarians and travellers. On the line between Chagny and Autun there is a small town called S. Leger, which is believed to be the scene of the Saint's martyrdom. He must have possessed some- thing of the power and dignity of Caius Marius, whom the executioner could not kill, for the officer who was ordered to kill the Saint handed the work over to four underlings who in turn could not pluck up the necessary courage, and who wandered about dragging the bishop after them, until he implored them to finish the work he knew they had in hand. He was put to death in the forest. Of course a church was erected on the spot, of course a town sprung up around it, of course some seigneur owned the town and took its name, and in due time came over with the conqueror and settled in England, and became the founders of the family and indirectly of the race which bears his name. A long list of misnomers might be made out by anyone interested in the subject. The THE REAL SAINT LEGER. 67 holidays of our time have as little reference to holy-days from which they derive their name, as Cleopatra's Xeedle has to Cleopatra. So Wesleyans have done the very thing that Wesley begged them not to do, and yet they retain the name of their founder, and so we find a saint, who was noted in life for the strictness and severity of his conduct, being forgotten in all that is virtuous, and only known for his con- nection with the Turf— " that engine for national demoralisation," as Lord Beacons- field called it. Any one who opens Bonnechose's " History of France " at the period of the Merovingian dynasty, and reads of Childeric, Chilperic, and the rest of the infamous Kings, may notice that the name of Leger is the only one which does not leave an unpleasant impression on the mind. In a hard and unforgiving age, he showed men how to forgive, for it was he who begged the life of his great enemy when he was condemned to death. In an age of general license and 68 THE REAL SAINT LEGER. corruption, he showed it was possible to lead an uncorrupt life. He held aloft the torch of righteousness, when it was in danger of being extinguished, and until other hands were raised to keep it out of the dust. There is something in the air of Yorkshire which seems to breed a love of horse-flesh. When a typical Tyke was asked what were the three things in his county best worth seeing, he replied, York Minster, Old Sir Tatton Sykes, and the race horse Voltigeur. An ancient and honourable family of the county have over their dining-room side-board, in the place where the founders of the family might be expected, the picture of the Darley Arabian, the sire of Eclipse and indeed of every racehorse of fame. A good old squire is reported to have died happy, having lived long enough to hear the news that the blue riband of the turf had been carried off by a horse from his stables. Nobody once thought there was anything incon- gruous in the bells of the parish church being rung to celebrate some victory of a THE REAL SAINT LEGER. 69 horse of the village. In Nunnington Church there is a tablet to the effect that lowly- birth is no hindrance to advancement in life if joined to industry and probity of conduct, as evidenced by the life of him who lies interred beneath, and who from a humble origin rose to be the famous Peter Jackson, a Jockey ! Horse-racing is as ancient as it once was honourable, as is proved by the bas-reliefs of Egypt and Babylon. Horses raced at the Olympic games, and in the Coliseum of Rome, and as to its antiquity in Yorkshire, I can trace it back long before the days of Roger Hampole, Peter of Langtoft, and other mediaeval chroniclers, and prove it out of pages of the Venerable Bede. In recounting the miracles of John of Beverley, Bede tells the following. In the year 685, the Saint was out riding with a number of his followers, and they came to a plain well suited for racing their horses. Now, among the company was one Herebald, who lived among the clergy at Beverley, though he had frankly owned he had not 70 THE REAL SAINT LEGER. cured himself of a love of youthful pleasure. When the leave of S. John was asked that the company might race their horses, the Saint consented to all but Herebald joining therein, his levity of character no doubt justifying the Saint's refusal. Herebald yielded with no good grace, for he bestrode a horse equal to any in the company. Discipline kept him by the Saint's side for a time, but the Yorkshire blood was too strong in him, and at last he gave the spur to his beast, and raced with the others. " How you grieve me," ejaculated the Saint, but the reproof was but mild, for S. John too was a Yorkshireman, born at Harpham, in the East Riding. However, to show the com- mands of Saints are not to be lightly treated, Herebald's horse pitched him off, breaking his thumb, loosening the centre of his skull, so that he lay as one dead. The reader may guess the sequel, how that Herebald would have died, but for the intercession of the Saint, who in consideration of his youth, and the innocence of the sport in which he had THE REAL SAINT LEGER. 7 1 been engaged, prayed for him all night, so that he recovered and lived to preside over Tynemouth Abbey for many a year after. One fears to think that if any Saint, John of Beverley, Leger or any other, was invoked to heal the victim of an accident on a race- course in our day, he could scarcely be pre- vailed upon to assent because of the innocence of the sport. Still what has been before may be again. The turf with its iniquities cannot be much worse than the courts of France in the days of Childeric, when Leger upheld alone the truth and the right. I am among those who would place the French and their government in the very first line, if not in the very front of all the peoples and governments of this day, and so am not without hope the day may come when once again Saints may pronounce horse racing to be innocent, and will not feel any shame that races as well as churches are called by their name. A PENITENT. One of the greatest charms of a walking tour is the variety. I get into a fresh hotel every night, and sometimes into two or three in the course of a day, with a different company in each. Small towns in France have but one decent inn, in which all sorts and conditions consregfate. The French are not such fools as we are, who refuse half the pleasures of life because they cannot be enjoyed according to rule, and sit in dull silence through dinner, refusing to get information or experience from our neighbour because not formally introduced. No, they are natural and bright ; and whether a man is a count or a commercial traveller, whether his clothes fit him well or ill, they taste the pleasures of the passing hour, and make the time they sit next to him pass as agreeably as they can. One result of this is that the French know 7- A PENITENT. 73 how to take care of themselves and we don't. When I was at Monte Carlo the talk in the hotel was of an English girl of fortune, who had married the week before a supposed Hungarian noble, who turned out to be the penniless son of one of the players in the Casino band. The parents had not known how to tell false coin from true, and so will have to keep their son-in-law to the end of the chapter. They got no sympathy from me, for I feel that people ought to know how to take care of themselves. It is always the English parents who get taken in ; a French couple would have been perfectly polite to the young adventurer at table, would have laughed at his stories, enjoyed his conver- sation (adventurers always have plenty of conversation), but not one step beyond would he have been allowed to advance. This introduction is necessary to explain why I, a perfect stranger at the dinner table, at once am on terms with my neighbours, and learn much that is interesting about the persons and places around me. I will not 74 A PENITENT. give any clearer indication as to where I picked up the following story than to say it was in one of the frontier towns in France, on the occasion of my walk from Hamburg to Paris, which took me across the battle- field of Sedan. At dinner one night I sat next to an elderly officer in uniform, who seemed so deferential, so subdued to all about him, courteously replying to questions, but himself never joining in any conversation. At the end of dinner he rose, and bowed humbly to the company, and it struck me as very different from that military hauteur to which one gets accustomed. As the evening- was wet I did not leave the dining-room, and a fourth being wanted for a game at whist, the landlady came to the table to play, and from my questions, and those of others, I learnt the following : It was early in the War of 1870, when the affair at Saarbriicken had put Frenchmen in a delirium of delight at having drawn the first blood, that one evening a lady in the town where I was, learnt that an officer A PENITENT. 75 specially wished to see her. The sight of one, who from his uniform was evidently of high rank in the army, was not likely to disconcert a lady at a time when France was "on fire" (as the Emperor termed it) with love of glory. She was, however, some- what alarmed when the said officer began to plead for a night's shelter, and to say he was wholly disgraced in the eyes of his country- men. He begged, however, that for that night she would not only shelter him, but keep his arrival a secret, promising in the morning to tell her all. At that time the fair hands of every lady in France, from the Empress Eugenie down- wards, were occupied in making lint or bandages for the wounded, or else in devising some comforts for soldiers, so it is no wonder the lady felt it an honour to be allowed to shelter a general officer, however the situa- tion he was in had been brought about. The best bedroom was prepared for him, the best of everything set before him, and she felt how feelings of envy would arise ;G A PENITENT. at her good fortune in being allowed to entertain a soldier of importance. If the lady had felt surprise on the officer's arrival it was increased next morn- ing when, in obedience to her summons, her guest joined her at the morning meal. Instead of the usual compliments, the officer began somewhat in this fashion : " Madame, first of all, I must renounce any esteem you evidently feel for my rank and uniform, for I am quite unworthy of it. From the readiness with which you received a stranger, who had no other claim beyond being a soldier, it is plain that you think a soldier must be a brave and honourable man. Learn, then, from the unworthy wretch who stands before you, he may be a coward and poltroon. Indeed, so keenly do I feel my disgrace, that at the slightest hint from you I will leave your presence, and the shelter you have given me, and yield myself up to the fate I deserve." He paused, and the lady entreated him to proceed, when he went on to tell her he had A PENITENT. 77 been thirty years in the army, and risen to the rank of colonel, that he had received the Legion of Honour for his valour on the battlefield of Magenta, that he had been in command of an outpost the day before, a post on which the safety of the whole army depended. "Shudder, Madame," he went on, "at what I am going to tell you, for I, a veteran officer, who had never known fear, and whose bravery is attested by the scars on my body, forgetful of the cross I wore, forgetful of what I must become, turned and fled before the enemy, deserted my post, and feel that all disasters which may ensue are on my head." Possibly the lady's face betrayed some- thing of the feelings likely to be excited by such a recital as the officer had made ; at all events, he thought so, and continued : "Madame, I had intended asking you for the means of changing my dress, escap- ing from the country I had disgraced, and in England trying to forget the past and recover my honour ; but I see I am the scorn 78 A PENITENT. of honest people, and I cannot endure it. By this post I shall send a letter to the Marshal confessing my shame, and asking to be allowed to return and die a soldier's death as the reward of my iniquity." He left the lady's presence, wrote and sealed the letter in accordance with the tenour of his resolution, and then posted it. He remained in his shelter a few days until the reply came, which was to the following effect : u Marshal M. has heard with regret that one who for thirty years has been known for his bravery should, in a moment of weakness, have forfeited that character, but notes with satisfaction that, the moment of delirium over, he is the same brave and devoted soldier as before. The Marshal hopes that time will heal the memory of one unfortunate deed, and feels that memory will be all the punishment needed." Of course, this letter set the colonel free by declining his offer to surrender him- self. However, though uncondemned by his A PENITENT. 79 general, he could not pardon himself, and condemned himself to live as near to the scene of his shame as possible, always to appear in uniform, that he might be an object to all, soldier and civilian alike, of the infirmity of human nature, and thus to expiate his fault. Those interested in the practices of bygone days are aware how many an abbey, church, and hospital were founded in expiation of some sin, the culprit thus making public confession of his fault. I think few things would more impress the public mind with the heinousness of wrong-doing ; and the outward sign of contrition would teach a sinful world that the proper sequel of sin is penitence. A BREACH OF ETIQUETTE. The whole world is getting very much alike. Everywhere native dress is disappearing, and an Englishman in ordinary attire excites no surprise. What is really disappointing is that he sees no costumes to surprise him. The native dress for women in Norway is very rarelv displayed. I attended church there one Sunday, and out of a large con- gregation, only one woman wore the native dress, though its richness and beauty are remarkable. I got among the Finns, but only one Finn wore a distinctive dress. In the Republic of Andorre in the Pyrenees, the men wore red Phrygian caps, and in the Tyrol one Sunday I found a church sur- rounded by men in the familiar hunting costume, who were waiting for their wives and daughters then worshipping within. These were rare occasions, for as a rule, a go A BREACH OF ETIQUETTE. 8 1 foreign congregation might have been an English one for anything their dress showed to the contrary. I think that more old-world customs and ideas linger in Spain than anywhere. There survive bishops with great temporal powers, there still lives Don Ouixote, at least in his chivalry and gallantry, and there survive strong feelings as to what ladies and gentle- men ought to do and wear, especially ladies. I think that the delight I have in a walking tour breathes through every page of this book, but it is well that any drawback should be stated with equal plainness, that no one may be deceived. Let me say then that unless you are prepared to buy a new rig out of clothes at the end of your journey, for the days you intend spending in the place you have walked to, you may find it a little awkward appearing in the fashion- able streets of Rome, Paris, or wherever you may have gone. Knickerbockers and putties are all very well on a country road or in the villages, where all are en neglige. F 82 A BREACH OF ETIQUETTE. They don't cause much remark when you arrive at an hotel at dusking, and just dine and sleep, and are off the first thing next morning ; but among a punctilious people like the Spaniards they are quite out of place in the streets and Las Delicias of Seville and even in the Rambla of Barcelona. I could not fail to notice how everybody turned round and stared, and I was pointed out as an object of curiosity. I wondered, and looked to see if there were not others to keep me in countenance, but there were none, even the very boys wore trousers. On my return to my hotel I found a boy whose mother was English and his father a Spaniard, and who enlightened me on the subject. ''Don't the police speak to you about vour knickerbockers?." he asked. " No, they haven't got as far as that, but I saw one policeman pointing them out to another." "There is a policeman who tells me he will lock me up for not being decently A BREACH OF ETIQUETTE. 83 dressed," went on the boy, " but of course he laughs when he says it." "Why don't you wear trousers then?" I queried. " Mother is an invalid, and never goes out, otherwise I am sure she would not like to walk with me, when everyone is staring and laughing, and the boys ask if I have dipped my legs in the inkpot, because my stockings are black and theirs are white." I found it was as the boy told me. Just, as in Italy, the mention of the feet is positively indecent, and they are never alluded to without some such preface as " forgive my mentioning this," so in Spain, the display of a man's leg is not customary. This had something to do with the fact that, although I had contemplated a longer stay in Barcelona, I found the staring and quizzing too much for me, and I trained home at the end of my second day. Lest what follows should savour of any reflection on the good taste of Spaniards, 84 A BREACH OF ETIQUETTE. let me hasten to say that the softness of the air of La Andalusia is equalled by the soft- ness of manners. I went to Spain once with my wife, and at a certain junction I was taking a ticket, paying for the same in English gold, which is a legal tender there. At that time a sovereign was worth more than thirty pesetas at the money changers, but on the railway only twenty- seven were allowed, at least so the clerk said. I was helpless, and prepared to take what he would give me, but the crowd insisted on my having more, and because the clerk would not or could not give way, one gentleman put down the thirty pesetas himself. Not content with this, as he saw we were strangers, he escorted us to the refreshment room, would not permit us to pay for anything, and bought my wife a bag of biscuits for the journey. Such things reminded me I was in the country of Don Quixote. It was dark when we arrived in Seville, so that a grey horse looked just like a A BREACH OF ETIQUETTE. 85 black one, and an English lady no different to a Spanish one. Not till next morning, when we sallied forth, did I find all eyes fixed on us. Seville possesses some hand- some squares, but these are mostly given up to hotels and cafes ; the highest families live in narrow alleys called calles, so narrow that no cab could turn in them, nor pass another. Hence rules are laid down as to how every carriage is to enter a street, and how to leave it, to prevent the possibility of meeting. I mention this to show how hemmed in we were, without a possibility of escape when we found our- selves the prey of the devouring eyes of everyone. Customers in the shops suspended their business to stare ; girls in front of us turned round and gaped at us as they might have done at an Indian in paint and feathers. Well-dressed undergraduates, standing in the portico of their colleges, exploded with mirth at the sight of us, though they tried to repair their seeming rudeness by inviting us in to look round. Lest any should 86 A BREACH OF ETIQUETTE. suppose we had given cause to the people to gape and wonder, I may say that I was wearing an ordinary tourist suit, and my wife wore usual walking attire and a sailor hat. Everywhere we went it was the same. The last day we spent in Seville saw us just as great objects of wonder as the first, and never did we appear in the streets, or get on a tramcar, without becoming objects of curious attention. It did not take long to discover that the object of their gaze was my wife, for when I was alone I was not stared at the least, which leads me to say I wore trousers on that tour. Further observation showed that she was singular in wearing a hat, or indeed any head-gear at all, for girls and young women wore nothing on their heads beyond a flower, and elderly women wore lace. Further observation showed they stared to see a lady out at all in the day-time. Seville was one of the last places relinquished by the Moors, and Eastern customs linger in various ways, and among them is one which A BREACH OF ETIQUETTE. 87 excludes the ladies from public observation. Byron, when describing the habits of a lady of Seville, confines her outings to "bull- fights, Mass, play, rout, and revel," and I should suppose the line holds good to-day. All the best houses have still their patios or courtyards, generally with a fountain in the middle, round which the ladies walk, and on to which the windows of the houses look. Still the lattice work windows allow the ladies to see on to the streets without being seen. Still the duenna is never absent from the unmarried lady, though she be turned forty. Therefore, the sight of my wife walking about in the morning and afternoon set going the wonder- ment, and the sailor hat did the rest. It may be asked did I never see the Seville ladies go out? Yes, in the early morning I saw them going or returning from Church. I saw them driving in their carriages to the theatre, and the bull fight, and to the parties which are rife in so fashionable and wealthy a place. In the evening I saw 88 A BREACH OF ETIQUETTE. them promenading the public gardens, appropriately called Las Delicias, by the banks of the Guadalquiver, attended by their husbands, fathers, and brothers. Still they live as it were in a gilded cage, and I suppose will do so, until some "revolt of the daughters" sets them as free as their English sisters. If I ever go to Seville again, I may see the ladies of the place in short skirts and sailor hats, riding bicycles, and even mounting to the top of an omnibus. When I was last there, the most innocent of these things constituted a breach of etiquette. THE STREET OF THE CANDLESTICK. Visitors to the Continent, especially to those countries given to revolutions, are aware how streets change their names as successive factions attain to power. Streets in Paris which bore the name of royal or legitimist notorieties, and streets in Italian cities which were named after holy men and women, are now called after popular persons and the dates of stirring events. Personally, I prefer' the old names as simpler, and a foreigner especially may be excused for not knowing the associations the Rue XXIV Septembre are supposed to bring to mind, and when he sees Place de la Revolution in a city like Paris, he may well ask — "Which revolution?" Upon this question an Italian gentleman told me once that if I had smarted under the regime of the Grand Duke of Tuscany, or 89 90 THE STREET OF THE CANDLESTICK. even the milder rigour of the Pope, I should not care to be reminded of my tyrants. I will suppose it so, and merely express my pleasure that some streets still retain their names and ancient associations, such as the Barbican in London, the Land of Green Ginger in Hull, the Bull Ring in Birming- ham, and the Street of the Candlestick in Seville. My belief in the blessings of law and order do not blind me to some of the drawbacks they entail. For instance, the cut and dried processes of our law courts forbid the development of the native wit displayed by Solomon to discover the genuine mother of the disputed child. The constitutional checks on the most absolute monarchs have made the grim yet laughable incidents connected with the Street of the Candlestick an impossi- bility in our day. In the previous chapter I have alluded to the narrow streets of Seville. People often wonder how ever I have found my way to Buda-Pesth, Rome, and other distant places, THE STREET OF THE CANDLESTICK. QI and sometimes I have done so without once asking my way, indeed, I got to know the lie of the land so well that on the first- mentioned walk the only time I went wrong was when I asked the road of a passer-by instead of trusting to my own judgment. But at Seville I gave in, so intricate and perplexing are the narrow alleys or streets, and soon discovered that I not only had to ask my way, but even to hire a guide to take me to the various spots of interest, and among them was the Street of the Candlestick. Let into the wall of one of the houses in the street is the bust of Peter the Cruel, King of Castile, whose daughter married our Black Prince. The event which led to the insertion of that bust was as follows. Like many a better king before him Peter was in the habit of muffling himself in his cloak, and wandering from his palace after dark to the low quarters of the city. In this way he caught watchmen asleep at their posts, customs officers accepting bribes, and other frauds on the royal treasury, and the 92 THE STREET OF THE CANDLESTICK. expeditious way he brought these miscreants to justice may account for historians calling him Peter the Just, and for his being one of the most popular of kings in spite of his cruelty. I have sometimes thought that if we had a Peter on the throne who visited low public-houses, and observed the facility with which drunken men can get more drink, different views as to the Licensing Acts would prevail in high quarters than those now current. Besides this, Peter liked to study the habits and lives of the Jews, and to rub shoulders with his subjects when they were not likely to recognise him. One night as he was passing through the streets a gentleman pushed against him. Peter abused the stranger, and the stranger replied. Swords leapt from their scabbards, blades flashed, and the king ran his opponent through a vital part of the body. A few weeks before this Peter had forbidden street fighting on penalty of capital punishment for those who were appointed to keep the peace of the city. THE STREET OF THE CANDLESTICK. 93 Next morning, Peter sent for the Alcade or Mayor. " Sir," said Peter, "you fully understand, I hold you accountable for any breach of the peace that occurs in the streets of Seville." The Mayor humbly responded that he knew the fresh regulation His Majesty had been pleased to make. At that moment a page brought in word that the dead body of the hidalgo had been found. " What means this?" said the King, "if the murderer of this gentleman is not found in two days, understand that you will be hanged." The Mayor's face was white as he bowed himself from the royal presence. The wretched Mayor sat down in his room to meditate on the best means of tracking the criminal. By good fortune the story of the murder got about, and reached the ears of an old woman, who went at once to the Mayor to tell him how she had witnessed the fisht from her room on the previous night. She had lighted her candle and held it out of the window, and so had a full view of the fight. One man had his back to her, so she could 94 THE STREET OF THE CANDLESTICK. not sec his face, but of his opponent she was quite certain ; it was his Majesty the King and no other. When she saw it was the King who plunged his blade into the hidalgo's breast, she put out the candle by the light of which she had witnessed the fray, and withdrew her head from the window. Hastening to the quarter of the Moorish artisans, the Mayor ordered them to make an effigy of the King, and to bring it to him. Next day he asked His Majesty to attend the execution of the culprit in the recent fight. Greatly wondering, Peter came to the place of execution, and there upon the gallows he saw a dummy of himself dangling from the rope. Struck with the humour and ingenuity of the Mayor's device, he said, "Justice has been done." As an act of penance, he placed a bust of himself just above the spot where the duel was fought, and re-named the street, the Calle del Candilejo, or the Street of the Candlestick, from the light by which the royal culprit was brought to book. Peter the Cruel may have been a popular THE STREET OF THE CANDLESTICK. 95 monarch, and if he as openly acknowledged his faults in all cases as in this, I do not wonder. How readily do we forgive offences against ourselves, if only the offender will say, I am sorry. Though deeds of cruelty and savagery in bygone days were common, yet there was some sort of atonement in the public acknowledgment of their fault by the royal sinners. The murder of Becket by our Henry II. was as bad as the murder of Cardinal Fisher by the later Henry ; but the fact that one confessed his sin and submitted to open penance makes all the difference between the way we view the one and the other. This will explain why many of the mediaeval tyrants were popular. In Venice two little lamps are ever burning in the Square of S. Mark, to show the contrition of the State at the unjust execution of a baker's boy. He had picked up the empty scabbard of the dagger with which a murder was committed, and the sheath being found in his possession he was suspected, tried, and executed. When the real murderer was dis- 96 THE STREET OF THE CANDLESTICK. covered, the city made the only reparation they could by placing the two lamps on the spot, and when I was in Venice I looked upon these lamps, still burning, and I registered a vow in Heaven that if ever I committed an act of injustice, I would say as publicly and as plainly, " I am sorry." WHEN LOVE IS SENSIBLE. I was very fond of the late Mr. Spurgeon, and Mr. Spurgeon was very fond of Ouintin Matsys. In this connection I may say I never could feel any antipathy to a man because he differed in religious matters from me. Those who have criticised my previous books have written some sharp things against them, but have said a few things in their praise. Among the latter I valued nothing more than a statement that I was among the few clergy who could write charitably of other religious bodies. This had led some of my clerical friends to ask me what I mean when I pray against schism. Well, schism means something parted, and how can that be parted which is joined at so many points. I knew a member of Mr. Spurgeon's church who was a builder. He was so strong a Baptist that when he was Mayor, he would 97 G 98 WHEN LOVE IS SENSIBLE. not attend the Parish Church, but went in state to his own Chapel. He was so good a builder that when his Parish Church was restored, the Church authorities felt bound to employ him. When the work was done, he was asked to send in his bill. The bill amounted to more than a thousand pounds, and he sent it in receipted ! On reading Spurgeon's sermons I came across many allusions to Quintin Matsys, and so when I passed through Antwerp on my way to Rome I went to see all his work that I could find. At the entrance door to the tower of the Cathedral I found a tablet inscribed to his memory, and I wondered if a blacksmith were buried in an English Cathe- dral, and what an English Dean would say if such a thing was proposed to him. I went to see the iron canopy over a well near the west door of the cathedral, which is said to be his work. This was often used by Spurgeon by way of illustrating that a man might make great progress with very few books if he studied them thoroughly. Ouintin WHEN LOVE IS SENSIBLE. 99 is said to have had all his tools, except his hammer and file, taken from him by his fellow-workmen, and yet he beat them all. From looking at Ouintin's work I naturally went on to learn what I could about this fifteenth century blacksmith, and his story seemed so interesting that I wrote it down. Like many other great men Quintin found his vocation only after great opposition. He was the weakly son of a poor man, and a wig maker's block seemed the natural trade for one with his thin arms and pale face. How- ever, nothing could keep him from the black- smith's forge, and in return for blowing the bellows he was allowed to make small links of iron which were marvels of beauty. Success justifies everything, so it is no wonder his parents bound him apprentice to the blacksmith, and before his indentures were out, his brackets, iron balustrades, and other wrought work made his master the most prosperous man of his trade in all Antwerp. The ordinary reader may be for- IOO WHEN LOVE IS SENSIBLE. given if he is ignorant of the importance of Antwerp in the fifteenth century, so for his sake I may say it possessed twenty-two squares, two hundred streets, and more than two hundred thousand inhabitants, and formed part of the dominions of Philip the Good, Duke of Burgundy. When Ouintin was out of his time he received the commission to design the cover for the draw-well at the west end of the cathedral. It was on this occasion that his fellow-workmen stole his tools, and yet he triumphed in spite of the very natural jealousy of his fellow-workmen. Antwerp had a reputation for its cunning iron workers, as great as Ephesus enjoyed formerly for its silversmiths, and the workers were alarmed at their craft being monopolised by one young man. What might have been their next scheme for his discomfiture is not known, but Love, the mighty conqueror of hearts, prevailed, where other means had failed. Ouintin fell in love with a painter's WHEN LOVE IS SENSIBLE. IOI daughter. In our days there is sufficient comity in the Arts for an artist in colours to own kinship with artists in stone and iron work. But we are dealing with the fifteenth century when painters were regarded with superstitious admiration. When a noble- man complained to Henry VIII. that Holbein had insulted him, the King replied that he could make seven lords out of seven peasants, but he could not make one painter even out of seven lords. It is no wonder that the father of Ouintin's inamorata should look down upon the blacksmith of Antwerp, and declare he would only give her to an artist like himself. All Quintin's pleadings were in vain, the utmost that he could extract by way of concession was that if he could paint a picture that would be accepted by the Antwerp Academy he might have hopes. What little strength had been in Ouintin's arm seemed taken out of it, and all the cunning left his hand. He thought of that old remedy of roaming away as a cure for his 102 WHEN LOVE IS SENSIBLE. heart trouble, but possibly he had not heard the old lines: — 11 I attempt from Love's sickness to fly in vain, For I am myself my own fever and pain." However, he left home, and dragged himself through Mechlin to Brussels, where he fell down in a swoon from exhaustion, and awoke to find himself in the Great Hospital of that city. The true remedy for love sickness is neither medicine nor wandering, but work. One of the physicians who was himself an artist put pencils and paper in Quintin's way, merely to enliven the time of his recovery, but what he was engaged in as an amusement became a passion. It is scarcely needful to say that the artistic talents which had been displayed in one department of Art were readily transferred to another. Ouintin left the hospital a hopeful man. He soon found work at his trade, and supported him- self by his labour as a blacksmith, while he studied in the Brussels Academy at every spare moment. In two years time he had a WHEN LOVE IS SENSIBLE. IO3 picture ready for the Antwerp Exhibition, and it was accepted. It represented the interior of the house of his lady love, where were assembled herself, her father, and nurse, while he (Ouintin) stood leaning over a chair, lookly fondly into the eyes so dear to him. From that day Ouintin devoted himself to Art in the ordinary sense of the word, and his pictures are among the most precious possessions of Antwerp. In the course of my life I have come across many engagements which seemed as hopeless as Ouintin's, and were surmounted by the same labour and perseverance which conquers all things. Love has been credited with all sorts of foolish things from suicide down- wards, but I could make a good collection of stories where Love has braced men up to work wonders. I was up at Oxford with a man who had been a footman, and had fallen in love with his master's daughter, a man of title. He knew matters were hopeless between them, so he went out as a waiter for part of the year, and with his earnings he 104 WHEN LOVE IS SENSIBLE. kept his terms as an unattached student. He took his degree, became ordained, got a curacy in the neighbourhood of his master's house, and in the end he had the same success as the blacksmith who made himself an artist. So vou see that Love can be sensible as well as blind. AN ENFORCED PILGRIMAGE. A man who has walked to Rome, Venice, and elsewhere may certainly claim to be a pilgrim in one sense. But the word has a technical meaning, and implies a visit to some sacred place, or in some sacred cause, whether performed by rail or on foot, and whether involving a journey of a few hun- dred miles, or a few hundred yards. It is in this sense that it is used here, and the pilgrimage came to pass as follows. I was a pilgrim in the ordinary sense, when I became a pilgrim in the technical sense, for I was on a long walk to Venice. I had crossed the Alps by the Brenner Pass, and descended into a lovely part of the Austrian Tyrol, and found the first place I should reach in a day's walk was Brixen. This was once an independent bishopric, much as Liege was in Belgium, and as 105 106 AN ENFORCED PILGRIMAGE. Durham was in our own country, of course held subject to the sovereign of the land. It was only in 1803 that the rights of the bishop were taken from him, and the place is now as much under the Emperor of Austria as the rest of the Tyrol. Walking is both thirsty work and tiring work, so in the course of the ten hours I tramped that particular day I stayed at three places of refreshment, and at each heard that Brixen was likely to be full. The girl who waited upon me at Sterzing, where I lunched and to whom I told my destination, hoped I should get a bed, in that tone which suggested she thought I shouldn't. At Mittewald, the scene of the famous victory of the Tyrolese under Andrew Hofer, the landlady said that " all the world" was going to Brixen for the fetes in con- nexion with its millenary, and as I drew nearer to the town itself I saw advertise- ments setting forth that in 901, October 25, Lewis the Infant, granted a charter to the bishop of Brixen which was the AN ENFORCED PILGRIMAGE. 107 foundation of its fame for learning, and now, in 1901, they intended to keep their millenary with fetes, both sacred and secular. As I drew near to Brixen I was struck with the number of persons promenading the avenues of the town, out of all propor- tion to the size of the place, and met many of the Austrian officers and soldiers, not wont to be found in a Tyrolese village of some 4000 inhabitants. I made for the best hotel, the Elephant (it is always cheapest to go to the best), and was happy in securing a room, and here I may say, however full an hotel is, room is invariably found for an Englishman. He is safe to pay his bill without a murmur, and to give the waiter twice the usual gratuity. As I passed along the streets I saw that the houses were wreathed with evergreens, and paper flowers were in great abundance, while the roads were sanded in readiness for the next day's procession in which I was to take a part I little expected. I was up betimes next morning, partly I08 AN ENFORCED PILGRIMAGE. from habit, and partly because in a hotel if one person gets up early he takes care all should know it. As many of the guests were to take part in the day's festivities, and foreigners are habitually early people, soon after five the racket began. In self- defence I got up too, and having to reach Botzen before nightfall I congratulated my- self on making an early start. I am only a poor German scholar, so if a programme of the day's proceedings were published I had not read it, or at least had not understood it. So after breakfast, and payment of my bill, I was soon trying to make my way out of the town, the most difficult part of a walker's task. At a street corner I found the procession coming along, a brass band, a number of banners, a long line of clergy and students, for Brixen is the training place for the Tyrolese priests, and then came the piece de resistance^ a large repre- sentation of a young man surrounded by warriors and councillors, giving a grant of land on which the college was built. AN ENFORCED PILGRIMAGE. IOQ My eyes were so intent on the picture that I scarcely noticed what was taking place around me. A crowd had gathered behind me, and after the central figure of the pageant had passed, the people in general brought up the rear, marshalled by soldiers. I found myself pressed forward into the moving column by those behind me, and when I attempted to leave the procession a soldier motioned me back. Religious pro- cessions in Austria are serious affairs. Not so long since a working man was sentenced to imprisonment for talking and laughing as the Corpus Christi procession passed by. I had read this, and, besides, I had no desire to create confusion, and so fell into line. Of course I had no hymn book, nor had I the card which everybody else carried, but these deficiencies were soon supplied, for some one behind me gave me a card, and my neighbour allowed me to look over his hymn book. The band was playing a hymn tune and the people were all singing lustily, but, despite the kindness of my HO AN ENFORCED PILGRIMAGE. neighbours, I did not join the singing for reasons which will be readily guessed. We arrived at length at the very spot where the donation had been made a thousand years before, and a short service was held. In the confusion which took place on the procession re-forming I managed to escape, and went on my road to Italy. As I look back upon that enforced pilgrimage in the little Alpine town I feel that the motive which animated the people was a noble one. Shakespeare once wrote — " Freeze, freeze thou bitter sky Thou dost not bite so nigh, As benefits forgot. Though thou the waters warp Thy sting is not so sharp As friend remembered not." If that be true, what shall we say of friends and benefits remembered after the lapse of a thousand years. The remem- brance of pious founders is an incentive to to youth to follow their steps. There is something eminently Scriptural in this AN ENFORCED PILGRIMAGE. Ill remembrance of the sins and the uprightness of our fathers, that we may avoid the one, and imitate the other. The pious founder has at times been mentioned with ridicule because he could not foresee the ultimate destination of his piety and charity. To find their deed cherished is one to the nobler side of things. It has been said that even an educated person would find it difficult to mention the names of five famous Venetians. The reason is that her sons did everything to make Venice illustrious and took no pains to advance themselves. This has been an eminently Christian trait, for no one knows who first brought the true religion to England, or who built our parish churches, or who made Oxford and Cambridge seats of learning. In the year 901, the year King Alfred died, it would require a very educated person to name five of either sex who made the world better for living in it. Because we do not know their names, we are apt to think there were none to know. 112 AN ENFORCED PILGRIMAGE. My pilgrimage teaches me the contrary, and though I had never heard before of Lewis the Infant, he was among those of whom the American poet wrote — " A noble band who did the deed, And scorned to blot it with a name, Men of the true heroic breed, Who loved Heaven's silence more than fame." My pilgrimage set me thinking how the world always has a longer memory for its destroyers than for its benefactors. The Austrian Tyrol has been the scene of many a fierce conflict, and we know all about the warriors, Charles the Fifth, the first Napoleon, and such like. But here was one who built up rather than destroyed, and scarce a person knows of him. It is ever so. Everybody will know the name of a man who shoots at a member of the royal family, but nobody knows the name of him who gave two orphan boys a chance in life. Every one in my county knows how Martin burnt York Minster, but the poor woman who pinches herself to give AN ENFORCED PILGRIMAGE. I 13 her boy another quarter's schooling is not known half-a-dozen doors away from her home. That is an explanation why so few know of Lewis, the patron of Tyrolese learning. 11 A GUINEA, A SHIRT, AND A FLUTE. The scanty materials for a life of Oliver Goldsmith reveal the fact that with the above slender equipment, he travelled over a large part of the Continent. Assuming that his poem the "Traveller" was written on such materials as he then gathered, it appears that he passed through Holland, France, Switzer- land, and Italy. It is quite true that a poet may describe countries he never visited, as witness Tom Moore's account of the East in Lalla Rookh, which was gained entirely from the writings of others. Still, there are little touches in the "Traveller" which serve to show that Goldsmith had really seen the countries he describes, and we know enough of the poet's recklessness in all that pertains to money, to believe that he started on his travels with the small sum of a guinea at his 114 A GUINEA, A SHIRT, AND A FLUTE. 115 disposal, the clothes he stood in, and a spare shirt. As the object of this book is entirely- practical, I would keep it free from e very- exaggeration. I want to put poor people into the way of seeing the world, as the rich see, it without difficulty, and I say deliberately the less money one has to spend, the more chance is there of getting an insight into the lands you visit, and into the lives of the inhabitants. One grand hotel is just like another, whether it be in Cairo or London. Ruskin has well pointed out the defect in railway travelling regarded as an education, inasmuch as the eye sees more than it can possibly take in. Now, it is obvious the man with a scanty purse cannot travel by express trains, the man with but a spare shirt cannot frequent grand hotels, and the man who has to make his way with a flute must be one with his wits about him that he may know where he is welcome and where he isn't. One canon which every literary man does well to observe is to write about what he Il6 A GUINEA, A SHIRT, AND A FLUTE. knows. Now I have not had to make my way about the Continent by my wits, so I leave to those who have, to tell how it may be done, but I have had to make my tours on very little, and the object of this chapter is to tell how I did it. Travellers tales have been notorious, ever since the days of Herodotus, and possibly earlier. However, whereas the usual tale has been to magnify everything, mine will be open to suspicion from its very humbleness. That people can live, and live well, on the very small sums mentioned will appear past belief. Therefore, as a preliminary, I would ask my readers to remember that the Con- tinent is poorer than England, consequently the standard of life must be lower, otherwise people could not live. Take my own pro- fession, for instance. Every curate can get ;£i20 a year unless there be something against him in character or in ability. In France the State pay of the ordinary priest is ^36 a year. In that country a Bishop gets ^400, and an Archbishop ^600. Contrast A GUINEA, A SHIRT, AND A FLUTE. 117 that with the ,£5,000 and ;£ 15,000 enjoyed here. Here is another example of the differ- ence. A friend of mine was staying in Norway, and was trying to explain to a countryman the famous recipe for good health, to live on sixpence a day and earn it. But the Norseman could not understand. Earn sixpence a day ! Live on sixpence a day ! He wished he could. His earnings were not half that sum. Now fancy what existence must be possible upon in Norway where earnings are so low. I know that in the places where the English resort, like Bergen, Odde, and the like, the landlord knows as well how to charge as a Scotch one, but my journeys have lain in by-roads and out-of-the-way places, and I have lived like the people of the land, and been charged like them too. The cheapest country I ever was in is Portugal. When I was there, the paper currency was depreciated by about a half, so that when I laid down a sovereign at the exchanger's, I took up the equivalent of Il8 A GUINEA, A SHIRT, AND A FLUTE. thirty shillings. Here was a substantial addition to a man's purchasing power. I have been in hotels, quite clean and com- fortable, and been charged eighteenpence for supper (one of four courses), bed and break- fast. Those who have never been out of England can hardly understand how the wine flows in Spain and the South of France, and no charge is made, while beer in the forest of the Ardennes, and cider in Brittany, are supplied on the same terms. We often hear of countries spoilt by the tourists, by which is meant that everybody is on the look-out for money. There are still countries which are unspoilt, and I have been in them, and have been entertained by gentlemen (in Bohemia), and driven miles along the road by farmers (in France), and all efforts to make any recompense were in vain. It is obvious on such terms Goldsmith's guinea would carry him a long way. I saw once in print that I had walked to Rome on a tooth-brush. The writer evidently meant that I had reduced my baggage to the A GUINEA, A SHIRT, AND A FLUTE. 119 least that would be indispensable for a gentleman. Perhaps in Goldsmith's time, the shirt answered to the tooth-brush, and hence he is said to have travelled upon it. Most people suggest when hearing of my walks that I must have my luggage sent on. No, I take nothing but what I can carry. It is true with a portmanteau full of shirts and so on, I might increase my comfort, but then I should lose my independence. One great charm of a walking tour is the ability to stray where you like, and as long as you like, but if you have luggage you are in a way tied to it. I have always easily carried on my back sufficient for a six weeks' tour. Of course I have washed my undergarments as I went along. I have never felt uncomfortable at my apparel, even in the drawing-rooms of the best hotels where I stayed. Everybody saw I was on a walking tour, and everybody whose opinion is worth the having, felt my dress was in keeping therewith. As for what others thought, I neither know nor care. I have no doubt it was quite possible for 120 A GUINEA, A SHIRT, AND A FLUTE. Goldsmith to pick up something of a living by means of his flute. Perhaps he refers to the fact in the following lines, which I transcribe for the singularity of their rhyme. " How often have I led thy sportive choir, With tuneless pipe beside the murmuring Loire." I can hold out no encouragement to a would-be traveller that he can pick up anything abroad by his musical talents or in any other way. A relative of mine told me that he had travelled over a considerable part of Australia on his ability to play the piano. He was penniless and in search of work, and his habit was to enter an inn, sit down and play a few bars to show the landlord that he could play, and this was generally followed by a bargain to stay and play to the company in return for his board and lodging. Whether any accomplishment of the kind can be turned to profit in Europe, I must leave for those to tell who are conversant with such a subject. I am not. SOME FAMOUS WATERS. I landed at Dieppe for the purpose of walking across France to Monte Carlo. My road would lie through Paris, and the recollection of a journey thither by train made me suppose I should go by Rouen. However, when I got eight miles out of Dieppe, I discovered I should save more than twenty miles by going by Forges-les-Eaux, and though I had never heard of the place, and was ignorant whether it would afford bed and supper, I determined to follow the direc- tion of the board of the French Touring Club, and make for Forges, and take my chance. It was a desolate country I went through. I got some bread and coffee at nine in the morning at a village bearing the singular name of High Winds, and not another bite till I reached a wayside inn at four in the afternoon. Towns are like individuals, and must have something to live on, and a good 121 122 SOME FAMOUS WATERS. town with a good hotel, in a neighbourhood without inhabitants, is very rare. So it was with some misgivings that I approached Forges, but all doubts were set at rest when I reached it, for there were gas lamps, trim villas, and other signs of prosperity, and a passer-by told me the name of the best hotel was the "Golden Sheep." In almost every hotel my principal com- panions are the commercial travellers. They at once spot me as not belonging to their line of business, and generally display some curiosity as to what my line really is. Naturally enough, their enquiries take different forms, but at Forges they were very enigmatic. After learning that I had walked there, one remarked that I was not the first to come as a pilgrim to the place. 11 Why has not Madame come with you?" was the next enqniry. 11 Madame, she is at home looking after the children," I replied. "The children, then you have children, what have you come here for at all?" SOME FAMOUS WATERS. 1 23 I replied I was there simply because it lay on the shortest road to Paris. I am glad to say that most hotels in France are old-fashioned enough to retain the host and hostess. The hosts in turn are old- fashioned enough to take an interest in their guests and ask them how they slept, and how they enjoyed their dinner. After the usual preliminaries mine host came and asked me how long I was going to stop. I told him I was off in the morning on my road to Paris. He rejoined that he and his wife had been speculating as to what could be the matter with me, she thinking I had come for the Richelieu waters, and he maintaining it was the Royale spring I had come to as a pilgrim. "What is the Richelieu spring for?" I enquired. " For disorders of the stomach. The great Cardinal suffered terribly from a sluggish liver consequent on his sedentary life, and only found relief here, and so the spring has been named after him." 124 SOME FAMOUS WATERS. " What are the Royal waters good for?" was the next enquiry. To this the landlord answered with a snigger, and I thought the waitress rather blushed at the question. Every hotel possesses a guide book, and usually the book opens at the name of the place where you are staying, and the page which contained a description of Forges was so well thumbed as to be nearly illegible. With some difficulty I made out the following story. Sterility has been the bane of many royal families and has been attended by grievous results. In the sixteenth century three French Kings in succession died without issue, and it seemed likely that a similar fate was in store for Louis XIII. He had succeeded to the throne as a boy of ten, and had been married at fifteen to Anne, daughter of Philip III. of Spain. The marriage was as happy as such marriages usually are, and when it is remembered those were the days of Richelieu and Mary de Medici and their intrigues, it will be no surprise that Louis SOME FAMOUS WATERS. 1 25 and his wife were separated or united accord- ing as it suited the schemes of the real rulers of France. It may be remembered that Anne was so beautiful that our Duke of Buckingham fell madly in love with her, and made himself ridiculous in the eyes of the Court of France. It is probable that the failure to bear children had something to do with the loss of her husband's affection, for after twenty years of married life there was still no dauphin. It was at the period of the ascendancy of Richelieu that a recon- ciliation of the royal couple took place, and the Oueen, who suffered from the same complaint as the Cardinal, determined to try the same remedy, and drink the waters of Forges. In the dull little town one can readily understand that visitors would drink the waters for the sake of something to do, and while the Queen drank of one spring, the King drank of another. How all hope of an heir had been given up may be judged by the fact that the sage-femme of the French Queen, Madame 126 SOME FAMOUS WATERS. Peronne, was actually domiciled in Eng- land, the King's sister, our Henrietta Maria, and her large family keeping the good lady constantly employed. Now, the first signs of coming joy are to be noted in a letter of Oueen Henrietta Maria, dated 1638, in which she says : — " I thank you for the good news of the Queen, my sister. I pray God it may last, and may prove a dauphin. This will be work for Madame Peronne, whom I must despatch back again." In due course the French Queen gave birth to a son, afterwards Louis XIV., and con- sidering her twenty-two years of sterility it is no great wonder that her boy was called le grand-dieu-donne , the great gift of God. Still the practical mind of the French people sought another cause of his birth, and found it in the chalybeate waters of Forges-les- Eaux. In his day Louis XIV. was regarded as something divine. Every incident of his life, as Macaulay tells us, even to the changing of his shirt, and the holding of his bedroom SOME FAMOUS WATERS. 1 27 candle, became topics of interest, and subjects of dispute among the nobility of France, finding a place in the correspondence of the time alongside of treaties, laws, and incidents of importance. It is no wonder that the waters of Forges became celebrated through him, and, according to the guide-book, other royal couples, generally in strict incognito, came in the hopes of obtaining a similar gift of God. It is also resorted to at the present time for similar reasons. As the springs are also noted for their curative properties, no one can tell exactly what the visitors come for, but when there is any mystery about them, and when people go there, as I did, without any visible disease or malady, there is a suspicion that they have come, under the rose, to drink the waters known as the I'eau royale. A JUDICIAL PROPHECY. For very obvious reasons, and lest I should give pain to any one now living, I depart from my usual custom as to names and places, and simply say that I arrived at a certain Assize town on the occasion of one of my walks many years ago. I ran against a barrister whom I had known as an undergraduate at Oxford, who said he was just going into court and I must go in with him, for he longed for a talk with me. He was brother to the High Sheriff, who invited me to a seat on the bench, and further asked me to join him and the Judge at luncheon. I must have formed a contrast to the Sheriff in his court dress and the Judge in his robes, as I sat so dusty and heated, with travel-stained garments, and all the more I felt my neglige attire because the dock was occupied by a well-groomed 123 A JUDICIAL PROPHECY. 1 29 elderly gentleman, whose gold spectacles and spotless shirt front seemed a guarantee of respectability. He was a solicitor who had made away with trust funds, and he pleaded guilty. Some learned counsel de- tailed the circumstances, how the money had gone in speculation, how the prisoner had paid interest until he was no longer able, and how ,£8000 was missing. My friend, the barrister, urged a plea for mercy. After alluding to the honourable position from which he had fallen, he said the prisoner had already been punished. His daughter had been about to be married when the crash came, and her intended was an officer in the army and belonged to a well- known county family. In view of the disgrace which had fallen on her father, the daughter's marriage had to be broken off and the girl had taken a governess's situation. It was no slight punishment to the father that his daughter whom he had hoped to see provided for, had been cast on the world. The Judge, without many words, sentenced 130 A JUDICIAL PROPHECY. the prisoner to penal servitude, and the court adjourned for luncheon. The luncheon party only consisted of the High Sheriff and his brother, the Judge, and myself. His Lordship began by taking to task the prisoners counsel for saying a young man " had " to break off his engagement, because the girl's father was in trouble. Counsel said the girl's betrothed was a younger son, and, moreover, was in the army, so he was obliged to get a girl with money. He was terribly cut up at having to break it off. " Dont tell me," said the Judge warmly; " if I had been that young man I would have married her in the face of everybody the very day the disgrace came out. If he had made a home for her, my word, what a home he would have found made for him." • " I assure you that he has made himself quite ill over the matter," continued the barrister. 11 His friends scarcely know him again." " No, and the day will come when nobody will know him," said the Judge. " I am an A JUDICIAL PROPHECY. 131 old man, and I never knew a case of the kind that did not turn out disastrously. I can see that man in my mind's eye bewailing the day when he turned his back on a true and loving girl, on account of a bit of money. She may live to turn her back upon him." I need not say the circumstances made a deep impression upon me, perhaps the more so when I attended Church next day the preacher took for his text the man who swore to his neighbour and disappointed him not, though to his own hindrance. He pointed out there was nothing in keeping our share of a bargain when we found we had the best of it, but when we found we had the worst of it and kept our word that brought its reward. Some ten years went by and I found myself in Paris. I was acting as chaplain to one of the English Churches there, and had my board and lodgings in a Home for English girls, where I read prayers every morning. One of the lady superintendents had a somewhat singular name, and I 132 A JUDICIAL PROPHECY. remembered it as the name of the solicitor at whose trial and sentence I had been present. One Sunday evening a message was brought to the effect that an English woman in delirium tremens was about to be turned into the street, and would one of the ladies see what could be done for her. I volunteered to go too, and a cab soon brought us to a poor part of Paris near the Porte St. Denis, and there we found the raving woman trying to smash up what remained of the scanty furniture in the lodging. What made matters worse was that the woman's husband was lying in bed ill of consumption, and the landlady wanted to get rid of both her troublesome and penniless lodgers. The lady with me advanced to the bed, looked at the man, gave a little cry, and ran out of the room, The man himself was greatly agitated when I turned to him. I found that what was wanted was some- one who would pay for a cab to take the raving woman to the Bicetre Hospital, and having done this, I asked if the man would A JUDICIAL PROPHECY. 1 33 be allowed to remain if a week's rent was paid. While negotiating with the landlady I heard myself called by name by my companion from the Home and I went down to her. She told me she had been formerly engaged to the dying man upstairs, that he had deserted her cruelly in a time of great distress, and she felt she could not face him again. She put her purse into my hand to pay for what he wanted. I returned to the man, to the officer, to the member of an old county family, who could not allow himself to be connected with a girl whose father was disgraced. There he was dying, the husband of the coarse drunken woman who had just been taken away, penniless, and about to be relieved by the purse of the girl he had so cruelly treated, and who as the Judge had prophesied, had lived to turn her back upon him. Out of the girl's money I paid for his immediate necessities, and a few days after as I officiated at his funeral, I said to myself, " Doubtless there is a God that judgeth the Earth." THE DUCAL HERMIT. The first piece of poetry I ever learnt was "The Lady of Shallot." I liked the jingle of the rhyme, but the poem struck me as most improbable that any one " with a lovely face " should have a curse hanging over her if she showed herself at the window! In my wanderings about the world I have learnt there are a considerable number of people who, if not under a curse, might just as well be, so afraid are they of letting themselves be seen. Many adventures which I have had as a walker, seem improbable, because the ordinary traveller has no experience of them, and thinks what is out of the range of his knowledge must be impossible. Dr. Sheep- shanks, Bishop of Norwich, told me that when wandering on foot in Tartary, he was present at the worship of a grand Llama, 134 THE DUCAL HERMIT. 1 35 whom none but high priests were allowed to behold, The bishop walked up at the nick of time and saw the show. I have seen a well authenticated story of how a commercial traveller not only saw the battle of Waterloo, but took an important part in it. He crossed the field just as the Duke of Wellington looked round for some one to carry a message, and he carried it, and claimed that it changed the fortune of the day. I never had such a stroke of luck as either the bishop or the " commercial," but I have seen some things and persons not often seen. All sorts of rumours and tales have been current to account for the underground road at Welbeck. It was said that the late Duke of Portland h&d such a dislike to be seen, because he was a leper, or had the King's Evil, or was the subject of some scrofulous disease. A public road ran through the park, at one point passing within 200 yards of the house. This annoyed him excessively, so he sank the entire road several feet, 136 THE DUCAL HERMIT. arched it with brick, and laid turf above. One morning, when I was on a walk to London, having purposely chosen a route through the Dukeries, I asked a passer-by if I was on the right road. He told me he would show me a short way across the fields, and walked with me for that purpose. I noticed nothing particular about him beyond that he was old and wore a brown wig, and soon after I was overtaken by a clergyman who told me I had been talking to the Duke of Portland. The incident passed from my mind, except that I could not reconcile the leprosy tales with the face of the plain old man I had seen, but one day, when I was in company, the conversation turned on the curious way livings were given away. One told how a friend of his on applying to the Duke of Portland for a vacant living in his gift, was invited to go and smoke a pipe with his grace. For the lighting of their pipes the Duke provided some paper spills, and on the way the said spill was manipulated, depended the living. If the smoker had THE DUCAL HERMIT. 1 37 lighted his pipe, and thrown the spill away, it, would have been all up with him ; but if, having lighted up, he extinguished the flame, and put the spill aside for future use, then the Duke's economical heart would be won. The story was discredited by a gentle- man who was sure the Duke would never have seen an applicant for a living on account of the disfiguring malady from which he suffered, to hide which he wore gigantic collars, and never saw anybody. " If nobody saw him, how was it known he had the leprosy," enquired another. This was a poser, and the enquiry was made if any had seen the Duke. Lord H stated that he had seen him. He said his father, being blind, was the only friend the Duke would see, and that at the end of the interview, he (Lord H ) would guide his father home. In this way he had seen the Duke many times, but never saw any leprosy, irruption, or anything of the sort. This evidence was conclusive, but then 138 THE DUCAL HERMIT. the question arose, why did the Duke make the underground passages, shut himself off from society, and never allow himself to be seen ? Lord H believes it was solely from a dislike to being seen, owing to the plainness of his face. Naturally plain, he found him- self as a duke the cynosure of all eyes, and it got upon his nerves. Having the means of indulging his every whim, owing to his great wealth, he made it the object of his life to prevent people seeing him, especially those his equals, or the public who would be sure to stare at a duke, but he was quite approachable by his workmen, gamekeepers, and the like, and had been known, like the late Sir Tatton Sykes, to have almost an affection for tramps. This remark led the only " tramp " in the company to give his experience, which the reader already knows, and which bore out Lord H 's statement about the Duke's supposed disfigurement. This dislike to being seen has been shared THE DUCAL HERMIT. 1 39 by a number of prominent men, and it may be said to have kept the Archbishops of Canterbury out of their cathedral for a century. Archbishop Moore was a butcher's son, who made his way to the primatial chair. He was tutor to the son and heir of a Duke of Marlborough, and on the Duke's death, the Duchess wanted to marry the handsome chaplain. He refused, and this refusal so pleased the young duke that he settled £400 a year upon him and pressed him on George III., then a young man, for preferment. Moore was made Bishop of Bangor, and afterwards Archbishop of Canterbury, but the aliquid amari was found in his cup of prosperity by a large wen which began to grow upon his cheek. Primatial dignity was pleaded for his not attending his enthronisation and other functions in his cathedral, and it was not until Archbishop Benson broke through the tradition that the Primates have condescended to sit in their own seats in their cathedral. Dignity had nothing to do with the matter I40 THE DUCAL HERMIT. originally; it was entirely Moore's objection to being seen. No doubt the memory of his former good looks made the disfigurement all the harder to bear. Such public functions as he was obliged to perform were so arranged that the undisfigured side of his face was turned to the people. Another man who was ashamed of being seen was Paul I. of Russia. For nearly a century the coinage of that country has borne no image of the Emperor, because Paul was so ugly that he could not bear his features to be reproduced. The disordered mind of Louis of Bavaria took a turn in this direction, which resulted in drives at midnight, an opera being performed in a theatre empty of all audience save the King, who crouched out of sight in the royal box, Indeed, a mad doctor told me the dislike to being seen is a well-known form of mania, sometimes developing into madness. I was up at Oxford with a young fellow named Winstanley, who was already in possession of a fine estate in the Midlands. THE DUCAL HERMIT. 141 I remember being invited to a dinner party he gave, but at which he was too shy to appear, and we dined without our host. Some years afterwards I read of his appoint- ment as High Sheriff of his county, which was shortly followed by his suicide. Those who knew him had little doubt that he preferred to die rather than appear at the functions his office would entail. THE SKIDDAW HERMIT. I was walking through the Lake district, and stayed the night at the house of a friend at Troutbeck. There are two villages of that name within twenty miles of each other, one near Keswick, and the other near Windermere. It is the latter I mean, a village which may be known to some of my readers from its possession of a public house whose sign "The Mortal Man," bears a verse attributed to Southey : "O Mortal Man who lives on bread, Tell me what makes your nose so red. O silly fool, who art so pale, It is by drinking Judkin's ale." I have stayed in an inn, the Royal Oak at Bettws-y-coed, whose sign is said to be worth ^500, and was painted by David Cox, the artist. These are only specimens of the association of great men with lowly inns, which I have come across in my wanderings. 142 THE SKIDDAW HERMIT. 143 My friend was a great walker, and it had been agreed he should accompany me some miles next day. However, he could not leave home till mid-day, so I had the morning to myself to look around the village. What would I like to do ? Would I see over the Church, or interview the Skiddaw Hermit? It seemed that a few years before, a Scotch- man had come to Skiddaw, and built himself a little hut of wood and sods in a sheltered nook of the mountain. He had been crossed in love, and being unable to transfer his affections to another, he had foresworn society and retired to Skiddaw. He was not without means, and he regularly visited Keswick to withdraw money from the bank and make his purchases. Naturally the fact that there was a hermit up Skiddaw, drew many more visitors to see him than he liked, so he came down to Troutbeck and built himself a bothy in a lane, and at the time I visited him he was allowed to live there unmolested. He was not "at home" to everybody, but 144 THE SKIDDAW HERMIT. my friend told me he had read of my walks, and was sure I should be welcome. I was warned not to make any enquiries as to the past history of the Hermit, nor his reasons for choosing the life of an eremite. What he would like to talk about would be the debt mankind owed to the Hermits of the past, and the possible revival of their Order in England. On my way to find him I turned over in my mind all that I had heard about Hermits, I had been shown the Hermitage in the Park at Fonthill in Wilts., and was told that when Mr. Beckford built it, he had advertised for an occupant. Several answered the advertise- ment, but all tired of it before long. Was it not St. Anselm who said it needed an angel or a devil to be able to live alone, and the majority of mankind are neither. I had once tried to see a hermit in France, but he had left the week before as business was so slow, and he could not make anything out of it. So I was not prepossessed in favour of hermits. THE SKIDDAW HERMIT. 145 I had considerable difficulty in finding the bothy, so embowered was it amid the surrounding foliage. Indeed, so skilfully had been hidden the entrance to the dwelling, I doubt if I should have found it, but a voice with a strong Scotch accent greeted my ears, and asked if I had lost my way. The speaker was a man with a red beard, and high cheek bones. • He wore a Scotch cap, and was dressed in clothes of that particular cut which suggested home- make. So I found they were. I introduced myself, and he in turn in- troduced the subject so dear to his heart by remarking that although I had walked over the classic ground of hermits, I had never once mentioned them, at least in the accounts which appeared in print. I had to plead the "ignorance, crass ignorance " of Dr. Johnson when taken to task for putting in his dictionary that the fetlock of a horse was part of its hoof. "On your first walk up to London," he went 'on, "I thought when you came to K 146 THE SKIDDAW HERMIT. S. Neots, you would be bound to say something about the royal hermit, but either you did not know or did not care to write about him." " I did not know," I answered humbly. He then told me how S. Neot might have been a king, but preferred to be a hermit. That he was the elder brother of King Alfred, and on the death of his father he handed the succession on to his next brother Ethelbald. That it was this hermit Saint who had the courage to rebuke Alfred for allowing the Danes to ravage the King- dom, and he it was who stirred him up to fight the battle of Ethendune. One had always thought of hermits as having been crossed in love, or disappointed in life in some way. The idea of a man turning hermit, in preference to being a king, was decidedly a new one. I begged the recluse to tell me of any other hermit I ought to have known about, whereupon he enquired which way I had come from Filey to Troutbeck. On learning THE SKIDDAW HERMIT. 147 that I had come by Knaresborough, he asked if I knew that S. Robert was a hermit. The truth was, I only knew the cave bearing S. Robert's name had been used by Eugene Aram to hide the body of his victim, and indeed it was the excitement caused by the discovery of the murder which led to the finding of S. Robert's coffin, and the restoration of the Chapel. S. Robert was a son of a Lord Mayor of York, and had renounced his wealth and position to live in voluntary poverty. King John, having heard of his sanctity came to visit him, when the wicked king heard the truth for the first time in his life. How could courtiers and bishops, who depended on his favour, dare to speak to such a man as he deserved, but a hermit, who wanted nothing but a natural cave for his bed, and the spontaneous fruits of the earth for his food, had no cause to fear anybody. I confessed there was a certain amount of reason in that, and no doubt hermits in the past fufilled a useful office, but these were 148 THE SKIDDAW HERMIT. days of free speech and free press, and people dared to say anything, so I did not see the need of their revival. My hermit grew quite warm upon this subject, and said they not only needed reviving, but would be revived, and one man living in Yorkshire had led the way to their revival. This I found was Sir Tatton Sykes, who in building a new church near his home had built an anchorage, a room over the porch, with windows looking into the church, and if we wanted to have open churches, we should be obliged to have a hermit or anchoret to keep a look-out on the behaviour of people. I learnt that many a church had an anchorage in olden time, and the anchoret who lived there was a recognised official of the church. He was generally under a life- vow not to go beyond the limit of the church to which he was attached. The anchoret might be a priest, a monk, or a widower, and was supplied with food by the faithful who either came to his window to confess, THE SKIDDAW HERMIT. 149 or to consult him as a reputed holy man on any difficulties that might arise. His duties were to keep a look-out upon the church, and especially upon valuable articles in it. When it is remembered that altar plate was frequently of gold, and if a shrine was in the church, money, jewels, and other valuables were daily offered thereon, the need of such an officer is apparent. My hermit was of opinion that with the returning love of ornate churches, a demand for anchorets or hermits would set in. My hermit was of opinion that certain natures shunned society, just as the owls do, and at the present there was no refuge for them. On my saying that in our days everything had to justify its existence, and I did not quite see that hermits would be of much use to the community, he replied that hermits alone had time to think, and that when a man had something to say people would flock to hear him as they did S. John Baptist in the Wilderness, and as kings went after hermits of the middle ages. 150 THE SKIDDAW HERMIT. I felt inclined to ask if many people came to listen to him, but I perceived the question would be awkward if the answer had to be in the negative, so I forebore. My friend at Troutbeck always holds me responsible for the disappearance of the hermit, for a few days after my visit he left his bothy and when last heard of, was walk- ing round the world. ACROSS A NORTHUMBRIAN FELL. I alighted at Bellingham Station, in the pouring rain, on my way to preach at the Harvest Festival of a remote village called Horsley. I had been away from home some days, so the letter which contained directions how I was to proceed never reached me, and I was left to find my way as best I could. Hexham is the capital of the North Tyne country, and while there I had been some- what disconcerted at finding no that one knew where Horsley was. A large map of Northumberland was brought, but no such name appeared on it, nor was it in the Times atlas. Bellingham was the station for it, but the station master did not know the distance. 151 152 ACROSS A NORTHUMBRIAN FELL. He knew there was such a place, that was all. He had no doubt I should get all information at the inn, where traps could also be hired. I went to the inn for dinner, and asked the girl if she knew the road or the distance. She could tell me neither, but sent in the landlord. Mine host knew the road, but not the distance, and sent for the ostler, who said he had heard it was fifteen miles away, but he had never been there and did not know anybody who had. "Then does nobody live there," I asked in some alarm. Nobody knew. It was past two o'clock, service was to begin at seven, and as rain was falling it was necessary to make a start if I was to get to the village at all. I was directed to make for Otterburn, suggestive of Chevy Chase and other glories, and as the road led nowhere else, I could not get wrong. This was fortunate, as I was informed there was not a house by the way where I might enquire if in doubt, ACROSS A NORTHUMBRIAN FELL. 153 or where I might shelter if a storm came on. Of course the station lay at the foot of the Fell, which was so steep as to make it impossible to carry the line further. My road was a continuous ascent of nearly six miles. Not a creature did I pass, nor a cart did I meet. Such a road was not worth marking with milestones, but painted boards, bearing on one side a B., for Bellingham, and on the other an O., for Otterburn, told me the distance was at least diminishing with every board I passed. At last, when four roads met, I found a girl sitting on a heap of stones. I carried my scanty luggage in a satchel not unlike a post bag, which will explain the girl's query : — "Are you the new postman?" I had to deny the soft impeachment, whereupon she told me she was the post- girl, and was waiting to deliver her bag of letters to the walking postman, whose duty it was to carry them to Otterburn. 154 ACROSS A NORTHUMBRIAN FELL. The girl told me she daily met the mail bag at that corner, delivered the letters to the outlying farms and houses, and called for the out-going letters after an interval of a couple of hours. The conversation being thus opened, I observed what a sad sight it was to see the corn all sodden in the fields, and what a difficulty I felt in asking the people to be thankful for such a harvest. The girl told me the farmers cared little this year for their corn crops ; what paid them was the temporary railway from the little wayside station of Woodburn up to Rochester, where the great reservoir for Xewcastle-on-Tyne was being constructed. Instead of buying the land, the Corporation of Newcastle paid two shillings a yard per annum, and one farmer had as much as £80 to receive from this source, which was more than his rent amounted to. I left the girl still waiting for the man with the mail bags, and before long I espied Otterburn on my right, a pretty ACROSS A NORTHUMBRIAN FELL. 1 55 village even on a wet day, and lying in a hollow by the banks of the Rede. A mile or two further on brought me to a curious monument in the form of a circular seat, which bore an inscription stating that Chevy Chase was fought in the neighbour- hood in 1388, in the reign of Richard II. It was erected by Lord Northbourne, who has a shooting box there, and whose agent told me subsequently that the battle was supposed to have been fought in the valley instead of on the hill, but his lordship could only put up a monument on his own property, and hence its present position. Horsley was about two miles further on, and the village consists only of an inn, a blacksmith's shop, and a church. There were, however, many shooting boxes near by, which accounts for three peers of the realm being present at the Harvest Festival. Next day, on pursuing my enquiries about the date and site of Chevy Chase, the 156 ACROSS A NORTHUMBRIAN FELL. uncertainties increased. The date on the monument follows the history books, and yet the ballad of Chevy Chase makes it impossible in the days of Richard II., 1377-99. Douglas speaks of bringing Earl Percy "To James our Scottish King." Now James the First of Scotland did not begin to reign until 1406, so that would be an anachronism. Moreover, an English squire speaks of "Henry, our King," and as the date assigned is eleven years before Henry IV. came to the throne, it is obvious that is a mistake too. Moreover, the site of the battle is as doubtful as its date. Earl Percy declares his intention to go hunting " in the Scottish woods," whereas Otterburn is at least twelve miles on the English side of the border. Therefore, why Earl Douglas should resent Lord Percy hunting in his own county of Northumber- land, it would be hard to say. There is also one stanza in the poem which is quite sufficient to remove the whole matter from the realms of fact, and relegate it to the ACROSS A NORTHUMBRIAN FELL. 1 57 realms of fancy. In speaking of the death of one of Percy's squires, the poet writes : — " For Witherington I needs must wail As one in doleful dumps For when his legs were smitten off, He fought upon the stumps." At Salamis, we read of a sailor who fought with his teeth after losing both his arms, but how Witherington fought after losing both legs is a secret which the poet prefers not to divulge. It is possible some of my readers may think it of little consequence whether the battle ever took place or not, but the inscription on the monument makes one hesitate to relegate it to the realms of fancy. The following is the exact text : — "In these fields, on the ioth of August, 1388, the battle of Otterburn was fought, and deeds were done which in the noblest of English ballads live immortally recorded." On either side of the above, which is in the centre, are the following quotations : — " Give me the making of the people's 1 58 ACROSS A NORTHUMBRIAN FELL. songs, and I will let who will make their laws." — Andrew Fletcher. " I never heard the old song of Percy and Douglas that I found not my heart more moved than with a trumpet." — Sir Philip Sidney. Yes, part of the goodly heritage of Englishmen and Scotchmen alike are the brave and generous deeds of those who have gone before us. In war time especially, soldiers are urged to emulate the deeds of those who fought in days of old, and at schools, the boys of the present day are urged to show themselves not unworthy successors of those who carried off the trophies of the cricket field or the river, or who won scholarships, and became wranglers and the like. So personally I am unwilling that anything like Chevy Chase should be relegated to the realms of fiction, for, alas, the brave, patient, and devoted are not so numerous that we can afford to lose one oi them. Still criticism is applied to everything in these days from the Bible ACROSS A NORTHUMBRIAN FELL. 1 59 downwards, and nothing is taken upon trust, so one is glad to be assured that a battle took place at Otterburn in 1388, and resulted in the captivity of Percy by the Scots, and the death of Douglas, their leader. The Scots had ravaged the north of England as far as York, and were returning with their booty when attacked by Percy at Otterburn. The battle is singular from the fact that it was fought by the light of an autumn moon, and also from the fulfilment of a prophecy in the Douglas family that a dead man should win a battle. Earl Douglas perished in the fight, but his death was concealed from friends and foe alike, and subsequent history has ascribed the victory to him. AN ENGLISH WILDERNESS. It was early in the eighteenth century that Dandie Dinmont took his famous ride across the Wilderness of Cumberland. He started from a hedge ale house in Gilsland, frequented by beggars and gipsies, which was also a house of call for the border farmers on their way back from Haltwistle cattle fair. From being kept by a man of the name of Mumps, it was called Mumps' Ha' or Hall, and it was said the publican was a leader of highwaymen, while the wife wormed out of the farmers the road they intended taking to their homes. There were two roads then as now, the one known as the Moss Road, which was three miles shorter than the other. It was along the Moss Road that Dandie Dinmont travelled, and came off it just under Bewcastle Church. Crossing the little stream which still runs through the tiny village, he 160 AN ENGLISH WILDERNESS. l6l was on the Maiden Way, the ancient cause- way made by the Romans, and leading direct into Scotland. There all his troubles were ended, and he pursued his road safe to the border. The badness of the Cumber- land roads at that time is immortalised in the famous bull contained in the following couplet : — " If you'd seen these roads before they were made, You would hold up your hands and bless General Wade." But though no part of England has been the scene of so much warfare as the border counties, yet nearly all traces have passed away except those of the Romans, whose fortresses, walls, and roads survive and bear the grave, solid, and majestic character of their language. Dandie Dinmont was mounted, but was followed by another traveller on foot, who seems to have had no difficulty in making his way across the wilderness. About half- way between Gilsland and Bewcastle they were attacked by robbers, who attempted to l62 AN ENGLISH WILDERNESS. plunder the farmer. The rascals were but poor hands at their nefarious trade, for six of them were beaten off by our two travellers. Probably they got but little spoil save from those who had been indulging too freely at Mumps' Ha', and whose powers of resistance were necessarily weak. The greater part of the district is on the property of Lord Carlisle, who has succeeded in closing most of the public-houses. Never- theless one remains, which claims to be the original Mumps' Ha', and another, on the bank of the little stream, which divides the wilderness from Bewcastle Fells. There is a farmhouse about a mile out of Gilsland, on the road to the Maiden Way, and not another habitation for the remaining eight miles. How can there be, for remember it is a wilderness in fact as well as in name, and no sheep nor oxen, not even a goat could pick up the scantiest living on it. What led to the traffic across it in the days of Sir Walter Scott were the cattle fairs, attended by the Border farmers. Now AN ENGLISH WILDERNESS. 163 the cattle and their owners travel by train, or keep the main roads, a mile or two counting for nothing when you have a horse to draw you. Only one thing remains to tempt a traveller to take the Moss Road, and that is the Bewcastle Cross, which contains the earliest writing of our English language, and is the oldest monument of our Anglo-Saxon forefathers. As this only attracts an antiquary or two in the course of the year, it is not worth the while of any footpad to haunt the wilderness for the sake of robbing them. Thirteen hundred years ago is the date assigned by the well-informed Bishop of Bristol for the erection of the Cross. In those days Bewcastle was less out of the world than it is now. The subject of the writing on the Cross is quite uninteresting, nay, hardly intelligible to the general public, so no more need be said about it. Indeed, it is only mentioned, as the antiquarian turn of mind which would lead one to investi- gate it, also induced me to traverse the very road pursued by Scott's most loveable 164 AN ENGLISH WILDERNESS. character, Dandie Dinmont. Your genuine pedestrian cares nothing for weather, and the prospect of traversing a wilderness under water, with all the streams swollen with the rains, did not deter one from the journey when the chance of a visit to the Bewcastle Cross occurred. As a general rule roads become bad by degrees ; the paved road leads to a green road, the green road to a cart track, the cart track to a foot track, and so on till every vestige of a path is lost. But on leaving the gravelled path kept by the Gilsland Highway Board, leading from the Popping Stone to the wilderness, you plunge in medias res at once. One moment you are proudly footing the King's highway, the next you are floundering in a bog. " You make your own road," said a person who had travelled the wilderness, " and look out for the dint of a horse's hoofs." This is scarcely the sort of travelling to which an Englishman is accustomed, even in the most unfrequented parts, and when added to AN ENGLISH WILDERNESS. 165 the difficulty of " making your road " is the knowledge that in many of the bogs you may sink up to your waist in as short a time as you wink your eye, it tells upon one's nerves a little. However, in the short days of winter there is no time to be nervous, or the darkness will overtake you, and what will you do then ? You flounder on as best you may. It is impossible to deny that there is a track here and there, but it is so often lost in the dells that all one's wits are required to keep upon it. For the first six miles there is nothing in view to guide you after you pass the one farm house in its black fir planting. It is scarcely necessary to add there is no one to inquire your way of, for beyond the peewits and the curlews no living creature is to be heard in the wil- derness. I had to beware and bear to the right, otherwise I should have been trapped between the King's Water and some other water, and there one might wander for hours without finding a way across them. Among the few l66 AN ENGLISH WILDERNESS. who crossed the wilderness was the late Mr. Ruskin, and he got lost between the waters. Warned by his fate, I kept as far to the right as possible, and so escaped. Let it not be supposed that I escaped the waters, for everything was sodden with wet, but I escaped the discomfort that follows wet feet, for I have learnt a secret worth knowing. Calling at Mumps' Ha' for a quartern of whisky, I ask the landlord what his customers usually did with their liquor. " Do with it ? Why put it down their throats to be sure ! " " Did you ever see one put it down his shoes ? " I queried. " No." " Then you will see one now," I answered, and suited the action to the word. The effect of the whisky is perfectly wonderful on the feet. Whether it is the fusil oil in it, something or other not only keeps the wet off, but makes foot and sock and shoe all pliable together, and prevents alike sores and chilblains. It seems also to AN ENGLISH WILDERNESS. 167 act on the outer man as it does on the inner, and kept me still fresh and lively until, after six miles of walking, I reached the top of Gillalees Beacon, and got a glorious vision of deep blue distance, of the Solway shining like silver, and Carlisle like a toy town, with every tower detailed against its wreathing smoke, and on either side the peaks of Skiddaw and Criffel. Down in the valley beneath is Bewcastle. It consists of a church, a vicarage, an inn, a shop, and two farm houses. You are twelve miles from a mutton chop when there, ten miles from a load of coal, and eight miles from a doctor. The post arrives at half-past twelve, and leaves again at a quarter-past one. Nothing happens in the village, and were it not for the Cross not a creature would find his way there from year's end to year's end. As it is, it possesses the sole attraction which accounts for any one nowadays following in the footsteps of Dandie Dinmont. Wilderness as it is, it must be under the l68 AN ENGLISH WILDERNESS. authority of some Parish District, or County Council, and if only they would go to the expense of a finger-post or two they would give a chance to many to tread an historic way, and might help to bring a few more travellers to the isolated village of Bewcastle. THE CHANGES OF TIME. My road on one occasion lay through the village of Everingham where Lord Herries lives. I just peeped into the church, that was quite enough, the smell was over- powering. Whether it was that it is never opened or ventilated, or whether it is the dead buried beneath its floor, or the earth of the churchyard which is banked up against the sacred walls several feet above its proper level, I could not determine. I only felt that if ever there was a case for exception as to the prohibited use of incense, it was here. The real argument in favour of incense was not to be found in primitive use, or in the works of the Fathers, or even drawn from texts of Scripture, the most potent argument lay in stuffy churches like Everingham. As I wanted to sit down and rest, I entered 169 I70 THE CHANGES OF TIME. the Roman Catholic chapel attached to Lord Herries' house, Preparations were in pro- gress for the marriage of his lordship's daughter with the Duke of Norfolk. Of course, prominent among the decorations were the inter-twined initials of the happy pair, but in my memory was running another connection, not between the christian names of bride and bridegroom, but their surnames, Howard and Constable. I knew I had come across them somewhere, and when I got to my antiquarian books I looked up the matter. The Pilgrimage of Grace was essentially a Yorkshire rising, brought about by the real grievance of the dissolution of the monasteries, whereby many inmates were turned out, some in old age and feeble health, to struggle or to starve. The devout laity had to see property dedicated to the service of religion by their pious ancestors, seized by the King or his greedy and unscrupulous courtiers. It is curious to notice that in the list of grievances there figures Cromwell's desire to establish THE CHANGES OF TIME. 1 7 I regular registration of births, marriages, and deaths. True, the way in which property had been taken, afforded some excuse for the prevalent belief that the said registers were the prelude to a tax on every baptism, marriage, and burial. The rising was essentially a religious movement, and among those who took the oath and wore the badge of the Pilgrimage of Grace were the Archbishop of York, Lord Darcy, and Sir Robert Constable. The pilgrims advanced as far as Doncaster, where they were met by the Duke of Norfolk who promised them the King's pardon, and that he would listen to their complaints. Trusting to this promise the leaders persuaded the insurgents to return to their homes. The chief seat of Sir Robert Constable was at Flamboro', and his family had held it since the time when a Dane sat on the English throne. Even in the time of Henry VIII. an acknowledgment was made of his overlord in Denmark. Every year at Christmas, the eldest of the family went on the sands and called three times to the King of the Danes to 172 THE CHANGES OF TIME. come and receive his dues. As no one appeared, he fixed a coin in the tip of an arrow and shot it with all his force into the sea, in the direction of Denmark. The Constables had something more to boast of than mere antiquity, for Sir Marmaduke Constable was a distinguished soldier under Edward IV., and commanded the English left wing at Flodden. His son, Sir Robert, also fought at Flodden, and was knighted on the field of battle. How far Sir Robert Constable was justified in joining the Pilgrimage of Grace, and siding with those who condemned the King's government, need not be discussed here. It should be remembered that not many years had elapsed since the Wars of the Roses, and ideas about law and order were not the same as now. If there was a difference between the people of that time and this, there was a difference in the King too, for it would seem the royal word was only made to be broken, and, after the pardon, the Duke of Norfolk was commissioned to mete out justice to THE CHANGES OF TIME. I 73 those whom the King was pleased to call his enemies. After the pilgrimage there was another rising under Sir Francis Bigod, who wrote asking Sir Robert Constable to join. Sir Robert replied that he was sick with the gout, and could not stir. This was tortured into meaning that if he could have stirred he would have done, and, further, a pious hope that the Lord would guide Bigod, was made to mean that he invoked the blessing of Heaven on Bigod's undertaking. He was accordingly handed over to the Duke of Norfolk, who even in those lawless times was obliged to obtain a conviction by a jury. It was necessary to pack a jury that would con- vict him, because a neighbour, a Mr.Levening, had been acquitted on a similar charge. The Duke wrote to the King on May ioth, 1537 : "Yesterday, at my being at York, was the greatest assembly of the gentlemen of the shire there has ever been seen these forty years, none of great substance lacking that was able to ride, of whom I appointed 174 THE CHANGES OF TIME. two quests (Lord Darcy and Sir Robert Constable). They shortly returned ' billa vera.' They have shown themselves true subjects, and deserve the King's thanks. If I had known the gentlemen of these parts as well when Levening and others were acquitted as I do now, Levening had not now been in life." The foregoing words suggest that the Duke of Norfolk has been both judge and jury in securing the conviction of Sir Robert Constable. There was but one office left to complete the tragedy, that of the executioner, and this the Duke also undertook, for two months later he wrote to Cromwell : — "On Friday, being market day at Hull, Sir Robert suffered and doth hang above the highest gate of the town so trimmed in chains that I think his bones will hang this thousand years." Not five hunderd years have elapsed since that unhappy market day, and the body of Sir Robert does not hang in chains, but has received honourable sepulture in Flam- THE CHANGES OF TIME. 1 75 borough Church. Now a descendant of that Duke of Norfolk has claimed another victim of the Constable family, but a victim for the alter of Hymen. The happy alliance of these two noble houses shows one of the changes which time brings. The Duke, being Earl Marshal of England, and having the right of an escort of household troops for his bride, brings out another. It can hardly be credited that on the very spot where His Majesty's troops guarded the bride, the bride's grandmother attended worship under all the penalties attached to an act of felony. The late Lady Herries could remember, as a girl, being taken in a cart at four o'clock one Christmas morning to hear mass said by a priest who risked his neck in the performance of his sacred office. Her ladyship was con- cealed under some firewood on the occasion, lest she should have been seen by some zealous Protestant, who might have put the law in force. The Duke of Norfolk saw at Everingham 176 THE CHANGES OF TIME. the badge of the Pilgrimage of Grace worn by Sir Robert Constable. It lies close to the cloak in which another of his wife's ancestors (Lord Nithsdale), escaped the death to which he was doomed. Lord Heruies, who is of the same Blood as the II FRO OF the Nithsdale Cloak. — Page IJJ- THE TALE OF A CLOAK. In the library at Everingham Park is a glass case, and in the case is the identical lady's cloak in which the Earl of Nithsdale escaped trom the Tower on the eve of the day appointed for his execution in 1716. Next to the cloak lies a letter written by the Countess of Niths- dale to her sister, who was then the head of a convent in Belgium, giving details how the escape was carried out. The cloak has a large square patch cut out of it, and with this our tale has to do. The cloak came into the possession of Lord Herries as an heirloom, much as did his title and Scotch estates. The title and property of the rebel Earl of Nithsdale was forfeited by attainder, but his son was always called by that title by his Jacobite friends, and on his death the earldom died out naturally, but his only daughter inherited the barony of Herries, 177 M 178 THE TALE OF A CLOAK. which descended in the female line. She (Winifred Maxwell) married a Constable, and in 1858 the House of Lords allowed the father of the present Lord Herries to assume the title as the lineal descendant of the said lady. A part of the Scotch estates had been recovered from the attainder, and the historical cloak naturally went with it, and was deposited at Everingham. The House at Everingham has never been a show place like Castle Howard, but has always shunned, rather than courted, inquiry. For this there was good reason. The present generation cannot believe what Roman Catholics had to endure even far into the last century. It is necessary to bear in mind how every Roman Catholic gentleman was at the mercy of any common informer in order to appreciate the reasons for keeping houses like Everingham from the public eye. It also lies so far from the high roads that its very existence would be unknown to most people. It, therefore, was a place eminently suited to refugees, recusants, and THE TALE OF A CLOAK. 1 79 the like, and consequently a safe depositor) 7 of precious family relics. In the middle of the last century it was discovered that a large square patch had been cut out of the back of the historical cloak which saved the life of Lord Nithsdale. It had been done neatly and leisurely, not to say skilfully ; but by whom ? All the ordinary methods of accounting for such losses were dismissed at once, such as the gaucheries of trippers and visitors. Even the cloak itself could have been disposed of in a very limited market, for the value of it consisted in its historical association, and to reveal these would be to give the thief away. However, the owner was deter- mined not to sit down under such a loss if he could help it, and so placed the matter in the hands of the police. These were furnished with a list of all visitors to Everingham since the time the cloak was known to have been untampered with, and, thus armed, they began their quest. Detection seemed inevitable if the theft l8o THE TALE OF A CLOAK. had been committed with the intent of making a profit out of it. The handkerchief carried by Charles the First at his execution, and subsequently dipped in his blood, fetched a large sum at a London auction, but then a history had to go with it, showing how it had been acquired originally, and through what successive hands it had passed. A piece of cloth as a piece of cloth may be worth nothing, but a guarantee that it formed part of Napoleon's green coat, or was worn by Admiral Byng when he was executed, and bore the marks of the bullet, might turn what was otherwise valueless into a valuable possession. But how could such a guarantee be forthcoming as to this snippet of the Nithsdale cloak ? If it was not to be turned into money, the only other fate of the stolen piece must be to enrich some private collection. Here, again, identity was everything. There are no 'cuter men than collectors of curiosities, who make it their business not their pleasure, so it is no wonder that before long the stolen THE TALE OF A CLOAK. l8l piece was traced, and the thief known to the police. But who was he ? He was a gentleman of such ancient name and high position that it was felt anything was better than that a scandal should be created by letting it be known. Even the formality of demanding the stolen piece again was dispensed with. The whole affair was hushed up, but the manipulated cloak was put under a glass case, and secured by a padlock, the key of which is said never to leave the pocket of the noble owner of Everingham. If it should be asked how a man of noble lineage and high character could condescend to so mean a trick, unworthy of a Bank Holiday visitor, the answer is to be found in the well-known words, " that the heart is deceitful above all things." The late Sir John Stainer had a fine collection of auto- graphs, and he used to say he dreaded letting a bishop look at them, as it was after an inspection by a bishop that his finest specimen disappeared. One day a l82 THE TALE OF A CLOAK. valuable orchid was snipped in the green- house of a great Yorkshire florist. Instantly all entrances were closed, and everybody on the premises was searched. The culprit was said to be the Mayor. His Majesty's Inspector of Schools for the East Riding said there was only one way of preventing boys coyping, and that was to make it impossible, and owners of valuable relics like the Nithsdale cloak might take a hint, and learn how their possessions may be safe from depredators. JACOB'S WELL. I entered an hotel in York one day, and found a letter waiting for me. The landlord thus getting a clue to my identity, came forward and greeted me in a very friendly manner. I soon found his friendliness was not wholly unconnected with favours to come. He said he had been reading my travels and noticed that I said as much about the hotels as about the country I passed through, and he hoped I might mention the name of his house. I replied that I was not an advertising agent for any line of business, and I could only mention an hotel if something connected with it was likely to be of genuine interest to the public. As it happened I found nothing whatever to say of the hotel in question, but on going to the church where the famous Hampole window of the Day of Judgment 183 i&4 Jacob's well. attracts every antiquary I passed a tumble- down public-house, which I felt sure had a history worth finding out. Scattered over England are a number of public-houses bearing curious, if not unique names. Such are "Who'd have thought it" near Brighouse, the "Mortal Man" at Troutbeck, the " Four Alls " at Stockton-on- the-Forest. One such public lately ceased its long and chequered existence, and it was known as "Jacob's Well," in Trinity Lane, York. How it came by this extraordinary name is found after a search in the dim twilight of history. There is every reason to believe that Constantine the Great, upon his conversion to Christianity, caused churches to be built, and very probably he ordered one to be erected over the ashes of his father, Con- stantius, and dedicated to his mother, Helena. Tradition informs us that the ashes of Constantius were deposited in the Church of St. Helen-on-the- Walls, in York. Indeed, Jacob's well. 185 St. Helen was commemorated in the names of three churches in York, the other two being known as St. Helen-out-of-Fishergate, and St. Helen-in-Stonegate. It is necessary to show the connection of St. Helen with York to appreciate what follows. The great work of Helena was to discover the true Cross, and on her return with her treasure it was found that, like the manna in the wilderness, the true Cross never failed, no matter how many portions were given away. It is but little wonder, then, that a piece of the wood of the Cross was presented to the Church of St. Helen, which enclosed the ashes of her husband, Constantius. Nor will it surprise any that miracles were soon wrought by the precious wood. This, of course, meant pilgrims, gifts, and rival shrines to attract the populace and their offerings. Mankind is the same in all ages, and nobody will wonder greatly at finding that the priests of St. Helen's essayed to outbid all rivals for popular favour. Affixed to all shrines was a well, not so much for the 1 86 Jacob's well. refreshment as for the ablutions of the faithful before they ventured into the holy place. " Miracle," as Sir James Stephen says, "was ever at hand to solve the difficulties of the children of faith," and if the true Cross could be brought from Calvary, what could hinder the water of Jacob's Well flowing direct from Sychar to York? At all events, if it was not there, it was believed to be there, which answered the same purpose. An added charm to this story was given by the Bishop of Ripon when preaching at the re-dedication of St. Helen's Church, Denton, near Ripon. In our day we are accustomed to barmaids becoming the wives of million- aires, and even to their marrying men of title, but their good fortune pales before the Bishop's version of Helena's life, for she, like Joan of Arc, was a maid of some village inn, who captivated the heart of Constantius, then an officer in the Roman Army. When Constantius succeeded to the throne, which was not till twenty years later, he divorced Helena, that he might seek a Jacob's well. 187 wife more fitted by her birth to share the Imperial dignity. Meanwhile Helena had become the mother of Constantine, and on his accession he heaped upon her all that position and wealth could do, to atone for the contumely with which she had been treated. Gibbon, says of Helena, that she was the daughter of an innkeeper, but leaves the place of her birth uncertain. If the Bishop is right in assigning her to Yorkshire, what more likely than that, on the completion of her great feat of discovering the Cross, she should repair to the capital of her native county, and endow it with some of the price- less treasures she possessed, and other treasures which she was able to command, of which a supply of pure water was one? St. Helen's Wells are to be found all over the county. If Helena herself had to name a well, it is more likely she would name it after the patriarch Jacob than after herself. So much for the origin of the name. Tradition tells how that in due course holy men kept a hospice on the site of the well for 1 88 Jacob's well. the refreshment of the pilgrims who flocked to York up to the time of the Reformation. By that time it had fallen into the possession of the Convent of Holy Trinity, Micklegate. After that it fell into lay hands, but even then there would be nothing incongruous in a public-house bearing the name of a holy place, for down to the time of Charles I. inns bore a quasi-religious character. Not only was the provision for travellers regarded as an act of piety, but publicans were charged with certain religious duties, such as pro- viding fish diet on Fridays and in Lent, and the free entertainment of ministers of religion. The time came when all such religious association ceased, but still Jacob's Well retained its name. Nor even in these de- generate days can it be said to have been wholly destitute of works of piety, for by a benefaction of the seventeenth century, thirteen pence were to be paid to thirteen widows of Holy Trinity parish on the 2nd of November in each year, that being All Souls' Day. Of course the number mentioned JACOB S WELL. 1 89 is that of the ever memorable company assembled on the night before the Crucifixion, and All Souls' Day was once observed in England, as it is still on the Continent, as the day of remembrance of the departed. The thirteen pence came out of the rent which was due on that day. The benefaction in that form will now cease, for Jacob's Well has ceased to exist as a public-house, having been purchased by the Ecclesiastical Commissioners for ^"300, and is to be pulled down. One might venture to prophesy that no one in the future will ever think of calling a public-house by such a name, which was only relieved from profanation by its connection with an age when religion was the business of life, and business only an adjunct. GOOD ALE AT THE "KING'S HEAD." I chanced to be in Barnard Castle, and as I was eating my dinner I remembered who it was in the early thirties gave an assurance of the excellence of the ale at the inn where I was. So I ordered a tankard, not that I drank it, but in memory of the most un- fortunate but most loveable of characters, Newman Noggs. Perhaps it was the recollection of his letter to Nicholas Nickleby, aided by the shop opposite to the inn being the scene of Master Humphrey's Clock, added to the fact that I had a free day, which led me to explore the country that Dickens made familiar to us. I enquired of the waiter the name of the village where the supposed Dotheboys Hall stood, and noticed he lowered his tone as he told me it was at Bowes, five miles off, but 19a GOOD ALE AT THE " KING'S HEAD." 191 added, I must be careful how I enquire about it in the village, as the Bowes people resented any allusion thereto. I had better ask for the Villa when I got to Bowes, as that was the supposed site of the Hall. Some four miles and a bit brought me within sight of Bowes Castle, and soon I was toiling up the steep village street. An old wanderer like I am knows exactly what to do in matters of inquiry, for stamps are always useful, and post office people generally intelligent and obliging. Of course there was a post office, at the door of which I knocked and rang like an ordinary caller, for it was locked, and having made my purchase I asked in a low voice which was the villa where Dotheboys Hall had once been. The post- mistress told me it was the last house in the village on the left hand side. She went on to tell me that while Miss Bousfield the grandchild of the supposed Wackford Squeers lived, great reticence was observed, for she was a most benevolent lady, and disliked any reference to Dotheboys, but Miss 192 GOOD ALE AT THE " KING'S HEAD." Bousfield died last year, and I might see her grave in the churchyard. I soon reached the church, and, grateful for small mercies, record that the gate of the churchyard was unlocked, though the church was not. In the very centre of the path, on the right hand side, the choicest spot in God's acre, were the graves of the daughter and son-in-law of the renowned pedagogue, whose story is said to have closed many Yorkshire schools. There rested beneath my feet "Fanny Squeers " — whose name was Mary Ann by-the-way — described as a loving wife by her husband who survived her, and there was their only daughter, whose good deeds were fresh in the memory of the villagers. A few steps further on brought me to the villa, and though Squeers told Nicholas Nickleby it wasn't "a Hall," yet I have seen much less pretentious places so called. It faced the village, bow windows had been thrown out on either side the door, there was an electric bell at the entrance, and what with the sunny day (though it was GOOD ALE AT THE " KING'S HEAD." 193 January) and the trim house and garden, set off by a young lady walking therein, I thought the place was about as unlike the wretched Dotheboys Hall as it could be. Little more than an hour of my time had gone, so I thought I would visit Greta Bridge where Nicholas had descended from the coach. There was no difficulty about finding the way, as a finger-post told me the direction, and also that the distance was 5J miles. When I arrived there and found the place consisted of but four houses, I wondered why any trouble had been taken about the road to such an insignificant hamlet, Why had not the signpost said Rokeby, which was four times the size ? I subsequently learnt that Bowes people had fiercely resented their identification with " The delightful village of Dotheboys," and here was one way in which they disproved it. Dickens describes the Hall as about three miles from Greta Bridge, only about half the distance to Bowes, so any one guided by the novel would certainly not have found the school along that road. N IQ4 GOOD ALE AT THE " KING'S HEAD." Could it be found in another direction ? Three miles up the hill from Greta Bridge would bring the traveller to Barningham. In the centre of the village there is a house, said to have been formerly a school, which was closed through the publication of Nicholas Nickleby. This would correspond to the distance. Another confirmation that he is in the very village of Dotheboys awaits the patient inquirer. It may be remembered that Squeers alludes to the death of a boy at his school, to whom Mrs. Squeers brought " dry toast and warm tea when he couldn't swallow anything, and let him have a candle in his bedroom the very night he died." The registers of Barningham show an abnormal number of deaths of lads between ten and fifteen in the early years of last century — a very probable thing when it is remembered that to pay for Mrs. Squeer's accouchement the scarclet fever was deliberately run through some half-dozen boys, " sons of small trades- men who were sure to pay," and Mrs. Squeer's bill was divided among them. GOOD ALE AT THE " KING'S HEAD." 195 However, local tradition has not located Dotheboys Hall in Barningham, and it has at Bowes. Both have certain points in their favour, and certain points against them, for the house at Barningham is no " long cold- looking house, one storey high," but is decidedly lofty and imposing. The probability is, as Dickens tells us, that Squeers himself is the representative of a class and not an individual, so it may be assumed that the school was drawn from various sources, and not from anyone in particular. As a matter of fact, the grandfather of Miss Bousfied is said to have been the kindest of men, and this is borne out by the character of his only known descendant. " Cakes and ale," in Shakespeare's mind were synonymous with all that makes jollity, and the good ale at the " King's Head " is typical of the merry life of the neighbourhood, perhaps in no town of the size of Barnard Castle does one meet with so many grooms, hunters, and dogs, or see so many saddlers and gunsmiths. The walls are covered with bills 196 GOOD ALE AT THE " KING'S HEAD." announcing dances and theatrical entertain- ments. Every one looks red-faced and happy, and if the boys are fathers to the men, the coming generations seem likely to keep up the standard. THE BUTTERTUBS. When I lectured on my walk over the Butter- tubs in a Yorkshire town, I learnt that at least one lady was grievously disappointed. She hailed from Ireland, and was sure that the subject must be in some way connected with her native town of Cork, famed for its butter. She took it very much amiss to find it was only a mountain pass, and left the hall in high dudgeon. Does such or similar ignorance exist else- where ? If so, is it not time that some one should try and end it. While every Yorkshire schoolboy knows the height of Mount Everest, and the name of the most frequented pass of the Rockies, how many grown-up persons in the county, and educated persons too, are unaware of the locality of the Butter- tubs, could no more tell their height than tell the longitude, and could not say how they are 197 I98 THE BUTTERTUBS. to be reached, not if their life depended on it. That is why I think this experience worth the writing about. Was it not in my own neigh- bourhood that the tale was told of a school- master who kept one of his pupils in after school hours for ignorance of the geography of Cochin China. As the master was courting, and had an engagement to take his lady love out that afternoon, he may be pardoned for forgetting all about the boy. Nor is it any wonder that the boy, being of a roving turn of mind should take French leave, and wander away. Hark ! he heard shouts of help as he rambled over the moors, and following the sounds, he discovered his master and his lady lost hopelessly, and unable to find their way home. The master knew all about Cochin China, and the boy knew all about his own country-side, and I will leave the reader to judge which was the more useful knowledge. To cross the Buttertubs as I did, you must be able to walk twenty miles to reach the point you start from. I have heard it seriously questioned whether there THE BUTTERTUBS. 199 was a spot in England twenty miles from a railway station. I thought of Byron's lines: — " I've stood upon Achilles' tomb And heard Troy doubted, Time will doubt of Rome," for I have been in many a spot so situated, aye, and more than twenty miles. In this instance I started one morning down that Richmond Hill celebrated in song, for as a Yorkshireman, I am proud that the " sweet lass of Richmond Hill ' : was a girl of my county, daughter of the Mayor of Richmond (Yorks.), and married to the composer of the glee written in her honour. My destination that day was Muker, but so many spots of interest did I pass, Aske Hall, Grinton Church, and Marrick Priory, that I feel I shall never get to Muker if I stay to talk about them. Besides anybody can read of them in a sixpenny guide-book. I could not help looking at a stone recounting Villance's leap. It recorded how a gentleman in a fog leapt down 200 feet and was miraculously preserved. Here is the inscription : — "Glory to the great 200 THE BUTTERTUBS. God, who miraculously preserved me from the danger so great." There are wonderful and providential escapes to-day, but I, for one, regret that of recent years the inscriptions recounting them rarely contain any allusion to the Almighty Preserver. The reader may have noticed that the lone- liest dale rarely finds me long without some acquaintance, and this dale was no exception, for I was soon hailed by a baronet — Sir Benjamin Swale. He was not in his carriage, nor bestriding his hunter, nor in any position in which we expect to find the typical baronet, for he was driving two beasts before him. His uncle, Rev. Sir John Swale, had been the beloved Roman priest of the parish I once lived in, and I had been present at his funeral. The nephew had seen with pleasure a clergy- man of another faith and so had marked me, and now claimed acquaintance. Readers of history may remember it was Sir Solomon Swale, M.P., who, in 1660, moved the Restora- tion of Charles II., and at that moment I was passing Swale Hall. The baronet told me the THE BUTTERTUBS. 201 family estates had all been lost in litigation, and he had nothing but what he worked for. Sir Benjamin was a delightful companion, and told me many stories of the dales. A motor car passed us, which reminded him of a good one. A commercial traveller was driving along Swaledale with his goods behind him, which were ignited by a spark from his pipe. On making the discovery he dismounted and endeavoured to put out the flames, and then noticed a man who had evidently been follow- ing him for some time. He asked him if the goods had been burning long, and was told about half-an-hour. " Then, why the hang- ment didn't you tell me the goods were on fire," he demanded sharply. " Oh," said the rustic, " there are so many new fangled machines about now, I thought you'd got a patent conveyance that went by fire like Elijah did." A pleasant companion helps the traveller wonderfully, and in good time I made Reeth, where I got my luncheon, and by evening was at Muker, to be ready for an early start next day. 202 THE BUTTERTUBS. The Buttertubs Pass is an old highway connecting Wensleydale and Swaledale, and was doubtless a foot track in pre-Norman times, becoming a cart road on the introduc- tion of wheel traffic many centuries after. It runs between Great Shunnor Fell (2351 feet) and Lovely Seat (2213 feet). The Buttertubs are at the very top of the Pass on the Muker side, and are so called from their churn-like shape. They have also been likened to a church turned upside down. They are sunk in the main limestone down to where the insoluble chert or flint comes in. They have pillars like basaltic columns, some a hundred feet deep. This curious formation is caused by the water from the fells above, where vegetation is abundant, and is charged with carbonic acid. This dripping on to the lime- stone has cut circular holes to a great depth, in shape somewhat resembling the old style of churn, which was used with a vertical shaft with a flat end, and was drawn up and down in the tub by hand. This is not a scientific book, nor am I a THE BUTTERTUBS. 203 scientific man, so I prefer to describe carbonic acid as our friend of the ginger beer bottle. I came across its devastating power one year when I walked across France, and at Epernay I was told it was responsible for the bursting of champagne bottles to the value of a million sterling. Sir Charles Lyell says it has the property of decomposing many of the hardest rocks with which it comes in contact, particu- larly that class of which felspar is an ingredient. Raindrops bring down carbonic acid, and thus exerts a chemical as well as a mechanical action. When the water has worked down to the flint, which is impervious to carbonic acid, there the process ceases and the depth of the butter tub is determined by the floor of flint. What becomes of the water afterwards does not enter into my walking tour, but I may say, for the information of any so interested, that the subject of the underground waters of North-West Yorkshire is as interesting as it is involved. I feel, however, I should leave out one of 204 THE BUTTERTUBS. the most interesting features of the region if I did not speak of the great silence which prevails. The traveller to these parts must not fear loneliness as he crosses the wide and houseless heath. The solitude which hangs over the moors and fells when the last human habitation has been passed, leaves him alone with sky and earth, himself the only living thing in sight. The test question of any town, county, or district to my mind is — What sort ol man does it produce. Tested by this, Swaledale may hold up its head, if length of life, independence of character, and health and heartiness are any proof of Heaven's blessings. The summit of the Buttertubs Pass is formed of gritstone, and the soil of the land seems to have entered into the composition of those who dwell beneath it. I learnt as I passed through Keld that in 1820 the Rev. Edward Stillman was minister of the Independent Chapel there. Seven hundred pounds was required for the rebuilding of his chapel which threatened to topple about THE BUTTERTUBS. 205 his ears. His dale folk had plenty of ham, eggs, butter, and bannocks, but little money to spare. Nothing daunted, he started for London, begging for his chapel as he went. He walked the whole distance there and back, collected the whole of the money required, having only expended on himself a solitary sixpence. There's grit for you. What an example of simple courage is the Swaledale baronet I have mentioned. Instead of sponging on Society, or earning guineas as director of bubble companies on the strength of his title, he is a hard working farmer, who may be seen any day driving his cows along the lane, or looking out his sheep for the butcher. He shows what others preach, that there is nothing dishonouring in labour, how- ever menial. Yes, parsons preach it, but he practices it. While I was in the dale a letter appeared in the public prints as follows : — " I am commanded by the Queen to ask you to convey to Mrs. Elizabeth Webster, of Reeth, her Majesty's congratulations on her 206 THE BUTTERTUBS. ioist birthday, and hopes it may not be inappropriate to wish her many happy returns. I am, &c." Mrs. Webster was alive five years after that was written, and is one among many instances of longevity in the dales. If such a people, and such a pass, and a view which literally beggars description, are not worth a visit, then I am a poor judge of views, places, and people. K O J Q < O a Q X THE WONDER OF ENGLAND. On few subjects are we more deceived than on the question of Fame. About 1875 an investigator into the life and thought of the poor found them ignorant of such names as Bright or Gladstone ; he found the majority knew the name of Spurgeon, but all knew the Tichborne Claimant ! If asked to say what was the wonder of England, I doubt if one out of a hundred would hit the mark. Some might say Westminster Abbey, Sultan Abdul Aziz thought an express train was, but, if Lord Macaulay may be accepted as a judge, it is nothing we should be likely to guess at. Here it is in Chapter IX. of his History : — " The route of the Army lay close by Stonehenge, and regiment after regiment halted to examine that mysterious ruin celebrated all over the Continent as the greatest wonder of our island." 207 208 THE WONDER OF ENGLAND. I confess it was with a certain feeling of shame that I read this and remembered that though I had seen the stones of Stennis in the Orkneys, and the many circles at Carnac in Brittany, I had never seen the famous stones of England. I seized the chance of the first week I could leave home and made for Devizes. The name of the town rhymes with Assizes, and they were on when I was there, and I could only get a bed by promising to be out by 9 a.m., at which hour it was let to the High Sheriff to change his clothes and get into the Court suit he wears on the occasion. I just had time to look at the monument to Ruth Pierse, the woman who hoped God would strike her dead, if she had taken a certain shilling, and who paid the penalty for taking that awful name in vain. On leaving the town I saw there were seventeen miles before me, and a passer-by told me I should not see a house after leaving the village of Laverton, so I supplied myself with the only refreshment that I could buy — some sweet biscuits and a THE WONDER OF ENGLAND. 209 pot of bloater paste. When I had turned my back on Laverton I saw nothing but shepherds with their flocks, and the sign-post at the junction of the London and Devizes Roads, which is mentioned by Ingoldsby in his legend of the drummer boy. About the fifteenth mile I reached the huge barrows, which mark the sacred road leading to the mysterious Circle of Stones, and about a mile or so from the cross roads the Wonder of England came in sight. Those seventeen miles are worth remem- bering, as Druidical circles were purposely erected in the midst of the woods and moors, I believe for the same reason that Abraham had a journey before reaching the place of sacrifice in order that he might have time to reflect on what he was about. Of course I had a guide-book with me, which gave the height of the stones and the size of the circle, but evaded the all-important question of the origin and object of the pile, by simply saying it was unknown. I dis- covered there were plenty of theories as to 2IO THE WONDER OF ENGLAND. their origin, and all that a plain man can do is to decide on the most likely. I suppose there is no serious question, but the Stones formed a Druidical circle or temple, and that on the centre and sacrificial stone, human and other victims were offered up. Should I be wrong if I said our first, and, perhaps, our only thoughts, about the Druids, are in connection with bloody rites, of wicker frames filled with human beings, to be set on fire as propitiatory offerings. Well has it been said knowledge soothes, it is ignorance that inflames our feelings, and enquiry into the Druids follows the same rule. Cassar tells us that it was the Druids who settled the quarrels of disputants, which is one good thing, and also that they educated youth, which is another. Caesar goes out of his way to inform us the Druids had the same law for rich and poor, which makes a plain man like me wish we had some Druids back again to mete out the same justice to street "bookies" and to the habitues of Tattersall's and Newmarket Heath. We also find that THE WONDER OF ENGLAND. 211 the pupils of the Druids learnt to exercise their memories instead of learning out of a book, a method of instruction which I find is coming into favour again. But I may be pardoned if, as a clergyman of the twentieth century, I am most struck with the punishments meted out to offenders. Caesar says that when all other means had failed to bring a miscreant to his senses, the last resource was to sentence him to exclusion from the sacrifices. This would be equivalent to shutting the Church door in their faces. Dickens says that when he heard a defendant in a Church Court sentenced to a fortnight's excommunication and the costs of the case, the man said if they would let him off the costs, they might excommunicate him for life, and I sadly fear that a deprivation of religious privileges would have no better effect on nine offenders out of ten. However, it was not always so, and I remembered to have read of a Christian Emperor who, in bitter cold, stood stripped to his shirt, pleading for three 212 THE WONDER OF ENGLAND. days that the Church doors might be again opened to him. A little thought brought to my mind certain resemblances between the religion of the Druids and that of the Bible. For instance, in the Sacred Scriptures how often are Sacred Stones mentioned. We read how Joshua in Shechem took a great stone and set it up there under an oak, and, turther, we find the said stone came to be used much as Stonehenge was, for in the Judges we read, "they made Abimelech King by the pillar which was in Shechem." A similar custom prevailed in these islands, and most of my readers will know of the Tanist Stone of Ireland where the heir (Tanist means heir) was proclaimed King, which was afterwards removed to Scone, and thence carried to Westminster Abbey, and on which Edward VII. was crowned, as a score of his predecessors had been before him. Nor was this the only way in which the famous pile touched Biblical customs. THE WONDER OF ENGLAND. 213 From the circular form there can be very little doubt it was connected with the worship of the Sun. This may seem the more probable when it is remembered that the great day in the year to visit Stonehenge is 21st June, on which day the sun rises exactly over the gnomon stone at a little distance from the circle itself. Again if any one looks at the stone which is best preserved, best selected, and best worked of the whole, they will see that formerly it supported a pole or pointer, which no doubt was used to indicate not only the time of day, but also the season of the year. But we must remember Stone- henge was pre-eminently a place of worship, not an observatory, so here we find a connection with that worship of Baal or the Sun, with which the Old Testament teems. The very name of Gilgal means a circle, and is supposed to derive its name from the shape of the Sun, to whose worship it was devoted. In our own country the May dances round the pole have been traced to the same origin, and the Standing Stones or Monoliths were 214 THE WONDER OF ENGLAND. originally erected for the same purpose. Human sacrifice was always an adjunct of such worship, and though two blacks do not make a white, and I hold no brief in favour of the Druids, yet I cannot help saying they were no worse than many old Testament characters, no worse than the Greeks who offered up Iphigenia as a sacrifice to their offended deities, and is another point of contact between the religion of the Druids and what I believe was the universal religion of mankind in days of old, with the single exception of the religion of Jehovah. I believe that a great tribe, the Cuthad, wandered into England from Asia, and along with their superstitions, brought some remains of the pure patriarchal theology, such as belief in the immortality of the soul, in a Supreme God, in the fall from original righteousness, and in the need of sacrifice. These might be said to constitute the patriarchal theology of Noah, and Druidism likewise embodied the corrupt additions of THE WONDER OF ENGLAND. 215 Baal. However, it seems that the rites of Stonehenge represented much that was useful, much that was positively good, and no doubt many evil accretions. Much the same mixture of good and evil is to be found in all the false religions of the present day, and it leads us to hope that as all are derived from the One true religion, so to it they may all return and the words be fulfilled, " All nations whom thou hast made shall come and worship thee, O Lord, and shall glorify thy name." A WALK FOR NOTHING. " Have you heard old Binks has lost his wife?" said a friend to me, naming a neighbouring parson. I had not heard it, and was very sorry, for old Binks had been very kind to me, and was most attached to his wife. " It's quite true," continued my friend, "the Archdeacon told me he was going to take the funeral to-morrow afternoon, and was grumb- ling it was such an out-of-the-way place that the cab would cost him a sovereign." This happened at a period of my life when I was beginning to feel my feet as it were. I had done twenty miles a day many a time, and not been tired. I was quite unable to afford a sovereign in cab hire, and yet I wished to show my respect to the dear old man in his affliction. It was a walk of forty miles for me, twenty there and twenty back, and I was quite pleased at the prospect. 216 A WALK FOR NOTHING. 217 The little village of X. lies in the depth of the Wolds. I had been there once before, and I had compared the solitude of the place to some Alpine Pass, where I have stopped to listen to the silence ! It was before the district was traversed by the railways, and the distance of X. from the nearest point of civilization was such that when I once sent a telegram I had paid seven shillings for porterage. I got my lunch at an inn some four miles from the spot, and asked the landlord if many had gone by to the funeral. "What funeral?" I was a little surprised to hear that he knew nothing of the lady's death, still less of the funeral. He had had some men from X. down at his place the night before, and they had said nothing about it. Neither had he seen any unusual traffic such as a funeral would be likely to create. While I was eating my lunch the landlord came back to say that last night when looking out of the window, his wife had seen a cart go 2l8 A WALK FOR NOTHING. by in the direction of X., and noticed there was a coffin inside it. My information, doubt- less, was correct, as the coffin was an oak one, and no one in X. was likely to afford such an one except the Rector. I was soon on the road again, and somewhat relieved to see a cab coming behind me, and, looking in, espied the Archdeacon's large hat. I felt sure I was right now, but was not a little surprised to see no signs of any clergy, gentry, farmers, or anybody on the road to pay the last respects to one so beloved as old Binks' wife was. As I approached the village I strained my ear to catch if I could any sounds of the tolling bell, but there were none. No blinds were drawn down in the village street, nor were there any groups of people in black. This was very singular, for I had been long enough in Yorkshire to know how the country people do love a funeral. Any misgivings I may have had on the way were set at rest by the sight of the Rectory. The blinds were all up, and distinct sounds of A WALK FOR NOTHING. 2IO, laughter were coming from one of the windows. I hope I am no more of a humbug than most people, but I had composed my face for a funeral, and I hesitated to carry such a face into a house which was evidently mirthful. Perhaps I should have turned back and walked home again, had not old Binks heard my step on the drive and was at the door ready to meet me. After greetings so cordial and genial, that no recently bereaved man could have achieved them, I was ushered into the study, where stood a coffin on tressles, at the head of which sat the Archdeacon, with an amused expression on his face. Any straitness in my own face soon disappeared, and gave place to the wrinkles of good humour, which are the best substitute for beauty. The explanation was as simple as the situa- tion was ludicrous. Mrs. Binks, who had been almost a life-long invalid, had seemed in articulo mortis three days before. She had given her husband directions as to how she wished to be buried, and bidden him farewell. 220 A WALK FOR NOTHING. It has been said that X. was very isolated. The post arrived at mid-day, and left again at one o'clock. It was three o'clock in the after- noon when all hope was abandoned, and it was at this hour a carrier's cart passed through the village and would carry a letter in time for the evening post. The breath seemed just going out of his wife's body, the next day would be Sunday, when there was no means of com- munication at all with the outside world, and so he sent off the letter to the Archdeacon, securing his services well in advance, as he was such a busy man, and he sent off the order for the coffin, as the weather was hot and an early interment desirable. The carrier took the two letters, the Archdeacon met a friend of mine and told him the sad news, and that was how the Venerable dignitary, myself, and the coffin put in the appearance at the Rectory. Mrs. Binks having passed the crisis, was much better, and invited us to take tea in her bedroom. But about the coffin ! A WALK FOR NOTHING. 221 Dear old Mr. Binks was the simplest of souls, and he took me aside and asked me if I should know of any one wanting a coffin for a woman about five feet six, I might try and trade it off. I promised to do so if anything of the sort came in my way, but I was unable to do business, and when next I visited the Rectory at X. I found the coffin was used to keep the apples in. Lest any of my readers should think this tale far-fetched and improbable, I would refer them to the life of the late Professor Palmer, of Cambridge, who, when a young man, lay dying, as was supposed, and actually heard the doctor who sat with his hand on his pulse, say: " Now he's gone ! " But he did not go, and lived twenty years afterwards to be murdered by Arabs in the Desert. I have been present at many sick beds and watched what were supposed to be dying people, some of whom I have known to live for years after, and I quite recollect the apparent last moment of men who are still alive. I, therefore, applaud the precautions which certain people order to 222 A WALK FOR NOTHING. be taken to insure their actual death before burial, as one is apt to be deceived about the appearance of the dread enemy. " Sorry you have had your walk for nothing,' was the cheery farewell of the old Rector. "I am glad it was for nothing," I replied, as I waved my hand to Mrs. Binks, who smiled upon me from her bedroom window. A DREADFUL SECRET. •'Come in, you are just in time for our early dinner," said a clerical friend who knew me. I was walking up to inspect the newly- opened Forth Bridge, and was passing through a northern country parish, when the Vicar, who had seen me once before, met me and gave me the above kind invitation. It is not every reader who has been in so many houses as I have, so they may not understand what I mean by a blighted house. I have come across several in my day. Such a house is generally clean, the inhabitants have a sufficiency of money, meals are punctual and well served, everything is done with outward decorum, but there seems a chill over everything, and an utter absence of comfort. The reader will think I claim the gift of second sight when I say that the moment I entered the house to which I was 223 224 A DREADFUL SECRET. invited I felt it was under a blight, but I did so, though I could not say why. A wash and brush-up took off some traces of the morning's walk, and I was pre- sented to the ladies in the drawing room, to the Vicar's wife, and his housekeeper, but, strange to say, I was presented to the housekeeper first. This might have been an oversight, but how was I to explain away the fact that the housekeeper sat at the end of the table, and the wife at the side. The wife's face was a very sad one, and she never spoke except when spoken to, while the housekeeper bossed the show, pressing the wine upon me, hoping that I enjoyed the salad, and so on. Still the blight was upon the conversation as upon everything, and the husband seemed as depressed as the wife. Things were chilling when dinner began, but one outburst abso- lutely froze us up. The flowers on the table were newly cut, and one geranium was especially brilliant. On the housekeeper catching sight of it, for it had previously A DREADFUL SECRET. 225 been hidden by the joint she was carving, she demanded who had cut it. "I did," said the wife timidly. " Now, I said that geranium was not to be cut till Whit-Sunday. I wanted it for the altar. I do wish you would mind your own business. You don't do the church flowers." The poor wife seemed crushed beneath this onslaught, the husband looked cross and said nothing, while I despatched my pudding as fast as possible, and made a mental note as to how truly wise was Solomon in his preference for the dinner of herbs where love is, rather than dainty dishes without it. I made an excuse to escape from the blighted house by saying I must be getting on my way, and made a point of thanking the wife for her hospitality, which brought me a very chilly handshake from the housekeeper. The Vicar took me to the front door, apologised for not being able to set me on my way, but he was detained by a funeral, p 226 A DREADFUL SECRET. and telling me of a short cut across the fields, called out to a passing farmer to see that I did not go astray. I joined the farmer, who naturally enough began to talk about his Vicar, and asked me what I thought of his wife. I felt it was not right for one who had just enjoyed the hospitality of a house to begin to betray its secrets, so I said she seemed a bit sat upon. " Yes, indeed," said the farmer; "and what did you think of the housekeeper?" What could I say except that she seemed rather bossy. The farmer went on to tell me that the woman had been housekeeper before the marriage, which she had greatly resented. There was no getting rid of her, as she knew some family secret, which she threatened to betray if she was displaced. What the secret was no one knew. The age and forbidding countenance of the woman set at rest any suggestions of scandal in which she had been personally concerned, A DREADFUL SECRET. 227 and it could only be surmised it was some bygone secret which the family would not like to have disclosed. " I would have my wife in her right place, at the head of the table," I said warmly, "even if the heavens fell in consequence." " So you think," returned the farmer; "but, perhaps, you would have to accept the situation as the Vicar does. When they first married she was as bright and happy as the day was long, but she soon saddened, and now she can scarcely hold up her head." The farmer's words brought to my mind that I once had been shown over a Scotch nobleman's castle, which has a dread secret attached to it, which is known only to the earl, his agent, and his heir if of age. I was told that, however gay-hearted the heir may have been, when possessed of the knowledge of that secret he becomes sad, and all the brightness goes out of his life. The nobleman's family are renowned for their wealth and their sadness, and here I came across the same bad effects of a secret. 228 A DREADFUL SECRET. "But have no efforts ever been made to relieve the young couple from their thraldom?" I asked. "Indeed there have," said the farmer. "Soon after their marriage the wife's two brothers, who are officers in some cavalry regiment, came over and insisted on having their sister righted. There was a terrible burst-up at the time, but, when they left, the housekeeper still sat at the head of the table and the wife by the side. Then the Vicar made a bold bid for freedom. He has got plenty of money, you know, so is not dependent on his living, and he and his wife arranged to go to Australia. They thought they could steal off, but when they got to the station the housekeeper was there, and ready to go with them. What she said is not known, but they gave up their plan, returned to the Vicarage, and the housekeeper still sits at the top and the wife at the side." The farmer agreed that it was a most extraordinary case, and so I thought. What the secret was nobody could ever guess, but A DREADFUL SECRET. 229 it was supposed to entail something very- dreadful, how otherwise could two wealthy and healthy young people submit to live a life which, for its galling nature, must have run penal servitude and even the workhouse pretty close? It is the daily little indignities which make these so terrible, but what indignity could be more galling than the one to which this husband and wife hourly submitted ? Naturally enough, I wondered what the secret could be, and whether any terrible results would follow its revelation. In S. Patrick's Cathedral I was told that there was a stop on the organ, and tradition said it was so powerful that if ever it was used it would bring the place down. When George IV. went to Dublin the organist, in excess of zeal, cast caution to the wind, and pulled out the stop. The legend vanished into thin air, and the stop has been used ever since. I have sometimes thought the revelation of momentous secrets (as we think them) would be as innocuous 230 A DREADFUL SECRET. as the stop on the Dublin organ. What wickedness can we tell men of that would surprise them ? Who can invent a new sin? It is some years since I heard of the Vicar and his sad wife, but I hope they have by this time allowed the housekeeper to do her devilmost. If so, they have found that England still stands where it did. OS. < ■- A HASTY WORD. A philosopher has laid it down that our happiness or the reverse for the day depends on the first impressions we have on waking. There is a grain of truth in this, for we all know the difference between getting out of bed the right side or the wrong side of a morning. Nations, too, are said to carry through long centuries the unmistakable marks of their origin ; so, if a nation, why not a house ? Has not a great man told us that he never did anything in a temper, but that he lived to regret it ? And how many things bear the marks of having been done in a temper ! Among them the history of the following house may be mentioned. When a newspaper proprietor offered a prize for the prettiest and best kept station in England, it was won by the the station- master of Brough in the East Riding of 231 232 A HASTY WORD. Yorkshire. This was decidedly in keeping with what might be expected, for if the prize had been awarded, not for the station, but for the stretch of country served by the station, it would have been hard to find a neighbour- hood to which Brough would have had to play second fiddle in the matter of beauty. Tranby Croft, Brantingham, and other places near, have either been favoured by the presence of royalty or are held in great esteem by the public. Among these the estate of Sir James K is as lovely as any. The house is comparatively a modern one, and its story illustrates on what slight events the history of houses, like the histories of men, are built up. To begin at the beginning, as Aristotle says, never was there a family more appropriately named than the Broadleys, the chief land- owners of the district. Their broad acres are not only extensive, but unencumbered. If one does not date them from the Conquest or the Crusades, it is not from doubt as to their being so ancient, but from fear of not A HASTY WORD. 233 dating them back far enough. Their Saxon name signifies the " broad meadows," and probably they were reigning at Welton in the days when Alfred was letting the cakes brown, and when Edward the Martyr was treacherously stabbed as he drank his cup of wine. The Broadleys have dwelt in that great dis- trict of extensive marshes and silt lands, ramified among low hills of gravel, sand, and clay. In the hollows of the marshes are found the bones of the elk, stag, and boar. The country has been much planted, but has no natural wood, while in the lacustrine deposits and ramified peaty valleys oak, yew, and fir occur abundantly. A testimony to the goodness of the soil is borne by the fact that during the recent times, when one heard of landlords having to farm their own lands, and some farms even going out of cultivation, the competition for holdings on the Welton estate was as keen as ever. Among the tenants on the estate none were of longer standing than the Watsons — a good name all over the East Riding for high 234 A HASTY WORD. farming and safety of rent. They boast that no landlord ever quarrelled with a Watson without regretting it. This Watson was successful among Watsons. He had succeeded his fore-elders, who were as good farmers as himself. It might be said their sweat was in every acre of the ground. His farm con- sisted of nearly six hundred acres of good land. He had married a wife with money, and a wife who had wits and money too, so much so that from the time they married till the time our story begins he had never had to give her a penny towards housekeeping, as that had all been provided out of the eggs and butter money. So after the farmer had paid his rent he really had nothing to do but to " pile it up." And a pile it was, an Olympus of silver, a Pelion of gold. This was what forty years of successful farming had brought him. Had he not sold wheat at 82s. a quarter during the Irish famine of 1847, and at 86s. a quarter during the Crimean War, and at 76s. a quarter in 1853, when Mr. Gladstone's free trade budget gave such a fillip to business ? A HASTY WORD. 235 It would have been contrary to nature if the halcyon days of farming had been without any effect upon the farmers. Satirists began to gibe at those who were riding blood-hunters, sending their sons to college, and letting their daughters learn to play the piano and paint pictures, instead of learning to milk cows and darn stockings, as heretofore. But in nothing did the result of the worship of wealth show itself more than in the fine quasi- mansions which now began to rise about the country in the place of old homesteads. House pride became contagious. It certainly was hard for a farmer of six hundred acres to see another with four hundred living in a house with a fine drawing-room, and perhaps a butler's pantry, while he had to bend his head to get into his low-timbered rooms, and perhaps had the cows grazing right against his parlour windows. It is possible Mrs. Watson may also have had some say in the matter : at all events, Mr. Broadley was applied to for a new house, and he, accustomed to such applications, said he would see about it. 236 A HASTY WORD. A short time elapsed, and Mr. Broadley came over. The meeting of landlord and tenant is usually that of condescending good- nature on the one side and deferential attention on the other. But what if the tenant be equally rich as the landlord ? The landlord looked round at the old- fashioned farm house and delivered himself as follows : — " It's quite good enough for a farmer." " Good enough for me?" said the farmer, to the astonishment of his landlord. " I'll build as good a house as yours any day." This defiance of the landlord soon got wind, and the old farmer had to bear a good deal of chaff as to when he was going to build another Welton. To all which he answered, " Wait a bit." He was known to be rich, but how rich was not suspected. He was in no hurry. Men with money have no need to be in a hurry, for money will always be power. So he waited until a site at Swanland was for sale. There was a house upon it, but not so good a house as A HASTY WORD. 237 Welton, and, therefore, it would not do for him. He sent for one of the first architects in the country, and gave his instructions. They were simple. He drove the architect over to his landlord's seat, and having told him to take a good view of the house, said, " Build me a better place than that." Brunei, the engineer, once said the only difficulty he ever had to contend with was the lack of money. Give him that, and mountains and hills could be brought low, and valleys could be exalted. As with the engineer, so with the builder. Give him money, and amidst the swamps dry land appears, and on the dry land — " He builds the soul a lordly pleasure house, Wherein at ease for aye to dwell." Everything of this kind can be done for money. So, around the house, gardens were laid out and shrubberies planted. A force of landscape gardeners made the grounds appear as much like a park as possible. Up- holsterers fitted the house a la mode, and a London bookseller so manipulated the library 238 A HASTY WORD. that you could not have told it had not been the gradual accumulation of years. For ten guineas, it is said, there are people who will prove you a member of the Royal Family : so it stands to reason that a mere coat-of-arms, crest, and motto can be readily forthcoming. The builder of Swanland Manor was declared to be Brough Watson ; and, in fact, everything was done to show they were a genuine old county family, even to the possession of a square pew in the church with green curtains round it. " Everything " is a tall order. If ever there was a man with fine prospects from his earliest years it was the poet Samuel Rogers. He had wealth, talents, character, friends, and long life ; yet he felt, as age increased upon him, the dreadful blank of having no one to succeed him. He had lived a bachelor life, and in his age he declared that, had his life to be lived over again, a wife and children would have been his choice. So the home of the Brough Watsons, with all its sumptuousness, was found a trifle dull, for they had no child. A HASTY WORD. 239 But well-nigh everything can be had for money. If children cannot, there are sure to be nephews and nieces too glad to be the guests and probable heirs of moneyed people. Mrs. Watson had three nephews, the eldest of whom was adopted and accepted as the heir. It has been made plain the real foundation of Swanland Manor was a tiff with the land- lord. The whole secret of the ancient augurs, who were pretty often right, lay in noticing the circumstances (whether of the starry heavens or of the sacred chickens) under which everything was begun, and they laid it down as a general rule that as you began, so you would go on. An augur seeing the beginning would have got the clue at once to the subsequent history of the place. A tiff was to enter largely into the future destiny of the accumulated wealth. The nephew-heir felt more and more at home until he got to act as though the place was already his. Sundry little chafings had been caused his uncle by his ordering horses to be harnessed, &c, before asking permission ; 24O A HASTY WORD. but matters reached the climax one day at lunch, when something was wrong with the wine. " Oh, bring up a bottle of that Chateau — ," naming a very choice wine, said the nephew to the butler (of course there was a butler). The uncle said nothing. It is always dangerous when people are annoyed and say nothing. Far better to have it out, even in the storm and tempest, and have done with it. After lunch the uncle gave an order. It was for his carriage, and he drove into Hull to his solicitors. " I have come to alter my will," was the abrupt introduction of the old man. The lawyer seated himself, with paper before him, ready to take instructions, and after preliminaries, enquired : " What alterations do you propose making? " " I mean to change my heir," said Mr. Brough Watson. " Good," said the lawyer ; " whose name is to be inserted ? " Now, as had been said, the old man had two A HASTY WORD. 24 1 nephews besides the adopted one, Robert and Joseph by name. Robert was a barrister ; Joseph was a clergyman. Joseph was the elder, and the old man's sense of justice told him he was the rightful heir. But it has been mentioned these were nephews of his wife, and not his own. He had seen very little of them, and when asked to name the elder of the two felt in doubt whether it was Robert or Joseph. " I am not quite sure which is the elder, Robert or Joseph," he said. " We had better make inquiries," said the lawyer ; " your wife will know best, or at least she can find out in a post or two." " No," said the old man ; " I mean to have it settled at once. Robert is his name, I feel sure. Put in ' to my dear nephew Robert.' " The old man got into his carriage and drove home. Such excitement as he had gone through was not good for a man of his age, and he began to feel dazed. When he got out he stumbled into a chair in the hall, and any Q 242 A HASTY WORD. experienced nurse would have pronounced him struck with death. They got him to bed, and by the advice of the doctor such relations as he had were sent for — among them the two absent nephews. As the clergyman nephew entered the room the old man beckoned to him, and seized his hand. He was already speechless, but swept his other hand around to signify every- thing he had. He then pressed his nephew's hand again, and so died. The meaning was unmistakable ; for the lawyer had told them the will had been altered. The old man had signified who was his heir. The day of burial arrived ; the mourners had paid their last respects, and had returned to the house. The will was opened, though it was a foregone conclusion what it would be. The lawyer was reading. — " The Manor House and estates of Swanland to my dear nephew Robert." The clerical nephew nearly jumped out of his seat. A HASTY WORD. 243 " Robert ! You mean Joseph," he gasped. Robert was the younger one. Somehow Robert took his unexpected and unintended inheritance very easily. A country life was not at all in his way. He behaved very handsomely to his disappointed brothers, took up his own residence in London, and disposed of Swanland to a complete stranger. Every hope the old man had when he built the house came to nothing. He wished to build a house which should stamp his family as a county one, and his family refused both the house and the county. So it ever is. The surest receipt for failure in anything one has set one's heart upon is to " do it in a temper." AN UNDESIGNED FAVOUR. My lonely walks naturally incline me to talk to every one who offers to be companionable, and my travel stained-garments obliterate any marks of belonging to a learned pro- fession, and so every one feels at liberty to talk to me. Consequently I am never astonished when labouring men join me, and open a conversation on terms of perfect equality. Therefore, I felt no surprise when I overtook a man having the appearance of a small farmer, that he turned round and said " Good evening." However, this was followed by his holding out his hand and saying I was one of the best friends he ever had. " Where have we met ?" I asked. " In church, Sir." " A very good place to meet in," I remarked. 244 AN UNDESIGNED FAVOUR. 245 " Do you remember preaching for the Bible Society in Church. Well, that sermon made my fortune." "How was that?"' I eagerly asked. He proceeded to tell me a tale which may be re-told in the following words : Ann had had a disappointment. Ann lived in a village about two miles from my home, and from the appearance of her cottage you might think she was rather below the average country woman, for it was given up to her poultry. The front room was the ordinary run for the cocks and hens, and the back room, which served Ann for a kitchen, was given up to the young broods, or to invalid and sitting hens. Even Ann's bedroom was not her own, for in case of any birds requiring special care they were allowed to share the warm region of the bed itself. The state of the rooms and of the bed itself can be easier imagined than described. The effluvium was such that very few ever penetrated further than the door, where were 246 AN UNDESIGNED FAVOUR. carried on all transactions as to eggs and poultry. Ann had fresh eggs and spring chickens when nobody else had, for poultry, like everything else, always responds to care and affection, and Ann loved her feathered friends. It was not everyone who could buy live birds or even a sitting of eggs from her. " No," she would say, declining the proffered money, " I" am not certain they will have a good home, and I won't sell them to folks I don't know." Ann's appearance was in keeping with her cottage. Her clothes, and even her hair, were always covered with the fluff of feathers, and she exhaled that sour smell which is incidental to a poultry house not scrupulously clean. Ann felt it was no use buying good clothes which could not be kept decent, living as she did, so her appearance was that of a woman just one step removed from a tramp. She served one useful purpose in life besides that of rearing poultry. Impecunious young couples of the better classes, who had an idea of making a living out of a poultry AN UNDESIGNED FAVOUR. 247 farm, since other means had failed, were sometimes taken to see Ann and her poultry. The sight cured them, and they were restrained from embarking their slender capital, or rather that of their friends, in a venture where they were bound to lose their money. It is never safe to judge by appearance, and Ann was no exception to the rule. So far from being below the level of the ordinary country woman, she had been born above. Her father had been a large farmer, and she had been engaged to a likely young fellow, who had been the best catch in all the country round. He came of a race of farmers who knew how to make any land pay, even in the worst seasons. When it came to the question of what Ann was to have, the gulf between what the bridegroom expected and what the father would give was so wide that it could not be bridged over. Not even the demands of the father that he should at least make his daughter " an honest woman '' prevailed with the money- 24S AN UNDESIGNED FAVOUR. loving youth, and Ann had to bear her disappointment and shame as best she could. Alas, everyone knows that in a Yorkshire village the shame is no great matter, and in a few years time Ann and her bairn regularly attended Church. Ann's father was now dead, and as she had looked after the poultry in her old home, she at once saw her way to make a living for herself and child. Her father left but little money, and her brother had no difficulty in duping the simple Ann out of her share. That did not distress her, for she felt she had all she wanted in the world as she gazed on her child in silent adoration. The child died and was buried. Ann chose a spot close to the door of the Church by which she usually entered, and bore the great grief of her life with such consolations as the Church and that which lay beside the Church could give her. One day Ann heard the news that the old Church was to be pulled down and rebuilt, and to the surprise of the Vicar she brought four five- AN UNDESIGNED FAVOUR. 249 pound notes to help to pay the cost. She remarked that she hoped she would be able to find her old seat in the new Church, so that every time the door opened she would be able to see the grave so dear to her. This led the Vicar to show her the plan of the new Church, from which it appeared some graves would have to be disturbed, and among them that of Ann's bairn. " What right of you to howk up my bairn ?" asked Ann trembling with indignation. " Why, we have a faculty ; notice of what we were going to do was put on the Church door, and you might have objected." Ann seized the bank notes still lying on the Vicar's desk, and vowing she would never enter the new Church, departed more in sorrow than in anger. Ann was true to her word, and never entered the Church till she was carried in feet foremost. The love she had bestowed on her child's grave was now entirely absorbed by her poultry, and the devotion she had displayed towards the Church, and all con- 25O AN UNDESIGNED FAVOUR. nected with it, was transferred to the sordid accumulation of money. She was bound to lay by, for it has been stated that she had no outlet for her money in clothes, scarce a soul ever crossed the threshold of her door, and so nothing was spent on entertainment, and she could not even get rid of her pence through the offertory bag in Church. Hard-working saving people live long, and so it was not until she had passed the allotted span that she paid the debt of Nature. She had never spoken to a soul about her affairs, and when she died nobody knew what money she possessed or where it was. Few proverbs prove so true as that which tells us about ill-gotten gains. The reader may guess without being told what was the fate of the money which Ann's brother cheated her out of, how he went steadily down the hill, until drink killed him* His son could not live on the land except as a labourer, for he required capital, so he picked up a AN UNDESIGNED FAVOUR. 251 precarious existence in a town. Such a life as he led gives a keen scent for money, and no sooner was the breath out of Ann's body than her nephew was on the spot to see after his interests. The death club she was in paid the expenses of her funeral, and the sale of the poultry put a few pounds in his pocket. Search into the cupboards, up the chimney, under the ticking of the bed, failed to give any clue to the wealth of Ann, nor was inquiry at the neighbouring banks any more successful. The nephew was fain to take the few bits of his aunt's things back to the town whence he came, and among them was the Bible, Prayer Book, and Hymn Book which Ann had used in her church-going days." Once a year I preach in a certain Church on behalf of the Bible Society, and one year the disappointed heir was among my listeners. My sermon was on the neglect of Bible reading, and I gave illustrations of how Bibles lay neglected, and the spiritual blessings they were ready to yield were lost- Some- 252 AN UNDESIGNED FAVOUR. times they yielded blessings of real tangible value. I spoke of a man who was heir to a large property, and was unable to produce his mother's marriage lines. Search and advertising alike proved fruitless, but one day opening a Bible by chance he found the certificate. The reader will guess who among the congregation pricked up his ears at this, and on his return home, he looked for Ann's old Bible, and being unclasped, he found between the leaves the missing wealth of the late owner, in the shape of bank notes amounting to £800. With this wealth he took the small farm he was working when he met me, and told me how it was through me he had found a fortune. Of course I said I was very glad, but felt no credit was really due, the good turn I had done him being an undesigned one. HOW I SAT IN THE KING'S SEAT. I sat down to a dish of ham and eggs at an inn near my home, and casually remarked to the girl who waited, that I hoped the ham was home-fed. "No, sir, it's American, master sells all his own hams." "Yes, and buys inferior stuff," said I warmly. " You charge us visitors what you like, and most of us care little what we pay provided we are well done to. Of all things calculated to make one angry it is to see oneself set down to American bacon, while home-fed pigs are grunting under the windows." Having thus delivered myself, I turned to help my companion, an M.P., who said: — " You are a nice one to talk." "Why?" 254 HOW l SAT IN ' TH E KIXG'-S SEAT. "To talk about patronising the home country while you have just been for a walk to Venice, and have not seen half of the beauties of your own land. For instance, I don't believe you have seen a single cathedral in Wales. S. Davids is enough to ravish the eye of a Pagan, and, what's more, you would have to walk to it, for there is no railway." I had rather be scolded by some people than flattered by others, and the scolding of that M.P. accounted for my making tracks for S. David's Cathedral on the first chance I had, and finding myself in Wales one fine November. When George Borrow was in Wales, he gives an instance of the love of the Welsh for learned lore. He once met a militiaman in a public-house, who was in a muddled state to begin with and got worse as evening wore on. At a period when an English working man would have hiccoughed out mere blasphemy, this tipsy fellow recited a number of lines of some Wesh bard who lived five HOW I SAT IN THE KING'S SEAT. 255 centuries ago. Fancy a Suffolk clodhopper reciting lines from Chaucer or even from Shakespeare. I too was struck with the education of the Welsh. They have no slang, and as far as I heard no low talk. Indeed all conversation seemed to me carried on in a somewhat stilted form. Thus, I asked a woman carrying two pails of water if she could speak English. She replied: — "Indeed I can, sir, I have both Welsh and English." 11 Can you tell me how far it is to Machynlleth ? " I enquired. " Indeed I can, sir, it is five miles by road, and a most beautiful road it is." "I like to walk on a beautiful road," I answered. " Well, sir, they say the road is the finest in Wales, and the autumn tints will make it lovelier than usual." I have tramped about my own country as much as most men, but never can I recollect a rustic saying anything in praise of the beauties of nature. With him a road 256 HOW I SAT IN THE KING'S SEAT. is a road, and a hill is a hill, a task to be surmounted, but never enjoyed. Next day I could see no more likely place for my luncheon than a railway refreshment room. Usually I give such a wide berth, but that day I had no choice, and as the place was a junction, I hoped for the best. For the first time in my life I entered a railway refreshment room which had no license. The bar was set out with the usual sandwiches, biscuits and cakes, and on the shelves behind were bottles of cowslip wine, raspberry vinegar and other non-intoxicants. A train dashed into the station, and three rubicund men dashed into the room a few seconds after. "Three small Scotches, please, Miss." "What?" "Three Scotch whiskies, and look sharp, for we are off in a jiffey." "We don't sell it. This is a temperance bar. We have ginger beer, lemonade, and cowslip wine." " Cowslip wine ! " HOW I SAT IN THE KING'S SEAT. 257 My friend, the M.P., might have envied the scorn thrown into the words, and which must have crushed a political opponent if applied to him. I have not space to set down all the comic scenes I witnessed as I sat eating my lunch, but in time I had finished, and in due course I struck the City Road which leads to S. Davids. The nearest place to the Epis- copal See is Haverfordwest, the distance is seventeen miles, and the road runs over sixteen hills. The reader may well wonder that the Cathedral has remained in this remote village, and has not been transferred to some more central spot. I learnt that in the reign of Henry VIII. it was proposed to transfer it, but when bluff King Hal learnt that his grandfather Edmund Tudor was buried there he decided that the See should remain where it was. I was told by a gentleman whose acquaint- ance I made on my journey, that the most prominent feature of the Welsh people was R 258 HOW I SAT IN THE KING'S SEAT. their religion. He told me their every passion of love and hate centred round this. In England nobody cares of what religion his neighbour is, and never dreams of persecuting him for it. A working man may care whether his mate belongs to his Union, or his political party, and may try to make it hot for him if he doesn't. In Wales this gentleman had seen a market woman have to take all her butter and eggs home again, just as she had brought them, because she refused to pay a contribution she had promised to her chapel. Again, in England a father may be angry if his children marry beneath them, or out of their set ; in Wales a man will care nothing for that, but if his son or daughter marry outside the religious denomination he himself believes in so strongly, the old home no longer has a place for them. I had a lovely walk to S. Davids in the moonlight, the road occasionally dipping to within a few feet of the sea. Wales is a very badly marked country in the matter of HOW I SAT IN THE KING'S SEAT. 259 milestones, and I feel inclined to think that the seventeen miles was nearer twenty, but at last I reached my destination and made for the "City Arms" Hotel. I enquired if there was anything in the shape of dinner or supper ready, but was told there was no cold meat, so there was nothing for me but to " box Harry." I knew this meant a meal of bacon and eggs, and is a term in use among commercial travellers, much as staying at the " Hen and Chicken " is equivalent to staying at home. While I was " boxing Harry," the landlord came in, and, seeing I was a clergyman, said he supposed I was learned, and he would like to know what the term " boxing Harry " was derived from. I was unable to satisfy his enquiries, and learnt from him the time of morning prayer at the Cathedral and then went to bed. S. Davids is a miserable village, and I wondered where any Cathedral could be hidden away. It was down in a hollow and a fine sight it was with the ruined Episcopal 260 HOW I SAT IN THE KING'S SEAT. Palace, and the Deanery and Library in full view. The service was beautifully rendered, and most reverently performed. The two good-looking Canons reminded me of two lines of an old Spanish song. " The lasses of Havana go to Mass in coaches yellow, But ere they start they ask if the priest's a handsome fellow." But neither officials nor the divine office attracted the lasses or anyone else, for I constituted the congregation. However, the visit was memorable for this, that for the only time in my life I occupied the King's seat. Among things not generally known is the fact that the King is a Canon of S. Davids. There is his stall, with the royal arms upon it, and there an obliging verger put me for the service. Do what I would I could not help my thoughts wandering a little during service. I thought how once " the seats of the mighty " were sacred preserves, and in- truders would not have dared to venture near. I thought also how often I had seen the o o HOW I SAT IN THE KING'S SEAT. 261 King in his various functions, on the Horse Guards Parade as a field marshal, in his box at the Opera, in the Royal Enclosure at Ascot, and I wondered if the day would ever come when he would be seen occupying his stall as a Canon of S. Davids. I also thought how this was one relic of the days when the Sovereign was a sacred person ; when his touch was supposed to possess divine power and a cure for disease, and when people really believed in "the divinity which doth hedge a King." The ruler of France, even the Protestant M. Thiers, was a Canon of S. John Lateran in right of his office, and evidently in ancient times there was no such gulf fixed between clergy and laity, as now prevents any lay person except the King being a Canon of a Cathedral. WHERE I ATE SPEAR-PIE. It was at Painswick, in Gloucestershire, that I once sat down to a dish of dog-pie. It was the day of the Village Feast, and the custom arose in this way. In the dim past great rivalry existed between Stroud and Painswick, and a party of bowmen went from Painswick to engage in a contest with the marksmen of Stroud. In the days of Merry England, such contests were always con- cluded with a feast, but so chagrined were the Stroud people at rinding their neighbours so much better bowmen than they were, that they revenged themselves by serving up cats for rabbits at the subsequent banquet. They evidently forgot the saying about those who live in glass houses, and next year they themselves were treated to dog-pie at Painswick, in place of venison pasties. The custom has been continued from that 262 I r. WHERE I ATE SPEAR-PIE. 26,^ day to this, only I am glad to say that softened manners now make the dog-pies of plums ! Dog-pie is certainly digestible compared to spear-pie, and how it came about that I had a plateful of the latter set before me was due to a preaching engagement taking me through Stamford Bridge one 20th November about lunch time. The 20th November is S. Edmund's Day in the old calendars, and S. Edmund is the Saint to whom the village church is dedicated. It is a rule, almost without an exception, to find the village fair held on the day of the patron Saint, and so it is at Stamford Bridge. The fair now hardly deserves the name, but the people eat spear-pies on that day as their fathers have done for nearly nine hundred years. The pies are raised and boat-shaped, and are filled with pears of a particular kind, hard and late in ripening. The pies have a skewer sticking up in the centre, and hence the name of spear-pie, although many people, 264 WHERE I ATE SPEAR-PIE. ignorant of their origin, drop the initial letter and call them pear-pie. In order to recall a queer bit of history, let me explain their meaning and vindicate the right of the pies to their name. We have to go back to the days of Edward the Confessor to find the cause of the troubles which led to the battle of Stamford Bridge, and the origin of spear-pies. A halo of tenderness has always hung around this last King of the old English stock. " The good laws of Edward the Confessor " was the cry of the enslaved subjects of the Norman Kings, and the cry implied liberty and light taxation, and all other things men most desire in a government. Everybody knows that, although married to Earl Godwin's daughter, Edward is said to have lived in continence, and if true, so far from being anything to be proud of, brought a century of misery to his people. Had a son been born to Edward, there is no reason to suppose there would have been any difficulty about his succession, for nowhere was the right of primogeniture WHERE I ATE SPEAR-PIE. 265 more generally acknowledged than in Eng- land. But Edward died childless, and to the vacant throne there appeared two claimants in the persons of Harold and William the Conqueror. The nobles and bishops who were gathered round the death-bed of the Confessor, passed quietly to the election of Harold, son of Godwin. For twelve years all real power had been in Harold's hands, and now he was to have both the name as well as the power of a King. When the news of Harold's election reached Normandy, the rage of Duke William knew no bounds. "To no man spake he, and no man dared to speak to him," says an old chronicle. Not that William had any claims that we should recognise. His father, Duke Robert, had seen Arietta, the daughter of a tanner washing her linen in the little brook beneath the cliff of Falaise, and loving her, had made her the mother of his boy. But William had the best claims to leadership in that rude age, for all that time demanded was embodied in his gigantic form, 266 WHERE I ATE SPEAR-PIE. his enormous strength, his savage counten- ance, and the ruthlessness of his revenge. He had been much at the Court of our Edward, and there received a promise of the Crown, which was confirmed by Harold himself, when, as the well-known story goes, he was wrecked in Normandy, and only allowed to return to England on swearing upon some relics that he would support William's claim. But Harold had some one else to reckon with besides William. This was his own brother, Tosti, Earl of Northumberland, who had been a refugee in Flanders. On hearing of Edward's death, Tosti proposed to Harold that they should divide England between them. The story goes that Harold assented to this, but when it came to a division he said Tosti should have six feet of ground or as much more as he could lie on, and he (Harold) would keep the rest. Tosti was unable to see the joke, and, encouraged by Duke William and the King of Norway, flung himself on the coast of Yorkshire with WHERE I ATE SPEAR-PIE. 267 a crowd of freebooters, and easily defeated two Earls, Morcar and Edwin, who ventured to oppose him at Fulford. Perhaps at no time of his life did Harold show to greater advantage than when he heard of this misfortune. With his house- hold troops he hastened from the South. He had given so many proofs of his capacity for good government, that the people hastened to his standard, and when he came up with the enemy at Stamford Bridge, he was in a condition to give them battle. The armies met on the opposite sides of the river, which in those days was spanned by a wooden bridge, instead of the stone structure which now does duty. The floor of the bridge was of boards, apparently laid somewhat widely apart. Early in the day Tosti himself held the bridge a la Horatius, and was more than a match for any who were sent against him to contest the narrow way. At last one of Harold's men entered the river, and, it being shallow, was able to get under the bridge, and while Tosti was 268 WHERE I ATE SPEAR-PIE. occupied with some opponent, the soldier thrust his spear through the chinks of the bridge and drove it upwards into the stomach of Tosti and killed him, so six feet of earth did for him after all, as it has done for many a better man. Of course the skewer in the spear-pie is in memory of the weapon which slew Tosti, and gained a victory for England. If it be asked why such a battle has been held in such veneration, the answer is that the battle of Stamford Bridge for ever put an end to the incursions of the Northmen into England. The dread in which the Danes were held is proved in this way. All mysterious things are attributed by an ignorant people to those of whom they are most in dread, and whereas elsewhere such are ascribed to the Devil, as the Devil's Dyke, and the Devil's punch bowl, in Yorkshire we have the Dane's Dyke, &c. Would that for the sake of exactness all other historical events were connected with some local custom. An equally important WHERE I ATE SPEAR-PIE. 269 battle with Stamford Bridge was that of Brunenburgh, which one connects with the banks of the Humber, and Athelstan's visit to Beverley Minster. But as the place is not accurately fixed, I have heard the site placed at Brough in Yorkshire, at Burgh in Lincolnshire, and even in Dorsetshire. As long as the people of the district make their spear-pies, we shall not be in much doubt where was fought the battle by which Harold gained his kingdom, and Tosti his six feet of ground. That is how spear-pie was served at the village inn at Stamford Bridge on the 20th November, when I passed through the place. OVER THE BISCUITS AND THE WINE. THE PARISH CLERK'S STORY. My neighbour at X. being laid up with influenza I had to go and take a rustic wedding for him. In cases of farm-servants there is no waiting for the bride, and interview with the bridegroom to while away the parson's time, for bride and bridegroom enter the church together arm in arm followed by the wedding party, who have all been stowed into one conveyance to save expense. The Parish Clerk, however, kept me company in the vestry, he being there to repress any undue levity on the part of the congregation, to make the responses, take the fees, and offer me refreshments in the shape of wine and biscuits. 270 OVER THE BISCUITS AND THE WINE. 271 Years ago, before the era of choir-boys, wine and biscuits were found in the vestries along with the registers and the parson's surplice. That mysterious interval when the parson went out to change his surplice for a black gown, which sometimes was so prolonged that the organist had to play an interlude before the last verse of the hymn, was in part occupied by light refreshments in the shape of wine and biscuits. To find them in the vestry now, betokens either a very ancient rector, or a very out-of-the- way place where customs take a long while to change. Such a place was X., as the next remark of the Parish Clerk would show. "It's forty years since we had a stranger to take a wedding here," said he, sipping the wine he had poured out for himself as I did not take any. "Well, you won't have many marriages here taken by strangers or anyone else," I replied, "with a population of 200 you won't have one in a year." 272 OVER THE BISCUITS AND THE WINE. "That's about it, sir, the young people like to go off to the Register Office at B. and get married on the sly, and when they do get married in Church, they do their best to keep it quiet. But thirty years ago, sir, the Church was packed for the wedding I refer to." "How was that?" "Well, sir, for one thing it was the parson's daughter, that made a stir, and for another thing she married a young butcher and that made more." "Tell me about it," I said. There was no sign of the wedding party yet, and the vestry was cosy, and an interesting story was the one thing needed to complete the charm. The old clerk then told me the following : — Thirty years before the Rector of the Parish had been the Hon. and Rev. Canon It has been said that the term Captain, embraces the greatest extremes possible, for the holder of the title may have a OVER THE BISCUITS AND THE WINE. 273 commission in the Life Guards, or be the master of a penny steamboat. Perhaps so, but there are differences covered by the term "Clergy" too, and the Hon. and Rev. Canon had about as much in common with his ordinary brethren as the Postmaster General has with a postmaster. He kept his carriage and pair, sat with the Magistrates at Quarter and Petty Sessions, visited with the nobility and gentry around, and would no more have dreamt of going to the "high teas" of his clerical neighbours than he would have dreamt of sending his wife and daughters third class. When our story opens he was a widower with two daughters and one son, and as soon as his girls were out of the schoolroom he never invited a curate to his house unless he was married or engaged. His daughter marry a curate — what an idea ! When the mother died, the father, stern and exclusive before, made his Rectory into a kind of prison. So fearful was he s 274 OVE R THE BISCUITS AND THE WINE. of any undesirable party aspiring to the hand of his daughters, that he drew the cordon tighter than it had been. When people, like school inspectors, had to be entertained at lunch, the daughters were never present. The daughters never walked into the village without a maid, and every letter they received had to pass the jealous eyes of their father. Of course there were gentlemen and noblemen in the district, whose attentions would have been welcome, but they were not often there, for as soon as the shooting was over they departed. Ten years passed away, and at the end of that time what was likely to have happened ? There was a well known story at Oxford that a certain tailor there an- nounced his daughter's dowry at ,£30,000, and said that none but a gold tassel should ever make her acquaintance. But the young nobleman never appeared, and he then threw her open to all the members of Christ Church. Still the maiden was unwooed, and he was just about to enlarge OVER THE BISCUITS AND THE WINE. 275 his constituency so as to include all members of the University, when the girl, now a grown woman, ran off with a cheesemonger. So it was at X., the stern father had forgotten his girls were flesh and blood. Like Shylock, if you prick them they would bleed, and like Shylock's daughter there was that within them which told they were made to love and be loved. But who were they to love, seeing no one likely to be a suitor came, or was allowed to come their way ? Stern men generally have this redeeming feature, they are stern as regards their duty, and duty demanded that the Rector should be regular with his services, charitable to the poor, and that his daughters should teach in the Sunday School. Teaching boys heavy with beef and pudding on a Sunday afternoon is not always the most pleasant work, but Miss Mary found it rather agreeable, and particularly liked to meet the bright eyes of Billy Bowles, one of the lads in her class. 276 OVER THE BISCUITS AND THE WINE. In due time, Billy left his native village to be apprenticed to a butcher in a neighbouring town, and Miss Mary not only missed him, but felt an unusal pleasure when he came home for his annual holiday. Byron wrote : "Alas the love of women, for 'tis known To be a dreadful and a fearful thing For all they have upon that die is thrown, And if they lose, life has no more to bring." The young lady, who was now twenty- eight saw no charm in the single blessedness to which the pride of her father condemned her, and to cut the old, old story short, when Billy returned to the village to succeed his father as the butcher of the place, they got engaged to be married, and what was more meant to be married in the face of day too. Why not? When it came to the question as to where the wedding was to take place, the young couple scouted the idea that they should go away and be married quietly. They had done, and were about to do, OVER THE BISCUITS AND THE WINE. 2~7 nothing to be ashamed of, and as they intended to live and earn their bread in the village, they would be married in the village Church as they had a right to be. The father was spared the pain of reading his daughter's banns, for the young man had saved some money and paid for a licence. A neighbouring clergyman came over and performed the ceremony, and that was the last time a stranger had officiated in the Church before I went over to officiate for my friend the successor of the old Canon. How did the marriage turn out the reader will want to know : — It is said that Charles the First never laughed, and that Philip of Spain never smiled. If there be any facial expression indicative of satisfaction less than a smile, the Hon. and Rev. Canon never wore it after his daughter told him of her determina- tion to marry the butcher. Her sister was absolutely forbidden to speak to the "daring girl," as her father 278 OVER THE BISCUITS AND THE WINE. called his married daughter. She being of a yielding disposition obeyed, but the isolation from the only thing she loved unhinged her mind, and before his death the father was obliged to confine her in a lunatic asylum. The only son, driven forth by the dull- ness of the old home, lost, amid the more deadly influences of town life, his character and position. What the neighbours thought may easily be summed up. They said that the marriage of a lady (that zvas a lady) and a butcher might be expected to turn out much as the partnership between the blacksmith and the fuller in yEsop's fable. Yet all were mistaken. If the father's wish had been fulfilled, and his daughter had been married to some neighbouring squire or baronet ; if he had arranged the wedding at St. George's, Hanover Square, had got his Grace the Archbishop to tie the knot, had invited his titled relatives to the wedding, and filled a column or so of OVER THE BISCUITS AND THE WINE. 279 the paper with the wedding presents, he could not have ensured for his daughter a greater blessing on her wedded life than she has enjoyed. When the world was young all the joys of life were natural ones, of which the joys of children came the first. In due time the butcher's home was filled with them, and the butcher's wife experienced the supreme happiness in having a husband who loved her sufficiently to work for her. Occasionally the butcher's wife hears of former associates, many of whom made great marriages, move in high society, and are the envy of the world at large. But she does not envy them, as she has everything she can wish for, and who can have more ? ON THE TRAIL OF MY HERO. Who is my hero ? Who could he be but George Borrow, the man who seemed to combine in himself all that I most desire to be and to have. How I envy the earnest mind of the man whicli not only gave a religious motive to his travels, but enabled him to speak up for the truth in the most unlikely assemblies, among gipsies, among tipsy revellers in public houses, before Spanish priests, and always in the most natural manner, never dragging in sacred names or subjects by the head and shoulders. How I envy his acquisition of languages, which opened all hearts to him, and, above all, how I envy the opportunities he had for seeing the world, penetrating to the very corners of the earth. Strange to say, I first came upon his 280 ON THE TRAIL OF MY HERO. 281 trail in Seville. I found the house where he lived in the Posada de la Reyna. He was agent of the Bible Society, and it was said that no other New Testaments had been brought into Seville till he came since 1558. Then a number entered "the Spanish Rome " concealed in a cask of wine. Borrow had seventy-six of his Bibles confiscated. Never timid, he went straight to the ecclesiastical governor of the city and demanded to know why. The reply was that the books were corrupting, and the audacious Protestant was soundly re- proved for venturing to disseminate such dangerous literature ! Borrow's opinion of the people of Seville was not flattering, and he describes the upper class as the most vain and foolish of the human race. He wrote there his " Gipsies in Spain," and for some time was an inmate of the prison, due to alleged informality of his passport, but really part of the persecution the priests stirred up against him. Borrow was a good Christian, 282 ON THE TRAIL OF MY HERO. but not one of those who turn the left cheek when smitten on the right, and through the Foreign Office he made his tormentors pay dearly for their spite. A traveller, Colonel Napier, who came across Borrow at the Seville Posada, states that he was called the " Mysterious Unknown." He incidentally gives the following instance of Borrow's linguistic acquirements, enough to make the mouth of a traveller like I am water to read of such powers. " I was quite in the dark as to his (Borrow's) nationality. I found he could speak English as fluently as French. I tried him on the Italian track ; again he was perfectly at home. He had a Greek servant, to whom he gave orders in Romaic. He conversed in good Castilian with the host of the Posada, exchanged a German salutation with an Austrian Baron, and on my mentioning that I had paid a visit to the gipsies, he expressed his belief they originated in Moultan in India, and said they retained many Moultanee words, such ON THE TRAIL OF MY HERO. 283 as panee, water, buree panee, the sea, &c. At the time he was displaying the power of speaking all these languages, he was actually under the suspicion of the police as a Russian spy, so much of his corres- pondence being in that language." I came across George Borrow's name in the Hotel book at Amesbury, whither he had gone like me to visit Stonehenge. Once when staying with my friend, Mr. Samuel Roberts, M.P. for Sheffield, I found a copy of the Gipsies "presented by the author to his friend," the Samuel Roberts of 1843, who had evidently shown him much kindness. Again, at Llangollen, I not only stayed in the same house as my hero, but was able to follow in his track to Llanberis, Snowden, Beth Gelert, Festiniog, and Machynlleth. Borrow was fond of walking for walking's sake, and often went on foot from Norwich to London, a distance of 112 miles. Once he accomplished this in 27 hours, which works out at four miles an hour continuous 284 ON THE TRAIL OF MY HERO. walking, and on which occasion he only spent fivepence halfpenny in the purchase of a glass of ale, a glass of milk, a roll and two apples. He actually preferred walking to any other means of locomotion, for he had been told to visit the Bible Society, and of course they would have paid for his journey, but, like me, he preferred to walk above everything else. It is known to all admirers of Borrow that there was a veiled period of his life, extending over seven years, when he completely disappeared from view, and on his return to civilisation refused to give any account of himself, and only threw out hints as to where he had been. However, as his journeys were mostly performed on foot, I feel sure that I must have been on his trail when I visited Paris and Lisbon. Perhaps I trod the very same road or part of it when I walked from Bordeaux over the Pyrenees, though he crossed by Bayonne, and I at Andorra. I have not hitherto had the courage, nor could I spare the time, ON THE TRAIL OF MY HERO. 285 to follow him to Russia, Turkey, and the East generally, for though both my hero and I have had to make our livelihood in ways connected with the Bible, yet my work has kept me at home, while Borrow's sent him abroad. Further, my life as a Church of England clergyman has had to be lived in the light of day, while his work as a prospecting agent for the distribution of Bibles in countries, where such work brought him (at least once) within an ace of being shot, afforded scope for the seven years' disappearance referred to. During that time he probably surveyed mankind from China to Peru, and was able to write vividly of everything he saw. There is one part of Borrow's character I have never been able to understand, and that was his melancholy. He suffered from it as a youth, and so far from growing out of it, or walking it off, it deepened with advancing years. In my own experience any tendency to depression is at once checked by a day in the open air. 286 ON THE TRAIL OF MY HERO. Plutarch tells us that all great men of his time were melancholy, and Borrow was a great man, so perhaps that accounts for it. At all events, I console myself with the thought that if I am not great, at least I am not melancholy. A WALK AT MARTINMAS! On Martinmas Day (Old Style) every farm- house in Yorkshire finds itself emptied of its yearly servants. The very mention of Old Style suggests what a primitive old-world life is that of the farm lad. Even Russia, the last to hold out, has now adopted the New Style of reckoning the year, but the Yorkshire farmer beats a Russian in his adherence to customs, and engages his men on 23rd November (Martinmas Day, O.S.), as opposed to the nth of that month, which is Martinmas Day, N.S. It was on the 23rd of November one year that I had to walk some twenty miles across our Wolds ; and as I talk to everyone who will talk to me, I was not long in joining on to a companion who was going home after his year's work. I thought he eyed me suspiciously at first, for Martinmas Day 287 288 A WALK AT MARTINMAS ! used to be the harvest of the foot-pads. They lay in wait on the lonely country roads, and by force or threats would get the wages out of the lads if possible. The old fable of the labourer who received for his year's wages a lump of gold, which he exchanged for a cow, which in turn he exchanged for a horse, and so on until he had got down to a paving-stone, which he threw away, and reached home empty handed, has been true to life so far as the beginning and end are concerned. The carelessness of some of them is incredible. My companion told me of a farm lass who left her place with her year's wages (^17) tied up in a corner of her handkerchief. She journeyed home by rail, beguiling the time by shelling and eating nuts. The shells she collected in her handkerchief, and when she threw them out of the window she threw out her wages too ! As far as I could learn, two out of every three farm servants leave their " spots " (as they call their places) every year. As A WALK AT MARTINMAS ! 289 wages are the same all over the country, and as nearly every house is a good meat house, and as farmwork must be every- where alike, it may be a matter for wonder why they take the trouble to leave. The wish to get away from a tyrannical foreman or a hard master may account for some of them, but the majority leave for love of change and a desire to see new places. My talk with the farm lad set me thinking of many things. When Bloomfield wrote his " Farmer's Boy " he drew a pleasant picture of the life as he had lived it. As one youth has a passion for adventure and another for the sea, so others choose to learn " To plough and sow, and reap and mow, And be a farmer's boy." And no wonder, for after the period of youth was over Bloomfield's rustic found himself trusted with the management of the farm, to which he finally succeeded, having in the meantime married his master's daughter. All the songs of that period T 29O A WALK AT MARTINMAS ! have a cheerful note about them, which somehow has deserted the country now, such as : — " Then up we get and put on our clothes, And off to the stable so nimbly we goes ; For of all jolly fellows I swear and I vow There are none like the laddies who follow the plough." When we turn from poetry to sober Blue Books we find a Royal Commission report- ing as follows as to the food our farm labourers in Yorkshire received : — " Breakfast and Supper : Beef-and-bacon pies, cheesecakes or custard puddings, milk and bread. Dinner : Hot boiled meat and broth three days and hot meat pies four days a week, with vegetables, fruit pies, or milk puddings. Beer at discretion." To the above a note by the Secretary is added : " It seems absurd to find in Yorkshire that cheesecakes and custards are given almost daily, both at breakfast and dinner, the men taking a nap after swallowing the latter. So well fed are they that they object to A WALK AT MARTINMAS ! 29 1 mutton because it is fat, and when supplied with it they only eat the lean, throwing the fat under the table." Had the millennium come, and is it possible that men could turn their backs on such a scale of dietary in the country to live on tripe and fried fish in town ? Are such places open to-day ? Much has happened since then, of which agricultural depression is the most obvious. But other influences have been at work as well, which go far to account for the exodus from the country to the town, and explain how it is that the young men left in the rural districts are mostly those who cannot get away from them. I left my farm labourer and overtook the Squire of A , with whom I began to talk about what was uppermost in my mind. He dated the decadence from the days when wheat was selling at sixty shillings a quarter. Among other ideas prevalent with the farming class, along with the passion for dog-carts, hunters, and governesses, was 292 A WALK AT MARTINMAS ! that there was no longer any need for them to be bothered with farm lads in their houses. Formerly all lived together, and the farmer's wife was there to play propriety if there was any inclination to carry on with the lasses, and to see the food was what it ought to be. But when the farmer would no longer be bothered with the lads he turned them over to a hind, who meated them at so much a-head. There is a great deal in that word "meated." Formerly they had lived with the farmer, now they are meated by the hind ; and directly they have finished their meat the hind wants to ^et rid of them. The house contains no accommodation like the farmhouse kitchen, when the lads could sit and talk and amuse themselves. They are now turned out to seek their own amusement, and it must need brilliant conversation to enjoy oneself at a lane end on a dark winter's evening. The recollection of an occasional evening in town, with the brilliant lights, the varied amusements, and abundance of company, A WALK AT MARTINMAS ! 293 has been too much for many a country lad, and he has joined the flow townwards. The Squire turned down a by-road, and I afterwards came up with a man farming five hundred acres, whom I recollected as a labouring man in my parish, and who had deposited his Martinmas wages in the Savings Bank till he had ^"200, with which he took a small milk farm of twenty acres. He told me he never had farmed land which did not pay, and that he had made money in the worst of times. He also told me he had just been elected Chairman of his District Council, which gave him a seat on the Bench of Magistrates. When I left him I entered an inn, called the Londes- borough Arms, and on the sign-board were the numerous quarterings of the Londes- borough Shield, and among them a hay- fork. The motto is " Over, fork over," and carries one's mind back to the day when the ancestor of this noble family was a labouring man, and with his hayfork covered with hay the fugitive heir to the 294 A WALK AT MARTINMAS ! throne of Scotland, who, when Fortune smiled, rewarded him so handsomely that his descendants rank with the highest and richest families in the land. Without saying that every farm labourer may one day find himself an Earl, it is quite within the mark to say that many who are now in comfortable positions as farmers, and many who are on farms of their own, began life as Martinmas servants, and what has been done before may be done again. AN OFFER OF THE PRIMACY. Many years ago the town where I was a curate was thrown into a state of some uncertainty by my being offered a living after only a year's service. It arose in this way : Lord Cairns was the Lord Chancellor of the day, and one morning in June a letter arrived for me bearing the signature of Cairns in the left-hand corner and an Earl's coronet on the flap of the envelope. There was no stamp, but it bore the impress, "Paid," much as circulars and other missives which are sent out in great numbers often do. It was not marked " On Her Majesty's Service," but it is not usual for letters of the Prime Minister or Lord Chancellor to bear that announcement, their signature sufficing to frank the letter. 295 296 AN OFFER OF THE PRIMACY. I was living with my Rector, and at the time was on a walking tour in Switzerland. Of course, my Rector knew the letter was from the Lord Chancellor, and in his mind there was only one conclusion as to what the letter contained. Of course, he forwarded it to me, with a line of his own, saying he hoped the proffered living was a good one, and that I would give him as long notice as possible before leaving. It took three days to reach me, and, of course, another three days before he got a reply back. My Rector was naturally much upset, as besides being sorry to part with me, he feared his holiday plans would be frustrated. He was a man who wore his heart upon his sleeve, and told everyone what was uppermost in his mind. All that week he spoke of my being about to leave him, and so it came to the ears of a newspaper correspondent, who sent the item to the Press. As there was one particularly good Chan- cellor's living vacant in the county just AN OFFER OF THE PRIMACY. 297 then, a shrewd editor was not long in putting one and one together, and duly gazetted me to the important and valuable living of A. No sooner had he done so than a howl of execration began in the Church papers. A curate of a year's standing pitchforked into a living, for which those who had borne the burden and heat of the day had sighed in vain. Scandalous! One correspondent added fuel to the flame by hinting at a connection between myself and his Lordship, which certainly must have astonished the Lord High Chancellor. Meantime the letter reached me, and turned out to be an appeal for Dr. Barnardo's Homes, of which Lord Cairns was a great friend. Why the authority of the Homes had condescended to such a trick, by which some hundreds of curates were made to suppose they were being offered a living, is best known to those who "faked" the envelopes. On my return home Archbishop Thomson