Part 6

From Winchester we motored to Salisbury. The spire of the cathedral is perhaps the most beautiful in the world, but the cathedral as a whole did not impress me as much as I had expected. Perhaps I was still under the influence of Gloucester, or more likely of the regal shrine at Winchester. At any rate, when I learned that it had been built by one man, I lost interest. I am too familiar with that sort of work! The charm of most of the English cathedrals is due to the fact that of most of them it is true that

"Like some tall palm The stately fabric _grew_."

Salisbury did not grow; it was built! It has an air of artificiality about it that not even the beautiful spire, which is a later addition, can atone for.

It is fair to say that Ruth did not agree with me. To her it seemed one of the most beautiful of all we had seen. Indeed, she said the reason I did not appreciate it was because I was influenced by "Martin Chuzzlewit"! That was because I had asked her from which angle she supposed Mr. Pecksniff had first drawn it. At any rate, we had to agree to differ.

As we got into the car at the gate of the close a gentleman who had been looking it over asked whither we were bound. When I told him across the Plain, he strongly advised me to avoid the highway, which, he said, was quite uninteresting, and to take a road which, by many a turning, would show the Plain as the highway could not do. I do not know that man's name, and I do not wish to meet him again! He probably is one of those men who take pleasure in walking--a form of exercise which I detest! He certainly has never driven a car. Had he done so he would know that there is nothing so distressing to a motorist as a "picturesque" road! We descended into little gullies and mounted little hillocks till my back was nearly broken with changing gears, and the car looked as if I had bought it second-hand and used it hard!

We stopped long enough at Stonehenge to get an impression of its dreariness, and then pushed on to a village on the north side of the Plain. We reached there late for lunch, and learned that the name of the place was Divises, and that a by-election for member of parliament was in progress.

The inn was crowded to suffocation, and some of the loungers had had as much to drink as was good for them, and some a little more. I was in no amiable frame of mind, as you may imagine. No one would pay any attention to us--they were too busy serving drink.

I learned that the question at issue was what we call the "saloon." A Labor member was standing on a platform which called for the regulation of the public house, while the Conservative candidate was for "free rum." One would have thought that here was an issue which would divide the sheep from the goats. But there were other questions involved--land, for instance, and the Established Church.

Alas! I soon found that the shepherd had taken the side of the goats! While I waited in vain for something to eat I heard a great shout, and going to the door saw the parson, driven by his little girl--her fair hair blowing in the wind--the pony decked out with blue ribbons and the whip, carried at a knowing angle, adorned with a bow of the same color. I am glad to say the child was left outside, but the burly parson, looking more like a farmer than Herbert's "Priest of the Temple"--as probably he was--elbowed his way through the crowd and called for a drink; then, amid the shout of the half-drunken crowd, gave "The King and the Church."

Ruth, who had been pale enough before, now flushed so red that I was afraid she would "start something," and nudged her to keep quiet. Then I thought she was going to burst into tears. At that moment a charming young fellow came into the room and said to her: "I beg your pardon, but this is no place for you. My mother has a sitting-room, and I am sure would be glad if you would join her."

She hesitated a moment, but I said: "I am deeply obliged to you, and if you could get my wife out of this I should be very grateful."

So she followed him, and when later I joined them I found that the lady of the private room had given her a cup of tea and made her as comfortable as was possible in such a place.

When she learned we were Americans she said she was mortified that we should have seen such a sight--she too had seen, from her window, the parson's entrance. "I suppose, however," she continued, "such things are seen in every country at election time."

I said we had "toughs" who made trouble, but that any minister who behaved as the vicar or rector of this parish had done would be "ridden on a rail." I don't think she "got" that. I added that I thought that our laws which forbid the sale of liquor while the polls are open acted as a preventive of trouble.

"Ah," she said, "that is what Mr. Bowles"--the Labor member--"is trying to have enacted. But, you see, the vested interests are strong, and then he is so radical!"

You may be sure we did not tarry long in that place, but took our way back to Bath, where we had planned to spend another night.

Whether the sheep or the goats won the election I am unable to tell you. I am rather inclined to think it was the goats. The church and the public house make a strong alliance!

XVII

SHEEP-DOGS

Every one told us that we made a mistake in beginning our trip through the valley of the Wye at Ross. I think they were right. It is like doing the Hudson from Albany to New York, instead of taking the Palisades first, then West Point, and the Catskills last. However, it was more convenient to work north than to go up to Hereford, then down the valley, and again come back to our starting-place. At any rate, we did begin at Ross!

Of course our first excursion was to Tintern Abbey. What a gem it must have been in its glory! And I am thankful there has been no attempt to restore it. At the same time I think it a pity that the grounds should be so neglected. It is like neglecting the grave of one we love. So it was with a sad heart that we turned away and drove to a spot, "a few miles above Tintern Abbey," where more than a hundred years ago the immortal poem was written. I read it aloud, and we tried to breathe the atmosphere and feel "Beside these steep and lofty cliffs" what Wordsworth felt as he "heard these waters, rolling from their mountain springs with a sweet inland murmur." It is indeed a "wild and secluded scene impressing thoughts of more deep seclusion."

But these poetic thoughts were not destined to last long, for, Ruth remarking that it was getting damp, we started up the engine and drove along the road on the edge of the cliff, looking for a place for tea.

This we soon found, but as there was no garage, I drew up on the grass opposite the inn, where I thought the car would be out of the way and quite safe. A farmer, coming from the opposite direction, had evidently had a like thought, and had left his cart on the same side of the road. The horse had been taken out and the shafts tilted up at an angle which brought the ends of them directly opposite the radiator of the car. I put on the brake and out we got. I was surprised to see the motor move forward a few inches. The long grass had deceived me, for the ground, instead of being level, as I had supposed, sloped gently, and the brake had not been pulled back far enough to hold it in place. Those few inches did the business. The sharp, iron-shod end of one of the shafts pricked the radiator as neatly as a lancet opens an abscess, and the water gushed out!

This was indeed an accident. We were miles from a garage and I had not the least idea what to do. An old farmer, standing by, summed up the situation in a word when, turning to Ruth, he said: "It's like 'avin' your horse took with the gripes!" Fortunately, at that moment a kindly disposed cyclist came along, and with, I suppose, the same complacent satisfaction that the owner of a Ford car has in dragging a Pierce Arrow out of a ditch, unpacked his repair kit and plugged the radiator with some preparation for mending tires.

We were duly grateful, for it enabled us to go on our way, though we leaked like a watering-cart, and I should not like to say how many times the radiator was filled!

At last we came to a garage where I thought we should find relief. I do not remember what kind of a radiator ours is, but you may be sure the proprietor pointed out that it was the wrong kind, being almost impossible to mend, whereas if we had the kind which he had in stock it would have been a simple matter! I suppose every trade has certain stock phrases, such as the doctor's "Had I been called earlier." However, there was nothing to be done but to leave the car with the man who said he would do what he could.

We returned to the hotel on foot and not at all in a Wordsworthian frame of mind. The worst of it was that I had no one to blame but myself! I got what comfort I could out of the reflection that the insurance company would have to pay. But, as the Irishman said, the worst of that is "you've got to lose to gain!"

The next day while we were waiting for the report from the garage the porter took pity on us and suggested that we might like to see a trial of sheep-dogs, which was to take place at a farm near by. It did not sound exciting, but _faute de mieux_ we decided to go.

Why does not some one revise the bromidic formula, and instead of saying "How small the world is!" say "How small we are!" For indeed our lives are very restricted. How little we know of the interests of others! The trial of the sheep-dogs brought this home to me.

Gentlemen and farmers had driven in from miles around to see this match, which, I was told, is an annual event. I am not sure I can describe the scene, but I will try.

There was a pasture of about twenty acres in extent, in which a flock of sheep were feeding. At a given signal a young man--evidently a farmer--stepped forth with his dog, to which he spoke almost in a whisper. In a twinkling the beautiful and intelligent creature leaped forth, like an arrow from a bow, and began to gather the sheep into a compact mass. This he did without alarming them, so that they moved slowly together, while still cropping the grass. At the far end of the field there was a fold, toward which they slowly but surely moved. No sooner, however, did they discover what was before them than they began to scatter, like young children summoned to bed before the accustomed hour! It was then the dog showed his training. His master blew on a whistle and he scampered to the right, another whistle and he flashed to the left. Now the sheep were again moving toward the fold, but they had begun to run and were bleating piteously. Evidently this was not good "form," for there was a sharp whistle and the dog dropped to the ground, lay motionless for a moment, and then crept slowly forward when the panic had subsided. Now came the critical moment. The fold was built with an opening to the south, but when that should have been passed there was another opening to the left which led into an enclosure large enough to hold the flock. I should have been satisfied when the dog had succeeded in getting the sheep into that, but not so the judges. Both dog and sheep were given a moment's rest and then a new signal was given, as much as to say: "Now, mind your eye!" At the far end of the enclosure was a narrow opening through which the sheep must pass in Indian file. Into the pen then the dog leaped and nosed the bell-wether toward the narrow passage. When that had been done, the others followed meekly and found themselves in another enclosure, out of which they were, in due time, led through the same gateway by which they had first entered, and found themselves once more in the pasture from which they had been gathered. Then the dog came bounding back to his master, and crouching at his feet looked up into his face, as much as to say: "Was it well done?" There was a loud burst of applause, and the farmer stooped down and stroked the dog's head as if he were saying, "Well done, good and faithful servant," and the expression in the creature's eyes showed that he had entered into the "joy of his lord."

I did not care to see more, but it might have seemed discourteous to withdraw before the match was ended, though later I wished I had.

XVIII

BRIGANDS AND BOOTBLACKS

The car was not ready for us the next day. Indeed, I found that the garage was not able to do anything with it, and so telegraphed to London to have a new radiator sent down C.O.D. It was then I was thankful that I had an American, _i.e._, a standardized car!

I thought it would be well to take advantage of the delay to make a little journey by rail to a town near by--that is, near as the crow flies--to pay a visit to the parents of a lad in the parish at home. I thought they might like to hear news of him, and I knew it would give him pleasure to learn that I had seen his people, of whom he had often spoken.

The trains, however, do not follow the track of the crow, and I found that what looked like a short journey necessitated two changes and rather long waits at each junction. I was reminded of a bright saying of Mrs. Freeman Allen. When her husband was the rector of the parish at Amherst some one asked her how long she had been there. She answered: "Seven years." But her husband said: "No, dear, you are mistaken, only five years." To which she replied: "You forget, dear, the time spent at Palmer!"

I reached my destination at about noon. Captain Burchell, the father of my young friend, is a retired naval officer, and proved to be one of the most silent men I had ever met. After he had examined my credentials he called his wife, and, having invited me to stay to lunch, evidently felt he had done his duty--and what more does England expect from any sailor! Nevertheless, no one could look at that strong face without seeing that he was one of that fine body of men who have kept alive the spirit of the English navy during the long years of "inglorious" peace, so that if war ever does come, it will be ready.

The wife made up for the taciturnity of the husband--perhaps was the cause of it! She was keenly interested in hearing about her boy, as, no doubt, the father was too, only she said so, and he did not! It was years since they had seen him, and probably had given up hope of ever seeing him again, and were reconciled.

I suggested that as it was now an easy thing to make the journey, she might be induced to go out to him. But at this she cried out. How strange it is that the English, who are the masters of the sea, have such a dread of it! Perhaps it is because they have lost so many at sea, but whatever may be the reason, it is a fact that the average Englishwoman--and the same is almost as true of men--seems to think that a trip to New York is as dreadful as the voyage of Columbus.

But I soon found that there were other reasons besides the "perils of the great deep" that alarmed the gentle lady.

"I should be afraid of brigands," she said.

I laughed and said I did not think there was much danger from them.

"But, indeed, there must be. I frequently see in the _Times_ accounts of armed men entering into the railway carriages and robbing the passengers."

I had to admit such things did occur, but as they happen in the Far West, and her boy now lives in New Rochelle, the danger did not seem imminent. But as the good lady did not seem to know whether New Rochelle is a suburb of New York or of Omaha, I gave it up.

Indeed, I soon learned that there were spiritual enemies to be feared more dreadful than those of flesh and blood.

She suddenly said: "You have a great many dissenters in the 'States,' have you not?"

"Oh, no," I said. "We have none."

"You surprise me. Roy [her son] has written me that there seem to be more of them than of church people, and that their chapels are often more beautiful than the churches. I was also sorry to hear that he had gone with a young lady to one of their places of worship, 'The Fifteenth Avenue Church,' I think he called it."

"Oh," I said, "I see, you mean non-Episcopalians. Yes, there are millions of those. But, as we have no established church, of course there can be no dissenters."

I confess I thought this rather neat. But she solemnly answered:

"They are dissenters from the church of Christ!"

Fortunately, at that moment the daughter came in from tennis, and I hoped that by giving a more worldly turn to the conversation I might fare better, so said:

"I have been trying to induce your mother to pay your brother a visit, but she does not seem to like the idea. Perhaps you might enjoy it more."

"Indeed I should not," she cried. "I hear the hotels are dreadful."

I thought of London! but meekly replied that I did not think she would find them unbearable.

"I am sure I should. A friend of mine--Bessie Salter, you know, Mumsie--went over to the 'States' a year ago, and told me, when she returned, that if one wished to have one's boots blacked, one must go down into the cellar and cock one's feet up on two iron pegs, and have them brushed by a grinning 'nigger.'"

I now gave up "for keeps," and wondered why I had come! However, I consoled myself with the thought that it was part of one's education. I felt that I had got to the heart of the great middle class of England. It is religious, kindly, and self-satisfied to a degree unequalled in the world.

I was rather depressed that evening as I gave an account of my day to Ruth. But she laughed till the tears came.

"If only I had been there to see your face! Why, it is perfect. If one read it in a book one would think the writer was trying to parody Dickens on America. Honestly, did it really happen, or have you embroidered it?"

"I give you my word, it is the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth!"

"Well, I hope it will be blest to you! A hundred years and more of independence, and the dear old things think of us as an unworthy 'colony,' with dissenters and brigands and boot-blacks! My dear, I hope I may never hear you brag of that unhappy country again! And now come down and get some dinner. They are going to have cherry tart and custard--for a change!"

XIX

THE PISTON-ROD

To-day we have enjoyed one of the most beautiful rides in the world. I do not mean grand, like the Corniche, but lovely, because man has beautified what the hand of God had made. The valley of the Wye would have been charming had man never cultivated it, but now it blossoms like the rose. We were tempted to turn off from the main road that we might get a better view of the lovely gardens and charming houses all along the way. I believe it is disputed whether Kent or Shropshire is the more beautiful county; but I cast my vote for Shropshire. I reckon Ruth picked out a score of houses in which she said, had she them, life would be full of joy.

"Do you wonder," she said, "that Englishmen in exile--in India, China, Canada, South Africa, and even America--turn back with longing to such homes as these? Surely nothing like it is to be found on earth! But it makes me sad to think how many of these happy girls playing in these gardens must go out to the colonies, and how many of those dear little boys may be killed in some obscure and unnecessary war! Our people have been pilgrims from the beginning, but what New Englander going to the West, or what Virginian crossing the Alleghanies, or farmers trekking from Iowa to Northwest Canada have left anything like this? No wonder 'Home-week' is enough for us! But the English carry with them the smell of the newly turned earth to the desolate, sun-baked plains of India, and the scent of the roses to the snows of Hudson's Bay. And yet, with all their deep sentiment for home, they do not die of nostalgia as do the French when they are taken away from the asphalt and the theatre! What a people they are!"

After this rhapsody there was silence for a little space, and then Ruth came back to earth with the remark: "How fortunate it is that we have never had trouble with our tires! I feared we might be changing them all the time."

I sapiently remarked: "Well, you see we have not gone far enough yet. These tires are guaranteed for five thousand miles."

She pondered this for a moment, and then said: "I don't see how they can be guaranteed, with all this broken glass lying about the road. Think how the drunken carters throw out the empty beer-bottles!"

I don't know why it is, but at times Ruth irritates me! It is so hard to explain to a woman anything that involves a mathematical problem. I made no reply, but the remark troubled me. I could not frame an explanation which satisfied me or in a way I felt she would understand! I tried on the law of average, like the insurance actuaries, but, as I say, I could not get it to suit me. It was something like my early attempts to explain to a Bible class why Jacob, rather than Esau, should have inherited the blessing!