Chapter VI: Part 6

It was strange that I should stumble upon a monument in the cathedral to Major Hodson, whose grave I had seen in India. He lies with Havelock and Lawrence in the pretty little English cemetery at Lucknow, poor fellow, and here his friends and neighbors away in quiet Lichfield have commemorated his valor.

How well do I remember my visit to that historic burial place in far off India and the impression made upon me as I stood beside the tombs of the heroes who fell in the days of the great mutiny! The inscription on Lawrence's is: "Here lies Henry Lawrence, who tried to do his duty." What could you add that would not weaken that?

We talked, standing by Hodson's monument, of the long struggle and the relief at Lucknow, and of what I had written of it in my "Notes of a Trip round the World." As it pleased the Charioteers, perhaps I may be pardoned for quoting a part of it.

"Our first visit was to the ruins of the Residency, where for six long months Sir Henry Lawrence and his devoted band were shut up and surrounded by fifty thousand armed rebels. The grounds, which I should say are about thirty acres in extent, were fortunately encompassed by an earthern rampart six feet in height. You need not be told of the heroic resistance of the two regiments of British soldiers and one of natives, nor of the famous rescue. Hour after hour, day after day, week after week, and month after month, the three hundred women and children, shut in a cellar under ground, watched and prayed for the sound of Havelock's bugles, but it came not. Hope, wearied out at last, had almost given place to despair. Through the day the attacks of the infuriated mob could be seen and repelled, but who was to answer that as darkness fell the wall was not to be pierced at some weak point of the extended line? One officer in command of a critical point failing--not to do his duty, there was never a fear of that--but failing to judge correctly of what the occasion demanded, and the struggle was over. Death was the last of the fears of those poor women night after night as the days rolled slowly away. One night there was graver silence than usual in the room; all were despondent and lay resigned to their seemingly impending fate. No rescue came, nor any tidings of relief. In the darkness one piercing scream was heard from the narrow window. A Highland nurse had clambered up to gaze through the bars and strain her ears once more. The cooling breeze of night blew in her face and wafted such music as she could not stay to hear. One spring to the ground, a clapping of hands above her head, and such a shriek as appalled her sisters who clustered around; but all she could say between the sobs--'The slogan! the slogan!' Few knew what the slogan was. 'Didna ye hear? Didna ye hear?' cried the almost demented girl, and then listening one moment that she might not be deceived, she muttered, 'It's the Macgregors Gathering, the grandest o' them a',' and fell senseless to the ground.

[Sidenote: _Jessie of Lucknow._]

"Truly, my lassie, the 'grandest o' them a',' for never came such strains before to mortal ears. And so Jessie of Lucknow takes her place in history as one of the finest themes for painter, dramatist, poet, or historian, henceforth and forever. I have some hesitation whether the next paragraph in my note-book should go down here or be omitted. Probably it would be in better taste if quietly ignored, but then it would be so finely natural if put in. Well, I shall be natural or nothing, and recount that I could not help rejoicing that Jessie was Scotch, and that Scotchmen first broke the rebel lines and reached the fort, and that the bagpipes led the way. That's all. I feel better now that this also is set down."

In Lichfield cathedral are seven very fine stained-glass windows which were found stowed away in a farm-house in Belgium, and purchased by an English gentleman for L200, and now they rank among the most valuable windows in the world. What a pity that the treasures wantonly destroyed during the Reformation had not found similar shelter, to be brought from their hiding-places once more to delight us!

[Sidenote: _Church Music._]

We heard service Saturday morning, and mourned over the waste of exquisite music--twenty-six singers in the choir and only ten persons to listen in the vast cathedral, besides our party. It is much the same throughout England. In no case during week days did we ever see as many persons in the congregation as in the choir. Surely the impressive cathedrals of England are capable of being put to better uses than this. It seems a sin to have such choirs and not conduct them in some way to reach and elevate greater numbers. In no building would an oratorio sound so well. Why should not these choirs be made the nucleus for a chorus in every district, and let us have music which would draw the masses within the sacred walls? But maybe this would be sacrilegious. Theological minds may see in the music suggested an unworthy intruder in domains sacred to dogma; but they should remember that the Bible tells us that in heaven music is the principal source of happiness--the sermon seems nowhere--and it may go hard with such as fail to give it the first place on earth. In this view of the case it was decided to-day upon the coach that what some had hitherto thought a scandal, viz., that the choirs of most of our fashionable churches cost more than all the other expenses of the church, and that organists and sopranos receive a much larger salary considering the time given than the ministers; or, as one of the young ladies put it, "More is paid for music than for religion"--all this, instead of being reprehensible, as some have unthinkingly believed, may really be, and probably is, quite in accordance with the proper order of worship. Well, I am not going to grudge Miss B. her three thousand dollars a year any longer, said a vestryman; so he was converted to the theory that music stands upon strong ground. Some day, however, my lord bishop and lazy crew, the cathedrals of England will not be yours alone to drone in, but become mighty centres of grand music, from which shall radiate elevating influences over entire districts; and the best minds of the nation, remembering how narrow and bigoted the church was when these structures were built, will change the poet's line and say:

"To what great uses have they come at last!"

The world moves and the church establishment must move with it, or--this is a splendid place to stop--there is as great virtue in your "or" as in your "if," sometimes. Here is the best description of service in an English cathedral:

"And love the high embower'd roof,
With antique pillars massy proof,
And storied windows richly dight,
Casting a dim religious light:
There let the pealing organ blow,
To the full voic'd choir below,
In service high and anthems clear,
As may with sweetness, through my ear,
Dissolve me into ecstasies,
And bring all heaven before mine eyes."

The music at Lichfield does indeed draw you into regions beyond and intimates immortality, and we exclaim with friend Izaak Walton, "Lord, what music hast thou provided for the saints in heaven, when thou affordest bad men such music on earth!"

I remember that when in China I read that Confucius was noted for his intense passion for music. He said one day to his disciples that music not only elevates man while he is listening, but that to those who love it music is able to create distinct images which remain after the strains cease and keep the mind from base thoughts. Think of the sage knowing this when he had probably only the sing-song Chinese fiddle to console him! I forget, he had the gongs, and a set of fine gongs of different tones make most suggestive music, as I have discovered.

The position of Lichfield Cathedral is peculiarly fine. Three sides of the square surrounding it are occupied by splendid ecclesiastical buildings connected with the diocese, including the bishop's palace. A beautiful sheet of water lies upon the lower side, so that nothing incongruous meets the eye.

We obtained there a better idea of the magnitude of the church establishment and its to us seemingly criminal waste of riches than ever before. To think of all this power for good wasting itself upon a beggarly account of empty benches, the choir outnumbering the congregation!

[Sidenote: _The Coach._]

We had ordered the coach to come and await us at the cathedral, but had not expected Perry to drive up to the very door. There the glittering equipage was, however, surrounded by groups of pretty, rosy children and many older people gazing respectfully. There is something about a well-appointed coach and four which is calculated to puff a man up with vanity. I remember I had been absorbed in the service, and afterward in wandering about the cathedral had had my thoughts carried back to India. I was again in the crowded streets of Benares mounted upon the richly caparisoned elephants of the Rajah, and anon strolling upon the Apollo Bunder in Bombay, one of a crowd the gorgeous coloring of which equals any scene ever given in grand opera. I reached the cathedral door in a kind of trance; the gay coach, the horses and their sparkling harness, and Joe and Perry in their livery burst upon me, and looking up and around I did feel that we were a "swell" party, and had ever so much to be thankful for. It is a source of never failing pleasure to stand and see the Charioteers mount the coach--they are all so happy, and I am "so glad they are glad." And so we mounted and drove off, taking a last fond look of grand old Lichfield.

* * * * *

DOVEDALE, July 2-3.

Our objective point was Dovedale, thirty miles distant. When three miles out we stopped at Elmhurst Hall for Miss F., who had preceded us to pay a visit to Mr. and Mrs. F--x, who very kindly invited the party to dismount and lunch with them; but the thirty miles to be done would not permit us the pleasure. The next time we pass, however, good master and mistress of Elmhurst Hall, you shall certainly have the Charioteers within your hospitable walls, if you desire it, for such an inviting place we have rarely seen.

[Sidenote: _Sudbury Park._]

We were to lunch in Sudbury Park, the residence of Lord Vernon. This was the first grassy luncheon of the five new-comers, and we were all delighted to see their enjoyment of this most Arcadian feature of our coaching life. It proved to be one of our pleasantest luncheons, for there is no finer spot in England than Sudbury Park. Of course it is not the glen nor the wimpling burn of the Highlands, but for quiet England it is superb.

The site chosen was near a pretty brook. Before us was the old-fashioned brick Queen Anne mansion, and behind us in the park was a cricket ground, where a match between two neighboring clubs was being worthily contested. The scene was indeed idyllic. There was never more fun and laughter at any of our luncheons. Aaleck had to be repressed at last, for several of the members united in a complaint against him. Their sides ached, but that they did not mind so much; their anxiety was about their cheeks, which were seriously threatened with an explosion if they attempted to eat. To avoid such results it was voted that no one should make a joke nor even a remark. Silence was enjoined; but what did that amount to! The signs and grimaces were worse than speech. Force was no remedy. It took time to get the party toned down, but eventually the lunch was finished.

We strolled over and watched the cricketers. It all depends upon how you look at a thing. So many able-bodied perspiring men knocking about a little ball on a warm summer's day, that is one way; so many men relieved from anxious care and laying the foundation for long years of robust health by invigorating exercise in the open air, that is the other view of the question. The ancients did not count against our little span of life the days spent in the chase; neither need we charge those spent in cricket; and as for our sport, coaching, for every day so spent we decided that it and another might safely be credited. He was a very wise prime minister who said he had often found important duties for which he had not time; one duty, however, he had always _made_ time for, his daily afternoon ride on horseback. Your always busy man accomplishes little; the great doer is he who has plenty of leisure. The man at the helm turns the wheel now and then, and so easily too, touching an electric bell; it's the stoker down below who is pitching into it with his coat off. And look at Captain McMicken promenading the deck in his uniform and a face like a full moon; quite at his ease and ready for a story. And there is Johnnie Watson, chief engineer, who rules over the throbbing heart of the ship; he is standing there prepared for a crack. Moral: Don't worry yourself over work, hold yourself in reserve, and sure as fate, "it will all come right in the wash."

Leaving the contestants, we walked down to the lake in front of the mansion, and with our usual good fortune we were just in time to see the twenty acres of ornamental water dragged for pike, which play such havoc with other fish. The water had been drained into a small pond, which seemed alive with bewildered fish. We sat and watched with quiet interest the men drawing the net. Hundreds were caught at every haul, from which the pike were taken. A tremendous eel gave the men a lively chase; three or four times it escaped, wriggled through their legs and hands one after the other, and made for the water. Had the gamekeeper not succeeded in pinning it to the ground with a pitchfork, the eel would have beaten the whole party.

[Sidenote: _Adam and Eve._]

Lord Vernon's park is rich in attractions. An old narrow picturesque arched bridge, which spans the pretty lake, has a statue of Adam at one end and Eve at the other. Over the former the ivy clusters so thickly as to make our great prototype a mass of living green; poor Eve has been less favored, for she is in a pitiable plight for a woman, with "nothing to wear."

But Eve was not used to kind treatment. Adam was by no means a modern model husband, and never gave Eve anything in excess except blame. Here she is still, the Flora McFlimsy of my friend William Allen Butler (minus the flora as I have said); but let her be patient, her dress is sure to come, for kind nature in England abhors nakedness. She is ever at work clothing everything with her mantle of green.

"Ever and ever bringing secrets forth,
It sitteth in the green of forest glades
Nursing strange seedlings at the cedar's root,
Devising leaves, blooms, blades.
This is its touch upon the blossomed rose,
The fashion of its hand-shaped lotus leaves;
In dark soil and the silence of the seeds
The robe of Spring it weaves."

We had rare enjoyment at the lake, and envied Lord Vernon his princely heritage. The old forester who once showed me over a noble estate in Scotland was quite right. I was enchanted with one of the views, and repeated.

"Where is the coward who would not dare
To fight for such a land!"

"Aye," said the old man, "aye, it's a grand country, _for the lairds_." It will be a grander country some day when it is less "for the lairds" and more for the toiling masses; but may the destroying angel of progress look kindly upon such scenes of beauty as Sudbury Park. The extensive estate may be disentailed and cultivated by a thousand small owners in smiling homes, with educated children within them, and the land bring forth greater harvests touched by the magic wand of the sense of ownership--for it makes an infinite difference to call a thing your own--and yet the mansion and park remain intact and give to its possessor rarer pleasures than at present. I think one of the greatest drawbacks to life in Britain in grand style must be the contrast existing between the squire and the people about him. It is bad enough even in Chester Valley, where the average condition and the education of the inhabitants are probably equal to any locality in the world, but in England it is far too marked for comfort, I should think.

While we were still lingering on the banks of the lake Perry's horn sounded from the main road to call us from the enchanting scene, and we were off for Dovedale through pretty Ashbourne.

[Sidenote: _Horseback Riding._]

As we bowled along the conversation turned upon horseback riding, and some one quoted the famous maxim, "the outside of a horse for the inside of a man." "But what about a woman?" asked F. "Oh," answered Puss, "the outside of a horse for the inside of a woman and the outside as well, for in no other position can a woman ever possibly look so captivating as on a horse. Girls who ride in the park have double chances." A voice from the front--"You are right." Our Pard there admits that he had no idea of falling in love with Annie until he saw her on horseback; and when he had ridden with her a few times he was conquered. A woman looks her loveliest on horseback.

"That is not Mrs. Parr's opinion," rejoined a young lady on the front seat. "I think it is in her splendid 'Dorothy Fox' she says that a woman never shows so clearly the angel of beauty which dwells in a good woman's heart as when she murmurs her yes to her lover."

"Oh, that's not fair," came from the back row. "That's too short, only a moment; and besides only one man sees it. That doesn't count. We mean that a woman shows off better on horseback than anywhere else."

"Oh!" said the cynic, "is that it, Miss? Nothing counts without the showing off, _eh_!" And so we rattled on interrupted at intervals by exclamations called forth by England's unique beauty.

Can any one picture a resting-place so full of peace and beauty as the old Izaak Walton Inn? We arrived there in the twilight, and some of us walked down the long hill and got our first sight of the Dove from the bridge at the foot across the stream.

I got the memorable verses near enough from memory to repeat them on the bridge. Let me put them down here, for in truth, simple as they are, who is going to predict the coming of the day when they will cease to be prized as one of the gems of literature?

"She dwelt among the untrodden ways,
Beside the springs of Dove,
A maid whom there were none to praise,
And very few to love.

"A violet by a mossy stone,
Half hidden from the eye;
Fair as a star when only one
Is shining in the sky.

"She lived unknown, and few could know
When Lucy ceased to be;
But she is in her grave, and oh,
The difference to me!"

But think of dear old Izaak and of his fishing excursions to this very spot. He actually stayed at our inn! He too is secure of his position as the author of a classic for as long a time as we care to look forward to. Is it not strange that no one has ever imitated this man's unique style? "God leads us not to heaven by many nor by hard questions," says the fisherman, and he knew a thing or two. There is a flavor about him peculiarly his own, but especially rich when read in this old inn, sacred to his memory. I enjoyed him with a fresh relish during the few hours of Sunday which I could devote to him, for there is a good sermon in many a sentence of the "Complete Angler." Dear old boy, your place in my library and in my heart too is secure.

[Sidenote: _Ilam Hall._]

Ilam Hall, near the inn, is the great place, and there is a pretty little church within a stone's throw of it. We walked over on Sunday morning and saw the squire come into church with his family and take his seat among his people, for I take it most of the congregation were connected with the hall. The parson, no doubt, was the appointee of the squire, and we tried to estimate the importance of these two men in the district, their duties and influence--both great--for to a large extent the moral as well as the material well-being of a community in rural England depends upon the character of the hall and parsonage. The squire was Mr. Hanbury, M.P., who courteously invited our party to visit the hall after service, and to stroll as we pleased through his grounds. He had been in America, and knew our erratic genius and brother iron-master Abram S. Hewitt. In the evening we received from him some fine photographs of the hall (a truly noble one), which we prize highly. The accompanying note was even more gratifying, for it said that he had been so warmly received in America that it was always a pleasure when opportunity offered to show Americans such attentions as might be in his power. It is ever thus, cold indifference between the two English-speaking branches is found only among the stay-at-homes. The man who knows from personal experience the leading characteristics of the people upon both sides of the ferry is invariably a warm and sincere friend. The two peoples have only to become acquainted to become enthusiastic over each other's rare qualities.

This is a sheep-grazing district, quite hilly, and the rainfall is much beyond the average; but the weather question troubles us little; the Charioteers carry sunshine within and without. Our afternoon walk was along the Dove, which we followed up the glen between the hills for several miles, finding new beauties at every turn. Mr. H. has the stream on his estate reserved for five miles for his own fishing, but our landlord said he was very generous and always gave a gentleman a day's sport when properly applied for. We were offered free range by Mr. H., a privilege which Davie and I hold in reserve for a future day, that we may most successfully conjure the shade of our congenial brother of the angle; "for you are to note," saith he, "that we anglers all love one another." We at least all love Izaak Walton, "an excellent angler and now with God." Reading the ingenious defence of fishing by our author, "an honest man and a most excellent fly-fisher," is not waste time in these days of violent anti-vivisectionists, who have seen poor hares chased down for sport all their lives, and their Prince shoot pigeons from a trap without a protest, but who affect to feel pity for a cat sacrificed upon the holy altar of science. Miserable hypocrites, who swallow so large a camel and strain at so very small a gnat! It shows what demoralization is brought about in good people by rank and fashion; one rule for the Prince who disgraces himself by cruel sports, another for the medical student who exalts himself working for the good of his race.

[Sidenote: _Izaak Walton._]

But to quaint Izaak's defence; and first as to the fish themselves.

"Nay, the increase of these creatures that are bred and fed in water is not only more and more miraculous, but more advantageous to man, not only for the lengthening of his life, but for the preventing of sickness; for 'tis observed by the most learned physicians that the casting off of Lent and other fish days hath doubtless been the chief cause of those many putrid, shaking, intermitting agues into which this nation of ours is now more subject than those wiser countries which feed on herbs, salads, and plenty of fish. And it is fit to remember that Moses (Levit. 11: 9; Deut. 14: 9) appointed fish to be the chief diet for the best commonwealth that ever yet was; and it is observable not only that there are fish, as namely the whale, three times as big as the mighty elephant that is so fierce in battle, but that the mightiest feasts have been of fish."

Is not that capital? It calls to mind Josh Billings' answer to his correspondent who wrote saying that he had heard many times that a fish diet was most favorable for increase of brain power, but he had never been able to find out the best kind of fish for the purpose. Could he inform him? "In your case," replied Josh, "try a whale or two."

[Sidenote: _Fishing._]

Here is Izaak's argument for the lawfulness of fishing:

"And for the lawfulness of fishing it may very well be maintained by our Saviour's bidding St. Peter cast his hook into the water and catch a fish for money to pay tribute to Caesar. And it is observable that it was our Saviour's will that four fishermen should have a priority of nomination in the catalogue of his twelve disciples (Matt. 10: 2, 4, 13), as namely: St. Peter, St. Andrew, St. James, and St. John, and then the rest in their order. And it is yet more observable that when our blessed Saviour went up into the mount when he left the rest of his disciples and chose only three to bear him company at his transfiguration, that those three were all fishermen; and it is to be believed that all the other apostles after they betook themselves to follow Christ, betook themselves to be fishermen too: for it is certain that the greater number of them were found together fishing by Jesus after his resurrection, as it is recorded in the 21st chapter of St. John's Gospel, v. 3, 4. This was the employment of these happy fishermen, concerning which choice some have made these observations: first that he never reproved these for their employment or calling as he did the scribes and the money-changers; and secondly, he found that the hearts of such men were fitted for contemplation and quietness, men of mild, and sweet, and peaceable spirits, as indeed most anglers are; these men our blessed Saviour, who is observed to love to plant grace in good natures, though indeed nothing be too hard for him, yet these men he chose to call from their irreprovable employment of fishing and gave them grace to be his disciples and to follow him and do wonders. I say four of twelve."

There I think we may safely rest the defence of our favorite sport, especially upon secondly; for it is all very well to say animals must be slain that we may live, and yet it does not give one a high idea of the fineness of the man who chooses the occupation of a butcher, and is happiest when he is killing something. Blood! Iago, blood! For my part, while recognizing the necessity that the sheep should bleat for the lamb slain that I may feast, I don't profess to see that the arrangement is anything to rave over as an illustration of the wisdom or the goodness of God. Let us eat, asking no questions, but trusting that some day we shall see clearly that all is well. Meanwhile I give up coursing, fox hunting, and pigeon shooting as unworthy sports, and never again will I kill a deer in sport. I once saw the mild, reproachful eyes of one turned upon me as it lay, wounded, as much as to say: "I am so sorry it was _you_ who did this." So was I, poor innocent thing. It is years since I saw that look, but it haunts me yet at intervals. It is one of the many things I have done for which I am ever sorry.

Too much fishing! It is no use to try to give you the good things of Izaak Walton, for it is with him as with Shakespeare. Two volumes of his "beauties" handed to gentle Elia. "This is all very well, my friend, but where are the other five volumes?" We must get out of Dovedale--that is clear. _Allons donc!_

Our stage to-day was to Chatsworth, twenty-four miles, where our Fourth of July dinner was to be celebrated. As we passed Ilam Hall we stopped, sounded our horn, and gave three cheers for the squire who had been so kind to his "American cousins."

Our luncheon was beside the pretty brook at Youlgreaves, on the estate of the Duke of Rutland, and a beautiful trout-stream it is. We could see the speckled beauties darting about, and were quite prepared to believe the wonderful stories told us of the basketfuls taken there sometimes. There is something infectious in a running stream. It is the prettiest thing in nature. Nothing adds so much to our midday enjoyment as one of these babbling brooks,

"Making music o'er the enamelled stones,
And giving a gentle kiss to every sedge
It overtaketh in its pilgrimage."

If there be "sermons in stones," I think it must be when the pure water sings as it rushes over them.

[Sidenote: _The Burnie._]

The Charioteers demanded that I should repeat "The Burnie," a gem by a true poet, Ballantyne. Would you, my gentle reader, like also to know it? I think you would, for such as have followed me so far must have something akin to me and surely will sometimes like what I like, and I like this much:

"It drappit frae a gray rock upon a mossy stane,
An doon amang the green grass it wandered lang alane.
It passed the broomie knowe beyond the hunter's hill;
It pleased the miller's bairns an it ca'd their faether's mill.

"But soon anither bed it had, where the rocks met aboon,
And for a time the burnie saw neither sun nor moon.
But the licht o' heaven cam' again, its banks grew green and fair,
And many a bonnie flower in its season blossomed there;

"And ither burnies joined till its rippling song was o'er,
For the burn became a river ere it reached the ocean's shore.
And the wild waves rose to greet it wi' their ain eerie croon.
Working their appointed wark and never, never done.

"Nae sad repinings at the hardness o' their lot,
Nae heart-burnings at what anither got;
The good or ill, the licht or shade, they took as it might be,
Sae onward ran the burnie frae the gray rock to the sea."

There's a moral for us! There is always peace at the end if we do our appointed work and leave the result with the Unknown. Let us, then, follow Mrs. Browning,

"And like a cheerful traveller, take the road,
Singing beside the hedge. What if the bread
Be bitter in thine inn, and thou unshod
To meet the flints?--At least it may be said,
'Because the way is short, I thank thee, God!'"

And so at the sea the burnie's race was run and it found peace. Immensity gives peace always. It is so vain to strive in the presence of the ocean, for it tells of forces irresistible. It obeys its own laws, caring for nought:

"Libel the ocean on its tawny sands, write verses
In its praise; the unmoved sea erases both alike.
Alas for man! unless his fellows can behold his deeds,
He cares not to be great."

Not so. O poet, when man stands on the shore and _thinks_, for then he feels his nothingness, and the applause of his fellows is valued as so much noise merely, except as it serves as proof that he has stirred them for the right. This state lasts unless he lifts his eyes to the skies above the waste, and renews his vows to the Goddess of Duty. He learns, not in the depths nor on the level of ocean's surface, but from higher and beyond--that life is worth living, then he takes up his task and goes on, saying

"And whether crowned or crownless when I fall
It matters not, so as God's work is done.
I've learned to prize the quiet lightning deed--
Not the applauding thunder at its heels
Which men call fame."

[Sidenote: _Daft Callants._]

The Queen Dowager and Aggie were off to paidle in the burn after luncheon, and as a fitting close they kilted their petticoats and danced a highland reel on the greensward, in sight of the company, but at some distance from us. They were just wee lassies again, and to be a wee lassie at seventy-one is a triumph indeed; but, as the Queen Dowager says, that is nothing. She intends to be as daft for many years to come, for my grandfather was far older when he alarmed the auld wives of the village on Halloween night, sticking his false face through the windows. "Oh!" said one, recovering from her fright, "it is just that daft callant, Andrew Carnegie!" I remember one day, in Dunfermline, an old man in the nineties--a picture of withered eld, a few straight, glistening white hairs on each side of his head, and his nose and chin threatening each other--tottered across the room to where I was sitting, and laying his long, skinny hand upon my head, murmured:

"An' ye're a gran'son o' Andrew Carnegie's! Aye, maan, I've seen the day when your grandfaether an' me could have hallooed ony reasonable maan oot o' his judgment."

I hope to be a daft callant at seventy-one--as daft as we all were that day. Indeed, we were all daft enough while coaching, but the Queen Dowager really ought to have been restrained a little. She went beyond all bounds, but life is an undoubted success if you can laugh till the end of it.

Let me try to give an idea how this blessed England is crowded. Here is a signboard we stopped at to-day, to make sure we were taking the right way; for, even with the Ordnance map upon one's knee, strict attention is required or you will be liable to take the wrong turn.

A voice from the General Manager: "Perry, stop at the post and let us be sure."

"Right, sir."

The post points four ways, east, west, north, and south.

First arm reads as follows: Tissington, 3; Matlock Bath, 10; Chesterfield, 21.

Second arm: Ashbourne, 3; Derby, 16; Kissington, 19.

Third arm: Dovedale, Okedon, Ilam.

Fourth arm: New Haven, 6; Buxton, 17; Bakewell, 13; Chatsworth, 16.

All this the guide-post said at one turn, and fortunate it was that Chatsworth, our destination, happened to be upon the fourth arm, for had the worthy road-surveyors not deemed it necessary to extend their information beyond Bakewell, you see we might as well have consulted the Book of Days.

[Sidenote: _Tissington Hall._]

The entrance to Tissington estate was near the post, and we were very kindly permitted to drive through, which it was said would save several miles and give us a view of another English hall. We managed, however, to take a wrong turn somewhere, and added some eight miles to our journey; so much the better--the longer the route the happier we were.

Every English hall seems to have some special features in which it surpasses all others. This is as it should be, for it permits every fortunate owner to love his home for acknowledged merits of its own. If one has the nobler terrace, another boasts a finer lawn; and if one has woods and a rookery, has not the other the winding Nith through its borders? One cannot have the best of everything, even upon an English estate; neither can one life have the best possible of everything,

"For every blade o' grass keps its ain drap o' dew."

Let us, then, be thankful for our special mercies, and may all our ducks be swans, as friend Edward says mine are.

Have you never had your friend praise his wife to you in moments of confidence, when you have been fishing for a week together? You wonder for a few moments, as you recall the Betsey or Susan he extols; for, if the truth is to be spoken, you have, as it were, shed tears for him when you thought of his yoke. Well, that is the true way: let him make her a swan, even if she is not much of a duck.

We stopped at Rowsley for Miss F., who was to come there by rail from Elmhurst Hall. She brought the London _Times_, which gave us the first news of the terrible catastrophe in Washington. We would not believe that the shot was to prove fatal. It did not seem possible that President Garfield's career was to end in such a way; but, do what we could, the great fear would not down, and we reached Chatsworth much depressed. Our Fourth of July was a sad one, and the intended celebration was given up. Fortunately, the news became more encouraging day after day, so much so that the coaching party ventured to telegraph its congratulations through Secretary Blaine, and it was not until we reached New York that we knew that a relapse had occurred. The cloud which came over us, therefore, had its silver lining in the promise of recovery and a return to greater usefulness than ever.

We stopped to visit Haddon Hall upon our way to Chatsworth, but here we come upon tourists' ground. Every one does the sights of the neighborhood, and readers are therefore respectfully referred to the guide-books. We had our first dusty ride to-day, for we are upon limestone roads, but the discomfort was only trifling; the weather, however, was really warm, and our umbrellas were brought into use as sunshades.

Haddon Hall is a fine specimen of the old hall, and Chatsworth of the new, except that the latter partakes far too much of the show feature. It is no doubt amazing to the crowds of Manchester and Birmingham workers who flock here for a holiday and who have seen nothing finer, but to us who have seen the older gems of England, Chatsworth seems much too modern, for our fastidious tastes. I speak only of the interior, of course, for the house itself and its surroundings are grand; so is the statuary in the noble hall set apart for it--really the best feature in the house.

* * * * *

EDENSOR, July 4.

[Sidenote: _Edensor._]

Edensor is the model village which the Duke of Devonshire has built adjoining the park--a very appropriate and pretty name, for it is perhaps the finest made-to-order village in England. Every cottage is surrounded by pretty grounds and is built with an eye to picturesqueness. It is entered by a handsome lodge from the park, and the road at its upper end is also closed by gates. The church, erected in 1870 from designs of Gilbert Scott, occupies the site of an older one. Opening from the south side of the chancel is a mortuary chapel containing monuments of the Cavendish family. In the churchyard is the monument of Sir Joseph Paxton, builder of the Crystal Palace, who was formerly head gardener at Chatsworth.

One or two epitaphs in the churchyard are worth noting. The following is dated 1787:

"I was like grass, cut down in haste,
For fear too long should grow;
I hope made fit in heaven to sit,
So why should I not go!"

To be sure, why not? But is there not a little ambiguity in the "too long should grow?"

The next one, dated 1818, seems to commemorate the decease of a plough-boy who was rash enough to leave his proper vocation for another--a sad illustration of _ne sutor ultra crepidam_.

"When he that day with th' waggon went,
He little thought his glass was spent;
But had he kept his Plough in Hand,
He might have longer till'd the Land."

[Sidenote: _A Modern Phaethon._]

One could not expect that the moral inculcated here would find favor with our Americans. How could the Mighty Republic ever have been brought to its present height and embraced the majority of all English-speaking people in the world, if her sons had not been ambitious and changed from one occupation to another? "Stick to your last" is only fit for monarchical countries, where people believe in classes. This young man was of the right sort and should have a verse of praise on his tombstone instead of this one which reflects upon him. One of the party declared that the man must have been the best workman on the place, and that in America he would soon have owned the acres he ploughed instead of ploughing here for some landlord who spent the resources of the land in London or on the continent. The poetess of the party was commissioned to provide a substitute for the obnoxious verse which should applaud the act of this modern Phaethon who _would_ try to drive the wagon, after he had learned all he could about ploughing. We were driving homeward, and as the discussion ended in the manner aforesaid, a sweet voice broke forth:

"I winna hae the laddie that drives the cart and ploo,
Although he may be tender, although he may be true;
But I'll hae the laddie that has my heart betrayed,
The bonnie shepherd laddie that wears the crook and plaid."

The Charioteers gave it the swelling chorus:

"For he's aye true to his lassie,
Aye true to his lassie.
Aye true to me."

Who knows but the refusal of some rural beauty like her of the song to have the laddie that "ca'd the ploo" may have stirred our unfortunate youth to a change of occupation? The "sex" is at the bottom of most of man's misfortunes (and blessings too, let it be noted) and why not of this lamentable end of the would-be wagoner!

The day was so warm, and our next stage to Buxton being not very long (twenty-six miles), we decided to spend the day at Edensor and take an evening drive. We met here, enjoying their honeymoon, a bride and groom who were well known to our Wolverhampton delegation, and how do you suppose they were travelling? Not in the ordinary mode, I assure you. I mention this incident that some of my charming young lady friends, who give me so much pleasure riding with me, may make a note of it. They were doing beautiful Derbyshire on horseback! It was delightful to see them start off in this way. I became interested in the bride, who must be no ordinary woman to think of this plan; she told me it was proving a wonderful success; and the happy young fellow intimated to me, in a kind of confidential way, that her novel idea was the finest one he had ever been a party to. I asked him if he could honestly recommend it, and he boldly said he could. We must think over this.

The evening ride was one of our pleasantest experiences. How entrancing England is after a warm day, when everything seems to rejoice in the hours of peace, succeeding the sunshine which forces growth!

"When the heart-sick earth
Turns her broad back upon the gaudy sun,
And stoops her weary forehead to the night
To struggle with her sorrow all alone,
The moon, that patient sufferer, pale with pain,
Presses her cold lips on her sister's brow
Till she is calm."

[Sidenote: _Buxton._]

It is thus the earth appeared to me as we drove along; it was resting after its labors of the sunny day. The night was spent at Buxton, that famous spa, which has been the resort of health-seekers for more than a thousand years, for it was well known to the Romans and probably to their predecessors. We saw many invalids there drinking the waters, which are chiefly chalybeate; but I take it, as is usual with such places, the change of air and scene, of thought and effort, and, with most, change of diet and freedom from excess, count for ninety-nine points, and the waters, may be, for one. But it is of no consequence what does it, so it is done, therefore Buxton continues to flourish.

How wise a physician was he who cured the Great Mogul when all other remedies had failed! The miraculous Tree of Life was upon a mountain five miles from the palace, and had to be visited daily, in the early morning, by the sufferer, who was required to repeat an incantation under its boughs. The words literally translated were no doubt something like this: "Pray away, you old fool! but it's the walk that does it." You need not laugh. This put into such Latin as the schools delight in might be made to sound frightful to the Mogul "and scare him good," as the negro exhorters deem to be essential for spiritual recovery.

Our hotel was a magnificent "limited company" affair. The start next morning was a sight, in the first real downpour in dead earnest we had experienced. The sky was dark--not one tiny ray of light to give us the slightest hope of change; the barometer low and still falling. Just such a morning as might have begun the flood. Clearly we were in for it; nevertheless, at the appointed hour the Gay Charioteers, arrayed in their waterproofs, with the good hats and bonnets all inside the coach, passed through the crowds of guests who lined the hall, wondering at these mad Americans, and took their accustomed seats with an alacrity that showed they considered the weather "perfectly lovely."

There are two miles of steep ascent as we leave the town, and a few of us decided to walk, two of the ladies among the number. Those who started upon the coach were all right; the pedestrians, however, found themselves far from dry when the top was reached--feet and knees were wet. By noon the rain had ceased, and we stopped at a little inn, where fires were made, our "reserve" clothing brought into use, and our wet clothes dried, and we were as happy as larks when we sat down to luncheon. Is not that a wise test which Thackeray puts into the mouth of one of his waiters: "Oh, I knew he was a gentleman, he was so easily pleased!" Well, our host and hostess at that little inn, who were taken so by surprise when a four-in-hand stopped at the door, said something like this about the American ladies and gentlemen as they left. Why not? Nothing comes amiss to the Gay Charioteers, and so on we go to Manchester, getting once more into the grim, smoky regions of manufacturing enterprise.

* * * * *

MANCHESTER, July 6.

[Sidenote: _Manchester._]

Mine host of The Queen's takes the prize for the one best "swell" dinner enjoyed by the party; but then the rain and the moderate luncheon at the little inn, so different from the picnics on flowery banks, may have given it a relish. The Queen's was evidently determined that its American guests should leave with a favorable impression, and so they did.

There was time to visit the Town Hall and walk the principal streets, but all felt an invincible repugnance to large towns. It was not these we had come to see. Let us get away as soon as possible, and out once more to the green fields; we have cotton-mills and warehouses and dirty, smoky manufactories enough and to spare at home. The morning was cloudy, but the rain held off, and we left the hotel amid a great crowd. The police had at last to step in front of the coach and clear the way. The newspapers had announced our arrival and intended departure, and this brought the crowd upon us. Getting into and out of large cities is the most difficult part of our driving, for the Ordnance map is useless there--frequent stoppages and inquiries must be made; but so far we have been fortunate, and our horn keeps opposing vehicles out of our way in narrow streets and in turning corners. We were bound for Anderton Hall, to spend the night with our friend Mr. B----. Luncheon was taken in a queer, old-fashioned inn, where we ate from bare deal tables, and drank home-brewed ale while we sang:

"Let gentlemen fine sit down to their wine,
But we will stick to our beer, we will,
For we will stick to our beer."

The number and variety of temperance drinks advertised in England is incredible. Non-alcoholic beverages meet us in flaming advertisements at every step--from nervous tonics, phosphated, down to the most startling of all, which, according to the London _Echo_ of June 2d, the Bishop of Exeter advertised when he opened a coffee-house, saying:

"It looks like beer,
It smells like beer,
It tastes like beer,
Yet it is not beer."

Better if it had been, your reverence, for your new beverage was probably a villanous compound, certain to work more injury than genuine beer. In this country we also try to cheat the devil. I mean our unco good people try it; but we call it "bitters," and the worse the whiskey the better the bitters.

* * * * *

CHORLEY, July 7.

[Sidenote: _Anderton Hall._]

As we approached Anderton Hall the English and American flags were seen floating from the archway, earnest of cordial welcome. We were quite at home immediately. Mr. and Mrs. B---- had their family and friends ready to greet us. The dining-hall was decorated with the flags of the old and the new lands, gracefully intertwined, symbolizing the close and warm friendship which exists between them--never, we hope, to be again disturbed. We had a long walk about the place and on the banks of the famous Rivington Reservoir, which supplies Manchester with water. In the evening, after dinner, came speeches. The evening passed delightfully. Next day we were sorely tempted. Mr. M---- was to have the school-children at his house to be entertained, and an opportunity to see a novel celebration was afforded us. Our host and hostess were pressing in their invitation for us to stay, but one night of fourteen guests, two servants, and four horses, was surely enough; so we blew our horn, and, with three ringing cheers for Anderton Hall and all within it, drove out of its hospitable gates. We stopped and paid our respects to Mr. and Mrs. M---- as we passed their place, and left them all with very sincere regret. How pleasant it would be to linger! but Inverness lies far in the north. We are scarcely one-third of our way thither and the time-table stares us in the face. We do not quite "fold our tents like the Arabs and silently steal away," but at the thrilling call of the horn we mount, and with cheers and God-speeds take our departure for other scenes, but many a long day shall it be ere the faces of the kind people we leave behind fade from our memory.

Chorley has been one of the seats of the cotton manufacture in England for more than two hundred years, the business having been begun there about the time of the Restoration. During the American Revolution it was visited, like other places in Lancashire, by mobs who broke up the spinning machines because they feared that they would deprive the poor of labor. Similar mobs once destroyed sewing-machines in France. What a commentary upon such short-sightedness has been the success of the spinning-jenny and the sewing-machine, and the revolution they have made in the manufacturing industry of the world!

* * * * *

PRESTON, July 8.

[Sidenote: _Strolling Players._]

Preston, sixteen miles away, is our destination, permitting a late start to be made. Our route is still through a manufacturing district; for Manchester reaches her arms far out in every direction. We pass now and then a company of show-people with their vans. Sometimes we find the caravan at rest, the old, weary-looking horses nibbling the road-side grass, for the irregularity of the hedges in England gives fine little plots of grass along the hedge-rows, and nice offsets, as it were, in the road, where these strolling players, and gypsies, pedlers, and itinerant venders of all sorts of queer things, can call a halt and enjoy themselves. Every van appears to be invested with an air of mystery, for was not our Shakespeare,

"Th' applause, delight, the wonder of our stage,"