Chapter IX: Part 9

I cannot believe that even in America the priests of the Roman Church would ever assume any other than a haughty bearing toward all other Christian teachers. Theirs is either _the_ Church, or it is nothing. But how do all the rest behave to one another? Are they all, in point of fact, merely ministers of their respective congregations? How about proselytizing? It is comparatively easy to draw up a constitution that shall keep up a certain amount of discipline among the officers of any force; but it is quite another thing to keep control over the rank and file when they are all volunteers. Such a regiment as that famous one of Artemus Ward’s, “composed exclusively of commanders-in-chief,” would hardly be found a successful organization in the church militant. Are the clergy of all denominations held by all denominations in equal esteem? Do they “love as brethren,” or do they “bite and devour one another?”

* * * * *

These are some of the questions I find myself continually asking when I turn my thoughts toward the magnificent country and the great nation on the other side of the ocean. I do not believe a man could get any answer to them, satisfactory to his own mind, except by personal observation. He must for a time live among living men, and see them at their daily tasks, to understand their life even a very little. It is too much the habit of travellers to take their theories with them. I, for my part, have none. If I ever carry out the wish of my life, I shall start as a naturalist does who goes to make collections--with empty cases, notebooks, and apparatus--not too ready to generalize, but very anxious to learn. The probability is, I shall never go at all. But others more fortunate than I may, perhaps, be able to enlighten my darkness and inform my ignorance, and it may happen that the hints I have thrown out may be suggestive to them.

As to the big cities, with their colossal warehouses and enormous trade, their gigantic hotels and prodigious growth, they possess for me no attraction. There is something dreadful to my mind in losing my personality in a surging multitude and being absorbed in a crowd. To find myself unable to hear my own voice because steam-hammers are pounding all round me, and iron wheels are keeping up a ceaseless din, annihilating articulate speech--that seems to me horrible. I shrink from these things. I should be found creeping into out-of-the-way places, prying into schools and colleges and universities, begging that nobody would notice me, while I might be permitted to notice everybody. Sometimes I should put very impertinent questions about the wonderful endowments that I hear Americans believe in firmly, just when we are beginning to lose our faith in their value. Sometimes I should even venture to inquire about the war--_the_ war--the one war that reflected only imperishable glory upon both sides--the one civil war in the world’s history that ended with the grandest of all triumphs, freedom to the oppressed, without one single act of vengeance inflicted upon the beaten side. Sometimes--but I am in danger of treading upon perilous ground, in danger of saying too much, in danger of making some one growl out suspiciously, “When you do come, if ever you do, you’d better keep out of my way!”

* * * * *

A few days ago, I was turning over an old volume of “Punch,” when I was attracted by a cartoon that may be familiar to some of my readers. A mighty coal-heaver, his day’s work done, is leaning against one of the many posts to be found in the region of the Seven Dials, his hands in his pockets, his lips pipeless, his eyes staring at vacancy. By him stands an exquisitely dressed clergyman, tall, slim, gentle, refined, who has blandly laid his extended hand upon the other’s brawny shoulder. Says the clergyman, “My friend, I want to go to Exeter Hall.” Says the coal-heaver, “Then why the dooce don’t you go?” Was it that the good man did not know his way? or was he suffering from a little tightness in the chest?

UNWIN BROTHERS, THE GRESHAM PRESS, CHILWORTH AND LONDON.

FOOTNOTES

[1] “Arcady, for Better for Worse.”

[2] This is a matter of very great importance in hundreds of country parishes, where the washing of the rectory frequently suffices to maintain a whole family.

[3] A genuine Norfolk man never aspirates a _t_ when followed by an _r_. It is always _trew_ for through, _troat_ for throat, _tree_ for three, &c.

[4] I do not forget Crabbe--that sweet and gentle versifier. But the romantic element is wholly wanting in him. Very probably Sir Wilfrid Lawson would vehemently protest that Crabbe deserves to be reckoned among the greatest of the great. Was not his first poem entitled _Inebriety_? When a child I used to be told that Bloomfield’s _Farmer’s Boy_ was equal to Spenser, but I concluded that Spenser must be very dull, and conceived a horror of the _Faery Queen_ in consequence.

[5] The lists of “church goods”--_i.e._ of the contents of our churches--during the reign of Edward the Sixth, are to be found in the Record Office. Many of them have been printed _in extenso_; they make up in the aggregate a large mass of documents, and some account of them may be found in the seventh and ninth reports of the Deputy Keeper of the Public Records. Among the miscellaneous books of the Exchequer is a visitation book of the Archdeacon of Norwich for the year 1368, which contains a very minute account of the contents of every church in the archdeaconry, including service books, vestments, sacred vessels, banners, processional crosses, ornaments, &c., all set down in detail, the names of the donors being frequently given, and sometimes the value of the more precious articles being stated. Some years ago I stumbled upon an inventory of the contents of the Collegiate Church of St. Mary, Warwick, drawn up in 1467, extending over five folio pages. It seemed to me, on a cursory inspection, to be a document of great value as illustrative of this subject. I know not whether it has ever been printed; if not, perhaps Warwickshire antiquaries may be glad to be referred to it--_Miscell. Books of the Exchequer_, Q.R. No. 30. The inventory begins at fol. cci.

[6] Why _will_ not the printers’ readers let me use this word? I _do_ use it every day of my life in talk; why may I not write it and print it? It is very short, and it is perfectly harmless. I am afraid it must mean something bad in Finnish or some other strange tongue, for the _reader_ always draws my attention to it.

[7] Fact! Old Biddy’s habit of _dashing it_ is so confirmed that there’s no hope of her outgrowing it.

[8] Inasmuch as the _general reader_ has a strong objection to the use of Decimals, it will be a comfort to him to be assured that _multiplying_ by ·0001 is the same thing as _dividing_ by 10,000; and so ·0001 (x - m)² is only another way of writing ((x - m)²)/10,000

[9] It has been only of late years that any Christian ministers other than those ordained by the bishops of the Church of England have been called “clergymen” among us. The nonconformists were always called “ministers” or “preachers.” I find myself driven to use the words “clergy” and “minister” in the old way, to avoid conveying a wrong impression to my readers.

Transcriber’s Notes

Punctuation and spelling were made consistent when a predominant preference was found in this book; otherwise they were not changed.

Simple typographical errors were corrected; occasional unbalanced quotation marks retained.

Ambiguous hyphens at the ends of lines were retained; occurrences of inconsistent hyphenation have not been changed.

Spelling and punctuation in dialect has not been changed.

Page 166: Transcriber added closing double-quotation mark to ‘in those rude old times.” How?’ but it may belong after the ‘How?’ or in some other place.

Pages 252-253: In the formulas and explanations of them, the variables x and m were printed in italics. For readability, that is not indicated here.

Pages 264-269: In the formulas and explanations of them, the variables x and m were printed in boldface. For readability, that is not indicated here.

End of Project Gutenberg's Trials of a Country Parson, by Augustus Jessopp