"BY PURENESS, BY KINDNESS, BY LOVE UNFEIGNED"
Before leaving Shrewsbury I had told Ruth on which train I would
leave Saltbridge, and, as I had to change trains at Manchester, she
could send a wire to the station there if she had any special orders
to give me. The wire was awaiting me, and from it I found that not
only had Ruth gone off "on her own" to Deepford, but that she had
received an invitation from the Sanfords asking us both to come to
them. She said that she was proceeding to London, and that she would
go to the Sanfords' by train, and hoped I would meet her there with
the car.
So I returned to Shrewsbury, where we had left the car, and the next
day drove slowly through Stratford-on-Avon, where I had been before,
and so did not stop, waiting till Ruth and I could make the
pilgrimage together. I caught a glimpse of the spire of the parish
church and could "visualize" the smug bust in the chancel, which an
ungrateful town permits to be called Shakespeare!
I stopped the night at Banbury, where there is one of those old
coaching inns which affect the imagination like an old print. The
following day I went on to Oxford, where I left the car, and ran up
to London for some necessary shopping. This, I know, will make you
indignant, but I am going to "do" Oxford when Ruth, that lover of
"Lost Causes," is with me. Besides, as my next journey is to the
northeast, it was better to leave the car at Oxford than to go
through London.
When I returned to Oxford I went again on my way and spent the night
at Ipswich, in the same inn in which Mr. Pickwick had the
compromising adventure with the lady in curl-papers. But there was
nothing seen to recall that joyous night. No one I saw looked as if
he had ever heard of the most distinguished guest the inn had ever
entertained!
The next day I reached the Sanfords' for tea. I understand now why
the heroine in an English novel always arrives at tea-time! It is
the ideal hour. One does not have to dress for a function and is
received into the family at once.
This family consists of but two--the husband and wife--a lovely
couple. I do not know which of them we loved best when the visit was
over. An ancestor of Mr. Sanford's was one of the non-jurors--and
that night I lay in his bed. As a bed it was a good bed, but as a
place for sleeping it was naught--as Touchstone would have said. As
I lay awake I thought of the noble folly of the non-jurors, and of
Macaulay's unsympathetic picture of them, though, curiously enough,
the only time he speaks well of a bishop, so far as I remember, is
when he praises the "seven bishops." How characteristic this is!
They are admirable when they defy the Stuart, but contemptible when
they refuse to bow the knee to his Dutch hero! These thoughts led me
on to Henry Esmond--that most interesting prig--and so on, hour after
hour, the mind wandered through the history of England till I longed
for the scenery of the land of Nod!
I would not have you think that my wakefulness was due solely to the
imagination awakened by the old non-juror's bed. It was due to a
more modern and more material cause, namely the strong Ceylon tea,
which was so good that I had taken more than I am accustomed to.
What we call "English Breakfast," the English call "China" tea, and,
so far as my experience goes, is seldom served. Certainly it could
not have been expected in this house, because Mr. Sanford is largely
interested in the cultivation of Ceylon tea and, not unnaturally,
thinks it superior to China. It is undoubtedly good, but so strong
that it is apt to be followed by a sleepless night on the part of the
uninitiated.
The next day was Sunday, which began, I need not say, with a
bountiful breakfast, at which, of course, we served ourselves, Mr.
Sanford walking around the room with a little blue bowl in his hand,
eating porridge and talking delightfully. By the way, do you believe
the story of the American "Belle Mère," who, arriving at the castle
of her noble son-in-law late at night and therefore coming to the
dining-room for the first time at breakfast, and, seeing no servants,
said to her daughter: "Honey, can't you get no 'help' at all over
here?" I do not. Ruth does, and begged me not to tell the story
here lest it be thought that the good lady was typical!
I do not think Mrs. Sanford would have believed it. But, if she had,
she would have understood, for she has many American friends and a
more sympathetic understanding of our problems than any one I have so
far met in England. Mr. Sanford was rather inclined to be depressed
about England, and deplored the present policy of the Liberal
Government--especially in regard to land. Of course I know nothing
about the matter, but I could not help thinking I heard a faint echo
of the old non-juror's voice. This, however, is sure, he is the
quintessence of the feudal system at its best, having its deep sense
of responsibility.
We walked to the little church, which is at their gate, and as we
drew near and met the people on their way to worship, I was struck by
the affection--so much better than perfunctory respect--with which my
hosts were greeted both by farmers and tenants alike.
Mr. Sanford showed Ruth and me into the second pew in the transept,
while he and his wife occupied the one in front of it, which is the
squire's. He read the lessons, and I wished I could read as well! I
once heard a distinguished minister at home praised for his reading
of the Bible because it "sounded so modern--as if he were reading the
morning paper." Well, his reading was not in the least like that!
He read with deep reverence, as "The covenant made with our fathers"
and now delivered unto us.
The rector, a cousin of our host's, was indisposed, and his place was
taken by a near-by vicar. The sermon had neither the interest of the
morning paper nor the awe of an ancient revelation! Indeed, it was a
stupid thing, which I guessed was one of those which, it is said, can
be bought "ready made," and of any shade of churchmanship. This one
had no color at all!
The preacher was invited to dine with the squire and accepted. He
must be a survival. He explained the difficulty the country parson
has in collecting his tithes. Turning to his host, he said: "I had a
most disagreeable task last week; Scroston was in arrears again, and
I had to distrain his cow."
Mr. Sanford looked much distressed, and said: "I don't think I should
have done that."
"Neither should I, had it been a personal matter; but one must
consider one's successor. If a precedent were once established, it
might lead to much trouble." And to this there seemed to be no reply!
After dinner, when the neighboring parson had left, Mr. Sanford
suggested a "look round." Ruth said she had some letters to write,
which in England means a nap, so we started off together. In my
ignorance I supposed a "look round" meant a stroll about the place.
I soon found it meant something more like what we call a "hike."
There is a wide-spread impression among Americans that England is a
small place. Let any one go with an English gentleman after a good
Sunday dinner, for a "look round," and I venture to say he will
change his mind! I suppose I am "soft" from motoring, but I know I
was "all in" when we at length reached home. But my host, no longer
a young man, seemed as fresh as when we started.
He had been much amused by my attempts to make up to a farmer, whom
we met--also "taking a look round." We were crossing a beautiful
field, in which were some noble oaks whose wide-spread branches cast
so deep a shadow that it looked black, and, by way of making myself
agreeable, I remarked to him: "I have been telling Mr. Sanford how
much I admire your trees. You must be proud of them."
"Aye, they look well to a town dweller, but I never notice them
except at hayin', and then I wish they was anywhere else."
"But you turn your cattle into this field sometimes, I suppose, and
they must enjoy the shade on a hot day."
"Well, if they stand under one of them on a hot day, they'll be in a
draft, and get a chill, and maybe die."
This certainly was not encouraging, but I did not know enough to
stop. Just then some heifers came nosing around, and I said: "That's
a beautiful heifer."
"Which one?" said the farmer.
"The white one," said I.
"I wish you lived about here and I could sell her to you. No
_farmer_ would buy her."
"Why not?" said I.
"We think the white ones is 'saft,'" he replied.
This, as I say, gave great satisfaction to Mr. Sanford, who recounted
it at tea with great gusto.
The servants all went to evening service, but the family did not, so
I "wrote letters"!
Supper was served at nine o'clock, and then all the servants came in
for prayers--"cook" first, and the kitchen-maid last, the butler
standing aside to close the door, and then solemnly taking his place.
Mr. Sanford read a chapter, and after that a beautiful prayer that
all might be faithful in their duties, kind, and considerate to one
another, honor the King and love the church. Then Mrs. Sanford took
her place at the harmonium and played several hymns, in which all the
servants joined--I thought the footman's tenor worthy of a church
choir, and I suspect he thought so too! and I am sure the housemaid
agreed with us both! Altogether the singing was beautiful.
When the service was over, Mr. Sanford said, very simply: "My
friends, we have now come to the beginning of another week, and I
wish to thank you all for faithful service. If, at any time I have
been impatient with any of you, I ask your forgiveness. And now I
bid you all good night."
The butler showed them all out, looking at the footman, I thought, as
much as to say: "Have you any complaint to make about the master? If
so, kindly address yourself to me!" As for me, I confess I had a
"lump" in my throat.
As we drove away next morning, Ruth said: "I suppose by this time you
have become a Tory!"
"No," I said, "not quite, but if you ever hear me say a word against
England again say 'Sanford,' and I will cry 'Peccavi.' How cheap and
self-conscious democracy seems after this glimpse of English gentle
people. Where can their like be found?"