Our journey led us now to Chester, whence we started on a little trip
through Northern Wales. I was not very keen for it, for I feared it
might prove too "post-cardy!" But it did not.
If your memory fails you, you may turn again to your "Baedeker," for
I do not intend to bore you with descriptions of scenery.
At Betts-y-Coed we stopped at the "Waterloo," and took as many photos
of the brawling brook as Mr. Pecksniff's pupils made elevations of
Salisbury Cathedral.
But far more interesting to me than any landscape was the porter of
the hotel--John. You recall Oliver Wendell Holmes's description of
the "Two Voices"--if not look it up in your "Autocrat," mine is in
the trunk at Chester. One of these voices, I remember, was that of a
German chambermaid in a hotel at Buffalo, and the other--I have
forgotten where! Well, John's voice is more beautiful than theirs, I
am sure. Indeed, I think it the most beautiful speaking voice I have
ever heard--as more musical than the English voice than that is more
musical than the Philadelphian's--at which you never tire of girding!
The _timbre_ is exquisite, and there is a caressing quality in it
which belongs to the Celt alone. Motorists, dusty, tired, hungry,
and cross drove up hour after hour, and John's greeting was as
comfortable as a warm bath. And when I say bath, I mean a wallow in
a tub and not a wash in a tin basin--but I forgot. Ruth asked me not
to mention "baths" again until we passed Sandy Hook. I do not know
why. Perhaps you do?
What is it makes the Celt so much more lovable than the Saxon? Some
of their qualities are not sterling. Some of them are not quite
honest in small matters, and their standard of truth is not ours.
They used to tell us in the seminary that the elder brother in the
parable stood for the Jew, and the prodigal for the Gentile. Why
does not some man who does not wish to be a bishop or to go to the
General Convention, say that they are types of the Saxon and the
Celt? It has the advantage of a "modern instance," and is probably
quite as true!
At any rate, it is the Celt who is lovable, though the Saxon may be
admirable. Well, perhaps that means that the Saxon has arrived, and
that the future belongs to the Celt. This, at any rate, is my
feeling as I think of the Welsh. Perhaps my feelings may undergo a
change when I cross to Ireland! In the meantime, I am sure the
Welshman would object to be called a prodigal, as who would not!
The average American returns from England declaring that the climate
is wretched, and I have often shared that opinion myself, but, after
all, where can one enjoy the twilight as in the British Isles? We do
not know what it means, at home. But here from eight to ten in the
evening is the most enjoyable part of the day. We were sitting in
the garden of the hotel in this pleasant time, I smoking and Ruth
thinking--I wonder of what? There was a far-away look in her
eyes--when a man came out of the dining-room and settled himself in
one of the basket chairs on the lawn, not far from us and, drawing
out a dainty case, lit a small cigar, whose aroma floated to us. I
glanced at him indifferently, but when Ruth said, "That is an
interesting face," looked at him more carefully. He was evidently a
clergyman, but his dress was not that of the conventional parson,
with the rigid "dog collar." He wore a waistcoat which buttoned to
the throat, but was open enough to show a lawn cravat and a shirt of
fine linen, which softened his somewhat formal costume. He looked
not unlike the portrait of Dean Stanley which hangs in your study,
and evidently belonged to the same period or a little later. His
face showed breeding and was one that would attract attention. It
lacked, however, the high intelligence of Stanley, being rather
weak--indeed almost self-indulgent--in a refined way. Suddenly I
recalled him. It was the Rev. Henry Waitland, rector of a
fashionable West-end "Chapel of Ease." I had last seen him when I
was in college, at one of John Ropes's Sunday dinners. I remembered
that I had been told that he was a well-known man in London, a friend
of Ellen Terry's and other celebrities. Indeed, he had the
reputation of being more interested in the drama than in divinity! I
thought it might please Ruth to meet him, so I strolled over and
introduced myself, reminding him of our last meeting.
He was polite, but not enthusiastic. Indeed I was reminded of the
remark of the "con man" on the steamer! However, when he caught a
glimpse of Ruth, and learned she was my wife, he seemed to think
better of us, and asked to be presented.
When we had talked a little about Boston and he found that Ruth knew
the right people, he thawed out and began to talk about London and
the distinguished people he had known. It was most interesting to
hear about the people one knew from books and get the impressions of
an eye-witness.
Ruth asked him what a "Queen's chaplain" was? He laughed and said it
was a man who had to leave his own congregation and go to Windsor to
preach before the Queen whenever "commanded." Ruth remarked that she
should think that would be a bore. But he said it was an honor.
This sounded like a snub, but was evidently intended only as a
statement of fact.
"Still," he added, "I will not deny that it is sometimes
inconvenient. For instance: A few years ago I was summoned to preach
the Easter sermon before her Majesty, and would much have preferred
to stop at home for that day. However, I went to Windsor, and found
that my old friend Ponsonby was to take the service, but as I was to
preach he suggested that I read the gospel. But imagine my surprise
when, instead of saying the collect for Easter, he said a collect
which for the life of me I could not recall, or rather could not tell
to what Sunday it belonged! You may imagine my embarrassment! I
said to myself: 'Whatever shall I do? Shall I read the Gospel for
Easter, or shall I match Ponsonby?' It seemed the decent thing to
stand by him, but then I said to myself, 'How can I match Ponsonby,
when I don't know this minute what Epistle he is now reading?' And
then I said to myself: 'You have nothing to do with Ponsonby. You
have been commanded to preach before her Majesty on Easter Day, and
your business is to read the service appointed for that day!' And
that is what I did.
"After service the Queen sent for me, and after saying a few pleasant
things, added: 'I was both astonished and annoyed that Mr. Ponsonby
should not have read the Collect for Easter.' I didn't want to be
unfair to Ponsonby, but I said: 'You may imagine my feeling, ma'am,
when I heard a collect for I did not know what day, and though I said
to myself "Shall I match Ponsonby?" I did think it best to read the
collect appointed for the day.'
"'You were quite right,' said the Queen, 'and I shal1 tell Mr.
Ponsonby how much I dislike any deviation from the appointed service.'
"So you see," he added, "that honors have their burdens."
Now I ask you, has Trollope any clerical story to equal this?