(_A DREAM OF THE BRITISH INQUISITION._)
The unfortunate foreigner, travel-stained and suffering from the
after-glow of a stormy passage, crawled up the gangway and was once
more on land. He carried in his hand a portmanteau.
"Have you anything to declare?" asked an official, in a gold-peaked
cap and blue frock coat, gruffly.
"Only that your seas are terrible," was the reply.
The official made no answer, but merely pointed to some planks that
had been placed upon trestles. The foreigner glanced at the people
who were standing in front of these planks, and noticed that they were
pale with apprehension.
"Have you anything to declare?" was a second time uttered--now by a
person less gold-laced. Then the official continued, "Here, open it!"
In a moment the portmanteau was thrown with force on the planks, and
the foreigner protested.
"I understand you now. I have no cigars--I do not smoke. I have no
spirits--I am what you call a teatotaller. I have no lace--I am a
widower."
"Open it!" was once more the cry--this time with great vehemence.
"But I am innocent of concealing anything! Believe me, there is
nothing to declare! I have some photographic plates--to open them
is ruin! I prize my shirts--they are heirlooms--if they are roughly
handled I can never wear them again." And the foreigner wrung his
hands in his despair.
"If you will not open it," replied the official, unmoved by his
eloquent appeal, "we shall detain your luggage."
"But this is barbarous--cruel," continued the foreigner, answering
with excitement. "I have been to Constantinople with its mosques, and
the Turks have treated me with greater consideration. I have seen the
glories of Rome with its Forum, the splendours of Petersburg with its
fortress prison, the treasures of Madrid with its art gallery--and
everywhere--everywhere I have been treated with greater kindness,
greater charity than here! And yet you say this is the land of the
brave and the free!"
"We say nothing of the sort," retorted the official; "we say, open
it!"
The foreigner, whose pallor was fearful to see, with his teeth
clenched and his eyes starting from his head, put the key into the
portmanteau lock, turned it, and the contents of the box was revealed
to view.
In a moment the officials were upon it--thrusting their inquisitive
hands here, there, and everywhere. There was a salad of boots,
waistcoats, collars and brushes. At length they came to the
photographic plates--they were removed in a trice from their
receptacle, and held up to the light.
"Have you no hearts!" cried the foreigner, his face streaming
with tears. "In a moment you have undone the labour of years! That
plate--now destroyed for ever--when properly developed would have
revealed the smiling features of my wife's mother! It took me a
quarter of a century to catch her with such an expression! For when
she saw me she always frowned. But ah, my shirts, my heirlooms! In the
name of mercy, spare my shirts!"
But no, once more the appeal was disregarded. The small portmanteau
was turned inside out. This the official chalked.
"So this is one of the habits of the English," cried the foreigner,
bitterly.
"Not only the habits, Monsieur," observed a bystander, who trembling
with apprehension, was waiting his turn; "but the customs. Customs
that are out of date with the age. Customs that are contrary to the
spirit of the century. Customs that cost more than they yield, and
deserve to be cussed!"
"They do," cried the foreigner, excitedly. "May the Customs be--"
"You must not utter that word," interrupted the Revenue Officer, in a
tone of peremptory command.
"It is British; why not?"
But although the foreigner was baffled in his desire to use the
appropriate imprecation--he thought it!
* * * * *