_ENGLAND_--(_Continued_).
Marquis of Salisbury--Classical studies--Henley Regatta--Red Lion--
London Dinner to Lord Dufferin--His Speech--Greenwich--Fisheries
Exhibition--Bray--The Vicar--The Thames--Minehead--The Polynesian.
I was exceedingly glad to be joined by my daughter in London, because
much depended on her arrival. We had many places to see together, and
she was to accompany me on a visit to some friends in the country, who
had extended to us a very warm invitation. During this visit we met all
the kindness we could have even fancied, at one of those English homes,
standing among old trees, with ivy-covered walls, and gardens full of
roses of all colours and in the greatest perfection.
We returned to London, as I had matters to attend to at the offices of
the Hudson Bay Company, the Colonial Office, and the office of the High
Commissioner for Canada.
Shortly after my arrival the Marquis of Salisbury distributed the
prizes at King’s College, and his remarks on the occasion struck me
forcibly. Owing to my connection with Queen’s University, Kingston,
it had become my duty, however imperfectly I might have performed it,
to approach the same question: the extent to which classical studies
should form the basis of education. Lord Salisbury pointed out, with
all the polish which marks his utterances, that intellectual capacity
is as varied as any other of God’s creations; that many minds have
little inclination for study: and that to devote the best years of life
to the acquisition of an imperfect acquaintance with Greek and Latin
was most unwise and barren of good results. Lord Salisbury proceeded to
say:
“I cannot but feel, in reading this list, how singularly privileged
the present generation is in the studies they are invited to
pursue. In my time, and before my time, for I was just at the
end of the darker period, there were only two possible lines of
study--classics and mathematics. Mathematics was looked upon in
many quarters with considerable jealousy and doubt. Classics was
the one food tendered to all appetites and all stomachs. I do not
wish to say a word in depreciation of classics. It would be as
sensible to speak in depreciation of wheat and oats because wheat
will not grow in the North of Scotland and oats will not grow at
the equator. But people are coming gradually, if they have not
come fully, to the conclusion that the intellectual capacity is
as various as any other of nature’s creations, and that there are
as many different kinds of minds, open to as many different kinds
of treatment, as there are soils on the surface of the earth;
and that it is as reasonable to try to force all minds to grow
classics, or to grow mathematics, or to grow history, as it would
be to force all soils to grow fruit, or grass, or corn. This is
an enormous gain to the present generation. For what happened
in the last generation, or two generations ago, was this, that
those minds which were fitted for education in classics received
full development, while those minds not fitted for that treatment
were stunted and turned from intellectual pursuits altogether.
There is no greater privilege of the present generation than the
full conception at which we have arrived of the fact that almost
every intellect is, if it be properly treated, capable of high
development. But whether that development be reached or not depends
upon the judgment with which its capacities are nurtured and its
early efforts encouraged. Now, in this list I am very glad to see
that modern history and the English language and literature occupy
a very distinguished position.
“I have the greatest possible respect for the educational
establishments in which I was brought up, but I never look back
without a feeling of some bitterness to the many hours during
which I was compelled to produce the most execrable Latin verse
in the world. I believe that if a commission of distinguished men
were appointed to discover what is the most perfectly useless
accomplishment to which the human mind can be turned a large
majority would agree that versification in the dead languages was
that accomplishment. On that account, I suppose, we were compelled
in the last generation, whether we were fitted or not, to devote a
considerable time to it, and, if it is any compensation to you for
the severe examination you have to undergo, think of the agonies of
unpoetical minds set to compose poetical effusions, which you are
happily spared.”
Lord Salisbury dwelt upon the number of examinations to which everybody
in the military and civil services is subjected, and instanced one
official who had passed through thirty-six examinations. In his own
able way he declared his opposition to the system of cramming, by which
the mere surface of knowledge is floated over with facts, cunningly
grouped together, soon to be forgotten and never of true value.
Hot weather is sometimes experienced in London, but it is a different
heat from that of Canada, and by no means to be compared with it in
temperature. Few people dress to meet the summer in England, and in
winter the sole addition is the great coat. A fur cap is unknown. The
round silk hat, so much abused, holds its own, summer and winter,
against all attempts to banish it. Although the days are hot, the
nights are generally cool. Any extraordinarily hot weather is
exceedingly oppressive to the Londoner.
It was during the warm days that I went to Henley, to join a party who
had engaged to be present at the regatta. With a Canadian friend I took
the train to Maidenhead, thence by the branch railway to Henley, one of
the most striking landscapes in the valley of the Thames, remarkable
for its many beauties. The river here is broad, and runs between
undulating hills covered with foliage. We cross the old stone bridge
at Henley in order to find our friends among the many carriages. No
more pleasant spectacle could have been seen. It presented only the
sunny and holiday side of life. It was as different from the mixed mass
of human beings of all classes and conditions you meet at the Derby
or the other horse races near the metropolis as can be imagined. All
was order, quietude and irreproachable respectability. There were no
drinking booths, no gambling, no shrieking out the “odds,” none of
the professional rough element in search of a “good thing.” We were
among the most elaborate toilets. No one but looked her best. Probably
nowhere do we see more thoroughly this one phase of English life than
at the Henley regatta. The scenery is English, the people are English;
we have the theoretical English staidness and propriety. The amusement
is English. What struck me was the absence of all excitement. This
indifference appeared to me remarkable. Indeed, the only exhibition of
interest was that shown by the oarsmen, who were young men in perfect
condition, with muscles well trained and developed, and who bent
enthusiastically to their work. I did not hear a single cheer. I never
before nor since beheld such an orderly crowd, if I may apply that word
to an assemblage of so many distinguished people. I noticed that those
who came under my observation were generally light-haired or brown,
with fair complexions. It seemed to me, judging from appearances, as
if the regatta was looked upon as a very ordinary affair in itself,
and that it was more an occasion for the well-dressed mass of people
to meet together. There evidently was a theory that some one boat must
come in first, and, as it generally happened that there was a foregone
conclusion as to who the winner would be, there was nothing to call for
enthusiasm. Certainly none was shown.
We did not find our friends, although we searched diligently for them
on both sides of the river. After giving up the attempt reluctantly,
we resolved to take luncheon at the renowned old hostelry, the “Red
Lion,” celebrated as the inn where Shenstone wrote his lines in praise
of an inn, perhaps his only lines now generally remembered. The “Red
Lion” did not belie its ancient reputation. There is always a pleasure
in visiting these haunts of a former generation. There is little of
modern finery and frippery about them, but you find the actual comforts
of life above criticism. Nowhere can be seen a whiter cloth, brighter
glass, finer bread, sweeter butter, juicier meat or a more royal
tankard of English ale, whose praises Chaucer might have sung.
We took the 6.10 evening train to Maidenhead, and then walked to our
friends’ place. We found that they had driven to Henley, excepting
those who kindly received us. The party, however, came back in
good time, having heard of us through a common friend, recently an
Aide-de-camp on the General’s staff in Halifax. We had met him at the
regatta, and asked intelligence of the party. He had succeeded where we
had failed, and had found those of whom we were in search.
We returned to London. Finding we had now about a fortnight to remain,
we mapped out our plans in order to see what we could do in that time.
We saw all the public sights which our engagements enabled us to do.
I cannot say that I was greatly impressed with the pictures of the
Royal Academy. Several were good, but I did not find a large number
of surpassing excellence, I was much struck by a water-colour drawing
of mountain scenery, with a bridge and stream, Kirbrücher Stadden
in Switzerland, by Arthur Croft. We went to the theatre, and saw
Irving in “The Bells” and “Impulse” at the St. James; to a promenade
concert at the Botanical Gardens, Regent’s Park and to Wimbledon.
Through the courtesy of Col. Otter, in command of the Canadian camp,
we were invited to an at home given by him, where we saw a great many
Canadian friends. We also met some distinguished military people. We
were gratified to learn all about the success of our marksmen. The
rain, however, was exceptionally heavy during the whole day, and most
unfortunately there was no going beyond the shelter of the canvas
tents.
One event of no ordinary importance which we witnessed was the
banquet to Lord Dufferin at the Empire Club. Lord Bury presided. Sir
Charles Tupper and the Honourable Alexander Mackenzie both spoke
very effectively. It struck me that in each case their speeches were
admirable. Neither of them occupied more than ten or fifteen minutes,
and what they said had the impress of careful consideration and finish,
for it was dignified, concise and appropriate. I have no recollection
of having heard either of those well known public men speak to better
advantage, and it was a matter of great regret to all of us that their
speeches were not reported. The dining room of the club is not large;
it can hold no more than sixty at most, so the number who could attend
was limited, much to the disappointment of many. We were all of us glad
to see Lord Dufferin. He was quite unchanged. He had the same high-bred
charm of manner, and that polished courtesy which becomes him so well
and is never out of place. We did not sit down to dinner until 8.30, so
it was late when we separated. There was something in Lord Dufferin’s
speech which made it more than a mere after-dinner address, something
so striking, so statesmanlike, that I deem it my duty to include it in
these chapters:
My Lords and Gentlemen,--If there is one thing more embarrassing
than another to a person on commencing a public speech it is to
find his oratorical ground suddenly cut away from beneath his
feet. I had fully intended to claim your indulgence on the grounds
so eloquently referred to by my noble friend, and I can assure you
that that indulgence is as much needed as I have ever experienced
it, for, however easy it may be to speak with an empty head, it
is very difficult to do so with a full heart. In rising, however,
to return my warmest thanks for the kind manner in which you have
drunk my health, I cannot help asking myself with some anxiety
what title I possess to the good-will of my entertainers. Your
chairman has been pleased to refer in very flattering terms to my
public services: but I fear that the reason of your cordiality is
further to seek than anything which can be found in the indulgent
observation, I hope, on the present occasion, of the members of the
Empire Club, and I think I am not wrong in conjecturing that I am
indebted for the signal honour which you have conferred upon me,
not so much to my individual merits, as to the fact that for the
last twelve years of my life I have been unremittingly occupied
in promoting and maintaining the Imperial, as distinguished from
the domestic, interests of our common country. In Canada, at St.
Petersburg, at Constantinople and in Egypt, I can conscientiously
say that home politics, with all their irritating associations,
have faded from my view, and that my one thought by day and night
has been to safeguard, to protect and to extend the honour,
the influence and the commerce of England with the foreign
Governments or else to draw still more closely together those
ties of affectionate regard by which she is united to one of her
most powerful, most loyal and most devoted colonies. Well, then,
gentlemen, under these circumstances, I think I may be pardoned if
I have come to look at England, this sceptred isle, this earth
of majesty, this other Eden-beaming paradise, this happy breed of
men, this precious stone set in a silver sea; not as she displays
herself in the recriminatory warfare of parliamentary strife, or
in the polemical declamation of the platform, but in an aspect
softened by distance and regarded as the happy home of a noble
and united people, whom it is an honour to serve, and for whose
sake it would be a privilege to make the greatest sacrifices. I
do not say this in any spirit of selfish and vulgar “Jingoism,”
although I must admit that by their profession ambassadors and
colonial governors are bound to be a little “jingo.” I have come
to regard England in the same light as she is regarded by those
great communities who are carrying her laws, her liberties, her
constitutional institutions and her language into every portion of
the world, many of whose most distinguished representatives are
present here to-night, and to whom it is the especial function of
this club to extend the right hand of brotherhood and affection.
Gentlemen, I am well aware that many of our most influential
thinkers are almost disposed to stand aghast at the accumulative
responsibility and increasing calls upon our resources, and
the ever-widening vulnerability entailed by England’s imperial
position. Certainly, the outlook counsels both prudence and, above
all, preparation. After all, the life of nations and individuals
in many respects resemble each other, and each of us is aware that
his daily burden of care, anxiety and responsibility gathers weight
and strength in proportion to the expansion of his faculties, the
accumulation of his wealth, the energy of his endeavours and the
extension of his influence. Why, gentlemen, even the children
that people our homes are so many hostages given to fortune; and
the wives of our bosoms--I say this beneath my breath--are very
apt each of them to open a startling chapter of accidents; but
what man of spirit has ever turned his back upon the opportunity,
or refused to enter upon the tender obligations of a love-lit
fireside for fear of increasing his responsibilities, entailed by
a fuller, ampler and more perfect existence? But, my lords and
gentlemen, even did she desire it, I believe that the time is
too late for England to seek to disinherit herself of that noble
destiny with which I firmly believe she has been endowed. The
same hidden hand which planted the tree of constitutional liberty
within her borders, and thus called upon her to become the mother
of parliaments, has sent forth her children to possess and fructify
the waste places of the earth. How a desert in every direction has
been turned into a paradise of plenty those who are present can
best tell. I believe that, great as have been the changes which
have already occurred, our children are destined to see even still
more glorious accomplishments. One of the greatest statisticians of
modern times, a man of singularly sober judgment, has calculated
that ere the next century has reached its close the English
speaking population of the globe will have already exceeded one
hundred millions of human beings. Of these, in all probability,
forty millions will be found in Canada alone, and an equal
proportion along the coast of Africa and in our great Australian
possessions. If these great communities are united in a common bond
of interest, if they are co-ordinated and impelled by a common
interest, what an enormous influence, as compared with that of any
other nationality, whether for good or evil, whether considered
from a moral or material point of view, are they destined to
exercise! But, gentlemen, that they will remain Englishmen who
can doubt! The chops and changes on an accelerated momentum of
human progress forbid all accurate prediction. These enormous
forces, operating over such a large space, defy all prescience and
human wisdom to direct the current of events; but one thing, at
all events, is certain, and that is that these great communities
will be deeply impressed by English ideas, by English literature,
by English institutions and by English habits of thought. That
this shall long continue to be the case is, I am sure, the earnest
wish of those whom I am addressing. It is their desire that our
statesmen should so conduct the relations of this country with
their colonial dependencies as to cherish and maintain those
affectionate ties by which they are so remarkably and distinctly
bound to the Mother Country. One thing, at all events, is certain:
that the people of England will never again allow their Government
to repeat the error which resulted in the separation of the United
States. Whatever may be our present relations with the great
transatlantic republic, it is certain that, had it not been for the
violent disruption that occurred, those relations would now have
been even more mutually advantageous. The catastrophe, unhappily,
was brought about by the Ministry of the day being incapable of
appreciating and understanding the force and direction of colonial
sentiment. Now, my lords and gentlemen, I believe that statesmen
can make no greater mistake than not accurately to comprehend
the enormous part which sentiment plays in human affairs. By far
the greater number of the wars which have devastated the globe
have been produced and generated by outraged sentiment rather
than by the pursuit of material advantages. Even commerce itself,
the most unsentimental and matter-of-fact of interests, is
wont for long periods of time to follow in the track of custom,
habit and sentiment. This was a fact which for a long time the
English people failed to comprehend. They failed to comprehend the
desire which the colonies had to have their kinship recognised.
Happily, however, the increased facilities of communication and
the necessities and exigencies of trade have changed all this,
and I believe that now there is not a man in England who does not
understand, and to whose imagination it has not been forcibly
brought home, that beyond the circuit of the narrow seas which
confine this island are vast territories, inhabited by powerful
communities who are actuated by ideas similar to our own, who are
proud to own allegiance to Queen Victoria, whose material resources
are greater than those possessed by his own country, and whose
ultimate power may, perhaps, exceed the power of Great Britain. And
yet these great communities of noble, high-spirited, industrious
Englishmen, if only they are properly dealt with, and if only
their feelings and just exigencies are duly considered, will never
have a higher ambition than to be allowed to continue as co-heirs
with England in her illustrious career, associated with her in
her gigantic empire, and sharers in her fortunes, whether they be
for good or evil, until the end of time. Gentlemen, such are the
sentiments and opinions which I believe this club has been founded
to encourage and propagate, and I felt that in rising to return
thanks for the great and signal honour which you have done me, and
for which really I cannot find words sufficient to thank you, I
could not do so in a more acceptable manner than by telling you
with what enthusiasm and with what sincerity of conviction I myself
subscribe to these sentiments.
One of my pleasantest recollections of London dates about ten days
before my departure for Canada. When the heat was tempered by a fresh
breeze, a party of us met by appointment on one of the wharves near
London Bridge. We owed the invitation to a Canadian who, like myself,
was from the north of the Tweed. He introduced me to our host, one of
his oldest friends, a friendship which had lasted from boyhood. Our
host had engaged a steamer to take his guests down the river to the
large establishment of which he is the leading mind. I believe I am
safe in saying that thousands of people are employed in these works.
We went through the various departments, and to do so took some hours.
Some of the ladies of the party thought they had accomplished miles
of pedestrianism. They were greatly interested in what they saw, and
before they left were delighted, for our host, who has a heart as large
as the business he controls, presented from the factory to each of our
party a substantial mark of his regard.
We returned to Greenwich, the very name is redolent of fish dinners and
whitebait to the Londoner, and twenty-one of us sat down at the great
round table in the bow window of the “Ship Hotel.” We were not in a
mood to criticise our entertainment. Had we been so, we could only have
found something additional to praise. We had good appetites, were in
the best of humour, and felt prepared to do justice to the profusion
of dainties set before us. Our host had visited Canada nearly half a
century ago, and he spoke of his experience in what is now a highly
cultivated district, but was then very thinly populated. His youthful
days came back to him, and he referred to a pair of bright eyes he
encountered at a picnic on the shores of Lake Simcoe which very nearly
made him a Canadian. I do not know what prominent position amongst us
he might not now have occupied had the possessor of the bright eyes
affirmed her conquest.
We are not, in Canada, a people particularly demonstrative in our
own land, but away from home, when those of us who are bound by
friendly associations come side by side, no meeting can be more gay or
pleasant. It was especially so on this occasion, and our host had the
satisfaction of seeing all his good cheer thoroughly appreciated by his
guests. It was ten o’clock before we separated, and found our way back
to London.
The Fisheries Exhibition was then the event of the season. In London or
Paris there is always something going on which everybody feels bound to
see, and not to have the privilege or opportunity of seeing places you,
in an undefined way, in such a secondary position that you appear to be
excluded. The question is not always if the spectacle or exhibition, or
other notoriety of the moment, will repay the time and attention given
to witnessing it. The leading consideration is that it is something to
be seen, and it is never of any use running counter to the tide of the
community in which you live and move. Very often a good deal of trouble
is taken, and frequently no small amount of money expended, to pass
through some ordeal of this character, which brings no addition to our
information and but little satisfaction.
The Fisheries Exhibition, however, was not of this character. Many must
have been surprised at the part played in it by Canada, and at the
richness and variety of her exhibits. Scarcely anything could have been
designed to set forth better to the London world the vastness of the
resources of the Dominion than this exhibition, and to bring before the
English people an idea of the extensive fishing grounds it possesses.
Many would then learn for the first time that our fisheries are not
confined to the St. Lawrence and the lakes. Canada has an immense
extent of sea coast in the Maritime Provinces frequented by shoals of
fish, for which these waters have been famous since the first discovery
of America. The almost virgin waters of British Columbia swarm with
fish of the finest description, and Canada possesses the whole of
Hudson Bay and the northern coast of America in which to develop her
enterprise and industry. What country in the world can boast of such
great and prolific fish fields on three oceans, all open to enterprise.
One of the agreeable associations connected with the exhibition was
the _fête_ in aid of the English Church at Berlin, and in commemoration
of the silver wedding of the Crown Princess of Germany, Her Majesty’s
eldest daughter. It seemed to me that there was a constant rush of
visitors till midnight. The spectacle was a brilliant one, as much on
account of the great crowd of people who were there as from the light
and glitter of the scene itself. The newspapers mentioned the number
present as 6,000, and they truly described it as a fairy scene. The
whole place was bright with many-coloured lamps, Chinese lanterns and
electric lights. One of the striking features was the tea party of the
Chinese court, where a veritable Chinese grandee presided with her
daughter. The Marchioness Tseng seemed to me a type of liberality.
It could scarcely be political exigency which led this lady and her
family to intervene in aid of an Anglican Church in the heart of a
Lutheran population. The Duke and Duchess of Albany assisted her. Fans
were sold here, the recommendation of which was that they had been
specially painted by the Chinese Minister himself and embroidered and
worked by the Marchioness and her daughter. It struck me that if this
display be typical of the industry of the Chinese family our western
civilization is much behind in the path of productive labour. There
were to be seen also an English refreshment room, and an “American”
bar, under the direction of Mrs. Lowell, attended by all the United
States beauties in London, whose personal charms, supplemented by New
York taste in dress, not a little influenced the price of what was
served. The Countess of Dufferin was there. She seemed quite in her
element, doing her best to promote the general gaiety and brightness
of the scene. A distinguished naval officer, whose name has penetrated
wherever the English language is spoken, Lord Charles Beresford,
assisted Lady Dufferin. It was their duty to preside over the fish
pond, where the small charge of five shillings was paid for the use
of the rod and line. There seemed to be an unlimited supply of fish.
The successful anglers generally brought up something which excited
shouts of laughter. One fisherman would land a nightcap, another a toy
of some sort, and so on. The Prince and Princess of Wales came about
eleven o’clock, which added in no little degree to the excitement of
the scene. What must strike strangers on British soil is the admirable
order which prevails during an exhibition of this kind. It is seldom
that any unpleasantness occurs. We did not remain until the close, but
it was late before we reached home.
It was my good fortune to spend some pleasant days with my friends
at their charming and hospitable house within four miles of Windsor.
A few hours in the country is always a congenial change even to the
inveterate London-loving resident of the capital. It was equally so
with myself. I awoke at my friend’s pleasant home one bright Sunday
morning. Some of the family started for the old church at Bray, and
invited me to accompany them. We pass along a winding road, between
hedges of hawthorn, with here and there fine old trees, some of them
with trunks as much as five and six feet in diameter, relics of Windsor
Forest. The country is somewhat flat, but it is rendered peculiarly
attractive by its fertility and the richness of the foliage. Windsor
Castle stands out boldly in the landscape, and to-day the Imperial
Standard on the Round Tower shows that Her Majesty is at her ancient
home.
We reached the cross roads, with a finger post directing us to Windsor
and to Bray. Following the road to the latter, we came upon “Jesus
Hospital,” founded, we read on the inscription over the gateway
in quaint old English characters, by William Goddard in 1627. His
statue over the entrance looks upon a plot of garden flowers. On the
inscription we further learn that “he hath provided for forty poor
people forever.” Then we are told that there is no admission for
vagrants, or unlicensed hawkers, or dogs.
We attended service at Bray Church, an old edifice dating, in some
parts, from the beginning or middle of the fifteenth century. The
square tower tells a story of a later date.
Who has not heard of Simon Aleyn, the Vicar? His memory is still as
fresh as it was three centuries back, when he died. He lived from
the time of Henry VIII. to that of Elizabeth, and was an Anglican, a
Presbyterian or a Papist as was expedient. It does no harm to repeat
old Fuller’s words, although they appear in the guide book: “He had
seen some martyrs burned at Windsor, and found this too hot for his
tender temper. This Vicar being taxed by one with being a turncoat
and an inconsistent changling, ‘Not so,’ said he, ‘for I have always
kept my principle, which is to live and die Vicar of Bray.’” After the
service we walked through the churchyard, and, Scotchman-like, I looked
among the tombstones to see if there were any Dugalds, Donalds or Macs.
There were none. I never before felt so much being in the heart of
England. There was not a record of one Scotchman having died here, and
I thought they had penetrated everywhere. I can well recollect making
a trip to the west coast a few years back. It was during the period
when the Honourable A. Mackenzie was Premier of Canada. I was then an
officer of the Canadian Government on leave. I visited Truro, the most
southern city in England, and on entering the principal business street
the first sign I saw was that of Alexander Mackenzie & Co. I certainly
thought then I was a long way from Scotland, and still further from all
Canadian associations. I have been in many strange and remote corners
of the globe on both continents, but I was never before in a place
where there was no trace of the ubiquitous, enterprising and energetic
north-country man. And yet it was a Vicar of the church which I had
just attended who curtly refused to pay a bill of James the First at
Maidenhead. That monarch, on a certain occasion, having outrode his
hunting escort, and being hungry, begged leave to join the Vicar and
curate at dinner. His Majesty seems to have been in excellent humour.
He told so many stories that the two listeners, who did not know their
Royal guest, laughed as they seldom did. The bill came, the King had
no money, and asked his companions to pay for him. The Vicar declined,
it would seem, somewhat irately. The curate was more kindly disposed,
and paid the bill. In the meantime the retinue arrived, and with it
recognition of the Royal person. The Vicar threw himself on his knees,
and asked pardon for his harshness. James told him he should not
disturb him in his vicarage, but that he should always remain Vicar of
Bray. The genial curate he would make a Canon of Windsor, so that he
would look down on both him and his vicarage.
On returning from the church we strolled by the river, which, from
Oxford to London, is renowned as boating water, and we saw many skiffs
and pleasure boats upon it. It is here that Monkey Island is situated,
so often visited from Windsor and Eton. The houses in the neighbourhood
are all suggestive of comfort; they are surrounded with abundance
of flowers, and have all a look of cleanliness, and an aspect both
cheerful and inviting.
We return home by another route. Our walk is a good mile and a half,
in the course of which we are caught in the rain and take shelter in a
cottage. Some one remembers that it is St. Swithin’s Day, the 15th of
July, and according to the tradition, if it rains on that day, it will
rain for forty days. We revert in thought to those ancient historians,
the most sceptical of whom, while they very summarily got rid of the
portents and miracles of their own time, hesitated to reject the
traditions of their ancestors. However there is a break in the clouds
and we reach the house.
Even with the dread of the realization of the prophecy, we take an
afternoon walk and return at five, just in time to escape another St.
Swithin shower. In the evening we go again to church. I experience that
which is not always the case in the Anglican service. The lessons are
remarkably well read, the words properly and distinctly pronounced,
the sentences not dropped in tone at the end and run into one another,
and above all with an entire absence of affectation. I learn that the
reader is Mr. Wallace, who has lately taken high honours at Oxford.
The weather at this time turned exceedingly cold, and the Londoner may
recollect this exceptional wave of low temperature. The newspapers
declared that the thermometer fell to a degree lower than it read
on Christmas day. I never heard any explanation of this abnormal
depression in July, but last year was marked by remarkable phenomena.
The terrible earthquakes in the south of Europe and in the Indian
Ocean betokened the activity of extraordinary forces. We are, indeed,
fortunate in our experience throughout the British Empire that hitherto
no portion of it has suffered by such terrible convulsions, and that
the extent of them is limited to a fall of the temperature or an excess
of rainfall.
I again receive a telegram to know when I will leave for Canada and
proceed to British Columbia. I had already arranged to leave London by
the 20th, but I felt that my plans must be altered, and that I would be
obliged to give up the idea of spending a week in Scotland.
Previous to starting for Liverpool I had arranged to visit some friends
in Somersetshire. The route is by the Great Western Railway and the
branch line to Taunton. As I passed from Bristol to the latter place
the appearance of the country reminded me of the reclaimed marsh land
at the head of the Bay of Fundy; and the turbid water of the Bristol
Channel was very much the same in colour as that of the bay. The
country is admirably adapted for grazing, and large herds of beautiful
cattle; Herefords, Devons, and Shorthorns were to be seen along the
route.
We reached our destination at Minehead, and here our friends, who
were originally from Nova Scotia, gave us that warm welcome which
we everywhere received in England. Not the least of the pleasant
associations connected with this visit was the charming scenery
from the hills behind the town, which command a view of the Bristol
Channel east of Ilfracombe and the distant mountains of South Wales.
The foliage of the west of England is always particularly striking to
anyone from Canada. Trees and plants which, with us, can only be raised
under glass, are found in luxurious abundance. There is a profusion of
walnut, myrtle, wistaria, laurestina, bay, ivy, and roses, which give
a rich variety to the flora of the parks and gardens, leaving nothing
to be desired. The drives are unrivalled; often through narrow lanes;
with high hedgerows blooming with flowers such as, at least, I have
never seen out of England. One of our drives took us to Exmoor, the
only district of England, as I was informed, where stag-hunting is
still enjoyed yearly. At Exmoor I gathered a bunch of heather which,
on the higher levels, has an extensive growth. On Sunday there was
a christening at the church, in which we were all interested, and
through which one of the names born by the humble writer of these
pages may be remembered a few years after his own race is run. There
was an old church in the neighbourhood which we visited, as a north
country man would say, “in the gloaming.” There was, however, light
enough to see in the dusk a marble statue of Queen Anne near the altar,
which might easily pass for the Virgin. There is a chained Bible on
the stand as in the first days when the people were called to hear
it read. I could not say what the date of the Bible was; whether one
of Tyndall’s or Archbishop Cranmer’s, or one more modern. The pews
were separated from each other by high divisions, five or six feet in
height, so that those who desired to pray unseen could do so. Certainly
they were not favourable to the display of any finish in dress worn by
their occupants, and which now makes such a marked feature in what are
called, I borrow the phrase, fashionable churches.
On Monday we had to leave, and it is often hard to say good-bye under
such circumstances. Is it not one of the hardships of life that we have
to undergo these separations? But often our pleasantest memories are
crowded into the narrow space of such brief visits. Our destination
is Liverpool; we leave by the morning train at eight o’clock, and
reach Bristol to take the connecting train to Liverpool. We pass by
the world-renowned Stratford-on-Avon, by Burton, for which place the
unrivalled pale ale of Bass and Allsopp have obtained an almost equally
extended reputation. As we crossed the silvery Trent I wondered if any
calculation had ever been made as to the quantity of its water which
had found itself transferred to every clime in the shape of bitter
beer. We soon leave Birmingham behind and pass through the hills and
dales of Derbyshire; a district celebrated for its loveliness and
beauty. The panorama which is seen even from the carriage window is
worth the trip. It is, indeed, something to say you have looked upon
it. At half-past six we are again in Liverpool. Tuesday and Wednesday
we enjoy the society of some old friends, and on Thursday we embark
on the Allan line steamer “Polynesian,” and start on our way over the
western waters to Canada.