met with among tourists at luxurious hotels, and equally obvious that
such people are hard to get at by travellers who are themselves birds
of passage. When a householder is living very near the wind, he does
not like to expose his small economies and humble ways to a stranger;
and because he is living a quiet, unostentatious life, he has little
to offer to those whose occupation is seeing sights. But any man or
woman who wishes to gain some insight into our domestic life may
easily obtain it if he will but take the trouble to read our works of
fiction. Our novelists come from the middle classes, not from the rich
or leisure classes, and they speak as they do know. They tell us all
about the habits and sentiments and ways of talking among clergymen and
doctors and farmers and millers and clerks and shopkeepers in England;
they show us the good and the bad side with equal impartiality; and
no more faithful delineations have ever been made of the inner and
outer life of the lowest struggling classes than are to be found in
English literature. But if we want to get an insight into the _morale_
of such people in America, we do not know where to look for it. Such
a character as Kitty Ellison in Mr. Howell’s “Chance Aquaintance,”
whose heart is with Uncle Jack and his anxieties and troubles while
she is enjoying all the gaieties and luxuries that wealth can bestow,
is a rarity in America; and, moreover, all the people one meets with
in Mr. Howell’s stories are away from home. In the “Biglow Papers”
one does now and then get a hint that there are shrewd farmers and
hard-headed country folk somewhere in the States, who do not wander
very far, but one never gets to know them. That exquisite story of
Mr. Stockton’s, “Rudder Grange,” as far as I know, occupies a unique
position in American literature, and has for many of us lifted the veil
from a whole world of little people across the Atlantic, of whose very
existence some on our side the water had almost begun to entertain
doubts. Yet we are in the habit of thinking that it is precisely among
these people that we must look for the real heart of a great nation,
and that the pulse of every great nation is to be felt among them, if
at all.
But of all subjects of inquiry that a thoughtful Englishman could set
himself to work at, the most instructive, the most suggestive, would
be the effect of perfect equality between the various religious bodies
upon the philosophic speculations, religious sentiments, and ethical
convictions of the American people. In England there is one Church
by law established, and they who separate from the communion of that
Church are all classed together as dissenters. That there should be
anywhere on the face of the earth a condition of society where there
can be no such thing as a dissenter, is a thought extremely difficult
for some good folks here to grasp. But much harder is the other notion,
which I presume is familiar enough to Americans, that there should be
anywhere no sects. No dissenters, because no predominant or paramount
Christian organization that rejoices in the “most-favoured-nation”
clause. No sects, because no church recognized as _the_ Church from
which the other religious bodies have cut themselves off. That there
should be no bigotry and exclusiveness, no _odium theologicum_, no
fierce rivalry, no proselytizing, in America, as everywhere else,
is inconceivable. Theological disputants will cease to wrangle when
lawyers learn to love one another as brethren and doctors differ
without asperity; but among us the situation is extremely embarrassing
as between the Church--for with us it is _the_ Church--and the
non-conformist, that is, with those who will not subscribe to our
Church doctrine, accept our formularies, or conform to our liturgy.
Here we have a standard by which we try all other Christian bodies, and
we pronounce them more or less orthodox or denounce them as absolutely
unorthodox, in proportion as they approach or depart from this standard
which is tacitly accepted among us as the established standard. If
there were no Church of England by law established, I believe that a
vast number of people would find themselves quite dazed, quite lost.
To them it would be practically pretty much as if we were all to awake
some fine morning to find that the Home Secretary had shut up Greenwich
observatory and run away with the key, having previously taken measures
to stop all the great clocks in the land. We should all of us be going
by our own watches.
Yet somehow in America every man goes by his own watch; and if nobody
is right, nobody else is likely to consider himself hopelessly wrong.
Here the social position of the clergy of the established Church is
something quite peculiar. There is no need to dwell upon the fact,
but that it is a fact there can be no doubt. The result is, that the
attitude of the clergy[9] toward all the religious teachers has always
been exclusive; there has never been any cordiality, and very little
coöperation. I do not say this is not deplorable; I am concerned
with facts only. A supercilious tone is so habitually natural to the
clergyman when speaking or dealing with the dissenting minister, and a
tone of soreness, jealousy, and suspicion on the part of the minister
towards the clergyman seems to us so inseparable from their relations
one to the other, that we in England can hardly bring ourselves to
believe that the Episcopalian and the Independent, the Wesleyan and
the Primitive Methodist, could meet on absolutely equal terms, just as
officers of two regiments in the same army can meet at mess and fight
valiantly side by side against the common foe. Every now and then we
get one of those necessary evils, the religious newspapers, sent us
by kind friends from America, or we catch a glimpse of an American
bishop or Episcopalian popular preacher. Was it only a dream, or have I
really, actually, in the flesh, once met with an American archdeacon?
But from these exalted personages and their organs surprisingly little
is to be learned; and I observe that an ecclesiastic, let him come
from where he may, is a shy creature, ready enough to listen, but not
to talk. He puts himself on the defensive, and is so very much afraid
of committing himself, that you are apt to retire into your interior,
too; just as I have observed two snails meeting on their evening walk;
one at the approach of his brother shuts himself up in his shell, and
the other tickles at him with his horns for a little while, but ends by
accepting the situation, and shutting himself up also. Result, to all
appearance, nothing but two unoccupied snail-shells, inhabitants having
retired from publicity.
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