Part 10

The churches are very fine, the stained-glass windows excelling in some respects any we have seen, the amount of glass is so much greater. The entire end of one of the cathedral churches is filled by three immense windows reaching from floor to roof, the effect of which is very grand. The choir of this church is not in line with the other portion of the building. In reply to my inquiry why this was so, the guide boldly assured us, with a look of surprise at our ignorance, that all cathedrals are so constructed, and that the crooked choir symbolizes the head of Christ, which is always represented leaning to one side of the cross. This idea made me shiver; I felt as if I should never be able to walk up the aisle of a cathedral again without an unpleasant sensation. Thanks to a clear-headed, thorough-going young lady, who, "just didn't believe it," we soon got at the truth about cathedrals, for she proved that they are everywhere built on straight lines. This guide fitly illustrates the danger of good men staying at home in their little island. His cathedral is crooked, and therefore all others are or should be so. Very English this. Very. There are many things still crooked in the dear old tight little isle which other lands have straightened out long ago, or rather never built crooked. Hurry up, you leader of nations in generations past! It's not your rôle in the world to lag behind; at least it has not been till lately, when others have "bettered your instruction." Come along, England, you are not done for; only stir yourself, and the lead is still yours. The guide was a theological student, and therefore could not be expected to have much general knowledge, but he surely should have known something about cathedrals.

It rained at Coventry during breakfast, and friend G. ventured to suggest that perhaps some of the ladies might prefer going by rail to Birmingham and join the coach there, at luncheon; but

"He did not know the stuff Of our gallant crew, so tough, On board the Charioteer O."

He was "morally sat upon," as Lucy says. Not a lady but indignantly repelled the suggestion. Even Mrs. G., a bride, and naturally somewhat in awe of her husband yet, went so far as to say "Tom is a little queer this morning."

Waterproofs and umbrellas to the front, we sallied forth from the courtyard of the Queen's in a drenching down-pour.

"But what care we how wet we be, By the coach we'll live or die."

That was the sentiment which animated our breasts. For my part I was very favorably situated, and I held my umbrella very low to shield my fair charge the better. Of course I greatly enjoyed the first few miles under such conditions. My young lady broke into song, and I thought I caught the sense of the words, which I fondly imagined was something like this:

"For if you are under an umbrella With a very handsome fellow, It cannot matter much what the weather may be."

I asked if I had caught the words correctly, but she archly insinuated there was something in the second line that wasn't quite correct. I think, though, she was only in fun; the words were quite right, only her eyes seemed to wander in the direction of young B.

[Sidenote: _The Oxford Don._]

None of the ladies would go inside, so Joe had the compartment all to himself, and no doubt smiled at the good joke as we bowled along. Joe was dry inside, and Perry, though outside, was just the same ere we found an inn. This recalled the story of the coachman and the Oxford Don, when the latter expressed his sympathy at the condition of the former; so sorry he was so wet. "Wouldn't mind being so wet, your honor, if I weren't so _dry_." But I think R. P.'s story almost as good as that. A Don tried to explain to the coachman the operation of the telegraph as they drove along. "They take a glass about the size of an ordinary tumbler, and this they fill with a liquid resembling--ah--like--ah--" "Anything like beer, your honor, for instance?" If Jehu didn't get his complimentary glass at the next halt, that Don was a muff.

The rain ceased, as usual, before we had gone far, and we had a clear dry run until luncheon. We see the Black Country now, rows of little dingy houses beyond, with tall smoky chimneys vomiting smoke, mills and factories at every turn, coal pits and rolling mills and blast furnaces, the very bottomless pit itself; and such dirty, careworn children, hard-driven men, and squalid women. To think of the green lanes, the larks, the Arcadia we have just left. How can people be got to live such terrible lives as they seem condemned to here? Why do they not all run away to the green fields just beyond? Pretty rural Coventry suburbs in the morning and Birmingham at noon; the lights and shadows of human existence can rarely be brought into sharper contrast. If

"Better fifty years of Europe than a cycle of Cathay"

surely better a year in Leamington than life's span in the Black Country! But do not let us forget that it is just Pittsburgh over again; nay, not even quite so bad, for that city bears the palm for dirt against the world. The fact is, however, that life in such places seems attractive to those born to rural life, and large smoky cities drain the country; but surely this may be safely attributed to necessity. With freedom to choose, one would think the rush would be the other way. The working classes in England do not work so hard or so unceasingly as do their fellows in America. They have ten holidays to the American's one. Neither does their climate entail such a strain upon men as ours does.

[Sidenote: _Overworked Americans._]

I remember after Vandy and I had gone round the world and were walking Pittsburgh streets, we decided that the Americans were the saddest-looking race we had seen. Life is so terribly earnest here. Ambition spurs us all on, from him who handles the spade to him who employs thousands. We know no rest. It is different in the older lands--men rest oftener and enjoy more of what life has to give. The young Republic has some things to teach the parent land, but the elder has an important lesson to teach the younger in this respect. In this world we must learn not to lay up our treasures, but to enjoy them day by day as we travel the path we never return to. If we fail in this we shall find when we do come to the days of leisure that we have lost the taste for and the capacity to enjoy them. There are so many unfortunates cursed with plenty to retire upon, but with nothing to retire to! Sound wisdom that school-boy displayed who did not "believe in putting away for to-morrow the cake he could eat to-day." It might not be fresh on the morrow, or the cat might steal it. The cat steals many a choice bit from Americans intended for the morrow. Among the saddest of all spectacles to me is that of an elderly man occupying his last years grasping for more dollars. "The richest man in America sailing suddenly for Europe to escape business cares," said a wise Scotch gentleman to me, one morning, as he glanced over the _Times_ at breakfast. Make a note of that, my enterprising friends, and let it be recorded here that this was written before my friend Herbert Spencer preached to us the gospel of relaxation.

It has always been assumed that dirt and smoke are necessary evils in manufacturing towns, but the next generation will probably wonder how men could be induced to live under such disagreeable conditions. Many of us will live to see all the fuel which is now used in so thriftless a way converted into clean gas before it is fed to the furnaces, and thus consumed without poisoning the atmosphere with smoke, which involves at the same time so great a loss of carbon. Birmingham and Pittsburgh will some day rejoice in unsullied skies, and even London will be a clean city.

We spent the afternoon in Birmingham, and enjoyed a great treat in the Public Hall, in which there is one of the best organs of the world. It is played every Saturday by an eminent musician, admission free. This is one of the little--no, one of the great--things done for the masses in many cities in England, the afternoon of Saturday being kept as a holiday everywhere.

Here is the programme for Saturday, June 25:

Town Hall Organ Recital.

BY MR. STIMPSON

FROM 3 TILL 4 O'CLOCK.

* * * * *

Programme for June 25, 1881:

1. _Overture to A Midsummer Night's Dream, Mendelssohn._

(It will only be necessary to state this descriptive Overture was written in Berlin, August 6, 1826. Shakespeare and Mendelssohn must have been kindred spirits, for surely no more poetic inspiration ever came from the pen of any musical composer than the Overture of the great German master.)

2. _Romanza, Haydn._

(This charming Movement is taken from the Symphony which Haydn wrote in 1786, for Paris, entitled "La Reine de France," and has been arranged for the organ by Mr. Best, of Liverpool.)

3. _Offertoire, in F major, Batiste._

(All the works of the French masters, Wely, Batiste, Guilmant, and Saint-Saens, if not severely classical, have a certain grace and charm which make them acceptable to even the most prejudiced admirers of the ancient masters; and this Offertoire of Batiste is one of the most popular of his compositions.)

4. _Fugue in G minor, J. S. Bach._

(It may interest connoisseurs to know this grand Fugue was selected by the Umpires for the trial of skill when the present Organist of the Town Hall was elected.)

5. _Jaglied (Hunting Song), Schumann._

6. _Selection from the Opera "Martha" Flotow._

(The Opera from which this selection is taken was written in Vienna, in 1847, and, in conjunction with "Stradella," at once stamped the name of the author as one of the most popular of the dramatic composers of the present day.)

7. _Dead March in Saul, Handel._

In Memoriam, Sir Josiah Mason.

* * * * *

Price One Halfpenny.

* * * * *

_The next Free Organ Recital will be given on July 2d_,

=AT THREE O'CLOCK.=

A HISTORY OF THE TOWN HALL ORGAN (A NEW EDITION, REVISED AND ENLARGED,) BY MR. STIMPSON,

Is now ready, and may be had in the Town Hall, and the Midland Educational Co.'s Warehouse, New Street.

=NOTICE.--A box will be placed at each door to receive contributions, to defray the expenses of these recitals.=

The Prima Donna said she had never before heard an organ so grandly played, and she knows. The management of the left hand in the fugue she declared wonderful. It is best to give the best for the masses, even in music, the highest of our gifts. John Bright has made most of his speeches in this hall, but it is no longer large enough for the Liberal demonstrations, and a much larger structure has been erected.

We are behind in providing music for the people, but it says much for the progress of the Republic in these higher domains, from whence come sweetness and light, that the greatest tragic singer, Frau Materna, said to a friend that she would tell Herr Wagner upon her return that if he wished to hear his greatest music performed better than ever it had been before he must come to New York. Alas! even as I re-write these pages comes the sad news that we can reap no more from that genius. He has made his contribution to the world, and a noble one it is, rejoicing many hearts and lifting many above their surroundings to exquisite enjoyments beyond; and now he closes his eyes and vanishes; the long day's task is ended and he must sleep.

To-night the Symphony Society substitutes for another number of their programme his Funeral March. It will seem like a voice from the grave; not a dry eye, nor a cold heart will be in the house. A soul has taken flight to whom we are under obligation, which must increase and increase the longer we live, for it has given expression to much that is of our highest and best, and suggested a thousandfold more than ever could be expressed. Our benefactor is indeed gone, in a sense material, but his soul lives with us and his voice will still be heard calling us up higher. The man who reveals new beauties in music enriches human life in one of its highest phases, and is to be ranked with the true poet. He who composes great music is the equal of him who writes great words; Beethoven, Handel, and Wagner are worthy compeers of Shakespeare, Milton, and Burns.

[Sidenote: _Furnaces and Coalpits._]

The eleven miles between Birmingham and Wolverhampton are nothing but one vast iron-working, coal-mining establishment. There is scarcely a blade of grass of any kind to be seen, and not one real clean pure blade did we observe during the journey. It was Saturday afternoon and the mills were all idle, and the operatives thronged the villages through which we drove. O mills and furnaces and coal-pits and all the rest of you, you may be necessary, but you are no bonnie! Pittsburghers though many of us were, inured to smoke and dirt, we felt the change very deeply from the hedgerows, the green pastures, the wild flowers and pretty clean cottages, and voted the district "horrid." Wolverhampton's steeples soon came into sight, and we who had been there and could conjure up dear, honest, kindly faces waiting to welcome us with warm hearts, were quite restored to our usual spirits, notwithstanding dirt and squalor. The sun of a warm welcome from friends gives many clouds a silver lining, and it did make the black country brighter. The coach and horses, and Joe and Perry, not to mention our generalissimo, belong to Wolverhampton, as you know, and our arrival had been looked for by many. The crowd was quite dense in the principal street as we drove through. One delegation after another was left at friends' houses, the Charioteers having been billeted upon the connection; and here for the first time we were to enjoy a respite.

* * * * *

WOLVERHAMPTON, June 25-30.

We were honored by an entertainment at his Honor the Mayor's. As usual on fine days in England, the attractions of the mansion (and they are not small in this case) gave place to open-air enjoyments on the lawn--the game, the race, the stroll, and all the rest of the sports which charm one in this climate. The race across the lawn was far better fun than the Derby, but our gentlemen must go into strict training before they challenge those English girls again. It is some consolation that Iroquois has since vindicated the glory of the Republic.

We coached one day about fourteen miles to Apley House, and had a joyous picnic day with our friends Mr. and Mrs. S----, of Newton. The party numbered seventy odd, great and small. That day the Charioteers agreed should be marked as a red-letter day in their annals, for surely never was a day's excursion productive of more enjoyment to all of us. There are few, if any, prettier views in England than that from the terrace at Apley House. The Vale of Severn deserves its reputation. We had a trip on the river for several miles from Bridgenorth to the grounds as part of the day's pleasure.

[Sidenote: _Small Rivers._]

How very small England's great rivers are! I remember how deeply hurt Mr. F---- was when his Yankee nephew (H. P. Jr., Our Pard) visited him for the first time, and was shown the river by his uncle, who loved it. "Call this a river?" exclaimed he, "why, it's only a creek! I could almost jump across it there." But H. P. was young then, and would not have hesitated to "speak disrespectfully of the equator" upon occasion. I won the good man's heart at once by saying that small though it was in size (and what has either he or I to boast of in that line, I wonder?) little Severn filled a larger space in the world's destiny and the world's thoughts than twenty mighty streams. Listen:

"Three times they breathed and three times did they drink Upon agreement of swift Severn's flood, Who then, affrighted with their bloody looks, Ran fearfully among the trembling reeds And hid his crisp head in the hollow bank, Blood-stained with these violent combatants."

Why, you have not a river like that in all America. H. P. was judiciously silent. But I do not think he was ever quite forgiven. These Americans have always such big ideas.

The free library at Wolverhampton interested me. I do not know where better proof of the advantages of such an institution is to be found. It was started upon a small scale, about fifteen thousand dollars being expended; now some forty thousand dollars have been spent upon the building. Last year eighty-six thousand books were issued. I counted at noon, June 30th, sixty-three persons in the reading-room, and at another time nearly two hundred readers. On Saturdays, between two and ten P.M., the number averages fully a thousand. In addition to the circulating library, there are a reference library, a museum, and large reading-rooms. Several courses of lectures are connected with the institution, with teachers for the various branches. One teacher, a Mr. Williams, has "passed" scholars in the science and art department every year, and one year every one of his scholars passed the Kensington examination. A working plumber who attended these classes gained prizes for chemistry and electricity, and is now secretary of the water-works at Chepstow. We may hear more of that climber yet. Plenty of room at the top! No sectarian papers are subscribed for, but all reputable publications are received if sent. In this way all sects are represented by their best, if the members see fit to contribute them. This is the true plan. "Error may be tolerated if truth be free to combat it. Let truth and error grapple." This city levies one penny per pound upon the rates, as authorized by the Libraries act. This nets about four thousand dollars per annum. Just see what powerful agencies for the improvement of the people can be set on foot for a trifling sum.

[Sidenote: _A People's Library._]

And do not fail to note that this library, like all others in Britain organized under the Libraries act, does not pauperize a people. It is no man's library, but the library of the people--their own, maintained and paid for by public taxation to which all contribute. An endowed library is just like an endowed church, at best half and generally wholly asleep. It is a great mistake to withdraw from such an institution the healthy breeze of public criticism; besides this, people never appreciate what is wholly given to them so highly as that to which they themselves contribute.

Wolverhampton is a go-ahead city (I note a strong Scotch element there). A fine park, recently acquired and laid out with taste, shows that the physical well-being of the people is not lost sight of. The administration of our friend ex-Mayor D. is to be credited with this invaluable acquisition. Mr. D. took the most prominent part in the matter, and having succeeded he can consider the park his own estate. It is not in any sense taken away from him, nor one of its charms lessened, because his fellow-citizens share its blessings. Indeed as I strolled through it with him I thought the real sense of ownership must be sweeter from the thousands of his fellows whom we saw rejoicing within it than if he were indeed the lordly owner in fee and rented it for revenue. This whole subject of meum and tuum needs reconsideration. If Burns, when he held his plough in joy upon the mountain-side and saw what he saw, felt what he felt, was not more truly the real possessor of the land than the reputed nominal landlord, then I do not grasp the subject. There are woeful blunders made as to the ownership of things. Who owns the treasures of the Sunderland or Hamilton libraries? and who will shed the tears over their dispersion, think you, chief mourner by virtue of deepest loss, the titled dis-graces, in whose names they stand, or the learned librarian whose days have been spent in holy companionship with them? It is he who has made them his own, drawn them from their miserable owners into his heart. I tell you a man cannot be the real owner of a library or a picture gallery without a title from a much higher tribunal than the law. Nor a horse either, for that matter. Who owns your favorite horse? Test it! I say the groom does. Call Habeeb or Roderick. So slow their response! I won't admit they don't know and like me too. John knows my weakness and stands out of sight and lets me succeed slowly with them; but after that, see at one word from him how they prick up their ears and neigh, dance in their boxes, push their grand heads under his arm, and say as plainly as can be, "This is our man." I'm only a sleeping partner with John in them after all. It's the same all through; go to your dogs, or out to your flocks, and see every sheep, and even the little lambs, the cows with their kind, glowering eyes, the chickens, and every living thing run from you to throng round the hand that feeds them. There is no real purchase in money, you must win friendship and ownership in the lower range of life with kindness, companionship, love; the coin of the realm is not legal tender with Trust, or Habeeb, or Brownie, nor with any of the tribe.

[Sidenote: _Sister Dora._]

Let us not forget to chronicle a visit paid to Walsall, the scene of Sister Dora's labors. It is only seven miles from Wolverhampton in the very heart of the black country. Dr. T. drove us out to the crowded smoky town, and we followed him through the hospital and heard from the officials many interesting stories of that wonderful woman. Our friend the Doctor also knew her well. She has been known to rush through a crowd and separate brutal men who were fighting. The most debased of that ignorant mining and iron manufacturing population seemed under her influence to an incredible degree; but then her sympathy and her tender devotion to every human being in distress were no doubt the secret of her power. A desperate case was brought into the hospital late one night. The physicians pronounced his recovery hopeless, but Sister Dora was not satisfied; indeed, she seemed to feel instinctively that the man had still a chance. She told the physicians to leave him, as she felt that they could do little good after they had given up hope, and took charge of the case herself. She told the poor wretch that she was going to stand by him all night and bring him through; and having faith herself she inspired it in the patient, and the result was that she actually saved the man's life. Here is the very material for a saint. Had this occurred a few generations ago, or were it to occur in some parts of Italy to-day, Saint Dora would surely be added to the calendar, and why not! Let us dispute over the miraculous and supernatural as we may, who will deny that the faith of this noble woman and the faith transmitted from her sympathetic heart to the poor sufferer were the foundation upon which his recovery was built up?