Part 6

WOLVERTON.--The country in Norfolk is real country and the scenery is typically English. The Prince Consort could hardly have selected a more suitable spot than Sandringham for the country seat of the Heir Apparent; and the fact that the Prince and Princess of Wales make Sandringham House their headquarters for the greater part of the year has naturally given an impetus to property in the neighbourhood.

Sandringham House is not a palace. It is simply large, genial, hospitable and attractive, like its master. The Prince of Wales is a much discussed man, and the ordinary American who has not travelled and who derives his knowledge of English affairs from the American daily papers--which usually give only that side of the question which is acceptable to the Liberals and Radicals of Great Britain--has little idea of his personality, and does not begin to gauge the strength of his character.

The Prince is usually supposed to be a jovial, good-natured man who devotes his whole time to pleasure, and who has no ideal in life beyond the pursuit of social gayeties and field sports. This is a total and gross mistake. The Prince of Wales is one of the most hard-working men in the Kingdom, and the humblest of his future subjects has probably more time to himself than the Heir Apparent; and, I venture to say, does not spend it half so usefully as this much-abused Prince.

For many years he has been King of England in everything but name, and he is far more than the figurehead of the nation. His knowledge of public affairs is remarkable; he is a master of diplomacy and his tact is famous. Like his father, he possesses a fine mind, and sometimes displays a depth of foresight astonishing even to his old friend, Mr. Gladstone. He has a happy knack of looking at all sides of a question, and his mature judgment upon matters of public import is often sought by statesmen of all shades of opinion.

He has never meddled in politics, and his success in steering a straight course among the quicksands of party passion and strife is well shown by a dinner he gave in London only the other day to the King of the Belgians, at which Mr. Gladstone sat next to Lord Salisbury, and Mr. Balfour chatted pleasantly with Mr. John Morley. The Prince of Wales alone could give such a dinner. A fair estimate of the Prince is rarely found in American papers. Because he is Prince and will some day become King, they think it their duty to spatter his reputation with mud; and to show their "Republican sympathies" (I use the word in its widest sense) by ill-digested diatribes against royalty. The Conservative party, like the English Court, has hardly a representative among us, and our knowledge of important events on the other side usually comes from a "Liberal" source. It is evident that in many cases the American papers know a bitter editorial against the Prince of Wales may serve some political end of their own; and they never hesitate to sacrifice him on such occasions.

It is no exaggeration to say that the most popular man in England is the Prince of Wales. Even the Radicals cheer him, for he is always ready to do anyone a good turn, while still careful of his dignity. It is interesting to note the Prince's daily life at Sandringham, his country seat, where he appears as a simple Squire.

Saturday-to-Monday parties are frequent at Sandringham in the autumn when the shooting has begun; and often seven or eight gentlemen; a General, an Admiral, a Diplomat or two, with their wives, a foreign Prince or Nobleman, and possibly a Bishop, assemble on Friday evening. These with the household officers make up the party; and gathered under the rose-shaded candles around the flower-laden table in the dining room they present a varied picture of gay and stern humanity. No sooner is the substantial dinner over than McKay, the Scotch piper, emerges from a neighbouring room and intones some wild Scotch air on his bag-pipes. In the evening the Prince and Princess move from group to group in the drawing room, saying a few pleasant words to each of the guests, and then withdraw to their private apartments, while music by some famous pianist usually closes the evening. Baccarat is never played at Sandringham, and the smoking-room cohort breaks up early. Breakfast is served at half-after-nine (previous to which several gongs have sent their echoes loudly through the house) at small round tables in the dining room, and the meal must be quickly despatched, for at eleven the carriages start for the meeting-place, whether all the guests are ready or not. A four-horse drag carries eight or ten guests with their guns and game bags; and an array of dog-carts, village-carts and various traps is at the disposal of the remaining visitors. A breezy morning on the moors is followed by a merry al-fresco meal in a tent, where curries from India await the Hindoo Maharajahs, and a juicy ham sent by the King of Portugal tempts the ordinary appetite, while savoury Irish stews show the Hibernian sympathies of the Prince. The genial Host always rides a grey cob to and from the moors; at dusk the traps and drags again appear; and the party, indulging in cigars and lively chat, returns gaily to the house. After a change of garments and a "tub," they are just in the mood to enjoy the comfort of the sitting room, where the charming Princess presides behind the tea tray, looking more like a sister of her three tall daughters than anything else. No one, of course, really sits down to tea; each one takes his cup and wanders through the rooms, stopping to listen for a moment to the piano, or to admire the small green parrot who gives three very emphatic and loyal cheers for the Queen. When the guests finally leave this most hospitable and royal house they are sure to find among their luggage at the station a well-filled hamper of game. Another morning the Prince takes an early train to London, lays the corner stone of a Masonic asylum; drives to a new hospital which he opens; presides over a meeting of the British Bible Society; and then attends a meeting at the Imperial Institute, finally returning to Sandringham by a late train.

The hearty cheers which meet him in London on his way to and from the station are, if anything, more cordial than those which greet his Royal Mother on her drives through the town.

Very little of the Prince's time is spent in amusing himself. He is at the nation's disposal, and the nation is a hard taskmaster. His is a difficult position to fill, and in the fierce, white light that beats upon a throne, his slightest actions are distorted. The present baccarat affair is a good illustration of the way in which the Prince's affairs are twisted to suit the scandal-loving readers of the Radical press; but the storm of adverse criticism now raging around his head has already begun to create a reaction in his favour, and thoughtful people are commencing to ask themselves whether it is quite fair to shower so much abuse upon the Heir Apparent for what is admitted to be an error of judgment, but which amounts to nothing more.

His attitude in this baccarat affair has been strictly honourable, although open to criticism. It may be worth while to analyze the charges against him. A slight examination will show the flimsy character of the foundation upon which they rest. In the first place, people are under the impression that the fact of his connection in any way with the affair was disgraceful. This view of the case will hardly be accepted upon mature reflection. When the Prince ran down to Tranby Croft for a few days' rest, and in the evening sat down to a friendly game of baccarat, he never dreamed that one of his oldest friends would deliberately try to cheat him. With the fact of his playing cards for money the world has nothing to do. Each man must decide for himself whether games of chance when played for money are wrong or right. It may be claimed that the Prince was not a man, but a Personage; but it is well to remember that he played cards in his private capacity and not as Heir Apparent.

The jury has decided that Sir William Gordon-Cumming did cheat at cards; and to any one knowing the game, his very feeble explanation appears absurd; while the fact that five witnesses saw him push his counters over the line to add to his stake at an improper time practically places the matter beyond dispute. The only fault that the Prince of Wales committed was one of kindness. He signed the paper, prepared by Lord Coventry and General Owen Williams, promising secrecy if Sir William would agree never to touch cards again.

That is: he, a Field Marshal of the British Army, tacitly agreed to allow Sir. William to remain in the Army and in his regiment while knowing that he had cheated at cards. His duty as an officer was to report Sir William's conduct at once to the Duke of Cambridge, the Commander-in-Chief.

This he failed to do out of regard for his friend; and for this he has been so bitterly attacked in the press! Again, he has been criticised for his continued presence at the trial, where he came--it was suggested--for the purpose of muzzling eminent Counsel. Can any one fail to see what scorn and contempt the press would have poured out upon him had he failed to appear in person? Every one would have said he was afraid to be present.

No one recognizes more fully than the Prince himself that an error of judgment was committed when he condoned Sir William's offence; and his recognition of this fact has been proved by the apology offered in his name by Mr. Stanhope, Secretary-of-State for War, in the House of Commons. All this talk and discussion in England is merely froth on the surface. The resolutions and strictures passed by various Dissenting bodies with much display of bad taste appear to be equally due to a desire on their part to condemn gambling in high places, and at the same time to draw public attention to themselves. The lower-middle class and the agricultural labourers, who compose the great bulk of the population of England, go placidly on their way, paying no attention to this noisy affair and only longing for their beef and beer.

The upper-middle class is more deeply stirred; for does it not count many a Mr. Pecksniff among its members, and are not Mr. Stiggins and Mr. Chadband to be met within its chaste and highly moral circles?

There is no doubt that the Prince will be decidedly more careful in future as to whom he admits to the honour of his acquaintance. This baccarat affair may cause him some slight temporary loss of popularity, but a generous fault often makes a man more popular than a miserly virtue; and the enthusiastic cheers which greeted the Prince at Ascot only a day or so ago are perhaps a better indication of what the people of England think of their future King's course in this matter.

A significant fact is Mr. Gladstone's loyal adherence to his Prince, and his stern discouragement of the intention of his unruly Radical colleagues to attack the Prince in Parliament. Mr. Labouchere, too, the cynical editor of the Radical _Truth_, as well as the Liberal _Daily News_, supports the Prince; and the authors and literary men whom he has so often helped are rallying to his aid.

The Prince of Wales, like every one, is mortal; but far more than his great-uncle, King George IV., does he deserve his well-earned title of "The First Gentleman in Europe."

THE LATTER-DAY JACOBITES

CHARING CROSS.--A few years ago Mr. Gladstone brought down upon himself a perfect hailstorm of remonstrance, reproach and denial by a statement in a public letter, to a candidate for Parliamentary honours in the Liberal interest. This statement was to the effect that no one ever now dreamed of objecting to the Revolution of 1688, and its results. Previous to this, the great majority of English and Americans had thought the cause of the Stuarts forever dead; and that a romantic interest--chiefly historical--alone remained of the intense devotion shown to that fated family in the unsuccessful risings of 1715 and 1745. But the great majority was undeceived upon the appearance of Mr. Gladstone's letter, and learned with a degree of sympathetic amazement that there existed in Great Britain two "Orders" or "Leagues," both aiming at the return and recall of the heiress of the Stuarts, to the throne of her ancestors. One of these, the "Order of the White Rose," was merely platonic and existed to gratify a passion for historical romance on the part of its members. Its principal object was to hold meetings on the anniversary of the death of Mary Queen of Scots, King Charles I., and the battle of Culloden--the battle that proved the death-blow to the cause of the gallant young "Pretender." I say its object "was," advisedly; for the stupid action of the powers that be, on a certain day in February last (1892), has changed its somewhat lukewarm hero-worship to working zeal, and has brought it into closer relations with the other association: the "Legitimist Jacobite League," This society makes no secret of the fact that it meditates treason. Its avowed purpose is to restore the Stuarts; and on its books appear the names of seven thousand people devoted to its cause. Most of these rebels in embryo hail from the Highlands, where the old loyalty to the Stuarts still exists, and where the last desperate stand was made against the bloodhounds of the butcher-Duke of Cumberland.

This League always refers to Her Majesty as "The Lady Victoria" and recognizes as Queen the heiress of the Stuarts--the wife of the oldest son of the Prince Regent of Bavaria.

It would be interesting to digress here and wander in the fascinating paths of the genealogy and descent of the Stuarts; but it would fill columns. However, the Order of the White Rose and the Jacobite League are satisfied with the descent of the Princess, and they are the ones chiefly concerned. Lest my information be considered apocryphal, I may say that all my statements have been verified by a member of the Order. Lately the League has turned its attention to Parliamentary matters, and although the members consider that the last legal Parliament was held when King James II. was cheated out of his throne by his Dutch son-in-law, they are not above agitating in a constitutional way, and have secured several Legitimist candidates to stand at the general election. So to sum up in a few words: Before last February there existed in Great Britain two associations each looking upon the present Royal Family as usurpers, and each devoted to the Stuart cause; one theoretically, the other practically. Both these associations had existed since the rising of 1745, but in a more or less chrysalis condition until Mr. Gladstone's letter aroused them to declare themselves, when they were amazed at the adherents that poured in from all over the United Kingdom--principally from Scotland and Ireland, many from England, but not one from Wales.

Some of these recruits were animated simply by a desire for something new and were people who are never happy unless in pursuit of some interesting fad; but the majority consisted of those whose ancestors had fought either at Killiekrankie, at Culloden or at Preston Pans. There is more or less mystery as to the attitude assumed by the object of all these hopes. But she is believed to take up a position of innocuous desuetude, so to speak. That is, if the royal lightning should strike her, she would, like Barkis, "be willin';" but until the Jacobite thunderstorm gathers, and the White Rose lightning illumines the political sky, she bides her time. For Bavaria is at peace with England. A glimpse at the incident of last February before referred to and another which happened a short time before, may be instructive. Everyone knows the statue of King Charles the First, which stands at Charing Cross. The Order of the White Rose had decided to decorate this statue of the King upon the anniversary of his martyrdom, and about three o'clock in the morning a small band of zealous Jacobites, with wreaths of white roses, gathered near the statue--as on Primrose Day the Conservatives gather to cover the statue of the great Earl with primroses--but to their annoyed surprise a surly policeman was stationed there who told them gruffly to "move on"--that no decorations would be allowed on or near the statue. Many were the murmurs and loud the remonstrances, but both were unavailing, until one of the party sarcastically inquired if they might leave the wreaths at the foot of the statue of George III. hard by. No objection was made to this (mark the distinction drawn!) but the Legitimist sympathizers preferred to carry their wreaths away as souvenirs, and moved on with many muttered observations on the "Hanoverian pack," hated of their fathers. Several of the papers referred to this peculiar action of the authorities with ridicule, and blamed the Home Secretary for giving an unnecessary prominence to the lately resuscitated party. This was the first thing which quickened the lukewarm zeal of the Order while it inflamed the ardour of the League. The next blunder of the authorities was more serious, and to this may be ascribed the Stuart revival. Of this incident I was fortunate enough to be an eye witness. I had happened to see a paragraph in an obscure little evening paper on the seventh of February to the effect that as the next day was the anniversary of the death of Mary Queen of Scots, the Order of the White Rose would form a procession in Westminster Abbey to lay a wreath upon her tomb. The Jacobite League was not mentioned, but, as events proved, many of its members had learned of the purpose of the Order and had arranged to be present. Mindful of the refusal to allow the Order to decorate King Charles's statue, and yet hardly thinking that any opposition would be offered to the attempt to honour the memory of the unfortunate Queen, especially as on that day the Chapels Royal were opened to the public, I arrived early at the Abbey and as soon as I entered could see that something unusual was in the air. Small knots of people were whispering in the nave, and excited vergers bustled about, dropping their h's all over the Abbey. The daily afternoon service was to commence at half-past three, so there was some anxiety to get the function over.

The Marquis de Ruvigny--a name familiar to all versed in the history of the Stuart cause--and Mr. Clifford Mellish were waiting at the door for the arrival of the wreaths, when the appearance of a score of stalwart police-constables created some surprise. The majority of the strangers present (there were about six hundred) had evidently come for the ceremony of placing the wreaths on Queen Mary's tomb and were waiting silently and reverently until everything should be ready. Fortunately, as we all thought, the day was one when the royal tombs were open to visitors; but soon an ominous murmur arose that the gates leading to the chapels where the royal tombs were had been closed. The Marquis de Ruvigny indignantly refused to believe that such a _bétise_ was possible on the part of the Dean; but a surging of the now increasing, crowd towards the chapels showed that the gates were secured.

Then in no measured terms the disgust and anger of the Jacobites broke forth: "Intolerable Stupidity!" "Afraid of the consequences!" "Absurd!" "Idiotic!" were some of the expressions used. But one braw Scotchman summed up the situation in a few words: "The government has turned a romantic pilgrimage into real treason, and has raised us to the dignity of a political party." The leaders now got together near the gates and talked earnestly while waiting for the wreaths to come. I was curious as to the effect of the closing of the gates on the British public in general, and wandered through the Abbey, catching expressions here and there. "It's a perfect shame," exclaimed a rosy-cheeked vicar evidently just up from the country. "It makes me sympathize with the Jacobites--the idea of depriving Englishmen of their right of free assembly." And a stout old gentleman near him, who was evidently something in the city, turned with the plaint: "My ancestors lent King George the First money, and I have always been a staunch Hanoverian; but by Jove this is too much. Do you suppose if these people wished to decorate the tomb of George III. or of Dutch William they would be stopped?" And many more spoke to the same effect.

The impression made on the general public present was evidently bad. But the sight of a well-known figure pacing up the nave suggested Archdeacon Farrar, and it was indeed he. Soon the leaders of the abortive procession spied him and entered into eager expostulation, but all to no purpose. Dean Bradley was in Algiers, and the Canon-in-residence for the time being (Canon Ainger) had decided to close the Chapels Royal. He could not interfere. But then the large wreath appeared, a beautiful affair of white roses and camellias, and it was hastily decided to affix it to the gates leading to the royal tombs. Then a short, stout man with sandy hair and beard pressed forward, eager to take it.

"My grandfather, Robbie Anderson, led the way for Prince Charlie at the Battle of Preston Pans and I'll be proud to lead ye now," he said. A scarcely suppressed cheer broke forth as the wreath was placed on the gates, in which those of us who claimed a touch of the old Scotch Cavalier blood joined. A card was attached, and by general request the descendant of Robbie Anderson read it aloud. I afterwards copied it:

"In memory of Mary, Queen of Great Britain, France and Scotland. Presented by the Legitimist (Jacobite) League. February 8th, 1892."

Then as the inspectors from Scotland Yard drew nearer, a red-faced verger bustled through the crowd up to the gates and pointing to the wreath exclaimed, "Take that thing down!" This gave rise to murmurs of remonstrance and indignation and the Marquis de Ruvigny spoke for all:

"I decline," said the Marquis, "to touch that wreath. Take it down yourself." But this the verger had no orders to do, and retreated in discomfiture. Then it was proposed to hold a meeting in Deans' Yard to protest, but Mr. Stuart Mellor very sensibly observed that it would do no good to be arrested for brawling, and that public opinion would know what to think. And as most of the Jacobites present were Catholics this exclamation of one of them was to the point and caused a quick clearance:

"I say, if we don't look sharp, we shall be in a Protestant place of wash-up at time of service." And so the crowd faded gradually away, and what but for the tact of the leaders might have turned into a "demonstration" in the Abbey, was safely over. But the moral effect of the gathering and the severe measures used by the authorities has not yet died away, and many Englishmen who cared little for the Stuarts have joined the Order or the League as protest against this act of the government. The Dean, I believe, refers the matter to the Bishop of London, and he mentions the Ecclesiastical Commissioners more or less vaguely. It is difficult, therefore, to fit the blame. But there is no doubt that this incident has given renewed force to the Jacobite cause. Their Parliamentary candidates are busy, and the coming general election will afford a practical test of their strength with the common people. There is no doubt that in Ireland they could secure many seats if they tried, for the Irishmen of the south still remember the Battle of the Boyne.

Sensible people all around regret the blunder of the government, and as usual H. R. H., the Prince of Wales, voiced the universal sentiment when he declared the suppression of the pilgrimage a shame.

"Why," said he, "I would have gone with them myself, and would have worn a white rose, too, if they had asked me."