Chapter 3

Then I spied from my window a fine piece of level ground. The railway men were playing cricket there. How they seemed to enjoy the huge plum-puddings after throwing down their bats and leaving the wickets! The toothsome puddings had been contributed by the ladies of the city, and made hot and steaming in the great copper of the Palace kitchen.

After breakfast, the Bishop and I went for a long walk around the grounds--there are sixty or seventy acres of land here, and a small home farm. The Palace--which I now saw properly for the first time--is built of stone, the monotony of which is relieved by many a climbing nasturtium and cluster of ivy leaves. The chapel stands at right angles to the house. It was added later, and is the gift of the late Archbishop Vernon Harcourt to the See of Ripon.

There is rather a curious thing about some of the decorative work on the exterior of the Palace. An episcopal diary started by Bishop Longley, and preserved at the Palace, mentions that amongst many carved "heads" on the chapel was that of a Bishop. A strong gust of wind blew it down: all the others, which were decidedly unclerical, remained! But the most amusing entry in this book refers to two figures of angels at the south-east and south-west corners. Seeing that the Queen and Prince Consort had only been married a few months when the Palace was built, instructions were given to imitate in the carving of the angels the features of Her Majesty and her Consort. But the stone-mason, being possessed of a certain prosaic mind, was not content with the attempt to give the features of the Prince, but represented him as an angel arrayed in a field-marshal's uniform and wearing the ribbon of the Garter! Of course it was altered at once.

We had walked on and stood still for a moment at the end of a long avenue carpeted with fallen leaves.

"Now you can see Norton Conyers! It is about four miles from here," said the Bishop. "Charlotte Brontë once had a holiday engagement as governess there, and a room is still shown where it is said the mad woman was confined whose story the gifted authoress told in the pages of 'Jane Eyre.'"

Then as we wended our way across to the farm, down paths lined with hedgerows, and through many wicket gates, we paused at times as the Bishop looked back upon his quiet though useful life.

The Right Rev. William Boyd Carpenter was born at Liverpool on March 26th, 1841. His father was vicar of St. Michael's there for twenty-seven years. His first schooling was obtained under Dr. Dawson Turner, at the Royal Institution School, and amongst famous boys of the Royal Institution were Bishop Lightfoot, Canon Duckworth, Professor Warr, and Mr. Crosse.

"Dr. Dawson Turner," said the Bishop, "was a sort of cosmopolitan--he tried to teach a little of everything. He was a good-hearted man. He loved to give threepenny-pieces to the boys who pleased him. I well remember one day during prayers--we were all assembled in the big hall--and the head master was reading them. Suddenly the door opened and a big boy, very nervous and conscience-stricken, who thought he ought to be at prayers, crept quietly in. Dr. Turner looked up and said, in the same tone as he was reading, 'Go out--go out! Somebody put that idiot out!' Then he went on with his reading exactly in the same voice.

"The man I learned most from was Albert Glyn, our mathematical master--one of the best teachers that ever breathed. He would never let you pass a thing unless you thoroughly understood it. It was he who made mathematics an interesting and fascinating study to me."

We spoke of the time when the Crimean war broke out, when the Bishop was full of the boyish ardour of thirteen years of age. His schoolmaster would not give him a holiday to see the troops going off, but his father did. It was a sight to be remembered when the troops embarked during the war. The news was watched for eagerly, and talked over nightly. The Bishop's family, like so many others, had relatives in the war. Captain John Boyd, the Bishop's uncle, who was in command of the _Royal George_, planted the only shot in Cronstadt. Later he lost his life in attempting to rescue the crew of a small brig off Kingstown harbour. His monument is in St. Patrick's Cathedral, Dublin.

At this point of our conversation the Bishop alluded to a well-known story and epigram.

The story on which the epigram is founded is of two Irishmen, one of whom challenged the other to a duel. But when the eventful hour arrived one sat down and wrote that, were it only his honour at stake he would meet his opponent, but his wife depended on him, so he begged to decline. The other individual sent a message to say that if honour were the only consideration he would come, but he had a daughter and therefore prayed to be excused. So the epigram read:--

Two brave sons of Erin, intent upon slaughter, Improved on the Hebrew's command: One honoured his wife and the other his daughter, That their days might be long in the land.

"This clever epigram," said the Bishop, "is popularly said to have been written by Flood, but I have always understood that it was written by my mother's mother."

That the Bishop's pen is occasionally employed in throwing off these epigrams is shown by the following. It will be remembered that at the time of the great storm at Samoa, Captain Kane, with a pluck and judgment which evoked the applause of the American and German crews in the harbour, took his vessel out to sea and so saved her. When questions were asked in Parliament as to what honour would be conferred on Captain Kane in recognition of his services, the First Lord of the Admiralty replied "that Kane had only done his duty, and if he had lost his ship he would have been court-martialled." So the Bishop wrote:--

What shall be done for Kane? Who brought his vessel safe through wave With skilful hand and heart as brave: What shall be done for Kane?

What shall he have? "We solve the knot," Cries the First Lord, impartial; "If Kane had failed, he would have got Our pickle rod--court-martial."

Then talk no more of praise or gain, Our English principle is plain: When storm winds rise to hurricane, If Kane escape he 'scapes the cane!

Here is another example:--

With regard to the recent conference at Grindelwald, which the Bishop had hoped to attend, it would not, it appears, have been his first visit, for at the request of the Bishop of London he acted as his deputy in opening the new English church destroyed in the recent fire. This church was built by the brothers Boss, who with their family, to the number of seven, keep the adjacent hotel, called "The Bear." The following lines were written by the Bishop in their visitors' book:--

A sign upon the earth, behold! Competes with one in heaven, The Bear above, the "Bear" below, The stars that form them, seven. But when these signs comparéd are, Judge then the heavenly losses; For all declare the earthly stars Most surely are the Bosses!

He won an open scholarship at St. Catharine's College, Cambridge, and remained there until he took his degree in 1864. The late Attorney-General was the representative of Cambridge in sports in those days. The late Mr. Parnell was at Cambridge at the same time, and Lord Carrington and Mr. F. C. Burnand were among the most important members of the Cambridge A.D.C., as it was called. The acting in those days was of a very high order. The Bishop was cox. of his college boat; not a very enviable position--"you've got all the responsibility and none of the kudos." A cox. is like a bishop: he can only guide, he cannot give strength.

His lordship referred to the great improvement in University life to-day compared with thirty years ago. Much less wine is consumed now, and a man can go through the 'Varsity as a teetotaler without any inconvenience. At college the young man began a practical training for the ministry--giving lectures attending district meetings, and teaching in the Sunday school.

The Bishop's first curacy was at Maidstone, and, strangely enough, he was ordained by Bishop Longley. My visit to the Palace was in the full tide of the cholera scare, and the Bishop referred to his experiences of it at Maidstone.

"I was working there," he said, "when the cholera broke out in 1866. My vicar was away. I assisted a little, more especially at a rookery called Pad's Hole, then a den of thieves--now a low-lying little spot. I well remember the first case I visited. It was a poor fellow who was a very regular attendant at church. I went in at half-past ten to see him. I went again at half-past one. As I walked up the hill a woman met me and cried, 'He's gone!' He had been carried off in four hours. The truth is the people were taken by surprise, and few precautions were taken--there was no organized system of nurses then. The women who were sent to attend the cholera-stricken people knew nothing about nursing. They drank the brandy intended for the relief of the sufferers. I went into one house to see a woman. The nurse was intoxicated. Shortly after the poor woman died. At the graveside stood the nurse, still suffering from the effects of drink.

"Whenever I walk along here I feel indebted to Longley for one great thing," continued the Bishop. "You see these trees?" pointing to a magnificent belt of trees immediately in front of us. "They keep away the cutting Yorkshire winds. Longley planted these." Some idea of the power of the winds may be gathered from a note in Bishop Longley's diary already referred to. It was on the nights of the 6th and 7th of January, 1839, and all the north of England was affected by the storm. The Earl of Lonsdale lost 70,000 trees in his young plantation, and the magnificent avenue at Castle Howard was almost destroyed. The whole of the kitchen garden wall was blown down at the Palace. Bishop Longley very wisely put up that grand screen of trees.

His lordship entertains grateful recollections of his days at Maidstone under his vicar, the Rev. David Dale Stewart. He remained there two years, afterwards holding curacies at Clapham, and Lee in Kent. From Lee he went to St. James's, Holloway, to assist the Rev. W. B. Mackenzie.

"Mr. Mackenzie," said the Bishop, "was a remarkable man; his power in church and pulpit was singularly great. He only had one curacy and one incumbency. I succeeded him as vicar, remaining there from 1870 to 1880. There was no choir there--the congregation was the choir. Here, in Yorkshire, choirs are invaluable. The people enjoy it--they will have a choir."

I asked the Bishop if he thought well of the introduction of orchestras into our churches. His reply was thoroughly frank and real.

"In the old days," he said, "men used to play in the churches, and never expected to be paid. The condition of life since then has very much changed. If every man will bring his instrument to church as a personal act of homage to the glory of his Maker, by all means let us have it. We are in danger of forgetting that if our acts are not the personal homage of our hearts, such are not acceptable service. I am a little afraid that we are just now passing through such days of activity as will possibly cause us to forget the reality of things. We want, as Lord Mount-Temple said, the Deep Church as well as the High and Low. Yes, let us have orchestras in churches if you will, but I don't want the man to go into a place of worship with his fiddle-case under his arm and the idea in his mind that he is going to take part in a mere performance!"

At Holloway he founded many excellent institutions--classes for French, German, shorthand, etc. The young men had their House of Commons, with their vicar as Speaker. Many of the "M.P.'s" who belonged to the Highbury Parliament have since turned out admirable speakers and useful citizens.

After leaving St. James's, the Bishop became vicar of Christ Church, Lancaster Gate. He was Select Preacher at Cambridge in 1875 and 1877; Hulsean Lecturer at Cambridge, 1878; Honorary Chaplain to the Queen, 1878; Select Preacher at Oxford in 1882, when he was also appointed to a vacant Canonry at Windsor; Bampton Lecturer, 1887, and in 1889 he received an honorary D.C.L. from the University of Oxford.

On the death of the late Dr. Bickersteth, in 1884, he was consecrated Bishop of Ripon. His duties at the House of Lords consist of a fortnight or three weeks in each year, for the purpose of reading prayers. This duty, which once devolved entirely upon the junior Bishop, is now undertaken in turns, with the exception of the seniors in rank.

It was market-day when we took our way through the streets and great square which forms the market-place of the more than a thousand-year-old city. It still keeps up the old-fashioned custom of the blowing of a horn at morning and night near the Mayor's house.

On the north side of the Cathedral stands the Deanery. The Dean of Ripon, who is eighty-four, was cox. in the Oxford crew of the first 'Varsity race, and he acted as page at the coronation of William IV. His picturesque and venerable figure is one of the best known in Ripon. Dean Fremantle has made Ripon his home in the truest sense, ever since his appointment to the Deanery, now sixteen years ago. He has thrown himself with vigour and devotion into every good work in the city and neighbourhood. In the Millenary year he presented a magnificent silver-mounted horn to the Mayor and Corporation, as guardians of the city. More recently he presented a pleasant bathing shed and offices to the neighbourhood. He believes in the healthy exercise of swimming and boating and cricket. He still preaches with energy and impressiveness, and large congregations gather at the nave services in the Cathedral, where his voice is heard throughout the building. It is said that his portrait is to be hung up among the city worthies in the Town Hall. His sterling goodness, his generosity, his unfailing courtesy and kindness have endeared him to everyone; and all would readily allow that he is the best-loved citizen of the comely little Yorkshire town.

The near view of Ripon Cathedral is not particularly striking; its beauty is more impressive at a distance. Inside, however, though at first appearance somewhat bare-looking, there is much that is beautiful in architectural design. One is struck with its really magnificent width particularly, and the curious and sudden breaking up of the Norman arch, near the nave, by a Gothic pillar. The carving, however, of the stalls is very fine, and in many instances of great rarity. Beneath the stalls are many quaint specimens of the carver's handiwork. Beneath the Bishop's throne are the two spies of Joshua carrying the grapes, and a couple of giants are represented on either side, one all head and no body, the other all body with his head in the middle. Another stall shows Jonah being thrown overboard, with a whale waiting with open mouth to receive him, and near at hand is a carving of Pontius Pilate wheeling away Judas in a wheelbarrow with his bag of silver.

Yet amongst all that is interesting in and about the cathedral nothing is more so than the Saxon Chapel under the crypt. It is the earliest known place of worship in the kingdom, its architecture being about the seventh century. We light our candles and follow the verger down the stone steps. The descent is a trifle treacherous. There are little niches in the wall where candles are placed. Then we enter the chapel. It is perfectly dark, and smells very earthy. A hole in one side of the wall is pointed out. Tradition says that in the old days, when people had anything suspicious against them, they were brought to this spot. If they succeeded in crawling through to the other side they were blameless; if they could not, they were unquestionably guilty. It is also said that the young damsel who creeps through is sure to get married within the year. Be this as it may, I was assured that very recently a Yorkshire farmer brought his three daughters and sought permission for them to crawl through the lucky hole. Another daughter who had been through succeeded in getting married, and the father of the remaining trio was anxious for them to see whether a journey through the wall might not help him to more readily dispose of his daughters!

HARRY HOW.

_A Little Surprise._[A]

ADAPTED FROM THE FRENCH OF ABRAHAM DREYFUS

BY CONSTANCE BEERBOHM.

CHARACTERS:

SIR WILLIAM BEAUCHAMP, BART. (43). LADY FLORENCE BEAUCHAMP (39). KATE DUGDALE (18). MR. JAMES DUGDALE (23). PORTER, _the Lady's-maid_ (30).

SCENE: _A country drawing-room. A French window opening on to a flower garden at the back of the stage. Doors right and left. A sofa, arm-chairs, smaller chairs, etc._

_At the rise of the curtain, JEM and KITTY are discovered sitting with their backs to one another, evidently sulking. JEM looks round every now and then, trying to catch his wife's eye, and she studiously avoids his glance. At length their eyes meet._

JEM (_rises_): No! I tell you I can't stand it!

KITTY: And why not? I always went out with the guns at home.

JEM: "At home" and your husband's house are two very different places.

KITTY: So I find!

JEM: And I have told you over and over again I detest to see any woman--more especially a girl of eighteen, like yourself--tramping over the moors in gaiters, and a skirt by a long way too short!

KITTY: Perhaps, with your old-maidish ideas, you would like to see me taking my walks abroad with a train as long as my Court frock!

JEM: Perversity!

KITTY: I only know that papa, mamma, and grandmamma always said----

JEM: Ah! But your grandmother----

KITTY: How dare you speak in that way of dear grandmamma?

JEM: I never said a word against her----

KITTY: But you were going to!

JEM: Nothing of the sort.

KITTY (_repeats_): I only know that papa, mamma, and grandmamma always said----

JEM: Oh, Heavens! (_He escapes._)

KITTY: Was ever anyone so wretched as I? Only three months married, and to find my husband an obstinate, vindictive, strait-laced country bumpkin! Well, not a bumpkin perhaps, after all, but almost as bad as that! Why, oh! why did I leave my happy home, where I could do what I liked from morning till night, and no one was ever disagreeable to me? And yet during my engagement what a lovely time I had! Jem seemed so kind and gentle, and promised me he would never say a cross word to me! He declared our married life should be one long sunshiny summer day; whilst I promised to be his little ministering angel! I reminded him of that yesterday. And what did he say? That he had never thought a little ministering angel could be such a little brute! I can hardly believe he is the same man I used to love so dearly! (_Exit in tears._)

(_After a moment, PORTER, the lady's-maid, enters, ushering in LADY FLORENCE BEAUCHAMP._)

LADY FLO: Your mistress is not here, after all, Porter?

PORTER: No, milady! Yet I heard her voice only a few moments ago.

LADY FLO: Well then, Porter, you must go and tell her a lady wishes to speak with her in the boudoir, and be sure not to say who the "lady" is, however much she may ask. I wish this visit to be a little surprise to her. Nor must you mention that Sir William is here.

(_Enter KITTY, with traces of tears on her face._)

LADY FLO: Kitty, darling, Kitty!

KITTY: Aunty! Can it be you? This is delightful! (_They embrace._)

LADY FLO: I'm glad you call it delightful! I came here as a little surprise to you; but I daresay you will think me a great bore for taking you by storm, and interrupting your _tête-à-tête_ with Jem.

KITTY: Oh! far from it! I am only too, too happy you've come!

LADY FLO: Is that the real truth?

KITTY: Indeed, it is!

LADY FLO: I thought I should find you as blooming as a rose in June; but you are not quite so flourishing as I expected. Those pretty eyes look as if--as if--well, as if you had a cold in the head!

KITTY: They look as if I had been crying, you mean! And so I have. (_Bursts into tears afresh, and throws herself into LADY FLO'S arms._)

(_Enter SIR WILLIAM and JEM, the former standing amazed. KITTY, leaving LADY FLO'S arms, throws herself into those of SIR WILLIAM, with renewed sobs. SIR WILLIAM turns in surprise to JEM. LADY FLO looks down in embarrassment._)

JEM: Oh! yes, Kitty! This is all very well. Why not tell them I'm a monster at once?

KITTY: And so you are!

JEM (_aside_): Have you no sense of decency?

LADY FLO (_aside_): This is truly shocking.

SIR W. (_aside_): Good Heavens!

KITTY: Is it my fault that my uncle and aunt are witnesses of your ill-temper?

(_Enter PORTER._)

PORTER: Your ladyship's trunks have just arrived from the station.

LADY FLO (_hesitating_): Let them be taken back again.

SIR W.: We had intended staying but an hour or two.

JEM (_to SIR W._): But I beg you to stay.

KITTY (_to LADY FLO_): Never were you so much needed.

JEM (_to PORTER_): Let her ladyship's trunks be taken to the Blue Rooms.

KITTY: Not to the Blue Rooms. They are quite damp. (_To JEM_) I may speak a word in my own house, I suppose? (_To PORTER_) Let the trunks be taken to the Turret Room.

JEM: The chimneys smoke there.

KITTY: Excuse me. They do not.

JEM: Excuse _me_. They do.

SIR W.: They smoked once upon a time, perhaps, but may not now.

PORTER: Where may I say the luggage is to be carried?

JEM: Take your orders from your mistress.

KITTY: No! From your master!

JEM (_to KITTY_): Spare me at least before the lady's-maid!

KITTY (_to JEM_): Oh! nobody knows better how you behave than Porter. Our quarrels are no secret from _her_.

JEM: That must be your fault. How can she know of them but from you?

KITTY: I tell her nothing. But your voice would reach to the ends of the earth.

JEM: As for yours--why----

KITTY: Grandmamma always said my voice was the most gentle she had ever heard.

JEM: But, then, your grandmother----

SIR W. (_to LADY FLO_): I really think we had better leave, after all.

LADY FLO (_affectionately_): No! dearest Will! I really think we had better stay.

SIR W.: For _my_ part----

LADY FLO: I tell you we _must_ stay.

SIR W.: Very well, Flo, as you wish. You always know best. (_They exchange smiles._)

LADY FLO (_to JEM_): Kitty will take me to my room. So I leave my better half in your good company. (_Exit with KITTY._)

SIR W.: I can't help regretting I came here, old fellow. It was your aunt's idea. I made objections. But she insisted that you'd both be glad enough to have a little interruption in your honeymoon.

JEM: She never said a truer word.

SIR W.: Then the honeymoon is not so great a success, after all?

JEM: To tell the truth, it's all a ghastly failure!

SIR W.: Poor boy! Believe me, I'm awfully sorry for you. (_Puts his hand on JEM'S shoulder._)

JEM: I'm awfully glad you're sorry.

SIR W.: I pity you from my heart.

JEM: Thanks very much.

SIR W.: For my part, if I led a cat-and-dog life with your aunt, I should wish to blow my brains out.

JEM: So that's the advice you give me! (_Moves towards door._)

SIR W.: Oh! no! All I want is five minutes' chat with you. Anything that affects Flo's niece naturally affects me.

JEM: Naturally. (_Laughs._)

SIR W.: Now come! Tell me! How did your misunderstandings begin?

JEM: I really couldn't say.