Part 7 (1/2)
Some of us walked ahead of the coach for several miles, and I had a chat with a man whom we met. He was a rough carpenter and his wages were sixteen s.h.i.+llings per week ($4). A laborer gets eleven s.h.i.+llings (not $2.75), but some ”good masters” pay thirteen to fourteen s.h.i.+llings ($3.25 to $3.50), and give their men four or five pounds of beef at Christmas. Food is bacon and tea, which are cheap, but no beef. Men's wages have not advanced much for many years (I should think not!), but women's have. An ordinary woman for field work can get one s.h.i.+lling per day (24 cents); a short time ago ninepence (18 cents) was the highest amount paid. Is it not cheering to find poor women getting an advance?
But think what their condition still is, when one s.h.i.+lling per day is considered good pay! I asked whether employers did not board the workers in addition to paying these wages, but he a.s.sured me they did not. This is southern England and these are agricultural laborers, but the wages seem distressingly low even as compared with British wages in general.
The new system of education and the coming extension of the suffrage to the counties will soon work a change among these poor people. They will not rest content crowding each other down thus to a pittance when they can read and write and vote. Thank fortune for this.
Our ladies were unusually gay in their decorations to-day, with bunches of wild flowers on their b.r.e.a.s.t.s and hats crowned with poppies and roses. They decked the Queen Dowager out until she looked as if ready to play Ophelia. Their smiles too were as pretty as their flowers. What an embodied joy bright, happy ladies are under all conditions, and how absolutely essential for a coaching party! Was it not Johnson's idea of happiness to drive in a gig with a pretty woman? He wasn't much of a m.u.f.f! If anything could have kept him in good humor, this would have done it. If he could have been on top of a coach with a bevy of them, not even he could have said a rude thing.
[Sidenote: _Oxford._]
Oxford was reached before the sun went down. Its towers were seen for miles--Magdalen, Baliol, Christ Church, and other familiar names. We crossed the pretty little Isis, marvelling at every step, and drove up the High Street to the Clarendon.
The next day was to be Commencement, and only a few rooms were to be had in the hotel, but we were distributed very comfortably among houses in the neighborhood. Several hours before dinner were delightfully spent in a grand round of the colleges. We peeped into the great quads, walked the cloisters, and got into all kinds of queer old-fas.h.i.+oned places. But the stroll along the Isis, and past Magdalen Tower, and up the long walk--that was the grand finis.h.!.+ We pardon Wolsey his greed of getting, he was so princely in giving. To the man who did so much for Oxford much may be forgiven.
OXFORD, June 21.
This morning was devoted to visiting the princ.i.p.al colleges more in detail, and also to the ascent of the tower of the Sheldonian Theatre, which no one should ever miss doing. Below us lay the city of palaces, for such it seems, palaces of the right kind too--not for idle kings or princes to riot in, and corrupt society by their bad example, but for those who ”scorn delights and live laborious days.”
Our Cambridge member, Mr. B., tells us it does not cost more than 200 ($1,000) per annum for a student here. This seems very cheap. The tariff which we saw in one of the halls gave us a laugh:
”Commons.
Mutton, long, 11_d._ do. short, 9_d._ do. half, 7_d._”
The long and the half we could understand, but how could they manage the short? This must be a kind of medium portion for fellows whose appet.i.tes are only so-so. You see how fine things are cut even in Oxford. Our party thought if the students were coaching there would be little occasion for them to know anything of either short or half. At least we were all in for long commons at eleven pence.
[Sidenote: _Martyrs._]
We drove past the martyrs' memorial, Latimer and Ridley's. Cranmer does not deserve to be named with them. A visit to such a monument always does me good, for it enables me to say to those who doubt the real advancement of mankind: Now look at this, and think for what these grand men were burnt! Is it conceivable that good, sterling men shall ever again be called upon in England to die for opinion's sake! That Cranmer wrote and advocated the right and necessity of putting to death those who differed from him, and therefore that he met the fate he considered it right to mete to others, shows what all parties held in those dark days. I claim that the world has made a distinct and permanent advance in this department which in no revolving circle of human affairs is ever to be lost. The persecution of the Rev. Mr. Green, of Professor Robertson Smith, and of Bishop Colenso in the present day proves, no doubt, that there is much yet to be done ere we can be very proud of our progress; but these are the worst of to-day's persecutions, and could occur only in England and Scotland. There is a long gap between them and burning at the stake! Grand old Latimer was prophetic when he called out from amid the f.a.ggots to his colleague: ”Be of good comfort and play the man; we shall this day light such a candle by G.o.d's grace as I trust shall never be put out!”
I think it certain that the candle will never again be put out. The bigots of to-day can annoy only in Britain. In other English-speaking communities even that power has pa.s.sed away, and persecution for opinion's sake is unknown. ”A man may say the thing he will”--there is a further and a higher stage yet to be reached when a man will consider it a man's part to have an opinion upon all matters and say what he thinks boldly, concealing nothing.
We left Oxford with just a sprinkle of rain falling, but we had scarcely got fairly out of the city when it ceased and left the charming landscape lovelier than ever. Banbury Cross was our destination, and on our route lay magnificent Blenheim, the estate given by the nation to the Duke of Marlborough. See what the nations do for the most successful murderers of their fellows! and how insignificant have ever been the rewards of those who preserve, improve, or discover--for a Marlborough or a Wellington a fortune, for a Howard or a Wilberforce a pittance. It is only in heathen China that the statesman, the man of letters, heads the list. No military officer, however successful as a destroyer, can ever reach the highest rank there, for with them the victories of peace are more renowned than those of war; that is reserved for the men who know--the Gladstones and the Disraelis, the Darwins and the Spencers, the Arnolds and the Ruskins. It is only in civilized countries that the first honors are given to butchers.
[Sidenote: _Blenheim._]
Blenheim is superb, grand, and broad enough to satisfy princely tastes.
And that n.o.ble library! As we walked through it we felt subdued, as if in the presence of the G.o.ds of ages past, for a worthy collection of great books ever breathes forth the influence of kings dead yet present, of
”Those dead but sceptred sovereigns Whose spirits still rule us from their urns.”
And to think that this library, in whose treasures we revelled, reverently taking one old tome after another in our hands, has since then been sold by auction! Degenerate wretch! but one descended from Marlborough can scarcely be called degenerate. You may not even be responsible for what seems like family dishonor; some previous heir may have rendered the sale necessary; but the dispersion of such treasures as these must surely open the eyes of good men in England to the folly of maintaining hereditary rank and privilege. Perhaps, however, the n.o.ble owner had no more use for his books than the lord whose library Burns was privileged to see, which showed no evidences of usage. The bard wrote in a volume of Shakespeare he took up:
”Through and through the inspired leaves, Ye maggots, make your windings; But oh! respect his lords.h.i.+p's taste And spare his golden bindings.”
With many notable exceptions, the aristocracy of Britain took its rise from bad men who did the dirty work of miserable kings, and from women who were even worse than their lords. It seems hastening to an end in a manner strictly in accordance with its birth. Even Englishmen will soon become satisfied that no man should be born to honors, but that these should be reserved for those who merit them. But what kind of fruit could be expected from the tree of privilege? Its roots lie in injustice, and not the least of its evils are those inflicted upon such as are born under its shadow. The young peer who succeeds in making somebody of himself does so in spite of a vicious system, and is ent.i.tled to infinite praise; but though our race is slow to learn, the people hear a wee bird singing these stirring days, and they begin to like the song. The days of rank are numbered.
BANBURY, June 22.
[Sidenote: _Banbury Cross._]
Banbury Cross was reached about five o'clock, and few of us were so far away in years or feeling from the days of childhood as not to remember the nursery rhyme which was repeated as we came in sight of the famous Cross. We expected to see a time-worn relic of days long past, and I verily believe that some of us hoped for a glimpse of the old lady on the white horse, with ”rings on her fingers, and bells on her toes.”