Chapter XVI: A By-Election

From Winchester we motored to Salisbury. The spire of the cathedral is perhaps the most beautiful in the world, but the cathedral as a whole did not impress me as much as I had expected. Perhaps I was still under the influence of Gloucester, or more likely of the regal shrine at Winchester. At any rate, when I learned that it had been built by one man, I lost interest. I am too familiar with that sort of work! The charm of most of the English cathedrals is due to the fact that of most of them it is true that

"Like some tall palm
The stately fabric _grew_."

Salisbury did not grow; it was built! It has an air of artificiality about it that not even the beautiful spire, which is a later addition, can atone for.

It is fair to say that Ruth did not agree with me. To her it seemed one of the most beautiful of all we had seen. Indeed, she said the reason I did not appreciate it was because I was influenced by "Martin Chuzzlewit"! That was because I had asked her from which angle she supposed Mr. Pecksniff had first drawn it. At any rate, we had to agree to differ.

As we got into the car at the gate of the close a gentleman who had been looking it over asked whither we were bound. When I told him across the Plain, he strongly advised me to avoid the highway, which, he said, was quite uninteresting, and to take a road which, by many a turning, would show the Plain as the highway could not do. I do not know that man's name, and I do not wish to meet him again! He probably is one of those men who take pleasure in walking--a form of exercise which I detest! He certainly has never driven a car. Had he done so he would know that there is nothing so distressing to a motorist as a "picturesque" road! We descended into little gullies and mounted little hillocks till my back was nearly broken with changing gears, and the car looked as if I had bought it second-hand and used it hard!

We stopped long enough at Stonehenge to get an impression of its dreariness, and then pushed on to a village on the north side of the Plain. We reached there late for lunch, and learned that the name of the place was Divises, and that a by-election for member of parliament was in progress.

The inn was crowded to suffocation, and some of the loungers had had as much to drink as was good for them, and some a little more. I was in no amiable frame of mind, as you may imagine. No one would pay any attention to us--they were too busy serving drink.

I learned that the question at issue was what we call the "saloon." A Labor member was standing on a platform which called for the regulation of the public house, while the Conservative candidate was for "free rum." One would have thought that here was an issue which would divide the sheep from the goats. But there were other questions involved--land, for instance, and the Established Church.

Alas! I soon found that the shepherd had taken the side of the goats! While I waited in vain for something to eat I heard a great shout, and going to the door saw the parson, driven by his little girl--her fair hair blowing in the wind--the pony decked out with blue ribbons and the whip, carried at a knowing angle, adorned with a bow of the same color. I am glad to say the child was left outside, but the burly parson, looking more like a farmer than Herbert's "Priest of the Temple"--as probably he was--elbowed his way through the crowd and called for a drink; then, amid the shout of the half-drunken crowd, gave "The King and the Church."

Ruth, who had been pale enough before, now flushed so red that I was afraid she would "start something," and nudged her to keep quiet. Then I thought she was going to burst into tears. At that moment a charming young fellow came into the room and said to her: "I beg your pardon, but this is no place for you. My mother has a sitting-room, and I am sure would be glad if you would join her."

She hesitated a moment, but I said: "I am deeply obliged to you, and if you could get my wife out of this I should be very grateful."

So she followed him, and when later I joined them I found that the lady of the private room had given her a cup of tea and made her as comfortable as was possible in such a place.

When she learned we were Americans she said she was mortified that we should have seen such a sight--she too had seen, from her window, the parson's entrance. "I suppose, however," she continued, "such things are seen in every country at election time."

I said we had "toughs" who made trouble, but that any minister who behaved as the vicar or rector of this parish had done would be "ridden on a rail." I don't think she "got" that. I added that I thought that our laws which forbid the sale of liquor while the polls are open acted as a preventive of trouble.

"Ah," she said, "that is what Mr. Bowles"--the Labor member--"is trying to have enacted. But, you see, the vested interests are strong, and then he is so radical!"

You may be sure we did not tarry long in that place, but took our way back to Bath, where we had planned to spend another night.

Whether the sheep or the goats won the election I am unable to tell you. I am rather inclined to think it was the goats. The church and the public house make a strong alliance!