One who has spent many months in the United Kingdom, traveling about twenty thousand miles by motor and considerably by train, and who has met and conversed with the common people of every section of the country in the most retired nooks and in metropolitan cities, may, I hope without undue assumption, venture a few remarks on the English people and their institutions. One would be a dull observer indeed if he did not, with the opportunities which we had, see and learn many things concerning present-day Britain.

It is the custom of some American writers, even of recent date, to allege that a general dislike of Americans exists in the Kingdom; and it would not be very strange if this should be true, considering the manner in which many Americans conduct themselves while abroad. Our own experience was that such an idea is not well founded. In all our wanderings we saw no evidence whatever of such dislike. In England everyone knows an American at sight and had there been the slightest unfriendliness towards Americans as a class, it would certainly have been apparent to us during such a tour as our own. I think many incidents cited in this as well as in my former books go to prove that the reverse is true, but these incidents are only a fraction of what I might have given. That a certain uncongeniality, due to a difference in temperament and lack of mutual understanding, exists between the average American and the average Englishman, we may freely admit, but it would be wrong to view this as personal dislike of each other. I have no doubt that even this barrier will disappear in time, just as the dislike and jealousy which really did exist a quarter of a century ago have disappeared. Who could now conceive of the situation that moved Nathaniel Hawthorne to write in “Our Old Home” fifty years ago:

“An American is not apt to love the English people, on whatever length of acquaintance. I fancy they would value our regard and even reciprocate it in their ungracious way if we could give it to them, in spite of all rebuffs; but they are beset by a curious and inevitable infelicity which compels them, as it were, to keep up what they consider a wholesome feeling of bitterness between themselves and all other nations, especially Americans.”

Of our own experience, at least, we may speak with authority. As a result of our several sojourns in Britain and extensive journeyings in every part of the Kingdom, we came to have only the kindest regard for the people and greater appreciation of their apparent good will. As we became better informed we were only the more interested in the history and traditions of the Motherland, and we almost came to feel something of the pride and satisfaction that must fill the breast of the patriotic Englishman himself. Nothing will serve more to impress on one the close connection between the two countries than the common literature which one finds everywhere in both; and you will pass scarce a town or village on all the highways and byways of the Old Country that has not its namesake in America.

Our impressions as to the fairness and honesty of the English people generally were most favorable. First of all, our dealings with hotels were perhaps the most numerous of our business transactions. Never to my recollection did we inquire in advance the price of accommodations, and I recall scarcely a single instance where we had reason to believe this had been taken advantage of. This was indeed in striking contrast to our experience with innkeepers on the Continent. For an American in possession of a motor to take up quarters in the average French or German hotel without close bargaining and an exact understanding as to charges would soon mean financial ruin to the tourist of moderate means. We could give almost as good report of the many English shopkeepers with whom we dealt—there was no evidence of any attempt to overcharge us on account of being tourists. Nor did I ever have a cab or carriage-driver try to exact more than was coming to him—though of course a small extra fee is always expected—certainly a contrast with New York City, for instance, where it is always hazardous to get into a cab without an iron-clad agreement with the driver. Perhaps the credit for this state of affairs may be due not so much to the honesty of the English Jehus as to a public sentiment which will not tolerate robbery. Nor should I fail to mention that in twenty thousand miles of touring our car was left unguarded hundreds of times with much movable property in it, and during our whole journey we never lost the value of a farthing from theft.

It is no new thing to say that the average Englishman is insular—but this became much more to us than mere hearsay before we left the country. The vision of few of the people extends beyond the Island, and we might almost say, beyond an immediate neighborhood. There is a great disinclination to get out of an established groove; outside of certain classes there appears to be little ambition to travel. I know of one intelligent young man of thirty who had never seen salt water—nowhere in England more than a hundred miles distant. I was told that a journey from a country town in Scotland or North England to London is an event in a lifetime with almost any one of the natives. The world beyond the confines of England is vague indeed; Germany, the universal bugbear, is best known and cordially hated, but of America only the haziest notions prevail. Not one in a thousand has any conception of our distances and excepting possibly a dozen cities, one town in America is quite as unknown as another.

Akin to this insularity is the lack of enterprise and adaptability everywhere noticeable—a clinging to outworn customs and methods. Since the English vision does not extend to the outer world, but little seems to be expected or even desired of it. There is not the constant desire for improvement, and the eager seeking after some way to do things quicker and better—so characteristic of America—is usually wanting. An American manufacturer will discard even new machinery if something more efficient comes out, but an Englishman only thinks of making his present machine last to the very limit of endurance. A friend told me of a relative of his who boasted that in his mill a steam engine had been running fifty years; it never occurred to the mill-owner that the old engine almost yearly ate up the cost of a new one on account of inefficiency and wasted fuel.

Often in garages where I took my car to have it cleaned and oiled, I could not help noting the inefficiency of the workmen. At times I had the engine crank case removed and cleaned and this one little thing gave a painful insight into the methods of the English workman. Nothing could be simpler than removing and replacing the dust shield under the engine—simply snapping six spring catches out of and into position. Yet I have seen one or even two men crawl around under the car for a half hour or more in performing this simple operation. In replacing the oil reservoir and pump I found that nothing would take the place of personal supervision—a cotter pin, gasket or what not would surely be left out to give further trouble. Repairing an American car in a provincial town would be a serious job unless the owner or his driver were able to oversee and direct the work.

As I have stated, we left England with decidedly favorable impressions of the country and people; so much so that I doubt not many of our fellow-countrymen would think us unduly prejudiced. But all this did not blind us to the fact that England in many regards is in a distinctly bad way and that a thorough awakening must come if she is to avoid sure decadence. Indeed, there are many, chief among them distinguished Englishmen and colonials, who aver that such decadence has already begun, but there is much difference of opinion as to its cause and as to what may best check its progress.

If I were to give my own humble opinion as to the chief disadvantage from which the country suffers and the most depressing influence on national character, I should place feudalism first of all and by this I mean the system of inherited titles, offices and entailed estates. I know that the government of the Kingdom is regarded as one of great efficiency and stability, and I think justly so; and this is often urged by apologists for the feudal system. But the Englishman is slow to learn that just as stable and quite as efficient government may be had without the handicap of outworn medievalism. That the present system seems to work well in England is not due to any inherent merit it may possess, but to the homogeneity of the nation, and to a universal spirit of law-abiding that would insure success for almost any respectable type of government. It does not work well in Ireland and never has; and it has substantially been abandoned in the self-governing colonies.

It seems to me, however, that the question as to how the feudal system works in government is of little consequence as compared with its ultimate effect on national character under modern conditions; for it is all out of accord with the spirit of modern progress, and if it ever served a useful purpose, it has well outlived it. One may justly claim that the king and the nobility have really little to do with governing, especially since the abolition of the veto of the House of Lords; that the will of the people finds expression in England quite as strongly as anywhere; but even if we admit this, I cannot see that it offers any argument in favor of feudalism. No one can make a tour of England such as ours and not observe the spirit of servility among the common people due to the inbred reverence for a title. Indeed, there is no feeling in England that all men are born free and equal, or that one man is quite as good as another so long as he behaves himself. A mere title, Sir, Duke, Earl, Lord or what-not, creates at once a different order of being and the toadyism to such titular distinctions is plainly noticeable everywhere. An earl or a duke is at our hotel; he may be a bankrupt, inconsequential fellow, it is true; he may not have a single personal trait to command respect and he may not be engaged in any useful industry. But there is much salaaming and everyone about the place assumes an awe-stricken, menial attitude, merely because the gentleman has the prefix Earl or Duke—there can be no other reason. Is it strange that such a spirit causes the common people to lose self-reliance and yield up their ambition to be anything more than their fathers before them? A proportion of the nobility may be composed of men of character and ability, fitted to occupy positions of authority and public responsibility and the present king may be all that a king should be; but the system is wrong and its effect on English character can hardly fail to have an untoward influence on the nation.

I find this view borne out in a guarded way in a book recently published by a prominent colonial official who spent some time in England. He insists that the lack of patriotism, which one can hardly fail to observe, is due to the present social system. He declares that the common people take little interest in national affairs and make no study of problems confronting the government. They expect the so-called “upper classes” to do the governing for them; there is no need to concern themselves over matters that must be settled by a House of Lords in whose choosing they can have no voice.

The recruits to the nobility now come almost exclusively from the wealthy class; we often have flung in our faces in England the taunt that there is an aristocracy of wealth in America, and that the pursuit of the Almighty Dollar is the all-prevailing passion. It may be just, in the same general way that I intend these remarks to apply to England, but we can at least retort that our oil, beef, mining and railway magnates cannot purchase a title and found a “family,” thus becoming in the public eye a superior class of beings and established as our hereditary rulers. A wealthy brewer may not become “my lord” for a consideration, in any event.

A recent American writer makes the curious apology for the House of Lords as a legislative body that it affords the English people the services of the most successful moneyed men in framing laws and that the sons of such men are pretty sure to be practical, well-trained fellows themselves. He also argues that the families usually die out in a few generations, thus introducing new blood continually and forming, in his estimation, a most capable legislative body. The preposterous nature of such statements can best be shown by trying to apply such a system to the United States Senate. If our senators, for instance, were hereditary lords, recruited from the oil, beef, brewing, mining or railway magnates aforementioned, what might the American people expect from them? We complain vigorously if any senator is shown to be influenced by such interests and more than one legislator has found out to his grief that such a connection will not be tolerated. Suppose we had a system that put the principals themselves in a permanent legislative body and invested them with all the glamour of “his grace” or “my lord?” Quite unthinkable—and yet such is the system in Britain.

And these self-sacrificing hereditary legislators are no fonder of bearing the real burdens of the country than our own plutocrats are. There is much complaint in England that in the ranks of the nobility are to be found the most flagrant tax dodgers in the Kingdom. Nor does this complaint lack for vigorous utterance—a most hopeful sign of the times, to my notion. But recently a London paper exploited the case of the Marquis of Bute, owner of Cardiff Castle—and most of Cardiff, for that matter—who returned his personal tax at less than a thousand pounds, and that included Cardiff Castle and grounds, which represent literally millions! Yet no man in the Kingdom is better able to afford payment of his just tax than this nobleman. To show the gross injustice of his tax, a comparison was made of the castle with a humble tailor shop in Cardiff, ninety by one hundred and twenty feet, which was taxed at a higher figure! The newspaper in question also declared that this case was typical of tax-dodging lords all over the country.

That there is a strong under-current against the feudal system cannot be doubted; we found it everywhere, though at times but half expressed and again only to be inferred, but it exists none the less. Indeed, more recent developments have shown the extent of such sentiment in the overthrow of the veto power of the Lords. This is a great step in advance, though England would be infinitely the gainer if the feudal system were abolished and not merely modified. This antagonism does not extend to royalty—that institution escapes through the popularity of the present king and queen. But the time may come when a weak and unpopular king will turn public sentiment against the very keystone of feudalism and the whole structure is likely to fall. When one recollects the furore that prevailed in England when the former king as Prince of Wales was mixed up with the Baccarat scandals, it is easy to see how much royalty owes its existence to good behavior. At that time doubt was freely expressed as to whether the prince would ever be king of England, but he lived it all down by his subsequent good record. I had many intelligent men admit that “your system of government is right; we shall come to it some time,” or words to that effect, and we heard many ill-concealed flings at the nobility. “We are all the property of the nobility,” said one intelligent young shopman of whom in the course of conversation we inquired if he owned his home. “No one has any chance to own anything or be anything in England.” And in a prayer-book at Stratford Church we found the petition “for the nobility” erased with heavy pencil lines.

I give these as typical of many similar instances, but I have no space in this book for discussion of the impressions I record. A volume would be required should I attempt this. I can only set down these random notes without elaborate argument. And yet, what could be more convincing that the social system of England is wrong than the hopelessness we found everywhere and the refrain that we heard oftener than any other, “A common man has no chance in England?” If he is not fortunate or a genius, there is nothing for him. He must either succumb to inevitable mediocrity and poverty or get away to some new country to gain the opportunity of competence and social promotion in any degree.

It is to the feudal system that can be charged the astonishing state of affairs in England that makes a gentleman of a person with no occupation—a loafer, we would style him in America—and socially degrades the useful citizen engaged in trade. On this particular phase I will not pass my own comment, but quote from a book, “Wake Up, England,” by P. A. Vaile, Premier of New Zealand, lately issued by a London publisher:

“There is perhaps nothing in English life so disgusting to a man who has not the scales upon his eyes as the loathsome snobbery of those who profess to despise a man because his income is derived from a trade or business. It is wholly inexcusable and contemptible. Trade, instead of being considered honourable and dignified, is, in the eyes of every snob, a degradation. Unfortunately, snobs in England are not scarce.

“The tradesman is himself in a great measure to blame for this, for he accepts humbly as his due the contempt that is meted out to him. Most of those who so freely despise the poor necessary man of trade, have a portion of their savings, when they are lucky enough to have any, invested in some large millinery or pork-butcher’s business that has been floated into a limited liability company—yet to them the man who earns their dividends is absolutely outside the pale.

“If there is any nation that I know that is hopelessly bourgeois, it is England. Why can we not be manly enough to recognize the fact, to acknowledge and freely admit to ourselves that we are a nation of very commonplace individuals, mostly shopkeepers, that it is the shopkeepers who have made the nation what she is, and that commerce is an occupation worthy of any gentleman instead of being a calling which merits the contempt of the idle, the rich and the foolish?”

If such a condition prevails in England, it can surely be chargeable to nothing else than a system which places the stamp of superiority on the idler and puts him in a position where he can assume a patronizing air towards those who are the backbone and mainstay of the nation.

Hand in hand with outworn feudalism goes the established church, of which it is really a part and parcel. A state religion of which a none too religious king may be the head, and whose control may fall into the hands of politicians who are frequently without the first qualification of churchmen, is an incongruity at best. If America has proven anything, she has demonstrated that absolute separation is best for both church and state; that true religious freedom and amity can best be conserved by it. But in England the established church is a constant bone of contention; its supercilious, holier-than-thou attitude toward the other churches is the cause of much heart-burning and friction. It has the sanction of the state, the social rank, the great church buildings and the traditions, and forces other Christian denominations into the attitude of the poor and rather shabby relation of a wealthy aristocrat—the wealth in this case not measured merely in money. Class distinction, the curse of England everywhere, is only fomented by the attitude of the established church. In religious matters it is not human nature to concede to anyone else superiority, and not until the Church of England places itself on common ground with its contemporaries, will true fraternity among the different denominations be possible in England as it is rapidly becoming in America. I remember a kindly old gentleman who showed us much courtesy in the English Boston in pointing out to us the places of interest, but who did not fall in with our enthusiasm over the great church.

“Ah, yes,” he said. “It once belonged to Rome, who grew arrogant and oppressive—and fell; it now belongs to a church that is just as arrogant and would be as much of an oppressor if she dared—and her downfall is just as sure.” And the enthusiasm with which he pointed out the plain Wesleyan chapel betrayed his own predilections.

That the educational system of England is faulty and inefficient we have the testimony of many leading English educators themselves. The constant interference of the Church of England and the Catholics with the public schools is greatly responsible for the chaos of the educational situation of the country. Conditions in England are such that a most excellent public school system might easily be maintained. The density of population and the perfect roads would make every rural school easily accessible, and there would be distinct advantages not enjoyed by many American communities which have far better schools. But church jealousy, hidebound tradition, and the almost universal inefficiency of English school-teachers, are obstacles hard to overcome. I cannot discuss so great a question in the limits of a short chapter, but the testimony of the most representative English educators may be found in the report of the commission which visited American schools under the guidance of Mr. Alfred Mosely.

That England, generally speaking, is better and more efficiently governed than the United States is no proof that its system is as good as our own, or that its possibilities equal ours. It is rather due to the homogeneity of the masses and to a more prevalent respect for law and authority among the people. Justice is surer and swifter when the criminal’s offense is once proven in the courts; but the many technicalities and the positive nature of proof required enables a large number of swindlers and rascals to keep at large. Dead-beats will evade debts, irresponsible tenants refuse payment of rents for indefinite periods, and petty swindlers go quite free—all of whom would be given short shrift in America—simply because it is a dangerous matter to risk infringing the “rights of the subject” and thus lay oneself liable to heavy damages should charges fail of proof.

The excellence of the British police system is proverbial; in efficiency and honesty of administration it has no parallel in America. Bribery and corruption among policemen are unknown, as Americans sometimes learn to their grief—illustrated by the instance of a rich New Yorker who offered a gold coin to an officer who had held up his motor for speeding. The offender was fined, not only for speeding, but much more heavily for attempted bribery—as it was justly regarded by the court. From the hundreds of policemen of whom we made inquiries—often very stupid, no doubt, to the officer—we never had an answer with the slightest trace of ill nature or impatience. Frequently the officer gave us much assistance in a friendly way and information as to places of interest. The British policeman has no swagger or ostentation about him; he carries no weapon—not even the club so indispensible in the States—yet he will control the riotous crowds more effectively than his American brother; but we should remember that even a riotous English mob has more respect for law than one on our side. He appears to appreciate thoroughly the value of his position to him personally and his dignity as a conserver of law and order, which he represents rather than some ward politician or saloon-keeper.

And, speaking of saloons—public houses, they call them in Britain—the drink evil averages worse than in the United States. Three quarters of a billion dollars go directly every year for spirituous liquors and no statistics could show the indirect cost in pauperism, suffering and crime, to say nothing of the deleterious effect on the health of a large portion of the people. In America liquor in the country hotel is an exception, constantly becoming rarer; in England it is the universal rule. Every hotel is quite as much a saloon, in our vernacular, as a house of entertainment for travelers. Women with children in their arms frequent the low-grade drink houses and women as bar-maids serve the liquors. More than once I had to exercise great caution on account of reeling drunken men on the streets of the smaller towns; but we had only hearsay for it that in the slums of Liverpool and London one may find hundreds of women dead drunk. There was much indignation over an insinuation made in parliament against the character of the bar-maids, but it is hard to see how many of these women, surrounded by the influences forced upon them by their vocation, can lead a decent life for any length of time.

Surely the drink evil in Great Britain and Ireland is a serious one and deserves far more active measures than are being taken against it. That sentiment is slowly awakening is shown by the fight made for the “licensing bill” which proposed a step, though a distant one, towards repression of the traffic. That the almost world-wide movement against the liquor business will make headway in England is reasonably certain and those who have her welfare at heart will earnestly hope that its progress may be rapid.

But in this connection I wish to emphasize that my observations on the liquor question in Britain are broadly general; there are millions of people in the Kingdom to whom they do not apply, and there are whole sections which should be excepted had I space to particularize. North Wales, for instance, has a population that for sobriety and general freedom from the evils of drink will rival any section of similar population anywhere. The mining towns of Southern Wales, however, are quite the reverse in this particular.

While Wales is a loyal and patriotic part of the British Empire, there are many ways in which the people are quite distinct and peculiar as compared with native Englishmen. Perhaps the most notable point of difference is consistent opposition to the established church, which has little support in Wales and has been practically forced upon the Welsh people by the British government. Only recently a measure for disestablishment has been entertained in parliament and it is sure to come sooner or later.

For the people of Northern Wales we came to have the highest respect and even regard. They were universally kind and courteous and their solicitude for the stranger within their gates seemed to be more than a mere desire to get his money. There is no place in the Kingdom where one may find good accommodations cheaper, barring a half dozen notable resorts in the height of the season. Added to this, the beauty of the country and its romantic and historic interest make a combination of attractions that would long detain one whose time permitted.

The foregoing observations about the Welsh are applicable in a greater or less degree to many sections of England and to most of rural Scotland, save that in the latter country hotel expenses will average higher.

A word on hotels generally may not come amiss from one whose experience has dealt with several hundreds of them of all classes and degrees, from the country inn to the pretentious resort hotel. It was our practice to seek out the best in every case, since we hardly enjoyed hotel life even under the most favorable conditions; but it was largely saved from monotony by the traditions which have gathered about almost every ancient inn in the Kingdom. One would miss much if he did not visit the old inns such as the Feathers in Ludlow, the Lygon Arms in Broadway, the Great White Horse in Ipswich, the King’s Head in Coventry—but I could fill pages with names alone; I would as soon think of missing a historic castle or a cathedral as some of the inns. It is this sentiment that has led me to give the rather extended individual mention accorded in some cases.

As a whole, the British hotels are comfortable and well conducted. Outside of London one will find the menus rather restricted and usually quite heavy and substantial from an American point of view. Special dishes are not easily obtained in the country inns and request for them is not at all enthusiastically received. Eggs and bacon—with the latter very nearly answering the specification of ham in America—with fish, usually sole or plaice, and tea or rather bad coffee, is the standard breakfast. Fruit cannot usually be had even in season without prearrangement the evening before, and then only at exorbitant prices. Strawberries, for instance—there are none finer than the English in season—may be selling for sixpence a quart, but you will pay half a crown extra for a lesser quantity served with your breakfast. An assortment of cold meats, usually displayed on the sideboard, forms the basis for luncheon and the very wise native will go to the sideboard and select his own portions. There will sometimes be a hot dish of meat; cabbage and potatoes are the standard vegetables, the latter cooked without seasoning and generally poor. A lettuce salad and cheese, with stewed fruit or a tart, as they style a pastry something similar to an American pie, will complete the meal—at least for one who does not care for liquid refreshments, which may be had in great variety. Dinner in the smaller inns is usually served on the table d’hote plan. A very poor soup, a bit of stale fish—inexcusable in a country surrounded by the sea; an entree, usually a highly seasoned hotch-potch, or chicken and bacon—often a vile combination—followed by some heavy, indigestible “sweet,” made the standard evening meal. We finally rebelled against this and had many a lively tilt with the manageress in our efforts to get a plain meal of eggs, tea, bread and butter and perhaps a chop. In some of the resort hotels our demands caused positive consternation and in more than one case had to be taken up with the proprietor himself. The difficulty was chiefly due to the disarrangement of the regime; the table d’hote meal was ready, though often stale and cold, and one waiter by following the fixed routine could serve a dozen people, while our simple wants usually disarranged the whole program, both in kitchen and dining room. It was rare indeed that a mutton chop could be had in the hotel; some one must be sent to the meat shop for it, and any such departure from the fixed order of things jarred the nerves of the whole establishment. It is only fair to state, however, that at some of the fine inns I have especially mentioned there were notable exceptions to these generalizations.

The rooms in the country hotel do not average very comfortable; the furniture is scant; they are poorly lighted—if not with candles, a single dim electric bulb or gas light serves the purpose; feather beds, with the odors that these give out in a damp climate, were not uncommon, though flat rebellion against them would often bring out the fact that there were others in the house. Bathing facilities were usually poor, a dirty bathroom or two serving the entire house. Not in a single case did we find running water in the rooms. But with all its drawbacks, the British provincial hotel will probably average as good as may be found in any country, and in motoring one has the option of going on to the next town if conditions seem too bad to be endured. Rates—to tourists—in the better class hotels are not low; yet I would not call them exorbitant as a rule. Two shillings for breakfast, three for luncheon and four to six for dinner may be given as the average, while the charge for rooms can hardly be generalized. Five or six dollars per day per person should cover the hotel expense, including tips.

And, speaking of tips, these aggregate no inconsiderable item; a smaller individual amount will give satisfaction than in America, but the number of beneficiaries is so much greater that the total cost is more. Every servant who does anything for you or who ought to do anything, must have a fee—porter, boots, chambermaid, waiter, head waiter, stable man, garage attendant, the man who cleans your car or brings you oil or petrol; in fact, everyone in the hotel except the proprietor or manageress expects from sixpence to half a crown for the day, as the case may be, and it does not pay to withhold it. One subjected to such exactions cannot but view with great concern the increase of the practice of tipping in America; should it ever become so prevalent here at the much higher rate that the American servant requires, traveling would be prohibitive except for millionaires.