“I have enjoyed being in this familiar place, where the Rector of Alderley, Mr. Bell, and his daughters, are very kind. He has just been driving me to see the Ernest Leycesters at Mobberley. Passing beneath a field on the way to Chorley, he said, ‘A curious thing happened there when I was a little boy. A farmer went out very early to look over his land, and in that field he found a place where the soil had been recently upturned. ‘Oh, poachers must have been here,’ he said to himself, ‘and have buried their game;’ so he dug, and very soon came upon a sack. ‘Here it is,’ he said, when behold! from the sack emerged the long tresses of a young woman! Pale as death, he rushed across the field to Ellen Baskerville’s house, and told what had happened. It was the body of a young woman, buried in Alderley Churchyard a few days before. Resurrection-men had dug it up, and being suddenly surprised, had hastily buried it here.
“‘When I was living as chaplain in the Infirmary at Norwich,’ said Mr. Bell, ‘I was startled by hearing what seemed to be loud and furious imprecations overhead. They did not stop, and at last I ran upstairs to see. There, in bed, was the old fat swarthy cook, screaming with all her might, and a huge monkey was sitting on the bed grinning at her. I seized a newspaper which lay there, rolled it up, and hit out at the monkey. But the beast knew better than to be afraid of that, seized it, tore it up, and made at me. Then I caught up a large ruler, which was happily lying near, to defend myself with. The monkey did not like that, and bounded across the room and out at the window, and I heard a scream from the people upon whom it had descended in the street.
“‘The woman told me how the monkey had come in at the window, and jumped straight on to her bed, where it had found the pot of ointment used for her bad leg, and eaten it all up directly. Having finished that, it made for the table, where it found her wig-box, pulled it open and began to demolish her wig. That she could not stand. “Oh, ye varmint! ye varmint!” she shouted, and continued shouting till I came to the rescue.’”
“Temple Newsam, Oct. 9.—This grand old house in the Black Country has been receiving the Duke and Duchess of York. They were just gone when I arrived, but the Duchess’s pleasant brother, Prince Adolphus, is here, and his future bride, Lady Sybil Grosvenor, with Lady Grosvenor and her daughter, also the William Lowthers and the beloved Halifax’s. With the Lowthers I have been two excursions—to Swillerton, Sir C. Lowther’s rather fine house, and to the beautiful old house of Ledstone, a very picturesque place.”
“Ravenstone, Oct. 14.—This lovely little place of Mrs. Howard is above Lake Bassenthwayte, not considered a beautiful lake, but infinitely lovely at the spot to which she has taken me, through the garden of Sir H. Vane, where a richly wooded promontory embossed upon the still evening sky was reflected in every detail in the calm limpid waters.
“We have been for service to the most delightfully primitive little church—a Dalesman’s church—such as Wordsworth has described. At Greystoke we have spent a day, received by the little girl, daughter of the house, with the manners of a princess. Little of the old castle remains.”
“Bishopthorpe, Oct. 16.—‘That is a portrait of Bishop Willmer of Louisiana,’ said the Archbishop, showing his study. ‘He was at one of the conferences at Lambeth in Archbishop Tait’s time. When he went away Mrs. Tait said to him, “Well, good-bye, Bishop; I hope you’ll come again at the next conference.”—“No, Mrs. Tait, neither you nor I will be at the next conference.”—“Oh, Bishop, but I hope we shall see you again.”—“No, Mrs. Tait,” said the Bishop very solemnly, “neither you nor I shall be at the next conference, but we shall meet again very soon.” Three months after that—one in America, the other at Edinburgh—the Bishop and Mrs. Tait died on the very same day.
“‘Bishop Willmer had the utmost simplicity of character, but he was a true apostle. One day, crossing a green at Boston, he found a little boy playing pitch-and-toss. He was very fond of little boys, and he stopped and spoke to this one—spoke to him very kindly. “Now, are you a good little boy?” he said at length. “Well, I sometimes say cuss words,” answered the boy. “Oh, I’m sorry for that,” said the Bishop; “but at any rate, I see you speak the truth.”—“Oh, only dogs tell lies,” said the boy. “Well, now,” said the Bishop, “would you like to do me a kindness?”—“Yes,” said the boy. “Well, I expect a parcel at the railway station, and I want you to go for it, and bring it to a particular house. There will be seven dollars to pay for that parcel, and here are the seven dollars, and there are fifty cents for yourself.” The boy took the $7.50 and went off.
“‘When the Bishop reached the house, he told what he had done, and was heartily jeered at—that he should trust a Boston waif like that. There was a very large party, and they all went in to dinner. Before it was over, a servant came in and said that there was a boy there who wanted to speak to the Bishop. The Bishop went out, and the whole company followed him—they followed him into the hall, and there was the boy at the door. He was not the least abashed, but, when he saw the Bishop, said, “Well, I’ve brought the parcel, but it cost seven dollars fifty cents: you did not see the fifty cents marked in the corner.”—“Well, how did you get the parcel, then?”—” Oh, I paid the fifty cents you gave me.”—“And how did you know you’d get the fifty cents again?”—“ Well, I thought as a chap as would trust me with seven dollars would never make a trouble for fifty cents.”