THE TIME TO QUIT.
Liverpool, England, Aug. 24, 1905.
To-morrow we will finish the job of seeing Europe and sail for home. Just to be sure that we would not miss the boat, we came to Liverpool two days in advance. When an American is on his first long stay in a foreign country and the time grows near when he is to return once more to the land and the people he loves, he knows now that he loved them if never before. Strange scenes are no longer interesting, castles, cathedrals and curious costumes are tiresome, and the only thoughts are of the folks at home. Even a man who is ordinarily cynical and unsentimental finds his heart beating faster as the hours drag slowly by waiting for the time of departure. It would be a great relief if one could walk ahead and be overtaken, but the walking is not good in the Atlantic this season, so we are painfully killing time and going through the motions of sight-seeing while “waiting for the train,” or rather for the boat, which happens to be the White Star steamship Republic.
On the way here we spent a day in the town of Oxford. Everybody has read more or less of the great university and its student life. Of course this is vacation-time and the colleges are practically deserted, but we wandered through the buildings and quadrangles and enjoyed the walks and quaint streets. The phrase “classic shades” might well have originated here, for the great trees hundreds of years old, the ivy-covered walls and towers, the inclosed courts and the low-ceiled halls and rooms, all make for a peaceful repose that forms a charming setting for the intellectual life which ordinarily fills the place. There are twenty-one colleges in Oxford, each large in size and impressive in architecture. The style is a quadrangle with a large court or “quad” within, on which the students’ rooms face, and usually covered with grass and filled with stately trees. Each college has from 100 to 300 students, and the attendance at the whole university is over 3,000. The “young gentlemen,” as Oxford students are called, reside in the college buildings, and each has a bedroom and sitting-room. Meals are either served in the rooms or in the large dining-hall. There are no recitations, and not many lectures. Much of the studying is done with tutors. The intellectual effort of the student is to acquire sufficient knowledge from lectures, tutors and books to pass the examinations. The chief courses of study are the ancient languages, philosophy, mathematics, history, and either theology, law, medicine, or natural science. The range is not near so large as in America and they do not go so much on what we call “practical studies.” On the side the men do good work in rowing and cricket, and have all the fun of American students, even if they are supposed to be in and with the gates locked every night at 9 o’clock.
The history of Oxford University dates back to Alfred the Great, but the first authentic accounts of the work are of the twelfth century. All learning was then in the hands of the church, and the first colleges were primarily for the education of priests. Kings, queens and bishops, interested in learning, established first one college and then another, so that by the thirteenth century Oxford ranked with the most important universities in Europe; and then, as education extended to other professions, the colleges widened their courses of study, and the government, while still ecclesiastical in form, became broad and liberal. The colleges have large endowments, plenty of money, and Oxford and Cambridge have educated most of the great men of England in the last 500 years.
Liverpool is a good deal like a big American city. A hundred years ago it was a small town, but by taking the lead in American trade it has become the most important port of Great Britain, and, counting suburbs, has nearly a million population. Its harbor is a deep river, the Mersey, and the banks are solid walls of wharves, docks and wholesale buildings. It is a relief to strike a town where you go to see bridges and factories instead of churches and art galleries. Liverpool is a good place in which to taper off from the old and the curious to the useful and the active. In our hotel here we have electric lights, bathrooms, and an elevator that works. Hotels where you go to bed by candlelight, bathe in a little tub, and walk up four flights of narrow stairs, are interesting and comfortable, but they are better for a three months’ stay than for a steady diet. Nearly every guest at this, the biggest hotel in Liverpool, is an American who is getting anxious.
One of the subjects in which I have taken an interest on this trip has been that of the prices of products and labor, comparing them with those at home. I have referred to it frequently, but perhaps a summary will interest the practical American who wants to know “what it costs.” In the beginning I want to say I have not yet found a place where “things are cheap,” according to the American standard. The ordinary people in Europe get along with things that are cheaper than in America and they do without others, so their cost of living is not so high. The ordinary artisan or mechanic in Europe will live with his family in two or three rooms poorly lighted, ventilated and uninviting. His rent is therefore cheaper than the American mechanic who occupies a little house of his own and has a front yard or a porch. The European mechanic will have meat to eat once a week or once a day, and he and his family will live on what a great many Americans waste—they have to. Therefore he lives more cheaply, and so can an American who puts himself and his family on a diet of soup, potatoes, carrots and turnips. The ordinary European mechanic is assisted in earning a living by his wife and all of his children, while the ordinary American mechanic only expects his wife to do the housework and look after the little ones, and his children are at school until they are nearly ready to work for themselves. The American mechanic will make from $2 to $5 a day, while the European will get from 50 cents to $1.50.