All of them had union cards to prove it too. Others said
that in practically every city of any size visited by them there
was a guide who told of his deep attachment to the memory of Mr.
Morgan, and described how Mr. Morgan had hired him without inquiring
in advance what his rate for professional services a day would be;
and how - lingering with wistful emphasis on the words along here
and looking meaningly the while at the present patron - how very,
very generous Mr. Morgan had been in bestowing gratuities on parting.
Our first experience with guides was at Westminster Abbey. As it
happened, this guide was one of the Mark Twain survivors. I think,
though, he was genuine; he had documents of apparent authenticity
in his possession to help him in proving up his title. Anyhow, he
knew his trade. He led us up and down those parts of the Abbey
which are free to the general public and brought us finally to a
wicket gate, opening on the royal chapels, which was as far as he
could go. There he turned us over to a severe-looking dignitary
in robes - an archbishop, I judged, or possibly only a canon - who,
on payment by us of a shilling a head, escorted our party through
the remaining inclosures, showing us the tombs of England's queens
and kings, or a good many of them anyway; and the Black Prince's
helmet and breastplate; and the exquisite chapel of Henry the
Seventh, and the ancient chair on which all the kings sat for their
coronations, with the famous Scotch Stone of Scone under it.
The chair itself was not particularly impressive. It was not
nearly so rickety and decrepit as the chairs one sees in almost
any London barber shop. Nor was my emotion particularly excited
by the stone. I would engage to get a better-looking one out of
the handiest rock quarry inside of twenty minutes. This stone
should not be confused with the ordinary scones, which also come
from Scotland and which are by some regarded as edible.
What did seem to us rather a queer thing was that the authorities
of Westminster should make capital of the dead rulers of the realm
and, except on certain days of the week, should charge an admission
fee to their sepulchers. Later, on the Continent, we sustained
an even more severe shock when we saw royal palaces - palaces that
on occasion are used by the royal proprietors - with the quarters
of the monarchs upstairs and downstairs novelty shops and tourist
agencies and restaurants, and the like of that. I jotted down
a few crisp notes concerning these matters, my intention being to
comment on them as evidence of an incomprehensible thrift on the
part of our European kins-people; but on second thought I decided
to refrain from so doing. I recalled the fact that we ourselves
are not entirely free from certain petty national economies.
Abroad we house our embassies up back streets, next door to bird
and animal stores; and at home there is many a public institution
where the doormat says WELCOME! in large letters, but the soap is
chained and the roller towel is padlocked to its little roller.
Guides are not particularly numerous in England. Even in the
places most frequented by the sightseer they do not abound in any
profusion. At Madame Tussaud's, for example, we found only one
guide. We encountered him just after we had spent a mournful five
minutes in contemplation of ex-President Taft. Friends and
acquaintances of Mr. Taft will be shocked to note the great change
in him when they see him here in wax. He does not weigh so much
as he used to weigh by at least one hundred and fifty pounds; he
has lost considerable height too; his hair has turned another color
and his eyes also; his mustache is not a close fit any more, either;
and he is wearing a suit of English-made clothes.
On leaving the sadly altered form of our former Chief Executive
we descended a flight of stone steps leading to the Chamber of
Horrors. This department was quite crowded with parents escorting
their children about. Like America, England appears to be well
stocked with parents who make a custom of taking their young and
susceptible offspring to places where the young ones stand a good
chance of being scared into connipshun fits. The official guide
was in the Chamber of Horrors. He was piloting a large group of
visitors about, but as soon as he saw our smaller party he left
them and came directly to us; for they were Scotch and we were
Americans, citizens of the happy land where tips come from.
Undoubtedly that guide knew best.
With pride and pleasure he showed us a representative assortment
of England's most popular and prominent murderers. The English
dearly love a murderer. Perhaps that is because they have fewer
murderers than we have, and have less luck than we do in keeping
them alive and in good spirits to a ripe old age. Almost any
American community of fair size can afford at least two murderers
- one in jail, under sentence, receiving gifts of flowers and angel
cake from kind ladies, and waiting for the court above to reverse
the verdict in his case because the indictment was shy a comma;
and the other out on bail, awaiting his time for going through the
same procedure.
