St. Paul daily globe. [volume] (Saint Paul, Minn.) 1884-1896, 1884-04-27
AN ENGLISH LETTER.
lettings of Life and Current Events
In the Tight Little Isle.
Peculiarly Radical Comment on Eulogies Of
the Late Duke Of Albany.
[speelal correspondence Of the Globe


the day. That this is a great little country, it
is, [ suppose, needless for me to state as
your readers-judging from the ample space
you give to European affairs-must be pretty
well informed about everything here, almost
as well as those to the manor born. And |
should not wonder much if there are not
those in sturdy young Minnesota who know
more about England than Englishmen them
selves. remember once, when travelling
through Wisconsin, meeting with an old
gentleman from Racine; he had never been
out Of Racine except to 60 and live at his
SON. s-in-law at the lonely little village of
Wateryille, which by the way is near the still
lovelier big village q suppose they call it
city, of Oconomowoc. Well, as L
was saying this old gentleman was
welded to Racine and thought there was
nothing outside that little rural hamlet. He
was as much ''mashedn on Racine as
worthy parson who came from Boston to st.
Paul about the time 1 was in your splendid
young city, was on Boston; and in fact as
all Boston people are. This old gentleman,
Sexton was his name, and a funnier man
than either of the worthless who followed out
the last resting place of the love demented
Ophelia, whiled away many long evening
telling me of the strange ways and funny
doings of my country people, enlightening
me not little on the history and manners
and customs of merry old England. But if
1 go on to tell you the tale at the tip of my
tongue, shall never get to the subject mat
ter of this letter. Old Sexton will keep,
though he was not tanner.
After reading through the deaths-English
people always read births, deaths and ma
riages before anything else in daily paper,
Zone habit and then, if it be lady, the
fashions; except at the fashionable watering
places where the ''visitor's lst'' is the first
attraction. 1 was saying-bless me
how wander-I was saying
that, after read through the deaths I CHANGED
to fall upon the column announcing the
death of Prince Leopold, and 1 read with
much interest the sketch you gave of his life,
which, by the way, Mr.. GLOBE, gives bet
eridea of the young prince than anything 1
have read, except one article in leading
journal here, which Is fearless in its out
speaking and is utterly blameless Of the
toadvism of even otherwise liberal journals.
You say Gin his youth he was quite studious
and the general opinion was that ne would
resemble. his god father Prince Leapold in
erudition and sagacity but latterly he was
more given to fantastical and dreamy theor-
izing than serious thought and solid study,
and his cOuntenance gave Zest to the affected
aesthetic nonsense preached by Oscar Wilde,
which became so prevalent with a certain
class till Sullivan and Gilbert's clever opera
Patience gave it its death blow" That
hits it exactly as does the whole article
except that you give the prince
little too much credit for concern about the
dear public, as 1 shall presently show.
OF course the sudden death caused talk
through the length and breadth of the land
talk outside of newspaper gossip and talk
that was perhaps more nearly approaching
the truth than newspapers cared to tell. You
know in this country the press is more con-
sentative than it is out in the free west, and
even the radical papers handle anything con-
nected with royalty or aristocracy quite gin
gerly; there seems to be sort of generation,
almost superstition, which the more adj
remnant of the old teaching of the divine
right of kings. And what wonder, when
the church still teaches humble submission
to pastors and masters. The talk revived the
princess old love affairs, his rejection
by the daughter of Lady Ashburton
especially. And that ever busybody
rumor has it that the prince hearing that his
old flame was formally engaged went up on
big old spree and that when he fell down
stairs at Cannes he was right royalty
dr. no merry is the word. Be this as it
may, the fact remains that, the public an
nOuncem9nt of the lady's engagement was
made on the day the prince died. With all
the princes little affairs du coemr it is not
thought that he ever went so far as his big
brother lord Renfrew, otherwise the Prince of
Wales, while student at Cambridge
your readers ever hear the DER true tale, if
not I will edify them on future occasion.
| have been to Claremont the residence of
the late prince. 1t is situated in the lovely
village of Esher, one of those matchless
rural suburban retreats for which the en-
virons of London are so noted. Fifteen
miles only from the great worlds me-
tropohs it is easily reached by rail or road, by
the former in twenty minutes. The country is
undulating and well wooded. Its ever green
meads, now spangled by the starry little
snowy daisy-days eye, with its pinly frill and
golden eye, are cut and shaped into delight
fully varied geometrical forms by high hedge
rows, now verdant with tender leaves of the
most delicate hues, stately trees gently I'M
furling their tiny bannerets to welcome the
approach of coy and blushing spring. And
through them all runs the high road to the
historic Runnymede and regal Windsor.
But the meandering lanes with their hedges
fragrant with sweet-briar and their primrose
and violet-bedecked banks with occasional
trees interlacing their branches in loving
embrace across it like sisters separated in
youth and joined in after life! Who can
describe these wonderful lanes with their
greenness, their fragrance, their richness of
coloring and the glorious singing of the mag
niicent feathered choir the
blackbird and thrush, the pert little
robin, the fussy, gay little wren, and above all,
at this time of year, the grand, soaring,
heaven inspired lark, whose song is fraught
with heart prayers of mortals. Every time 1
hear lark sing, and now the air is full of
their sweet, incessant trilling from early
morn to dewy eye," am reminded of one
of the star papers by Americas great preach
er, in which he says he travelled day after
day, week in and week out through the whole
fair south of England, even to imperishable
Stratford, without seeing or hearing single
lark! Now, no one who has ever spent a day
in the green fields of this country would
think any other than the great preacher was
demented when he wrote that, and they
would still more think so after reading his