EPISCOPAL BICYCLISTS.
THE papers have lately been busy with rumours of a bicycling Bishop. It is stated that the Bishop of Colchester intends, when proficient, to ride a bicycle along the roads of his diocese, and we are assured that, though his lordship has not yet ventured outside his own gates, he has for some weeks been engaged in practising on the gravel-paths and down the carriage-drive. How this knowledge has been obtained is not stated. Possibly it was by what on the Con- tinent is called an "officious" communiqué to a press agency, —one of those curious pieces of literature which have a style all their own, and wrap up a statement of fact just as a precious china image is wrapped up in cotton-wool. More probably, however, the information was acquired by the less regular but far more ancient way of looking over the hedge. In primitive societies that is the universal method of collect- ing news, and we should not be surprised if it still held its own in Colchester. These great primal instincts of the race die hard in the provinces. It requires no enormous stretch of the imagination to call up the way in which the news got out. One sees an eager group of small children and workmen returning from their toil flattening their noses against the gate of the Bishop's palace — even the most ordinary of villa residences is a palace when lived in by a Bishop; the cowl may not make the monk, but the Bishop will make anything short of furnished lodgings a palace— or squeezing their heads between the iron railings, while in the gathering gloom a dark figure flits up and down the drive, now swooping like some great bird into a flower-bed, now shaving the stable wall by a hair's breadth, and now charging fall-tilt into a laurustinus-bush. What more natural than that the reporter of the local paper on the prowl for "copy" should be passing that way and should join the watchers. The mere look of the silent and absorbed row of backs, or the exclamation from one of the boys, "Oh, Lor', he did go a oner that time," or "Won't his shins be sore, neither," would be enough to make him join the group and look over the head of the smallest girl to see what was the cause of the excitement. A. word of explanation, or the sight of the Bishop himself coming down the last "lap," amid the cheers maybe of his wife and daughters on the front-door step, would be quite sufficient to put the journalist instantly au frit with the situation. In a moment his note-book would be in his hand, and a vivid, terse impres- sion of the scene be recorded. In America, of course, an interview, fictitious or otherwise, according to the Bishop's temper, would be added to the description of the scene, and each appropriate head-lines as, "He will not be Beaten by a — Wheel," "Practises in the Parlour on Wet Days," and "Does not Believe that 'Coasting' is Contrary to Scripture," would be displayed with all the typographical resources of the office. In England the reporter must be content with a "spicy par," and with the knowledge that in the silly season every newspaper in the kingdom will copy his piece of cycling intelligence and deck it out with a delightful variety of titles, from "The Bishop and the Bicycle" to "The Bench on Wheels."
The fact that at last a Bishop is about to become a bicyclist has been the signal for a great deal of controversy, and the whole problem of official dignity, and what infringes it and what does not, has been raised in its acutest form. It has long been admitted that curates, vicars, and rectors may ride a cycle, and even Rural Deans are by common consent allowed to do their visitations on a "safety." As yet, however, the line has been drawn, and drawn strictly, at Rural Deans. Above that rank it has not been considered consistent with ecclesiastical dignity to go a-wheel. Archdeacons, Deans, Bishops, and Archbishops have all been ruled out of the delights and conveniences of pedalling. A vicar may run all over his parish on a tandem with his curate, but the notion of a Bishop "cutting about" his diocese on a bicycle seems utterly abhorrent to many minds. And yet there is something peculiarly arbitrary and unreasonable in maintaining this "taboo." We prescribe for all the greater dignitaries of the Church a costume which specially lends itself to the cycle, and yet we try to forbid them the use of the wheel. To put a man into neat black gaiters is to subject him to a daily temptation to take to a bicycle. The absence of trousers is a tacit and perpetual invitation to the road. The curate and the rector before they go for a spin must deal with their trousers in one of the many, but all of them difficult and tiresome, ways relied on by those who do not use breeches or knickerbockers for riding. They must either tuck their trousers into their socks—a Bohemian expedient hardly to be recommended to the clergy—or they must use some form of steel clip, for the employment of india-rubber bands, though occa- sionally practised by men of letters, is far too untidy for those who want to set a good example in the parish. An Archdeacon, a Dean, a Bishop, or an Archbishop need be troubled by none of these troublesome devices. At any and every moment of the day he is ready equipped to spring upon the saddle. The maximum of preparation required by him is to give a slight reef to his apron, and even this can be avoided by riding a bicycle with a drop-frame,—i.e., a lady's machine. We cannot indeed imagine a more pathetic situa- tion than that of a cycling vicar who has become a Bishop.
While I could ride my machine,' he will reflect with bitterness, there always was the horrid annoyance of trousers, and the necessity for adopting some plan for preventing them catching in the pedals. Now the trousers have gone, and I wear daily instead an ideal cycling costume. Yet public opinion has forced me to abandon all further thought of cycling, and my beautiful new Beeston-Humber is to be raffled for at the Diocesan Fund Bazaar as the gift of an anonymous donor to the Palace stall.' I only hope it will be won by somebody outside the diocese. It will be the last straw to see a curate riding it over to arrange about a confirmation.'
But is there any real reason for inflicting such torture on the more athletic members of the bench ? We do not believe that there is. On the contrary, we hold that the Bishop of Colchester is setting a most excellent example in thus breaking through an absurd convention, and we hail with delight the thought that we may some day look out of the office window and see the Venerable the Arch- deacon of London threading his way through the traffic on Waterloo B1 idge. We confess that we should not like to see an Archbishop with his legs up "coasting" down a steep hill,
but short of that we have not the slightest objection to the whole bench adopting cycling as a means of exercise, enjoy. ment, and locomotion. Cycling is essentially a cheerful exercise, and the Bishops have much to try them. Why, then, should they be precluded from an easy and pleasant way of throwing of their worries P A Bishop troubled by a rash vicar who is determined to fight his parish to the death over the question of restoring the rood-loft and giant crucifix, might find on his bicycle a solution which would never occur to him on foot. It is absurd to say that there is anything so essentially undignified in the bicycle that no man can ride it and maintain the moral elevation required in the dignitaries of the Church. Why should it be more un- dignified to ride a bicycle than to ride an old grey horse P We have no anarchical notions about dignity, and do not wish to contend that there are no pastimes or actions which are undignified. For example, we should extremely dislike to see a Bishop on a merry-go-round, and should probably leave the show-field at once, and even though we knew that he was there from the purest motives, and was challenging sea-sickness with the hope of elevating the amusements of the masses, and of proving to them that a man may take even boisterous pleasures innocently and without the factitious aids of strong liquor and profane language. But a bicycle is, we contend, perfectly different from a merry-go-round, and may be ridden by the most exalted person without loss of dignity. It is merely because the bicycle is a new invention that to ride it is looked upon as capable of injuring a man's dignity. We have no doubt that when the first horses were tamed and ridden primitive society was convulsed by the question whether the priests who polished the fetish-stone ought to be allowed to ride, and whether they would not become ridiculous, and so socially disconsidered, if they did so. One can hear the talk across the ages. "It would be all right if the horse kept quiet, but suppose somebody was to frighten him and he kicked, and the crowd saw daylight between the priest and his mount and chaffed ? What would then have become of the dignity which ought to attach to the holders of a sacred, &c., &c., &c. P" Depend upon it, the Bishops will not be lowered in dignity even if they adopt the cycle. Their dignity, in truth, depends upon themselves. Dignity in the last resort is based upon moderation, upon calmness of manner, upon good sense and good feeling, and not on the adoption of any special kind of locomotion. If a man is dignified by nature, riding a bicycle in moderation will not deprive him of his dignity. If all cyclists were obliged to "scorch," and " shout " and " swear " at people who did not get out of their way, then no doubt it would be better for Bishops not to ride. But since a man may cycle, and do none of these things, we see no reason why the bench should not take advantage of their gaiters, and ride a cycle for health, pleasure, cunvenience, and economy.
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