SIGHTSEERS: THEIR RIGHTS AND DUTIES.
THERE is a story of an eccentric philanthropist who used to amuse himself, and, as he believed, used to educate his friends, by cutting out from newspapers and pasting up on the walls of a room kept for the purpose letters containing a certain kind of "appeal to the public." In selecting letters to form part of this not very common kind of wall-paper he went on the general principle that if there is one thing in the world which it is useless to do, it is to ask people not to do this or that. All the letters he selected asked people not to do something, and to each he added a sort of editorial com- ment suggesting, what was never suggested in the letters, some kind of remedy or curative course of action. "The thing to do," he always ended by saying, "is to ask them to do some- thing instead."
Last week a correspondent of the Spectator drew attention to what in these days of cheap travelling and organised ex- cursions is to decent people a perpetual ground of com- plaint,—the habits of the tripper. He gave instances of the offences against the public which this person commits. "On the Quantocks there are notices imploring him not to lame cattle and horses with broken glass; and I had to remove a quantity of it from the turf round Tennyson's monument at Freshwater before it was safe to sit down. In Ashdown Forest not long ago I saw some people eating their dinner and amusing themselves by letting bits of the paper in which they had wrapped it fly across the Forest till they were stopped by the gorse in flower." We could all of us multiply such instances. The habits of the tripper, unfortunately, are as objectionable as his numbers are large. Every year there goes up a chorus of angry complaint of the damage that he does, and the ingratitude which he shows in return for the various benefits conferred on him, or for the opportunities which he is given of seeing beautiful sights. Yet there is very little improvement in his manners, and apparently, though everybody can see what he does that is objectionable, nobody has much in the way of remedy to sug- gest for his misdeeds. He still carves his name in as hideous and conspicuous a manner as possible on any convenient piece of wood or stone belonging to the castle, or historic building, or ruin that he has come to see; he still writes objectionable inscriptions in the summer-houses of parks or beautiful grounds thrown onen to the nubile by generous and kindly spirited owners. If he decides to visit the most beautiful scenery on the Thames by taking tickets on one of the many excursion steamers which in these days patrol the river in such large numbers on Saturdays and Sundays, he makes the countryside horrid with barrel-organ choruses ; indeed, the quieter and more delightful the woods - and fields by which he passes, the more raucously is ha. inspiredto what presumably he regards as a kind of musical comment on the situation in general. Last, and worst offence of all, if he decides to celebrate an excursion to a spot of interest or beauty by eating, he seems to regard it as the natural and proper thing to do to spoil, so far as he can, the interest and beauty of the place for other people. It is his habit to wrap his food in paper, and when he has finished the food, and the paper alone remains, he distributes it—usually in the shape of soiled pages of London daily journals—in all directions over lawns, banks, dells, and indeed ornamental waters where possible, with an extremely careless geniality. To the effect thus obtained he adds a homely touch by breaking with stones whatever bottles he has brought with him, and scattering the fragments where they are most likely to attract the notice of other people. The strange thing is that, having decided to visit a beautiful spot pre- sumably because it is beautiful, the last thing that he seems to realise is that the spot is not hideous, and ought not to be made hideous by persons like himself.
Is there, then, no remedy against the tripper ? There is, of course, one drastic measure which would prevent him from defacing beautiful scenery and interesting buildings, and that is to forbid him access to them. But that is not possible except in one or two cases, especially, of course, in the case of the public-spirited owner of land who throws open his grounds to the public, and who is repaid, as a writer recently put it, "with ingratitude and orange-peel." It is immensely to the credit of landowners as a body that they suffer so much in- convenience and annoyance from a certain section of the public rather than close their grounds to those who appreciate their beauty, and are grateful and careful in the use they make of them. But in the case of places like Burnham, Beeches, or Pevensey or Carisbrooke Castle, even if it were possible to deny the public the right of access, it would be wrong to do so. It is a good thing that everybody should see as much that is beautiful as possible; and it is, indeed, the very class of persons which makes itself objectionable that; stands most in need of being educated up to understanding beauty, and respecting it when they see it. Therefore the more persons of every class that visit historical buildings, or see charming country scenery, the better; the real thing to do is to see, so far as possible, that they do no harm and leave no unpleasant traces behind them. But how is that to be done? The Spectator's correspondent quoted above makes an interesting appeal to sightseers on their holidays. "May I suggest," he writes, "that those of your readers who, like myself, are forced to go where others go, should, as often as they can, piously pick up the glass and paper (the latter with a stick) and put them at the bottom of the nearest ditch or hedge ? The glass becomes covered with earth, and paper will rot and disappear in the winter when it is stuffed in the ground. If we cannot mend our neighbours' ways, we can help to obliterate the trace of them." The suggestion is practical. There are some things which it is almost im- poasible to prevent, and of which, once they are done, the traces cannot be removed. If a person carves his name in wood or stone, it cannot be removed without removing the surface on which it is carved. (It is curious, by the way, how many names get carved in conspicuous places, and how seldom any one is seen in the act of carving them.) But the removal of rubbish is merely a matter of manual labour, and if it is not done by one person, the practical thing clearly is for some one else to do it. In some places there are men kept during the months devoted to excursions to "clean up" every day. But that is not the most valuable way of removing the traces of the vulgar sightseer. If he knows or thinks that somebody is paid to clear away the unsightly relics of his feast, he will merely ask, "What is the man paid for?" When it is suggested to him that he should leave behind him no broken bottles or filthy paper, he has even been known to persuade himself that it is really an act tf charity rather than anything else to leave the snot , he has visited untidy, since by making a litter which has to be cleared up he ensures weekly wages to a person who would otherwise be unemployed. To educate a mind of this kind the best thing is the force of example. If a party.of ill-mannered persons have their attention drawn to the sight of some one, man or woman, carefully picking up the fragments of bottles which he has not broken, and papers which he has neither buttered nor torn, and hiding them away so that no one else shall be offended by the sight, they may begin to look at things from another standpoint. It may occur to them that, after all, these beautiful places which they visit are visited by others besides themselves, and seeing some one voluntarily and unselfishly working that the beauty of the spot may be preserved and not defaced, they may begin to turn over in their minds their own shortcomings. Would it not be possible, perhaps, in this way to make some appeal to their better feelings ? After all, trippers and sightseers exercise on ordinary occasions—that is, when not sightseeing—the ordinary virtues. It is true that it is difficult to see how any- thing can be expected to reach the hearts of persons like those who, in a recent case, deliberately set fire to some splendid old trees in a private park thrown open to the public. But to the majority it ought to be possible to appeal with some hope of success. Little will le done in the future, just as little has been done in the past, by printed regulations, however politely worded, posted up at convenient places. The force of personal example ought to, and we believe would, go a great deal further. "Why should you clear up other people's litter ? " the careless sightseer begins by asking. To which question "Will you not help ? " is a natural answer, possibly not to be met with a refusaL
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