career brought to an untimely end, and since then he has made speeches for the Republican party; but in the campaign which led to the election of Mr. McClellan as Mayor of New York, Mr. Cockran saw a new light and took the stump for Mr. McClellan. Now he earns his reward. The same Tammany that put the blight upon his political aspirations once more gives them new life. Tammany has nominated Mr. Cockran to represent the district vacated by Mr. McClellan when he was elected mayor, and as the district has an overwhelming majority his election is assured.

Mr. Cockran is an orator of a fervid temperament, which perhaps explains why he thinks and expresses himself in superlatives. In a speech accepting the nomination Mr. Cockran said: "Ten years ago we occupied the primacy of nations; to-day we are the hoodlum of the world. Ten years ago we had a reputation for international justice that was sustained; to-day an expression of our opinion would be regarded as a mask to hide some sinister purpose."

It is one of the peculiarities of the American politician that while he is ever ready to depreciate his own country when he attacks a hostile party he is extremely sensitive about the slightest criticism from a foreigner. "The hoodlum of the world" is, to say the least, rather a savage indictment of a man's country, and one that Mr. Cockran would hardly care to hear from the lips of a foreigner, but foreigners can scarcely be blamed for underrating the American people if a former and prospective member of Congress, and one of their foremost orators, feels impelled to denounce his own people as hoodlums.

Is snobbishness a national characteristic of the American ? Some native writers and students of American manners have asserted that it is, and that the genuine American, the son of the soil, who boasts of his democracy, free institutions, the Declaration of Independence and the fact that all men are born free and equal and one man is just as good as another, loves a lord with a love even more intense than does an Englishman. An interesting illustration of class prejudice has recently come to light in connection with an exhibition of Whistler's paintings in Boston. The largest individual private owner of Whistlers in this country is Richard Canfield, of New York, more generally known to the world, his world, as "Dick." Mr. "Dick" Canfield is a professional gambler. His business, or rather it rises to the dignity of a profession with him, is to "run" a gambling house where rich men may amuse themselves with various games of chance. Mr. Canfield does not play himself, he is quite content to permit his wealthy patrons

to indulge in that amusement. By profession he is a gambler, by inclination he is a patron of all the arts, a man who delights in art for art's sake, and who is never happier than when he can add a new painting or a new piece of pottery to his already wonderful collection.

Dick Canfield was invited by the committee, comprising men and women with some of the bluest blood of Boston in their veins, to send his pictures to the exhibition, and Mr. Canfield generously consented, his contribution numbering fifteen works of the master. Fourteen the committee accepted with profuse thanks, but the fifteenth they rejected. And the fifteenth? It was simply a portrait of Mr. Dick Canfield painted by Whistler, but the blue-blooded dames of Boston could not stand the contamination of having the portrait of Dick Canfield, gambler, painted by Whistler hanging on the same line with portraits of themselves painted by the same hand. Could that happen in any other country than America?

The dinner given by the Pilgrim Society in New York at the end of the last month in honour of Sir Mortimer Durand was a pleasing evidence of the cordial relations now existing between the United States and Great Britain, and in marked contrast to relations the reverse of cordial that formerly characterised the intercourse between the two countries. The dinner and the speeches which followed were distinguished by dignity and an absence of gush which was refreshing. There was no hysterical waving of flags or perfervid demonstrations of Anglo-American brotherhood that might have been offensive to some persons; there were simply a few speeches of a high order frankly expressing the hope that the two nations might continue to remain on good terms and be found side by side fighting in the cause of freedom and civilisation; there were admissions that in the past mistakes had been made on both sides because neither nation thoroughly understood the other and there was too little toleration, and it was cause for rejoicing that there was no danger that these mistakes would be repeated. The guest of honour made a speech that was in excellent taste and was well received. In Washington Sir Mortimer has made himself well liked. His rather reserved manner does not detract from the strength of his character and the impression that he creates of a man who has seen much, knows much, and has profited by what he has seen and learned. And he brings to Washington a new environment, almost a new atmosphere. He is one of the few men prominent in Washington who has a familiar acquaintance with India and Persia and who has scratched something more than the surface of those lands of mysteries.

It comes rather as a shock to one's ideas of America as the land of opportunities, the land in which the humblest immigrant may find at the bottom of his scanty belongings the key to the White House, to hear the scholarly Dr. Hadley, the president of Yale University, publicly warn young men that it is inadvisable for them to make a career of politics unless they are already independent financially.

I should advise a man [Dr. Hadley said] not to go into politics until he had some independent means of support, sufficient to keep him and his family from starvation, upon which he could fall back if he were defeated for office or felt that he could not honourably accept office under the conditions imposed. If he has no inherited wealth, it is well for him to get a sufficient start as a lawyer or journalist or business man to give him this necessary minimum of selfsupport before becoming a candidate for office.

Every one who knows Dr. Hadley, knows that he is a man of broad democratic sympathies, and that in advising young men to make of politics an avocation rather than a vocation, he does not champion the cause of plutocracy. Rather it must be that Dr. Hadley, like so many other careful observers, realises that a poor man who makes politics his profession is constantly in danger of temptation, and may ruin himself morally as well as bring disaster to the nation.

In this country politics is a regular business the same as any other, it is simply one of the many ways of earning a livelihood. The man who can make a respectable income at the Bar or in business takes up politics as a diversion; the man who has been a failure, or at best only a moderate success in the vocation he has chosen, but who has a knack of oratory of a certain kind—who is not without ability, but it is not ability of the highest order-who has cunning rather than cleverness, and whose conscience is not too rigid, is the man who makes of politics a business, and who is too often unable to resist the temptations which so freely beset him. That is the man who must obey the orders of the boss, who must vote as he is directed, who lives in constant dread of his constituents. He has surrendered his independence, he is no longer a free man, he must curry favour and hold on to an office, or be thrown back on the refuse heap of failure. men, as a rule, are not more independent, they are equally servile to their constituents, because once given power they do not lightly yield it, but at least they can enjoy the luxury of being honest.

A. MAURICE Low.

EARLY RECOLLECTIONS OF

MR. LECKY

MR. LECKY was a year my senior at the University so that we never met at any of the lectures, and it was some time before we became acquainted. Lecky did not belong to the set known as "reading men." He never aspired to college honours, and he got through the ordinary examinations with a very moderate amount of application. He took life easily enough at that time, and the passion for really hard work grew gradually upon him in after life. In the morning there were the usual lectures to attend which called for no extraordinary effort in the afternoon he very often went to Kingstown to take long solitary walks on the West Pier. But the afternoons were very short on account of the early hour of dinner, which was then five o'clock. College time was, however, for some inscrutable and perhaps symbolical reason, kept a quarter of an hour slow, which allowed a little longer. There remained an extremely long evening, and it was a common habit for men to meet in each other's rooms for wine or stronger beverages, which no doubt often led to much abuse. The evenings spent with Lecky were most enjoyable, and the recollection of them must linger in the memory of the few who still survive to remember them. He rarely asked more than one or two at a time, and the number to whom he extended the privilege was never large. Many of the friends he made in the Historical Society lived out of college, and they were not available at that hour. After wine he insisted on having tea and bread and butter, which was the signal for the fiercer spirits to retire; the conversation was, however, sometimes too good to be broken up even by the simmering of the kettle.

The after-dinner wine even when prolonged to tea never lasted very long, and then Lecky began his reading, which often lasted for several hours before going to bed. In the morning, too, the simple college breakfast, in an armchair over the fire in his own rooms, was a leisurely meal with books

scattered about generally on the floor. He used to say that in the morning, and especially while shaving, his ideas flowed the fastest, and he jokingly attributed the stolidity of some of his friends to the fashion of allowing the beard to grow.

Lecky's education was rather desultory. He had been to Cheltenham College, and apparently to Armagh, and he had passed a good deal of time abroad. From these various sources he brought with him a sufficient knowledge of Greek and Latin to pass the ordinary examinations creditably, and without requiring to have recourse to a "gerund grinder." He was classed both at the "Little Go" and the Degree examinations, appearing high up in the third class on the former occasion, and first of the second on the latter. He never aspired to become a Don and he had no special aptitude for acquiring languages. If he had applied himself with the industry necessary to take classical honours, it could only have been at the expense of other departments of knowledge which he found at the time far more attractive. No doubt, if he could have foreseen the direction his life was afterwards to take, he might have bestowed more attention upon the subject, and he sometimes regretted he could not speak Latin with the fluency of some of the foreigners he afterwards met, who had been brought up in continental seminaries. But his knowledge was fully equal to that of other men of his standing who were not specially destined for the work of tuition. His reading in classical literature was, however, at that time limited chiefly to the books set in the course, and it was not till later in life that he made up the deficiency. He always detested mathematics, and even confessed to a difficulty in understanding the mysteries of geometry. He never applied himself to the natural sciences, although he had a taste for collecting geological specimens. It is more singular that when at the University he did not take any special interest in moral philosophy or political science, both of which subjects occupied his mind very soon after he left. The only college honour he ever competed for was the Premium in Rhetoric and English Literature, which he won in 1858. It did not, however, add to his reputation, for he only obtained the fourth prize, though, for special knowledge of the subject, apart from "cram," he had probably no equal among the undergraduates. He had, indeed, very little aptitude for any of the usual academic studies or competitions. He used to say that he was always looked upon as "the fool of the family," and he maintained that, being the eldest son, he was fully entitled to the distinction. One of the great advantages of his desultory training was the knowledge he acquired of