lieved in good faith by the people to whom they were addressed. The Anglo-Saxon conscience, like the Nonconformist, may not be logical, and may be elastic, but it is a conscience all the same. Nobody can doubt that if Armenia had been an island within a hundred miles of the British coasts, of which we were able to take possession with as much ease and as little risk as the Americans were in a position to do in the case of Cuba, the Union Jack would long ago have floated over Erzeroum. Moreover, in the opinion of the mass of ordinary Americans, the Cuban insurgents were, as Mr. Gladstone said of the Dervishes-" a gallant people, struggling gallantly to be free" -patriots oppressed by the tyranny of an old-world monarchy. Thus popular sentiment in the United States was strongly in favor of intervention. Then, too, to the Anglo-Saxon mind, the spectacle of a wealthy and fertile country being in the hands of owners who are unable to utilize its advantages infallibly suggests the reflection how much better it would be for all parties concerned if the country were taken away from its actual occupants, and transferred to hands better suited to develop its resources. Englishmen who feel keenly the irritation caused by the maladministration of the Transvaal can hardly wonder if the instinct of America was to put an end, for her own advantage as well as that of Cuba, to Spanish misgovernment of the Queen of the Antilles. The odd thing is, not that the United States have virtually annexed Cuba, but that they did not annex the island long ago. The reasons for the delay in action are not difficult to discover. The educated, the wealthy, and what one may call the Conservative classes in America, were, almost to a man, averse to prompt action. The tradition which, as I have said, forbade any assumption of liabilities by the Republic outside the American continent was far stronger with the classes than with the masses. Added to this, the classes in the States realized far more keenly than the masses the inconveniences of adding a mongrel half-breed population to the citi

zens of America, and the still greater inconveniences of ruling an outlying island as a Crown colony. A study of the high-class American papers before the war will, I am convinced, establish my assertion that previous to the destruction of the Maine in the harbor of Havana the leading organs of public opinion in the United States did all in their power to deprecate armed intervention in Cuba. I happened to meet Mr. Gordon Bennett in Cairo on the day that we received the news that the Maine had been destroyed. Whether the destruction was intentional or accidental, and by whom and in whose interest upon the former hypothesis the explosion was contrived, are questions to which no satisfactory answer is ever likely to be given. But, as an old journalist, I felt Mr. Bennett was in the right when, on hearing the news, he remarked, "The game is up; we must now go in for war." President McKinley and the leaders of the Republican party, who had been honestly opposed to war till after the Maine explosion, felt that their hands were forced, and that they had no option save to obey the national outcry for war. Under like circumstances any British Government would have acted in the same manner.

It may be urged by hostile critics that the Americans, however genuine their indignation may have been at the alleged or real wrongs of Cuba, were also set on getting possession of the island, and hurried on the proclamation of war as soon as they foresaw a possibility that the grant of autonomy might be accepted by the Cuban insurgents, and that thus the United States might be deprived of their casus belli. Even admitting the justice of these criticisms, they do not seem to me to prove any graver charge against our transatlantic fellow-kinsmen than that they share our Imperial instincts, that they possess the Anglo-Saxon desire for expansion, a desire which, whether disinterested or not, has done more than any other cause to promote civilization and progress. The existence of this desire has manifested itself very markedly throughout the later stages of the war. After the American troops had landed

in Cuba, their countrymen came very rapidly to the conclusion that the Cuban insurgents were by no means the heroes and patriots they had been depicted as being; but were, on the contrary, about as little deserving of respect or sympathy as the ordinary halfbreeds of any South American Republic. By the time, however, this discovery was made, the United States were committed to the task of emancipating Cuba from Spanish rule. Common sense pointed to the conclusion that the insurgents were utterly incapable of governing the island; and therefore, if Spain was to go, the United States, in fact if not in name, must perforce take her place in Cuba. In this instance common sense coincided with popular ambition. From the outset public opinion in America has insisted on large cessions of territory being demanded as compensation for the sacrifices made by the United States in the war with Spain, and though the wisdom. of this demand may not altogether commend itself to old-fashioned politicians of the McKinley type, the Government of Washington is not strong enough to withstand the public outcry for territorial compensation. In as far as any future event can be predicted with confidence, we may take it for granted that when peace is formally concluded the United States will have assumed sovereignty over all the possessions of Spain in the West Indies, while the Philippines will be placed under the virtual, if not the avowed, Protectorate of America. It follows that the great Republic has now definitely shaken off the trammels imposed upon her by the. "Ring Fence" policy of her original founders, and has thereby followed the instincts of the Anglo-Saxon race.

The consequences of this change of front can as yet be only indicated in the vaguest terms. It is obvious that the American Constitution contains no provision for the administration of outlying territories, which for many long years to come cannot possibly be admitted to the Union as sovereign States. Either the Constitution will have to be altered, or the authorities of the Republic will be compelled to assume pow

ers which are presumably ultra vires. Moreover, it is contrary to all experience to suppose that the United States will long rest content with their recent colonial acquisitions. Just as, according to the French proverb, appetite comes in eating, so the taste for annexation grows by annexing. In the West Indies as in the Indian Ocean, the Americans are certain before long to discover that their new possessions require, for their security in the present and their development in the future, the acquisition of adjacent territories. Again, the holding of colonies must compel the United States to keep up a navy and an army out of all proportion to the forces which have hitherto sufficed for the defence of a country whom no foreign Power had either the will or the means to attack. The possession of large naval and military forces creates of necessity a desire for their active employment; and for the present such employment can only be found in enterprises of a more or less aggressive character. To put the matter plainly, America, as a colonial Power, will have interests of her own which must inevitably bring her into collision with the interests of other great Powers; and in order to uphold her new position she must employ the same means as are employed by the other leading Powers of the world.

I do not myself see any cause as an Englishman to regret the transformation of the United States from a pacific to a belligerent Power. Of course there are certain obvious contingencies under which the Imperial interests of Great Britain and America might come into conflict. If such contingencies should arise I have no great confidence in war being rendered an impossibility on the strength of platitudes, uttered on either side the Atlantic, as to our common brotherhood, and as to blood being thicker than water. The real bond of union between our two countries lies in the fact that the interests we have in common are more numerous and more powerful than the interests which are or may be-antagonistic. Any formal alliance between the American Republic and the

British Empire has never seemed to me possible or desirable. With our free institutions, we have no power to enter into binding alliances with any one. Moreover, even if the United States could and would ally themselves with us, I fail to perceive the benefit of such an alliance to England. In the event of our becoming involved in a war with Russia, or indeed with any great European Power, what we should need are not ships, but troops; and of all countries America is the least able to guarantee us against the risks involved in the small dimensions of our standing army. On the other hand, the friendship of the United States would be of the utmost value to Great Britain in the event of war. If the sympathies of the Republic were actively enlisted on our behalf there would be infinitely less risk of our corn supply being cut off, while there would be no risk of our mercantile commerce being destroyed by American Alabamas. In like manner, the fact that the United States could rely upon the friendship of England would greatly diminish any risk they might have to incur in pursuing the policy of intervention in foreign affairs to which they are bound by the acquisition of colonies. The nervous anxiety with which all Continental nations are endeavoring to assure each other that any alliance between the two great branches of the Anglo-Saxon race is a chimerical idea is proof in itself how powerful such an alliance might prove if it could be carried into effect. The mere abandonment by America of her attitude of isolation in all foreign

affairs cannot fail to bring together more closely two kindred nations, whose ideas, ambitions, and institutions are almost as identical as their language. Thus in the Imperialist movement, which has led the United States to embark on a career of annexation, I see the promise of gain rather than loss to our own country. Even if this were not so, I should still find cause for congratulation in the fact that the American Republic has now reverted to the hereditary policy of the Anglo-Saxon race. Just as men cannot live by bread alone, so nations cannot exist solely by material prosperity. There is a story told that on some occasion Alexandre Dumas the elder was asked by an interviewer as to which of his works he felt personally proudest. The author of Monte Cristo" and the "Trois Mousquetaires " pointed to his son, who was sitting by his side, and answered, "This is the work which I have most reason to be proud of." In much the same way I think if I were asked what in my opinion is the greatest work England has accomplished, I should say the United States of America; and in so saying I should, I hold, express the sentiments of the great mass of my fellow-countrymen. And, holding this view, I cannot but deem it matter for congratulation that our American fellow-townsmen should have shown that they have preserved the ideal of an Imperial mission; that they, as well as we, are prepared to carry out that manifold destiny which is the birthright of the Anglo-Saxon race.Nineteenth Century.

PRINCE BISMARCK had lived eight years in retirement, and almost in exile, when, with a dramatic suddenness, his sands ran out; but if ever any statesman's distinctive work was carried to comparative human completeness, his certainly was. It had always been his wish and hope to die in harness, and more than once-notably when the cares of office apparently pressed with greatest weight upon him-he told the Reichstag so. How this desire failed of fulfilment is a story with which the world is fairly familiar.

The fact that Germany's greatest son and Europe's master in statecraft should have passed away as a private citizen rather than as the first Minister of the Empire which he had created has naturally given prominence to the personality of the man at the expense of the political achievements of his career, and some aspects of this personality it is my purpose briefly to survey. If one were asked to name the characteristic which beyond all others denoted Prince Bismarck, and which, at the same time, was the master-key to the secrets of his incomparable success as diplomat and as statesman, the answer must unquestionably be-his concentration. Yet not concentration in any indefinite and abstract sense, rather the constant and unwearied application of every faculty to an unvarying political task-twofold, yet in essence one-the strengthening of the Prussian monarchy upon the basis of a constitution voluntarily conceded by the Crown, and the drawing together of the German States in a union of which Prussia should be the predominant partner. Essentially his genius was political, and politics were the engrossing object of his thought. Cosmopolitan in culture, susceptible apparently in no small degree to the manifold movements of his age, the supreme interest of his life was yet the solution of one great politica! problem-how States can be made, Parliaments managed, and parties used to

further the designs of a masterful mind.

A remarkable story, probably but little known, will illustrate what I mean. Its author is Herr von Tiedemann, sometime head of the Imperial Chancellery. When Tiedemann conveyed to his chief the news of the murderous attempt which was made, on June 2d, 1878, by Nobiling, on the Emperor William I., Bismarck's first ejaculation was, "Now we will dissolve the Reichstag!" Only after the ruling passion of political purpose had found involuntary expression did he inquire after the Emperor's condition, and seek details of the dastardly deed which had nearly robbed him of a beloved master.*

That Germany accurately diagnosed the specific genius of her distinguished Chancellor was clearly proved by the character of the homage paid to him during life. He was worshipped rather than loved it was the Titanic in his personalty, the heroic in his achievement, which magnetized the nation and drew to him its lavish, almost unreasoning admiration. But Germany's estimate of her hero was shown even more eloquently at his death. Those who at close quarters witnessed the national mourning for the old Emperor in 1888, and lately have noted the expressions of grief which his Chancellor's death. elicited, will bear me out when I say that the two calamities affected the nation very differently. In the first case the tribute to the dead was that of a united people's heartfelt, homely sorrow; in the second it took the form of

*To give full point to the incident it should be stated that Nobiling's attempt followed that of Hödel on May 11 of the same year, on which occasion the first Anti-Socialist bill was introduced in the Reichstag, which, however, declined to pass it. Nobiling's crime led Bismarck to dissolve the Reichstag and appeal to the nation, which gave him a powerful majority, by whose aid the second Socialist Bill was easily carried.

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ponderous, organized mourning-very fine, very touching, very sincere, yet throughout conveying an unmistakable suggestion of the manifestation." In the first case affection was the motive force; in the second patriotism. By mere accident, rather than intention, I passed through Germany from west to east, and from north to south, during the fourteen days which followed Bismarck's death, and it was interesting to note the effect which the event created. It was everywhere the same. Public memorial gatherings (Trauerfeier) were the rule-in general, elaborate functions, held in open spaces or large halls, at which the proceedings embraced glowing panegyrics by leading citizens, music by bands and choruses, and here and there torchlight processions with parade of funereal trappings. It was all impressive and almost unique in its way, but even the most casual observer might have guessed that the object of mourning was one whose career and deeds appealed less to the sympathetic than the patriotic and political instincts.

No statesman of his time stirred the political mind of Europe by his speeches as Prince Bismarck did while Chancellor of the Empire. And yet he could not be described as an orator in the commonly accepted sense of the term. More than that, he would have been the first to disclaim the title-probably with no little disgust-had it been bestowed upon him. I heard him speak in the Reichstag on various occasions and under the most favorable circumstances, and this impressed me more than anything else the entire naturalness and sincerity of his manner, its utter freedom from rhetorical tricks or artifices, and the absolute absence of any straining after effect. It may be said that, as Germany is not governed by noisy talk but by silent action, a Minister under such a constitutional system as hers is at an enormous advantage in this matter of Parliamentary oratory. No one can compel a Minister to speak unless he wishes. He is not, in fact, a Minister of Parliament at all his office is conferred upon him by the Sovereign, to whom alone-short of complying with certain Standing Rules of the House-he owes obedience

and responsibility. Bismarck, by the way, went so far as to assert, both by word and act, that even Standing Rules possessed no validity for him. Situated thus, to a large extent outside Parliamentary influence, the German Minister does not find himself under the necessity of continually appealing to the indulgence and sympathy and emotions of the Legislature. So it came about that Bismarck, especially in late years, was no very frequent speaker in the Reichstag, while in the Prussian Diet he spoke still more rarely. But when a Bismarck sitting" did occur, it was an event in the session. What a crowded House was that to which he always addressed himself! Upon the deputies' benches-I speak of the old Parliament House in the Leipzigerstrasse-and in the several galleries you would look in vain for a vacant place. Those were rare days, when tickets of admission to the tribunes were precious documents indeed.

Bismarck never made his appearance until he was ready to speak. He was not the man to waste time in listening to uninformed criticism; what he had to say himself he said, and he left other people to talk as they listed. Having arranged all the requisite papers before him, he would rise at the call of the President, and before general silence had fallen over the House would be in medias res. Though refined, his voice. could hardly be called musical, and for a man of his immense stature, it was by no means strong. It was characteristic of him that the style of address which he invariably adopted was distinctly conversational-free, straightforward, unconstrained—as though the Reichstag were to him simply a body of fellowmen to whom he desired to impart his views of the questions at issue. During the delivery of one of the most important speeches which ever left his lips he was seated in his official chair, an informality which he excused on account of temporary indisposition.

A few days before Prince Bismarck's mortal illness was announced to the world, I chanced to be discussing his industrial legislation with a well-known and well-informed German social reformer, and the conversation took, as was inevitable, a wider scope. 'Do

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