dinary Americans, the Cuban insurgents were, as Mr. Gladstone said of the Dervishes—“a gallant people, strug gling 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 AngloSaxon 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 citizens 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

I

States did all in their power to deprecate armed intervention in Cuba. happened to meet Mr. Gordon Benrett 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 half-breeds 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 sacritices 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 consequence 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 out-lying 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 powers 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 beligerent 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 Iwould 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

The Nineteenth Century.

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 person. ally 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 fellowtownsmen 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 birth right of the Anglo-Saxon race.

Edward Dicey.

the day," is to commend it. The book which is "piercingly modern," the witticism which would not have been witty at any other time, are sure of success. This is why the writer who desires to please must first of all prove his possession of that indispensable quality which makes up for the lack of so many others. It is not enough for him to be of his time, as we all are, unconsciously. He is so of set purpose and by strenuous effort. He sniffs the coming gale, and tries to guess what will be in fashion next season. The mode is always changing. He changes with it. He is agile, supple and hampered by no scruples. He will rid himself, at all costs, of the baggage imposed by tradition-and which so impedes one on the march. Received opinions, consecrated admirations and such like antiquated rubbish are not for him. Do you take him for a pedant, or haply a professor?

This superstition, or rather this mania for modernity, is a comparatively recent thing. It made its appearance about the beginning of the last century, and one of its earliest victims was a certain Antoine Houdar de Lamotte, to whose bygone reputation a freshened interest now attaches, and whose faded features take on a sort of look of the present day. He has lately been made the subject of a rather insignificant study, which I shall use less as a guide than an occasion for speaking of him.

1

Lamotte was an amiable man. Blind from his youth, and of a very feeble constitution, he never lost his serenity of mind. All his contempo

1 Houdar de La Motte: Ou poeteé philosophe au commencement du XVIIIme Siecle. Par Paul Dupont, docteur ès lettres. Hachette.

raries bear testimony to the sweetness of his nature and the geniality of his humor, and, in view of the fact that we may have to question his breadth of outlook and solidity of judgments, let us begin by doing justice to the qualities of his heart. A distinctly second-class writer, he tasted upon one occasion the intoxication of triumph. When he was past fifty years old he undertook to write a tragedy, and he had the good fortune to hit upon the precise manner in which the playgoers of that time liked best to have their feelings lacerated. "Inez de Castro" was a succès de larmes. People said, as they always do, that there had been no such stage-triumph since the days of the "Cid."

As a matter of fact, there have been several pieces whose success has entirely eclipsed that of the "Cid," and it is but fair to remember that Lamotte's was one of them, and that another was written by the other Corneille, whose name was Thomas. In a word, Lamotte was a clever man; and if we do not quite see it when we peruse his works it is merely because cleverness is an evanescent quality which quickly gets out of date. He shone in conversation at a time when conversation was peculiarly brilliant; and it is not for us to refuse a tribute which was freely accorded by a society which doted on wit. Yet neither the wit of Lamotte nor the goodness of his heart would have secured him immortality, and we might have been as cold to the author of "Inez de Castro," as we have become insensible to the sufferings of his heroine, but for the fact that he flung himself into a conflict whose issue is not yet decided. He engaged in the strife blindly, and he broached the burning question clumsily, not quite knowing, as we plainly see, what it was all about; but he did broach it, and thus earned the right to be cited

as the type of a certain order of minds which he represents fairly well.

Lamotte was that darling of the Salon who came into fashion about the year 1715. He frequented the Tuesdays of the Marquise de Lambert, and, as a swain, wearing the colors of the Duchesse de Maine, he exactly suited the taste of those select gatherings, where the precieuse of the previous century was reincarnated. The first condition of success in them was not to be restricted by any special aptitude to the pursuit of any one study; and here, Lamotte was quite safe. Profoundly and generally ignorant, his universal incompetence qualified him to dabble in all things; and his eulogists always mention the fact to his credit. "It would have been hard to say," observes Fontenelle, "of what M. de Lamotte was incapable. He was neither a physician, a geometer, nor a theologian, but one felt sure that he might have distinguished himself in either of these lines if he had had eyes and been able to study. A few notions concerning these differ ent sciences, picked up here and there by means of a little reading or the talk of clever people, had germinated in his brain and struck deep root, bearing fruit which appeared amazing as compared with the poverty of his culture."

As he touched on the sciences without being in the least scientific, because it was the mode in those days to entertain ladies with astronomy and the structure of the human frame, so Lamotte made verses without being in the least a poet. He made al! kinds of verses-except good ones. He began by giving operas. He published odes in verse and odes in prose, fables and cantatas. Passing from the lyric to the epic style, from tragedy to comedy, from grave to gay, from the pleasing to the sublime, he translated with equal facility, Homer, Anac