Africa-The sacrifice of Sir Bartle Frere-Mr Gladstone's surrender-The Bayard of the money-bag-The new ruler The worship of speed-The passion of racing-The decay of the racecourse-The development of cricket-The advent of W. G. Grace-Professionalism on the river- The palm without the dust-Lord Rosebery's lassitude-The creation of Mr Gladstone-An unfortunate influence-Lord Rosebery's popularity-Lord Chesterfield-His quarrel with Dr Johnson-His 'Letters'-His services to the State- His Irish administration-The presence of a political phil- osopher-Chesterfield's irony-Mr Caine and his rival— The cruel murder of McKinley-The excuse of Anarchy-A guarded visitor-The punishment of sedition-The fetich The need of efficiency-The appointment of Sir Redvers style and the Man-The timidity of the Government— Two years of emotion-A peaceful triumph-A proud achieve- ment-The trace of the snail-The management of pro- cessions-Radicalism new and old-William Hazlitt— Jacobin and Anti-Jacobin-Hazlitt a partisan- His love of MUSINGS WITHOUT METHOD. FEBRUARY. To plant a tree, to beget a son, to write a book-these, says the old adage, are the three duties of man. One man, one book. For the first two we have no word of complaint; in all sincerity we may wish increase both to the timber and the population of our native land. But we can easily spare a universal addition to our library. One man, one book, is the worst policy ever invented by human optimism; yet it is a policy which threatens to become a part of our national life. Already there are few defaulters in the field of fiction. The rare ones that have not joined what is called "the ranks of our imaginative writers" may be pointed out in the street with confidence and precision. And the reproach of silence is being removed as fast as may be even from those who have declined to enlist in the army of "fictionists." Almost everybody can (and does) write a novel; but there is positively no single man, woman, or child that cannot keep a diary; once a diary is kept, vanity and greed counsel publication; and it will not be due to good taste or reticence, if we are not presently acquainted with the pedigree, the aspirations, and the performances of the whole world. A The use and abuse of diaries. Now, to keep a diary may be a useful and noble enterprise, provided that the diarist possess both talent and discretion. But there is no reason why the simple reminiscences of an industrious public servant should be worth the paper they cover in the printing. Charles Greville cannot be quoted as a precedent. Whatever may be said in his dispraise does not impair the value of his work. Says the satirist : "For fifty years he listened at the door; He heard some secrets, and invented more." This may be true or it may be false. But two truths are indisputable. In the first place, Charles Greville wrote a book which is neither imbecile nor superfluous: there can be no doubt that his journals will serve the historian of the future more faithfully than the newspapers; and for all his love of gossip, he did not often stoop to record the frippish conversation of titled nobodies. In the second place, a just discretion persuaded him not to publish his work in his own lifetime, so that it first. came to us in the guise of memoirs, which already "tottered on the verge" of history. Therefore we may feel towards the Clerk of the Council a gratitude that is not disgraceful, for his book is a real book, and not a shapeless mass of undigested "copy." Unhappily the gentlemen who publish their diaries. to-day are less wisely inspired than the Greville of their contempt. They do not wait for the grave to close over them, before they make their candid confession. On the contrary, they realise the demand that has been created by the daily paper, and they hasten to supply it with what slender talent they can compass. In brief, they make themselves part and parcel of the prevailing eavesdropping. The journalist has been before them, of course; it is not his fault if all his readers are not informed that Lady Blank was seen driving yesterday in a hansom cab, or that Lord Dash has taken to a pair of white ducks and a grey hat. It is hardly credible that these pieces of information send whole districts mad with joy, whose inhabitants are never likely to see in the flesh either Lord Dash or Lady Blank. But the ideal of journalism, formulated years ago by its most daring professor, "an ear at every door, an eye at every keyhole," is so closely familiar to us that we long since docketed it among our inevitable disasters, with the influenza and the arm-chair administrator. Only we did not expect that men who by education and knowledge have a sound claim to intelligence, should emulate the profitable indiscretion of the news-sheet. Though, of course, we had no right to expect reticence in any man, we innocently defied probability, and our sanguine temper has been properly rewarded by the bitterest disappointment. A record of trivialities. The modern habit of confiding personal secrets to the vast mass of people which subscribes to a circulating library was first made fashionable by Sir Mountstuart Grant Duff, whose 'Notes' have already filled six portly volumes, and who doubtless has material up his sleeve for another twenty. Now, it may be said at once that Sir Mountstuart is neither very indiscreet nor very illuminating. His work is merely trivial and uninteresting. We gather from his pages that he has always cherished a wild desire to fasten his eyes upon "celebrities." It has not mattered a jot to him whether the "celebrities" were writers or politicians, actors or clergymen ; he liked to see them, and to breakfast with them, or to dine with them, or to chatter with them at the Athenæum. A pleasant whim, in truth, and no more dangerous to society than collecting postage-stamps or breeding Shire horses. But if it be tamely expressed in a vague record, it is appallingly dull. Turn the pages of his book where you will, and what do you find? "A large party at the |