of his eye had not made more sensation in the scientific world. With his desire for quiet and retirement, I always pitied his periodical appearances at the police court, made to get rid of those terrible annoyances, the street organs, which, I could quite fancy, to a mind painfully sensitive as his was, must have been nothing less than torture. I believe this torture was oftener inflicted upon him than upon others in the hope of a bribe to retire out of his hearing. He lived and died alone, and his machine is now never mentioned; but perhaps in years to come it may be brought to light and made use of under a new name, in a new form.

I

Of celebrities whom I have seen I may mention two-Baron Humboldt and Professor Faraday. Humboldt I saw one day with the late King of Prussia, slowly walking in the garden of one of the palaces at Potsdam. only knew then that the feeble bent old man was great in mind and had been all over the world; but the recollection of the passing look and appearance has never faded away in the least. Years which have taught me how wonderful was that mind, how unceasing the toil after fresh knowledge, have only imprinted more clearly the outline of the figure and the amiable expression of the features. Professor Faraday I saw and heard once, and any one who ever had the privilege of attending one of his lectures will understand how difficult it is to describe that peculiar fascination which he possessed, and its power of riveting the attention even if the subject were too deep a one for a young mind fully to enter into. I only felt that I should never tire of listening to him, and then to watch his hands taking up and putting together the subjects for the experiments, the neatness and clearness of movement, and the certainty one had that all would take place exactly as he had presupposed, was engrossing. As a lecturer, I im

agine he was quite unequalled, and his discoveries in science must forever make his name revered. But his life has been well drawn for us, and in reading it I was able to enter into the feelings of his admirers with more sympathy from having seen him in life. His face was full of brightness, set off perhaps by his very white hair, and the expression was one of kindness and benevolence. His manner was gentle and impressive, and his voice very clear. The Prince Consort was in the chair, and Faraday had no warmer admirer than the Prince. It was pleasant to see the cordial and friendly manner with which each regarded the other; the Prince recognizing the wonderful power and industry of the man of science, and Faraday respecting not the rank only of the president, but the intelligent fine mind of the younger inquirer after knowledge, desirous of attaining information which the veteran had fathomed; the one white-headed, the other hardly arrived at the prime of life, but both have now passed bebeyond all bounds of science.

During a happy residence at Freshwater many years ago it was our privilege to be admitted into the home circle at Farringford. Our acquaintance with its gifted owners began on March 10, 1863, the wedding day of the Prince and Princess of Wales. My husband, being then in command of the Royal Artillery in the Isle of Wight, had charge of the stores, etc., and a message came from Mr. Tennyson asking for the loan of flags for decoration. This was accompanied by an invitation to go up to Farringford at six o'clock, to a sort of high tea. I recollect on this occasion there were copies of "The Welcome" to the Princess lying about, and before we left he said, "Do you care for that?" I said, "Oh, yes," very gratefully, and those who know how seldom he wrote anything will understand how much I prize my copy of it

with my name in full-he especially insisted on the Christian name-"from A. T." in his own handwriting. After tea we went up to the Beacon on the Downs to see the bonfire which he had himself superintended. He led the way, a striking figure with his cloak flying in the wind. On my saying, "Good-bye, Mr. Tennyson," he replied, "Why do you say good-bye?" "Because we are going away," I said. "Oh, I thought you had only just come," meaning to the Isle of Wight. I explained my meaning, and then he said, "I always say 'Good day' myself, unless I am going away altogether." When I knew him better, I saw how careful he was to choose the most suitable word on every occasion, and I, too, tried in future to consider, before using any expression, if it was the most applicable one I could find.

Leading the secluded life which they did, I must always attribute our introduction to Mr. and Mrs. Tenuyson to that memorable 10th of March. But for it we might not have had the opportunity of getting into the charmed circle for months, if ever. During all our subsequent residence at Freshwater we were constantly invited to Farringford, where, besides the happy family party, we had the privilege of meeting many interesting people. With his intimate friends the poet would discourse on many subjects, and sometimes he would read aloud. I never heard him read any of his own poems, but he once read to us some of his brother's sonnets. It was a treat to listen to his voice, sometimes touching from pathos, sometimes full of power and vehemence. Those were evenings never to be forgotten! It was the custom, as many have remembered who have had the privilege to enjoy these evenings, to leave the dining-room when dinner was over and adjourn to the drawing-room, where the dessert and wine were set out. After dessert the

poet went to his study to smoke, inviting one or two gentlemen to accompany him. My husband always retained the proud remembrance that he had been the companion of Tennyson and Longfellow in that study.

We sometimes induced Mr. Tennyson to join us in a walk, and he would say, before consenting, "Where are you going? I won't go to the market place"meaning the tiny little bay where a few idlers congregated! His taste was for the fields and downs, and (not a romantic association!) I never now smell the smell of a turnip field without thinking of these never-to-be-forgotten rambles. Although so very short-sighted, he noticed flowers in the hedges which others passed by, and would sometimes stop and say, "What is that note?" and then name the bird from which it came. And I never felt afraid of asking a question; for he was always ready to impart knowledge if he saw you were interested. He was indeed wonderfully observant of nature, as his poems show, and would bring out quite naturally, and as it were by the way, beauties which we saw in our walks, and which others, less observant, would otherwise have passed by. His cloak and hat have been often described, and were well known apparently, for no sooner did strangers catch sight of them in the distance on the Downs than they would make for them, and this publicity was so unpleasant to him that we all had to fly in the opposite direction to the intruders!

I remember him one day talking of a poem he meant to write on a nightingale, which poem, however, never came to anything. A mutual friend often reminded him of it, and one day in particular I recollect her saying, "Now, Alfred, how about that nightingale?" "Oh, it's dead long ago!" he said with amused petulance.

After we left Freshwater we only saw the poet once, in London, where he

had taken a house for a short time. He and Mrs. Tennyson received us as kindly as ever. I had letters from Mrs. Tennyson occasionally which will ever be valued, but of late the present Lord Cornhill Magazine.

Tennyson answered my letters, his mother being too feeble to write.

Farringford and Freshwater will ever remain among the happiest memories of my life.

L. F.

The late "Peace" Conference-which ought to have been called the War Conference, since it was mainly occupied in arranging how future wars are to be carried on-has justified the unfavorable anticipations which were ventured in the pages of this Review and in other quarters. Most people who think seriously about public affairs are aware that it has been a failure, as it was expected to be by all but a few enthusiasts. But it is over now, and its obsequies have been celebrated by the European press with exemplary politeness. The august "initiator" meant so well, and so many distinguished soldiers, sailors, diplomatists, and professors worked so hard during those dusty days at the House in the Wood, that it would be unkind to point out too plainly how futile the efforts of these eminent personages have been. The majority of the delegates at the Conference seem to have been inspired by two leading ideas. In the first place, they wanted to reduce armaments; in the second, they wished to cut the claws of Great Britain, so far as that operation could be performed without inconvenience to themselves. But when it came to business, it was found that the form

1 The Conference considers that the limitation of the military charges at present weighing upon the world is greatly to be desired for the increase of the material and moral welfare of humanity." This is the sole refer

er project was a chimerical fantasy, which could not be discussed without absurdity by practical men. Consequently the "Limitation of Armaments," which was the nominal and ostensible cause of the whole expansive entertainment, was quietly shelved, and appears only in the "Final Act" as an innocuously pious generalization.1 As to the second-the unavowed, but very obvious, object of the proceedings -not much came of that either. This was largely owing to the ability and alertness of the British delegates, and in particular to Lord Pauncefote, Sir John Ardagh and Sir John Fisher, whose quickness of apprehension, adroit readiness and clearness of expression, were in conspicuous contrast to the woolly indefiniteness exhibited by the representatives of some other Powers.

The country owes these admirable public servants more than it appears inclined to acknowledge, both for what they did and for what they prevented others from doing. Knowing their facts thoroughly-which was more than could be said for certain of the distinguished amateurs commissioned to the Hague by various foreign governments ence to the subject in the Final Act, and it is not embodied either in the Conventions or the Declarations, but is merely one of the voeux or virtuous suggestions.

-they were able to veto several suggestions ingeniously devised to embarrass the greatest of the Maritime Powers; and they succeeded in convincing some of their most influential colleagues that the nail-paring operation, above referred to, could not be carried out so as to annoy and injure the British Lion exclusively. In the result, we emerge from the Huis ten Bosch not so very much worse than we entered that historic building. A little the worse we are. It is no advantage to us to have it placed solemnly on record that the weapon with which our troops are armed is too barbarous for employment in civilized warfare. The Conference adjourned with a testamentary recommendation that a fresh series of congresses should be summoned to discuss this and other matters, including the proposed inviolability of private property at sea. The last suggestion is distinctly awkward for us, since it raises a question we cannot afford to debate, and one on which, unhappily, we are compelled to take absolutely different views from those that prevail in the United States.

The great success of the Conference is supposed to be the Arbitration Convention. At present that agreement is in a highly inchoate condition, since it has not been accepted by several of the chief military and naval Powers represented at the Hague. However, we are, no doubt, entitled to assume that, in due course, some International Treaty, to which the more important civilized states will become parties, will be framed upon the lines of the Convention. This will be a praiseworthy proceeding, since it will be an official recognition of the principle that it is better to arrange disputes peaceably when possible. At the same time one feels inclined to ask, with Mrs. Gamp: "Who's a denigeing of it?" To listen to some of the talk that is current, one might think that it is quite a

brilliant new idea-a sort of political Happy Thought, that never struck anybody until it suddenly dawned upon the Hague Commissioners. In this spirit the British and Foreign Arbitration Association has addressed a memorial to the Czar, pointing out that his imperial majesty might dispense with the Russian Army and Navy, having no further use for such luxuries. "There is no doubt," says this philosophic body, "that now a method has been plainly pointed out of settling differences without war, the different governments, including," adds the Association rather neatly, "your Majesty's, must see the utter uselessness of keeping up enormous military establishments, which press so very heavily upon the industry and commerce of all civilized countries." But surely it is not the first time, or the five hundredth time, that "a method has been plainly pointed out of settling differences without war." There is no novelty in the text. The difficulty lies in the application. And with all respect to the "permanent"-but not compulsory-tribunal, which is to be set up, we are no nearer the universal use of the remedy than before. Nations will not be induced to abstain from war, because there is a secretary and an arbitration bureau, with an office in Brussels, or some other conveniently accessible capital.

The Conference showed by its actions, if not by its words, that it thoroughly agreed with certain opinions, which have been, from time to time, enunciated in these pages. It realized that the great armaments, so far from being a constant menace to peace, are, in fact, its best guarantee. Nothing is half so likely to convert nations to a belief in the sacred merits of Arbitration as the conviction that the other alternative is too ruinous to be attempted. There are times, in public and private life, when men will fight,

though they know that fighting is a mere blind tempting of fate. Maddened by passion, vanity, revenge, or an unendurable sense of wrong, nations may occasionally rush upon war, regardless of consequences. But this is rare, and is likely to become more infrequent still as the masses of the people acquire a greater share of political power, combined with increased material prosperity. As a rule governments count the consequences before proceeding to extremities; and the more costly war is made, the more national suffering and loss it involves, the larger the proportion of the civil population it touches, the less likely is it to be rashly adventured on. There is no argament in favor of arbitration and negotiation so forcible as a huge conscript army. In spite of the jealousies and the conflicting interests of the great European Powers, there has been no war among them for eight and twenty years, and it almost seems as if there never could be one again. The risks are too heavy for the nerves even of a Bismarck to face. Nations will not plunge into hostilities when they see that victory itself would involve something like industrial ruin and commercial collapse, owing to the withdrawal of practically the entire adult male population from the work of production. To Great Britain a war means, at the worst, only suffering and loss of life to some thousands of soldiers and sailors, a comparatively limited class who stand apart from the mass of their fellow-citizens. It comes home to the rest of us chiefly in the shape of some additional pennies on the income tax, which is not quite the same thing as requiring a son or brother from every second household in the country.

The great armies-and incidentally, it may be added, the great navies-will remain, for they are the best security against needless and hasty disturbance of the peace. The refusal of the Hague

delegates to touch the disarmament problem may be regarded as putting an end to the matter for many years to come. The age of "bloated armaments" is not yet over, nor is it nearing its conclusion. On the contrary, Europe, not to mention Asia and America, will continue to "groan" under the burden of military and naval establishments, until some decisive, and at present unforeseen, change occurs in international relations. Though we may confidently hope that wars will become more and more uncommon, warlike preparations will be pushed on with unceasing and unsleeping vigilance. Year after year the young men of most civilized nations will spend the first years of their manhood in being exercised to the use of arms, and will pass through life, and grow old, and die, without ever being called upon to draw a trigger against an enemy. The "contingent" of growing lads will come up to the colors, will pass two or three or five years in the barrack-room and on the parade-ground, and may yet never be required to practise the arts acquired with so much labor from the drill-sergeant and the musketry-instructor. No doubt there is something paradoxical and almost fantastic in this condition of affairs-this constant indefatigable preparaton against an emergency which is exceedingly unlikely to

occur.

The paradox has so forcibly struck M. de Bloch, the author of the famous work which is understood to have inspired the Czar to dictate the Muravieff Circular, that it has induced him to denounce not only all war, but also all warlike expenditure, as an anachronistic absurdity. War, he urges, between great nations, equipped with modern armies and modern resources, has become impossible. It would involve bankruptcy, suicide, starvation, not for one, but for both combatants. Two huge hosts of a couple of millions each,