Election, he is absolutely powerless to prevent the rejection of any and every Bill in which his wishes are embodied. n other words, while the General Elector is mocked with a semblance of power, the real sceptre is held in permanence by the House of Lords, whose four hundred members appeal to no constituency, but sit by virtue of hereditary privilege and right of birth, with a perpetual mandate to veto any and every scheme submitted by the House of Commons which they do not like, and which is not literally forced upon them by overwhelming popular pressure. The Grand Elector, therefore, while he can make a Liberal statesman a prime minister, and can pass one bill, if he is very angry and has expressed his opinion with emphasis when appeal was made to him upon that specific question, has no more power beyond this. Our so-called democracy is really a vast oligarchy, and until there is radical alteration in the position and power of the House of Lords, every general election is more or less of a solemn farce. Of course when the majority is Conservative it does not matter, for then the two Houses are in accord; but how much longer the General Elector will consent to be ruled in permanence by the Conservatives, whose majority in the House of Lords is as overwhelming as it is unchangeable, remains to be seen. But that such an arrangement should continue to exist seventy years after the Reform Bill is a striking proof of the ease with which a democracy can be cheated out of the substance of power if it is allowed to play with the bauble of the semblance of things.

It

There is one very remarkable thing concerning the General Elector at this General Election, and that is that he has been left entirely without any spiritual or religious guidance. At the election of 1892 the heads of all the Churches combined to give advice to the electors as to how they should exercise their functions, especially in the selection of candidates of high moral character. might have been thought that if there was anything in the theory of the responsibilities of the Church to the State, when the supreme appeal is made to the electors to decide a vast number of questions of the first religious and moral importance, our spiritual masters and pastors would at least have thought fit to remind the laity of some considerations which in the heat and strife of the election are too often forgotten. It would, for instance, be a distinct gain if the Archbishop of Canterbury and Cardinal Vaughan, and the President of the Free Church Federation, and the Jewish Rabbi, would combine to issue a manifesto addressed to the candidates reminding them that the command "Thou shall not bear false witness against thy neighbour," is not repealed during election times, and at the same time they might remind electors that "Thou shall not kill" still stands in the decalogue, nor can it be pleaded in justification of its breach that the killing is profitable for national prestige, for the acquisition of new markets, or even for the stealing of gold mines. It is not my purpose, however, so much to point out what our spiritual guides should tell us as to comment as a humble layman upon the extraordinary fact that when the nation is in the valley of decision it has received absolutely no guidance one way or the other from those whose profession it is to interpret the law of God to man.

So far, have dealt with the great question which is supposed to be submitted to the adjudication of the general elector. It would, however, be an immense mistake to think that it is with reference to these leading issues that the majority of the electors cast their votes. A multitude of by-issues, some local, some sectional, combine to obscure the judgment and to render

it impossible to regard every vote as the serious judgmen pronounced upon the question of the day. Of all these by-issues there are two which cast all others into the shade. The first is spirituous, the second is spiritual. The private circular which was issued to the electors of Battersea on behalf of the trade, sums up in a sentence the logic of Boniface and the brewer. It runs thus: "Do not vote for John Burns. He is your greatest enemy. He always votes against you, lock, stock and barrel. Now is your chance to vote against him." This appeal addressed to the publicans of Battersea probably affected more votes than all the denunciations which the patriots have levelled against what they are pleased to call the proBoer or unpatriotic attitude of Mr. Burns. That which is done in Battersea was done everywhere else. The trade constitutes a standing army always mobilised and always ready to take the field. The only other class interes: which can be compared to it is that of the clergy of the Established Church. They are, as a rule, as ready to subordinate the interests of the nation to the interests of their sect as the publican is to subordinate the welfare of the Empire to that of the tap-room.

This leads me by natural transition to speak of another issue which is peculiar to this election, the electoral effect of which is somewhat difficult as yet to estimate, and that is the determined effort that has been made by the strong Protestant party to exact from all candidates a pledge that they will to the best of their ability support the movement for harrying the Ritualists out of the Church. They have raised a large sum of money for the circulation of millions of leaflets, and they have in some instances succeeded in compelling the retirement of candidates who were not sound according to the standard of Mr. Kensit. Secular persons must marvel that good men should attach more importance to the number of candles that should be lit in daytime in the church than to the question whether or not we have done the will the Prince of Peace in setting the torch to innumerable Boer homesteads, merely because they happened to stand within ten miles radius of a spot where a perfectly legitimate act of war was committed.

All these questions, however, are questions of detail. The election is really a plebiscite, and a plebiscite of the most dangerous kind. The real issue and almost the only issue upon which the General Elector is allowed to have a vote, is whether he is for or against Mr. Chamberlain. It is a vote not so much for or against this or that principle, but for or against a particular man, who although not a soldier, appeals to the constituency; he is the author of a war which, however humiliating it may have been in its incidents, terminated in the destruction of our enemy. From this to the appeal of a successful soldier for a popular vote, enabling him to govern the country as he pleases, there is not a very great step. The Government is avowedly appealing for support on the strength of the victories of Lord Roberts. It is obvious that if Lord Roberts himself were a candidate, Mr. Chamberlain's claims for support on military grounds would have to take a very far back seat. So long as our army constitutes an infinitesimal part of the population, and that by no means the most influential, the danger which constantly haunts the minds of the French Republicans will not be very real in this country: but we are on the inclined plane which leads with fatal descent to military dictatorship, and when that day comes the Tsardom of the General Elector will disappear. He will be a General Elector no longer. Having installed his successor in the shape of the successful soldier he will be relegated to limbo.

As

He

S announced in the last issue of the Magazine the latest number of our Masterpiece Portfolio is devoted to a series of well-known pictures of female beauty by English and French portrait painters. And this No. 4 seems to be no less appreciated than those which preceded it. Letters received every day from all classes of the community, and from all parts of the world, testify to the interest with which the pictures are received, and not less to the infinite variety of ways in which the artistic reproductions are made to bring pleasure into the home and the school, the hospital and the workhouse. Here, for example, is a letter in which a lady says: "I have taken all the portfolios up to the present date to my husband who is in a hospital, and will be there for some months to come. is a retired General and a lover of art, and these pictures give the greatest pleasure to him; he looks forward to his 'little picture gallery,' and I shall continue to take them as the numbers come out, for they are excellent." The next letter is from a country clergyman, who is so pleased that he orders No. I and No. 3 by the hundred, to be used as school prizes. We shall be glad to encourage others to follow this excellent example by quoting special terms for large quantities when they are to be given away as school prizes. No better method could be adopted to implant a love of the beautiful in the minds of young people.

One' great

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twelve reproductions of paintings of beautiful women by famous painters, viz. "Head of a Girl, with Scarf," Greuze; "The Artist and her Daughter," Madame Lebrun; Madame Mola Raymond," Madame Lebrun: "Portrait of Mrs. Siddons," Gainsborough; "The Hon. Mrs. Graham," Gainsborough; "The Broken Pitcher," Greuze ; "Portrait of the Countess of Oxford," Hoppner; "The Countess of Blessington," Lawrence; Lady Hamilton as Spinstress," Romney; "Portrait of Madame Recamier," David; "The Duchess of Devonshire," Gainsborough and Mrs. Braddyll," Reynolds. As long as England has had any art to speak of, the Fortrait painter has flourished here; and it will be seen that such masters in the art of portrait painting as Reynolds, Gainsborough, Romney, Laurence and Hoppner, are all represented in this shilling folio, to say nothing of French artists like Greuze, and David and Madame Le Brun.

purpose of picture study is that of opening the eyes to beauty about us, which an artist's trained eye perceives while it is missed by others; and many a boy and girl after seeing, say, Rembrandt's love for beautiful contrasts of light and shade, will all the rest of their lives notice and enjoy more of the exquisite effects of light and shade in even the most commonplace surroundings.

Our No. 4 Portfolio will be much in request for the sake of the very pretty collotype picture of the Princess of Wales, permission to publish which was very kindly given by the artist, Mr. Hughes. The accompanying illustration will show the composition of the painting. Besides this attractive portrait, however, the folio contains

The Animal Portfolio (No.3) has, naturally enough, become a favourite among school teachers, whilst among the general public it is eagerly sought after if for no other reason than thisthat it is the only way by which so perfect a reproduction of Sir Joshua Reynolds' picture in the National Gallery, "The Cherub Choir," can be obtained for a shilling. Our plate is 16 in. by 131⁄2 in. (without a margin), and when framed in a flat green or brown moulding with a bevelled gilt slip close up to the edge of the print, the picture will delight even the most critically artistic purchaser. It is very curious, however, to note the steady persistency with which the No. 1 Portfolio, with BurneJones's "Golden Stairs," still keeps its place beyond all doubt as prime favourite. Apropos of this we have an interesting and helpful communication from Mr. Hy. T. Bailey, State Agent for the Promotion of Industrial Drawing in Massachusetts, who says, "Do you care for an American appreciation of your Masterpiece Portfolios? If so, then let me begin by saying that your 'Golden Stairs is by far the best reproduction of that masterpiece which I have ever scen."

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LETTER FROM MISS

T is ten years ago since I first had the pleasure and privilege of making the acquaintance of Miss Elizabeth Robins. I remember it as if it were yesterday. It was in the summer of 1890.. I had just brought out my book on Ober-Ammergau, when a card was brought in to me with the message that its owner wished to see me for a minute. Not having the least idea as to who she was, I told them to send her in, and the next moment found me face to face with Miss Robins. As I do not go to theatres, I apologised for not recognising her as the famous Ibsenite actress, who had virtually created the rôle of Hedda Gabler on the English stage. The remark diverted her from her original purpose, which had been merely to ask for an introduction to somebody at OberAmmergau who would enable her to study the mounting of the Passion Play from the point of view of the stage manager. This, however, immediately dropped into the background, and I found myself once more in the presence of a categorical imperative in petticoats. My first experience of the kind was when I met Olive Schreiner fifteen years ago, since which time I had not met as charming a representative of a prophetess with a message. Olive Schreiner's message those who know her can divine. Miss Robins's was of a different nature, but it was delivered with no less decision and earnestness, which was charming to behold. Her theme was the wickedness of boycotting the theatre, upon which she preached so fervent a sermon, so full of personal application and striking illustration, that it almost sent me to the penitent form. I fear that I was but imperfectly converted, for I have not yet paid my maiden visit to the theatre, not even to see Hedda Gabler on the boards; but from that day to this I have been proud to count Miss Elizabeth Robins as one of my best friends.

One can imagine then with what dismay it was that I heard at the beginning of this year that the idea had been borne in upon her mind, or in some way or other had come to encompass her whole being, that she must set forth all alone to the uttermost parts of the earth, in order to see a beloved relative who she feared was sick. Klondike is out of the world, but Cape Nome is even more far removed from civilisation; but it was to Cape Nome of all places in the world, that new Eldorado within the Arctic Circle, that she must fare forth to seek her kinsman. From the first I saw it was no use to endeavour to dissuade her, for with such natures to hear is to obey the inward call. So as soon as the ice broke, in the early spring months of this year, Miss Robins took her passage on one of the first steamers to Cape Nome, and there she spent some eventful months this summer. Her descriptions of life in Cape Nome, in the strange newly improvised city that has sprung up more than half-way to the North Pole will, I hope, appear shortly in some newspaper or magazine, and will, I suppose, afterwards reappear in a book of travel which ought to be one of the successes of the publishing season, for Miss Robins is not only a delightful friend and, I understand, a most gifted actress, but she is also a writer of very considerable literary powers, combining grace of style, originality of thought, and the limitless audacity of the seeress. I was accumulating her letters until they were sufficient to permit of consecutive and rapid publication, when I was grieved by a telegram announcing that on her way home Miss Robins had been stricken down with typhoid fever,

ELIZABETH ROBINS.

and was in the hospital at Seattle. There she lay for some weeks, fortunately in good hands, and the other day I had a welcome telegram to the effect that her health was almost restored and she hoped soon to be able to leave the hospital. All being well, her many friends may expect to welcome her back to London before many weeks are over, when it is to be hoped we shall find her none the worse for her adventures in the Arctic Seas.

Among her other contributions-a little heap of which is now lying before me, pending choice of a fitting channel for publication-she sent me on July 16th a letter describing the foundation of the very latest of these Arctic gold towns which are springing up like mushrooms in the frozen North. It is curious that whereas the digging of gold has hitherto been chiefly carried on under torrid skies-under the blazing sun of Australia, Africa and California-all the more recent gold finds have taken place in the region of eternal frosts. But without more introduction, I print Miss Robins' letter :

GRANTLEY HARBOUR, OR NEW Town,
PORT CLARENCE DISTRICT, ALASKA.
July 15th, 1900.

I have to-day been present at the birth of a new camp -a future city. Twenty-four hours ago this bit of gravelly shore between Port Clarence and Grantley Harbour (about seventy-five miles north-west from Nome) was, like all the surrounding country, the home and hunting-ground of a few scattered Esquimaux.

But there were rumours afloat in Nome and other camps of a new strike up in the region of the Kougerok River, and of good prospects in the neighbouring creeks and gulches.

Yesterday some English and Americans landed on this point, and to-day in my presence a town was staked out and called-temporarily--Grantley Harbour, after the fine body of water it looks out on to the north-east. Whether the name of this town, like that of Nome (which started out as Anvil City), will later be changed-at_all events the site which white men tramped over to-day, surveying, shaping into streets, blocks, lots, purposing settlement and civil government here for the first time since the creation of the world-this fine dry tongue of land between the two great harbours which yesterday morning was the haunt of ptarmigan, wild geese, and a handful of the vanishing race of Esquimaux, is to-night the town of Grantley Harbour echoing with the sound of English speech, and dotted with the tents of AngloSaxondom. Already it has elected a Mayor and sundry officials. It has a public spirit, as exemplified in the indignation expressed against the missionaries for letting the sick natives die like sheep, giving them tracts and Bibles instead of the sorely needed food and medicine. Let it be recorded to the credit of Grantley Harbour that before men staked their lots they found time to show humanity to the Esquimaux, among whom the prevalent epidemic, a kind of pneumonia, is raging.

Looked at on a glorious July day, there are few townsites equal to this. Imagine a great land-locked harbour to the south and west (Port Clarence Bay), and, stretching inland through a strait, another body of water, widening out to the north and east of the new town, which thus commands the water system draining that

whole vast section of Alaska by way of the Kougerok, the Noxapaga, the Agiopuk and other great rivers, and the lakes (really inland seas) Emuruk and Cowyinik, and other waters in the regions north and east, which upon the newest maps are marked "unexplored." Men stood to-day upon the tongue of land commanding this terra incognita, that held no human soul knew what-but commanding, too, by the great Port of Clarence, the highway to the riches of the South. And the men establishing that new outpost, water-washed north, east, and west, said, "This town will hold the key."

What the future and the energy of our race combined will bring about up there, it is no concern of mine to prophesy. What I saw was perhaps more beautiful than the things that are to be. A pebbly strand sloping sharply down from a natural flower-garden, luxuriant grass, starred with anemones and bluebells, and flowers I had no name for, but whose faces I had seen on far-off Southern hillsides and in English meadows. Here and there on the landward side, standing out sharp against the glorious evening light, were the high perched Indian graves-bodies bound up in blankets and lashed with seal and reindeer thongs to the rude driftwood platforms, raised from eight to twelve feet above the ground.

Below, on the Point, the half-dozen stained and tattered Esquimaux tents were hung about with fishingnets, skin boats, poniaks, and weather-worn rags of every description. Kyaks are lying near, and sleds, andfastened high up out of reach of dogs--clusters of what I took at first for game, but they were bunches of dried fish, the stiff, black shapes like dead birds' outspread wings silhouetted against the light.

Above the picturesque grime of the little Esquimaux group the tents of Anglo-Saxondom shine white and clean. Driftwood fires are burning before them, and sunburnt, sturdy men are preparing supper. The coffee smells very fragrant as we pass. A youth of Scandinavian aspect is drawing a pan of well-browned bread out of the one Yukon stove in the camp. We had meant to stay at the settlement of Port Clarence, where there would have been no difficulty in finding a Road House (rude pioneer lodging and eating-house); and here we were in a place not yet set down on the most of timistic map-a "town" that a few hours ago had no existence and we without camp outfit (only biscuits and oranges), at five o'clock in the evening. There seemed nothing for it but to hire a boat and return ignominiously to the abominable little cockleshell we had just left (the Elk), or go cut to one of the bigger vessels that dotted Port Clarence Bay and beg to be taken on board. But, hungry as we were, we remembered the dirt and the execrable food one finds on all these coasting steamers, and here was clean dry land, very unlike the soaking Nome tundra, and here were bright camp fires-and oh, the coffee must surely be the very best ever brewed by mortal man!

We asked a competent-looking person, who seemed to be in charge of things, if we could get a tent for the night. Our interlocutor turned out to be an Englishman representing a British syndicate. After a very slight parley, he pointed to a brand new A-tent lying flat on its poles a few feet from where we stood. That is quite at your service," he said; and a couple of blankets in a corner of one of the other tents was offered to my escort. He made acknowledgment, and began to pull out the tent poles preparatory to "putting up." "You needn't

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