478 



The Review of Reviews. 



Certainly he did not mind a hit. We were both young. 

 We were both — despite the greatest possible differences 

 of temperament and training — cordially agreed on 

 certain great lines of policy. We were both enthusiasts 

 about the Race and the Empire. We were both shed- 

 ding very fast the old tradition of the laissez jaire 

 school, and believed in the power and duty of the 

 State to take vigorous action for the improvement of 

 the conditions of life among the mass of the people. 

 Indeed, if there were differences between us — and the 

 differences were great — we were, in fact, constantly 

 fighting — they were not differences of aim or of policy. 

 It was on questions of tactics, method, manner of 

 presentation, style, that we were continually at 

 friendly loggerheads. Your father, who had a very 

 just contempt for my powers as a journalist, used, 

 nevertheless, to affirm that I was tnvaluable to him as 

 an element in the domestic life of his paper. I had, 

 as he was fond of saying in a spirit of friendly raillery, 

 " the University tip," though I greatly doubt whether 

 the presence of any " academic " influence behind the 

 scenes was ever apparent to our readers. The theory, 

 a very favourite one of his, that he trusted to me to 

 keep him within bounds, was simply a joke. We did, 

 indeed, discuss everything together with the greatest 

 freedom. But it invariably ended in his saying just 

 what he always meant to say in just his own very 

 emphatic language. It was all I could do, and that 

 only once in a blue moon, to obtain, as a sacrifice 

 to friendship, the omission of some superfluous 

 superlative. 



The real truth was that he loved to develop his ideas 

 dialectically, in discussion with someone personally 

 congenial to him, but whose habit of mind was as dis- 

 similar as possible to his own. How well I remember 

 these dail\' conflicts. They were among the most vivid 

 experiences of my life. It is impossible to give any idea 

 of the force, the copiousness, the dexterity, the intel- 

 lectual nimbleness, the range of readily available 

 knowledge, the aptness of illustration, with which he 

 would defend even the most extravagant and para- 

 doxical proposition. His instinct led him to provoke 

 criticism, for it was only in reply to criticism that he 

 could bring all his own forces into the field, and 

 certainly no man less resented criticism or took a 

 more keen delight in argumentative encounter. He 

 would go on debating, with the printers screaming 

 for " copy," till he sometimes left himself less than 

 half an hour to write or dictate a leading article ; then 

 he would dash it off at top-speed, and embody in it, 

 with astonishing facility, the whole ^ist and essence of 

 the preceding discussion. 



It has been my good fortune in life to be brouf-.li 

 into contact with an exceptional number of n:eii 

 of great and diverse ability. Among them all 

 cannot recall one who was anything like his equal u 

 vitality. It is quite superfluous to dwell on his gifts a: 

 a writer ; but his conversation was far more brillian 

 and stimulating than the best of his writing. I doii 

 suppose any editor was ever so beloved b)' his staff 

 from the first lieutenant down to the office-boy." It wa! 

 such fun to work with him. The tremendous " drive,' 

 the endless surprises, the red-hot pace at which every 

 thing was carried on, were rendered not only tolerabk 

 but delightful by his never-failing geniality and b) 

 that glorious gift of humour, not always apparen 

 in his writing, which made him so fascinating 

 a companion. His sympathy, his generosity, hi; 

 kindliness were lavished on all who came withir 

 his reach. 



Last but not least, he was endowed with courayj 

 physical and moral, in as great a measure as any mar 

 I have ever known. Indeed, if Nature had gifted hiir 

 with judgment in anything like proportion to his othei 

 qualities of mind and character, he would have beer 

 in those days simply irresistible. It was the lack o; 

 balance — at least so it always seemed to me — whict 

 was his Achilles' heel. 



One other side of his rich and varied nature, stil 

 very fresh in my memory, it is now a peculiar pleasure 

 to recall. At the lime of which I am speaking I waii 

 a frequent visitor at his house' at Wimbledon, anc 

 spent many happy hours in the midst of a family lifCi 

 as simple, as unconventional, and as joyous as it has 

 ever been my lot to witness. No man turned mon 

 easily from work to play, no children ever had a mor 

 genial playfellow in their father. Boy Scouts were nol 

 invented in those days ; if they had been, he woult 

 have made a prince of Scout-masters. For he had eye; 

 for everything, and was interested in everything — anc 

 everybody. He was one of those men who could make 

 a joke or a story out of the smallest incidents of daih 

 life. As a journalist, as a public man, he made many 

 enemies, and, to speak frankly, he deserved to make 

 them. For he was a ruthless fighter, always believing 

 himself to be " on the side of the angels," and regard- 

 ing all weapons as fair to use against the Powers ol 

 Darkness— ;.e., the other side. But it is difficult for rat 

 to believe that he can ever have made an enemy in 

 jirivate life. Looking back to those far-off days o 

 our intimate companionship, I cannot rememlicr om 

 human being— man, woman, or child— witiiin the 

 circle of his radiant personality, who did not reg.iid 

 him as a friend. 



