the world; has written miles of French memorandums; has sung serenades
in Italian; and, if he were not so confoundedly lazy, would probably
speak more languages than any man in Parliament. But yet he cannot
pronounce either a final "g" or allow a word to end in a vowel without
adding the ignoble, superfluous, and utterly brutal "er." When he wishes
to confound Mr. Gladstone, he assaults about "Ugand_er_"; when the
concerns of our great Eastern dependency move him to interest, he asks
about "Indi_er_"; and he speaks of the primordial accomplishments of man
as "readin'" and "writin'."

[Sidenote: Sir Edward Grey.]

Ugand_er_ gave Sir Edward Grey his first opportunity of speaking in his
new capacity of Under-Secretary for Foreign Affairs. There are some men
in the House of Commons whose profession is written in the legible
language of nature on every line of their faces. You could never,
looking at Mr. Haldane, for instance, be in doubt that he was an Equity
barrister, with a leaning towards the study of German philosophy and a
human kindliness, dominated by a reflective system of economics. Mr.
Carson--the late Solicitor-General for Ireland, and Mr. Balfour's chief
champion in the Coercion Courts--with a long hatchet face, a sallow
complexion, high cheek-bones, cavernous cheeks and eyes--is the living
type of the sleuth-hound whose pursuit of the enemy of a Foreign
Government makes the dock the antechamber to the prison or the gallows.
Sir Edward Grey, with his thin face, prominent Roman nose,
extraordinarily calm expression, and pleasant, almost beautiful, voice,
shows that the blood of legislators flows in his veins; he might stand
for the highest type of the young English official. He has not spoken
often in the House of Commons--not often enough; but he is known on the
platform and at the Eighty Club. He has the perfect Parliamentary style,