a grievous burden to the Palace, and to the silken minions who thronged its halls. The ingenious Theodore accordingly made haste to drop the subject and efface from the mind of the gallant Warden the impression he had sought to instil into it. And as they had now reached the shore, the whole attention of the party was occupied in placing the young Cæsar in safety and in comfort on his luxurious barge.

The task was rapidly and skilfully accomplished under the masterly care of the Lord Warden, and soon the Imperial barge was being swiftly oared across the two or three miles of sea which divided the Palace from the Asian shore. The young Basileus lay peacefully on purple cushions beneath a rich awning of silk, tended by his bodyservant, who from time to time moistened his lips with sorbets and cordials, whilst the keen glances of Basil watched over his charge as he directed the course of the boat. Both he and the Chamberlain seemed lost in thought, though the nature of their meditations was somewhat unlike.

The sun had now risen in a dazzling May morning, and was bathing in its light that most glorious of all earth's landscapes. As they rounded the Headland of Keras, that we now call Seraglio Point, the barge was in the centre of that scene which the ancient and the modern world has agreed to be the most imposing and most beautiful that Europe and Asia can show. The profusion of form and colour is, indeed, quite dazzling to those to whom it is unfamiliar. Bays, gulfs, creeks, and seas were stretched in endless vistas on every side, the gentle rippling of those azure waters glancing with joy in the morning sun. Out of the waters, from point to point, there rose terraces, gardens, towers, palaces, and churches, radiant in marble and gold, thickly strewn with groves of beech, acacia, arbutus, and cypress; dotted about with fruit trees, now in their snowy blossom. Northwards the grand "river" of the Bosphorus swept slowly down in the majestic tide of its blue stream: stately cliffs and wooded crags rising on either side of the strait, and these were clothed with countless towers, villas, monasteries, and temples.

On their right the Golden Horn ran up far into the land. This branch of the sea was crowded with every kind of floating ship— dromons, or warships of the State, with their brazen beaks, banks of long oars, and high masts fitted to hurl the shells of Greek fire;—the bright-sailed merchant vessels from West and East: from Amalphi, Venice, Durrachium, Bari, Naupactus, Cherson, the Egean, the Propontis, Smyrna, and Rhodes. Thousands of busy crafts were moored in the great harbour, whilst light caiques and skiffs scudded across the narrow seas. In front of the returning barge rose the tremendous ramparts, towers, and gates of New Rome, encircling the vast city with that massive range of fortifications which for eight centuries flung back the most valiant assailants, whether from the North or from the East-those fortifications of which the pathetic ruins and remnants to-day are the most majestic memorial of its forces which the ancient world has left to us.

And behind those miles and miles of wall, battlement, tower, and gate the Seven Hills of New Rome rose into the morning sky, one after the other in picturesque confusion of terrace, dome, tower, cloister, and palace: all bowered in groves of flowering shrubs and avenues of acacia and tall dark cypress. And all around this vast and variegated pile this, the central city of the world, as all who saw it felt it to be, whether they were Latin or Greek, Russ or African, Christian or Moslem, philosopher or barbarian-there mounted up into the blue welkin countless ranges of wooded hills, crags, headlands, and far-off mountain outlines, softly folded in pencilled lines and mists of white haze. Southwards, the eye ranged across the Propontis, that immense inland lake girt with smiling bays, inlets, and cliffs, with the nine islands we now call the "Princes Isles," each clothed with villas, convents, gardens, and forests. And, far beyond, across the sea and hill, rose dazzling white in the morning sun, in long broken ranges of snow, that glorious Bithynian Olympus which ever looks down over the Imperial City like the heavenly throne of its Guardian God.

(To be continued.)

CORRESPONDENCE.

To the Editor of THE FORTNIghtly Review.

THE COMING IRELAND.

SIR, In the August number of the FORTNIGHTLY REVIEW there appears an article on "The Coming Ireland" by Mr. Justin McCarthy which is eminently characteristic of his nationality. He draws a pleasing picture of an era of peace and prosperity which is about to dawn on the distressful country in consequence (one infers) of the passing of the Irish Land Bill, but what is so truly Irish is that throughout the article there is not one word of gratitude to England for the boon she has conferred or the money she is about to spend in order that this millennium may be brought about. Neither is there a word of appreciation of the strenuous and successful efforts made by the Chief Secretary to reconcile conflicting interests in Ireland and to convince Englishmen that, in allowing the Bill to become law, their generosity will not be misinterpreted. Mr. McCarthy at the close of his article waxes eloquent over the "passionate, hopeful, prayerful song" of Mangan's "Dark Rosaleen," and quotes an eminent English statesman who had once said that if he had his way he would never agree to the appointment of any man to be Chief Secretary for Ireland who could not satisfy him that he thoroughly understood the meaning of "Dark Rosaleen." Surely, Mr. Wyndham, who enjoys the advantage of being descended from an Irish patriot, and whose attitude towards Ireland is so singularly sympathetic, should be considered as having attained that ideal, but of course one cannot expect a graceful tribute to be rendered by an Irishman to any member of a British Government.

There is also a delicious attempt made in the course of the article to prove the fitness of Irishmen to manage their own affairs, and to show that at the recent conference the lion and the lamb lay down together and did not fight like Kilkenny cats. To quote Mr. McCarthy, "Now, we have already come to a time when Ulster and Munster, Leinster and Connaught, the landlords and tenants alike are in full and happy agreement on the one great social and industrial question most closely concerning the welfare of the nation." This is very satisfactory, but the reason is somewhat obvious, was there not a splendid prospect for all classes of getting millions of English money lavished upon them if they could only agree to a temporary patching up of their differences? Far be it for a mere Saxon to doubt that this happy state of things will last, but, we shall see! It is said that the Bill which has just been passed will have the effect of largely increasing the number of peasant proprietors in Ireland, and to justify the desirability of this state of things we are told the oft-repeated tale of how in pre-historic times the land was divided among the clans, each chief of a clan distributing the land over which he was lord to his followers, to be held by them as their own possession and patrimony. This was surely the case also in

Scotland, but Scotland, like England, has long since adapted herself to modern progress, and recognises the fact that peasant proprietors cannot possibly develop the land as it should be developed if it is to pay at all, and finds that it is more satisfactory for the small farmer to rent his farm from a landlord with capital at his disposal, who bears the expense of erecting buildings, undertakes repairs and improvements, and who, for a small yearly rent, takes most of the risks and in the event of the failure of the tenant is liable to have a farm left on his hands to re-stock and manage as best he may.

It is true that the crofters of Skye manage their land on somewhat similar lines to the Irish ideal, but a cursory glimpse of their utter poverty and misery will convince any one that on the whole their system is hardly satisfactory. One reason which contributes to the comparatively greater prosperity of English country districts over the Irish is the greater facilities for sport, and stricter preserving of game and foxes. This would be impossible in a land divided among small peasant landowners. How much money does hunting, shooting and fishing bring into a district which would otherwise be depopulated and poverty-stricken if it depended on agriculture alone; but of course coverts must be preserved, comfortable hunting boxes built, poaching and vulpicide must be put down with a strong hand, and landlord and tenant and all classes must work together in a friendly way if the country is to be made attractive from a sporting point of view, and the well-to-do sportsmen induced to take houses and shooting, and to spend their money freely in the country, buying horses, forage, etc., and giving employment to thousands of people who would otherwise have to leave the land. An Irishman once told me how unpopular a certain Englishman had made himself in a place which he had rented in the South of Ireland by employing English keepers. When I inquired his reason for doing so, it appeared that the former Irish keepers were on such good terms with the poachers that they shot the game themselves and handed it over to the poachers to save the latter the trouble. Of course, under this state of things it is hardly encouraging to take a place for shooting purposes in Ireland. Perhaps some day the Nationalists will recognise the fact that by abetting poachers and making it impossible for landlords to preserve game, they are killing the goose with the golden egg.

In the first part of Mr. McCarthy's article there is a playful sugges tion that an American Trust might be formed for the purpose of keeping Ireland in a state of primitive loveliness for the enjoyment of the American tourist. It is to be hoped that, should this programme be fulfilled, it will include French hotel keepers and cooks, and German waiters, who may introduce some degree of comfort and cleanliness in the at present impossible inns of the country.

It is the fashion of the Irish to talk as if they were in a state of bondage to England, and that she alone prevented their development and prosperity. It is difficult to see how this is borne out by facts. I happened to stay in an Irish town some three years ago, which certainly enjoyed a greater measure of parochial liberty as regards non-interference of the local gentry than would be the case in England, for the Nationalists reigned supreme and administered local affairs as they chose. The chief result of their government was that every second house in that town was a public house disguised as a shop on the side which faced the street, and the dirt and squalor of the town defies description. Money there was and to spare, but it apparently all went in drink, and any scheme for the improvement

of the place was not thought of. This was surely not the fault of England.

England does help Ireland in many ways though her efforts meet with scant acknowledgment. The development of Irish tweeds, lace and other textile and artistic productions has been greatly stimulated under the direction of the great ladies of the land, many of whom are Englishwomen, and it is largely owing to the influence of their good taste and untiring energy that the Irish have of late years been able to produce things of beauty. These ladies take infinite trouble to advertise these industries and organise sales every year in London which must be extremely profitable to Ireland. There are also numbers of Irish shops at present in London, and there is a growing trade in Irish tweeds, Irish lace, Irish linen, and Irish embroidery, which the patriotic Englishwoman buys, hoping that she is thereby doing good to the Emerald Isle, although truth compels me to say that if she chose to buy these things from France she would get something finer in quality and more artistic in design. Still, however, the same old refrain goes on about England the Oppressor, and never a word of thanks. It is almost time that we should hear somewhat less about injustice to Ireland, and more about justice to England.

Yours faithfully,

LILIAS BATHURST.

MR. WELLS AND THE ILLITERATE MEDICAL MAN.

SIR, In the concluding chapter of Mr. Wells' article upon “Mankind in the Making," which appears in your current issue, the following astonishing statements occur (page 537): "The medical man sees nothing beyond his profession, he misunderstands the artist, the divine, and the engineer. The engineer hates and despises the politician, the lawyer misses the aims of the medical man, the artist lives angrily in a stuffy little corner of pure technique, the classical schoolmaster understands and respects nobody, and the public schoolboy dwells within the limits of a cheap peerage, sport, and his esprit de corps; none of them read any general literature at all except perhaps a newspaper. Each thinks parochially in his own limits, and, except for his speciality, is an illiterate man." Were it not that these assertions are endowed with the authority which necessarily attaches to everything appearing in the FORTNIGHTLY REVIEW, they would attract no notice, as I am well aware that some writers do not hesitate to allow themselves the fullest license in dealing with facts if it appears likely to be advantageous to the object they have in view. Surely, however, statements like the above, when deliberately made through such a medium, should be within a measurable distance of accuracy, and should not be, as is the case with some of these, so grossly devoid of truth as to amount to nothing less than a common libel upon the persons to whom they refer. If Mr. Wells has any true knowledge of the medical profession, to which it is my privilege to belong, he must be aware that, although a certain number of its members are so hardly worked and so poorly paid that their opportunities for acquiring extra-professional interests are practically nil, the majority of medical men are by no means the narrow-viewed and illiterate people which he chooses to think they are, and that their acquaintance with contemporary and other literature, their