was on the
threshold of his fame. He had written _The Holy Roman Empire_
which I knew well. He had been Regius Professor at Oxford, whose
shades he had not long before forsaken for politics. That he had a
special interest in and knowledge of America, the world did not know.
He apologised for turning me off briefly then, but "Come to dinner,"
said he, "at my house to-night in Bryanstone Square." I was prompt to
keep the appointment. A drizzle filtered through the night as the cab
arrived at the door, but there was a cheery light in the windows and
a warm welcome to the entering guest. There were three or four besides
myself; a young officer just home from the campaign in the Soudan, Dr.
Richter the authority in music and art, and the brother and sister of
the host. I felt it a high distinction that I handed out to dinner
the stately lady, the mother of my host. The conversation was general.
Bits of African experience from the young soldier, glimpses into
Richter's special fields, and a contribution or two from the
Mississippi Valley, from me. In the talk that followed the dinner Mr.
Bryce showed himself at home in German as much as in English, but what
surprised me most was his puzzling curiosity about minutiae of our own
politics. Why did the Mayor of Oshkosh on such and such dates veto
the propositions of the aldermen as to the gas supply? And why did the
supervisors of Pike County, Missouri, pass such and such ordinances as
regards the keeping of dogs? These, or similar questions were fired at
me rapidly, uttered with a keen attention as to my reply. I was quite
confused and lame on what was supposedly my own ground. How queer, I
thought, was the interest and the knowledge of this stranger. But in
a few months I felt better. _The American Commonwealth_ appeared,
revealing Bryce as a man who had set foot in almost our every State
and Territory, and who had an intimacy with America such as no
American even possessed.

I am speaking here of historians, but may appropriately give a
little space to an account of that wonderful acre or two of ground
at Westminster, where for so many centuries the history of the
English-speaking race has been to such an extent focused.

In looking up Young Sir Henry Vane, it seemed fitting to have some
knowledge of Parliament, and I welcomed the chance when, on the 19th
of August, 1886, Parliament convened. It was a time of agitation. At
the election just previous the Liberals, with Glads