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emaciated figure representing a full-sized corpse stretched upon a winding-sheet or shroud. This figure—a crusader of the fifteenth century-was found buried in the churchyard in 1833, and the church has many similar effigies to those we have mentioned, indicating its remote antiquity. But the death and burial of the Earl of Beaconsfield lifted the church from its obscurity, and what must have been its ancient sombreness and gloom ; its new stained-glass windows, perfect in their beauty of conception and their exquisite tone of colour, give soft and pleasant light to the whole building. Very different, we should think, in effect to that day when the church and churchyard were crowded by the representatives of the royal family, the most distinguished peers, the most illustrious commoners, crowding round the open grave or vault of the man who, commencing life with nothing-like another Wolsey-became the Cecil or Burleigh of his line. Certainly one of the most influential statesmen of his age in the estima. tion of his party, and especially in the high and affectionate regard he received from his Sovereign. A thousand pounds' worth of wreaths of flowers, including one from the Queen, the vicar told us, were heaped over and around his coffin. Over the pew where the earl sat is the elegant monument erected by the Queen, bearing the inscription, “To the dear and honoured memory of Benjamin, Earl of Beaconsfield, this memorial is placed by his grateful Sovereign and friend, Victoria R. I. Kings love him that speaketh right. February 27th, 1882.” The seat of the earl is separated. Upon it is placed a wreath or immortelle from the Queen, and when the silk banner and badges of Knighthood of the Garter were taken down from Lord Beaconsfield's stall in St. George's Chapel in Windsor, her Majesty caused them to be forwarded to his lordship's executors, to be placed over his seat in Hughenden Church.

Of course, while tradition and history and natural scenery make Hughenden interesting to the artist, the antiquarian, and the poet, the interest of the spot centres in the memory of the departed statesman; into his claims as the counsellor and confidential adviser of his Sovereign, it is obvious we cannot enter. He was leader of the Tories, yet in some things more Radical than any Whig. His opponents said that he was anything for an end, and especially for his own ends, but a more careful study of his works leads to the conclusion that there was in him a depth and reality of conviction for which he has seldom had the credit. He was in no sense a man of the age or the nineteenth century. He despised the idea of social equality, he despised science in its more arrogant claims and assumptions, and he despised metaphysics. It must be admitted that there was often a logical and irresistible force in his pertinent epigrams.

It was in the nature of Lord Beaconsfield's mind—perhaps it was not in the characteristic of his race—that he did not-could not-reason by argumentative processes. About the time of the publication of “Tancred,” but just before, appeared “The Vestiges of the Natural History

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and repaired the church, but it is seven hundred years old. There is evidence incontestable enough of that. Few churches so obscure contain such mementoes of antiquity. Here is the effigy with the legs crossed and the three crescents at the feet, assuring us that we are before the tomb of a crusader; and in another corner one of those ghastly representations of death often met with in cathedrals-rarely in parish churches—an

of Creation ;” he satirised it under the designation of the “Revelations of Chaos.” “It is treated scientifically. Everything is explained,” he

, makes a young lady to say, “by geology and astronomy, and in that way it shows you exactly how a star is formed. Nothing can be so pretty! A cluster of vapour, the cream of the milky way, a sort of celestial cheese churned into light. Read the book; it is impossible to contradict anything in it. You understand, it is all science ; everything is proved by geology, you know. You see exactly how everything is made; how many worlds there have been; how long they lasted; what went before and what comes next. We are a link in the chain ; all that will remain of us will be some relics on a new red sandstone. This is development. We had fins; we may have wings!”

There are many reminiscences of a very amiable character which' illuminate the memory of the earl, especially the affectionate and grateful regard he always entertained for his wife, whom he always esteemed as the founder of his fortunes and the co-partner of his fame. She was fond of travelling with him, and, on his more public ovations, witnessing the exhibitions of triumph and honour which greeted him. A friend of the earl and of the present writer was dining with him, when one of the party—a Member of the House for many years, of a noble family, but rather remarkable for raising a laugh at his buffoonery than any admiration for his wisdom-had no better taste or grace than to expostulate with Disraeli for always taking the viscountess with him. “I cannot understand it,” said the graceless man; “ for, you know, you make yourself a perfect laughing-stock wherever your wife goes with you.” Disraeli fixed his eyes upon him very expressively and said, “I don't suppose you can understand it, B.,—I don't suppose you can understand it, for no one could ever in the last and

wildest excursions of an insane imagination suppose you to be guilty of gratitude!”

The same friend mentioned to the writer how once, when the House was up and almost everybody out of town, passing by Disraeli's house, he saw indications that he was at home. He knocked and inquired. Yes, he was in town and at home. "Why,” he inquired, “how is this? I thought you were abroad!” No; the viscountess was too weak to travel, indisposed to leave London, and he would not and could not leave her. “But,” said the statesman, "I have been spending such time as I could spare in reading one of the most painful and extraordinary books I have attempted to read. I wonder I have never tried to read it before." “ What is the book ? ” said our friend. “A dreadful, a wonderful book !” “But what is it?” “Why, for several days past I have had a brougham at the door, and I started away to spend some hours in wandering through and reading the black pages of the East End of London !” Our readers may remember how some such impression is conveyed in the pages of “Coningsby,” when Manchester is seen for the first time.

Lord Beaconsfield never forgot that he was by birth a Jew; it is impossible not to believe that he was a sincere Christian, and that he accepted heartily the two Testaments—the doctrines of Christianity—as the appropriate completion and consummation of the Hebrew ritual and prophecy. He was as proud of his Hebrew descent as was the apostle Paul. The following passages are not less true than they are brilliant, occurring in his most remarkable essay on the Jews and Judaism in his “Biography of Lord George Bentinck": “The world has by this time discovered that it is impossible to destroy the Jews. The attempt to extirpate them has been made under the most favourable auspices, and on the largest scale; the most considerable means that man could command have been pertinaciously applied to this object for the longest period of recorded time. Egyptian Pharaohs, Assyrian kings, Roman emperors, Scandinavian crusaders, Gothic princes, and holy inquisitors have alike devoted their energies to the fulfilment of this common purpose. All which proves that it is vain for man to attempt to baffle the inexorable law of nature, which has decreed that a superior race shall never be destroyed by an inferior.” And in the same essay, in the closing paragraph, expostulating with Jews on their unbelief in Jesus as the Messiah, he says: “ Perhaps, too, in this enlightened age, as his mind expands, and he takes a comprehensive view of this period of progress, the pupil of Moses may ask himself whether all the princes of the house of David have done so much for the Jews as the Prince who was crucified on Calvary. Had it not been for Him the Jews would have been comparatively unknown, or known only as a high Oriental časte which had lost its country. Has not He made their history the most famous in the world ? Has not He

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hung up their laws in every temple? Has He not vindicated all their wrongs ? Has not He avenged the victory of Titus, and conquered the Cæsars ? What successes did they anticipate from their Messiah ? The wildest dreams of their rabbis have been far exceeded. Has not Jesus conquered Europe, and changed its name into Christendom ? All countries that refuse the Cross wither, while the whole of the New World is devoted to the Semitic principle, and its most glorious offspring, the Jewish faith ; and the time will come when the vast communities and countless myriads of America and Australia, looking upon Europe as Europe now looks on Greece, and wondering how so small a space could have achieved such great deeds, will still find music in the songs of Sion, and still seek solace in the parables of Galilee. These may be dreams, but there is one fact which none can contest. Christians may continue to persecute Jews, and Jews may persist in disbelieving Christians, but who can deny that Jesus of Nazareth, the Incarnate Son of God, the Most High God, is the eternal glory of the Jewish race ?"



F the various industries by which the wants of

our complex civilisation are supplied, no

one has taken such bold strides of late years as that which gives us our daily newspaper. The London morning journals in which our fathers read of some of the greatest achievements of our arms, such as the naval victories of Duncan, Jervis, and Nelson, the storming of Seringapatam, the battles of Alexandria and Copenhagen, the defeat of Bonaparte at Acre, and the surrender of Malta to the British, were smaller, browner, and typographically less artistic sheets than any with which a printer would now think of commencing a halfpenny venture in a country town. Their circulation corresponded with their aspect. At the beginning of the century the most successful of London morning journals sold only 7,000 per diem. The legislature of those days treated knowledge as a luxury, and political knowledge as a dangerous luxury, and taxed it accordingly, not only heavily, but with so much arbitrariness as to preclude that confidence which is the soul of enterprise. Many among us can remember when every news-sheet bore compulsorily a fourpenny stamp, and every advertisement was subject to a duty of three shillings and sixpence. It was the removal of these crushing imposts, together with a prospect of the entire abolition of the paper duty, which led to the establishment of the great newspapers of to-day, ample sheets, reckoning their circulation in fractions of millions, and for which every four and twenty hours are gathered, by agencies which girdle the globe, reports of whatever has happened of broad human interest in any part of the great family of man.

Accustomed as we all are to hear our daily newspapers referred to as organs or guides of opinion, a reference to them as products of industry may seem at first sight harsh and too materialistic. Yet a little reflection will show that the collection, verification, arrangement, and publication of the almost infinite variety of announcements, narratives, descriptions, and reports of all kinds presented to the public every morning, and the authorship lying behind the whole, is only possible on the supposition of a vast organisation of labour directed by the highest administrative skill, and sustained by financial resources at once large and elastic. It is of this organisation and the methods of its working that a summary account will now be given, and perhaps the most convenient way of accomplishing this object will be to look in the first place at the organisation of the workers, and then to follow the most important operations of a working day.

What the British reader has always prized, always required in his newspaper, is fresh, full, and accurate intelligence. Where a Frenchman is satisfied with “incidents” without place of date, an Englishman demands facts. Thus the largest space in our newspapers, leaving the advertisement columns out of the question, is occupied with reports-1.1., statements relating to things that have just happened. The soundness of a newspaper's reporting arrangements is put to a sharp test every time that anything of a nature greatly to interest the public happens suddenly beyond the reach of the central office. Let a railway accident or colliery explosion occur, and it is seen at once whose agencies really cover the


ground, and whose reputation for liberality most stimulates volunteer aid. The working value of a journal does not, however, depend, in the eyes of its best supporters, so much on its startling news as on the regular supply of details which a desultory reader might think of small importance. Thus the marketable property of the country rises or falls in value by millions every day, and it is to columns of small type that are stowed away in the inner pages of the paper that the man of business first turns in order to learn whether he is the richer or the poorer for the movement. On a Monday morning as many as a hundred independent market reports, each supported by quotations, will be found in a single first-class journal. The money article, with its subsidiary reports, is compiled under the care of special editor having offices in the City; while the returns from the great ports, the chief corn markets, and the centres of manufacturing industry, are forwarded by regular correspondents, who are generally connected with some local newspaper. On Saturday evening, by means of late and special editions, the London corn merchant is enabled to read in his suburban villa the variations in the price of wheat that have taken place at all the great markets in the kingdom.

It is evident, however, that in order that the newspaper may reflect the full and varied life of the day, and especially of the capital, a very large amount of reporting power must remain at the free disposal of the editor and manager. Accordingly every daily newspaper has attached to it some twenty or more educated gentlemen, paid by regular salaries, who receive their instructions morning by morning, and who prepare reports of the political, mercantile, philanthropic, and other meetings held during the day. The newspaper reporting work held most in honour is that of the galleries of the two Houses of Parliament. For this purpose distinct corps of reporters are formed, each member of which daily finds his name inserted in a concise time-table, from which he learns precisely at what time his particular duty begins and ends, and to whose work his own will piece on. In this way throughout a long sitting the several members of the corps are enabled to come and go with confidence, and each can take up the thread of a speech just where his predecessor lays it down. The shorthand notes are written out in full for the printer within the Houses of Parliament, and dispatched by a messenger in a cab to the office. When the House sits late, the "turns" of each reporter are made gradually shorter, so as to minimise the time employed in transcription. It will be apparent that much more than mere dexterity and technical skill is required of a parliamentary reporter. Besides being a good note-taker and rapid writer, he must be well acquainted with current politics, an accurate observer, and quick to understand the subtle allusions which play about every earnest debate. It need not be added that in the discharge of his duties he must be rigorously impartial. The occupation of a parliamentary reporter is often followed for a time by barristers in those early years before professional merit has been recog

nised, and standing acquired in the courts of law; and the benches at Westminster have been adorned by many a judge who could look back to a most useful connection with the newspaper press. The best speakers in Parliament have at all times shown themselves sensible of the value of good reporting, and old gallery men have pleasant stories to tell of the frankness with which a Palmerston, a Cornewall Lewis, or a Disraeli would acknowledge their indebtedness to the reporters, and at times ask their opinion on matters of practice within the House.

The keenness of competition, and the necessity of making the newspaper as complete a reflection as possible of the life of the day, has favoured the extension within the last few years of what may be called objective reporting, to distinguish it from the mere reproduction of spoken words. Success in this line depends on quickness of observation and sympathy and aptitude for seizing and describing features which appeal to the popular taste. The prototype of the modern descriptive reporter is Mr. Charles Dickens, whose habit of heightening a picture by the accumulation of minute details has had a very marked influence upon newspaper reporting. The brilliant word painter and vivid narrator is allowed more freedom of style and is honoured with larger type than his less original colleague. His contribution will be printed as a “headed article," and be marked 'special” on the contents-bill.

Except as they may directly affect this country, foreign politics do not now command so much attention among us as they did between the great Continental movements of 1848 and the unification of Italy and Germany respectively. Every important daily journal, however, maintains resident correspondents in each of the great European capitals, and with Paris some of their offices are directly connected by special wire. The usefulness of these agents depends on their ability to gain access to the best sources of information. They are therefore selected as well for their social acceptability, discretion, and knowledge of the world as for political capacity, and they live in daily intercourse with the first men in the capitals where they reside. Some of the best political writing and most solid information of the day is often to be found in their letters.

But a far more romantic and picturesque person than the ordinary resident correspondent purveys that kind of foreign intelligence which the public reads with most interest. This is the Special Correspondent, a descriptive writer who in time of peace makes the most he can of the splendours and solemnities of coronations, royal weddings, public entries, and other state pageantry, but who rises to the full height of his function when he has an opportunity of flashing home column after column from amidst the smoke and roar of a battle-field. On such a scene the War Special is called to display the courage and endurance of the soldier with the coolness and insight of the critical observer. He should also be scrupulously just, for it has happened to more than one of his order to mar the reputation of a general. On the day of battle he will dare everything for the sake of commanding the best view of what is going on, and rides from one command to another to find the critical positions and watch them. The generals know him, and are sometimes indebted to him for opportune information. At the crisis of the conflict he presses forward with the victorious, and when it is decided he returns to the field to perfect his data and verify his conclusions. His long despatch, which will read so smoothly the next morning a thousand miles away, is written perhaps by the bivouac fire, or by the light of a solitary candle, much prized and long preserved, under the shelter of a hovel. When it is finished his mounted messenger should be at hand to carry it off. But in the circumstances the man is very likely to be missing, and then the correspondent must himself remount, and set out on a ride of twenty or thirty miles after the toils and privations of the day.

The last Russo-Turkish war was the most trying of any which newspaper correspondents have known. Many retired before the end of the campaign utterly broken in constitution, and others who went through it died soon after its close from the effects of extreme cold and hardships of every kind.

Next to the difficulty of writing a letter from a field of battle is the difficulty of speeding it to its destination. It is one, however, which must be overcome, for on these occasions priority is everything, and the best despatch may easily be rendered the worst for the purposes of a newspaper by a few hours' delay. Neither pains nor expense must be spared at such a time. After the battle of Ulundi, which ended the Zulu War, a special correspondent, to gain but a few hours' start, rode one night through a darkness so thick that he had to dismount repeatedly to verify by actual touch the wheel-track, which, in default of a road, was the only indication of his route. When, however, a postal or telegraphic station has been reached there may be difficulties to surmount before transmission to England can be considered certain. The newspaper letters for London which reached Bucharest from before Plevna during the memorable siege of the latter town could not be sent off direct to England because the postal and telegraphic service was under the control of the Russian military authorities, who might have delayed any one of thein at a most critical juncture. To avoid all danger of this kind a private service was organised, and the letters were carried daily by couriers mounted on the small fleet horses of the country, and working in relays as far as to Brasso, a small town on this side of the Austrian frontier, whose telegraph office was thus suddenly made one of the most important in the empire, its takings reaching several thousand pounds in a week.

Nothing short of actual experience—that is to say, of paying the bills—would prepare any one not acquainted with the facts to credit the enormous cost of maintaining a body of eight or twelve special correspondents in the field, especially when, as in the Russo-Turkish campaign, two widely-distant fields have to be provided for. Under the overmastering necessity of achieving re

sults within the least possible time, all calculations of expenditure are left far behind. When the newspapers were publishing daily ten and twelve columns of telegrams from Bucharest, the charge froin Brasso to London was at the rate of four shillings and sixpence a line. This was cheap

a compared with four and sixpence a word, the price paid for messages from Afghanistan in the earlier stages of our war with Shere Ali.

From the agencies carried on at a greater or less distance from the newspaper office, let us return to that office itself, where every kind of contribution receives that final form in which it is presented to the public. The workers engaged at head-quarters belong to the staff of the Editor or to that of the general or foreign Sub-editor, it being understood that the responsibility of the editor for all that appears in the paper is entire. Speaking broadly, the general sub-editor (usually called the sub-editor) and his immediate assistants have to deal with what is to be placed before the public as matter of information, while the editor and his staff deal with matters of opinion and judgment. It may not be possible to draw a hard and fast line between the two classes of subjects; but practically the distinction will be found to hold good. It follows from this statement that the editorial is mainly a producing staff and writes, while the sub-editorial staff operates upon given material, such as reports, announcements, and the like. A sub-editor should be a man of great vigilance, cautious, and of a discrimination acting with the certainty and rapidity of an instinct-since, owing to the mass of matter he has to deal with in a limited time, he must decide at a first glance on the value of the things which come before him. It is his business to treat his columns as a space in which he has to compress the greatest amount and variety of interesting matter possible. Select, abridge, and condense as he may, he always has to deplore the narrowness of the bounds assigned to him, and while he endeavours fairly to adjust the claims of all readers, he knows that the men of one or two interests will inevitably believe that they have less than their share. In the details of his department the sub-editor is assisted by half a dozen or more gentlemen, who, instructed by him as to the space at their disposal, revise, retrench, and if necessary leave out the reports of law and police courts, or of public meetings, and fashion the intelligence of all kinds, which is constantly arriving from all quarters, into neat and attractive paragraphs. The foreign subeditor performs corresponding operations on the news arriving from abroad. The letters of correspondents reach him as a rule in English, but he has to examine newspapers and documents in every European language. Telegrams are generally sent in French, and their elliptical form often makes their interpretation a veritable work of art.

The editor's staff, in strictness, includes the gentlemen who furnish the reviews and critical notices under the headings of Fine Art, Music, and Drama. Usually, however, it signifies the chief editor and half a dozen gentlemen immediately associated with him in the preparation of

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